A Bloody Deer Season

Deer-hunting season got started in Maine a little more than a week ago, and as the clip above from Maine Public Radio explains, there have already been three human casualties, including one death. John Holyoke, of the Bangor Daily News, has a frank assessment of the consequences of these horrible incidents:

On Monday, I was trying to explain [to my non-hunting friends] how responsible most hunters are. I was trying to tell my friends that a single tragic weekend doesn’t mean that the Maine woods are inherently unsafe during November.

And I expect my words sounded less than convincing.

Consider: Over a two-day period spanning Friday and Saturday, three hunting-related shootings were reported to the Maine Warden Service.

• On Friday, a Portsmouth, N.H. man who was target shooting in the woods of Casco was shot in the stomach by a hunter. The victim was taken by LifeFlight to a Lewiston hospital.

• Also on Friday, a Hebron man was shot in the leg by a hunting companion as they tracked a deer that had been wounded in Oxford. The wounded hunter was also transported to a Lewiston hospital.

• And on Saturday, 46-year-old Peter Kolofsky of Sebago was shot and killed while hunting in that southern Maine town. The alleged shooter, 61-year-old William Briggs of Windham, was hunting nearby but was not a member of Kolofsky’s hunting party.

All it takes is a single weekend, however, to convince plenty of people that the woods of Maine are full of wild, gun-toting folks who don’t care what they shoot at, whether it’s a deer, the family pooch or another hunter.

It doesn't matter that statistics show that hunting in Maine is a safer pasttime than boating or snowmobiling or many of the other outdoor activities we engage in these days. What matters are stories like the ones Holyoke describes. It's human nature to extrapolate greater meaning from narratives, even fragmentary ones like those above.

Ultimately, the image of man in the woods clutching his bloody stomach is simply more convincing to us than any chart stacked with numbers.

Fly Fishing Extravaganza

One of my regrets of the past year is how little time I got to enjoy on the water. Fly fishing is how I meditate. My mind grows quiet when I approach a trout stream, and I find myself living fully in the moment in a way that's otherwise extremely difficult for me. That sensation—or being present in the present—makes me understand the Buddhist concept of the Middle Way.

I might not have done enough fishing this year, but on Sunday, November 6, I plan on enjoying the fellowship of fly anglers at the first Maine Fly Fishing Show. I'll be signing copies of my books at 10 a.m. and 12 p.m. Other events include casting contests, a silent auction, instructional workshops, a fly tyer's theater, and booths hosted by some of Maine's premier outfitters and guides. Admission is only $5 for adults ($3 for kids), and all proceeds benefit the Maine Council of Trout Unlimited's fantastic Trout Camp—which has done so much to teach nature-starved childrens about the wonders of the outdoors.

The show takes place at the Maine Military Museum in South Portland. If you plan on being in Greater Portland that day, I hope you'll stop by. 

Editor by Day, Author by Night

Over at Maine Crime Writers today I have a post about my dual identities as editor in chief at a magazine and book publishing company and as a novelist:

Being an editor by day and a novelist by night isn’t like being Batman. My two identities are so similar they doesn’t register with most people. But the distinction has meant a lot to me. In particular, having a career as an editor—of both magazines and books—prepared me in crucial ways for my life as an author. Most professional writers look at editors as exotic creatures of the sort you might find in a nineteenth-century bestiary. Identifying characteristics: intelligent but inexplicably dense at times; highly opinionated and yet maddeningly unable to articulate the specifics of their criticisms; gossipy when it comes to any subject relating to their industry but also prone to long, disquieting silences; underpaid saints capable of recognizing genius who never do enough to advance the causes of their writers against those no-good sales and marketing hirelings. As an editor by trade, I live a truly compromised life as a novelist. How can I piss and moan like a regular book author when I have sat on the other side of that crumb-dusted, Diet-Coke-stained, manuscript-littered desk?

Somehow I even manage to work John Travolta in this. Click on over and you'll see how.

Worst Halloween Costume Ever

In time for Halloween I am reposting this post from 2009 which, for reasons known only to Google, ranks consistently as one of my most popular ever. 

October 31 marks the start of Maine's deer-hunting season for all hunters (Mainers get a jump on October 29). I'd say that coincidence makes this get-up the dumbest Halloween costume ever.

Maine Speech

In my books I go to great lengths to suggest that some of my characters have Maine accents without resorting to phonetic abominations ("Hey, deah, come ovah heah.") At MaineCrimeWriters today I have a post about my use of Maine lingo and a guide to some of the more colorful expressions you might encounter Down East. Check it out, why don't you.