Holly Nadler

A Room of Their Own, Vineyard Retreats Helps Writers Develop

They come from all over the country, staying for one or two weeks or up to a full month. They explore Edgartown from their home base at the former Point Way Inn. Some of them work in their rooms, others find a nesting spot in one of the many elegant downstairs parlors. For dinner they might bring home scallops from the Net Result, ingredients for a pasta Siciliana, and share the meal pot-luck style in the formal dining room, which is two stories high and lit up like a stage set.

 

 

 

When an art gallery and a cultural salon stays in business for 30 years in a vacation resort that, for nine months of the year, is a hibernacula (a term used for colonies of torpid bats in winter caves), then there is every reason to expect that the proprietor, in this case, Zita Cousens of Cousen Rose Gallery at 71 Circuit avenue in Oak Bluffs, knows what she’s doing.

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There’s a sleep-away camp feel to the Yard off Middle Road in Chilmark: office over here, summer-blooming party tent over there, and modest, grey-shingled, single-story cottages for visiting dancers, choreographers, singers and other artistes scattered throughout the woods.

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The year is 1980. Two men meet from wildly different backgrounds. J.B. Riggs Parker is a Philadelphia lawyer and investment banker who has jumped out of the rat race to move to Martha’s Vineyard. Island native Donald Poole, closing in on his ninth decade, is continuing his lifelong pursuit of building the perfect round wooden lobster pot, in an age when plastic is taking over the industry.

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For the first few pages of Paul Schneider’s Bonnie and Clyde, The Lives Behind The Legend, we see tall, willowy, sultry Faye Dunaway as the infamous gangster moll, Bonnie Parker, and we picture tall, broad-shouldered Warren Beatty as her outlaw boyfriend, Clyde Barrow. It doesn’t take long for the author to get the real people back in focus: Bonnie is petite (under five feet tall), more adorable than sultry, and Clyde also is short but a head taller than his energetic pip-squeak girlfriend.

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A fifth-generation Islander, Joe Santos (name changed at subject’s request), disdains the little luxuries that most of us consider necessities — no flashy furniture to supplement the La-Z-Boy facing his TV set, no scented soaps or sushi — but he does, in many ways, live like a millionaire.

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