Write the same room twice: once in flat daylight, once at two in the morning. Change nothing but the light, then see which version knows more.
Portland, Maine · Mystery novelist
The fog hides everything but the truth.
Coastal Maine mysteries — and everything that grows around them. Book club kits, author talks, writing workshops, and a letter that finds you wherever you are.
01 — The novels
Harriet Ellison writes mysteries from the cold edge of Maine, where the harbor keeps its own hours and no two people remember the same night the same way.
Sleet, a tide that comes in wrong, fog thick enough to lean on. The coast sets the pace of every chapter.
Everyone on the dock knows something. Nobody says it first. The plot turns on who speaks, and when.
The dread lives in the detail — a wet rope, an unmade bed, a lamp left burning in an empty house.
02 — Book club kits
Kits made for groups who want to stay in the weather a little longer — questions worth arguing about, and a few ways back into the dark.
Questions to start with
04 — Workshops
Workshops on how suspense is built — line by line, draft by draft, for writers who read too late at night.
Write the same room twice: once in flat daylight, once at two in the morning. Change nothing but the light, then see which version knows more.
Take a scene you have already written and make the weather work against your character. Nothing else changes. Watch what the scene does on its own.
Write the sentence your character would never say out loud. Then write the seven lines around it that keep it buried.