And be sure to enter to win some great SWAG!
As historical fiction transports us to places we can never know (until time travel is perfected), the genius of authors like Philippa Gregory, The Other Boleyn Girl, Geraldine Brooks, March, and Sena Jeter Naslund, Ahab’s Wife, magically transforms history with revelations from lesser-known counterparts of the day.
Suellen’s Side of The Story…
I haven’t talked to my sister for nearly ten years, though I hear about her from time to time, of course. Folks can’t seem to resist wanting to stir up that honeypot, trying to catch me out sharpening my tongue on vengeful stories of her excesses; hoping to be the first to hear she’s grown as wide as a pickle barrel, or all her hair fell out. They’ll learn none of that from me. “She’s doing as well as can be expected,” I always say.
My parents, especially Mother, would probably be most ashamed of me, her middle daughter, since I turned out to be what the God-fearing members of my family charitably call a bluestocking. The less kind, perhaps not having a big enough vocabulary and an even more limited imagination, infer malicious perversions about me. So-called friends wearing hound-dog expressions try to comfort me, repeating aspersions in exchange for a ringside seat to a drama of I don’t know what. Sometimes it takes all my willpower to not just start clucking like a chicken, pecking at their skirts, or maybe even kissing them right on their dumb bunny mouths to give credence to their shabby hopes of a mind gone ‘round the bend. I try not to preen like others I know would, but there is solace to be had upon growing up with no expectations; surely life could only turn out to be a pleasant surprise.
After my husband died, God rest his soul, I ran away from home; from all that I hurt and all that I hated. I loath the very ground that swallowed my babe, my sole chance for redemption, and care not which gates of hell I enter. As if reading a book backwards, I set out for the other side of the world, looking for a better ending that perhaps I had missed. That’s another story; one not even my sister could begin to imagine…
Which relative (from history or fiction) would you like to read about?
Thank you to the amazing Meg Waite Clayton, author of The Four Mrs. Bradwells and most generous writing mentor, for bringing together writers and readers from around the world.
There are so many great reading and writing blogs out there from funny and smart women–and thanks to Meg and the great SheWrites site you can spend houuurrrs! reading, learning, enjoying and escaping into the wonderful world of writing–you are warned!
I am a recovering exclamation point user. I never knew how universally hated the horn-honk of grammar has become. Bless me readers for I have sinned. I have been doing more than my fair share of pointing the exclamation. I fear it may be one of those symptoms (like when you’re pregnant and all you can see are other baby bumps) where my own liberal use of the left-handed pinkie lift leaves me astonished.
I am happy to report I am reformed. With remarkable restraint I refrain from relapsing. Alas. Meet my new addiction: alliteration.
With homage to two of my favorite authors, Eleanor Brown and Sarah Pekkanen, who are so gracious and eloquent, and always say just the right thing; I am eternally impressed (read: jealous) by the inspiration they share with their readers.
To that end, I thought I’d try to reach out, craft words of wisdom and “exercise” one of my demons with some uplifting tips. Where did I go wrong?
- If you do not understand what DO NOT USE YOUR CELL PHONE means, (you know, that giant sign posted on the easel you have to walk around to enter the gym) please ask for help.
- DO NOT blow your nose into the neck of your t-shirt that you are currently wearing.
- If you must do Tai Chi, please DO NOT do it on the treadmill next to me.
- There is no such thing as calling SAFETY on work-out equipment. (That only works in your your own home, with SECOND-GRADERS.)
- Subsection IV: DO NOT leave your trash behind, this includes but is not limited to used towels, gum wrappers, gum, kleenex (really?!), bandaids (are you kidding me?), newspapers, cups, bottles, Q-TIPS??!!
- DO NOT prop up the the hairdryer in the locker room to blow dry your underpants.
Sigh. There is a cinnamon Pop-Tart at home with my name on it that I plan on eating (outside edges first) while reading what Eleanor and Sarah are up to. So help me, if they are doing a charity 5K for the underprivileged, I will scream.