K. Lang-Slattery's Blog, page 11
January 10, 2016
The Real Hugo
In Immigrant Soldier, Herman recalls his childhood days as he sits in a deck chair during the stormy passage to America. He remembers the tension in the sunny, well-furnished home on Bernard Strasse and his mother’s unhappiness. When I first wrote this section of the book, much of the information I knew about Hugo had to be left out. Now, perhaps, some readers will be interested in the kind of man who ruled the Lang family home.
December 30, 2015
In Their 90s
Last week, I read an article in the Smithsonian Magazine , titled, “Lone Star,” a tribute to a 91 year old WWII veteran.
December 6, 2015
December 7, 1941
Dear Readers, I am taking a break from writing in order to spend time with family and friends over the Holidays. However, the first week of December always reminds me of the disastrous day that resulted in the United States entering World War II.
November 15, 2015
On The Road With Herman
Herman and I have been on the road for two weeks. First in Florida, now in Arkansas, I have been visiting dear friends and making presentations at several community venues. It has been at the same time, pleasant, enlightening, and occasionally frustrating.
October 31, 2015
The Best Job in the World
“Herman was sure he had landed a job in one of the most exciting nightclubs in Los Angeles. The Zebra Room Cocktail Lounge, its tall chairs upholstered in zebra skin, hummed with action from afternoon until long after midnight.” – Immigrant Soldier, p. 141[image error]
October 25, 2015
We Are Readers
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Most writers are also devoted readers. In fact, a love of reading, books, indeed for stories of all kinds, is almost always at the heart of why we begin writing. Most of us read voraciously from an early age. I thought it might be fun to share some of my favorite books from all the stages of my life, starting from childhood.
October 9, 2015
A Jewish Question
October 4, 2015
September 26, 2015
The Blitz
1940: “The news from Britain was ominous. Herman began to have trouble getting to sleep at night. He would lie in bed for hours, his mind a jumble of worries, watching the dawn light creep through his apartment window. He could not banish thoughts of his mother and sister trapped in London while German planes thundered over the English countryside, their bombs a nightly rain on the capital city.”
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