Carlene Havel's Blog: Carlene, page 16
August 14, 2012
Woman of Mystery
This is the first installment. Can you guess who she is/was?
We know so little about her, not even her name. There’s no information about her life either before or after—only what we can conclude from this one incident.
She was married, which means she must have been at least thirteen or fourteen years old. Can we assume she was unhappy? Why else would she be receptive to the beginning or continuation of an affair?
There's no doubt about her guilt. Neither she nor any one else disputed the facts of the case. Eye witnesses were on the scene, ready to testify.
She had to be frightened, filled with the wild terror of knowing she was about to die a violent death. Everyone knew the penalty for her crime was immediate execution. Her family would be disgraced. She may have been wrapped in a sheet or a cloak. On the other hand, it is possible she had been half marched, half dragged through the streets naked.
She was abandoned. Both she and her lover were guilty of the same offense. Yet he was not been pushed along by an angry mob. Nor was he standing with her. Was she set up and then betrayed by the very man in whose arms she hoped to find a few moments of stolen bliss? How else could she be caught in the very act at a time convenient to set up an ambush for the young teacher? Perhaps a scoundrel was bribed to get her into a compromising situation. Was he promised immunity if he managed for the woman’s offense to be discovered at the pre-arranged time, at a designated location? Or was the man involved in the adultery merely a coward who slithered away to save his own skin, leaving her to take the blame?
She was expendable. The expectation that this woman would be killed was of no apparent concern to anyone. A wealthy family might have objected to an example being made of their daughter or sister. There might be trouble if the wife of an influential man was used to bait the trap for a bigger fish. So she was probably poor, anonymous, and insignificant.
To be continued tomorrow...
We know so little about her, not even her name. There’s no information about her life either before or after—only what we can conclude from this one incident.
She was married, which means she must have been at least thirteen or fourteen years old. Can we assume she was unhappy? Why else would she be receptive to the beginning or continuation of an affair?
There's no doubt about her guilt. Neither she nor any one else disputed the facts of the case. Eye witnesses were on the scene, ready to testify.
She had to be frightened, filled with the wild terror of knowing she was about to die a violent death. Everyone knew the penalty for her crime was immediate execution. Her family would be disgraced. She may have been wrapped in a sheet or a cloak. On the other hand, it is possible she had been half marched, half dragged through the streets naked.
She was abandoned. Both she and her lover were guilty of the same offense. Yet he was not been pushed along by an angry mob. Nor was he standing with her. Was she set up and then betrayed by the very man in whose arms she hoped to find a few moments of stolen bliss? How else could she be caught in the very act at a time convenient to set up an ambush for the young teacher? Perhaps a scoundrel was bribed to get her into a compromising situation. Was he promised immunity if he managed for the woman’s offense to be discovered at the pre-arranged time, at a designated location? Or was the man involved in the adultery merely a coward who slithered away to save his own skin, leaving her to take the blame?
She was expendable. The expectation that this woman would be killed was of no apparent concern to anyone. A wealthy family might have objected to an example being made of their daughter or sister. There might be trouble if the wife of an influential man was used to bait the trap for a bigger fish. So she was probably poor, anonymous, and insignificant.
To be continued tomorrow...
August 13, 2012
Thank You
My heartfelt thanks to everyone who entered the giveaway for a (printed) copy of A Hero's Homecoming. As you know if you're a contestant veteran, Goodreads selects the winners and notifies the author where to send the prizes. So, books will be in the mail today to three people. I hope they enjoy them.
In the morning I'll be adding the first of a two part "thing" here. It's sort of a story, but not exactly. Visit this blog tomorrow, same bat channel, for more information.
Happy reading, everyone!
In the morning I'll be adding the first of a two part "thing" here. It's sort of a story, but not exactly. Visit this blog tomorrow, same bat channel, for more information.
Happy reading, everyone!
August 11, 2012
Fun Word
In addition to being absolutely wonderful, words are just plain fun. A few can make me smile every time I hear or use them. Example: peloton. Wikipedia has this to say: The peloton (from French, meaning little ball or platoon and related to the English word pellet), is the main group of riders in a road bicycle race. Now which word has the most punch: field, pack, bunch, peloton? Instead of being middle of the road, one could be in the midst of the peloton—so much more drama, and the je ne sais quoi of being French as well. All for the price of a seven-letter word! It doesn't get much better than that, mon cher.
August 10, 2012
Copyright
I met an author--make that aspiring author--who paid an attorney $1000 to obtain a copyright on her book. Wow! Someone made some money on that deal. The government website is available for self-service copyrighting. It's not the most user-friendly site, but if I can do it you can too. I think the current cost is around $50. My acquaintance could have spent $950 or so on something else. Maybe I shouldn't have told her, since the information about using the US Gov website seemed to put her into a funk. But now she will know next time. BTW, cute book. I hope she gets published!
August 9, 2012
Reviews
I was reminded this morning that not everyone will enjoy every book. While looking through some of the classics on Amazon, I noticed Les Miserables has an average rating of four out of five stars. Really? My curiosity stirred, I checked reviews on several other books generally considered to be classics. Yep, mixed reviews! This should encourage every author who's been disappointed in a reader's reaction. To borrow from the insight of Abe Lincoln, you can please some of the people some of the time...not all of the people all of the time. To take the homespun wit a step further, if someone calls you a donkey, ignore him. If the next five people you meet also call you a donkey, put on a saddle and start eating hay. It's tricky to balance feedback with that inner voice, but both have wisdom to offer.
August 8, 2012
Part 6 - the end
This is the sixth and final installment of a short story/memoir from high school in the 1960s. For parts 1-5, see my last five days' blogs. Enjoy!
I’ll say this for old Mr. Krause; he didn’t fudge on grades. The students who knew the answers passed the tests. At the end of the semester there were five A’s in the class. Kitty breezed to hers with her usual aplomb. I worked like a dog for mine.
Not long afterwards, bras were burning, women were marching, and teachers like Mr. Krause were retiring. An awakening started for me on that September morning, when I began to understand conformity is not always essential. Maybe that’s the basis of the discipline of mechanical engineering. Anyway, that’s what I remember from high school physics.
I’ll say this for old Mr. Krause; he didn’t fudge on grades. The students who knew the answers passed the tests. At the end of the semester there were five A’s in the class. Kitty breezed to hers with her usual aplomb. I worked like a dog for mine.
Not long afterwards, bras were burning, women were marching, and teachers like Mr. Krause were retiring. An awakening started for me on that September morning, when I began to understand conformity is not always essential. Maybe that’s the basis of the discipline of mechanical engineering. Anyway, that’s what I remember from high school physics.
August 7, 2012
Part 5
This is the fifth installment. If you haven't read the first four parts, see my previous four blogs to catch up!
Other Katherines were Kathy or Kate, but Miss Blackwell was always Kitty. She was a member of the most elite girls’ group, the chosen few who were both smart and popular. Kitty was a cheerleader, the steady girlfriend of a football star. Her family had money and social status. With no apparent effort, she made excellent grades. Most enviable of all, Kitty was beyond pretty. She was beautiful, gorgeous, stunning.
This girl had been stared at before, and she knew exactly how to handle it. She met Mr. Krause’s gaze not defiantly, but coquettishly. Without dropping her eyes, she slowly began to smile at him. I did not know the word seductive, but recognized the concept in action nevertheless. So did the ten young men in the room. So, apparently, did Mr. Krause. He reddened ever so slightly and dropped his glare. Perhaps he mistook me for one of the boys, or maybe he knew the game was over. In any case, he never looked in my direction. Kitty stayed. Therefore, I stayed.
To be continued...
Other Katherines were Kathy or Kate, but Miss Blackwell was always Kitty. She was a member of the most elite girls’ group, the chosen few who were both smart and popular. Kitty was a cheerleader, the steady girlfriend of a football star. Her family had money and social status. With no apparent effort, she made excellent grades. Most enviable of all, Kitty was beyond pretty. She was beautiful, gorgeous, stunning.
This girl had been stared at before, and she knew exactly how to handle it. She met Mr. Krause’s gaze not defiantly, but coquettishly. Without dropping her eyes, she slowly began to smile at him. I did not know the word seductive, but recognized the concept in action nevertheless. So did the ten young men in the room. So, apparently, did Mr. Krause. He reddened ever so slightly and dropped his glare. Perhaps he mistook me for one of the boys, or maybe he knew the game was over. In any case, he never looked in my direction. Kitty stayed. Therefore, I stayed.
To be continued...
August 6, 2012
Part 4
This is the fourth installment of a 1960's short story/memoir. Parts 1-3 are in my previous three days' posts:
JoAnne Wilson made the unfortunate selection of a desk on the front row, directly in front of Mr. Krause. His eyes locked on hers with an intensity that would melt asbestos. JoAnne blushed. She averted her eyes. She fidgeted. After what seemed forever, she quietly closed her notebook, stacked her books, picked up her purse, and left. Everyone knew JoAnne's next stop would be the school office, where she would drop physics.
If Mr. Krause turned to me next, I would surrender. At seventeen I did not have the backbone to take on a teacher, particularly Mr. Krause. Instead, he turned his head to the side of the room opposite me and blew a blizzard of visual icicles toward Kitty Blackwell. While I was frantically trying to decide what to do, a hitch-your-wagon-to-a-star decision came to me. If Kitty went, I would follow her out the door. If she toughed it out, I would stay too.
JoAnne Wilson made the unfortunate selection of a desk on the front row, directly in front of Mr. Krause. His eyes locked on hers with an intensity that would melt asbestos. JoAnne blushed. She averted her eyes. She fidgeted. After what seemed forever, she quietly closed her notebook, stacked her books, picked up her purse, and left. Everyone knew JoAnne's next stop would be the school office, where she would drop physics.
If Mr. Krause turned to me next, I would surrender. At seventeen I did not have the backbone to take on a teacher, particularly Mr. Krause. Instead, he turned his head to the side of the room opposite me and blew a blizzard of visual icicles toward Kitty Blackwell. While I was frantically trying to decide what to do, a hitch-your-wagon-to-a-star decision came to me. If Kitty went, I would follow her out the door. If she toughed it out, I would stay too.
August 5, 2012
Mr. Krause
The following is Part 3 of a short story about the way it was...back in the 1960s. Parts one and two are contained in the previous two days' blogs. Enjoy!
Taking a seat behind his desk, Mr. Krause straightened his tie and began to speak. His voice was deep and strong, with just the slightest trace of the Old Country lingering. He spoke deliberately, making eye-contact with each student. “Physics is the study of matter and motion. It is the foundation of the discipline of mechanical engineering. It is not a class for girls.” He stopped talking, and my heart stopped beating. The ten boys smirked.
To be continued...
Taking a seat behind his desk, Mr. Krause straightened his tie and began to speak. His voice was deep and strong, with just the slightest trace of the Old Country lingering. He spoke deliberately, making eye-contact with each student. “Physics is the study of matter and motion. It is the foundation of the discipline of mechanical engineering. It is not a class for girls.” He stopped talking, and my heart stopped beating. The ten boys smirked.
To be continued...
August 4, 2012
high school
Part 2 in the continuing saga:
I’m still not certain why I signed up for a semester of physics. The interesting sound of the word may have been enough. It sounded collegiate, pretentious, self-important--so me. Maybe it was because only seniors could take physics, or it could be I fostered the ambition of solidifying my standing as a smart girl. Regardless of the reason, on the first day of school, first period, I reported to Mr. Krause’s physics class.
The bell rang, and the formidable Mr. Krause strode in. He was a great bear of a man with a wide, Teutonic face, and a shock of unruly white hair. His eyeglasses looked like the bottoms of coke bottles mounted on wire rims. They magnified his eyes into great blue blobs. There never had been, never would be, any discipline problem in Mr. Krause's classroom.
I’m still not certain why I signed up for a semester of physics. The interesting sound of the word may have been enough. It sounded collegiate, pretentious, self-important--so me. Maybe it was because only seniors could take physics, or it could be I fostered the ambition of solidifying my standing as a smart girl. Regardless of the reason, on the first day of school, first period, I reported to Mr. Krause’s physics class.
The bell rang, and the formidable Mr. Krause strode in. He was a great bear of a man with a wide, Teutonic face, and a shock of unruly white hair. His eyeglasses looked like the bottoms of coke bottles mounted on wire rims. They magnified his eyes into great blue blobs. There never had been, never would be, any discipline problem in Mr. Krause's classroom.
