C.D. Gerard's Blog, page 2
February 3, 2019
Make A Child Special: A tribute to Auntie
Let's face it; by the time you reach my age, (I'll be 59 in May) you've lost a few loved ones, and a few friends. Your grandparents are usually deceased, and like me, you've lost one parent or both. Losing my mother in 2013 at the age of 83, I am still extremely blessed to have my father still with me, at age 88. Lately, it seems like there have been quite a few of those losses. Just in the past few months, several of my high school classmates have passed, mostly from cancer. One of my best friends from that time died of breast cancer two weeks ago. I really thought she would beat it, and from what her family says, they believed she would too. But it was not meant to be. She will forever be missed.But the hardest thing of all lately was the loss of my mother's beloved older sister, Virginia Frances Edgerton Christensen.
My Aunt Virginia, age 10 and my mother Beatrice, age 6 at their christening into the Congregational ChurchSome would say, well, she was 92. So many of us don't get to live such a long life. And they would be right. Her death was not a painful one; she merely slipped into a coma and passed a few days later. But in her passing, she took the final visage of something that, while in years has been gone for a long time, still survived as long as she was here. It was the childhood that because of her, was special, if not almost magical.What was special? Of course the time we spent together; trips to Friendly's Ice Cream parlor, and shopping trips that filled my closet full of more clothes than I could ever wear. She took me to my first movie, "Mary Poppins," and took me with her when she and my grandmother purchased two Saint Bernard puppies, Monday and Friday, who I used to ride around their Connecticut property. They built a massive swimming pool in their backyard, just so I could learn to swim. 
But if she had never done any of those things, I would not have cared. What I wanted was to sit next to her on the sofa, cuddled at her side as I was read to, or just talked to. She listened to every word I said, even as a young child. When I spoke with her, it was like she took in every word, and made me feel everything I said was very important. It made me feel as though I was just as important as any adult. Even the ordinary things I did, she thought were special. I was made to feel I was the most unique child that was ever born. As long as she was there, I felt as though I could conquer the world. There were no limits to what I could do. Our house and my aunt and uncle's were all built on my grandfather's property. As a young child, IMe and Auntie, 1960would sit at the dining area window everyday about 4pm, and wait to see her brown Chevrolet station wagon pull up the hill and into her driveway. When I saw it, I would run outside, bolting across a small open field that lay between our two houses. I would run there into her waiting arms, usually with my mother at my heels, scolding me for running off without her permission. All I wanted to do was be with her. She made everything wonderful.When our family left Connecticut for California when I was 7, leaving her was devastating for me. I couldn't wait for my aunt, uncle and grandmother to come at Christmas. I would count the days and the weeks till their arrival. During their two weeks with us, she would go Christmas caroling with me and my girl scout troop. I remember when she was there, there wasn't a single person in the world I wanted to be with. I didn't want my parents, or even my girlfriends. It was almost as though if I let her out of my sight, she would disappear. She was all I needed to be happy. When she left to go home, I would cry so hard I would make myself ill. I would take me days to recover.
When I about 13, they stopped coming every year for Christmas, and our visits became more sporadic. I grew up, having my own family and building my own life. Over those years, most of my contact with her was over the phone. Once they retired in 1990, our contact became even less. I only heard about Auntie most of the time through my mother.It was when my mother died five years ago that our contact resumed. In the loss of my amazing mother, we grieved together, and not only were we able to keep my mother's memory alive, but also all the memories we shared over all these years. I felt so fortunate that we could still talk, even though her hearing was failing, and the phone was becoming more difficult for her.Her death has turned my world on its axis. When someone that important to you goes, regardless of how old they are, it is only understandable that nothing in the world feels the same. All I can do, in her memory, is love the people in my life as much as she always loved me to honor her memory.I would like to also honor her memory by reminding people that every child should be made special like I was. Each child is unique for themselves, just by being here on this earth. Each child may not be special to everyone, but they should be special to someone. Nourish and celebrate them, just for themselves. It will make them flourish. And who knows? With all that love, the world my generation leaves behind may be a better one. And as for my aunt, my mother, and all of those I've loved and that have loved me that are no longer on earth, saying thank you seems inadequate somehow, but all I have left are my words and my undying love. You are all here with me in spirit. May we be together again some day!
Auntie and Mom, late 2000s
My Aunt Virginia, age 10 and my mother Beatrice, age 6 at their christening into the Congregational ChurchSome would say, well, she was 92. So many of us don't get to live such a long life. And they would be right. Her death was not a painful one; she merely slipped into a coma and passed a few days later. But in her passing, she took the final visage of something that, while in years has been gone for a long time, still survived as long as she was here. It was the childhood that because of her, was special, if not almost magical.What was special? Of course the time we spent together; trips to Friendly's Ice Cream parlor, and shopping trips that filled my closet full of more clothes than I could ever wear. She took me to my first movie, "Mary Poppins," and took me with her when she and my grandmother purchased two Saint Bernard puppies, Monday and Friday, who I used to ride around their Connecticut property. They built a massive swimming pool in their backyard, just so I could learn to swim. But if she had never done any of those things, I would not have cared. What I wanted was to sit next to her on the sofa, cuddled at her side as I was read to, or just talked to. She listened to every word I said, even as a young child. When I spoke with her, it was like she took in every word, and made me feel everything I said was very important. It made me feel as though I was just as important as any adult. Even the ordinary things I did, she thought were special. I was made to feel I was the most unique child that was ever born. As long as she was there, I felt as though I could conquer the world. There were no limits to what I could do. Our house and my aunt and uncle's were all built on my grandfather's property. As a young child, IMe and Auntie, 1960would sit at the dining area window everyday about 4pm, and wait to see her brown Chevrolet station wagon pull up the hill and into her driveway. When I saw it, I would run outside, bolting across a small open field that lay between our two houses. I would run there into her waiting arms, usually with my mother at my heels, scolding me for running off without her permission. All I wanted to do was be with her. She made everything wonderful.When our family left Connecticut for California when I was 7, leaving her was devastating for me. I couldn't wait for my aunt, uncle and grandmother to come at Christmas. I would count the days and the weeks till their arrival. During their two weeks with us, she would go Christmas caroling with me and my girl scout troop. I remember when she was there, there wasn't a single person in the world I wanted to be with. I didn't want my parents, or even my girlfriends. It was almost as though if I let her out of my sight, she would disappear. She was all I needed to be happy. When she left to go home, I would cry so hard I would make myself ill. I would take me days to recover.When I about 13, they stopped coming every year for Christmas, and our visits became more sporadic. I grew up, having my own family and building my own life. Over those years, most of my contact with her was over the phone. Once they retired in 1990, our contact became even less. I only heard about Auntie most of the time through my mother.It was when my mother died five years ago that our contact resumed. In the loss of my amazing mother, we grieved together, and not only were we able to keep my mother's memory alive, but also all the memories we shared over all these years. I felt so fortunate that we could still talk, even though her hearing was failing, and the phone was becoming more difficult for her.Her death has turned my world on its axis. When someone that important to you goes, regardless of how old they are, it is only understandable that nothing in the world feels the same. All I can do, in her memory, is love the people in my life as much as she always loved me to honor her memory.I would like to also honor her memory by reminding people that every child should be made special like I was. Each child is unique for themselves, just by being here on this earth. Each child may not be special to everyone, but they should be special to someone. Nourish and celebrate them, just for themselves. It will make them flourish. And who knows? With all that love, the world my generation leaves behind may be a better one. And as for my aunt, my mother, and all of those I've loved and that have loved me that are no longer on earth, saying thank you seems inadequate somehow, but all I have left are my words and my undying love. You are all here with me in spirit. May we be together again some day!Auntie and Mom, late 2000s
September 20, 2018
Remembering The Death of Nathan Hale
Saturday will be the 242nd anniversary of the execution of Nathan Hale, who is considered to be America's first spy. While many versions of the events of that day exist, there is no doubt Hale's story, and his sacrifice, belong to the ages. 
In my novel "Washington's Wild Rose," which is a historical romance, I created a fictionalized version of events as my heroine, Sarah Carrington, witnesses her longtime friend's life being taken by the British. And while this is a fictional account, like all historical fiction, it is based on some modicum of truth. Here is Sarah's account: We drove until the city fell away, and we were surrounded by apple orchards. The trees were bursting with fruit. Much of it was unpicked and had fallen, making the wagon bump along as it caught underneath the wheels. The humid air mixed with the apples made their sweet aroma heavy and sickish. As we approached, I could hear the noise of a crowd. About 100 or so people had gathered around one of the larger trees. As we got closer, I could see a black man throwing a rope over the tree and tying a noose on it as Nathan stood by. The wagon stopped. The crowd turned, gaping at me. “Is that his lover?” someone said. “Yes,” said another voice. “That is the girl he was arrest with. She is a traitor too.” “Then why don’t they hang her with him?” someone yelled. I stood to get out of the wagon. When I tried to walk to where Nathan was, the guard grabbed my arm. “This is as far as we go,” he said. “But we are so far away. He will not know I am here.” “Can’t take the risk of somebody helping you escape, miss. This is as far as we will go.” Oh, come on,” said someone. “Let her come up close. Let the traitor see her lover hang.” “Please, sir,” I whispered to MacKenzie. “Let me say goodbye.” He sighed. “Oh, alright.” He took my arm again and pushed me through the crowd. I was now at the front of the tree with the noose. Nathan stood tall and proud as the Redcoats tied his hands behind his back. But when he looked at me, I could see the sadness in his eyes. The crowd fell silent. “I love you, Nathan,” I yelled. “All that live for the cause love you. Your sacrifice will go down in infamy” A slight smile can over his lips. “Thank you, Sarah,” he said, his voice shaky. “I love you. Stay strong.” A cheer went up through the crowd. A large man with brash red hair and a bulbous alcoholic’s nose spoke. “Be quiet now,” he yelled. “Let us proceed,” He turned to Nathan. “Captain Nathan Hale, you are hereby convicted of being a traitor to the crown on this day, the twenty-second of September, Seventeen Hundred and Seventy-Six, for which you shall suffer the punishment of death. “Any last dying speech or confession?” he asked Nathan. He stood proudly, his head high. His voice sailed over the crowd. “If I had ten thousand lives, I would lay them all down for my country, which I know will prevail in the end.” The black man tightened the noose. Nathan climbed the ladder. He looked up at the sky, as if opening himself up for his maker to receive him. The sobs of women irritated the red-haired man, who people said was named Cunningham. “Stop your cryin’ you stupid bitches,” he yelled. “Why are you cryin’ for this traitor? If ya don’t shut it, you all will come to the same.” It grew quiet. I fixed my eyes on Cunningham’s ugly face. “What are you looking at?” he spat at me. “I know you. You’re that Carrington woman. A spying slut. You should be up here too, you rebel whore.” I glared back at him. “To victory!” I yelled. “To America!” Several in the crowd followed my lead. He sneered angrily. “Let the prisoner swing off,” he yelled. as the ladder was removed. Women cried and screamed, running away with their hands to their faces. Nathan bounced and thrashed. Sounds of broken breath gurgled from his throat. MacKenzie tried to pull me away. “Come, now, miss.” “No,” I said. “I will bear witness to his death. I will not go until he has passed.” The crowd ebbed away. Soon only my guard and I stood there, with Cunningham, the black man and a few Redcoats. It took a few more minutes before Nathan stopped moving. “I think he’s dead, sir,” said the black man, who turned out to be Cunningham’s slave. “Shall I cut him down and bury him?” Cunningham pondered for a moment. “No,” he said, staring at Nathan. “It’s a nice hot day. The heat will make him rot faster.” He looked over at me. “Let him be an example to traitors.” “You bastard,” I screamed. “You are Satan himself. You will meet a worse fate than Captain Hale, I assure you.” He laughed. “Get her out of here,” he said. “Come, miss,” MacKenzie said gently. “Come now, it is over.” The smells of Nathan’s body were hitting the air now. I put my hand to my nose. I leaned on MacKenzie, afraid my legs would betray me. I would not give that ugly bastard Cunningham the satisfaction of seeing my pain. He would see my defiance. That is what Nathan would have wanted.You might be wondering why Nathan did not say his famous "I only regret I have but one life to lose for my country" in my account. That is because those words are words of myth. No one knows for sure that is what he said. There were many accounts of what was said, and as Hale's legend grew over two centuries, that line was the one that stuck. But there are other accounts of his last words. Some are just paraphrases and others are quite different. For more on the myths of Hale's life and death, see my May 31, 2017 blog post "The Myth of Nathan Hale." What we do know is Hale was executed on September 22, 1776 on the orders of General William Howe. He was turned over to the British by the infamous mercenary Robert Rogers, who had been following him from the time he left Norwalk, Connecticut and crossed into Huntington, NY on Long Island. Accounts of where the execution took place are also debated. Some say it was 66th and Third Avenue in Manhattan, others say it was in City Hall Park, others again say the site was Grand Central Station. Of course New York City was not what it is now, and there was much pastureland and fields around the city. According to a Daniel Waddell, who witnessed the execution when he was 13 and interviewed about it at age 98, Hale was hung in an apple orchard belonging to a Henry Rutgers, which was just north of the city. Another true part of my version concerns Provost Marshall William Cunningham, who was chosen to carry out the execution. He was chosen specifically for this task because of this reputation of cruelty to American prisoners. It was Cunningham who refused to allow Hale to write to his family, or let him have access to a Bible which he requested.Whatever is believed, Nathan Hale's courage and conviction is remembered, and I hope his story will be told in classrooms all over America 100 years from now and beyond.If you would like to read the first two books of "The Patriot Trilogy," in which Nathan Hale and many other real people from the era of American independence are portrayed, they are available on my website at www.girlwiththebook.com.
.
In my novel "Washington's Wild Rose," which is a historical romance, I created a fictionalized version of events as my heroine, Sarah Carrington, witnesses her longtime friend's life being taken by the British. And while this is a fictional account, like all historical fiction, it is based on some modicum of truth. Here is Sarah's account: We drove until the city fell away, and we were surrounded by apple orchards. The trees were bursting with fruit. Much of it was unpicked and had fallen, making the wagon bump along as it caught underneath the wheels. The humid air mixed with the apples made their sweet aroma heavy and sickish. As we approached, I could hear the noise of a crowd. About 100 or so people had gathered around one of the larger trees. As we got closer, I could see a black man throwing a rope over the tree and tying a noose on it as Nathan stood by. The wagon stopped. The crowd turned, gaping at me. “Is that his lover?” someone said. “Yes,” said another voice. “That is the girl he was arrest with. She is a traitor too.” “Then why don’t they hang her with him?” someone yelled. I stood to get out of the wagon. When I tried to walk to where Nathan was, the guard grabbed my arm. “This is as far as we go,” he said. “But we are so far away. He will not know I am here.” “Can’t take the risk of somebody helping you escape, miss. This is as far as we will go.” Oh, come on,” said someone. “Let her come up close. Let the traitor see her lover hang.” “Please, sir,” I whispered to MacKenzie. “Let me say goodbye.” He sighed. “Oh, alright.” He took my arm again and pushed me through the crowd. I was now at the front of the tree with the noose. Nathan stood tall and proud as the Redcoats tied his hands behind his back. But when he looked at me, I could see the sadness in his eyes. The crowd fell silent. “I love you, Nathan,” I yelled. “All that live for the cause love you. Your sacrifice will go down in infamy” A slight smile can over his lips. “Thank you, Sarah,” he said, his voice shaky. “I love you. Stay strong.” A cheer went up through the crowd. A large man with brash red hair and a bulbous alcoholic’s nose spoke. “Be quiet now,” he yelled. “Let us proceed,” He turned to Nathan. “Captain Nathan Hale, you are hereby convicted of being a traitor to the crown on this day, the twenty-second of September, Seventeen Hundred and Seventy-Six, for which you shall suffer the punishment of death. “Any last dying speech or confession?” he asked Nathan. He stood proudly, his head high. His voice sailed over the crowd. “If I had ten thousand lives, I would lay them all down for my country, which I know will prevail in the end.” The black man tightened the noose. Nathan climbed the ladder. He looked up at the sky, as if opening himself up for his maker to receive him. The sobs of women irritated the red-haired man, who people said was named Cunningham. “Stop your cryin’ you stupid bitches,” he yelled. “Why are you cryin’ for this traitor? If ya don’t shut it, you all will come to the same.” It grew quiet. I fixed my eyes on Cunningham’s ugly face. “What are you looking at?” he spat at me. “I know you. You’re that Carrington woman. A spying slut. You should be up here too, you rebel whore.” I glared back at him. “To victory!” I yelled. “To America!” Several in the crowd followed my lead. He sneered angrily. “Let the prisoner swing off,” he yelled. as the ladder was removed. Women cried and screamed, running away with their hands to their faces. Nathan bounced and thrashed. Sounds of broken breath gurgled from his throat. MacKenzie tried to pull me away. “Come, now, miss.” “No,” I said. “I will bear witness to his death. I will not go until he has passed.” The crowd ebbed away. Soon only my guard and I stood there, with Cunningham, the black man and a few Redcoats. It took a few more minutes before Nathan stopped moving. “I think he’s dead, sir,” said the black man, who turned out to be Cunningham’s slave. “Shall I cut him down and bury him?” Cunningham pondered for a moment. “No,” he said, staring at Nathan. “It’s a nice hot day. The heat will make him rot faster.” He looked over at me. “Let him be an example to traitors.” “You bastard,” I screamed. “You are Satan himself. You will meet a worse fate than Captain Hale, I assure you.” He laughed. “Get her out of here,” he said. “Come, miss,” MacKenzie said gently. “Come now, it is over.” The smells of Nathan’s body were hitting the air now. I put my hand to my nose. I leaned on MacKenzie, afraid my legs would betray me. I would not give that ugly bastard Cunningham the satisfaction of seeing my pain. He would see my defiance. That is what Nathan would have wanted.You might be wondering why Nathan did not say his famous "I only regret I have but one life to lose for my country" in my account. That is because those words are words of myth. No one knows for sure that is what he said. There were many accounts of what was said, and as Hale's legend grew over two centuries, that line was the one that stuck. But there are other accounts of his last words. Some are just paraphrases and others are quite different. For more on the myths of Hale's life and death, see my May 31, 2017 blog post "The Myth of Nathan Hale." What we do know is Hale was executed on September 22, 1776 on the orders of General William Howe. He was turned over to the British by the infamous mercenary Robert Rogers, who had been following him from the time he left Norwalk, Connecticut and crossed into Huntington, NY on Long Island. Accounts of where the execution took place are also debated. Some say it was 66th and Third Avenue in Manhattan, others say it was in City Hall Park, others again say the site was Grand Central Station. Of course New York City was not what it is now, and there was much pastureland and fields around the city. According to a Daniel Waddell, who witnessed the execution when he was 13 and interviewed about it at age 98, Hale was hung in an apple orchard belonging to a Henry Rutgers, which was just north of the city. Another true part of my version concerns Provost Marshall William Cunningham, who was chosen to carry out the execution. He was chosen specifically for this task because of this reputation of cruelty to American prisoners. It was Cunningham who refused to allow Hale to write to his family, or let him have access to a Bible which he requested.Whatever is believed, Nathan Hale's courage and conviction is remembered, and I hope his story will be told in classrooms all over America 100 years from now and beyond.If you would like to read the first two books of "The Patriot Trilogy," in which Nathan Hale and many other real people from the era of American independence are portrayed, they are available on my website at www.girlwiththebook.com. .
September 1, 2018
Restitution for Mrs. Dashwood in "Mrs. Dashwood Returns."
Despite the fact that "Pride and Prejudice" is the most popular Jane Austen novel, my favorite has always been "Sense and Sensibility." I love the dichotomy of the two sisters; complete opposites who ponder an essential question of their day, which was should you be sensible, or should you live a life letting your feeling and emotions rule. In the 18th century, being emotive was known as having a great deal of "sensibility."Austen renders her characters of Marianne Dashwood, the romantic one, and Elinor Dashwood, the logical and reasonable one, completely and beautifully. We also learn a great deal about their love interests John Willoughby, Colonel Brandon, and Edward Ferrars. 
Actress Janet McTeer as Mrs. Dashwood in the 2008 PBS production of "Sense and Sensibility."But there is a plethora of characters in this story that are known as "foils." Foils are minor characters that support the major ones. Of all the foils in S&S, my favorite has always been Mrs. Dashwood. And I always thought Mrs. Dashwood got what you would call in the vernacular "A bum rap."Why? Just look at the plot. The story begins with the tragedy of her losing her husband and her home. She is betrayed by her stepson through his greedy and evil wife, leaving her and her daughters nearly penniless. She is forced to move from Sussex to Devonshire (which if you look at a map of the U.K., you will see is a long way,) and live on the kindness of a relative.She also goes through the pain of watching her daughters get jilted; Elinor finds out Edward has been secretly engaged for five years. Then of course there are Marianne's travails with Willoughby. But for them, like in all Austin novels, things are retified in the end, and our heroines live happily ever after.But what about Mrs. Dashwood? Yes, it is implied she is happy with her daughters and their good luck to finally find husbands that they love, but what happens to her? It never sat right with me that John and Fanny Dashwood get to go on living and amassing wealth, and having absolutely no consequences for what they did to her and her family. The same goes for Willoughby. Sure, he doesn't love Sophia Gray, but he still comes out smelling like a rose if you ask me, living a life of luxury among the upper classes.In writing this sequel, I decided Mrs. Dashwood needed her "day in court." Anyone who treated Mrs. Dashwood and her girls ill does not fair well in the story. And while Mary Dashwood is a kind and forgiving women, she is human, and at times has difficulty with that forgiveness. She finds great wealth in the story, along with true love, after a few bumps here and there. So now, not only does Elinor and Marianne live happily ever after, so does their mother, which I felt was greatly deserved.Most of all, I wanted to portray her as a strong matriarch; a woman who loves her family deeply, and who isn't afraid to stand up for what is right, and what she believes in.
Actress Janet McTeer as Mrs. Dashwood in the 2008 PBS production of "Sense and Sensibility."But there is a plethora of characters in this story that are known as "foils." Foils are minor characters that support the major ones. Of all the foils in S&S, my favorite has always been Mrs. Dashwood. And I always thought Mrs. Dashwood got what you would call in the vernacular "A bum rap."Why? Just look at the plot. The story begins with the tragedy of her losing her husband and her home. She is betrayed by her stepson through his greedy and evil wife, leaving her and her daughters nearly penniless. She is forced to move from Sussex to Devonshire (which if you look at a map of the U.K., you will see is a long way,) and live on the kindness of a relative.She also goes through the pain of watching her daughters get jilted; Elinor finds out Edward has been secretly engaged for five years. Then of course there are Marianne's travails with Willoughby. But for them, like in all Austin novels, things are retified in the end, and our heroines live happily ever after.But what about Mrs. Dashwood? Yes, it is implied she is happy with her daughters and their good luck to finally find husbands that they love, but what happens to her? It never sat right with me that John and Fanny Dashwood get to go on living and amassing wealth, and having absolutely no consequences for what they did to her and her family. The same goes for Willoughby. Sure, he doesn't love Sophia Gray, but he still comes out smelling like a rose if you ask me, living a life of luxury among the upper classes.In writing this sequel, I decided Mrs. Dashwood needed her "day in court." Anyone who treated Mrs. Dashwood and her girls ill does not fair well in the story. And while Mary Dashwood is a kind and forgiving women, she is human, and at times has difficulty with that forgiveness. She finds great wealth in the story, along with true love, after a few bumps here and there. So now, not only does Elinor and Marianne live happily ever after, so does their mother, which I felt was greatly deserved.Most of all, I wanted to portray her as a strong matriarch; a woman who loves her family deeply, and who isn't afraid to stand up for what is right, and what she believes in.
August 13, 2018
That Dangerous Teenage Crush: The Joyce Carol Oates Influence in "Because You're the First
I honestly cannot remember a time when books were not a part of my life.So it was probably natural when I wrote my first book "Because You're the First" I wanted to write something around characters that were book lovers. I thought I would be fun to talk about some of the books, both old and new classics that were in the book.The first book talked about in the novel isn't really a book. It's actually a short story. "Where Are you Going, Where Are you From? was written by one of the most prolific writers of the modern era, Joyce Carol Oates. 
Joyce Carol OatesOates based this story on an actual event that occurred in Tucson in 1966. It was based on the tale of Charles Schmid, a 23 year old who cruised teen hangouts, picking up girls to ride in his gold convertible. Eventually, he murdered three of them. He was convicted of murder that same year. Oates connected Schmid's exploits to mythic legend and folk songs. The story was originally titled "Death and the Maiden," but Oates eventually concluded the title was too pompous, instead calling it "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?"The writer also eventually dedicated the story to Bob Dylan, since during the writing of the story she had been listening to Dylan's song "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue," which Joyce said struck her as "hauntingly elegiac," and similar to the tone in the story.The story was made into a film in 1985 called "Smooth Talk" staring Laura Dern as Connie, and Treat Williams as Arnold Friend. While the actors gave fair performances, the movie itself is overly drawn out and boring. Only about the last 20 minutes reflect Oate's actual story line. It still occasionally plays on various cable networks.
Connie and Arnold with the gold jalopy in "Smooth Talk"Played by Laura Dern and Treat WilliamsThe story is one of the most anthologized stories in college textbooks. Of course Oates doesn't come out and say Connie dies; in fact, you can interpret the story to mean many things, which I think is the reason so many literature teachers have their students read it. What does it really mean? If Connie doesn't really die physically, what happens?People often interpret Connie's going away with Arnold to mean a death of her innocence instead of a literal death; making the story more of a coming of age piece. That is where the teenage Kassandra takes it in "Because You're the First." When she reads the story, she interprets the gold jalopy and the young man driving it as a means to an end; a way of getting out of her teenage self and growing up. Plus Arnold is the personification of everything that is cool; dress, car, and music among them, and what teen girl doesn't want a "cool" boyfriend?Kassandra gets her wish in the "Because You're the First," finding her cool boyfriend in Cameron Martin. But like Connie, in the end Kassandra finds she may not be ready for what she gets into with a very lusty adolescent boy like Cameron, a common tale for many young girls, back 50 years ago, as well as now. "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been" chronicles the drama of growing up, as well as the risks. Every girl has a Cameron Martin at least one in her life, real of imagined. And once that happens, you're just never the same!!!
Available on Amazon.com and girlwiththebook.com.
Joyce Carol OatesOates based this story on an actual event that occurred in Tucson in 1966. It was based on the tale of Charles Schmid, a 23 year old who cruised teen hangouts, picking up girls to ride in his gold convertible. Eventually, he murdered three of them. He was convicted of murder that same year. Oates connected Schmid's exploits to mythic legend and folk songs. The story was originally titled "Death and the Maiden," but Oates eventually concluded the title was too pompous, instead calling it "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?"The writer also eventually dedicated the story to Bob Dylan, since during the writing of the story she had been listening to Dylan's song "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue," which Joyce said struck her as "hauntingly elegiac," and similar to the tone in the story.The story was made into a film in 1985 called "Smooth Talk" staring Laura Dern as Connie, and Treat Williams as Arnold Friend. While the actors gave fair performances, the movie itself is overly drawn out and boring. Only about the last 20 minutes reflect Oate's actual story line. It still occasionally plays on various cable networks.Connie and Arnold with the gold jalopy in "Smooth Talk"Played by Laura Dern and Treat WilliamsThe story is one of the most anthologized stories in college textbooks. Of course Oates doesn't come out and say Connie dies; in fact, you can interpret the story to mean many things, which I think is the reason so many literature teachers have their students read it. What does it really mean? If Connie doesn't really die physically, what happens?People often interpret Connie's going away with Arnold to mean a death of her innocence instead of a literal death; making the story more of a coming of age piece. That is where the teenage Kassandra takes it in "Because You're the First." When she reads the story, she interprets the gold jalopy and the young man driving it as a means to an end; a way of getting out of her teenage self and growing up. Plus Arnold is the personification of everything that is cool; dress, car, and music among them, and what teen girl doesn't want a "cool" boyfriend?Kassandra gets her wish in the "Because You're the First," finding her cool boyfriend in Cameron Martin. But like Connie, in the end Kassandra finds she may not be ready for what she gets into with a very lusty adolescent boy like Cameron, a common tale for many young girls, back 50 years ago, as well as now. "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been" chronicles the drama of growing up, as well as the risks. Every girl has a Cameron Martin at least one in her life, real of imagined. And once that happens, you're just never the same!!! Available on Amazon.com and girlwiththebook.com.
July 11, 2018
Legacy - Measuring a Writer's Success
How do we measure success? Sounds like a no-brainer, right? We measure success by reward. For many, that reward means greater wealth. If we do a good job and work hard, the money will come. For others, they measure the worth of their achievements in recognition by peers, or in a bigger picture, by accomplishing a wider acknowledgment known as fame.But not every writer makes a lot of money from the fruits of their labors. In truth, most of them do not. And most writers will not gain great notoriety. According to some estimates, the average independent author who writes a book (and that’s for any genre) only sells about 100 books. Ever. Some would say those writers are not a success. If your writing doesn’t make you rich, or make you the next Stephen King, that diminishes their worth. Some would say that would be a waste of time. The problem with this is many who wish to writer buy into this, and they simply stop writing if they can’t have “the brass ring.”
But let’s look at another yardstick to measure writer success. What about legacy?Writing to build a legacy doesn’t mean just writing a memoir, or an autobiography. It can mean writing anything the writer wishes. Writing, at its purest form, is artist expression. It is a mirror of the author’s memory, experience, interests, and view of the world. It has an intrinsic value far beyond the physical and the tangible.It has this special value because it survives, even after the person who writes it is gone. Copyright law in the United States dictates that a work is protected 50 years after the artist’s death, meaning that if your work is still in distribution, your heirs will reap any monetary benefits that could occur for quite a while.But I believe, even more important, is those you loved and that loved you will have a part of you that will survive at least for a few generations, if not more.Don’t get me wrong. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that before my time I wouldn’t like a little recognition from the wider world. Who doesn’t? But it’s certainly not my main purpose. When I’m gone, I like the idea that a part of myself will still be here. Creativity conveys the essence of our humanity. Through my words, I am glad mine will remain.
But let’s look at another yardstick to measure writer success. What about legacy?Writing to build a legacy doesn’t mean just writing a memoir, or an autobiography. It can mean writing anything the writer wishes. Writing, at its purest form, is artist expression. It is a mirror of the author’s memory, experience, interests, and view of the world. It has an intrinsic value far beyond the physical and the tangible.It has this special value because it survives, even after the person who writes it is gone. Copyright law in the United States dictates that a work is protected 50 years after the artist’s death, meaning that if your work is still in distribution, your heirs will reap any monetary benefits that could occur for quite a while.But I believe, even more important, is those you loved and that loved you will have a part of you that will survive at least for a few generations, if not more.Don’t get me wrong. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that before my time I wouldn’t like a little recognition from the wider world. Who doesn’t? But it’s certainly not my main purpose. When I’m gone, I like the idea that a part of myself will still be here. Creativity conveys the essence of our humanity. Through my words, I am glad mine will remain.
November 17, 2017
A Sonnet for My Mother
With the holidays once again bursting everywhere, like many of you, I get nostalgic for those I miss that are no longer here.It got me thinking about grief. They say loss heals with time, and I think that is true. The pain is nowhere as acute as in the beginning. But the rest remains. That is how it is with my mother, who died in 2013. We were so close we were like one person, so at her passing, it took me a long time to feel whole again.But she is still with me, especially right now. She loved the Christmas holidays. I think of her on a daily basis. I suspect I always will. 
Lately I have been doing more poetry, and I hope to put together a book of sonnets. Here is the first one I've written:I will cease to grieve for theeWhen sands no longer mingle with the seaWhen the brightest star in the darkest nightVanishes never to return to sightI will no longer hear your voiceWhen silence is the only choiceAnd every lark has lost its songLeaving not a soul to sing alongYou stay in each elusive cloudIn every sun the night does shroudIn every heart and memoryIn the life and breath you gave to me.And with time passing you'll remainTill my days ceaseAnd we refrain.I miss you Mom, now and always!
Lately I have been doing more poetry, and I hope to put together a book of sonnets. Here is the first one I've written:I will cease to grieve for theeWhen sands no longer mingle with the seaWhen the brightest star in the darkest nightVanishes never to return to sightI will no longer hear your voiceWhen silence is the only choiceAnd every lark has lost its songLeaving not a soul to sing alongYou stay in each elusive cloudIn every sun the night does shroudIn every heart and memoryIn the life and breath you gave to me.And with time passing you'll remainTill my days ceaseAnd we refrain.I miss you Mom, now and always!
November 7, 2017
Mishayla's Colors - Part I
The Little Voice It was one of those rare times in your life when everything felt golden. You’d been through the worst of it, and you’d come out shining. Nothing could touch you now. You got it. You’d learned. You knew how to navigate life’s land mines. I was 38. I had survived a gut retching divorce. My son, who was born five weeks premature and spent two weeks in the hospital, was now nine years old, and smart, healthy and thriving. I was married to a man I had fallen in love with at first sight. He was moving up in his dream job as the technical director of a theatre, and was well respected in his profession. We were finally able after renting for the last six years to buy a home. But for me, despite all this, there was one thing missing. I wanted another baby, to be a mother again. Or did I? I had dreams. I had never finished the Bachelor’s Degree I started so many years ago. I wanted to be able to make a decent living, and stop working low-paying clerical jobs. I was working part time as a program coordinator at the same theatre my husband worked in; meeting artists and writers and actors and people who lived the creative life. I wanted that life too. I had a lot of freedom. My ex-husband and I had joint custody of our son, so he spent a lot of time with his dad. I was not tied down, I could do whatever I wanted. But still, that little voice. You know the one. It’s like an endless whisper inside your head; a voracious craving that can only be fed in one way. It’s like the perpetual ocean riptide, pulling you under. You keep fighting, but it’s no use. I went to my gynecologist for the usual check-up, and to get my prescription for birth control pills. I mentioned I was thinking of getting pregnant. “Well, you better do it quick,” he said. “You’re high risk because of your age, not to mention you already had a premature birth. And you know the risk of Down Syndrome and other genetic diseases are higher. If you want another child, you’d better not delay.” I knew a bit about Down Syndrome. A coworker of mine had a daughter with it. I knew about the struggles she and her husband faced. Most of all, I knew about the heartbreak. While my friend loved her child, she was hurting. “This is a grief I will live with for the rest of my life,” she would tell me. “It’s a sadness that never goes away.” Sounded pretty bad. I loved my friend, and admired and respected her. I did not wish to be unkind, but…….. Oh my God!! I wouldn’t want to be her for all the tea in India. Saddled with an intellectually disabled kid. That’s a life sentence. Forget it. Life is tough enough. When I got home that night, I spoke with my husband. He said it was up to me whether I got pregnant or not. Tony was a workaholic in those days. The theatre was his life. He gave everything to that job. There were times when he would work 60-70 hour weeks. If I got pregnant, I would be on my own with this kid. When would I have time for my son? What about my own dreams? And what about the other? The D word? I was old enough. I would just have the genetic tests, and if the results were not good, well, I would know what to do. But even then, back in the day when I was vehemently pro-choice, the idea of an abortion was unthinkable for me, even though I did not, and still do not, judge others who made that choice. To put it in the vernacular, yuck. If there was one thing I knew about myself; I was very sensitive. Some had told me, particularly as a child, it was too much so. I cried over Hallmark commercials. I couldn’t live with myself if I had an abortion. So, I said forget it. Don’t make the boat rock. Life was good. Don’t screw it up. I opened my prescription, and took my pill.The Magic Elixir It was the holidays. At the theatre, which also functioned as a community center, we had just finished our Christmas shows and exhibitions. Things had gone well, and we were all riding high. It was a cause for celebration. We ventured to the Artistic Director’s house for a casual get together. Pot-luck, everybody brought something. The food was amazing, and the company was charming. And so was the liquor. My husband’s boss’ husband had this liqueur he had been saving for no particular reason, and considering the jubilance and seasonal joy we all felt, he said why not open it now? Now is as good a time as any. I took one sip. Now, number one, I never been much of a drinker. I hate feeling out of control, and I hate feeling, well, like I’m going to heave. I would rather die than throw up. All it took was too many Tequila Sunrises on a camping trip in high school, and that was it. But this stuff was special. It went down smooth like a Crown Royal, but was sweet like a Brandy Alexander. I asked what it was, he told me, but I only asked to be polite. I could have cared less. I had a second glass, then a third. I was floating on a cloud. I was the most beautiful woman in the room. I could do anything. I was Mary Poppins. Give me an umbrella, I going to jump off the roof and fly. I am not a stupid drunk that laughs uncontrollably, or gets nasty, or embarrasses myself by going into incoherent diatribes. I’m a contended drunk. I just sat in the corner, shit eating grin on my face, nodding my head to conversations I had no investment or interest in. No one asked me a question; I think they knew better. I was in my happy place so, leave me be. When we got home, I was still there. And I wanted to take that happy place up to the bedroom. When we were ready, my husband reached in his night table for a condom. This was because, after taking birth control pills for years and years with no problems, they were beginning to make me crazy. I felt like a raging bitch for no good reason, ready to kill everybody. I had no patience with my son, or my coworkers or my husband. The doctor couldn’t figure out why; he just told me to go off them. So, before I found myself being hauled to downtown Los Angeles to the county jail, I figured I’d better do as the doctor said. But then, what was left? Condoms. The old standby. But remember, I was in my happy place. I was flying high. Nothing could touch the invincible Mary Poppins. “To hell with those,” I told him. “I’m 38 years old. How fertile am I going to be? He looked up at me, perplexed. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yes, I’m sure. Nothing will happen.” He agreed. It was a magical night. And who needs a rubber in a perfect world? I would soon discover that I did. Bliss is not a viable form of birth control.
October 24, 2017
Weaned on Dodger Blue
When you grow up in Los Angeles, it's inevitable.You hate them when they lose, you love them when they win, you complain about them when they are not doing well.But they're a part of you. You bleed Dodger Blue all your life. I should know. I think my first trip to Dodger station was soon after moving from New England, which would have been at about seven years old. For a child, Dodger stadium is a magical place. You can play catch with the peanut man, eating those amazing Dodger dogs (still the best hotdog I ever ate), watch people scream and yell and cheer and lose their inhibitions. I was hooked. I went at least a few times every summer. Summer just wasn't summer with a Dodger game.Tonight, we are back in the World Series. I will be watching from my living room in Minnesota, 2500 miles away.But today I am remembering another World Series; one many call the forgotten World Series of 1974. I was there.I was 14. I was somewhere between a kid and a teenager. While I loved my parents, I didn't really relish hanging out with them all that much.Till my dad came home with World Series tickets. What could be cooler than going to the World Series? And all those cute players? I knew them all by heart: Steve Garvey, Ron Cey, Davy Lopes, Bill Russell, Bill Buckner and Steve Yeager; they were like members of our families.We knew the Dodgers had an uphill climb playing the Oakland Athletics in this first World Series consisting of all California teams. The A's were baseball royalty in the 1970s, winning several playoffs and series. Lead by Reggie Jackson, they were a mean green crew with such players as Catfish Hunter and the infamous Rolly Fingers, known as much for his massive handle bar mustache as his pitching. But we were the big blue machine. We could take 'em down.It was the first game of the series on a perfect Southern California Saturday afternoon. We climbed and climbed till we were at the very top of the stadium. Of course the players looked like ants up in that last row of the stadium, but we were shaded from the sun, and had a marvelous view of Chavez Ravine. We listened to Wayne Newton sing the National Anthem, and veteran player Roy Campanella threw out the first pitch to start the game.
The Los Angeles Dodgers, 1974We had our Dodger dogs, and our drinks, and we were set. The game was a nail-biter for sure, a tight contest with few runs. Reggie Jackson of the A's was on the board first with a solo homer in the top of the second off 20-game winner Andy Messersmith. The A's added another run in the fifth when starting pitcher Ken Holtzman doubled to left, went to third on a Messersmith wild pitch, and scored on a Bert Campaneris suicide squeeze buntThe Dodgers crept back with a run in their half of the fifth when Davey Lopes reached first on an error by shortstop Campaneris. Bill Buckner then bounced a single to right that Jackson misplayed, allowing Lopes to score.The A's scored their final run in the eighth when Campaneris singled to shallow center, was sacrificed to second by Bill North, and scored when Dodger third baseman Ron Cey threw wildly to first on a grounder hit by Sal Bando. Bando reached third on the error, and attempted to score on a flyout to right by Jackson, but right fielder Joe Ferguson gunned him down at the plate.In the bottom of the ninth, with Rollie Fingers on the mound, Jimmy Wynn hit a solo homer that just escaped the reach of Joe Rudi and North in left center. Catfish Hunter relieved Fingers and made the final out by striking out Ferguson. The game ended 3-2 in favor of the A's.It was a bummer they didn't win that game, and that they lost the series. But the day was a great one, one I would always remember. Not so much because of the game, but because I shared a great memory with my father and my brother. And that is what baseball is all about. Bringing families together to have a great time, and to make great memories.I am sure many families will be doing that tonight at Chavez Ravine as we did 43 years ago. All I can say is:HAVE A GREAT TIME AND GO DODGER BLUE!!!!
The Los Angeles Dodgers, 1974We had our Dodger dogs, and our drinks, and we were set. The game was a nail-biter for sure, a tight contest with few runs. Reggie Jackson of the A's was on the board first with a solo homer in the top of the second off 20-game winner Andy Messersmith. The A's added another run in the fifth when starting pitcher Ken Holtzman doubled to left, went to third on a Messersmith wild pitch, and scored on a Bert Campaneris suicide squeeze buntThe Dodgers crept back with a run in their half of the fifth when Davey Lopes reached first on an error by shortstop Campaneris. Bill Buckner then bounced a single to right that Jackson misplayed, allowing Lopes to score.The A's scored their final run in the eighth when Campaneris singled to shallow center, was sacrificed to second by Bill North, and scored when Dodger third baseman Ron Cey threw wildly to first on a grounder hit by Sal Bando. Bando reached third on the error, and attempted to score on a flyout to right by Jackson, but right fielder Joe Ferguson gunned him down at the plate.In the bottom of the ninth, with Rollie Fingers on the mound, Jimmy Wynn hit a solo homer that just escaped the reach of Joe Rudi and North in left center. Catfish Hunter relieved Fingers and made the final out by striking out Ferguson. The game ended 3-2 in favor of the A's.It was a bummer they didn't win that game, and that they lost the series. But the day was a great one, one I would always remember. Not so much because of the game, but because I shared a great memory with my father and my brother. And that is what baseball is all about. Bringing families together to have a great time, and to make great memories.I am sure many families will be doing that tonight at Chavez Ravine as we did 43 years ago. All I can say is:HAVE A GREAT TIME AND GO DODGER BLUE!!!!
Postcards from Lombardi's Pumpkin Patch
Everyone has a different way to commemorate the fall season. Here in Minnesota, we drive down miles of rural roads covered with amazing foliage that looks to be washed with a paintbrush. Shimmering gold, red and pink leaves dance in cool breezes. We drag out our boots and sweaters, and get ready for the winter that is to come.But what do you do when you live in a place like, let's say, Los Angeles, which I did for most of my life. Very few of the trees turn. It's generally still warm, if not downright hot. It still feels more like summer than what fall is traditionally supposed to fell like.So how does one get in the fall mood? We went to Lombardi's Pumpkin Patch in Santa Clarita.
Lombardi's opened in the mid 1960s, before Santa Clarita was an incorporated city. Up in the hills of Bouquet Canyon in a area called Saugus was a small farm that had year round fresh fruits and vegetables. But what they were most famous for was their fall festival, which includes miles of pumpkins for purchase, tractors for children to climb on, petty zoos, pony rides, and of course the traditional corn maze. It was a Southern California fall essential. Before I had kids, I went to get a pumpkin to carve for the Halloween Party contests and to just soak up the general enthusiasm. But after my son was born, and my daughter 10 years later, Lombardi's was even more special. It was the place we took Jared for his first pumpkin. He loved to climb on the tractors and go in the corn mazes. Most every fall, we would head out on a weekend morning, before the fall heat descended upon the desert climate, and celebrated the season. Fall would just not be fall without it.
Jared's First Pumpkin, carved with love by his dad, Scott RosoffAnother great thing about Lombardi's was it was a great photo-op. In the mid-1990s I entered several of my photographs in local art shows, and many of the pictures were taken during the festival. They were mostly of my daughter, Mishayla Rose, but I also did many photos of other people's children. Also, I loved the fields of tall sunflowers that covered the landscape. I tried to grow them here in Minnesota, but they become deer food before leaving the seedling stage. 
When I heard in 2015 that Lombardi's was closing because of California's draught, I felt sad. In our hearts we yearned for the things in our memories to remain untainted by time. It is also nice to think that many generations would be able to enjoy what you did with your own family. It was not meant to be.I saw an article online last week that Lombardi's was going to open briefly for the community over the last weekend. I was very happy to hear this. I'm sure it was a great opportunity for the children who went there to take their own children to experience the fun, and to make those great memories. And who knows? With a little luck, and a little rain, maybe things will grow again at Lombardi's Ranch. For the best things to grow in life are the memories you keep in your heart always! I know Lombardi's will always be a big part of mine when I remember those days!!
A young gentlemen in the pumpkin patch
Baby Mishayla on her first trip to Lombardi's
May all your fall memories be wonderful!!
Lombardi's opened in the mid 1960s, before Santa Clarita was an incorporated city. Up in the hills of Bouquet Canyon in a area called Saugus was a small farm that had year round fresh fruits and vegetables. But what they were most famous for was their fall festival, which includes miles of pumpkins for purchase, tractors for children to climb on, petty zoos, pony rides, and of course the traditional corn maze. It was a Southern California fall essential. Before I had kids, I went to get a pumpkin to carve for the Halloween Party contests and to just soak up the general enthusiasm. But after my son was born, and my daughter 10 years later, Lombardi's was even more special. It was the place we took Jared for his first pumpkin. He loved to climb on the tractors and go in the corn mazes. Most every fall, we would head out on a weekend morning, before the fall heat descended upon the desert climate, and celebrated the season. Fall would just not be fall without it. Jared's First Pumpkin, carved with love by his dad, Scott RosoffAnother great thing about Lombardi's was it was a great photo-op. In the mid-1990s I entered several of my photographs in local art shows, and many of the pictures were taken during the festival. They were mostly of my daughter, Mishayla Rose, but I also did many photos of other people's children. Also, I loved the fields of tall sunflowers that covered the landscape. I tried to grow them here in Minnesota, but they become deer food before leaving the seedling stage. When I heard in 2015 that Lombardi's was closing because of California's draught, I felt sad. In our hearts we yearned for the things in our memories to remain untainted by time. It is also nice to think that many generations would be able to enjoy what you did with your own family. It was not meant to be.I saw an article online last week that Lombardi's was going to open briefly for the community over the last weekend. I was very happy to hear this. I'm sure it was a great opportunity for the children who went there to take their own children to experience the fun, and to make those great memories. And who knows? With a little luck, and a little rain, maybe things will grow again at Lombardi's Ranch. For the best things to grow in life are the memories you keep in your heart always! I know Lombardi's will always be a big part of mine when I remember those days!!A young gentlemen in the pumpkin patchBaby Mishayla on her first trip to Lombardi'sMay all your fall memories be wonderful!!
October 12, 2017
A Literature Teacher's Guide to the 10 Best Historical Novels Ever!!
Here's the list: East of Eden by John Steinbeck – Published 1952To me, a truly great book is organic, meaning it changes as the reader changes.I first read this book when I was in my 20s.I loved it then, but for different reasons.Re-reading it in my 50s was a completely different experience.Steinbeck takes the reader from the Civil War era to early 20th century California in this story about the lives of two generations of brothers in this family saga.He imbibes the setting of Salinas, California with the novel’s biblical theme of good and evil, making the imagery rich and succulent. California comes alive on the page; the sounds and smells overwhelming the psyche.The characters are literary perfection; hopelessly flawed; permeated with promise as well as tragedy.Adam Trask, his brother Charles Trask, and Adam’s sons Cal and Aaron live their lives in a circumference of one woman, who embodies both good and evil to the detriment of all that encounter her.She is a true chameleon; a Satanic figure that spits venom and sweetness.In the end, Steinbeck lets the reader decide what is good, and what is evil in this work written later in his career.This novel becomes a part of you, you will remember it forever.That, in my estimation, is what great literature does.Roots by Alex Haley – Published 1976This book, with all the controversy behind it, is still one of the only books that tells the story of the human journey of Africans being brought to America as slaves with honesty and without falsehoods and embellishments.It was the first time many white Americans got a clear view into the barbarism, hatred, and oppression that these people faced when they were brought to America against their will; told from the point of view of the men and women who lived it.Haley put a human face on his characters; letting the reader experience their strife, suffering, and as times goes by, their joys and triumphs.The story inspires every emotion; you’ll find yourself cringing, crying, laughing, and looking at our African-American brothers and sisters with a greater empathy and understanding.Poldark by Winston Graham – Published 1945The Poldark novels (there are 12) are similar to “East of Eden” in the sense that setting acts as character. That setting is Cornwall, with its rocky coasts and raging ocean breakers.It is the center of life of all its inhabitants, who run the gamut between dirt poor and moderately wealthy.The first novel introduces Ross Poldark, a captain in the army returning home from fighting in the American Revolutionary war.Ross comes home to some unpleasant surprises; his father is dead, the girl he loved is marrying his cousin, and his ancestral home is filled with inebriated servants and barnyard animals.But Ross Poldark is no ordinary guy.He is a rebel; a 18th century Robin Hood whose strength of character enables him to buck his own class at every turn.This rebellion includes marrying a girl he hires as a maid to save her from her abusive father, and standing up for the lower-class poor that work in his mines.The 12 novels that span from 1783 to 1820 are rife with history of both England and France.But what endures me to these novels are beautifully rendered characters of every kind.Rich, poor, stupid, brilliant and beyond grace these pages.You are pulled into their lives, and will be compelled to see how it all turns out, right to the last page of the last novel.Outlander by Diana Galbadon – Published 1991Diana Galbadon’s story of Claire Beechum Randall, a brave and gutsy World War II nurse who encounters the ancient stones on Scotland’s Craig na Dun and is accidentally drawn in by their mysterious forces, transporting her back 200 years, is enjoying great popularity due to the television show.But these novels stand on their own merits.Claire is strong and tender and most of all smart, using her nursing skills to transform herself into a healer to survive in the brutal and sometimes barbaric environment of the 1740s Scotland that she is transport to.But what brings the true beauty to this novel is the unexpected and passionate love Claire encounters with Jamie Fraser, a young Scottish Highlander.Galbadon takes you on a journey, not only through 18th century Scotland, but through the ups and downs of a once in a lifetime love that cannot be broken, even by time.There are eight of these novels, but I recommended the first four as the best.My only complaint is that the writer tends to write pages and pages of description, which makes the books drag in certain parts.But the story of Jamie and Claire and their adventures make it worth it.We all wish to believe love can endure anything, and the hero and heroine of Outlander feeds that need in all of us.Through a Glass Darkly by Karleen Koen – Published 1986Koen’s novel set in early 18th century England launched Koen into the stratosphere in the late 1980s, paying her an unprecedented advance at the time of $350,000.00.It was money well spent.The protagonist, 15-year- old Barbara Alderly, is catapulted into the aristocratic world of excess and debauchery when she marries the very much senior Earl Devane.We watch young Barbara go from a sweet and trusting innocent girl to one whose world is shattered by a cruel and ugly one she had no idea existed.She grows up quickly, coming into her own in just a few short years, right before what is known as the South Sea Bubble takes place, which caused an economic crisis in Britain in 1720 that nearly bankrupted the government, sending many in the aristocracy to the poorhouse. The author can depict Barbara’s emotions so well that the readers feels every triumph and every ache as if it were their own.We experience her growth from a child to a woman in a very personal way.Also, the extensive research Koen did conveys the period to the reader in a way you would swear you were there.One of the best historical fiction reads ever! The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory – Published 2001I’ve been a big fan of Gregory’s novels ever since I first read Wideacre, published back in 1987. The Other Boleyn Girl is by far her best. The novel is told from the point of view of Mary Boleyn,older sister of future queen Anne Boleyn. Henry VIII’s mistress before Anne, the story depictsthe victimization and vulnerability of women in the Tudor aristocracy. When Henry wanted analready married Mary Boleyn for his mistress, she or her husband had little choice in the matter. Henry got what he wanted. After Mary bears Henry two children (one of them a son) she falls in love with the King, only to be cast aside by the jealous and competitive Anne, who lures the King into her trap with her charms. But once Mary recovers, she realizes what she truly wants is a normal life, and moves away from court.But being the sister of Anne Boleyn does not allow for such normalcy. Mary ends up having a ringside seat to the rise of her sister as Queen of England, as well as her demise, and the demise of her once powerful family. I loved this book so much I read it in just one sitting (some 600 pages) one New Year’s Eve after my husband and daughter fell asleep. It does what a great historical fiction read should do; immerses you in another time while it teaches you about the period. Don’t miss it!! America’s First Daughter by Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoie – Published 2016 It is not easy to find really great fiction set during the Revolutionary War period, but this book nails It. The story follows Martha Jefferson Randolph, daughter of Thomas and Martha Jefferson, through her turbulent life. Martha’s unconventional feelings and relationship with her father touched every part of her life, which included her relationship with Sally Hemings, her own brothers and sisters, as well as her difficult and jealous spouse Thomas Mann Randolph. Written from Martha’s POV, we experience her love hate relationship with her physically and emotionally absent father. Martha is a smart and intense woman whose first priority is protecting her father and his legacy, often at the cost of everything else in her life. Another great page turner that will endear you to the heart of this wonderful character. Benjamin Franklin’s Bastard by Sally Cabot – Published 2013This novel chronicles the life of William Franklin, the son of Ben Franklin and his mistress Anne. The boy is raised by Franklin’s wife Deborah, who resents the boy at every turn. Williamgrows up to take his own path, a path opposite of his father’s, and he eventually becomes the loyalist governor of New Jersey. Cabot’s characters inspire strong emotions in us, along withgiving clear insights into the very common conflicts that emerged between families during the American Revolution. We get to know both father and son with all their gifts and flaws alike.Another great title that combines great history with great people living in it.Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell – Published 1936What list of historical fiction books would be complete without this timeless classic? Scarlett O”Hara is one of the most recognized and revered characters not only in this genre, but in fiction itself. We love her, we pity her, we hate her, along with her foils; the perfect Melanie, the bratty Sue-Ellen, the weak Charles and Frank, the whimsical Ashley, and of course, Rhett Butler, the dynamic character who turns from rake to hero on a dime. As the Civil War churns its turbulent winds about them, they witness the end of the old southern lifestyle and learn how to survive in a whole new world. This book doesn’t need a recommendation. Everyone who loves this genre should read it, period.The Magic of Ordinary Days by Ann Howard Creel – Published 2002This book has a similar theme to Outlander in how it depicts a young man and woman who come together during extraordinary times as strangers that eventually grow to love each other. Olivia, a graduate student, gets pregnant after a one nighter with a soldier during World War II. Her fierce minister father arranges a marriage for her to a young farmer that lives away from her Denver home on eastern Colorado’s desolate plains. Married to a man she doesn’t know or understand, she seeks solace in other things. But even in this small quiet town, the war and its repercussions touch their lives when she makes friends with two Japanese girls who work on her husband’s farm while living in an internment camp. Olivia, driven by loneliness and isolation, unwittingly becomes mixed up in their illegal activities. She encounters betrayal all around her, until she finally sees that the love she needs is right in front of her all the time. Creel depicts that period well with descriptions of historical events, including details of the internment camp. A warm fuzzy of a book set in a time everyone should be familiar with.Happy reading and learning!!
The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory – Published 2001I’ve been a big fan of Gregory’s novels ever since I first read Wideacre, published back in 1987. The Other Boleyn Girl is by far her best. The novel is told from the point of view of Mary Boleyn,older sister of future queen Anne Boleyn. Henry VIII’s mistress before Anne, the story depictsthe victimization and vulnerability of women in the Tudor aristocracy. When Henry wanted analready married Mary Boleyn for his mistress, she or her husband had little choice in the matter. Henry got what he wanted. After Mary bears Henry two children (one of them a son) she falls in love with the King, only to be cast aside by the jealous and competitive Anne, who lures the King into her trap with her charms. But once Mary recovers, she realizes what she truly wants is a normal life, and moves away from court.But being the sister of Anne Boleyn does not allow for such normalcy. Mary ends up having a ringside seat to the rise of her sister as Queen of England, as well as her demise, and the demise of her once powerful family. I loved this book so much I read it in just one sitting (some 600 pages) one New Year’s Eve after my husband and daughter fell asleep. It does what a great historical fiction read should do; immerses you in another time while it teaches you about the period. Don’t miss it!! America’s First Daughter by Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoie – Published 2016 It is not easy to find really great fiction set during the Revolutionary War period, but this book nails It. The story follows Martha Jefferson Randolph, daughter of Thomas and Martha Jefferson, through her turbulent life. Martha’s unconventional feelings and relationship with her father touched every part of her life, which included her relationship with Sally Hemings, her own brothers and sisters, as well as her difficult and jealous spouse Thomas Mann Randolph. Written from Martha’s POV, we experience her love hate relationship with her physically and emotionally absent father. Martha is a smart and intense woman whose first priority is protecting her father and his legacy, often at the cost of everything else in her life. Another great page turner that will endear you to the heart of this wonderful character. Benjamin Franklin’s Bastard by Sally Cabot – Published 2013This novel chronicles the life of William Franklin, the son of Ben Franklin and his mistress Anne. The boy is raised by Franklin’s wife Deborah, who resents the boy at every turn. Williamgrows up to take his own path, a path opposite of his father’s, and he eventually becomes the loyalist governor of New Jersey. Cabot’s characters inspire strong emotions in us, along withgiving clear insights into the very common conflicts that emerged between families during the American Revolution. We get to know both father and son with all their gifts and flaws alike.Another great title that combines great history with great people living in it.Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell – Published 1936What list of historical fiction books would be complete without this timeless classic? Scarlett O”Hara is one of the most recognized and revered characters not only in this genre, but in fiction itself. We love her, we pity her, we hate her, along with her foils; the perfect Melanie, the bratty Sue-Ellen, the weak Charles and Frank, the whimsical Ashley, and of course, Rhett Butler, the dynamic character who turns from rake to hero on a dime. As the Civil War churns its turbulent winds about them, they witness the end of the old southern lifestyle and learn how to survive in a whole new world. This book doesn’t need a recommendation. Everyone who loves this genre should read it, period.The Magic of Ordinary Days by Ann Howard Creel – Published 2002This book has a similar theme to Outlander in how it depicts a young man and woman who come together during extraordinary times as strangers that eventually grow to love each other. Olivia, a graduate student, gets pregnant after a one nighter with a soldier during World War II. Her fierce minister father arranges a marriage for her to a young farmer that lives away from her Denver home on eastern Colorado’s desolate plains. Married to a man she doesn’t know or understand, she seeks solace in other things. But even in this small quiet town, the war and its repercussions touch their lives when she makes friends with two Japanese girls who work on her husband’s farm while living in an internment camp. Olivia, driven by loneliness and isolation, unwittingly becomes mixed up in their illegal activities. She encounters betrayal all around her, until she finally sees that the love she needs is right in front of her all the time. Creel depicts that period well with descriptions of historical events, including details of the internment camp. A warm fuzzy of a book set in a time everyone should be familiar with.Happy reading and learning!!
