Author Archive

Songs for Sighing

Oct
2013
10

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My new novel, Songs for Sighing, is just out as an ebook. I hope everyone, well, hundreds of people, will buy it. If enough copies are sold in the first few months to start a buzz, there’s a good chance it may also come out as a hard print book, which many of us love. Ebooks are cheap and convenient, a good way to decide whether we want a hard copy to keep on our shelves. Lots of us still want to smell the ink, riffle the pages, keep a finger in a favorite spot, sneak a peek at the last page or two. Thanks goodness we can have both. So what is Songs for Sighing about? It’s two women, an unschooled Indian villager and an American professional woman who comes to live in India with her family. Their lives entwine for a few years, then separate again and each follows her own path, stronger for the lessons she learned by observing and talking with the other. Read the first 30 pages by clicking on this link, and find you can’t stop with that. Songs for Sighing: “The dove croons country tunes; the nightingale serenades.”

September

Sep
2013
25

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September is almost over, and we’re having an early Indian Summer. That’s fair enough because August is the hottest month of the year – but not this year. There were mornings when we put the heat on for several hours — in August! I felt cheated. But now, autumn has been postponed. We’ve enjoyed pristine mornings, when the sun caresses the very tops of the trees and turns them bright green again, then hides behind the puffs of clouds and plays peek-a-boo, like a Victorian lady with her fan. After a bit, she gives up the game and slides down the trees to the very roots. These are shirt-sleeve days, and once again the campus is populated by students and faculty in shorts. October: back to normal. The lawn is blanketed in dead leaves, brown, yellow, even an occasional true red. The wind must have brought that from a distant maple tree. Every day our deck is littered with bits of black soil, for squirrels are busy burying their nuts in our pots of rose bushes and geraniums. Farmers are beginning to scatter the seeds for their winter wheat, then quickly plowing it under before the flocks of migrating birds can clean it all up. This is what makes Ansgar, the hero of my Sawdust House novel, regard farming as holy: an endless cycle of death, always with the promise of rebirth, renewal.