Years ago, when I was drafting “Between Silk & Wool”, people would ask me why I wanted to write about WWII. Hadn’t everything about the war been excavated already? Was there anything new to say?
The question was posed sincerely, with genuine curiosity. WWII literature is a canon unto itself, and the challenge of telling a familiar story from a different angle wasn’t lost on me. Did I have something different to reveal to the reader? My research had surprised and intrigued me. Would my characters be strong enough to surprise and intrigue readers?
These were my hopes a year ago when “Between Silk and Wool” was released. Since then, what a whirlwind it has been to meet readers and hear their insights about what the story meant to them. I had hoped the novel would touch readers; I never imagined the degree to which I would be on the receiving end of so many letters and personal stories.
Read MoreThe first day of school has always been so full of emotion for me. As a teacher, the night before meeting my new students, my stomach would be in knots that would not release until the last person filed out of the classroom and I could lay my head on the desk for a moment and breathe. Thank you God, we all survived. I was never a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants teacher. Extreme preparedness was my armour, because somehow in the back of my mind I must have believed the classroom was some kind of battleground. In the evening after the first day, I’d always crave KFC; fried food is good for an unsettled stomach, right? It was an unapologetic indulgence I’d earned having survived that first day of teenagers, whom, to my knowledge, didn’t hate me. And, as much as it is embarrassing to admit, no matter what lofty ambitions I might have had about what I was going to teach, I was still very much like a child who just wanted to live through the day, hoping to make a connection and not an enemy. I wanted to be liked.
Years later, without a classroom of my own, the first day of school is still kind of painful.
Read More1.) There is no one way.
How could there be? This is so obvious I’m going to skip ahead to number two.
2.) There is no timeline.
I hardly dare to write this post because what wisdom could I possibly have to share given the limited time I’ve spent on earth? Pre-Covid I spent many beautiful afternoons with a ninety-eight year old woman and drank in her ten decades of wisdom. So let me say a few things as someone who has taken voracious notes, and hopes to live long enough to test these theories in the future.
There is no timeline for learning how to be a woman. I mean, we are born female and we die female and figuring out what that means isn’t a 100 metre dash towards a clear finish line. You may think you have the answer at 35 only to completely revise your stance at 55. Who you are at 18 may not be who you are at 88.
So take your time becoming. I know some love to speak of the maiden, mother and crone trichotomy, but I also know women whose hair is white and whose eyes sparkle like a child’s with the delight of having discovered something new and amazing.
Take your time learning all the ways to be a woman.
Read More