You see someone every day. You’ve never spoken to him or her, but you’ve already you’ve formed some basic opinions. Then one day, you strike up a conversation and discover .. well .. you might need to reconsider your perception skills.
Bruce
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Chapter 10: The Man Behind the Computer Screen
Brooke wasn’t showing up at The Clover until after eight these days. None of her real estate clients wanted to see homes until at least ten, and the owners needed time to get ready. So if she got to the office around nine, she was still the first one in. Blair had suggested how eight […]
My First Novel: About Chapter 9
Parents. We do love them so much, but sometimes you wish they came with an off switch. We know it all comes from a good place (well, most of the time), so we cope with unsolicited life advice – and the occasional unrequested rearranging of furniture – because, hey, they’re our parents.
Chapter 9: And on the Seventh Day, They Nagged
“Prepare your hearts for worship,” came the call from the new minister. Brooke was seated in the family pew, near the front, across the aisle from the one she had crawled under during her great-grandmother’s funeral. Her mother let her stay under the pew that day. At least curled up in a ball their little […]
My First Novel: About Chapter 8
“Everyone is different” has become pretty much a platitude these days. It’s just how different is the issue. Maybe your thing is to always wear bow ties or lavender stockings. Or both! Or maybe your “different” goes deeper than that.
Chapter 8: A Right-Brained Girl in a Left-Brained World
The Clover was usually empty in the very early morning. Business regulars would start coming in around eight (they didn’t need to be uptown until nine). Artists never arrived until at least ten, unless they were like Dorothy and there weren’t many of them. So it was a surprise on the morning Brooke arrived to […]
A Thanksgiving I Will Never Forget
I’ll never forget my first Thanksgiving away from home. After only a few months of work, I was promoted to an assignment in the home office; told to report, bright and early, on the first Monday of November. The year was 1963, and my career was off to a good start.
My First Novel: About Chapter 7
Objects have power. They can represent who you are, where you’ve been, and can elicit all sorts of memories. They don’t have to be luxury items. In fact, they rarely are. They can be as simple as a coffee cup – or a paintbrush. Brooke is no stranger to these objects.
Chapter 7: Tales of the Pacific Northwest – and Big Dogs
The Clover Café opened at six, or thereabouts. The faded red sign, where a black felt-tip wrote in the hours, had fallen behind a case near the door years ago. These days the hours seemed to be, “We’re open when we’re open – not when we’re not.”
My First Novel: About Chapter 6
Things move so fast these days, we no longer can wait for “full generations” to label people. We now have micro-generations. Each having their unique history and values. The most notable are the Xennials, aka the “Oregon Trail Generation“ …