Write Now: Ron Rash and The Cove

I had the opportunity to hear Ron Rash speak at the Spartanburg County Library. He has been on a book tour for five weeks and was extremely happy to be back in the South, where nobody asks him to just say something so they can hear his accent. After all, we speak his language.

His previous novel, Serena, is being made into a major motion picture. The screenwriter asked if the Toby Jones, who portrays the sheriff could speak with Ron. When they spoke, Ron kept waiting for questions about the character, but it was just a conversation. Toby asked if there were any youtube videos of Ron speaking. It was all about the accent.

I love to hear authors discuss the way the writing process works for them. For Ron, it begins with an image. He doesn't outline and he has many pages that don't make the novel.

He also applauded our local press, HubCity Press. They offer many wonderful titles, workshops and readings. They also have a bookstore, where the staff is extremely knowledgeable and always helpful.

Superstition surrounds Laurel Shelton, a beautiful young woman with a port wine birthmark, which the townspeople are sure is a sign of misfortune. Since moving to the cove in this small town, her parents have died and her brother has returned from the war minus his hand.

She's also a bright girl, but had been asked to leave school before graduation. Books and her beloved teacher were her only friends.

She remains at the small homestead within the cove as her brother prepares the home for his new bride to be. Laurel is excited and concerned about sharing her home with another woman. She wonders how they will divide the daily tasks of cooking and cleaning.

One day while doing the wash, the melodic sounds from a flute come with the breeze. She searches and finds a stranger in the woods.

Laurel isn't the only person with a secret. Her brother has one. The stranger has one. And then of course there is Chauncey Feith, the local serviceman who has never seen combat, but is ready to persuade the young men of the area to enlist. Chauncey claims his skills are more important at home.

And then of course there is the biggest secret of all, what did the man from the TVA find in the well?

It is definitely a wonderful book to add to your summer reading list. I loved it so much that I went out and also got Rash's book, Serena. And so far it is just as captivating.

Widow's Walk: Bougainvillea Blossoms

My late husband, Mike, spent much of his childhood in Dakar, Senegal, which is located at the far left tip of Africa. His parents were missionaries and they worked with the local orphanage as well as the school that taught the children of those serving in the mission. This was one of the greatest times of Mike's life. He loved Africa and considered it home.

When we first started dating, he talked of the beautiful bougainvilleas that would line the fences and walls of the city. He told me it was his favorite flower and he was sad because you couldn't grow them here in our climate.

Well, I am the daughter of an avid gardener and I knew that you could grow them because my mother had. True they are not hearty and you often have to replace them each year unless you put forth the time and effort throughout the fall and winter to keep them safe.

The year we got married, I bought Mike one that we put in a large planter on our back deck. It was glorious full of lovely pink flowers all summer and part of the fall. When it got cold, we put it under the deck.

The next year as a new widow, I went to retrieve it, but sadly it did not make it either. I told a friend about it and she surprised me with one. It only had a few blossoms, but it was pretty. I put it in the planter and cared for it faithfully. The blossoms dropped off. Throughout the summer, the bush would only produce a few flowers, not the cascade of the plant the year before.

I was sad and so was the bougainvillea, maybe it sensed my melancholy. Until now, I've been scared to buy another one. I just couldn't handle another temperamental plant, but I'm ready to try again.

Sunday Dinner: Green Beans and the Singer Sewing Machine

Sometimes on Saturday evenings, Grandmother would sit on her front porch snapping beans for the next day's dinner. The house was a small mill house, four rooms originally, with a bathroom added later. Every room intersected with one another and she actually had two front doors until Papa had one of the doors blocked in and converted to a window.

For some reason, I was with her that evening, just the two of us, which was unusual. If she had one, she usually had my other three siblings as well. I'm not sure what made me ask, the innocence of childhood or possibly overhearing again how this might be Grandmother's last year. According to my Mom and her siblings, Grandmother would never live to see the next Christmas. I think this went on for nearly thirty years. I asked her about her sewing machine. It is the old type, no electricity, just a foot pedal that makes it move. I loved that sewing machine. I could remember sitting at her feet, watching the pedal totter back and forth listening to the hum as the thread stitched the fabric. I asked her if I could have it when she died.

She laughed at me and asked me if I thought she was going anywhere anytime soon. And of course I told her no, but then she said of course I could have it. A few laters, her daughter asked for the sewing machine and Grandmother informed her I had requested it when I was ten. The family got a good laugh, but Grandmother saved it for me. Now it sits in my living room and I use it mostly as a table top. I have an electric sewing machine for the rare occasion when I must sew something.

I must confess that I often used canned green beans, but there is a trick to making them taste good. First you must drain off all the water and rinse them thoroughly. Place them in a saucepan and add fresh water about halfway to the top of the beans. Add a beef bouillon cube and simmer. Adding fatback is the typical Southern tradition, but I've found that the bouillon gives it a nice flavor without the added fat. My family loves them this way.

Write Now: Review of The Iguana Tree

The Iguana Tree is the story of a young couple desperate to live the American dream. Hector comes to the United States first and it is a terrifying ordeal, but he finds himself safe and working on a tree farm in the lower part of South Carolina, while his wife and daughter remain in Mexico.

His wife, Lilia grows anxious and makes her own arrangements to follow her husband.This is the first conflict between husband and wife and the struggle of the sexes of a woman's need for love verses a man's need for respect.

This is all I can feel that I can safely summarize without ruining the story for you. As a woman writer, I am always intrigued by women authors who can write from a man's perspective that feels genuine. When I try to write from a man's point of view, it seems more like a woman trying to talk like a man.

Ms. Stone shows the difficulty of the language barrier as Hector attempts to find his place with his new employer, who was not thrilled to understand that Hector does not speak English. Hector finds a Spanish English dictionary and immediately studies the language. He is on a quest to make a better life for his family.

There is a large Latino community here in the South. I never really thought about what those illegally here must face. The Iguana Tree made me think about these people that I see on the streets everyday. I've heard so many complain about how they should learn English, and they should, but there should also be compassion and brotherly love. Most Americans live here because their ancestors came to America looking for a better life.

My only criticism is that the novel ended too soon. I hope that there will possibly be a sequel so that we come to know the rest of the story of Hector and Lilia.

Widow's Walk: Coffee and Airplanes

They say there are five stages of grief. This alludes to the idea that grief is orderly and follows a path. It doesn't. Grief is messy. I think of grief as being like the ocean, sometimes the waves are soft, warm, almost comforting and other times it is like a hurricane is coming and you're drowning. And of course there is the in between.

When a spouse dies, there is so much to be done. And you can hide for a little while from it. But then you go home, and you're alone. He's not there. At first, the memories overwhelm you and make you feel uncomfortable. Loneliness sets in.

A lady who I go to church with lost her husband last year in an automobile accident. It was terrible. I found out that she was sitting on the side of the road where the accident happened on the one year anniversary. My heart went out to her. I can empathize with her grief, but everyone reacts to grief differently.

For me sometimes when I miss Mike, I will do things that remind me of him. He loved fresh coffee. I'm not a big coffee drinker but I do love the way it smells. Sometimes I'll go buy a cup and ride out to the park where we used to sit when he needed to get out of the house. We'd park in the handicap parking spot and just look at the pond, the ducks, and the people. It gave him a change of scenery and made him feel better.

Airplanes in the sky also seem to be a message of "I love you" from him. Flying was a passion of Mike's. There was a small airport near our home and we would often go park and watch the planes land or take off. It made him feel better. When I see a plane against a blue sky with white, billowy clouds I can't help but think of my Mike and it makes me smile.