I then got some of the story written. But not much. And it has languished on my desktop ever since. But I don't want it to languish. I really do believe that it is a good story worth telling. So, I am asking for your help. I want you to hold my feet to the fire.
I am going to post the story, beginning to end, as I write it. I hope you will comment on what you read and let me know when it has been too long between postings. So, here goes:
Note to the Reader:
If you are looking for a story with wizards or faeries or prophesies and other worlds, this is not the book for you. There are many fine books with those ingredients and I am sure the local librarian or bookstore clerk can direct you to some fine choices from these categories. This book would not be in that particular section of the store or library. This story is set firmly in this world and the people in it are flesh and blood and mortal. (far too mortal) They have no spells, no magic charms, no cloaks of invisibility, no magical powers.
Unless, of course, you consider the power of love to be magical. If so, then don’t put this book down quite yet. There just might be something here for you, after all.
by Chris and Isabel Dawson
by Chris and Isabel Dawson
Katherine loved stories almost more than life itself. As a child she used to tell people, “stories are like oxygen to me—if I don’t get them, I will die.” People always thought she was kidding, but she wasn’t. She was born at a time when people were out of work, banks were failing, and stories were far more plentiful then jobs or cash, though most of them were sad.
Her family made it through the hard times, realizing that they didn’t really have to be afraid. They could simply decide to make do and get by and hope for the best while preparing for the worst. All through that time Katherine fed herself at the New York Public Library. The more words she took in about magic and princesses and trolls and spells, the less room there was in her stomach for hunger, at least temporarily.
By the time Katherine was old enough to think about finding a job to help her family, the country had won a war and turned a corner and there were more jobs to be had. But her parents had a different idea. What they learned from the hard times was that everything you own can be lost or taken away much more quickly than seems even possible. They decided for Katherine that she would go to college. When they told her this, she asked why. “Because no one can ever take from you what you know.”
That night in bed, when she had time to think about this new door opening where she had previously seen only wall, it made sense to Katherine. People and Depressions might be able to take from you what you own, but they can never take from you what you know. She decided as she fell asleep that she would study English Literature. She dreamt that night of trolls and libraries and golden keys.
At breakfast her father told her that she would be studying Accounting. Now that people were making money again, they would need someone to help them keep track of it all. And Katherine would be the one. She would be a Certified Public Accountant and once she was, no one would be able to take that away from her.
This was a disappointing blow to Katherine. It had been only a day since she had begun to think of herself as an English major, but she had liked the feel of it, the way it sounded in her ears, the way it had rolled out of her mouth as she whispered her side of an imaginary conversation in bed the night before, “My name? Katherine. Yes! I am a student at Columbia. How did you guess? I’m majoring in English Literature—with a concentration on the Romantics.”
“I am an Accounting major” tasted bitter on her tongue.