The rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence with only the rustle of silence of paper disturbing the silence. I watched as they traded stories , pointed to phrases, chuckling now and then, wiping away a tear. Waving a paper, Jana said, Read this and Cindy agreed.
Jana’s rich dramatic voice began. “My pastel life turned to inky blackness after Bob died. Wandering through our–my home, a memory in every corner, the rest of life loomed ahead like a mystery to be solved. I didn’t want to go on without him.My footsteps faltered when I reached his home office. Automatically my fingers curled into a fist ready to knock on the carved door he loved.
This is background. Then I move into the story. Thank you. Also I have trouble following ever since the fall. It’s a little bit better but still troubling. All part of the accident.
“Carly, the Fairview Weekly News is owned by Brent and Grace Anderson, clients of mine and I’d like to show them a few of of your stories maybe toward writing a column. “How would you feel about writing for a local paper?
“But what would I say?”
“Start with what happened after Bob died , your feelings and don’t hold back.”
“And what will that do?”
“Other women will read your column, and be inspired,to try at least one of your escapades and that’s a good thing.
Days later , when I’d given up hope of hearing from Jana, she called saying The owners asked me to come in for an interview.
Shocked, I was ready to appear but what to wear until I found something to put on and actually wrote my first column, just in case.
For delightful snippets,