Across New England, the spire on city hall typically had prominent clock. Its purpose, I’m told, wasn’t just civic pride.
No, it was to keep the mill owners in check, just in case they were tinkering with their own clocks to squeeze unpaid time out of their workers.
It’s comforting to know the town fathers could stand up to corporate powers. Most of the owners, by the way, lived far from these sources of their wealth. Many of them were Boston Brahmins clustered around Harvard.
In honor of the workers and those who stand up for them, Happy Labor Day.
Mrs. Richardson had been yelling at the kid the fifth-grade girl who came around to our door begging money to pay the babysitter Mrs. Richardson yelled at the grandchild for three days, and spanked her then they were crying, in different parts of the building all the while, their phonograph repeated “the angels sing, glory […]
When someone speaks of an event while quoting someone else, how accurate is that quotation? How much is a recasting by the teller, perhaps years after the event being related?
In drafting my newest novel, as I turned to a first-person narrative by someone who never even met many of the characters she’s telling about, I realized that her quoting them was actually a filtering through her own voice. In other words, the precision of their voice was in question. Would it be right to put their input in quotations marks? Or eliminate the quotation marks and let the telling float in and out of some recollection?
I’ve opted for the latter. Will it work for the reader, though? We’ll see.
A three-year-old girl held a life-size Mr. ZIP’s cardboard hand in her own while waiting for Daddy or an interior lobby stoplight to change. Can we go now? These days, she must be my wife’s age. To continue, click here. Copyright 2015
“George’s problem is he’s too affectionate – he expresses himself” one woman confided loudly in a restaurant unlike the usual complaint To continue, click here. Copyright 2015
All the fat girls in town had congregated in this Laundromat to giggle at a skinny hippie. When they sat, mouths agape, stomachs bulged more than their breasts. Everywhere, there’s a pecking order. The manager in her blue scarf and coat fluttered in to chase neighborhood children out. “They mess the place up. I don’t […]
in the median strip of Route 17 just north of Pennsylvania Paula and I found a road map of Fayette County, Tennessee “you wanna talk about getting lost?” all these vehicles entering a busy traffic circle are just a matter of shuffling cars . as the matron confided, “Harry and I used to go down […]