I’m looking for a photo of the American House Hotel, Tavern, Restaurant, & Bar in New Egypt, New Jersey that I can have full rights to use for a book cover. Please contact me at; arlenebice1633@ gmail.com
What better subject can we talk about on a snowy day nearing the end of February, than baseball? What do you know about women’s softball? And the early games? In New Jersey?
Back in 1934 “Toots” Nusse was busy, aside from working in a factory; she was busy organizing the Linden Arians of the Amateur Softball Association in New Jersey. The team was played by women, sometimes managed and coached by two men, Julius Rosenberg and Lloyd Kingsley. Her lifetime pitching record of 396-164, 109 shut-outs, 30 no-hitters, and more than 1700 strike-outs. There were times when other teams did not want to play against the Arians because they were sure to lose.
The author’s aunt, Anne Sabak tried out for the team, and was accepted while still in high school. She left soon afterwards to work in a shirt factory, but continued to play softball. This was the World War II years when women had to go the extra mile to help out while the men were overseas.
The book is full of personal photographs, newspaper reports, maps, facts, and figures. It is a “must read” for anyone interested in women’s history, baseball, or New Jersey history. Quite a few surprises will delight you.
Ms Silver is the author of Rancho San Miguel and In the Footsteps of Thomas Paine.
The book is available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback editions.
The words jump out at you, pull you in, and make you part of the story. A refreshingly new narrative that reads like it is happening now even though it is set in the late 60s. Cassandra, frustrated with her college art classes of interior design, hops down to Dupont Circle in Washington D.C. and sits onto a bar stool next to a quiet guy. She strikes up the conversation. This begins the adventure of meeting someone you’ve shared other lifetimes with, in past centuries.
The GI P.I. is Harry Shields of Eastern Shore, Maryland, a Korean War vet who still suffers, at unexpected times, from shell shock 15 years after he has been discharged. Obviously the man has class and style, even though he wears khakis each time she sees him, at least in the beginning. They connect quickly and deeply moving along at a fast pace as they run into serious problems arising from his years as a soldier. Cassandra refuses to leave his side, watching over him like a mama bear, bringing fresh ideas to help that come from her youthfulness.
A highly recommended read that will keep you turning pages, until you uncover what comes next.
This picture of my old car after two deer ran into me is meant to grab your attention. Opening lines to a story must do the same thing. If the writer doesn’t have you locked in by the end of the first paragraph, you will be moving on to someone else’s story.
Even I wonder what story follows this beginning. Alas, it is just a beginning meant to grab your attention. I may continue one day, who knows what comes from just a beginning.
WRITING PROMPT: HE ENTERED THE ROOM LIKE HE. . . .
In the middle of the cocktail party, where glasses were clinking and low murmurs of laughter rumbled through the room, he entered like he was on fire. A door banged shut somewhere behind him. Long strides carried him across the tiled floor, through the open French doors, and into the garden. There he found the apparent object of his fury. With hands clenched into fists hanging from his sides, he stopped, nose-to-nose with Alicia.
His jaw muscles were taut, working. Words barely more than a whisper spat out. “What have you got to say to me?” The veins in his neck stood at attention. The redness of his face showed the pent-up anger ready to burst.
“Darling, why are you so upset?” she answered his question softly with one of her own, cooing each word. The coolness buffered his heat. Her smooth face was the opposite of his contorted one.
“Shall we move into the library to continue?” It was as if she were asking the time of day. “We can speak privately in quiet. There’s no sense in creating gossip for the morning papers.”
She glided back through the room crowded with people, glasses in hand, now silent, ears straining to hear. He followed her lead, rigid with anger. All eyes followed them.