Writing My Life

Now and Then


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Dying over dialects, among other crazy things

“Dialect is heard with the eyes.It is one of the most contrived elements of fiction and must be handled well to avoid turning characters into superficial stereotypes.”

~ Patrika Vaughn

I am excited, nervous, happy, terrified, anxious, hesitant, but satisfied that I will be okay. Actually, more than okay. Tomorrow I start the Young Readers Writing and Illustrating Workshop. And while I do have concerns and questions, I feel confident that I will learn much and not be too humiliated.

While part of me wonders why I think I could ever write a book, I take solace in Sara Zarr’s answer as to why she became a writer. She actually offered several reasons: 1) like to write; 2) it’s something an English major can do once he or she graduates; 3) and this one is the BEST one – “when I met other authors and saw that they were people just like me, I decided I could do it.” (Not an exact quotation but I think it conveys the spirit of what she meant.)

On the other hand, I also chatted with an author who shook her head as she related that nearly everybody thinks they can write a book. Maybe most people COULD write a book, but that fact is most DON”T. But there sure are a lot of people who do. Just walk into The King’s English or one of the mega bookstores, and you’ll wonder, “How can I join and compete with ALL THESE WRITERS? Am I crazy to think I can?

So what else is freaking me out? The 5 pages I sent to my session leaders. It needed to be the start of a story/book AND it is supposed to be our best writing. Don’t know about that, but I sent it anyway because it was all I had, AND it needs work, AND I also question my use of dialect.

The first chapter is set in England, and I hear a British accent in my head when I write, but here’s the rub or rubS:

  • Never been to England.
  • Don’t know which accents come from where.
  • My attempt sounds more Irish than English.

So here it is, past midnight. And I decide to research how or if a writer should even try to use dialect in building characters. The advice I learned from Ms. Vaughn (quoted above) and Cameron Michaels is as follows:

  • Use SPARINGLY.
  • Write in standard English – NOT phonetically!
  • Cadence and rhythm suggest the dialect.
  • DON’T use “wanna, shoulda, coulda and oughta”.
  • DO use “wanna, shoulda, coulda and oughta”. (That choice gets mixed reviews.)

Has anyone who stumbles onto this blog ever experimented with writing dialect? What were the results? Stuck with it? Abandoned it? Rewrote story to include Americans without accents?

I’ll let you know what my colleagues and facilitators suggest after they read my characters’ British/Irish dialects. (Gulping. Crossing fingers. Heading for bed.)


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… connor’s candids, or what happens when a 3-yr. old uses gramma’s phone-camera …

In GrammaNae’s defense, this is how it went down. Connor’s mommy never forgets to include snacks regardless of the situation. His daddy, on the other hand, doesn’t usually think of those things, and so he forgot to pack snacks for Connor to eat at his softball game. GrammaNae didn’t bring anything edible EITHER! To top of this tragedy, the snack bar was C.L.O.S.E.D.
Just a few minutes into the 2nd inning (Gramma was surprised he lasted that long), Connor’s meltdown erupted.
“I WANNA GO HOME AND EAT SOMETHING!” he wailed and repeated many times over. Gramma didn’t mean to lie to her grandson as she had every intention of taking him back to her house or to a McDonald’s – whatever came first. But when she told him she’d take him home, he settled right down; and a wonderful lady seated nearby offered to send her son on a food run. Whew. Day saved.
Then came the SECOND game of the DOUBLE-header. French fries had quelled the starving beast within, but now boredom set in. No crying, just whining. And then Connor spotted Gramma’s phone, and asked to play with it.
“Of course,” Gramma, who can never say no to any one of her 10 grandchildren, answered. Nothing good has ever come of letting a grandchild play with her cell phone, but she AND Connor were DESPERATE!
For the next 45 minutes, Connor snapped more than ONE photo PER MINUTE!This meant that he was able to unlock the screen, locate the camera, and start shooting!
Don’t ask. Gramma has no idea; some theories, but nothing concrete.
A couple of days later, she decided she better delete the 50+ photos from my phone to free up some memory. But then she saw Connor’s work! Yes, there were a few pix of paper cups, grass, and cement, but there were also lots of fun shots – random but fun.
SO HERE THEY ARE!

(Well, not ALL of them. Gramma left out the paper cups, grass, and cement. And a few unflattering shots of Gramma.)

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So much to write; so little time.

“Writing became such a process of discovery that I couldn’t wait to get to work in the morning: 
I wanted to know what I was going to say. “

~Sharon O’Brien    

I have three NOVEL ideas – I know that’s a lame pun, but it’s the truth. The first idea is a work of historical fiction, and I’ve written 2 chapters. I stalled because I decided that I needed to research the location, which just happens to be in Great Britain. That is out of the question, and so I just stopped writing.    

But now I have an important reason to continue this project as I am attending the Young Readers Annual Writing and Illustrating Workshop, and it starts next week. May I say I am PUMPED? Nervous, too, but VERY excited.     

Because my historical fiction piece is the only one of my ideas that have made it onto paper, I think I need to go with it. There’s lots of information I have researched in books and online, and I can continue. For example, I located shires on Google Map and was able to see highways and byways, shops and cottages, etc. Albeit, these are 2010 views, but let’s face it, some of G.B. remains much the same. Of course, I’m guessing, having NEVER made it across the pond to visit our cousin’s homeland.    

Moving on.     

I also want to write at least ONE page for each of my other ideas because the workshop is also sponsoring a First Page Contest for Writers and Illustrators. If I have first pages for all 3 ideas, perhaps I will receive peer feedback that will help me decide which to submit for the contest.     

Besides my historical fiction idea, I am toying with recreating an incident I witnessed while teaching 7th graders some 14 or 15 years ago. It involved 2 tragic situations experienced by two wonderful girls. While the circumstances were sort of similar, student reponses to the girls and their ordeals was vastly different. And I think that would be interesting to explore. 

  • Why did their peers treat the girls differently? (There are many possibilities.)
  • How did the girls cope with their individual tragedies?
  • How did they respond to their peers’ attentions of lack thereof?
  • How did their peers’ reactions affect the girls during that time period and the years following?

I think these are good questions to get me started. What do you think? Is your curiosity piqued?    

My last idea is to rewrite a classic novel. NOT like Pride and Prejudice and Zombies! I may have chuckled at that “revisionist” telling, but I couldn’t bring myself to force another classic author to roller over in her grave. No, my idea is to write a modern version of children’s classic because the world of 2010 bears some similarities to certain decades of the 19th century.  This means, however, that I need to re-read the classic as it has been years.     

So, with all these fun ideas swimming around in my brain, I jump out of bed each day, eager to start writing. BUT start writing WHAT? Historical fiction? Realistic fiction? Classic update?  

And then there is THIS question? What is currently popular in young adult fiction – besides vampires? Any thoughts about all this? PLEASE share! 

So MUCH to think about!
    


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… the bug boy hugged me …

Last Friday I attempted to relate a funny story to 2 of my colleagues – Carolyn and Allen. It started something like this:

Me: Something funny happened to me yesterday …

Carolyn (interrupts): You lost your phone?

Me (smiles because losing phones is my M.O.) : No, I …

Allen (also interrupts): You left your computer bag in a parking lot and security called the bomb squad?

Me (sorta laughing because I’ve done that, too): No, I was …

Carolyn (yes, she interrupts yet again): You got trapped in an open elevator?

Me (oh yeah, that’s happened, too; got to blog about that): NO! None of the above. This is not a repeat of any past bloopers! Okay? May I continue?

Allen and Carolyn (totally laughing): Sure.

Me (sigh): All right. Yesterday while working at home, the door bell rang and when I answered, there stood yet another pest control salesman. You know the type: Young, handsome, clean-cut returned Mormon missionary.

FLASHBACK.

Anyway, I tried to send him away by reporting that we already have the services of Terminex. But he was good. Before I could shut the door in that innocent face, he rattled off the lower price and improved services which included SAFE VOLE EXTERMINATION approved by the EPA. I stopped mid-slam because I greatly dislike voles – to put it mildly – and I wanted to hear more.

Being a conscientious consumer, I asked how their company safely ridded the planet of the pests, and he explained. Next he asked where the rodents’ headquarters were. (I didn’t know they were that organized!) Anyway, I escorted him to our deck to show him the vole damage to our backyard and to see if he could locate the enemy’s op center.

After a few more minutes of detailed information, I signed up for the service, shook his hand, and “attempted” to indicate the direction to the back gate by raising and extending my arm to point my finger towards the exit.

Me: You can …

BUG BOY WRAPS HIS ARMS AROUND ME IN A QUICK BEAR HUG!

Me (stammering as BB jumps back and away): … uh, can leave by the …

BugBoy (embarrassed and turning 15 shades of red): You totally didn’t mean to hug me, did you? I was thinkin’, ‘I don’t remember ever getting a hug for selling bug spray…’ . I – uh – totally feel like a dork …

Me (laughing, Laughing, LAUGHING OUT LOUD): Omigosh! This is too funny! Don’t worry, I’m old enough be to be your mother; maybe even your grandmother. (MORE UNCONTROLLED LAUGHTER.)

BugBoy (with a little nervous chuckle): I mean … uh … I can just hear what you’re going to tell your husband. ‘This kid totally put the moves on me.’  (Shakes my hand and hurries towards the gate.)

Me (still hysterically guffawing): Yeah, and you’re going to have a some story to share back at the sales office. BUT you better tell it right!!!

BugBoy: Oh, I will. I promise. Uh, bye … (RUNS out the gate.)

PRESENT.

Allen (LOL): You need to write a book; I swear …

Carolyn: Hey, she does write about it on her blog. You’ve SERIOUSLY got to blog this.

Allen: We’ll just call you Cougar Renae from here out.

Renae (confused): Huh? (Thinking to herself: What Brigham Young University’s mascot has to do with this story?)

BYU’s fight song plays in the background: RISE AND SHOUT, THE COUGARS ARE OUT …


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Wanted: ElderWriters/Bloggers

“I think it’s the kind of book most people are not interested in. Part of the interest is because I’m an old lady.”        

~ Helen H. Santmyer, author of … And the Ladies of the Club        

I need a writing support group, and so I went in search of some writers who blog. I know young colleagues and friends who want to write professionally just as I do. But the operative word here is YOUNG. While I very much enjoy reading their writing, and I can learn a lot from their experiences, I also want to find some people like me. Old.er.        

To find an “online” support group similar to the ones enjoyed by my young writer friends, I googled “older writers.” Maybe I didn’t search out enough pages because I only found topics ABOUT older writers: Who are better writers? Oldsters or Youngsters; growing discrimination against older writers because they aren’t attractive enough (I’m serious); contests for writers age 50+; how writing keeps the aged busy and staves off Alzheimer’s; etc. Kind of discouraging search results.       

Is this attractive enough for my book jacket?

 

That isn’t to say I haven’t found a little encouragement. Efrem Sigel – author, journalist, and editor – shares advice for older writers, including this tidbit:  “Older writers have less time in terms of years left, but they have a precious advantage: life experience.” Heartening? Well, sort of.        

I’ll keep looking. I know that people my age write because I’ve found their blogs. But there doesn’t seem to be MANY or ANY older aspiring writers who blog about writing. And who can blame them? I mean we only have so much energy, and if we expend it on posting blog entries versus writing pages for novels (like I am doing), we may meet the reaper before we ever publish!        

I am, however,  inspired by Helen Hooven Santmyer who published her best seller in 1982 at age 87. She was 69-years-old when she started … And the Ladies of the Club; and her second novel Farewell Summer was published 2 years after her death.        

I also realize many older writers do NOT embrace the Internet world like younger writers. Richard Peck, Newbery Award-winner and one of my favorite adolescent lit authors, still writes his novels in long hand. On her website, Maeve Binchy, an Irish writer I adore, writes, “I’m always happy to hear from you, but I’m not altogether confident with technology. If you’d like to write to me, you can send letters to me.”  (Is there anyone who still writes letter?)        

Nevertheless, I continue to search because I’d want to hear what my Baby Boomer generation has to say about their writing experiences, especially those who are neophytes in the write-to-publish world.         

If you have stumbled onto this blog and know of some writer/bloggers who are a little long in the tooth, could you please point me in the write right direction? (That error was purely Freudian!)


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… a different kind of love story …

June is traditionally a month for weddings, and so it was for my parents and G.E.’s mom and dad as well. While my parent’s love story started near the END of World War II, Jennie K. (aka Pat) and Charles H. (aka Chuck) met near the BEGINNING of that war. Were they alive, the two would have celebrated their 69th wedding anniversary yesterday, June 4.     

It was 1941, and Charles H. and his army buddies headed for the Coconut Grove Ballroom in Salt Lake City. While ambling down the Main Street, he noticed a cute blonde walking with her mother, and he turned to his friends to report he had just seen his wife. (Note: This is a common story often told by spouses, and while I don’t doubt that my father-in-law said it, I just wonder how MANY times he made that comment after checking out each Utah cutie!)     

Doesn't he look like Errol Flynn?

 

Not long after that encounter, the young soldier from Illinois spotted the blonde of his dreams at the ballroom. Now the Grove had the largest dance floor in the nation at that time, so what were the chances that he would run into Miss Blondie again and so soon? It had to be fate!   

Charles H. asked her to dance; Jennie/Pat said, “Of course,” and before long, hugs and kisses were followed by marriage. But it was hard going for several reasons.     

The two hailed in very different parts of the U.S. ~ Pat was raised in Helena, Montana and Olney, Illinois was Chuck’s home. Both grew up in dysfunctional families, and Pat’s parents had recently divorced, a rare occurrence in 1940’s America.     

Different religious backgrounds divided the two as well. Pat was Mormon, and Chuck didn’t really associate with any particular denomination. Maybe they didn’t think the difference was all that important when the excitement of the romance was flourishing, but as time passed, the dissimilarity did matter.     

As often happened in those days before birth control, Pat became pregnant right away and suffered with morning sickness that increased in severity as she traveled cross-country to meet her in-laws in Illinois. Shortly after the trip, she lost the baby, and not long after that Chuck received orders that shipped him off to INDIA. Yes, India.      

While crossing the Pacific, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, and my father-in-law’s unit was held up in Australia while generals decided whether to ship their unit elsewhere. Eventually, Chuck arrived in India where he spent “the duration” supporting The Flying Tigers, U.S. volunteer group who tangled against the Japanese in China.      

Pat was barely 18 when she married her soldier, who was 5 years her senior. They had spent so little time together before his deployment that the marriage must have felt more like a dream than a reality. Because of the circumstances, Pat moved with her mother to Los Angeles where she worked in a munitions factory – a regular Rosie the Riviter. When her mom met and married an army colonel, Pat returned to Montana where she served as an LDS missionary.     

When he returned to Utah in 1945, the husband and wife were strangers, but this did not deter Chuck. Pat wasn’t as sure that they could make it work, but she stayed anyway. The two bought a duplex in the Millcreek area with winnings he saved from gambling with his buddies. Pat was soon expecting a baby, and Chuck joined the Mormon Church but fought the rest of his life to live the church’s strict health code – an issue that frustrated the couple.     

Chuck was a hard worker, but his career as a grocer and a warehouseman didn’t bring in much money. Finances were always tight for the family of 7, and health issues among the children complicated the budget. Nevertheless, they didn’t quit. They struggled to make the marriage work for 44 years, and then Pat passed away. Charles H. always adored his beautiful blonde, and Jennie/Pat grew to love her soldier.     

While some might think the two may have been happier with other people, their children are grateful they stayed together. Experts claim that’s the better route because children suffer less when parents choose stick it out rather than divorce.  

When I think of the odds stacked against them – their youth, the quick romance, the long, hard separation, their very different personalities and religious beliefs – i am impressed that they succeeded. Pat and Chuck’s strong example of working through their differences as well as through life’s challenges is a testament to their belief that marriage is a serious and selfless committment.  And they prevailed in keeping that committment.    

My dearest Mom and Pop-in-law, I love and respect you both more than ever. Thank you for your good choices. We have been blessed because of them.


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A failure to launch!

“To begin, begin.” ~ Wm. Wordsworth

“The time to hesitate is through.” ~ The Doors

Oh, this has been PAINFUL! I think The Write Groove’s URL represents the 4th attempt to create a catchy global address that a WordPress blogger hadn’t already dreamed up.  I  have 5 blogs registered under my user name. Yes, 5! I am NOT blogging responsibly. I am nervously waiting for the WP police to pull me over and issue a ticket for such reckless behavior. I imagine they usually issue a warning first, but I was racking up web locations at such a furious rate that they didn’t have a chance to stop the madness before it turned to mayhem.

I wonder if this stuttering start represents subconscious fears about becoming a serious writer. Not that I DON’T take writing seriously. I do. Not that I DON’T write a lot already. I do. (Good grief, remember I host 6 freaking blogs! 5 WP and 1 Blogger. 2-going-on-3 working blogs and 3 misfires.) 

I suppose I consider published writers as serious. The rest of us are merely wannabe serious/published writers.

On the other hand, it is important to feel good about your URL and your blog title. I know the frustrations of owning a lame global address. It’s like living on Burps Blvd. in Belchertown, Massachusetts, and you’re “upside down” in your investment and can’t afford to move. (I just walked away from 3 addresses rather than attempt short sales. Totally irresponsible. Does WordPress ever foreclose upon blog properties?)

Another challenge was picking the right template. I swear I have WP’s choices memorized. And I PREVIEWED them ALL. More than once. I’m not savvy enough to do the CSS thing, but “Light” works well, I think.

All right, I’ve put it off long enough. I hereby dedicate this blog to all things writing. Hopefully, The Write Groove will get me in the writing groove – a writing warm-up of sorts. AND I also anticipate that bloggers who have similar desires to publish something wonderful will join me in this effort. (Fingers are crossed.) Friends, colleagues, and strangers, amateurs, professionals, published or UNpublished authors,  and of course, DREAMERS – all are welcome!

Lift off.


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… “whatever happened to old-fashioned love?” …

A Tribute to Momma and Daddy on Their 65th Anniversary

This morning I once again awakened to G.E.’s favorite station: classic country. Maybe it was B.J. Thomas singing the crossover hit, “Whatever Happened to Old-Fashioned Love?” or a country singer I don’t know, but the melody and a few lines of the song stayed in my head and then moved to my heart.

Whatever happened to old fashioned love
The kind that would see you through
The kind of love my Momma and Daddy knew
Yeah, whatever happened to old fashioned love
The kind that would last through the years
Through the trials
Through the smiles
Through the tears

It was appropriate. Sixty-five years ago today, my mom and dad stood before a Mormon Bishop in Champaigne, Illinois to recite their vows of matrimony. Dad’s army buddy and his wife, Mom’s new friend, witnessed the ceremony as the best man and matron of honor.

June 1, 1945

That was it. Five people, including the fresh-faced groom and the stunning bride. Simple. Tender. Romantic.

Mom has mentioned a time or two that she regrets leaving her mother and father behind in Pocatello to make the cross-country trip to marry her soldier boy, but NO ONE could have changed her mind then. The two had been apart for two-plus months, and that was long enough. Too long.

They met on March 24, 1945, engaged 3 days later, and married on June 1st. While waiting at the Illinois train station for Dad to pick her up, Mom recorded her excitement in a letter to one of her 9 brothers. Even the words on the paper are breathless in anticipation, and the last scribbled line reads, “Here he comes; got to run!”

June 1, 2005

I don’t have to close my eyes to picture those two running to each other. I can see my 6 foot 3-inch father lift his Becky – all 5 feet 3 inches of her – into his arms and kissing her JUST LIKE IN THE MOVIES!

But their life together was much better than any MGM production because their love was real and lasting. Connie and I never tired of listening to “their love story,” and Daddy never tired of telling it. Up to the day he passed away, he reminded us that he loved our mother the first time he saw her. From that moment to this, their love has lasted “through the trials; through the smiles; through the tears,” and now on into eternity.

I love you so much Momma and Daddy!

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!


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… celebrating cemeteries & birthdays …

Yesterday was my 62nd birthday, and as tradition OFTEN (as opposed to ALWAYS) dictates, I spent part of it in the cemetery. Because the anniversary of my birth no longer falls on Memorial EVERY year, there are those times when the rotating holiday lands a full week before May 30th, and grave decorating is NOT part of the birthday celebration. During those off-times, I actually miss the tradition as so many memories are wrapped up in that birth-Memorial Day observance.

While I am sweetly honored by family and friends on my special day, I am also happy to honor my father, mother-in-law, and father-in-law by placing flowers at their headstones. This year, I shook my head in disbelief as I realized Daddy has been gone for nearly 3 years. Impossible. G.E.’s father, “Chuck”, left us nearly 15 years ago; but Grandma Salisbury, “Pat”, passed away almost 25 years ago at age 62. (Did you catch the correlation between her DEATH age and my CELEBRATED age? Distressing!)

Ann Cannon, my favorite columnist and blog friend, wrote today about the reflective nature of visiting cemeteries. She should know as she lives near and walks daily through the Salt Lake Cemetery. Ann observed through the wise words of a clergyman that our earthly lives are finite, and that we’ll NEVER have enough time; therefore, we should “CHOOSE to make the time we have together SWEET.”

I am sure that my kind mother-in-law did not realize that when she left for her daily walk that September morning that she would no longer be able to sweeten the time she had left with her “Chuck,” her children, or her grandchildren. I know she looked forward to baking more “sweet” bread for all of us who loved it; to reading stories and playing the organ for grandsons and daughters; to attending missionary farewells, weddings, and baby blessings; and to talking and listening to family and friends reminisce, reflect, and predict about times past, present, and future.

Her unexpected passing so many years ago reminds me that while it is impossible for every minute of every day to be sweet; it is possible to find the sweetness in each day – even if it’s just a minute. And then when the shadows fall for the final time, we can hope we have tasted more days of sweetness than hours of bitterness.

That is my hope, especially this year as I turned 62.


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… purse envy ~ a tale of 2 stories …

Story #1 – Canal Street

The setting of our story.

Once upon a time Miss Carolyn was shopping the Canal Street scene in NEW YORK CITY with her friend, Miss Amy. As any NYC tourist knows, Canal Street is home to knock-off/fake bags. Miss Amy was dy.ing for a red purse, and sure enough, she found THE PERFECT RED PURSE! (Meaning it was to.die.4 CUTE!)

Miss Carolyn

BUT remember, she was with Miss Carolyn who is the queen of bargain shopping. She likes to bargain, and she’s good at it; consequently, she tutored her friend about how to get a good price on the great purse.

  1. Take time to shop other vendors to see what they are charging for similar merchandise.
  2. Decide how much you REALLY want that purse.
  3. Once you know the average “going” price, add in the “desirability quotient” to determine the HIGHEST price you will pay.
  4. Be prepared to walk away from the red purse if the vendor WILL NOT meet YOUR pre-determined price limit.
  5. Return to the original vendor and offer a much lower price than what you are WILLING to pay.
  6. Barter until you pay what you want OR walk away!

Miss Amy

Got that? Well, Miss Carolyn AND Miss Amy followed those steps, and Miss Amy purchased her GORGEOUS dream bag for $35. (Whether or not that was a bargain, I don’t know because I’ve NEVER shopped Canal Street, AND I am terrible at bartering. I have S.U.C.K.E.R. written all over me. BUT I LOVE the purse and would have paid more for it, I’m sure!)

Now, Miss Carolyn loved the purse, too, and found a slightly smaller version in dark plum. Hmmm! But she didn’t want to be a CopyCat, and so she suffered purse envy in silence.

Upon their return to Utah, Miss Carolyn’s Mama admired the red purse, and then turned to her daughter and asked, “Why didn’t YOU buy one?” Miss C. confessed that she wanted to but thought it would be tacky to own one so similar to her friend’s.

The ENVIED Purse!

Miss Amy couldn’t believe it as she is NOT the type that has to own one-of-a-kind creations. NO WAY! And so, the faithful friend searched for someone who was visiting New York City – a “drafted” personal shopper of sorts, and asked HIM to hit Canal Street in search of the famous purple purse.

The kind purse-runner found the handbag, purchased it for $30, and surrendered it to Miss Amy to give to Miss Carolyn! And EVERYONE – the friends, the purses, and the runner lived HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

Except Renae, and THAT’S story #2!

Story #2 – The Department Store

An Older Woman

Once upon a time there was an older woman who thought that she had outgrown youthful vices like coveting, envy, jealousy. That kind of thing.

But then she met up with THE purse.

Happy for the owner of said bag, she exclaimed, praised, and admired the dark plum creation. The woman was even more delighted over the amazing accessory when she heard the legend behind the purple pocketbook – the purchase place, the bargaining, AND the gift. She not only wanted a purse; she wanted the experience.

And so the woman headed for … Kohl’s. Yes, Kohl’s. She searched the shelves, priced a red Vera Lang, a purple Relic, and a silver Chaps – NOT the  BIG brands, but not knock-offs. All were ON SALE for 40% off the original prices. She was thrilled, but MAYBE she could drive down the price even more!

Finally, the woman spotted the Elle Delano Satchel in golden olive – there was only one. How badly did she want it? The original price was $65; much too expensive. The discounted price, however, was $39.00. Not bad. BUT she had … A COUPON!

Confidently, she marched to the checkout line and plopped her purchase onto the counter, and the sales associate started to ring up the $39 price, but she whipped out the 15% off coupon before the transaction was completed. Now she deducted 55% to equal $29.25.

While the department store excursion was a “knock-off” experience when compared to shopping on Canal Street, and the purchase wasn’t as jazzy as the New York City find, the golden olive satchel with ruched details and tumbled faux leather did tame the green-eyed monster and laid the purse envy to rest.

… and they ALL lived happily ever after – again!

The End