From my very first post I wanted to pay homage to the speech which inspired the title of my blog, Ain't I a Woman? by Sojourner Truth. Such a beautiful speech, such a beautiful name, such a beautiful woman. It is one of my favorite pieces. I strive to emulate this style in my own work. Poetic and powerful. Honest and unafraid. Memorable. And I like brevity. It too is beautiful. This is the standard I wish to be held to as I explore the question with you ~ ain't I a writer?
"Obliged to you for hearing me, and I do have a few things more to say..."

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Saturday, May 19, 2012


On Walden Pond

















     Took a wonderful literary road trip with BFF Barb Z. to Concord, Massachusetts a few days ago. On an absolutely perfect May day we toured Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House. I controlled myself in the gift shop and bought only one book! Hospital Sketches, Louisa's account of her experiences as a civil war nurse. I was unfamiliar with it, and it will serve as research for my current novel which is set in the same era. After a lunch break on the porch of the Concord Inn, we explored Author's Ridge in the local cemetery and found the graves of a great many literary giants. It was rather sweet to see the Alcott sisters side by side, a line of little women.    
     With a touch of guilt we read the notes a pilgrimage of men had lately left for Thoreau, all thanking him for what he had done for them. It piqued my already strong interest in going to see the site of Thoreau's cabin, which was our last stop. It could not have been more lovely. Walden Pond is still peaceful and quiet and calm, even with the endless parade of people paying homage to the spot that was all about being alone. The hike out to the site, along the waters edge, is still breathtakingly beautiful. The water surprisingly clear. I wanted to stay, to camp out in the woods, for just one night, to see the stars from that very spot, . . . to get up with the birds and bathe in the pond,. . . and then climb in a canoe and paddle out to the center of the pond, to the very pupil of "Earth's eye". . . to sit there a spell, in silence.  . . and then to go home, . . . and go confidently in the direction of my dreams, to live the life I've imagined.