Last week, I attended one of a long-running series of World War II lectures at Fort Snelling. Each gathering, an author or expert gives a presentation, followed by a panel of WWII vets who provide first-person testimony related to the evening’s topic.
Book development editor Jill Swenson brought this word to my attention this morning, and throughout the day it has proved to be an enchanting distraction.
Flâneuse (female) / Flâneur (male): A passionate wanderer.
Yesterday, a small cardboard box arrived, and as I walked up the driveway, I tried to puzzle out who it was from. When I opened it, I was delighted to see a hard-cover book from a Kickstarter campaign I backed months earlier, and had nearly forgotten about.
September has been a month of polishing: polishing the proposal, polishing the first chapters of the manuscript. I’m even enrolled in a class called “Punch & Polish” at the Loft Literary Center.
Over the weekend I finished reading the book ‘Alex’s Wake.’ It was one of those books that started with a slow drip, but ended with a wave of sadness so enormous it was impossible to hold back tears.
Next time you’re in an antique store, look for the box of old photos. Trust me, there is almost always a shoebox of photos sitting in some forgotten corner, filled with miniature black-and-white glossy prints stripped from the pages of a photo album.
One of the amazing people I’ve met along this journey is Louise Dillery. Readers of the book will get to know how amazing she is, too. She translated some of Marcel’s letters, and has turned into a dear friend. Louise is nearly 90 years old, but you would never know it — she’s sharp as a tack, and loves to talk about thoroughly modern things like eyebrow tattoos, Beyoncé and the allure of ‘bad boys.’
Something wonderful happened today: a thick stack of letters written by my grandfather, John Emery Porter (he went by Emery), were given to my dad. My dad had never seen these letters before; he didn’t even know they existed. The letters had been written between 1917 and 1919, and were written by Emery to his sister, Lois. Lois’ grandson gave them to my dad.
Last week, a historian from the National World War II Museum flew to Minnesota to record the testimony of my uncle, Allen Porter. He was part of the 303rd Engineering Battalion of the 78th Infantry Division and fought across France and Germany in 1944-1945.
Recently I finished reading the book Paper Love by Sarah Wildman. Over the last few years, I’ve read more books on World War II than I can count, and I have to say, this was one of the best.
Yesterday, I attended an eight-hour class at the LOFT Literary Center in Minneapolis. The topic was style and grammar in non-fiction and it was taught by the phenomenal Jill Swenson; her energy and enthusiasm were contagious.
When I buy a piece of handwritten ephemera, it’s because something caught my eye: a decorative swirl, a unique number, an unusual color ink. Other times, it is because one individual letter is so spectacularly beautiful, buying it is like acquiring a work of art.
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