Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Stories Today

I can handle a sore throat. The headache I can deal with--mostly. But the stuffy nose? No way. So I apologize, but rather than show you my whining-wimpy side, I'll just direct you to a bunch of touching stories today.

First, Tess Gerritsen wrote about her first true life confrontation with murder and torture. It's a touching and scary story that hits close to home for her. It's a true story, but you can definitely see why her fiction touches so many people.

Then, Derek Nikitas made me cry real tears when he posted about dedicating his book to his grandfather. Made me remember that we are, in the end, what we mean to other people.

Finally, Elizabeth Krecker reminded me that a little goes a long way, in her post about how just a little thing can prevent a women from being raped, tortured, and/or killed. Definitely worth a read. Turns out, her grandfather is pretty heroic, too!

I have a question for you guys ... just a curiosity. Do you guys know the story of your birth? I'm adopted, so the only story I got *cringe* was that my mom found me under a, er ... bush. LOL. I watched a mother recount the day of her daughter's birth to her on her birthday, and I could tell it was a story told many times. Do you have one of those stories?

9 bonus scribbles:

Elizabeth Krecker 1/31/2007 05:29:00 PM  

Oh jeez! I'm laid up home sick, too! But it gave me time to visit you again! Thanks so much for the links!

Sadly, I haven't a clue about the story of my birth. I guess when you're not adopted, you sort of take for granted that there was a story and someone close to you knows it.

I've got a flight to L.A. with my parents on Friday, so I'll be sure to ask!

Holly Kennedy 1/31/2007 06:04:00 PM  

My sister is 11 months older than I am TO THE DAY, which makes us the same age for one month. I was determined to arrive early, and was almost born enroute to the hospital, but made it just in time. I'm not sure if that's a birth story exactly, but it's been told often.

BTW, my MC in my 2nd novel, The Penny Tree, was adopted but didn't find out until she was 12 (remember years ago? when adoption wasn't as commonplace and secrecy about it far more common?) I did a lot of research on this topic (teenagers who learn they were adopted) and struggled with making my MC's emotional makeup resonate with authenticity. After doing so, my heart now flips for kids who've been adopted because I think I understand their journey a bit better. :)

Avery 1/31/2007 06:12:00 PM  

Ah, the seventies. My mother smoke, drank, and ate whatever toxic concoctions she wanted. When she went into labor after digging around in a flower bed, the events surrounding my birth were swept into the oblivion of general anesthetic. But, what can one expect from a decade that introduced both leisure suits and Evil Knievel?

spyscribbler 1/31/2007 07:50:00 PM  

It's really going around the blogs, Elizabeth! Diana Peterfreund was sick, and Meljean Brooks ... I hope you feel better!

That's a cool story, Holly! I feel for adopted children, too. Tess Gerritsen posted awhile back about novelists recounting themes of their childhood; I can't help but wonder if it's why I'm attracted to spies and the themes of betrayal.

Wow, Avery! My birth mother did much of the same, with a little heavier hand on the drugs, LOL. Digging in a flower bed? That sounds industrious!

Bernita 2/01/2007 06:35:00 AM  

Yes.
I was born at home w/ doctor, midwife and grandmother there.
It was a difficult labour.
I was blue when born - which explains something, I suppose.
My mother's main memory was my long, narrow feet.

StarvingWriteNow 2/01/2007 06:42:00 AM  

From my mother: You're the one who gave me my high blood pressure.

From my dad: You were unexpected, but not unwelcome.

That's about it. but bear in mind my parents are both depression-era, stiff upper lip types who don't ever share the gory details.

spyscribbler 2/01/2007 02:20:00 PM  

Oh, Bernita! That's an awesome story. And terrifying. I'm grateful you lived. (As silly as that sounds, it's true!)

Starvingwritenow: What a welcome! Boy. What do you do? Shake their hand and "glad to be here, thank you"? LOL, just kidding. My 'rents were depression-era, too. Mostly my mother stock-piled food like crazy and talked about wearing flour sacks as dresses. :-)

spyscribbler 2/01/2007 02:20:00 PM  

Oh, Bernita! That's an awesome story. And terrifying. I'm grateful you lived. (As silly as that sounds, it's true!)

Starvingwritenow: What a welcome! Boy. What do you do? Shake their hand and "glad to be here, thank you"? LOL, just kidding. My 'rents were depression-era, too. Mostly my mother stock-piled food like crazy and talked about wearing flour sacks as dresses. :-)

Kate S 2/01/2007 06:22:00 PM  

Not really, other than about six months into the pregnancy the doctors told her I was dead and wanted to remove me. She didn't believe it and wouldn't let them. I guess that's a good thing. ;)

I must have just been sleeping soundly. :)