My great-grandmother Margaret Duncan came to America from Scotland when she was 18. She left her husband behind because he wouldn’t come with her. She had a shortbread cookie recipe that she passed down to my granny. My granny taught my mother the recipe. Today, that recipe was fished up from boxes of old papers and i made the recipe with my mother. I think in this world you decide what is meaningful to you, and for me it was something as simple as making shortbread cookies.
Coffee or orange juice?”
“Water is fine.”
His eyebrows went up.
“Uh-oh,” Auriele said, but she was smiling.
Darryl was not. “Are you implying that my coffee is not the best in four counties? Or my fresh-squeezed orange juice is less than perfect?
Mercy Thompson and Sam Cornick
As an author, I sometimes feel like the wicked witch. My job is to find someone happily minding their own business, and mess up their happy little lives until they’re upset enough to get off their rump and go change something. It’s seldom a good thing in a character’s life when the author looks at them and says, “You’re happy, aren’t you? My goodness, you’re trying to slip off into a quiet happily-ever-after! Well, don’t get too comfortable my pretty, because I’ve got plans for your future.” The evil cackle is optional, of course, but I find it refreshing.
so, pocahontas is on and i see kocoum and all i can think about is Charles Cornick