Content: daughter

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this is the story of Ana's troubled mother, Szuszanna, a hungarian girl who marries a wealthy american businessman. her daughter Ana, of course, is the main character in my novella "It's Ana, Just Ana" i appreciate any and all feedback. should these two stories be coupled into a 2-part novel? so far, it's got more of a romancenovel-ish feel to it, but i'd like opinion on that as well. thanks, and enjoy!

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Is Ana just a self-pitying teen, haunted by the memory of her dead mother and sister, or is there something more serious going on? I appreciate all comments and feedback.

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A woman I respect a lot said that I should write a story about my elders. So I have written this piece about my father, just to share. I have no idea if I'll clean it up and try to publish it or not. While I'd love to hear how people react to it, you don't need to tear it up. Be gentle please.

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This is a memoir of my daughter's death and the communications we've had since her death. Since it is a true story, I want to know if it's readable and interesting.

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This was an article I wrote for my column in our local newspaper for Mother's Day. My mother had a million little sayings for her children that have always made me giggle, but this one has a special place in my heart.

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Memories are precious, especially when the act is difficult to give. To all you fathers who’ve impacted and nurtured your children’s lives by stepping out of your comfort zones to dance, whether it be in mind, body or soul - this one’s for you! You are the choreographer that gives a child the courage to stand on the center stage of life

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"We Own The President" (set a few years in future; 116,000 words) Why it’s unique: father-daughter buddy story meets 007-type thriller... Harry Evans works for secret government agencies, sees himself as the last line of defense against the evil people in the world. He’s good at it. Kate Evans, studying for an MBA at Wharton, is contemptuous of her father and has as little to do with him as possible. After all, he’s nothing but a killer... Readers get a big swirling thriller--mad-genius twins try to "own the President"--plus entertaining inter-generational conflict. Harry Evans, daughter Kate, and her friend Carmen are increasingly in the center of the vortex, not sure what is real or where their loyalties should be. The country is coming apart. President Simpson declares war on Mexico, and hints at worst. Kate and Harry, alone against the world, start to function as partners -- but don’t try to tell Kate that. The question is, can these two alphas stop squabbling long enough to save the country from a conspiracy to seize control of the president and to accomplish this in a way that conceals what has happened. Any feedback is welcome.

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Does duty preclude a young girl coming of age? Where is the line drawn between common sense and public opinion? Feedback welcome

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A Message From Those Who Died In One War To Those Who Are Dying Today. The futility of war and power of greed.

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I stayed with my father in my original home for several months last winter/early spring. He was not well, and I knew the time I had with him was fleeting. I dreamed of having long conversations with him in the time we had left, but he had experienced a gradual but steady hearing loss which had progressed to a state of profound deafness. He had retreated farther and farther into that silent world after my Mama died. We did communicate by writing in a notebook we kept with us, but Daddy found that tedious.

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This is a story about my mother who died two years ago. I had a difficult time writing this and Whatta spent a great deal of time helping me improve it. Thank you, Mitch.

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This is a story about the relationship between tragedy and necessity, and the changes we make to keep breathing.

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Here's one of my fond memories of something my daughter said in public when she was six. I intended it to be first a person memoir but after reading Mickey's review of Dale's story, I thought I'd write it as a story. The conversation between my daughter and me is verbatim. Little devil! Grrr!

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Chris began to question the wisdom of this trip. The familiar crunching sound of tires on the gravel driveway gave away her surprise arrival. She had planned to arrive undetected, take a look around at her former life, and if necessary, leave undetected. As she pulled up to the once-white, house with the slanted front porch and broken screen door, she was at once joyfully nostalgic and severely repulsed. Before Chris could turn off the engine and step out onto the gravel and oil driveway, Ma was already waving from the window in the big bedroom upstairs. Chris shook her head when she notice Ma wearing the same faded red, pansy-printed house dress she was wearing exactly one year before on Easter Sunday and likely every other Sunday for the last thirty years or more. The hem of this dress must have been re-sewn by Ma’s plump hands a hundred times or more and the buttons were a mere rumor, replaced by multi-colored diaper pins. Even without seeing it now, Chris could describe each frayed piece of the fabric, not only because she seen it in her mind whenever she pictured Ma, but because she’d spent so much time as a child, hiding from the world on underneath it. They met inside the house, at the bottom of the stairs and greeted one another the way they always had. No “I love you,� or “good to see you.� No touching moment and definitely no embracing, just right to the business at hand – avoidance. “Lawd chile, I ain’t know who dat was pullin’ in my driveway all fast.� Ma said, barely stopping at the foot of the staircase. “Uhn, uhn, uhn. What you doin’ wit’ ya hair now?� “All that money, - cant you pay somebody to do something with that hair?� Chris sighed. “It’s called the natural look Ma, and I did pay somebody to do this.� Uhn, we’ll you done thrown dat money away. Look like a natural mess to me. I’ put a pressin comb on it fo’ ya fo’ free.� Ma laughed. “Lawd have mercy, now I got to go upstairs an’ put some clean sheets on dat bed. Go on out back and say somethin’ to Dad.� Chris walked through the old house, through the dog’s room on the back porch and out into the back yard where Dad sat atop his ancient, red, riding mower, mowing and drinking what was almost surely corn liquor, wrapped in a brown paper bag. “Hey there, Lil Bit, what you doin’ here? Dad slurred. “You done drove all the way from New York City to help me cut all this grass.� All morning, Chris sat in the kitchen with Ma snapping peas, peeling potatoes and soaking greens. “You listen here girl, now I ain’t gonna have none of that mess you pull last year at my Easter table, you hear me?� Ma warned. “What’s past is past.� “Now, ya Mama an’ them comin.’� “Again, Ma, she is not my Mama� Chris said. “Well, she carried ya ‘round in her fo’ nine mont’s di’nt she?� Ma exclaimed. Chris started, “Ma, but she never did nothing for me….� At this, Chris was immediately shocked by her improper language, and how easily it came back to her. “She my daughter, and yo’ mama, an’ this is my house and I say she’ comin’ here to have Easter dinner wit’ us, now you just keep ya mouth shut if ya aint got nothing nice to say, hear.� ‘Ma, if she brings him again, I can’t sit at the table and act like everything is ok.� Chris explained. Ma fidgeted. “Don’t you say it.� Suddenly, Chris felt possessed. “What, Ma, that he raped me and my Mama was too high to do anything?� Ma looked around for something to hold on to and settled on a bag of flour on the. Ma said, “Don’t ya talk with dat nasty mouth in my house girl, now, I jus’ ain’t gon’ have it.� Brushing flour off her dress, Ma quietly demanded, “Now make yourself useful and go set the table.�

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Irrepressible old woman goes shopping and surprises her daughter.

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