Coming
up with titles for my books is usually work. Once in a while, I get
inspired part way into the writing process. Truthfully, the norm is a
hair pulling battle once the book is completed. Amanda
in the Summer
was totally different. I STARTED with the title. A piece of paper,
folded, put the random words together and my imagination took flight.
Growing up, I loved writing letters so telling this story with the
use of letters written by three generations of women was so much fun.
From a reader’s point of view, it’s a bit like peeping into the
private life of these women. They share so much with their close
friend, Tilly. Letters are a private communication so the reader is
getting an up close and personal view of the lives of each woman that
even the other women do not see.
Three
generations of women…and the secret that strengthens their love.
A
line of women, all named Amanda, stretches back for generations. Each
with her hopes, her joys, her pain—each pouring out her heart in
correspondence with a dear family friend who shares their lives,
understands their loves, and joins in their sorrows.
But
within the correspondence lies a secret. And as the youngest of the
Amandas retraces the journey through the years—beginning in
post-war America and following through to modern day—the letters
reveal, layer by layer, the Amandas who came before her. Soon, the
truths and lies hidden in the letters lead her down a path of
self-discovery that forges a bond between her past and future.
The
letters span fifty-seven years, 1947 to 2004.
Excerpt:
August 24, 1968
Dear Tilly,
A few days of bliss
with no one to talk to but the seagulls. I have you
to thank for this. I’m so glad you popped back after
Amanda, Robert, and Mother left. The strain I put on all
of us while you were here would’ve dragged on for who
knows how long if you hadn’t returned. Once
again, Tilly, you read the tea leaves and righted thing.
My moods have been
so ragged of late. Jealousy of all things. Jealous
that you could talk to my daughter, get along so lovely
with her, which I’ve had difficulty doing these last few
months. Jealous of your longer running friendship
with Robert than with me. I’m not sure if I was
jealous of him or you. You’re both mine. And angry that the
two of you are uncomfortable around each other after so
many years and not making sense of that. When Robert
left, I tried to give him the blue swimsuit you had
left behind and asked him to drop in on you to return it.
He said no, I could do it when I got back. This was so
unlike him and did more to unsettle me...
Or
on FaceBook: www.facebook.com/BrendaWhitesideAuthor
She
blogs about prairie life and writing at
http://brendawhiteside.blogspot.com/
