August has always meant family gatherings, beach days, ripe peaches and fresh corn and a string of long hot afternoons that drag straight into a starry night. For as long as I can remember August has ruled the summer. Bathing suits and towels slung over deck railings, everyone talking around a table filled with farm fresh everything, sandy feet padding about on sandy paths, berries popping from vine to mouth and all the time in the world to do nothing. Hands down August wins every time.
How do you begin to write a novel is often the first question I’m asked. I guess, as a woman who had witnessed much and lived to tell, all I needed to do was sit myself down and let the words come. On the best writing days I allowed the story to simply unfold and did my darnedest to meet each character without judgement. Well, that’s not exactly accurate. It wasn’t that simple, but I did try to stay out of the way of whatever was building on the page. At first, characters arrived shrouded in shadows, one then the next slowly stepping closer, until there was a whole illuminated cast who lived and breathed life into Crazy String.
Nine Cent Girl 