For Book Lovers Only Interview - Alice Greenhowe Wootson
His dreams are full of hot gunfire.
Spatters on the ground
join in rivulets and dye green and brown to red.
He dreams of twisted bodies and parts scattered
like a jigsaw puzzle flung during a tantrum.
He gathers up the pieces.
Hands red with life-juice,
he tries to put them together without the box cover and
before more pieces are thrown in.
He tries a roll call,
but mouths are full of blood and words cannot escape.
He dreams of demons who throw out nets,
Of tumbling children with death faces.
The net entangles him.
His bullets slice an escape.
Smoke and the smell/taste of death
Fill his mouth.
He sees the ground littered with more pieces.
The jungle comes alive.
disguised as women and children decorated with grenades
And carrying nets,
Come for him.
The net tightens.
He chokes awake, grabs his pen
And carves his mind-demons onto paper.
I walk from the creek.
The village is over the hill.
Mother waits for me to bring water for our meal.
My dress whispers too loud for a deerskin.
Rifle fire shatters the air.
I want to be a lodgepole
But my feet fly over the path
Hiding dead leaves.
I touch down only to bounce off.
I run to the top instead of away.
A stream from his chest colors his shirt to sunset.
A stream of her own comes.
Little ones run on legs too short to flee bullets.
Cries and burning deerskin
Twist with the smell of deer meat over the fire.
I want to find Mother, but my feet stay planted.
No one from my village moves.
Blue coats touch fire sticks to my home.
Their yells are celebration after the hunt.
I run back to the creek.
I wish the woods were older.
Sioux Warrior at Little Big Horn
Sky and earth colors woven together make my mother’s blanket.
I watched her fingers, stained by plants and clay
Lift wool from boiling pots.
She bent toward her loom like the strands forming the cloth.
Later she freed it from the wooden frame and
settled it over my shoulders.
She cried when I became a warrior.
When I folded the blanket and joined the others in the hunt
her tears darkened the earth like the colors did her yarn.
Still, I went to get food for the people who could not.
When I returned, death and smoke hovered over our village.
I smelled it before I saw it.
I heard cries from a little one who had no words.
I knew my mother by the blanket tight in her hands.
I gathered her blanket and tucked it around her.
Her loom helped form her burial stand.
The Great Spirit will come for her spirit.
When the sun came,
We followed the trail that He-Who-Cannot-See could follow.
It brought us here to the Blue Coats with skin the color of bones.
Today our voices will celebrate.
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Hello, Good People,
Hope everybody is having a great year. We have had a fantastic winter until a few days ago, when the weather looked at the
calendar and saw that it’s only March.
On the writing front: My third and last border book is in the hands of the editor. Hopefully, 'Border Trouble’ will follow ‘Border Love’
and ‘Border Danger’.
I will be submitting one of my two historical novels for publication consideration. I need your input. Here is information about them.
‘Love Thine Enemy’, Summary
He was looking for the woman who stole the Union Forces battle plans. He found the woman who stole his heart. She was escaping
from slavery but was captured by love.
Background: One of my father’s ancestors was married to a female spy. Rose O’Neale Greenhow,
was married to Robert Greenhow, son of John Greenhow. (The John Greenhow store is still in operation in Colonial Williamsburg.)
Daddy used to say she would spy for whichever side paid her. She always talked them into letting her go.
This was the idea for Faith, the main character in ‘Love Thine Enemy’. [A few days ago Rose O’Neale was part of a question on Jeopardy.]
‘Hannah’s Freedom’ - Dade Warner in this story (was really Dade Hooe, my father’s grandfather.)
Hannah was my father’s grandmother. She was listed as mulatto in the 1850 census. She was the WIFE of Dade.
When interracial marriages were legal in D.C. in 1875, Dade took her there and married her. Then, he took her back
to Stafford. (I have a copy of the marriage license and his will leaving his property to her and their family.
That’s how the property stayed in our family.) They lived and raised a family in Stafford, Virginia, around the
Civil War. Hannah’s Freedom’ is their story.
[A bit of history: in 1975 a couple, by the name of Loving were arrested in Virginia because interracial marriages were illegal.
The case went all the way to the Supreme Court which struck down the law.]
Which do you think I should submit?
(Please feel free to contact me at: firstname.lastname@example.org, letting me know what you think).
Keep on reading, and I’ll keep on writing.