Molly had been lying awake for an hour waiting for the light, or for her husband to wake, whichever came first. She wondered, not for the first time, how he was able to change a lifetime of inescapable routine so easily – she found it almost treacherous. So many years of hard slog, based on a work ethic generations old, were all for what? Pieces of silver?
They’d married in 1940. Davey was twenty and had already been on the coal face for five years.
From behind, he looks nothing like Marco.
When he turns, one hand in a salute against the morning sun, the other hand holding a guidebook at arm's length, she sees a resemblance. All the other candidates had either rushed by clutching polished briefcases or were consumed by family constellations at the edges of the piazza. Not one bore enough resemblance to Marco. This one appears to be alone. Hopefully he's from Milano or Bologna.
This week, we'll meet author and tutor Jeff Hirsch!
1.Tell us a little about yourself. Maybe something random that not many people know!
Let’s see here. How about we start with the non-random stuff first as a kind of baseline? I’ve been a full-time writer of young adult and middle grade fiction for going on six years now, publishing with Scholastic and Clarion Books. I grew up in Richmond, Virginia and now live in the small but mighty state of Rhode Island.
I wasn’t long back from school and was lying on my bed, stocking feet up on my Duran Duran poster. I’d grown tired of pretending to be Jayne Torvill, socks slipping over the icy surface, Bolero pounding in my head like a traction engine My left heel covered Simon Le Bon’s face. It had been over John Taylor’s, but I’d shifted position so John’s glossy pout was free of sock. The door opened hard, denting the lilac woodchip wallpaper.
‘Out!’ said Angie.
There are those who find the song of a foghorn mournful and foreboding. To me, it was a lullaby. I have been a lighthouse keeper all my life. I was born in the keeper's cottage in 1880, next to the tower that clings to a cliff in Maine. As a child, I was lulled to sleep by the rhythmic bursts of light and sound, bringing home the sailors like a wolf calling in her young after a Hunter's Moon.