25 May 2014, 3:15pm
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Ocean Cruise Liner

My Mother, the Ocean Cruise Liner

By Kate Chamberlin

In her prime, my Mother was like a ocean cruise liner, strong as a Gail and as sturdy as the little tug that guided her into harbor.

 

My brother and I were like little boats following behind her, safe within the  wake she forged for us. She smiled as we grew and began to test our mettle by surging up the froth on each side of her wake.

 

Occasionally, one of us would slip over into the cresting ocean, but return to  her safe wake before we keeled over.

 

In time her little ships became strong and bold enough to sail out into the ocean  swells. Side by side, we sailed many happy nautical miles, at ever increasing knots.

 

She relished watching our own little boats frolic in our protective wakes and even come into her  wake from time to time.

 

Her  fittings stiffened with rust. Her joints crusted over with old salt. her engine began to sputter.

Now, our tow-lines keep our cherished mother close to us as we go full-sail ahead toward the horizon

before her sun sets.

©May,2014 by Kate Chamberlin

My Mother, the Ocean Cruise Liner

By Kate Chamberlin

In her prime, my Mother was like a ocean cruise liner, strong as a Gail and as sturdy as the little tug that guided her into harbor.

 

My brother and I were like little boats following behind her, safe within the  wake she forged for us. She smiled as we grew and began to test our mettle by surging up the froth on each side of her wake.

 

Occasionally, one of us would slip over into the cresting ocean, but return to  her safe wake before we keeled over.

 

In time her little ships became strong and bold enough to sail out into the ocean  swells. Side by side, we sailed many happy nautical miles, at ever increasing knots.

 

She relished watching our own little boats frolic in our protective wakes and even come into her  wake from time to time.

 

Her  fittings stiffened with rust. Her joints crusted over with old salt. her engine began to sputter.

Now, our tow-lines keep our cherished mother close to us as we go full-sail ahead toward the horizon

before her sun sets.

My Mother, the Ocean Cruise Liner

By Kate Chamberlin

In her prime, my Mother was like a ocean cruise liner, strong as a Gail and as sturdy as the little tug that guided her into harbor.

 

My brother and I were like little boats following behind her, safe within the  wake she forged for us. She smiled as we grew and began to test our mettle by surging up the froth on each side of her wake.

 

Occasionally, one of us would slip over into the cresting ocean, but return to  her safe wake before we keeled over.

 

In time her little ships became strong and bold enough to sail out into the ocean  swells. Side by side, we sailed many happy nautical miles, at ever increasing knots.

 

She relished watching our own little boats frolic in our protective wakes and even come into her  wake from time to time.

 

Her  fittings stiffened with rust. Her joints crusted over with old salt. her engine began to sputter.

Now, our tow-lines keep our cherished mother close to us as we go full-sail ahead toward the horizon

before her sun sets.

©May,2014 by Kate Chamberlin

©May,2014 by Kate Chamberlin

My Mother, the Ocean Cruise Liner

By Kate Chamberlin

In her prime, my Mother was like a ocean cruise liner, strong as a Gail and as sturdy as the little tug that guided her into harbor.

 

My brother and I were like little boats following behind her, safe within the  wake she forged for us. She smiled as we grew and began to test our mettle by surging up the froth on each side of her wake.

 

Occasionally, one of us would slip over into the cresting ocean, but return to  her safe wake before we keeled over.

 

In time her little ships became strong and bold enough to sail out into the ocean  swells. Side by side, we sailed many happy nautical miles, at ever increasing knots.

 

She relished watching our own little boats frolic in our protective wakes and even come into her  wake from time to time.

 

Her  fittings stiffened with rust. Her joints crusted over with old salt. her engine began to sputter.

Now, our tow-lines keep our cherished mother close to us as we go full-sail ahead toward the horizon

before her sun sets.

©May,2014 by Kate Chamberlin

My Mother, the Ocean Cruise Liner

By Kate Chamberlin

In her prime, my Mother was like a ocean cruise liner, strong as a Gail and as sturdy as the little tug that guided her into harbor.

 

My brother and I were like little boats following behind her, safe within the  wake she forged for us. She smiled as we grew and began to test our mettle by surging up the froth on each side of her wake.

 

Occasionally, one of us would slip over into the cresting ocean, but return to  her safe wake before we keeled over.

 

In time her little ships became strong and bold enough to sail out into the ocean  swells. Side by side, we sailed many happy nautical miles, at ever increasing knots.

 

She relished watching our own little boats frolic in our protective wakes and even come into her  wake from time to time.

 

Her  fittings stiffened with rust. Her joints crusted over with old salt. her engine began to sputter.

Now, our tow-lines keep our cherished mother close to us as we go full-sail ahead toward the horizon

before her sun sets.

©May,2014 by Kate Chamberlin

25 May 2014, 2:25pm
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Comments Off on A Handful of Dust , by Evelyn Waugh

A Handful of Dust , by Evelyn Waugh

Book Review:  A Handful of Dust by Evelyn Waugh

Now that all of my children have lives of their own and my husband is retired, I have time to read a lot. I’ve been reading classic stories and authors — many of them for the first time.

 

I enjoyed A Handful of Dust by Evelyn Waugh; however, I felt the introduction to the edition I read, almost spoiled the story.  It was less an introduction, than it was a critical analysis of Waugh’s writing, motive, and style.  This “Introduction and Bibliography” would be better placed as an “Afterward” at the end of the story.

 

Let readers enjoy and think about the story and how it applies to their own situation, the culture of the times it satirizes, and how the author crafted his story, before imposing your own point of view, thereby, prejudicing the reader.

 

As a free-lance writer, I learned from reading the alternative ending how writers in every age need to sometimes adapt their story for their audience and how a master worked dialog to advance the story, without tag lines to slow down the pace.

 

I would recommend A Handful of Dust, but read the story before you read the introduction.

 

A Handful of Dust by Evelyn Waugh; Published by Chapman and Hall (UK); 1934; 308 pp (1st edition); ISBN: n/a.

Recorded with  Introduction by  William Boyd; Every Man’s Library – Alfred A. Knopf; date?; 225 pp; NLS/BARD: DB68488; Read by David Cuttler.