So in a rare moment of wit, I entered Ancestry’s caption contest yesterday. They were looking for the best take on the photo above. Turns out, I won.
So here’s the winning caption, with Photoshop courtesy of one of the page’s other fans (Ronnie Bromm O’Rourke).
The folks at Ancestry tell me a prize pack is forthcoming. I’ll let you know what I get!
Wow. Dave’s already gotten back to me with a critique. I deeply appreciate the fast response because it gives me a lot of time to work on it. Thanks, Dave!
For the second time, I’ve heard that my dialogue writing is fine, but that my super-structure needs work.
Sigh. I must need a class or something because this is the third attempt (I did my own rewrite about a year before I sent it to Paul) to right that wrong. I essentially make too many assumptions about what people know. But it’s funny because another reader suggested that I go overly long on the exposition and I need to leave more to the reader’s imagination. Editors! 🙂
And if I had to critique myself, I’d say that the novel still doesn’t feel as sophisticated as I’m imagining it should be. There’s an elegance I feel I reach every time I do a major edit, only to watch it skitter away when I put it down and then re-read it.
So, it’s time for me to once again to back to the drawing board. Maybe this time with a hammer and chisel instead of just a red pen.
Better get crackin’.
In an effort to once again kick myself in the pants, I’ve turned my book over to another friend, David DeKok. Dave’s a longtime journalist and author who specializes in historic non-fiction. His books about Centralia, a cholera outbreak in New York and an unsolved murder at Penn State have all gotten lots of positive media attention, so I’m eager to hear his thoughts.
Learn more about Dave here.
I can’t speak highly enough of this incredible series. PBS always does a fabulous job with documentaries, but ‘The Italian Americans’Â is superb. I’m only two hours in, but I am already wishing for the next installment.
I loved hearing about the “birds of passage,” stories which filled in more deeply my notions of the trips Pasquale, Cesare and possibly Ottavio took from the U.S. to Italy.
It also clearly articulates the harsh conditions Francesco Venezia likely left in Italy and the different set of challenges he faced once he arrived. In all the reading I’d done in preparation to write my book, I’d come across all kinds of things that made my jaw drop.
Full-page ads from the Sons of Italy saying “We’re Americans, we love this country!” during the height of both World Wars. Descriptions in newspaper articles that we would today call blatantly racist. That, taken with the information presented in the series, made me realize that what I am so proud of today would have made me an outcast a century ago.
There is so much that my grandfather likely protected my father from. From Phil’s memories of a broken childhood and the possible violence that may have been a part of it. From the taunts and slurs Phil probably endured, possibly into adulthood. Not everyone manages to do that, to keep the bad stuff back and in the past. It makes me respect him, and my ancestors, even more.
It’s been a quiet few weeks as we adjusted to life in the aftermath of Valerie’s passing. It’s going to be a low-key Christmas, too.
Sometimes, when things are tough, it can help to keep up the traditions that bring back happy memories. For my family, it’s making pierogies.
This tradition comes from the Solvak side of my family. Grammy made them by hand every year for Christmas, Easter and anytime my dad had a special request. When circumstances kept us from coming home to Pittsburgh back in the late 1980s, my dad learned to make them.
Over the phone, my dad took down the “recipe” which was little more than a list of ingredients. Our first attempt turned out OK, if a little doughy.
But after that aberration, I was back to standing next to Grammy in her kitchen each Christmas and Easter, with my brother and cousins on “pinch patrol” to speed production. After she died, Dad and Mary Ann took over pierogi-making duties.
That worked, too, until the year my dad got sick. Someone had to make them for Easter, and I knew it had to be me.
I made them in the tiny kitchen of Jason and mine’s rented house. Now, you have to understand that I suck at cooking. The joke is I burned Cup O’Noodles because, well, I did. But when I get my hands in that sticky dough, it’s like I’m Julia Child. Or, at least, Helen Brenckle.
I’ve made them for our celebrations every year since. I’m grateful Dad’s still here to lend me a hand.
So wherever you are tonight, I hope you’re enjoying a family tradition of your own and that it brings you joy.
It is with heavy heart that I report my mother-in-law passed away this week.
She was an amazing woman whose creativity was an inspiration. She authored six books and a number of short stories, all of the cozy mystery variety.
Here’s how I will always remember my amazing in-laws, happy and in love.They are, I believe, together again.
My DNA test results are in (cue the Maury Povich music).
Actually, they came back a few weeks ago. The fact I’m posting now should tell you they were fairly unremarkable.
I knew my background regions all along. So, no surprises there. But what did shock me was how little of my DNA seems to come from Italy.
My profile states that I am 51 percent Western European, 24 percent Eastern European, 11 percent Great Britain and only 8 percent Italian. Whaaaat??? My grandpa was 100 percent Italian, as in, both his parents came from Italy and I’ve traced their roots very far back.
My grandmother was 100 percent Slovak. My other grandparents were 100 percent Polish and 98 percent Irish, with a little French Canadian thrown in because the Irish branch emigrated through Canada rather than the US.
I was expecting more Italian. But, ah, perhaps ol’ Fillipo Aristodemo had some other types of blood running through his veins!
I suppose it depended on what was in my spit that morning I took the test. Maybe the Italian portions were still sleeping.
I do take a lot of comfort in knowing that the majority of “me” is made up of the DNA most closely associated with my wonderful Grammy and my equally gentle, loving and kind Grandpa Krajenke (the Polish portion, if you couldn’t tell.)
I’ve been thinking a lot about how comforting this notion of inheritance is, at least for me and in my circumstance.
My mother-in-law, you see, is not doing well. She’s in the end stages of a progressive and ultimately fatal disease. My daughter, despite visiting her every week along with her Daddy, will only know her in pictures. However, there is a portion of her that will always be with her, that will always be with Jason, too.
My mother and father will be with me and with my daughter long after they are gone. A part of me will be with my daughter until the end of her days.
So, that means Grammy, and yes, Phil, are with me right now.
In physics, you learn that matter is neither created nor destroyed. With this test, it shows that is indeed the case. Lives echo on and on, catching the shore of the present day like the tide.
Pittsburgh is a way of life. If you’re from there, I don’t have to explain it. If you’re not, it’s almost impossible.
It’s like a giant, weird, funny family. That goes double if you have roots in any of the city’s major traditional ethnic neighborhoods — East Liberty (my family), Polish Hill (Polish), the North Side (German) — where your actual very large and quirky family might live. Maybe that’s how it is for lots of major cities. But I’ve lived elsewhere, and there’s just an extra something that exists between Pittsburghers.
I’ve given the thumbs up to a car slapped with Steeler stickers, only to hold a conversation at the next stoplight. “Where are you from?” they shout. “McCandless!” I yell back. “Carnegie!” they say with a grin. We give the thumbs up again and drive off in separate directions.
Pittsburgh is on a lot of people’s minds of late because the city that used to be known as “hell with the lid off” and nearly crumpled during the bust of the steel industry is once again surging.
Movies are getting made there (even though native son Michael Keaton did it long before it was cool!). Tech and medical companies put their headquarters there. Carnegie Mellon University is doing incredible things with robotics. Classic companies like Heinz, PNC and PPG stand tall. Overall, it’s just a great time to live there, or to be from there.
There are some passionate researchers, genealogists and cultural historians working in the Pittsburgh area.
The greatest resource is The Digs, where the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette’s photo team comb their extensive archives and pull up incredible peeks into the city’s past.
Another major favorite is The Odd, Mysterious & Fascinating History of Pittsburgh. How this guy finds this stuff is beyond me.
I’m also a big fan of ThatsChurch (formerly PittGirl)
Of course, this list wouldn’t be complete without Pittsburgh Dad, Mike Preksta & Curt Wootton’s hilarious homage to the dads so many of us had or knew.
I’ll post more as I find them!
Wheeeeewwww. I feel like I’ve run a marathon. I’ve completed my revisions, based on Paul’s comments. Paul suggested I get a few more sets of eyes on the piece before trying to send it out. A very kind friend, whose writing and, more importantly, nose for BS I respect greatly, has agreed to take a read. I’m eager to hear what he has to say.
Either way, I feel like celebrating!
findingphilblog 
Recent Comments