***2010 Grand Prize Winner RWG (Rockford Writers' Guild) Press Contest
"Candace Murrow's prose is provocative without being pornographic, sensual without being sensational. Each piece reads like a condensed novel. Her economy of words with juicy insights is her special gift." ---David Ross, Editor Rockford Writers’ Guild Press "Candace Murrow has a lovely knack for identifying a voice, a quirk or a subtle desire in her characters that inspires the reader to learn more about them instead of judge them. The ambience her prose creates is truly peaceful plus she is a master at creating immediate and powerful imagery. Some of her characters are delightfully haunting. Murrow’s stories have the ability to open the minds and ease the hearts of her readers. I recommend this book for busy employees who need a little mental massage when they are on a break at work." ---Connie Kuntz, Editor The Rockford Review |
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Synopsis ...
An eclectic group of stories dealing with the disappointment of lost hopes and dreams. In coping, some of the characters move on, hoping for better times ahead; some face difficult challenges; and some simply accept their fate. Several of the stories are edgy, but all are spirited and entertaining. |
Contents
Lucky Streak 5
The Past and the Future Collide 15
The Letter 21
Suburbia on Wheels 29
The Day Mel Quit Dreaming 39
Chrysanthemums 47
Friday Nights 51
The Wednesday Gal 59
Lucky Streak 5
The Past and the Future Collide 15
The Letter 21
Suburbia on Wheels 29
The Day Mel Quit Dreaming 39
Chrysanthemums 47
Friday Nights 51
The Wednesday Gal 59
Excerpt from LUCKY STREAK ...
On the outskirts of Ulene, Oklahoma, the flat stretch of highway parted a sea of wheat fields. Zia had never seen anything like it. In Latin the name Zia meant a kind of grain. (She’d looked it up in a book of baby names.) All that golden grain, swaying in the wind, was a sign to Zia 1964 was aiming in a good direction and her luck was about to change. When she collected her hat and purse, stepped off the bus, and retrieved the one suitcase she owned, the heat rose to greet her, hot thick heat, enveloping her like a furnace, unusual for May. But she was used to heat, taken from all directions in life. A little heat hurt nobody, least of all a woman young enough to turn heads and old enough to know how to get what she wanted. And turn heads she did. When she strolled down the dusty street with her blazing red hair swept back by the wind, her sheer summer dress clung to her willowy body, thin as perfection, and her five-inch heels made unmistakable indentations. Every man’s head swiveled like an owl following its prey, eyes wide open, right and left, so as not to miss one inch of her. In the middle of Ulene, Zia set up shop in a broken-down house that doubled as her residence, and she perked up the beige color by painting the wooden door a ruby red. She placed a sign—PALM READER—in the window that faced the street and opened her house for business. |