I was overwhelmed by my reception when I returned to Asheville. Suddenly people wanted to speak to me and associate with me who never had the time of day to give me when I lived there and worked in boarding houses. Everyone scrupulously avoided speaking of my origins in the city—especially the men, some of whom I recognized all too well. But I was invited everywhere and quizzed not too subtly about who was and who wasn't depicted in The Boarding House—and whether there was another book fo
This eight-chapter novella, inspired by Thomas Wolfe's Look Homeward Angel, is set at inception in Asheville, North Carolina, in the second decade of the twentieth century. Posting of the work will be completed within three weeks chapter one posts.
"It won't be long now."
The young man had a booming voice—a surprise coming out of his frame, which wasn't small. But he was trim and not more than average height, and was made to look small
I was a little smug with Stanford Dane at that point; his comment on the arrogance of youth held true. I had assumed that what I knew that he didn't made all of the difference—that I was going to New York with Alec Cotton. That Alec Cotton was my sponsor lover now and would take care of me. And Dane didn't even know about Alec Cotton. But Dane did know about Max Trudeau.
The first week in New York City was fine. Actually, it was awesome. And I'm not writing about the sex with Alec
Happily Trudeau was not completely serious when he told me there would be more sex than work on my book in his home. He was fully professional in the art of creating first-class novels. What was true, though, was that my work was taken completely apart and put back together again. And, although he was blunt with his critiques and was a hard task master, Trudeau beat two books out of me over the next eight months that each was far better than the one I had originally written.
I quickly found that my mother's "special services" operation paled in the face of what Mrs. Childress was capable of. I wasn't the only one on her staff giving extra attention for extra cash at the Swannanoa Boarding House. In addition to me for the men guests so inclined, she had two serving girls, Sadie and Clare, who did the same for the men who paid for it. Their rooms were in the attic, at the back, and I'm betting Mrs. Childress made more off of our added services than she did off the let
It was mere happenstance that I received the letter at all—and I remembered later that I had every reason to suspect that there had been other letters sent to me at the boarding house that I never saw. I just happened to be the one standing at the front door when the mailman came by and, although I didn't usually do so, I glanced at the addresses on the envelopes he handed me.
The name was spelled with only one R, of course, but it clearly was addressed to me—and it was from a tow
When the scheme first got started, it seemed to be no big deal, really. By then there wasn't anything to protect and after the first time as part of the boarding house service there wasn't that much to be embarrassed about either.
My family came to Asheville when I was just ten. For me, it was an improvement over the dreary coal mining towns of western Pennsylvania. Asheville was a boomtown nestled in a bowl of mountains made up of the Blue Ridge Mountains running up against the G
And then, one day, there was Stanford Dane—and eventually there was Abraham.
With Stanford everything was different, nothing unfolded according to the set plan, and, amazingly enough, Mrs. Childress purred through the whole process.
Dane came to Asheville at the height of an arts festival in which the new live drama theater was being launched. He came with a trumpet fanfare, striding in on a red carpet, as the guest stage director from Savannah, Charleston, and Balt
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