Even with a bound copy of Irish Firebrands in my hand, I still have to laugh about it: I wrote a book! Nearly five hundred pages! All by myself! Where on Earth did it come from?
It’s been fashionable, on and off over the past century or so, to Blame One’s Mother for One’s Weird Stuff, so I guess I’ll join the crowd. My mother has always been what “They” call a “voracious reader”: She amassed a massive personal library that covered one entire wall of our large living room, and never sat down without a book to keep her company (except during family meals). Our local public library was in an ancient storefront with creaking board floors, on the short main street of a small town five miles away, and after Ma got her driver’s license, it was one of our regular haunts. When she lost her sight, I believe…
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IRISH FIREBRANDS: A Novel ~ and Other Works by Christine Plouvier, Indie Author 