Friday, December 5, 2014


Everything’s possible – Dare to dream

Everything’s possible I thought on that gorgeous morning in July 1996. I was sitting outside by Rockefeller Center in Manhattan, enjoying breakfast from a paper bag, like a real New Yorker: a toasted roll with egg and cheese, and coffee from a paper cup with the friendly inscription Have a nice Day. The roll was a tiny bit soppy, but I didn’t care. I was completely happy with my first breakfast in New York, purchased from one of those popular carts, where mobile vendors sell all sorts of edible goodies.  

Breakfast Cart

This was my first morning in Manhattan, and I was infinitely proud that I had managed to walk a few blocks from my hotel to Fifth Avenue without being robbed, mugged or shot to death. It seemed like a small miracle considering the terrible things you always hear in the news.

Everything’s possible – twenty-five years after my first encounter with the United States I was finally back. During my year as an exchange student in the 1970’s I only got to know life in the rural Midwest. The feeling remained that my image of America had a hole, exactly in the place where the map locates New York City.

         I had plans to come back much sooner and fill the hole, but life played out differently. I met my future husband shortly before I graduated from high school in Germany. We traveled a lot, but the US was a part of the world that didn’t interest him. So, my encounter with New York remained a dream. It was the first dream I fulfilled for myself after my husband and I divorced.

Statue of Liberty
         Of course I wanted to see the sites all tourists are headed for: Times Square, the Statue of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge, Central Park, the Empire State Building and so forth. But to begin with, I simply drifted along with the crowd on the busy sidewalks. The buildings on both sides of the avenues are reaching for the sky, same as the people who arrive from every country in the world, from every culture and background. You feel that energy. The tempo is Allegro, the dynamics are in the forte-range. Occasionally there is some tension, but overall you’re part of a peaceful concert. The fact that a place like Manhattan is possible fills me with hope for mankind. 
         People watched me with astonishment when I stopped at red traffic lights. It took a while until I found the courage to follow those who simply cross the street when there’s no traffic. To this day, I sometimes stop out of habit. It will probably take the rest of my life to rid myself of the reflex to hesitate in front of imaginary obstacles.

         Everywhere, I encountered every day miracles that seemed unthinkable in Germany.
         Businessmen in elegant suits were holding lunch break in Bryant Park, a small area of trees and green, surrounded by skyscrapers in the center of Manhattan. The men were sitting on folding chairs, their stocking feet resting on an extra chair, shoes parked in the grass, ties thrown back across their shoulders. Their faces bore a blissful expression as they enjoyed the light of the midday sun.

         I discovered the largest bookstore I’d ever seen. It had three floors and it was open from 10am until midnight. People were sitting on the floor between the shelves, working their way through stacks of books. The shop assistants seemed to consider that completely normal. Securely and without complaints they stepped across the human obstacles while doing their work. Germany came to mind, where someone would came running as soon as they caught you reading the text on the dust cover, with a sharp reminder that the right to read was bound to the obligation to buy.

         The small café on the third floor had a view of Broadway. It was fine to sit there with a cup of coffee and browse through books for hours. By German standards, coffee and books you don’t own are a completely incompatible combination.
         “Cafes are New York’s public living room,” one of my friends in New York would tell me a few years later, “especially for all the people whose apartments are so tiny, all they can accommodate is a bed and a closet.”

         High school kids and college students spend hours in the cafes with their laptops. It’s a meeting place for friends; business partners negotiate contracts. I don’t know any other city where so much of personal life is shared in public. Once, I absorbed a complete lecture on inheritance law in the state of New York from the people at the next table. I felt enriched, even though I didn’t have any immediate use for the information.   
Central Park, the lake

         If you need a break from the quick pulse of the city, Central Park allows you to switch to a slower pace. The park is a green island in the heart of Manhattan. You see skyscrapers rising up above the treetops, but they stay outside. The paths in the park are as crooked as the streets in Midtown Manhattan are straight. I wonder if they were designed with the principle of Japanese crooked bridges in mind: the bad spirit can’t get across, because it can only move straight ahead.
         By the time I leave the park, I‘ve usually forgotten what it was that troubled my mind when I entered. I’m surrounded by nature. My steps slow down, and I take a deep breath.
         Before the park gets really quiet, you have to cross the “Loop”, though. The only road in the park is closed for traffic, and reserved for those who like to keep up a certain tempo even when they are relaxing: bikers, horse carriages, bike rikshas and the runners who are training for the next New York City Marathon. Different organizations sponsor running events on many Sunday mornings, and the loop becomes as busy as a highway. In spite of the tempo the gesture of containment remains, because the loop doesn’t lead anywhere – it’s a loop, after all. People run for the sake of running, the goal is to stay in the moment, rather than arrive anywhere.

Kid's marathon

         Those who’ve come to spend the day spread out blankets and picnic baskets on sheep meadow.
Central Park, Sheep Meadow

 Supposedly it did host a flock of sheep in days gone by.

 A painter sets up an easel under the trees.
Painter in Central Park

 Dogs befriend each other, while their owners enjoy a snack in the café. 
The latest in canine fashion is always a reason to take out the camera.

 Musicians feel drawn to the square by Bethesda Fountain. 

Bethesda Fountain

Jazz and four-part madrigals blend with the sound of the fountain’s rushing water and create a symphony.

         A famous site in Central Park is Strawberry Fields, with the memorial for John Lennon. It is a sanctuary for anyone who still feels the uplifting spirit of the 1960’s. IMAGINE, reads the inscription. Everything is possible. Dare to dream. I had a feeling it might be addressed to me, when I stood there for the first time.

         Strawberry Fields is on the edge of the park, on the Upper Westside. The small, tree-lined streets that cross the Avenues from East to West lead into a different world. The cozy, richly decorated brownstones tell stories about the people who live there. On my first visit to New York, I had no idea that in one of them lived the teacher, who would teach me everything that I’d been searching for as a pianist as long as I could think.

         Many hours at the piano and on planes across the Atlantic would pass between the first encounter with him the following summer, and my emigration to the United States in 2001. The decision to fly to New York for piano lessons a couple of times every year changed my view of the world and my priorities. Imagine says John Lennon, Dare to Dream.

         In 1999/2000 I spent the entire winter in New York. Once a week I saw my teacher for a lesson. Outside of that, I mostly saw practice rooms and pianos. The city remained outside, but I could feel its energy, as a force that kept me moving, as a living reality of possibilities. Before I returned to Germany, I played a solo recital for the first time in more than twenty years.

         My first job in the United States got me a work permit, and, eventually, a Green Card. Unfortunately, the job was not in New York. For seven years, I taught at a community music school in a small town in New England, surrounded by woods, mountains, and stifling silence. The only thing that conveyed a sense of motion was the music.
Winter in New Hampshire

The Concord Community Music School - A place of motion in New Hampshire

         Conferences, master classes, a few visits to friends took me to different places across the US. New York City remained the place where the motions of life and music flowed together. A friend of mine called it my soul home.   

         The heart of New York City is Manhattan, and Manhattan is an island, a long stretch of land between the Harlem River, the Hudson, and the East River, that merge at the southern tip of Manhattan. Some time passed before I realized that. At some point, I began to ask myself why every trip to the city ended in a traffic jam, crossing a bridge or passing through a tunnel. A glance at the map revealed the geographical situation.

         A solid piece of land, surrounded by three rivers. The encounter of motion and stillness. A solid foundation within myself, surrounded by the motion of life, open for the changes that come along with it – that’s something I wish for, an image where I can find myself.

On the way to my lesson with my teacher I sometimes visit John Lennon in Central Park. Performing has become a regular part of my life by now. Seventeen years ago, when I stood at the memorial for the first time, I had only just started to become serious about practicing again. Back then, I could barely imagine what has become possible in the meantime. Today, I find it hard to imagine that it’s ever been different.

Imagine – everything is possible – dare to dream.

John Lennon Memorial

This article was translated from the original German and posted. with kind permission by Edition Forsbach. It has been published in the volume "Inselgeschichten - Von Fehmarn bis Manhattan" (Island Stories), ISBN 978-3-943134-26-1 and is available through Amazon 

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Siddhartha and the Organ Marathon

My cat Siddhartha shows a strong inclination towards music. 
Mein Kater Siddhartha zeigt eine grosse Neigung zur Musik.

He likes to watch me practice 

Er beobachtet mich gerne beim Ueben

and I wonder what he dreams about, as he naps on my copy of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier.

und ich frage mich, wovon er wohl trauemt, waehrend er auf meinem Exemplar von Bachs Wohltemperiertem Klavier schlummert.

My students often have to negotiate with him about the piano bench

Meine Schueler muessen oft mit ihm verhandeln, wer den Klavierstuhl bekommt,

and it may take some persuasion, until he agrees to settle down on the other piano bench on the side. From there, he will follow the lesson attentively.

und es bedarf oft einiger Ueberredungskuenste, bevor er sich auf der zweiten Klavierbank niederlaesst. Von dort aus folgt er dann aufmerksam dem Unterricht.

Last Saturday, New York’s Classical Radio Station WQXR sponsored an 18-hour organ marathon at St. Peter’s church in New York City, featuring J.S. Bach’s complete organ work, performed by organists from the Juilliard School. I would have loved to go into the city and attend some of it, but I had a performance myself the following morning, so I had to stay home and practice. In the evening, I watched two of the concerts, which were streamed live on the internet.
Soon, Siddhartha came and took a seat on the coffee table, where I had set up the laptop. He placed himself in the first row, so to say. And here’s his reaction to the event.

Letzten Samstag veranstaltete WQXR, New Yorks Radiosender fuer klassische Musik, einen 18-stuendigen Orgel-Marathon mit Bachs gesamtem Orgelwerk  in der St Peter’s Church in New York City. Es spielten Organisten von der Juilliard School. Sehr gerne waere ich selber in die Stadt gefahren und haette mir einige der Konzerte angehoert. Da ich aber Sonntag morgen selber ein Konzert hatte, hielt ich es fuer geraten, daheim zu bleiben und zu ueben. Die Orgelveranstaltung aus New York wurde live auf dem Internet uebertragen, und abends sah ich mir einen Teil davon am Computer an.
Nach kurzer Zeit gesellte sich Siddhartha zu mir, setzte sich auf den Tisch, wo ich den Computer aufgestellt hatte - in die erste Reihe, sozusagen - und hier ist seine Reaktion:   

Now this looks interesting / Das sieht interessant aus

I think I'm going to listen for a while/
Ich glaube, ich werde ein bischen zuhoeren.

This is awesome, I'm impressed! Ich bin tief beeindruckt!

And here's a kiss for the organist.
Thank you so much, Paul Jacobs.
Ein Kuesschen fuer den Organisten.
Vielen herzlichen Dank, Paul Jacobs.

PS: My second cat, Genie Ramses ( the photo shows him with a dusting rag), is more interested interested in technical and athletic activities. On his next visit, the piano technician will have to fix the damper Genie Ramses tried to pull out of the piano...

Mein zweiter Kater, Genie Ramses (auf dem Foto mit Staubtuch) ist mehr an technischen und athletischen Akitvitaeten interessiert. Der Klaviertechniker wird beim naechsten Besuch den Daempfer wieder geradebiegen muessen, den Genie Ramses versucht hat, aus dem Fluegel zu ziehen...

Friday, October 3, 2014

Farewell to the memoir group/ Abschied von der Memoirgruppe

My memoir was off to a hopeful start after I attended Mark Matousek’s course on Spritual Memoir at the Open Center in New York City. But during the two years that followed, I struggled with Marks’ idea to write a self-help book on surviving with the help of music. He had high hopes for the book, but I just couldn’t see it. Finally, I was ready to ditch the plan. 
It was painful to close a file with more than a hundred pages written already, and start on page one of a new project. I can probably use some of what I wrote before, I tried to comfort myself. 

In the end, I started all over, and did what I really wanted to do: write a memoir about my personal story with the piano. How I came to love music, and ended up studying piano. How the search for the “Zen” experience at the piano, where sound fills every corner of your mind, led to lessons with Seymour Bernstein in New York. How those lessons changed my playing and my life. How they led to my emigration from Germany to the United States - not the easiest task, when you’re in your mid-forties and on your own. Guided by Seymour’s teaching, I dared myself to perform solo again. The first cautious steps took place at student gatherings in his studio, and they led all the way to public performances of J.S. Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. With the music, the piano and lessons with Seymour as my lifeline, I managed to gradually get my feet on the ground in a foreign country.   

Writing a book is something you do alone, just like practicing the piano. The article, the poem, the short story or the novel, whatever it is you want to write, is not going to  appear on the computer screen one morning by a sheer act of magic. You have to sit down and write. A laptop allows for a greater variety of environments for that activity than a piano, but in the end, it’s still you who has to pick your brain and put into words what you find. In that respect, it’s very much like practicing the piano. Others can give advice, but nobody else can do it for you. No one can tell you how long it’s going to take, and chances are it’s going to take a while. If it’s a book, you’re looking at years rather than months. 

It takes a lot of discipline and determination to wrestle the hours for writing from the demands of everyday life. Inevitably, you come to a point where you’d rather do something else. You ask yourself why you’re doing this in the first place, especially when you’re stuck. 

In that situation, my friend Betty Levin called my attention to the memoir group at the Montclair Public Library. She is working on a memoir herself and had been attending for a while. “You come to a session, observe, and see if you like it” she explained the application procedure. “If you do, you can join as soon as there is an opening.”
Carl Selinger, who facilitates two memoir groups at the library, likes to keep the size of the group to six people. They meet every other week from ten to twelve on Wednesday mornings at the library in Montclair, NJ. People who join have to be actively writing memoir, and make a commitment for at least three months. 
Attendance is free of charge! and the work together is an exchange of give and take. Everybody gets twenty minutes to read a short section of their work and get comments. Always eager to make the sessions as effective as possible, Carl gives a few guidelines: “We want to be respectful, and encouragement is great, but we need to know what’s wrong with our work in order to improve. Don’t repeat what others have said already, you want to get as many different aspects as possible. The presentation of re-writes is no encouraged. Please, try to bring new material at every session.” That’s a good way to keep people moving. And, of course, he keeps the time and sees to it that nobody goes over. 
Sometimes people have to miss, and then everybody gets more time. That works, too, and we’ve had a couple of very efficient meetings with just two people. 
Everybody gets a copy of the work that’s being read, and you’re encouraged to write comments in the margin, as you go along. That was something I had to get used to, finding it hard to listen and write at the same time. After the reading every group member gives comments. As a rule, there is no discussion, just feedback for the author, who can apply it to his work as he or she deems best. “Keep your own voice, don’t workshop your writing to death,” Carl reminds the participants. 

I went to observe a session two years ago in April. I liked it, and decided to join. There were no openings at the time, but I found it immensely helpful to know that there would be people with whom I could share my writing. It gave me a big boost of energy during the frustrating weeks when I was trying to get my second attempt off the ground. 

Space became available at the beginning of the summer. With less teaching and no concerts, that was perfect timing. The bi-monthly meetings soon became like life-rafts in the ocean. They provided a reason to write and a date, when I wanted to have something finished. 

I soon discovered that I learnt as much from the comments on my own work as form other people’s writing and the comments they got. I found it very comforting to have companions on the way in a pursuit that is a solitary as writing, in memoir especially. Everybody has their story, and others‘ challenges put your own in perspective. The rule that nothing leaves the room that is read in the group provides an atmosphere of safety. 
It was inspiring to see each others‘ work grow. Some people finished their project and left. Others decided to change their memoir into a novel and switched groups. At some point I realized that getting done would mean having to leave, and I noticed I would be leaving, too, once my work had reached a certain stage.  
The time has come now, and I’ve been grieving for a while at the thought. The book has reached the stage where the first edit is just about finished. A look at the big picture is needed now, at the arc of the story, the connections between parts.  Repetitions need to be avoided, decisions made what stays in and what has to go. Hopefully, a title will also emerge along the way. The working title Learning to Listen was nice for the self-help book, but for the memoir it doesn't quite fit. 
Tasks like that are hard to accomplish in twenty minutes every other week, so now is the time to find other sources for feedback.  And then there’s the long and painful journey towards publication. Or maybe not quite so long and painful. Let’s think positive. And when all is said and done, I might just have to write another memoir, so I can join the group again. 
My heartfelt thanks go to Carl Selinger, Abe Bunis, Betty Levin, Carney Mimms, Elizabeth Levine, Linda d’Amico, Robert Figueroa, Steve Trombecky and Tara Moyle, who kept me going during these two-and-a-half years, and added a lot to my work with their valuable advice. 
An excerpt of the memoir has been selected for publication in the Write-Group-Sampler-2014 of the Montclair Public Library. My contribution is called “Finding the music in me” - which happened during the year I spent as an exchange student in Minnesota when I was sixteen. 

The Montclair Write Group Sampler 2014 is available as an e-book, and can be downloaded free of charge from Smashwords at the following link:
(You have to copy the link, I can't activate it directly from the blog.)

The PDF format is for reading the ebook on a computer screen.  The EPUB format is used with most tablets and smartphones.  MOBi format is used with Kindle devices.

I’m sure you'll enjoy the selections in the book, which include essays, fiction, poetry, memoir and even a play. All works have been written by members of the various write groups at the Montclair Public Library. 

Abschied von der Memoir-Gruppe

Die Arbeit an meinem Memoir begann mit einem vielversprechenden Start, inspiriert durch Mark Marousek’s Kurs am Open Center in New York City. Danach mühte ich mich zwei Jahre lang mit Marks Idee ab, ein Selbsthilfebuch über Musik als (Über-)lebenshilfe zu schreiben. Er hatte grosse Hoffnungen für das Buch, aber für mich nahm es keine Gestalt an. Schliesslich war ich soweit, die Sache hinzuwerfen.

Es war nicht einfach, eine Datei zu schliessen, die schon mehr als hundert Seiten enthielt, und auf Seite eins eines neuen Projektes zu starten. Ich kann sicher einiges von dem gebrauchen, was ich schon geschrieben habe, tröstete ich mich zuerst.

Und dann fing ich ganz von vorne an, und tat das, was ich wirklich wollte: meine persönliche Klaviergeschichte aufschreiben. Wie ich meine Liebe zur Musik entdeckte, und wie es dazu kam, dass ich Klavier studierte.Wie die Suche nach der Zen- Erfahrung am Klavier, in der der Klang die gesamte Vorstellung erfüllt, zum Unterricht bei Seymour Bernstein in New York führten. Wie dieser Unterricht mein Spiel und mein Leben veränderte, und - mit Mitte Vierzig - zu meiner Auswanderung in die USA führte. Wie ich mich, begleitet von Seymours Anleitung, nach und nach als Solistin auf die Bühne wagte, von ersten vorsichtigen Versuchen in seinem Studio angefangen, bis zur öffentlichen Aufführung von Bachs Wohltemperiertem Klavier. Und wie mir die Musik, das Klavier und der Unterricht bei meinem Lehrer dabei halfen, in einem fremden Land Boden unter die Füsse zu bekommen.

Bücherschreiben und Klavierüben haben etwas gemeinsam: man tut es allein. Der Artikel, das Gedicht, die Kurzgeschichte, was auch immer man schreiben will, erscheint nicht einens Morgens durch magische Eingebung auf dem Bildschirm. Man muss sich tatsächlich hinsetzten und schreiben. Das Laptop lässt eine grössere Auswahl verschiedener Schreibumgebungen zu als das Klavier, aber am Ende muss man die Gedanken doch selber zu Wörtern und Sätzen formen. In dem Punkt ist der Vorgang dem Üben wieder sehr ähnlich. Andere können Ratschläge geben, aber keiner kann einem die Arbeit abnehmen. Niemand kann einem sagen, wie lange es dauert, und bei einem Buch muss man eher mit Jahren als mit Monaten rechnen.   

Einiges an Disziplin und Durchhaltevermögen ist gefordert, um die Zeit für das Schreiben dem Alltag abzuringen. Unweigerlich kommt man an den Punkt, wo man lieber etwas anderes täte und sich fragt, wieso man sich überhaupt auf ein Buchprojekt eingelassen hat.

In dieser Situation machte mich meine Bekannte Betty Levin auf die Memoirgruppe an der Stadtbücherei in Montclair, NJ aufmerksam. Sie arbeitet selber an einem Memoir, und gehörte schon seit einiger Zeit der Gruppe an. “Komm’ mal vorbei und sieh’ es Dir an,” sagte sie. “Wenn es Dir gefällt, kannst Du mitmachen, sobald ein Platz frei wird.”  

Carl Selinger, der die beiden Memoirgruppen leitet, lässt es gerne bei sechs Teilnehmern. Sie treffen sich alle 14 Tage mittwochs morgens von 10 - 12 in der Bücherei in Montclair. Die Teilnehmer müssen aktiv an einem Memoir arbeiten, und sich für mindestens drei Monate verpflichten. 

Die Teilnahme ist kostenlos! und die Zusammenarbeit ein inspirierender Austausch von geben und Nehmen. Jeder bekommt zwanzig Minuten Zeit, um eine Abschnitt aus seiner Arbeit zu lesen, der dann von allen kommentiert wird. Carl ist darauf bedacht, die Treffen so effizient wie möglich zu gestalten, und gibt einige Leitideen:

“Natürlich wollen wir respektvoll sein, Lob ist willkommen, aber wenn wir uns verbessern wollen, müssen wir wissen, was an unserer Arbeit nicht gut ist. Wiederholt bitte nicht, was andere schon gesagt haben,damit soviele Aspekte wie möglich zusammenkommen. Neues Material ist besser als revidierte Fassungen.” Auf diese Weise wird man motiviert, weiterzumachen. Und natürlich sieht Carl auf die Uhr, damit niemand überzieht. 

Manchmal fehlen Teilnehmer, und dann bekommen die anderen mehr Zeit. Auch das funktioniert, und wir hatten einige sehr inspirierende Treffen mit nur zwei Leuten.     

Bevor ein Beitrag gelesen wird, bekommen alle Teilnehmer eine Kopie, damit man Bemerkungen an den Rand schreiben kann. Das fand ich nicht so einfach, weil ich dann leicht beim Zuhören den Faden verliere. Nach dem Vortrag äussern alle ihre Meinung. Es gibt in der Regel keine Diskussion, nur feedback, das der Autor nach eigenem Belieben verwenden kann. “Bewahrt Euch die eigene Stimme” rät Carl, “ lasst Euer Buch nicht zu-Tode-revidieren.”  

Im April vor zwei Jahren ging ich zum ersten Mal zu einem Treffen der Gruppe. Es gefiel mir, und ich beschloss, mitzumachen. Es war nicht sofort ein Platz frei. aber die Aussicht auf eine Gruppe von Leuten, mit denen ich mein Schreiben besprechen konnte, versorgte mich mit Energie, während ich mit dem zweiten Anlauf für mein Buch begann. 

Rechtzeitig zu den Sommerferien wurde ein Platz in der Gruppe frei. Das war ideal. Weniger Schüler, keine Konzerte, das bedeutete Zeit zum Schreiben. Bald wurden die Treffen zum Rettungsboot im Ozean, für die es sich lohnte, etwas fertigzubekommen.

Ich stellte schnell fest, dass ich genauso viel von den Kommentaren zu meinem eigenen Schreiben, als vom Schreiben der anderen lernte. Ich fand es schön, Weggefährten zu haben. und die Regel, dass nichts was vorgelesen wird den Raum verlässt, erzeugt eine Atmosphäre von Sicherheit. Jeder hat seine Geschichte, und die Geschichten der anderen eröffnen neue Perspektiven für die eigene. 

Es war schön zu sehen, wie die Arbeit bei allen voranging. Einige wurden fertig und verliessen die Gruppe. Andere beschlossen, aus dem Memoir einen Roman zu machen; und wechselten in die “fiction” Schreibgruppe. Irgendwann wurde mir klar, dass Fertigwerden Abschied bedeutete, und auch ich die Gruppe verlassen würde, wenn men Buch ein bestimmtes Stadium erreicht hatte.

Der Zeitpunkt ist nun gekommen, und es macht mich traurig. Die erste Revision des Buches ist fast fertig, un nun ist anderes Feedback gefragt. Nun geht es um den grossen Zusammenhang, Übergänge, Vermeiden von Wiederholungen, die Entscheidung, was drinbleibt und was ‘rausfliegt. Ein Titlel muss auch noch gefunden werden. Hören lernen war ganz gut für das Selbsthilfebuch, aber zum Memoir passt es nicht so ganz.

Diese Aufgaben sind in der kurzen Zeit in der Gruppe nicht so gut zu bewältigen, nun muss ich andere Quellen finden für das feedback. Und ich muss mich auf den langen Marsch auf der Suche nach Publikationsmöglichkeiten begeben. Oder vielleicht nicht ganz so lang. Positiv denken, heisst die Devise. Und wenn alles fertig ist, muss ich noch ein Memoir schreiben, damit ich wieder in die Gruppe kann.

Ich möchte Carl Selinger, Abe Bunis, Betty Levin, Carney Mimms, Elizabeth Levine, Linda d’Amico, Robert Figueroa, Steve Trombecky and Tara Moyle meinen herzlichen Dank aussprechen für ihre Unterstützung, und wertvolle Mithilfe bei meinem Buch.

Ein Auszug aus dem Memoir ist für die Publikation im Write-Group-Sampler 2014 ausgewählt worden, einem e-buch, das Arbeitsproben aus allen Schreibgruppen an der Stadtbücherei Montclair präsentiert: Memoir, Essay, Gedichte, Fiction und sogar ein Theaterstück. 

Unter folgendem Link kann man das Buch kostenlos herunterladen: The Montclair Write Group Sampler 2014 is now available for download from Smashwords.  Use this link:

the PDF format is for reading the ebook on a computer screen.  The EPUB format is used with most tablets and smartphones.  MOBi format is used with Kindle devices.