PREFACE I am a woman of a certain age. An age at which I have gained, if not wisdom, then at least the experience and discernment to intuit that when an old friend I haven’t heard a squeak from in three years texts me, “S’up?” late at night that what’s…
Tag: this is what’s keeping me away from the blog
I caught my first glimmer of love when I was three. It happened in October; brilliant azure skies punctuated by palm trees, bags filled with candy, pumpkins on doorsteps. I was barreling through the house, as fast as my short little legs would carry me, looking for something to eat,…
A small monochrome engraving of a handsome laurel-wreathed man on the title page of a 16th-century book about plants is the only demonstrably authentic portrait of William Shakespeare made in his lifetime, it has been claimed. The suggestion is, by any measurement, a sensational one. It was made by the…
Oh babies you know the story, but for those who don’t, a short recap. Once upon a time Vickie Lester had agents who turned down one publishing deal and proposed another with a small indie firm that sounded just right. So, the wheels were in motion as 2013 turned into…
In case you’ve forgotten the first few pages, click here. You Don’t Own Me By Vickie Lester Late in the summer following her sophomore year, Billie Price was living in the Beverly Hills home of a blonde former figure skater. This photogenic darling of Orange County had risen from championship…
You Don’t Own Me By Vickie Lester The first roof over her head that summer was courtesy of a friend of friend who was house-sitting in a red brick colonial on a leafy street in Brookline. The house’s owner, a Political Science professor, little suspected that his home was harboring…
When I was coming out of college, I had a choice. An internship at BBDO, an ad agency in NYC, where I would live in a tiny studio apartment the size of a dorm room and look out of my window at a brick wall, or I could come back…
You Don’t Own Me By Vickie Lester “In a happy world, there would be no art. I retreat too often into my imagination. In a happy world, the experience of reality would be enough.” John Fowles …Billie was hunched on a stool at the breakfast bar playing with the bouncy…
I did not make breakfast, but lounged about as magic occurred in the kitchen, of course I had to endure some alt. rock and garage band anthems, but it seemed a small price to pay for delicious coffee, chopped grapefruit, scrambled eggs and onions, toast and marmalade. The apple of…