historical-fiction

What__ bosoms?_ Cade asked.__ou__l find out when you get older,_ Jake said."A lot older," Colt said.Last Promise

How age enamels us, she would say. It builds up in layers and locks us inside our own skin, stopping us from breaking out, preventing the outside from burrowing in.

The oaks along the ridge were writhing like tortured epileptics in the winds, and she could make out through the thick rain a cascade of water like a cataract come roiling down the inside slope toward her; a vast arching spray exploded bright against the dark sky as the Gulf slammed over the chenier.

Matthew shook his head. __hoever said anything of women in the Victorian era being prim and proper apparently hadn__ met Maxine Fleming.__ahatan chuckled. ____ sure a publisher somewhere would make a nice fortune with putting this into print. The fact is, people tend to look back on bygone times through rose-colored glasses. All eras have encouraged values that are pushed on the surface, but in the end, people are still people.

Cyrus is the meat and potatoes of my life, but Prudence was a cupcake I could enjoy just for the sheer sweetness of being with her.

The empire long united must divide, long divided must unite; this is how it has always been.

What do we do if we come across trouble, sir?' Cahill asked, slapping at a fly. 'As much as I enjoy giving the rebel turds a walloping, it should be down to the Militia to keep the buggers in check.''They are doing their job,' Mullone said, glancing at a free-standing Celtic Cross that had once been a prominent feature beside the road, but was now strangled with weeds, besieged with dark moss and deeply pitted with age.'If you call plundering, fighting and torture work, sir.''You don't have much faith in the peace talks then, Seán?''No, sir. There's more chance of me taking holy orders and becoming the Pope than there is of peace,' Cahill replied. 'The negotiations that spout from the politicians mouths are nothing but wet farts.'-from Liberty or Death

I will not live to see you grow to womanhood, so I have written my story for you, my beloved grandchild, so that you can know the truth of what happened here so many years ago. I'm sure that in the course of your life you have wonderd about whispered conversations that stop when you are near. Wondered too about the knowing looks cast at you and your family. I am equally sure that your father has never found it in his heart to tell you the truth you are about to read. I beg you not to be angry with hime for withholding the truth from you. He has suffered greatly for my sins.

It is one of the great arts of the human soul," Ezekiel said to himself. Her hand on the door, Quincy shifted and looked back at her uncle's profile. "What is?""Staying with someone. Companionship is one of the great arts of the human soul.

I guess I'd rather have a truthful neighbor who says he hates me than a lyin' one who claims he loves me.

Antonio could not stop thinking about Dean Fiero__ words during his welcoming speech, __ook to your left; now to your right. One of you will not be here in 1915!_ These words were used to intimidate freshman law students to draw their attention to the importance of being diligent in their forthcoming studies. They still are.

A man's pride will cause him to do things you never dreamed possible. He got fired up about being right and blocked out everything else.

And then there was nature__ music. The small frog the locals called coquí was a treasured new sound, a lullaby sung by the chanting Puerto Rican native species. Sometimes, while he lay in bed awake at night, Manuel tried to imitate the sound of the little frog. He tried to sing it at first. But then he realized he could get the sound just right by whistling it. __oquí! Coquí!_ Manuel whistled. He improved his coquí whistle every day, until he sounded just as the little frog. People in town laughed at Manuel practicing his coquí sounds. Sometimes they could hear his whistles from outside the store, as though Manuel was carrying out a conversation with the small creatures.The tiny coquí sang through the nights and soothed Manuel__ sleep, keeping him company and reminding him that he was not alone.

Sons of a revolution fight for liberty. They give blood, flesh, limbs, their very lives. But daughters . . . we sacrifice our eternal souls.

Some day...as you grow older, you will find imagination sometimes produces a truth that is greater than any fact.

Was I right?" she asked him. "Was I right to make a stand against what I believed to be wrong? Even though many ills have come from it? I have been asking myself this a lot lately. I must be quiet in my conscience.

THEY CALLED HIM __once de León_ because he acted as though he could conquer anything and anyone. He enchanted every young woman that came his way with piropos (pick-up lines) and clever sweet talk. __as spring started? I just saw the first flower!_ Antonio whispered as he walked by a group of blushing young ladies, tipping off his white Panama hat as a silent __ow do you do?_ He was never at a loss for words. __hat are you doing out this morning? Don__ you know that stars only come out at night?_ was one of his favorite lines. And he had many. On a good day.

What determines how we remember history and which elements are preserved and penetrate the collective consciousness? If historical novels stir your interest, pursue the facts, history, memories, and personal testimonies available. These are the shoulders that historical fiction sits upon. When the survivors are gone we must not let the truth disappear with them. Please, give them a voice.