The Moon Sisters A Novel by Therese Walsh

Author:Therese Walsh
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780307461629
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2014-03-04T00:00:00+00:00

February 1, 2000

Dear Dad,

It’s the year 2000, and I keep wondering what you thought of all the turn-of-the-century insanity! Did you stock up on water and food, just in case? Branik wasn’t worried in the least, though I have to admit to purchasing a ridiculous quantity of peanut butter and bottled water. I had no doubt that if worse came to worst my mother-in-law would still somehow find a way to bake bread, and we would all be well fed.

Things are quieter here at home, under better control. Drahomíra now lives in a house right next door to her store, which she said was meant to be, since it went on the market when she needed it. Olivia has started school, though she doesn’t seem to like it yet. (She has attention issues, according to her teachers.) Jazz keeps to herself a lot of the time, but Branik says I was probably the same way when I was nine years old.

The details of my life with you are fading from memory, and that saddens me sometimes. The other day, I thought about the rug we had in the living room. Random, I know, but I used to trace its pattern with my fingers, lying on my stomach while writing English papers and dreaming of my life as a future novelist. You’d think I would have committed it to memory, but now I’m unsure. Was it swirling, or were the shapes angular? Was it cream with green, or green with cream? It’s not important, I know, but not being able to call up the visual still bothers me.

The nicest part of having a quieter house is having time to write. Yes, I am writing. Are you surprised? Though it’s a far cry from the Macintosh in the study at home, I’m sidling up every day in my kitchen beside an ancient typewriter Branik’s mother gave us. It’s sort of fun to use, and I’ve already written a hundred pages. That’s almost a quarter of a novel, at least according to one of my professors whose class I took so long ago.

You may think I’m crazy for it, but I feel in my gut that if I can do this—when I do this!—this book will be evidence of the highest order that I’m okay. Not ruined at all. Whole and vital, the person you always knew I could be. Maybe this is the key to controlling those tsunamis. I feel better when I write, more centered. Maybe fiction can put life’s unexplainables into perspective for me.

Are you curious over what the story’s about? I don’t want to say much yet, because I don’t want to jinx it, but I’ll give you a hint. It involves a bog and ghost lights, and a lost girl determined to be found. I am quite certain that determined lost girls are the most powerful of all forces.

Well, as Sylvia Plath once said, “Nothing stinks like a pile of unpublished writing.” Time to get to work.

Beth

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