Maryann Austin

Some twenty miles or so outside of Saratoga Springs, NY is a place/body of water known as Lake Desolation.  It was back in the mid-eighties that I lived in the nearby town of Greenfield Center.  My mom and brother had a campground there.  And at seventeen I was rudely whisked away from my home in suburbia to live in this lonely place just south of the snow belt.  A place where snow flies each and every horrible day of the winter--and into the spring.   It was at that campground that I met Bridget.  She was the eldest daughter of a couple who camped there for a summer or two.  She was a true rebel: sneaky and holding many secrets from her parents.  I was a shy geek, albeit a pretty one.  So, in spite of my geekiness, I found myself pulled into the misadventures of many a bad girl in my youth. And Bridget was one of them. In some late seventies car, we drove in the dark, past Roeckles (rhymes with locals) General Store and toward the little bar on the shore of Lake Desolation.  Ti

     Ok.  The first thing I want to do is apologize for calling some kid a geek.  I don't know him, and he sounds like he's really a pretty nice kid.  But Geek Gets Date seemed more engaging than Nice Lonely Boy Gets Date.   Let's just say, he's not part of the popular crowd.      Last night, my son Christopher shared this story that made me smile.  A boy in his high school walked around all day yesterday carrying a large sign that read Need Date.   My son and this boy are in the same class at the end of the day, and so my son had the good fortune of witnessing the result of the young man's public request.  In front of everyone, a pretty girl approached him and said that she would like to go out with him.  My son says that the boy's chin almost hit the floor.        Moral of the story: Ask and you just might receive!  

A few days ago, my teenage son and his girlfriend had a tiff.  Both of them are very level-headed for their ages, and they managed to diffuse the situation before it got bigger than it needed to be.  My son had said hello to another girl (who is not a friend to his girlfriend) while they (couple) were walking to class.  Maybe it was the way he said it.  Maybe it was who the girl was.  Maybe his girlfriend was just having a bad moment. But I was proud of my son and the way he handled it.  He didn’t call her crazy.  He didn’t tell her that she was imagining things.  He didn’t cave either.  He stood his ground without making her feel even more threatened in a weak moment. Word of wisdom to you guys (and girls), when a little jealousy rears its head, it’s best not to defend yourself.  Her point is not that you are a jerk (even if she calls you one!).  It is that she feels hurt and threatened.  The worst thing you can do is tell her that she is insecure or nuts.  The best thing and ki

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June 14, 1859 Tonight Solomon and Gorgia jumped ovah the broomstick.  Now theys man an wife.  It be a good thing when two peeples is in love and they promis to watch ova one another.  But when Negroes gets wed, they no it aint real.  They do it so they has somebody, but they no that a white man can seprate them at any time and fo no reason.  This is what happen to me an my husbin Josef.  I did love Josef.  He was kine to me and kine to our baby.  Josef was a free man.  They was a law in Virginia that sed he had to leave o go into slavery.  It nevuh was a queston to us if Josef wud stay here as a slave.  I cud lose him as much as a slave as I did wid him a free man.  We node he had to go. October 22, 1859 At our church services they was talk bout that John Brown man who was livin in Maryland.  Seems he been takin by the soljers.  They say that last week he tried to take some guns from a place called Hoppers Ferry.  Dis was a white man figtin for us Negroes!  They say his own sons

How many of us remember this comment, or something similar?   Finish all of that food on your plate.  There are kids starving all over the world.  I heard it a few times.  If you are of my generation (born in the 60’s), your parents grew up in the post-depression era.  They grew up hearing about the bread lines and the Hoovervilles, the children who didn’t go to school but worked just in order to put food in their bellies.  And  many of us in my generation were heirs to the seemingly-stingy upbringing.  I remember my mother telling me that money doesn’t grow on trees when I so badly wanted a pair of Jordache or Sassoon jeans. And in the 80’s, people were so comfortable.  Fittingly, those years became known as the Me Decade.  Our culture coined new terms to name the financial creatures that evolved at that time.  Among them: Yuppies (young upwardly-mobile professionals) and Dinks (double income / no kids).  Now, fourteen years into the new millennium, things are different.

Virginia Elizabeth Keckley October 10, 1857 I been thinkin bout the yankees wantin to free us.  Theres a lot a people, negro and white alike, who is proclaimin slavery evil.  Since I was a girl, I knew they was people who believed this way.  Down here in the south too.  It seems,tho, that the idea is spreadin more these days.  There is slaves who run away and go to the free states where a man can walk about free to mind his own matters, white or negro.  Some go to a place even more north, Canada.  I hear there is men who find the runaways fo money.  They go nawth to fine them then they bring them back to they marse in the south.  Some marses is godly and wont severly punish, but others hand down much worse punishments.  These marses will to the worst they can do to a slave without killin him.  I known of a slave whose marse cut off every toe on one o his feet fo runnin.  If a marse was to kill a slave, it wouldnt mean nothin in the courts.  If the freedom the yankees is preachin w

My brother and his wife own and operate two Rita's Ice stores in New Jersey.  Recently, my sister-in-law Kim posted the following to facebook.  It conveys the frustration employers feel in dealing with young employees who have "entitlement issues."  The problems she describes are a major reason why America is falling behind the rest of the world in academics and business.  Thanks for letting me share this, Kim. To all of the parents with young children, this is what I am seeing as an employer of young people (high school/college age). YP unable to fill out an employment application properly or fully (I even have parents coming asking for and filling out applications for their children) YP who think that they can have EVERY day off they request YP who do not know how to change a garbage bag, sweep and  mop a floor, clean a bathroom. YP who look at a job as an extracurricular activity instead of as a responsibility. YP who can not put down their cell phone. I can go on an

I moved to quiet little Warrenton in ‘89 or ‘90.  I was in a very rocky relationship and I decided that it would be a good idea to take some college classes.  I felt lucky when I discovered that I would not have to go to Manassas each day.  I could pursue my interests in Warrenton--but that would require that I attend classes at a place called “the barn.”  The barn, I thought.  What the heck?  I was raised in New York and had some reservations.  But my curiosity got the best of me.  So I made the trek to another little place called Middletown and enrolled.   Since writing had always been my strong suit, College Composition was one of the first things for which I registered.  The instructor was Paula Lassiter, and I credit her with my interest in writing fiction.  Until that point, my writing had been limited to interviews, research papers, and various informative articles.  And one day, Paula gave a short assignment.  Write a fictitious journal entry of a person who lived during

November 4, 1856 Its been gettin cold an the marses family been stayin mostly in the south room of the big house.  This mornin Olivia and the marses chillen did stay for some time in the kitchen to avoid the cold. Miss Katherine has put me in charge of the negroes workin in the big house.  A woman couldnt ax for a finer posishun.  I will now be scoolin my own Olivia on all I know bout runnin a fine house.  I dont know of a finer mistress than my miss Katherine. February 10, 1857 Some of the negroes right here on this plantashun is talkin real bad about marse and miss Katherine.  Theys usin our church services for such hateful perposes.  But even us slaves who is inclined to think more Godly thogts about marse is scared to tell him for fear of punishment.  Theres a few whos tryin to spread the hateful feelins to the others.  They sayin that marse is an evil man and that keepin negroes, or any man, is the work of the devil.  Lillys marse wont let his slaves congregate for church ser

July 27, 1856 I discovered wot was the cos of marses foul mood last time I wrote.  Seems the tobacco harvest has brot less then marse spected.  I heard him say so to miss Katherine at supper.  He has decided in the spring to sow wheat and sow less tobacco.  He says that they too many planters plantin tobacco fo him to make no profits at it.  He says wheat will be a better choice of crop. July 29, 1856 My good friend Lilly come to visit today.  I was happy to see her, but soon my happiness turned to sorrow.  Her little girl, the one at the Cambell plantashun, is gone.  The marse of that plantashun sold her off with some other negroes that was of little use to him.  By the time Lillys marse did come to send fo the girl, she was sold an gone.  Cambell says the buyer was a company dealin in the buyin and sellin of negroes, and he has no way of noin where the girl could be.  I believe Lillys marse was truly sorry for the loss, but it was of little comfort to miss Lilly.  Dis made me tha

Fifteen years or so ago, I was assigned a project in a college history class.  It was influential for me.  It made me aware of my interest in writing about people and social issues.  But more than that, it made an indelible mark on me.  It forced me, and hopefully my classmates, to examine and recognize a human plight that had been horribly real.  The task was to examine antebellum and Civil War social issues.  And I attempted to tackle the assignment through the construction of a Slave Diary.  My group counterpart would provide a juxtaposing view through the creation of a diary of a white plantation mistress.                                                                                The legal enslavement of people ended many years ago.  But there are such things that still exist.  Life is busy, and it is all too easy to overlook what others are going through.  Be it child sex trafficking, domestic violence, or the violent taking of infant lives, ignorance doesn't render these

A while ago I read a blog post by a younger lady who was lamenting the current state of the dating world.  Like many others, she had been through the ringer with “relationships.”  Who hasn’t been there?  I know I have been there a few times.  The stories are all similar:   Young, attractive, smart lady meets handsome young (or not so young) man.  She wants a meaningful relationship.  He tells her he wants the same.  And perhaps he does.  But it takes a while for her to realize that his idea of meaningful is different from hers. You get where I’m going with this?  Enough said. Here’s the thing that I have learned:  we ladies make up lists in our head.  They are lists of the qualities we would like in a partner.  Some of us have the list in our heart.  Others actually write it down on paper or type it up on the computer.  It becomes part of our life to-do list.   Find a good man with these qualities. My list would have looked something like this:   Good looks Money Believes in God

The Civil War, that most tragic and devastating engagement of brother against brother, came to its bloody conclusion in 1865. Yet, Maryann Austin's beautifully written tale places the reader squarely in the middle of it. The Cotton family, so strong and tightly woven, is subject to circumstances that resonate strongly today, a century and a half later. Family connections, stalwart and pervasive systems of belief and behavior, and the capricious nature of circumstance provide the underpinnings for a well written and intriguing story that keeps the reader engaged from beginning to end. There is so much sadness and loss, yet a shimmering thread of hope, even redemption, glistens in the darkness. Once you pick this book up and read the preface, you will not want to put it down; it is a story to remember. http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/654751095

Many thanks to the 1100 people who entered!  The five winners are Kristen Bellows, Toni Holland, Jacek Slay, Loni Rifenburgh, and Shannon Rose.  Congratulations!  The books will be in the mail shortly. If you enjoy the story, kindly write a review.  Many thanks!

If you are in the Winchester area in August, please come to my book signing at the Winchester Book Gallery.

Well, here it is!  The long-awaited second novel!  I breathe a sigh of relief and hope that you enjoy this story.  It is the tale of Della Cotton.  She lives in Boone, North Carolina when war erupts in our young country.  Zebediah, her older brother, has designs on joining the Confederate Army.  The bossy girl tries to dissuade him, sure that he will die.   Meantime, a boy from town has designs on Della.  Zebediah watches his sister and her lover in the woods. He doesn't like what he sees, and he ends up dead on the forest floor.  Devastated, Della makes a snap decision and disappears.  Her army-bound ex-lover is long gone, and she is on his trail. The story is a chronicle of Della's journey through the Shenandoah Valley in 1863.  In her quest for revenge, she discovers more injustices.  She experiences the taste of killing.  Yet, there is redemption and, finally, love in an unlikely place. Enjoy when you read it!  I had fun writing it! Available in May

       From a wooded area north of town, a man watched as Della dragged a body through the field.  She had pictured herself throwing him over her shoulder, but reality would not allow it.  Though thin, indeed bony with the starvation of the war, he was too heavy for her.  For she, too, was malnourished and weaker than she had been when she first left Boone.  But she was sure, in healthier times, she could have easily carried him. The sound of gunfire can travel long distances.  But it grew fainter and fainter still while Della took John’s broken body southward through the valley.  She fought discouragement.  But the exhaustion was harder to overcome.  Seeking to lighten her load, she laid down her pack and her rifle.  Surely there would be some soldier who would put it to good use.  And she looked forward to the moment when she could discard every last thing that had made her a soldier. When she was far enough from her weapon, a voice startled her.  “Are you in need of help?” S

Some people have turned expectations into a dirty word.  I remember my first husband telling me that he did not want to get me a birthday gift because I expected it.   Absurd  I thought.  But I tried the concept anyway.  And I still got nothing.  To avoid the pain of never receiving, I learned to abandon my expectations all together.  Before I knew it, I came to expect nothing.  And my life still sucked.  After a few years of existing this way, I had a revelation.  Things had become so bad.  There was a lot of praying going on.  God, give me a man I can follow.  God, give me a man who sees me as a blessing, and not a curse.   I learned to come boldly and expectantly for my needs and desires.  And one day, it happened.  Just like that.  My request was fulfilled.  Would it never have happened had I not expected it?  I don’t know.  What I do know is that it did not happen until I asked for it and expected it.  So to those spreading the notion that expectations are somehow

It dawned on me today that Choking Butterflies is about more than moral decay.  There is another theme, one that I mention in passing in the book.  Joy is dismissed by her older siblings who place little value on family, and in fact recoil from it.  Joy is saddened by this fact, but eventually lets go and moves on to create a close and loving marriage.  Her hopes for her dream family are dashed again when her child turns out to be like her siblings.  There are, after all, very important things to tend to in life.  And Jane cares little about her mother or any other blood relative. My own sadness on the subject leaks out in the pages.  You just can’t want or need too much from people these days.  Not even family.  To most, family means no more than sharing a blood line, like some wild animals who, as adults, don‘t recognize the one they suckled next to.  There is no need to spend time, to give aide, to get to know one’s children.  Unless a person has something amazing to offer, t

       If you are an atheist, what I have to say will make no sense to you.  Stop reading here.  But if you are someone who professes to be a Christ follower and you support same sex marriage, I hope that you read on.  And I hope that you consider the following point. Reasonable people would agree that abuse and unfaithfulness in marriage are unacceptable.  But for a time I lived with these things.  I remember stating,  “These are not my rules.”  But he viewed me as a killjoy who sought to steal his freedom, and the relationship was destroyed.  I am reminded of those times as I watch the news of late.   Should the Federal ban on gay marriage be lifted?  Tweets and Facebook posts abound.  “Screw the haters!”  “Equal rights for everyone!”  “Love is love!”  Each side views the other as angry.   Few would debate that rules are designed to protect.  From the time we are tiny children, we learn   Don’t hit.  Don’t steal.  Don’t lie .  And as we mature, we learn more complex rules.

The Giving Tree I hadn’t even reached my tenth birthday when I first read The Giving Tree.  One of the priests talked about it in a homily at the Church of the Good Shepherd in Holbrook, NY and I thought it was something I would like to read.  It was magical for me when I was a child.  The simple words.  The simple pictures.  The simple story of unconditional love.  So easy to grasp as a babe.  The idea of turning the other cheek and remaining in a spirit of love no matter what. And I still have the beat up copy that I bought way back when with babysitting money.  Thirty some odd years later, the little book is a cherished volume in the collection of my six year old son.  But for a number of years, it rested in the bottom of a cardboard box.  And it narrowly escaped a trip to the Salvation Army or the dump a number of times--I think by the grace of God Himself. In case there are a couple of people in the world who have not read this wonderful story, I will give a tiny summary

I heard on the news today that the average life expectancy for women living in rural areas has dropped.  This was not good news to me as I am a woman living in a rural area.  The report cited lack of education and obesity as determining factors.     The study did not specify what is meant by lack of education.  But there are two possible ways to interpret this idea.  Perhaps the suggestion is that the women who are dying younger are not college graduates and, therefore, have lower incomes and cannot afford good medical care--a truth that I have experienced first hand.  Another way to interpret the “lack of education” might be a lack of knowledge about health and nutrition. I don’t challenge the accuracy of the report, but I am offended (maybe appalled is a better word) by the causes.  So it is coldly reported that fat and stupid middle-aged women, like myself, are kicking the bucket earlier--and it is because we are fat and stupid and poor.   I am definitely poor…compared to a

I always knew when it was a Boy Scout day because of the smells in the house: a certain aroma of smoke soaked into handbooks, canteens, and clothing that had sat around campfires many times.  Back in 1970 when I was only 3 or 4 years old, my father was a den leader and my mother was a den mother.  Wanting to be a part, I remember insisting that I was a den sister.  My older brother Michael was heavily involved in scouts.  And every so often, my home was host to a group of young boys in that familiar khaki green.  We lived in Wayne, NJ.  And I still remember that we were a part of the Altaha Council. Last week BSA announced that they might soon be lifting the ban on gays.  Now, without starting WWIII, I would like the freedom to say that the news saddened me.  The BSA has always been a Christian organization.  Indeed, the cub scout promise--recited decades ago by my brother, recited years ago by my teen son, and recited now by my six year old--says  I promise to do my best To