Dear Lucile Bremer went to Hedda’s house to retrieve clothes for Hedda to wear to the courthouse. A black skirt with a tailored gray suit coat, and, to Hedda’s relief, a hat with a heavy black veil are laid out on the narrow bed.
Barefoot and wearing only her slip, Hedda shivers in the drafty cell. She makes no move for the clothes. She cannot.
The jail matron, Mrs. Brooks, enters her cell.
“We have to get you dressed, Miss Burgemeister. You do not want to miss this hearing. It’s your key to get out of this place. To go home where you can rest undisturbed and gain your strength back.”
So, deprived of travel, what has this longing-to-be boulevardier been doing since February? Writing and writing and writing. And editing. And getting feedback from a few guinea pig readers. And then editing again. And rewriting. And finishing to the point I’m ready for a larger pool of beta readers for what I’m calling “a truthful novel.” And I hope that means you.
With no stored up travel blogs, the time has arrived for the big reveal. Hate to be a tease, but An Ostrich-Plumed Hat, and, Yes, She Shot Him Dead is heading toward serialization. Right here. On this blog. For you. In the tradition of George Eliot’s Middlemarch, Charles Dickens’ Pickwick Papers and Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Please note I used the word tradition not caliber.
So what can you expect from a truthful novel? There are numerous perks to engaging in an affair with one of the wealthiest men in the city. But, if you end up shooting him, the man’s status imperils your life.