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The marriage of a fille du roi It is unlikely that either Barthélémy Verreault or Marthe Quittel, my maternal ancestors, came to their marriage with an expectation of romance. Marriage was a state of life, a way of surviving, of producing children who could take care of you in your old age. So much the better if the proposed partner was attractive to you, but even better if he or she was strong and demonstrated abilities to survive under the most adverse of conditions. The fille du roi visits her future home. Did Marthe insist on visiting Barthélémy’s landholding in (more…)
Jerry Waxler is clearly a man who knows his way around memoir writing. Those of us who have been following his blog, post after post, at Memory Writers Network and have immensely enjoyed his thoughtful commentary on memoir writing, his in-depth profiles of leading memoirist and memoir professionals, and his penetrating reviews of hot-off the press memoirs are pleased to have his blog posts gathered in this 200-page book he has so aptly named Memoir Revolution. Memoir Revolution is a book you will want to have on your memoir bookshelf. When I started memoir work in 1988, people would say (more…)
The “daughters of the king” were introduced to prospective husbands at the Ursuline convent in the Upper Town of Québec. Before the appointed calling hours, men, shy and not so shy, began to gather outside the convent, thinking perhaps of one particular woman or other who had caught their eye at Mass. These pioneers were looking for strong women who would be helpmates rather than for beauty. Soon the convent door opened and the men were ushered into a large parloir that had been set aside. In the room, sitting where they could see everything, were likely to be both (more…)

So you’ve decided to self-publish the book you have worked so hard to write. Congratulations! You have taken an important step, But, have you decided to self-publish with a book packager?

You are joining the ranks of some of the most well-known authors, including Deepak Chopra, James Joyce, Gertrude Stein and Anais Nin. In fact, you probably have several self-published titles in your own library. What Color is Your Parachute by Richard Nelson Bolles and Irma Rombauer’s The Joy of Cooking are two examples. (more…)

a monument to our ancestors, the filles du roi This excerpt is drawn from Here to Stay, a book-length account of Denis’ seventeenth-century ancestors. In the summer of 1663, ships, plying down the Saint Lawrence to dock at Québec, brought letters to the governor from King Louis about change that was to come to Canada. Hearing the news, many settlers were hopeful that, at last, Canada might receive the support it desperately required. Among the first changes were incentives to increase the population which, in 1663, numbered only 3,035. Given the small number of people, every death—whether due to natural (more…)
Gunnar owned the field and the house across the street. At one time, the house must have been a trim little cape. But now it rolled a bit, as if it was caught in a perpetual wave, and the white paint was badly flaked and faded. The house gave way to a series of sheds that ended at the entrance to a monstrous barn three stories high. Inside were Gunnar’s prized possessions: his Harley motorcycle and his vintage automobiles. Gunnar loved motorcycles. As a child with his first bicycle, he’d liberated his mother’s brand new metal vacuum cleaner tubes to (more…)
Gunnar was mowing his field. This was odd. He never mowed his field. He was making ever-tightening circles around the knobby acre, the sweet grass and raggedy weeds falling in neat windrows behind him. He rolled over the bumps and dodged the knot of trees in the middle and the outhouse at one end while perched atop a full-size tractor that, despite its bulk, failed to dwarf him. It was a nice grassy field, shimmering with seed in early August, rimmed with pines and oaks on three sides and a low-slung ancient stone wall on the fourth along the road, (more…)
When I was ten, I ran away. I packed everything that was important into my sturdy cardboard suitcase. I left a note on the kitchen table warning my parents not to look for me at the high-tension wires, those metal electrical towers that marked the back border of our property and which were in fact my destination. I never made it to the high-tension wires. I got as far as the start of the path through the woods where I found an accommodating rhododendron bush under which I could hide. From here, I could see anyone headed for the path. (more…)
The following is an excerpt from We Were Not Spoiled by Lucille Ledoux as told to Denis Ledoux. Life during the war went on as usual, in some ways. I enjoyed working at Benoit’s Clothing Store. I liked dressing up to go to work. We were always meeting the public and we had to look good. Our dresses had to be just right and our hair done. I used to go to a hairdresser on Lincoln Street whose shop was on the second floor of a building her family owned. She lived downstairs with her parents, who had made the (more…)
Memoir telling stories

A “Fille du Roi” Enters into a Marriage Contract

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It is unlikely that either Barthélémy Verreault or Marthe Quittel, my maternal ancestors, came to their marriage with an expectation of romance. Marriage was a state of life, a way of surviving, of producing children who could take care of you in your old age. So much the better if the proposed partner was attractive […]

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How to Self-Publish with a Book Packager

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You are joining the ranks of some of the most well-known authors, including Deepak Chopra, James Joyce, Gertrude Stein and Anais Nin. In fact, you probably have several self-published titles in your own library. What Color is Your Parachute by Richard Nelson Bolles and Irma Rombauer’s The Joy of Cooking are two examples. (more…)

farmhouse

There Goes The Neighborhood, Part 2

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We had already witnessed the demolition derby over the snowy weekend between Christmas and New Year’s. We figured the upcoming motorcycle party couldn’t top that. The demolition derby started with the arrival of large trucks bearing strange cargo. (more…)

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Pudgy: A Childhood Memoir

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When I was ten, I ran away. I packed everything that was important into my sturdy cardboard suitcase. I left a note on the kitchen table warning my parents not to look for me at the high-tension wires, those metal electrical towers that marked the back border of our property and which were in fact […]

Life During The War

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Life during the war went on as usual, in some ways. I enjoyed working at Benoit’s Clothing Store. I liked dressing up to go to work. We were always meeting … (more…)