From: Barbara Malley [mailto:bbmalley@comcast.net]
Sent: Monday, July 24, 2017 10:49 PM
To: kathie mm (kathiemm@engagingpeace.com)
Subject: More bbm material
Sent: Monday, July 24, 2017 10:49 PM
To: kathie mm (kathiemm@engagingpeace.com)
Subject: More bbm material
February 10, 1990
With Ed Brecher's help, I had just completed 100 pages
of a sort of memoir when he committed suicide. He had been in failing
health, was losing his eyesight, and believed in the right to exit life when it
was no longer bearable. It was devastating news.
The best
therapy after such a crushing loss was to change gears and immerse myself in
writing a second workbook based on Mother's poems. But in
November I picked up the threads of my other book and decided to send the five
chapters to Roger Donald, Ed's former Little, Brown editor in New York.
Weeks went by.
Finally I got through by phone to Mr. Donald and learned he had never heard of
me or my book but said he would track it down and get back to me.
A few days
later he called and said, "I found your book and I love it." To which
I replied, as who wouldn't: "My Gawd!" He said to give him a few
weeks, as he wasn't sure how to go about publishing a book with such an unusual
format. A week later he called and said flatly, "I'm going to publish your
book."
At sixty-eight
years of age, I hung up the phone and began leaping around my condominium like
a drunkenly garrulous gazelle, crying oh wow, oh gosh, I can't believe this! I
called Kathie, but she was at a meeting, so I raved some more to the pictures
on the wall and executed a few more dance steps. When I finally reached Kathie
at home, we rejoiced together. I thought of Mom's poem about sadness and joy.
Sorrow lives behind a wall.
Alone,
the heart can bear it;
But
gladness cannot live at all
Unless
there's one to share it.
Rhyme Time, based on 19 of Ernestine's poems, is
slated for publication in 1991. My talented friend Grace Lawrence will again be
the illustrator.
I
don't know when I'll have definite news about the Little, Brown adventure but
meanwhile, what pipe dreams I'm having . . . my book made into a movie . . . an
appearance on Phil Donahue's show. No, that's ridiculous. I'm too much of a
scaredy cat even to imagine such a
foolish dream. I get all shaky and self-conscious if I have to make a short
announcement at a golf club luncheon. Maybe I'll acquire some poise by the time
I'm seventy five.
March 22, 1990
I just brought the remaining chapters to Colleen Mohyde, the
editor I'll be working with at Little, Brown's Boston branch on Beacon Hill.
She said she loved every word of what I had previously submitted, so I'm on
tenterhooks to hear her reaction to the rest.
I never expected the twilight of my years to be so
rapturous. When doubts about the reality of it all creep into my mind, I can
hear Mom's voice urging me to think positively.
I talked to my New York agent, Don Congdon, and learned he
has represented authors like "Bill" Manchester, Ray Bradbury, William
Styron, Lillian Hellman, and the guy who wrote Everything You Ever Wanted to
Know About Sex But Were Afraid To Ask. Don
told me this manuscript was first submitted under the title, Beyond the Birds
and the Bees. None of the editors thought it was catchy enough. They were all
sitting around a table one day when the author, Dr. David Reuben, spoke up and
said, “Remember when you people asked me to describe what my book was about? I
wrote back and said it was everything you ever wanted to know about sex but
were afraid to ask. How would that be for a title?"
Everyone liked it except Don. "It wouldn't fit on a
movie marquee," he said, being a practical, far-sighted
man. "Obviously, I couldn't have been more mistaken."
Don has unbelievable plans for my book; talks casually
about Canadian rights and excerpts for magazines and maybe a movie. When I
reported this to Aliceann during my visit to Singer Island, she said:
"When they make the movie, I want to play Aliceann."
I can't think of anyone else who could. (Aliceann was Ed's second wife.)
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March 28, 1991 Weymouth
Dear Aliceann,
Your phone call last night meant more to me than you can imagine. It was as if you were psychic and wanted to reassure me. Kathie had discussed with me the pressure you were under during my visits of the last two years. I knew and could understand your parents' negative feelings about our friendship but hadn't realized your friends felt the same way about "that woman."
I don’t ever again want to cause you the slightest discomfort. What with a recuperating husband and a calendar crammed with activities, you have enough stress without my piling on more. If I ever visit Singer Island again, I'll stay no longer than a weekend.
I just got your phone call. It didn't change my mind about shortening any future visits but it was certainly comforting. Not that you ever made me feel unwelcome for a moment, bless your generous heart.
Give my love to our favorite husband.
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