Fresh FIction Box Not To Miss
Marie Bostwick | There is nothing I would not do for my children.
Uncategorized / May 29, 2009

Unfortunately, my children know this and have no compunction about exploiting my weakness. Over the last 26 years, that exploitation has been demonstrated in countless ways. Allow me to list a few. By my count to date I have … * Read “Goodnight Moon” 1,630 times.* Cut the crusts off 4,274 peanut butter sandwiches.* Delivered forgotten items to school (including books, homework, gym clothes, and lunch boxes of crustless peanut butter sandwiches) 712 times. * Spent half a year’s wages on overpriced tennis shoes that were outgrown in four months or less.* Spent another half year of wages buying fundraising items I didn’t want or need, including but not limited to magazines, wrapping paper, calendars, Christmas wreaths, Easter lilies, popcorn, candy, pizzas, and pies.* Washed 368 industrial sized dumpsters full of dirty laundry.* Edited 39 term papers, generally between midnight and two a.m. on the day they were due.* Driven the equivalent of 48 busloads of teenagers to the movies. If you’re a mother, you know this list is far from comprehensive, but you get the idea. And if you’re a mother, chances are you’re just like me. You’d do anything for your kids. Curious to read the rest? click…

Marie Bostwick | Fiction and Addictions
Uncategorized / November 14, 2008

It’s time for a confession. For years now, I’ve harbored a secret addiction. I’m not talking about my addiction to books. For writers, a book fetish simply goes with the territory. Right now, my nightstand is piled so high with books that if the stack toppled and fell on my foot, I’d end up with several broken toes. You understand what I’m talking about. Probably your nightstand is in the same condition. If not, you wouldn’t spend your time reading Fresh Fiction blogs, would you? No, the addiction I’m talking about is much more personal and insidious. Until recently, I’ve been in denial but the time has come to face the truth. I’m addicted – to fabric. I’m a quilter, Dear Reader, and I’ve got it bad. My home in New England is loaded with quilt shops and I can’t bypass any of them. There is a particular store in the wilds of New Hampshire that I been known to drive three hours out of my way to visit. Not three hours round trip – I’m talking three hours each way! Imagine how that went over with my kids, who thought they were just taking a little drive to see…