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Dear Diary: November 6, 2018 – Read, Write, Eat, Write Some More

I decided that for the next month or so, I shall be writing in my diary on my blog.

My everyday goings-on, hopes, dreams, personal secrets, and what it’s like to live in the hospital this past year.

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Tuesday November 6 2018

Dear Diary,

Today has been a beautiful day. One of my favorite nurses attended to me this morning. We had a pleasant conversation, and she took a copy of my memoir: Wildflower: An Abducted Life. It blessed me that she took an interest in reading it.

At eleven, I ate a California avocado. Did you know that avocados are one of the healthiest fruits on the planet? They’re packed with nutrients. I eat one twice a week.

Then I lost myself in a captivating novel – The Shoemaker’s Wife by Adriana Trigiani.

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After that, I worked on one of my books: My Darling Rebecka. Here is a first draft of the book jacket and Chapter One (Critiques welcomed)

 

“A letter should be regarded not merely as a medium for the communication of intelligence, but also as a work of art.” Unknown

May 1, 1842, Harlem, New York

Abigail’s seclusion in an upper room

Abigail perched her wounded fanny on the padded red velvet settee. Dr. Bak had pushed morphine into her rump with a needle to help ease her pain.

The apothecary instructed her to swallow an ounce of tonic four times a day. It tasted like metallic cherry wine.

Papa had sequestered her from the family when she took ill. She imagined Mama’s voice at her door.

“Abby, Mama adores you.”

But, of course, it could not have been Mama.

The fire in the fireplace dwindled. Cold air blew through cracks in the windowsills but did nothing for Abigail’s raging fever.

She slumped over her writing-table, then dipped her white goose feathered quill into the beautiful gold-gilded inkwell her Aunt Eliza gifted her on her twenty-first birthday.

It is precious henceforth I pledge thee this token of my love for thee.

Affectionately,

She dropped her quill on her white woolen nightshirt, rushed to the chamber pot in the corner of her room and regurgitated Sunday’s mutton dinner.

Since she fell ill with influenza, her body and stomach ached enormously. The traveling physician had ordered her to consume large amounts of food to kill the fever. Her malaise worsened. Sweat, ink, and vomit soiled her new bedclothes. She collapsed.

All rights reserved © Nancy Jean Walker 2018


And I voted.


Will write you soon Dear Diary,

Nancy

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