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Musings
Musings is a blog by Dorah Blume is an author of historical novels including "Botticelli's Muse". Dorah has led Juiceboxartists writing workshops for adults in greater Boston, as well as in Tuscany.
Botticelli's Muse, historical fiction, novel, Dorah Blume, creative writing, juiceboxartists
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Musings

...on writing and all things creative
April 29, 2018 In Contests, Musings, Press

Foreword Reviews 2017 INDIE Finalist in Historical Fiction

So proud to be chosen as a finalist in the 2017 INDIES Competition

ABOUT FOREWORD
(taken directly from their website)

Founded in 1998, Foreword Magazine, Inc. is an independent media company totally devoted to covering the indie book publishing industry. From multi-imprint independent publishers, to micro presses, university presses, and author-owned publishers, the universe of indie publishing is vast and widely underserved; Foreword exists to fill that void, giving a platform for indie publishers to be discovered by our varied audience of librarians, booksellers, book-loving consumers, publishers, agents, and other publishing professionals.

 

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January 20, 2018 In Musings, Prompted to Tell, Writing Prompts

Parental Influence

Prompt was made up of objects at the workshop and random words plucked out of our “Word Bank.”
Objects: Bell bike helmet/motorcycle helmet
Words chosen at random from the word bank: pearl-eyed, benevolent, habitual, carving knife, wound
Author: Dorah Blume
Timed writing: 20 minutes
Approximate date: 6/2013
Location: Juiceboxartists workshop/Boylston St.

“You might as well take a carving knife to your body and start hacking,” Louise said. Her heavy arms wriggled with those appendages overweight women who wear floral frocks tend to display. Her son Billy snapped on his Shogun helmet just the same. He gave his mother a benevolent smile and let the back screen door slam behind him.

She would hold her Saint Christopher medal up to her lips. Pearly-eyed now with tears dropping into the sink, she would look at him through the kitchen window. Ever since he first rode his green tricycle down Jackson Street into oncoming traffic—she had caught him just in time—she was always afraid that he would wound himself terribly.

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