Good Times in Ten Days

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He loved to travel. ~ From “Finding My Father and the FBI”

And These Are the Good Times, Patricia Ann McNair

In just ten days, I will be celebrating the launch of my second book, And These Are the Good Timeswith friends and family and with the wonderful folks from Side Street Press, my publisher. In honor and anticipation of this life event, I am sharing a little teaser that is the tenth to the last sentence of the book.

Thanks for reading! – PMc

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Good Times in Eleven Days

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She sat behind the steering wheel of her car, hands at ten and two even though she was parked now, engine off, at the gas pumps. ~ From “Returns”

And These Are the Good Times, Patricia Ann McNair

In just eleven days, I will be celebrating the launch of my second book, And These Are the Good Timeswith friends and family and with the wonderful folks from Side Street Press, my publisher. In honor and anticipation of this life event, I am sharing a little teaser from the eleventh essay in the collection.

Thanks for reading! – PMc

Good Times in Twelve Days

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All he wanted was permission to pass, but still, you let him move you, and after, long after, you remembered leaning into those hands. ~ From “What You’ll Remember”

And These Are the Good Times, Patricia Ann McNair

In just twelve days, I will be celebrating the launch of my second book, And These Are the Good Timeswith friends and family and with the wonderful folks from Side Street Press, my publisher. In honor and anticipation of this life event, I am sharing a little teaser from page twelve of the collection.

Thanks for reading! – PMc

She liked it, she really liked it!

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I am so pleased to share the news with you that on September 1, 2017, Booklist’s Donna Seaman, published a really, really warm review of And These Are the Good Times:

‘Short story writer McNair (The Temple of Air, 2011) proves to be an irresistible personal essayist of refreshing candor, vibrant openheartedness, rueful humor, and unassuming wisdom. In the title piece, which opens this companionable, down-to-earth collection, young McNair joins her beloved father at Sullivan’s, his favorite tavern, bugging him for coins for the jukebox and dancing happily by herself. Enthralled by music, hubbub, and motion, McNair remains adventurous and omnivorously curious. Swinging backward and forward in time, she vividly chronicles such indelible experiences as spending her seventeenth summer as a volunteer at a dental clinic in Honduras, how she set about losing her virginity after her father died when she was 15, her bartender days, a fling in Cuba, and marriage. McNair frankly addresses sexuality and sexual abuse, the last two presidential elections, and the lives and deaths of loved ones. Throughout these vital, confiding, potent, and superbly well-crafted essays, McNair also muses on her path to becoming a writer and a writing teacher, generously sharing insights into the creative process and “the yearning toward wonder.”‘- Donna Seaman, Booklist, September 1, 2017.

Dennis Foley, my liaison with my publisher Side Street Press, is fond of saying “Yee-hah!” I will join him this time. YEE-HAH!!!!!

 

Beautiful Sentence #16 – #20 (or Beautiful Paragraph) ~ Ben Tanzer

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“We were in the back of the station wagon, and I know you are supposed to keep your eyes closed, because that’s what Joe told me, and possibly a character played by Molly Ringwald, but I didn’t, and I rarely did. I liked to watch, and as we shifted into some kind of compromising position, the night was so very dark, the moon a million miles away, and, because we didn’t go to the actual drive-in, but instead parked behind it, it was so quiet, and there were no distractions, it was just us, only us, and I looked out the window and there it was, a ship of some kind, off above the car, hovering for a moment, glowing and cylindrical. I locked into it, and I looked for any signs that would make it anything but a UFO–numbers, logos, wings or a tail, a cockpit–but there wasn’t anything. It was a UFO, which I watched until it moved away, and then I lingered there for a moment, awaiting its return, something, anything, but there was nothing. It was ephemeral, and now it was just me and Natalie again, alone, the two of us, and nothing else.”

Ben Tanzer, “Believe,” Be Cool