Let's Hear It: Stories by Texas Women WritersSylvia Ann Grider, Lou Halsell Rodenberger "Fig newtons" of the imagination and of memory abound in this marvelous collection of twenty-two stories by Texas women. "Fig newtons" such as the magical moment when a dying grandmother teaches Sue Ellen to dance, the red shoes Tammy the Tupperware Princess dons in New Orleans, the yellow thread needed to put Sue Tidwell's quilt together, or weekends of escape and sisterhood spent in El Paso's McCoy Hotel. The stories chosen here--and introduced and placed in their historical and literary context by editors Sylvia Ann Grider and Lou Halsell Rodenberger--together weave a story of their own: the story of women's writing in the Lone Star State. From 1865, when a prescient science fiction work was serialized in the Galveston newspaper, until the present, women have written of a different Texas than the stereotypical Wild West of men's writing. Beverly Lowry, Carolyn Osborn, Annette Sanford, Denise Chavez, Katherine Anne Porter, Judy Alter, Joyce Gibson Roach, and others have told a range of stories that capture the range of circumstances, feelings, and experiences Texas women have known and lived. As Susan Wiltshire Ford writes in "The Quilt," "any grief was bearable if you could tell a story about it or make a story out of it." Texas women have borne grief and laughter, hope and memory by telling a story. Let's hear it. |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 60
Page 55
... doors , and back doors , with equal success , and in despair started off to the neighboring town for some one to assist him in breaking into his own house . The pretty iron gate turned easily and smoothly on its hinges , and Mr ...
... doors , and back doors , with equal success , and in despair started off to the neighboring town for some one to assist him in breaking into his own house . The pretty iron gate turned easily and smoothly on its hinges , and Mr ...
Page 62
... door of the house was a beautiful bas relief of Ponce de Leon and his men grouped round a fountain ; underneath this was carved a word , Eureka . The grounds were also adorned with various fountains of rare beauty , all having reference ...
... door of the house was a beautiful bas relief of Ponce de Leon and his men grouped round a fountain ; underneath this was carved a word , Eureka . The grounds were also adorned with various fountains of rare beauty , all having reference ...
Page 63
... door - way in which stood his friend , the Professor , who inquired " how he felt now . " " Like a new man , " answered Langschlaf , joyfully . " Well , that's just what you are , " said the Professor , laughing . " Have you looked at ...
... door - way in which stood his friend , the Professor , who inquired " how he felt now . " " Like a new man , " answered Langschlaf , joyfully . " Well , that's just what you are , " said the Professor , laughing . " Have you looked at ...
Page 65
... door as the gentlemen entered , and greeted their father with enthusiasm . The introduction of a stranger caused no embarrassment to the family group . They received him cordially and soon found himself entering into their joy and ...
... door as the gentlemen entered , and greeted their father with enthusiasm . The introduction of a stranger caused no embarrassment to the family group . They received him cordially and soon found himself entering into their joy and ...
Page 70
... doors stood hospitably open , and many people were entering them . — The Professor took his companion into one built in the oriental style . The interior was beautifully finished and tastefully dec- orated with pictures and statuary ...
... doors stood hospitably open , and many people were entering them . — The Professor took his companion into one built in the oriental style . The interior was beautifully finished and tastefully dec- orated with pictures and statuary ...
Contents
49 | |
73 | |
83 | |
98 | |
115 | |
Winifred Balch Mahon Sanford | 135 |
Katherine Anne Porter | 154 |
Margaret Cousins | 165 |
Annette Sanford | 275 |
Joyce Gibson Roach | 293 |
Sunny Nash | 311 |
Denise Chavez | 323 |
Susan Ford Wiltshire | 341 |
Betty Holland Wiesepape | 349 |
Judith MacBain Alter | 361 |
Jan Epton Seale | 374 |
Loula Grace Erdman | 183 |
Jane Gilmore Rushing | 197 |
Beverly Lowry | 214 |
Carolyn Osborn | 231 |
Laverne Harrell Clark | 248 |
Leslie Jill Patterson | 388 |
Short Story Collections by Texas Women Writers | 403 |
Major Collections of Texas Short storm Containing Stories by Texas Women | 407 |
Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
American Anne appeared asked Austin Award began boys Buck called City close collection cowboys Dallas death didn't door Dorax early edited experience eyes face father feel felt fiction finally followed friends gave girl hair hand head heard Houston included journal keep knew Langschlaf later leave Letters Lillie literary lived looked Lula Magazine married mind Miss morning mother moved never night novel once Porter Press publication published received remember Review Sanford seemed short stories side sometimes soon standing stay talk tell Texas women Texas women writers thing thought told took town turned Uncle University University Press waiting watch West woman York young
Popular passages
Page 164 - She screamed in her sleep and sat up crying for deliverance from her torments. Dicey came, her cross, sleepy eyes half-closed, her big dark mouth pouted, thumping the floor with her thick bare feet. "I swear," she said, in a violent hoarse whisper. "What the matter with you? You need a good spankin, I swear! Wakin everybody up like this ..." Miranda was completely subjugated by her fears. She had a way of answering Dicey back. She would say, "Oh, hush up, Dicey." Or she would say, "I don't have to...
Page 162 - Miranda almost touched him before she saw him, her distorted face with its open mouth and glistening tears almost level with his. He leaned forward and peered at her with kind, not-human golden eyes, like a near-sighted dog: then made a horrid grimace at her, imitating her own face. Miranda struck at him in sheer ill temper, screaming. Dicey drew her away quickly, but not before Miranda had seen in his face, suddenly, a look of haughty, remote displeasure, a true grown-up look. She knew it well....
Page 43 - David F. Burg, Chicago's White City of 1893 (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1976); R. Reid Badger, The Great American Fair: The World's Columbian Exposition and American Culture (Chicago: Nelson Hall, 1979); and Robert W.
Page 87 - ThA., 1952, x, 49-60. 7164 a. WILKINSON, CLYDE WINFIELD. The Broadening Stream: The Life and Literary Career of Mollie E. Moore Davis. Urbana: Univ. of Illinois, 1951. Abstract of Thesis, pp. 17. 7165. WILLEY, BASIL. Nineteenth Century Studies. (Bibl. 1949, 3038.) Rev. by Carlos Baker in NYTB., Jan. 8, 1950, p. 7; by William D. Templeman in Pers., xxxm, 76-7; in Sat.
Page 163 - the fruits of their present are in a future so far off, neither of us may live to know whether harm has been done or not.
Page 52 - My father's columns and papers are now held at the Center for American History at the University of Texas at Austin. In the present volume, his articles appear as originally published, with no substantive changes. Since his editors sometimes were inconsistent in spelling a word such as "programming," I have reconciled these discrepancies.
Page 161 - An enormous brass band seemed to explode right at Miranda's ear. She jumped, quivered, thrilled blindly and almost forgot to breathe as sound and color and smell rushed together and poured through her skin and hair and beat in her head and hands and feet and pit of her stomach. "Oh," she called out in her panic, closing her eyes and seizing Dicey's hand hard. The flaring lights burned through her lids, a roar of laughter like rage drowned out the steady raging of the drums and horns. She opened her...
Page 303 - We praise Thee, O God, For the Son of Thy love, For Jesus who died And is now gone above. Hallelujah, Thine the glory! Hallelujah, amen! Hallelujah, Thine the glory! Revive us again.
Page 156 - This constant exercise of memory seems to be the chief occupation of my mind, and all my experience seems to be simply memory, with continuity, marginal notes, constant revision and comparison of one thing with another. Now and again thousands of memories converge, harmonize, arrange themselves around a central idea in a coherent form, and I write a story.