When We Had the Sky ends with a chapter of little anecdotes, post scripts to Meet Me at The Butterfly Tree, and brief stories of fair hope from Fairhope in days gone by. The manuscript is still in the hands -- or slush pile, as they say in the publishing trade -- of Randall Williams of New South Press in Montgomery. I just thought of this, and it's probably a bad idea, but I'll pass it along: If that publisher is notified by all loyal readers of this blog that they would love to buy a copy when it is out, maybe it'll prompt his reading and consideration of the book.
Of course the idea wouldn't work unless there were a critical mass of mail. That means all 20 of you would have to write at once. I'd appreciate it.
Just to offer a little incentive, here is an excerpt from the "Lagniappe" chapter.
My mother used to attend the requisite number of club meetings and women's get-togethers to which her generation of mothers was obliged. Fairhope was full of those.
It was the custom here more than most places that coffee would be served. Mama hadn't taken particular notice of this practice until, driving with a friend to a morning committee meeting, when the question came up about whether there would be coffee.
I've always thought they should name this town Coffeehope instead of Fairhope!" said the friend.
"Why on earth?"
"Well, every time you're going to a meeting, at least one person says, 'I hope there'll be coffee!' said the lady. "And there always is!"
At all events, church functions, productions of plays, club meetings, political discussions, parties, there was always a huge coffee urn on the bubble. The coffee was often reviewed along with the play.
Today this has evolved to a plethora of coffee shops, cafés, latté havens as well as the ubiquitous morning coffee parties. Our legacy of caffeine addiction is a Fairhope attitude, and one that does not seem to have changed over the years.