What happens when you come across a real live story that sounds like something from a movie script? What happens when there are two stories? What happens when there are dozens of stories all around you that could easily be turned into books? And what happens when there are no authors around to give the stories to?
If you have a creative bent, you proceed to write them! Of course!
Hello! I am Elizabeth Martina. I have grown up with stories from my grandmothers and grandfathers. Some are happy. Some are sad. Some are learning experiences and some are just silly little stories. All of them make me think. And some of them will make you think, too.
I grew up in a multi-faceted environment. Some of the strangest people in the family include: one of the early organizers of the tailors’ union in New York, a Menza member, the mayor of a small southern town, the man who committed the first murder in Hartford, Ct. with a semi-automatic pistol, and a woman who had two men murdered at her wedding reception.
In my family I heard Italian spoken and English spoken with a decided Southern accent. We ate baked rigatoni and meatballs at picnics, along with the hotdogs and hamburgs. These were not unusual occurrences in the second half of the twentieth century as diversity became more acceptable and cross cultural marriages became more common.
This blog will highlight the Italian-American experiences of an average family. But it will also discuss the stories as I write them. Not all are Italian-American. Some are historical in nature and one or two are stories into the future.
I hope you will join me as I introduce you to my characters.
If you have a creative bent, you proceed to write them! Of course!
Hello! I am Elizabeth Martina. I have grown up with stories from my grandmothers and grandfathers. Some are happy. Some are sad. Some are learning experiences and some are just silly little stories. All of them make me think. And some of them will make you think, too.
I grew up in a multi-faceted environment. Some of the strangest people in the family include: one of the early organizers of the tailors’ union in New York, a Menza member, the mayor of a small southern town, the man who committed the first murder in Hartford, Ct. with a semi-automatic pistol, and a woman who had two men murdered at her wedding reception.
In my family I heard Italian spoken and English spoken with a decided Southern accent. We ate baked rigatoni and meatballs at picnics, along with the hotdogs and hamburgs. These were not unusual occurrences in the second half of the twentieth century as diversity became more acceptable and cross cultural marriages became more common.
This blog will highlight the Italian-American experiences of an average family. But it will also discuss the stories as I write them. Not all are Italian-American. Some are historical in nature and one or two are stories into the future.
I hope you will join me as I introduce you to my characters.
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