By profession I am a novelist. However, enough time has passed since my last novel that I might easily be characterized as either retired or presumed dead. So I thought to myself, “Marian, you should write a novel: a Great American Kind’a Sort’a Like Knox Novel. And, Marian, you should make it part of the Knox Indiana Blog." You, dear readers, may be my editors. What follows is the prologue of a book entitled
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101 North Washington Street
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Prologue
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Landscape is too kind of a word. Most likely there is no word. It was an ocean of ice, a mile deep, uninterrupted over 100 miles to the south and a seeming infinity to the north. On 11 occasions the ice sheet, this ocean of ice, advanced and retreated over what was to become the town that is the focus of our attentions. The last retreat was a mere 10,000 years ago. That is equal to about an hour in this young planet’s history. (Oh my, that does beg the question of the appropriateness of planet “hours” being compared to advanced middle-age woman hours. However, this is a question that I mean to leave hanging for eternity.)
Regarding that first paragraph. My intentions were honorable, I meant to emulate, not copy that grandiose vision of nature that my sister Jane used to open her saga of the northern prairies of Iowa. Emulation is fair enough, certainly commonplace and often quite fruitful. After all, she won the Pulitzer and wasn’t a bit shy about ripping off the Bard himself. I clearly have failed. Ah, but the story still needs to be told. So going back a planet hour…
As one might expect, the retreating edge of the Wisconsin Glacier retreated to the north in the summer and advanced to the south in the winter. 2 steps back and 1 forward, thus was the ground that would become Starke Center revealed. The melting ice was filled with all manner of detritus carried all the way from Hudson Bay. We only need concern ourselves with the sand, windblown sand say the geologists. (Evidently there was considerable wind on the edge of a mile high sheet of ice.) This windblown sand is the foundation of Starke Center. And upon the sand Abraham Weiss built his magnificent house.
That was just a planetary 30 seconds ago, the year: 1907. And no more mention need be made of planet time.
Regarding that first paragraph. My intentions were honorable, I meant to emulate, not copy that grandiose vision of nature that my sister Jane used to open her saga of the northern prairies of Iowa. Emulation is fair enough, certainly commonplace and often quite fruitful. After all, she won the Pulitzer and wasn’t a bit shy about ripping off the Bard himself. I clearly have failed. Ah, but the story still needs to be told. So going back a planet hour…
As one might expect, the retreating edge of the Wisconsin Glacier retreated to the north in the summer and advanced to the south in the winter. 2 steps back and 1 forward, thus was the ground that would become Starke Center revealed. The melting ice was filled with all manner of detritus carried all the way from Hudson Bay. We only need concern ourselves with the sand, windblown sand say the geologists. (Evidently there was considerable wind on the edge of a mile high sheet of ice.) This windblown sand is the foundation of Starke Center. And upon the sand Abraham Weiss built his magnificent house.
That was just a planetary 30 seconds ago, the year: 1907. And no more mention need be made of planet time.
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