Rose Kleidon
Bio
University professor emerita (English). Member, the Historical Novel Society and Historical Writers of America. Presenter at conferences for writers and historians. Co-owner and co-founder of Kleidon and Associates. Novelist.
Stories (10/0)
When I Cut
Let’s begin at the end: I lift my scissors, take a deep breath, and cut. The cloth I have woven falls free from the loom, limp and lovely, freed at last from the tension of the loom, draping as I have never seen it before. If I am skillful and lucky and have been working on a well-built, precisely square loom, the new length of fabric does not twist. Its selvedges are reasonably straight. It has the ‘hand’ required for whatever use I have in mind. It is long enough and wide enough to become something more than a length of fabric.
By Rose Kleidon3 years ago in Humans
The Boy Who Never
Day 44 out of Le Havre began hot and slow, with almost no wind and Victory picking up an uncomfortable sloshing that threatened to make Hannah and little Bertie sick again. Her son Willy, on the other hand, was by now an old hand in the rigging, and with his keen young eyesight, he was often ordered to the maintop to watch for islands and shallows. A low bank of far-off clouds came ever closer, and the wind began to build. Soon Victory was flying down the waves, in her element. Captain Anderson had the helm in hand, and he looked perfectly happy there, severe and alert, with smiling eyes.
By Rose Kleidon3 years ago in Wander
The Man Who Disappeared
The man with no heart was average in every other way, which was exactly as it should be. Average height and weight, an ordinary man with ordinary brown hair and unremarkable eyes. Blue? Brown? People were never sure. They could pass him on the street and never remember him. This, and his cold-blooded ruthlessness, made him the perfect assassin.
By Rose Kleidon3 years ago in Criminal
