How the story began

The beginning of a twenty-eight year writing journey

This book has been a long time coming.  It all started on a summer day in early July, 1994.  I had dropped my kids off for the first day of summer camp and was waiting for a workman to show up before I headed off to a friend of mine’s outdoor pool to begin writing my second play.  He was uncharacteristically late.  When he did arrive, I immediately knew something was wrong.  He shared with me that on his way to work he had been stopped at an intersection in Roslindale, MA.  On the corner were a group of children waiting to be picked up by their day camp bus.  The car in front of him jumped the green light just as a motorcycle sped through the intersection trying to beat the red one. There was a collision and the motorcyclist was immediately killed.  The reason he knew that was that he had quickly gotten out of his truck and grabbed a blanket to cover the mangled remains of the rider in an effort to shield the children from the gruesome site.  On his way, he bent down to pick up the biker’s helmet . . . and well, the man’s head was inside . . . he had been decapitated in the accident.  The way he related the story indicated to me that he was in a mild state of shock. He showed little emotion in the telling of it. I, on the other hand, began crying uncontrollably.  Someone’s son, brother, friend, lover had just died in such a horrible way and even though I didn’t know who he was, I felt the loss.   
Later that day I was sitting at my friend’s pool, notebook in hand, with all the notes for my play. I listed all the character names and descriptions, did a rough sketch of the set, and a brief breakdown of the scenes. I turned to a new page and started to write. What I wrote had absolutely nothing to do with my play, but rather was the beginning of my journey with Sarah Elizabeth Huntley and Catherine Rosetti. It has taken many twists and turns over the past twenty nine years, but I am very pleased where the three of us have ended up.