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Milt used to correct me when I referred to "the elderly" as if they lived elsewhere and might not be anyone we knew. "We are the elderly," he would say with no dismay in his voice.
It's hard to know when exactly "elderly" starts, but certainly I've tried to hold the term at bay -- which is possibly why someone started calling all of us "seniors" instead.Whatever, confession time compels me to say that this elderly senior is very excited to have just published "A Silver Moon for Rose," which completes the trilogy based on a smidgen of my grandmother's life. Fictionalizing my grandmother has been a fabulous adventure, putting her in my brain to run on a separate track from the rest of my life. After pretty much neglecting Rose for a couple of years, I went back to work on the new book and was wrestling daily with how it could end. My brain apparently stayed on track during the night -- without nightmares -- and I woke one morning to find the ending, the setting for the ending, the conversation for the ending as clear as a June morning in the Berkshires. Did the sweat of daytime writing help? Who knows.

It's done. It's self-published because elderly means you don't want to hunt down publishers and get rejected. It's beautifully printed, and my granddaughter Summer Wojtas designed the cover. It's exciting.
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