“Marley was dead…This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.” This quotation is from the introductory pages of Charles Dicken’s A Christmas Carol. I return to that small book each Christmas; I read it as a reminder. If you’ve never read it, but rather have watched the movie or play adaptations, may I invite you to open its pages and read for yourself. You’ll find much more in there than any show can offer.
I start here when speaking of the origins of Casting Off because I identify with this excerpt as the conception of my novel and can think of no clearer way of phrasing it. I very humbly nod to our Mr. Dickens and say –
My mother died. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.
I was raised in a family, the youngest of three girls with a brother bringing up the rear. I was less of a middle child and more of a youngest as I was four years old when my brother was born. I went off to school when he was one and was told, “You can be anything you want to be.” My mother kept a tidy house and cooked all of our meals from scratch, saying “You can be anything you want to be.” When I went to school or woke up on Easter Sunday, I put on clothing she made from patterns purchased or developed from her imagination. Off I’d go in the red palazzo pants my mother made for me that looked just like Mary Tyler Moore’s pants and she’d say “You can be anything you want to be.”
Growing up mostly in the San Francisco Bay Area, my mother took us so often to the beach, to the De Young Museum, to the zoo, to the Aquarium and Museum of Natural History. I loved the Natural History Museum with the depictions of indigenous people and animals in their natural habitat. Holding my hand, my mother would say, “You can be anything you want to be” as we watched the pendulum swing, its tip knocking over the little, brass pegs as the world spun below it. “We should go see a rocket take off at Cape Canaveral,” I said. “One day,” she’d reply.
My mother showed us the rocks from her Geology class, letting us lick the salt rock as it was the only stone in the bunch that could be experienced with a sense other than touch and sight. Lying in my room with my sister at night, the sunshine-yellow paint but a gray shadow in the dim light that passed through the homemade, black and white checked curtains, I’d fall asleep to my mother’s guitar. Classical Spanish it was as that was the class she was taking to learn the instrument. After she had mastered the guitar, my mother came to school and was the “music lady”. She went into classes and played not only “Puff the Magic Dragon”, but songs from elsewhere. We learned to sing in Spanish and Hebrew and Swahili. We learned Australian folk songs and French folk songs – sung in French. On cold days, I’d walk in to chocolate-chip cookies and milk handed to me as I sat on the heater vent and my mother would say, “You can be anything you want to be.”
We had moved quite a bit between my fourth grade and seventh grade years, ending up in Phoenix, Arizona. In Phoenix, we raised rats – my mother’s idea. They had babies. This gave way to a stray cat that also had babies. The rats lived; the baby cats did not. But in both cases, we watched the birth happen with my mother, who would quietly explain it all to us. She’d say, “You can be anything you want to be.” It was in Phoenix that my father decided to divorce my mother. It wasn’t a bad thing. It was time, but it still hurt my mother and she went silent for a while – no guitar, no museums. My sisters and I, with my mother and one rat (the other eight we gave away), climbed into the cab of our 1967 International truck. My little brother refers to this as Mom’s magic truck – red with an “adopted” yellow door. As we pulled out of the driveway, we waved to our father and brother, who stood in the desert heat. I can still see the tears in my brother’s eyes.
We went to live with my mother’s parents for a while. My mother was still silent. But one day she woke up, knowing that we couldn’t live up in the redwood forest with her parents for long. We needed a home of our own. So she went to find a job in the Bay Area, though she never had worked before and shortly, she came back to get us, driving us back to the city in her magic truck.
We had moved a lot, as I have said, but this home was not what we were used to. We had just left a house in Scottsdale with a half acre and a pool. Now we lived in an apartment where police would come trotting through the back fences looking for people. Before, our mother was always home. Now, our mother had to work two jobs to make ends meet. But we always had a clean house, always homemade food, and inevitably, my mother would need to create something, which led her into the little back patio area to plant a garden.
At this time, I began to study Egypt. I read everything. My friend’s mother would take us to the Rosicrucian Temple in San Jose. For my thirteenth birthday, my mother bought me The Egyptian Book of the Dead with hieroglyphics translated into English. It was the best birthday present ever. Elated, I opened the book and proceeded to teach myself Egyptian, going off in my head to some far and distant place. As she walked away, she said, “You can be anything you want to be.” I said, “I’ll be an Egyptologist and you and I are going to Egypt one day.” “One day,” she’d say.
I went to high school and at that point, lost my interest in being a student. It wasn’t that I didn’t learn; I just had trouble learning what the teachers wanted to teach me. It was also the moment I realized Egyptologists don’t make much money and as my standard of living went into the tank when my parent’s divorced, I never wanted that to happen to me again. So I fumbled through high school. I was told to take typing; I’d probably be a secretary. At that time, my mother was a secretary. “No, never going to type. Don’t want to end up like my mother.” I was told I better get work experience. “Yep, my mother didn’t work until she was made to. Don’t want to be like my mother.” So I went to work and literally, tumbled out of high school.
“You need that paper,” my mother would say, referring to a diploma. “You can be anything you want to be.” So, I enrolled into community college. I had always written. I’d been writing since I was ten. I’d write dialogue and stories at night and if I didn’t like what I’d done, I re-write the entire thing in my head before sunrise. Test taking wasn’t my strength, so my ACT scores were low and I ended up in remedial English and Math. I had to work during the day and went to night school. My English teacher (cannot remember this man’s name) loved my paragraphs. He had to be in his twenties or early thirties with light brown, wild hair and glasses. He kept my paragraphs. He read them out loud in class. My next teacher, Mr. Wilson, did the same. I finished all my English requirements with Mr. Wilson and as I left his final class, he said, “You need to consider a career in writing.” I shrugged. “I’m going to get my degree in Psychology.” He shrugged.
My mother worked as did my oldest sister and with their support, I did get my degree in Psychology and then I did what many people with that degree do: I went into retail. I got married, had a child, got divorced. When I divorced, my mother came to live with me because I was having trouble making ends meet. She and I would have six dollars extra to spend each week so we’d go to the Starbucks in Burlingame, buy two coffees, and head for Pescadero beach when my daughter went to visit her father each Sunday. We’d talk about her divorce, my divorce. We’d poke sea anemones and collect sea shells. Halloween would come along and we’d stop by the pumpkin patches on Highway 84, picking up pumpkins as we made our way home from the ocean. She’d make my daughter’s Halloween costumes. She’d play her guitar and sing with my daughter. She’d sew my daughter’s Christmas clothes.
After three years, it was time for me to go. It was so hard because I am, as I have said, my mother’s youngest girl. I never did separate from her until I was well into adulthood and I drove up to Seattle to be with my sisters and my brother. My mother stayed in the Bay Area and I’d visit every other month as I had to fly my daughter down to visit her father. But slowly, my daughter’s visits changed and I didn’t get back as often. At the end of 1999, my mother was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. She wanted to live until my brother’s first child was born.
At that time, my mother came to live with me in Seattle. We’d talk and I’d say, “We never got to Egypt, Mom.” And she’d say, “I had all of you. It’s enough.” “It’s not enough,” I’d say. “We didn’t see the rockets lifting off from Cape Canaveral, Mom” And she’d say, “I had all of you. It’s enough.” And I’d say, “It’s not enough.” “You could have been a geologist or a musician or an archeologist or a vet.” And she’d say, “I had all of you. It’s enough.” It wasn’t enough.
Soon enough, my niece was born and my mother held her. We couldn’t get her medicine transferred between states, so in late March of 2000, my mother left my house for California. She sat crying at my desk, unable to speak as I walked out the door to work. I kissed her on her head, saying, “We always have trouble saying good-bye. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” But before I got to the Bay Area again, my mother passed away and I watched that last conversation with her over and over in my head for years.
“It’s not enough,” I’d say, searching all the draws and cupboards, looking for one last message, just a post-it note, written to me to tell me – something. To tell me it was okay and she’d done everything she’d ever wanted to do. But all I found was my daughter’s costumes and my daughter’s crocheted baby blankets. I dug up all the ornaments my mother made over the years. I found no message and looking at all of this stuff she made, I couldn’t remember how to knit. She taught me years before and I couldn’t even guess at how to start.
“It’s not enough,” I said as I tucked my daughter into my blue 1987 Ford truck and drove over to University Avenue. I walked into the yarn shop there, holding my daughter’s hand and watching the tiny fibers float about the place in the seldom-seen sunlight. An African-American woman with the kindest brown eyes looked at me. I just stood there. “You okay?” she asked. “My mother died and I cannot remember how to knit,” I whispered, trying desperately not to cry. She led to a long wooden, table, put the bamboo needles in my hands, and as my daughter played with knitted finger puppets, I struggled to learn. I’m sure I frustrated her. But as I sat there, twisting my stitches, I looked over to the bookshelf and spotted a book on the Aran Sweaters. I sat there and slowly a story came into my head. I have no idea from where, it just appeared – a woman running away with her little girl to Ireland. The dialogue started when I grabbed the book. I had names as I collected three skeins of green wool. By the time I laid it all on the counter with the finger puppets my daughter had been playing with, I had an outline. The woman with the amber-brown eyes looked at me and the book and said, “It’ll take you a long while to learn how to knit one of those.” I just nodded and smiled.
I wrote the first version of the story as a screenplay. A screenplay has exactly one-hundred and twenty pages. I figured I didn’t have it in me to write a novel. I didn’t want to commit to anything for so long. Having written it using the Syd Field’s guide to screenplay format, I sent it to a woman in Dublin. She was a friend of a good friend and had graduated from the New York Film Academy. She put post-it notes in it where she laughed and where she cried. She pointed out where I needed work and at the end she said, “Your font is wrong. Courier New 12 pt.” Oh – Syd never said anything about that. So I changed my font and what do you know? I had a two-hundred and eighty page screenplay. Ugh. So I started cutting, lost a couple of characters, and actually, I didn’t have a screenplay. I had a novel. So I started my re-write. I was committed.
As I said, I was remembering my mother. As I wrote Casting Off, I saw her there sitting at my desk, crying as I said good-bye, over and over again in my head. All the things I had planned to do with her when I grew up, all the things she could have been rolled through my mind until one day…
Enter my sister-in-law (here on after referred to as sister-friend). I like to say my brother married my best friend, only he found her first. I love and respect this woman. She has a degree from University of Vermont and a Masters in Early Childhood Education. From a family of entrepreneurs, she opened a coffee cart in the early 1990’s, growing it into one of the most productive coffee carts in Seattle. She served the members of Pearl Jam and Alice in Chains and the morning crew of one of the local TV station news casts. Her face is on a mural in Belltown.
When I bought my first house, I found my brother’s first house right around the corner. My sister-friend watched my daughter after school; she was the other adult eyes and ears for me after my mother passed. It’s important for this to be clear – how much esteem I hold for this woman. So, as was my way, I was remembering my mother one night as we were cooking dinner, saying to my sister-friend that my mother didn’t live her dream. She didn’t get to go to Egypt. She never watched a rocket take off over the waters of Florida. “All she kept saying was, ‘I had all of you. It is enough.’ It’s not enough.” To that, my sister-friend responded,” Yes it is. It is what she chose to do.” And I said, “It’s what she did ‘cause she had no other choices.” To which, my sister-friend said, “It is exactly what she chose to do.” “It’s not enough,” says I. “For YOU,” my sister-friend replied.
At that moment, I just looked into her brown eyes and then gazed around the house. My two nieces were playing, happy to be together and I realized, though it had been staring me in the face for six years, my sister-friend was staying at home with her children. She watched my daughter, remember? It’s what she chose to do. Her house is clean. She’s cooks meals. She works in the classroom. She knitted everybody a Christmas scarf. She doesn’t play guitar, but nobody’s perfect. For the first time in my entire life, I realized that all of the years of being told, “You can be anything you want to be,” somehow made what my mother was – less. But she wasn’t. My mother wasn’t just a home-maker. She created home – even out of the disaster of her marriage and divorce, she created it. She made pretty tables and reupholstered furniture. She went to work everyday. She fed and clothed us. She led the Children’s Choir at church. She was an artist – in home art.
“It was enough,” my sister-friend repeated.
“Yeah,” I replied and now, when I remember my mother, she’s not sick, sitting at my desk, crying. I was simply hanging on to the wrong moment all those years. She’s on the beach, collecting rocks or drinking coffee as she does her crosswords or thinking about how to make a Stellaluna costume with no pattern out of brown fabric. Her guitar plays sometimes as I drift off to sleep. And each time I look at this story, each time I flip through its pages, I know it was given to me by my mother. And it is enough.
I would love to have the pattern to the sweater illustrated on the front of Nicole Dickson’s book. Thanks. I absolutely, positively loved the book and can’t wait for the next.!!!
Thank you
Hi Jackie,
This is Nicole and thanks for the wonderful note! The front cover art was designed by my publisher so I will check to see if they can get the pattern for the sweater there.
N.
I loved the book! My husband and I visited the Aran Islands in 1996. What a beautiful place. Your book brought many memories of that visit. Perhaps, one day I’ll get back to the islands!
When is your next book coming out? Do hope to read more of your writings.
Dear Nicole,
I loved your book and your story above touched me deeply. Thank you for sharing this.
I manage a small branch library (2300 sq ft) in a little town, Waterford, CA. Every Wednesday afternoon our knitting/crochet group meets (we have a wonderful volunteer teacher), young and old alike attend.
After four years there is a core group week after week and others who come and go. They are tied together in friendship and creativity. They get rowdy sometimes, but I rarely shush them. Oh, the stories they tell… I take my lunch and sit and crochet with them from time to time and my stress level drops immediately.
I am also a single mom and have taught my daughter (now 21) to crochet. We carry on…
Thank you again and I very much look forward to your next book. Your current book is my “book pick” that I recommend to other avid readers.
Cindy Scott
Branch Manager
Waterford Public Library
Waterford, CA
I forgot to add our county library website. 😉
Cind
Hi Everybody…
Thanks for leaving messages on this blog.
Hi Jackie – I asked the publisher and they have no pattern for the sweater on the front of the book. Sorry I couldn’t help.
Hi Vicki – I am writing it now. Should be out sometime next year, I hope:-)
Hi Cindy – That knitting group sounds like a lot of fun! If they’d would like, I am available to call into your libray for discussion.
I am also available to call into any book clubs you know. Just send me a note at contact@nicolerdickson.com.
Thanks all for the feedback… I so appreciate it!
Nicole
PS Anybody want to knit a stitch so i can post it on this site?;-)
Dear Nicole,
I absolutely loved your book. After reading your book I would love to try designing a sweater using some of the stitches you write about. I have told three of my knitting friends about your book and they have all read it and loved it too. I can’t wait for your next book. Keep writing.
Your new fan,
Linda
Nicole,
Thanks for the “Origin of Casting Off.” It gives a wonderful picture of your background and how “you did become anything that you wanted to be.” Sometimes it’s hard to know if one is going in the right direction; however, ultimately, you look at yourself in the mirror and you know that you have taken the right turn. You certainly have the gift of writing – putting your thoughts on paper.
I look forward to your next “writing.”
Thanks,
Vicki Griffin
Nicole,
Fortunately I stumbled upon this book two days ago, spent these two days in laughter and in tears, and have been sharing the story with my own daughters. I felt that I personally knew every character that you wrote, including the island. Besides knitting for pleasure, I am a visual artist who is addicted to literature and have to say that your book is a new favorite. Can’t wait for the next one.
Dear Nicole,
I enjoyed your novel very much. I especially appreciate what you shared about your mom here. I can relate to much of it – my mom died when I was a new mom myself. I have really clung to the wrong memory of her, as you described. I am going to change that. Thank you.
I am just finishing your novel; absolutely loved the tale and and truths told; you are truely a “dirane.” I wish it didn’t end; I can feel the salt of the sea.
Hi Everybody…
Thank you so much for the notes.
Has anyone thought of knitting a stitch? Perhaps getting the photo in this format doesn’t work. Please let me know if I should post my PO box on here. Then the little stitch can be sent to me send with a description from the knitter of it and then I’ll post. Would that work? If anyone has an opinion here, I’m open.
Hi Linda – I was hoping someone would think of designing their own sweater. If you do that, I would love a photo with a description of why you picked those stitches – what the pattern means to you. I would love that! If you’d would allow, I would post on here. 🙂
Thank you, Vicki, for thinking about what I have written here and your comment on this origin story. I have written in secret so long 😀 sometimes it has been a little unnerving to put it out there so others can read. Thank you for your post.
Hi Veronica – I am so glad you stumbled upon the book (love that line) and walked the island with me and its people. Thanks also for sharing it it with your daughters. I think of the book as my mother’s lessons to me and so, somehow, the fact that you shared it with your girls feels to me like a circle complete.
Patti – Yes, loss of mother is hard and trying to figure out how to look at them after passing makes it all the more difficult. I’m glad my experience written here helps you reflect on that. This novel had me looking at that dust. The dead are dust, rest their souls. The past is dust. It’s hard to carry around dust, right? It won’t stay in your hand nor will it keep where you put it. It just goes where it will upon even a breath. And somehow I just don’t believe, no matter what struggles we’ve had with our mothers (or parents for that matter) in life, they’d want only those conflicts to be what we carry after they are gone. I believe that my mother wants me happy. Yours, too, wants you happy. Can’t carry dust. That’s what I believe.
Hi Nancy – A Dirane – that is exactly who I aspire to be! And if Casting Off does well, Penguin was making noises about me going back there. We’ll see how it goes.
Thanks again everyone for leaving me messages here. I do very much appreciate it. I also apologize for not getting back sooner but I have a full time job as well as writing. Just want you all to know I do read the blog daily and will respond hopefully within a week.
Now, I have to write. I’m off to Toronto in a little Romanian restaurant with Sorina, it’s owner, who lights matches like Hans Christian Andersen’s Little Matchgirl. I’m exploring seeing the feast in the nothing.
There is a massive thunderstorm overhead and the dogs went to sleep. My daughter went off to college on Wednesday for her freshman year and though I miss her very much, perhaps I shall finish this next novel faster that Casting Off.=-)
Warmly,
Nicole
Hi Nicole–
I loved the book “Casting Off”. As a knitter of almost 50 yrs, I am compulsive with my craft. I read every book about knitting that I can find. Yours was just wonderful! I can’t wait for another book to come out next year. You are a writer that is so easy to read. I felt like I was right with her all the way.
Thank you so much for the wonderful book.
Hi Nicole (and all posting here),
I can’t say enough about your book! It was exquisite and the ending still brings tears to my eyes.
I am an academic specializing in material culture studies and write about women and their engagement in all aspects of the needle arts. So I was obviously attracted to your book because of the cover and premise. Quite honestly, I wasn’t expecting much after the mediocre offerings out there right now focusing on “knitting” themes. Needless to say, I was pretty blown away by your theme and what I feel to be a realistic characterization of two people dealing with the aftermath of domestic violence.
You are truly an excellent writer and I can’t wait to read your next book.
Hello. I am actually not finished with the book yet, but I as I do, I read a few chapters and knit for awhile. Back and forth, back and forth. I am going through a break up, so this is very therapeutic! I could post a picture of something I have made, but I don’t know if it is what you are wanting.
Nicole,
I loved, loved, loved your book. I am a knitter and a reader, and have read just about every novel out there that has anything to do with knitting. But your book was by far the best I have read so far, I could not put it down. Hoping you are going to continue the story with Rowan….
I have found myself thinking about the characters for the last few days (finished the book in the wee hours of Monday AM, thinking, I have to get up for work in a few hours!). What were their thoughts, what issues were left unresolved, where are they going, what might happen to them. Kind of plumbing the depths of what was left unsaid. The sign of a truly good book! You have a gift, can’t wait for your next book to come out!
Hi Everybody,
First off, I am working on my next novel. It is still in the ether of my mind but taking shape. I want so much to walk those choices we make as children that, fron the adult mind, we look back on and go, “Ugh”. It is so easy as an adult to see what should have been done and so often, we don’t give ourselves a break for not having the fully formed adult mind. Did you know that your frontal lobe, that part of the brain that can actually think forward enough to help see many possible consequences in the future of an action taken in the present, is not fully formed until about 25 years old? Think about those “Ugh” moments… how many happened before 25? Yeah – so child-mind explored through the palette (sour,sweet,salty,bitter,umami – you know umami?). Five recipes in five novellas, Romanian meatballs (anyone have a recipe?) and the Hagia Sophia. Kinda messy but as I clean it up,I’ll post more.
Hi Phyllis – Thanks for holding onto her all the way through the novel. I wrote Rebecca a bit cold for a reason. Sometimes the cold people have quite a story to tell.
Ellen – I’m honored by your note. You are the closest person to Rebecca’s scholarly background I have ever heard from and I have to say it made me feel wonderful that you felt I hit a mark here.
Katelyn – Yes! By all means, send on. If it isn’t quite from the book, just send it with a blurb about what it means to you.
Hi Linda – Depending on the sales of Casting Off, the publisher was making noises about a sequel. We’ll have to wait and see. I had never thought of a sequel until my editor and I came to the last edit of the book. Now, it seems that Rowan really needs to finish growing up.
Thanks for leaving me messages. I truly appreciate that you spent a little while wandering with me across the island. As an author, it means the world to me.
Nicole
Nicole,
I just finished “Casting Off”. What a beautifull story. I did not want the book to end. Every character is like a member of the family. They will be with me for a very long time. I am looking forward to your next novel. You are a truly gifted storyteller.
Neva
Nicole,
I will be suggesting this book to everyone in my knitting circle. I laughed, cryed and held my breath both times I read your book.
Please give us more of your gift.
Hi Everybody,
Neva- Thanks for the note. I am still working on that next one. I think I’ll be saying this statement for a while.
Hi Margaret – Thanks for passing it along to you knitting circle! I’m glad you thought so well of it.
It is Sunday. A work day for me as it is usually quiet enough to write.
Thanks for dropping by and leaving me notes. Much appreciated.
Nicole
Dear Nicole,
I picked up your book to give as a gift to a knitting fanatic friend … and then I read the book.
I am so grateful for the healing that came to me from the line … holding onto the wrong moment … Now I can see my way to love again!
Thank you!
Lynn
Dear Lynn,
Yes. 🙂
Nicole
Hi Nicole,
I know your brother. I know your sister-friend. I know your nieces.
I work for the church they attend, but today announced my intention to leave the post (I’ll be back as a volunteer) because I think it’s finally time to attempt to earn money doing what I was trained to do, and what I love to do: write.
Your brother suggested (no – not suggested – more like insisted!) that I google you and read your story. So here I am. I am moved – greatly moved – by the history of your book. This suggests to me that I would also be greatly moved by Casting Off. I’ll get right on reading that… after this year’s NaNoWriMo! I’m making my second stab at writing a novel. I think I’ve got a decent plot idea, and a couple of interesting characters. Wish me luck.
I’ve been so thankful for your brother’s family. They are wonderful people, and have really enriched our church community.
Congrats on your success, and on finding a better way to remember your mother.
Namaste,
-Lauren
Dear Nicole-
Thank you so much for the gift of Casting Off. I picked it up before a trip, and the reading of it got me through a very rough patch. I went to Scotland to meet a man that I thought was THE ONE, and it turns out that he was not. I spent 4 days last week, after we parted, on a small Scottish island, alternating between knitting, prayer , writing in my journal and reading your book. It gave me hope, and what you wrote about crossroads really resonated with me. They are certainly never comfortable. Your book will be my Christmas gift to my friends this year, and I look forward to reading more from you very soon. I wish I could afford to buy a 100 copies and give them to everyone I know, but I will do what I can to talk it up!
And thanks for sharing your story on your blog.
All the best, and many thanks-Amy
Hi Amy,
Crossroads are uncomfortable. I find that sometimes I have to stand in them for a while before I choose which way to go. It is far easier to just pick a direction quickly and get out of them than it is to stay, wait, and then choose the direction with purpose. It seems you stood for a while. Only good can come out of that in my humble opinion. What a wonderful thing that I was there on a small, Scottish Islland with you! My spirit was over there.
🙂 Now if I can just take the rest of me, I’ll be even happier! Thanks for sharing you Scottish holiday with me….and for passing the book along.
Warmest,
Nicole
I stumbled across your book the other night at Barnes & Noble, as the cover and title caught my attention. I read the first chapter, and then the next, and now, up to page 50, I’m hooked!
As an avid reader and knitter, your book is delightful; just a few days ago someone in my book club raised the question, “What makes a novel good literature?” I’m not sure that I know the answer to that question, but I want to hold up your novel as an example of it. Even as I’m in the midst of reading several other books before I came upon yours, I can’t put “Casting Off” down; the character development and the sense of intrigue and wanting to get to know the characters and what happens next is enchanting.
I can’t wait to read what you publish next.
Thanks, Tomi, for the note and for picking up the book. I am honored that you think so well of Casting Off.
Warmest,
N.
A neighbor gave me Casting Off to read because it was about Ireland. I have been researching my family history for years (my father’s family) and visited Ireland a few years ago to get “the feel of it.”
I don’t knit, never have, and reading the posts it appears that your book appeals to knitters; but, I feel Ireland in it. The characters are so Irish, how did you do that?
The jumpers are more than knitting stiches; they are a history of a people.
I too wish that the story had not ended. Please, a sequel about Rebecca and Rowan.
Your words are like a box of crayons.
Nicole, I love the book and will be sharing it with a small group of ladies who gather once a month to visit and knit or crochet. The title is what made me pick it up but the author is who will keep me interested in up coming projects. My friend and partner is of Irish heritage and I have enjoyed sharing the tid bits of this book with him. I would love to the this book as a movie.
Hi Patricia, Thank you for the note! I didn’t mean to write a “knitting” book; I wrote a novel about two broken people who find redemption. It makes me very happy to hear that you have been to Ireland, have no interest per se in knitting, but read the book and like it enough to send me a note. That means the world to me as does the comment about crayons!=-D
Nicole
Hi Sharon,
Thanks for the message and in advance, for speaking to your group of knitters about Casting Off. I hope your Irish partner found it true to his heritage.I worked very hard at being respectful to the Irish nature. I’ve had several comments about it being a movie. So funny because I can actually see the people in it and cannot identify any actors who remotely look like any of them. I do love to hear this comment, though, for it means the book played in your mind visually. No greater accomplishment for a writer than that, I should think.
Thanks again for dropping me a line,
Nicole
Nicole,
What a wonderful book. I just finished reading “Casting Off”. Well written and an exceptional portrayal of the characters-they came to life in the pages of the book. Your book is an inspiration to me to continue to look for the adventures in life.
Dear Nicole, About “Casting Off”—- what a fitting title.
I found your book quite by accident at the Library.
I always browse by the cover demographics and titles. In this way, I find the most interesting novels, {for me}.
Crossroads, saving the wrong memory, the storm, your words
to describe the revelations of these moments so well crafted.
I had many tears while reading towards the end.
Thank you for writing this extraordinary story.
Lois
.
What a jaw-dropping moment when my eyes fell upon the Author’s note that identified Rowan Dirane as the author of “A Binding Love”. Brilliant, as they would say in Ireland, just brilliant!
Loved the book and the characters, and the whole concept of holding on to the wrong memory resonated with me as well. It was a life lesson in the making for me, and I feel that my hand was Divinely guided to pick up this book at Borders last week.
Thank you for a beautiful story. I have been to Ireland 9 times, the Aran Islands once (after a very seasick ferry ride from Doolin), and bought a sweater in a lovely little shop on Inis Mor. Now I want to take it back and research the stitches and origin! We engaged a tour guide for the day by the name of Tom Dirane, by the way! 🙂
Hopefully my sweater will tell it’s own story one day to my grandchildren and their children – perhaps the tale of a strong woman who held on to the right memories and let go of the wrong ones! I work towards that end!
I’ve read this book at least 15 times in one month. It’s quite amazing. I’m planning a trip to Ireland, if I could find a Fionn there my life would be complete lol. Thanks for such a great read.
Oh wow, your book is so amazing. I have not been this deeply engaged by a book in years. I cried buckets. You are an awesome author; the threads of a story, or of life, are never one dimensional, and you captured the complex stitches of the story line beautifully. I will be waiting for your next one! Thank you for sharing your gift.
Nicole,
First of all, I just loved this note about how you came to write Casting Off. I’ve just started the book and I love these characters so much I can’t stand the thought of the book ending. My grandmother grew up in Galway Bay. I have been knitting since I was 10 and just finished an aran knit sweater for a dear friend’s baby. I also work in a library and for 10 years we have had a knitting group that meets on Friday afternoons. 10 years ago we used to meet from 3-5, then it was 2-5 now it’s more like 1-6. They have become my very best friends.
I am also one of three daughters with divorced parents whose mother chose to stay home with us. My handmade palazzo pants were pink and red plaid and my sisters had matching pairs!
I’m looking forward to reading the rest of this book and many more from you. You are a beautiful writer.
Kaye
A fellow knitter found I listen to books while knitting. She highly recommended your book. She was absolutely on the mark.
You have a wonderful book and I want to know more about the characters. A movie would be wonderful and a blockbuster of Titanic proportion.
Looking forward to the next book. Any idea when it will be available?
Chandler
Thank you for this lovely book. I have turned back corners on so many of its pages knowing that they hold life lessons that I will visit again and again. Please write something else. I need to read your work again.
Hi Chandler,
I’m glad you enjoyed casting Off. I’m working on another now and not quite sure when it will be out but I’ll post here or on Facebook when I have more clarity.
Ncole
Hi Donna,
Lessons – I love it when I grab a shift in my life from a book, don’t you? I think books are the places in the world where I can get out of my own life and see things from another perspective in a non-threatening way. I’ve shifted many times after reading. I’m honored you found such lessons as would make you dog-ear pages. 🙂
Thanks for the note, Donna.
Warmest,
Nicole
It is really a nice and useful piece of information. I am happy that you shared this useful information with us. Please keep us informed like this. Thanks for sharing.