historical-fiction

Manuel acquired as much land as he could afford and refused to sell it to anyone, even if he was not planting anything on it. __a tierra no se acaba_ (__he land does not perish_), he often said.

It's said truth is stranger than fiction, but fiction makes truth a friend, not a stranger.

Here's to the future, he said and lifted the glass to his mouth. There was a lump of regret stuck in his throat as he spoke the words, but he washed it down with the whiskey.

All of my books are acts of subversion disguised as historical fiction.

I want to be a good man, a good writer.""Be one or the other, Ernest, not both.

An American Family Sampler is a book any reader will find insightful, thoroughly researched, and fun to read. Robert Frump, author, award winning journalist, business leader

Ernest chose to go, she finally thinks, watching the fire turn the papers black. He loved her but he could not live anymore.

A little man in a threadbare coat spoke up for the poor as if he really knew what he was talking about. The women with the flowers threw them down for him. __hat__ Robert Speer,_ one said. __omething like that. He__ our man.

All Americans were immigrants at one point or another,_ he explained in his letters to his parents. Even his father Manuel migrated to Puerto Rico. Manuel was deemed a Peninsular, an immigrant from Spain, and sometimes even the Puerto Rican-born, the criollos, resented the Spanish-born newcomers. Manuel was familiar with being singled out, although not quite as much as Antonio felt while in New York. __t is amazing how people tend to forget their past,_ Antonio wrote to his parents, surprised. __ recall what you told me about Maestro Rafael, Papá, when he said to you __ever forget your history.

I aim to make the fiction flexible so that it bends itself around the facts as we have them. Otherwise I don__ see the point. Nobody seems to understand that. Nobody seems to share my approach to historical fiction. I suppose if I have a maxim, it is that there isn__ any necessary conflict between good history and good drama.

Did you ever hear the one about how every living woman dies three times? Once when she is seduced of her virginity, once when she is seduced of her freedom (I believe they call it marriage), and once when she is seduced of her husband.

What one of us wants we all want. You a man of the earth as you are, you ought to have known we hunt in packs. And now I come to finish you.

Antonio looked down, silent, as Shillitoni kept talking. There he was, among cold-blooded killers, talking to a gangster. A much different picture than a year prior.__an__ trust priests, can__ trust cops either. Can__ trust nobody! Whaddaya say?___ am not like you,_ Antonio said. ____ not like them, either. That__ what I say. I am not a cold-blooded killer!___a killed, you a killa! There__ not__g more to it!_ Shillitoni said.

As I grow ever closer to the end of my time, I look back at this life and tell you that the only thing I would wish to give up is the regret I've carried in my heart for all these years. At long last I have come to realize the things I once counted as regrets were indeed blessings that I was too blind to see.

Anything from Kipling

Stay with me?_ His fingers wound into my hair, and his arm tightened around me. __lways.

Her heart now pounding, a strange feeling of combined fear and happiness invaded her. She took a deep breath. Her lungs filled with fresh air. An invigorating rush of electricity all over her body overcame her. __o, is this how falling in love feels?_ she thought.She knew the answer.

Perhaps Zeus was king, but I was Spartan, a princess twice over, and queen of Athens besides. I knew my duty. And I would rule my own fate.