Typewriters in Love

Lisa Corra

Description

This book acquaints the reader with underground events and unusual themes pertaining to the 1960s. The novel, which is filled with historical, musical, and literary references, is set in the vibrant cosmopolitan port city of Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, in the years 1968 and 1969. The story entails the twists and turns of the complex relationship between Francesca DeFiori and Zoe Verret, who are both in publishing in the late sixties. They are dynamic women for their times, struggling with their boyfriends and their mutual romantic love in a society promoting heterosexuality. All the characters in this enticing plot are compelling with their own roller-coaster tales interconnected with the main characters' tales, leading to an unexpected and explosive finale.

Sujets

• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
• Date de parution: 06 janvier 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781649798794
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

T ypewriters i n L ove
L isa C orra
A ustin M acauley P ublishers
2023-01-06
Typewriters in Love About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgment Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66
About the Author
Lisa Corra is a journalism post-graduate who writes about the newspaper business in her novel, Typewriters in Love . She was inspired by her thesis, written at Saint Mary’s University, in Halifax, Nova Scotia, which was on The 4 th  Estate Newspaper (1969–1977). She lives with two beloved cats and has many wonderful friends in Halifax, who she enjoys getting together with frequently. Music is big in her world and she sings in bands and plays acoustic rhythm guitar.
Dedication
For Ma, Jackie, and Maud
And all the other rocking rebels of the nineteen sixties
Copyright Information ©
Lisa Corra 2023
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Ordering Information
Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Corra, Lisa
Typewriters in Love
ISBN 9781649798787 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781649798794 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022919663
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published 2023
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street,33rd Floor, Suite 3302
New York, NY 10005
USA
[e-mail]
[phone]
Acknowledgment
I’m very appreciative to all the friends who helped edit this novel and gave me support while I was writing it.
As well, I’m thankful to the writers who published on the theme of bisexuality in both fiction and non-fiction. These books were a wonderful resource for me.
Finally, I’d just like to give credit to Saint Mary’s University for guiding me through my thesis on an alternative newspaper of the ’60s. It gave me a step ahead in my research of “the times” and the business of journalism.
Burke said there were three estates in Parliament, but in the Reporter’s Gallery…there sat a fourth estate, more important than they all.
Thomas Carlyle
1841
It was meanwhile a pretty part of the intercourse of these young ladies that each thought the other more remarkable than herself—that each thought herself, or assured the other she did, a comparatively dusty object and the other a favorite of nature and of fortune and covered thereby with the freshness of the morning.
Henry James
Wings of the Dove
1902
To display or not to display; to tell or not to tell; to let on or not to let on; to lie or not to lie; and in each case, to whom, how, when, and where.
Erving Goffman
1963
She does everything with passion-stained hands. Looks at the world with burning, fire-lit eyes, loves with a splintering chaos, deep in her bones, and smiles with a secret mouthful of mischief. She feels everything, all at once or not at all, with a soul that runs deeper than any hell, and more intense than any heaven you know. The world isn’t ready for the havoc in her blood, and the storm on her skin, but she doesn’t stop for anyone; and she walks with thunder in her shoes.
S.L.
2014
Chapter 1
She had a taste for everything cultural—books, film, theatre, records—and a deep-seated penchant for distinct views and opinions: definitely not your typical gal in her late twenties living in the unique era of the end of the 1960s.
As a second-generation Italian who grew up in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Francesca had solid family values and a reverence for her background and religious traditions. Her neck was often graced by her beloved late Nonna’s Madonna made of eighteen-karat gold. As of yet, curiously for the times, no diamond ring adorned her wedding finger. This woman’s individuality was exemplified, considering the times and her chasing thirty’s tails, by her marital status.
This wasn’t to say she wasn’t absolutely stunning to look at.
Her long dark hair was wavy and hung on her shoulders. She stood tall and slim (5’7) with markedly good posture. Our central character dressed conservatively for the office but conversely, more like a hippie when lounging at home or bars and cafes with friends. She didn’t get compared to any particular Italian movie stars because she had her very own exotic look like she could be on stage herself.
As her creator writing in the 21 st century, Francesca in physical appearance is Nora Jones meets Katie Holmes with a sprinkling of Helena Bonham Carter. She radiates light with her easy smile, all the more pretty with her white teeth and olive skin complexion. A critic of her physique might point out a mole on her left cheek or a slight slant in one of her front teeth. Still, they would have a very difficult time denying that Francesca is a natural beauty especially considering her high cheekbones, deep set large brown eyes and thick dark lashes, slender medium-sized nose, not to mention a figure that exudes sensuality.
#
After the conversation, Francesca twirled the black phone like a baton, and it bounced off the desk and onto her lap.
Feeling humorous, she picked up the instrument, and with a roll of her big brown eyes slammed it tightly down on its base with a sound effect punctuating the end of something good, the beginning of something promising. She said, yes! in the silent confines of her office.
Francesca, our intelligent young protagonist, was a rebellious and classy alternative journalist albeit with a touch of naiveté about her. The editor in chief of Reporter’s Gallery based in Halifax, Nova Scotia, rose from the chair at her desk and poured herself a hot black coffee, sat back and reflected upon their first verbal encounter.
“Hello, Zoe! It’s Francesca DeFiori.”
“Oh my God, I got your letter this morning—postmarked from Italy! Are you back in Halifax?” Zoe asked.
“Yes, I’ve been here for a few days. So did you consider whether you’d like to do an interview for our paper, Reporter’s Gallery ?”
“I did think it over. And you’d be conducting the interview, Francesca, I assume?”
“That’s right, I would be. I thought maybe we could arrange a time and place to meet. I have been following Women’s Revolution as much as I could since you registered the newsletter last year. I’d be delighted to meet you. That is, if you’re up for it.”
“For sure. I can fit you in early next week.”
“Okay, how about at The Gondola Ristorante on South Street…say Tuesday at seven o’clock. Are you available then?”
“That sounds great. That place has such an authentic atmosphere. I’d love it.”
“Well, you’ll have to skip supper and dine with me. After, we’ll enjoy espresso and dessert and I’ll bombard you with a slew of questions,” Francesca said laughingly.
Zoe chuckled easily with politeness and with the feeling that her funny bone had been scratched. Zoe retorted, “This interview is beginning to sound rather risqué, or at best, very challenging.” She paused and continued, “No, in all seriousness, I certainly hope I can help you out on your article.”
“Something tells me you’ll be able to offer more than enough information. Don’t worry; it will be a piece of cake.”
There was hesitation on both the women’s parts, each was wondering if she should comment that no pun would be intended. It was humorous and awkward simultaneously.
“I’ll see you then,” whispered Zoe Verret and softly she placed the phone on its cradle. The woman on the other end quietly pondered the exceedingly light-hearted yet brief conversation.
#
“ Ostia, O mio Dio, che stupido! ” Davide hollered crossly in his native Italian, slamming his hand on the side of the steering wheel of his brand new sixty-eight Chevrolet.
He was driving down Quinpool Road in a stifling summer heat accentuated in terms of aggravation levels by a conglomeration of noisy vehicles on a street in need of double lanes and with cars parked bumper to bumper on the side of the road. The car in front of him had managed to zoom past on the opposite side of the line, of course without signaling and notwithstanding especially fueled velocity.
“Damn it, will I ever make it home today?”
Fifteen minutes later, Davide had his bare feet up on the coffee table with a glass of homemade red wine in his right hand, a copy of Reporter’s Gallery on his lap. The smell of baking lasagna filled the air. He swirled the red wine in the glass and sniffed it before each sip. Davide felt as cool as a cucumber now.
His Italian wife, Anna Maria, who was brought up in Brooklyn, New York, sat