How to Afford a Ghostwriter to Write Your Memoirs: Investing in Your Heritage

It is easy for individuals to take a look at that total, think I don’t have $10 000 lying around, and assume that their dreams of getting their story written down are over. If you are of a like mind then please hear me out before you swear off ever hiring a ghostwriter. My goal, at the end of every conversation, is for the individual to feel as though they can get their story written down, whether the primary investment is time or money.

Dancing in the 1950s: SATURDAY AFTERNOON DANCE CLASSES VS SATURDAY EVENING DANCES

I had previously written a post Saturday Night Dancing in 1950s London, and Bob was intent to correct some details. Dance classes were never on a Saturday evening; instead they were on a Saturday afternoon. During a dance class you would have men lined up on one side, and women lined up on another. They would have arrived separately and be asked to pair up in order to practice the dance. It is during a dance class that Bob and Jeanne were paired up to dance and subsequently started dating, grew to love each other, and got engaged on a rainy day while sheltering in a phone booth.

Saturday Night Dancing in 1950's London: Researching a Love Story

Imagine a couple of professional dance instructors going over the steps with both the ladies and men before asking them to pick a partner and practice the routine. The atmosphere must have been one of thrill and excitement, as boisterous teenage energy sent hearts thumping, and feet stumbling. With a strong attempt at outward manliness and confidence the young man would attempt to sweep the lady he was partnered with through the steps of the dance, while inwardly using all of his power to avoid stumbling over his own feet.

SCHMETALINK: From Rio Dulce to Semuc Champey

I was lying down across the seat, my stomach queasy, as the bus we were in lurched from side to side. The saving grace was that there were only four of us in the vehicle, it would have been miserable if it was packed. I pushed myself up and sagged against the back of the seat. “I don’t know if lying down is better or not,” I complained to Nate.

“Ow,” he said as his head smacked off of the roof of the bus, he was tall, and had to keep a hand between his skull and the ceiling, “I know what you mean.”