GENRE: *Diverse, Lyrical, Historical Fiction
WORDS: 276
Query:
Hello,
I am submitting my 276-word manuscript, THE EDGECOMB JAR, for your consideration.
THE EDGECOMB JAR is a lyrical story that reflects Texas history since Emancipation through the tale of a stoneware jar. From a place of honor, protecting a family’s food, the jar is repurposed many times before landing in a junk shop. Filled with a belief in its intrinsic value, THE EDGECOMB JAR holds on to hope as it bears witness to history.
Back matter highlights the five emancipated potters who formed the first Black-owned business in Texas while explaining the importance of stoneware in food preservation. Comparable books: * I Am the Subway* (inanimate narrator); Dave the Potter: Artist, Poet, Slave.
Like the jar, I’ve had many homes: nineteen, scattered across four continents. I’ve been a New York banker and a refugee camp English teacher. Currently I split my time between Seattle and Dallas and write for a small business magazine. As a museum volunteer, I often pose what-if questions to help children engage and see themselves in art. THE EDGECOMB JAR shows how something little can have a big impact. It reminds us that everyone has a story worth hearing.
I hold a BA in American Studies from Wellesley College. Two of my prize-winning short stories have been published in anthologies by Owl Canyon Press. I’m a member of SCBWI, 12×12, and the Writer’s League of Texas. Thank you for taking the time to read this submission.
Excerpt:
[museum]
I was born in Texas of fire and water, sweat and clay.
The last of my siblings, I stand proud: knee high, slim hips, broad shoulders, glistening brown. Useful. Beautiful…And often overlooked.
“It’s just a jar.”
But I’ve been sung over, prayed over.
Chipped by children, played over.
Left behind and sold.
Again,
and again,
and again. [junk shop]
What inspired you to write this story & what do you have in common with it:
This story was inspired by a collection of small, speckled brown stoneware jars that sat in a nook in Bayou Bend, the museum where I volunteered. People walked by without noticing, and I felt sorry for the jars. I know what it’s like to be ignored – having moved so many times, I’ve often stood on the sidelines, hoping to be seen. After researching their history, I highlighted the jars on every tour, and the idea for this story was born.
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