Books with author Grace L. Hill

With a lurch the train came to a dead stop and Margaret Earle, hastily gathering up her belongings, hurried down the aisle and got out into the night. It occurred to her, as she swung her heavy suit-case down the rather long step to the ground, and then carefully swung herself after it, that it was strange that neither conductor, brakeman, nor porter had come to help her off the train, when all three had taken the trouble to tell her that hers was the next station; but she could hear voices up ahead. Perhaps something was the matter with the engine that detained them and they had forgotten her for the moment.

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I am a layman writing to other laymen in layman's terms so my audience can understand the topics I have felt inspired to talk about. Those topics are living in the moment, unplugging from our square devices, being aware of what is around us, love, the meaning of life, destiny, fate, choices, paths, understanding oneself, and the connectivity between people and all things in life. I also felt inspired to take on several social issues of our time, such as school shootings, how we treat one another, voting, mental health, veterans, discrimination, etc. My inspiration comes from several sources. The first, my unquenchable desire to not only find unconditional love but to also understand love. The second source is a painting by Salvador Dali, called the Railway at Perpignan, painted in 1965. The third source comes from a well-known drawing from 1490, which I will mention by name later. The fourth source was the book Atlas Shrugged, which had a profound impact on my life. Four months ago, if someone had told me I would attempt to write such a book such as this, I would have thought them to be crazy. I feel this story chose me, and I was obligated to share my thoughts and experience with others. The story developed over fifty days, forty-six days while driving a semi back and forth on Highway 50. Then four days driving from Kansas to Grays Harbor on the pacific coast of Washington, stopping at Love Land, Colorado, to convince Dagny Taggart and John Gault to join me in my efforts. Then on to the Devils Tower, Wyoming, to ask Scarlett O'Hara to also join me and stand with me against injustice. Preceding on to the Washington Cascades to reconnect with the love of my life, Crystal. I pray my thoughts and words will lead people from their isolated squares back to the 366-degree circle of love.

The fireboard before the great chimney-place in the spacious dining room of the old Corner House in Milton had been removed by Uncle Rufus, and in the dusk of the winter's afternoon the black pit of it yawned, ogre-like, upon the festive room. The shadows were black under the big tree, the tip of which touched the very high ceiling and which had just been set up in the far corner and not yet festooned. The girls were all busy bringing tinsel and glittering balls and cheery red bells and strings of pink and white popcorn, while yards and yards of evergreen "rope," with which to trim the room itself, were heaped in a corner. It was the day but one before Christmas, and without the gaslight-or even the usual gas-log fire on the hearth-the dining room was gloomy even at mid-afternoon. Whenever Dot Kenway passed the black opening under the high and ornate mantel, she shuddered. It was a creepy, delicious shudder that the smallest Corner House girl experienced, for she said to Tess, her confidant and the next oldest of the four sisters: