About M. M. Kiehn
I am a woman. At almost sixty-one I do not feel old at all, but tell that to my joints. That creaking sound you hear as I stand up just might be laughter; the cackle of an old woman. I prefer my coffee black, my wine red, unless there are raw oysters involved, in which case, prosecco. And I love any place that can serve up a French 75.
I am a wife. I used to wonder at women who had scores of men who wanted to be with them. For one brief—thankfully fleeting—moment in my life that happened to me, and I then realized it was a chaos not meant for me. I aimed a virtual bazooka at the entire field and fired. Joe was the only one still standing, a little singed around the edges, but steady. And he always is my island of refuge from storms, some of my own concocting. We will celebrate 25 years together soon. Maybe next year in Paris…
I am a mother. I have never been the perfect mother, if there is such a one. Still, when I stand back and look at my children it is a wonder to me. Though very different from each other, they are both strong, independent, and intelligent. They are also truly (as opposed to fashionably) compassionate, hospitable, and generous. They are excellent cooks and set a lovely table. Willing to engage in hard work and fearless in following their dreams, even if it means going far from home. I am often amazed they are mine. In truth they stopped being that a long time ago. They are their own.
And then there are the cats. I cannot forget them. Writers and cats go together according to a little book of quotes of which I am fond.
“There are no ordinary cats.” –Collete
I am a writer. I owe much of my first novel to the peace, quiet, and excellent coffee and service at Fiddleheads in Thiensville, Wisconsin. If you are from there, you are twice blessed; if not, it is worth the trip no matter how far. The original place sits up above the river—waiting—like a friend.
I also love to write in my private sanctuary: a front bedroom in our ranch home that I slowly converted into my library. The finishing touch was floor-to-ceiling built-in book cases designed and installed by my oldest child. My laptop is the home for most of my writing but often I reach for a legal pad if the ideas are coming fast. Skewering them with the tip of my rolling ball captures them before they can escape into the nooks and crannies of the messy attic that is my old and cluttered brain. I also keep a writing journal with me to store other ideas as well. The current edition wisely admonishes on the cover: Don’t Believe Everything You Think.
I love to read. I have since I first could. While I love to read non-fiction—history and biography—I find myself drawn to write fiction. I loved making up stories as a child. I played alone a good deal, and would sometimes just daydream elaborate adventures as a WWII bomber pilot or a cold war spy and assassin. My favorite book was Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh. Harriet was, of course, not a spy, but a writer. She got in a real jam telling the truth, but she survived and refused to surrender her writing. Some authors I adore reading are Mark Helprin and Margaret Atwood. I also admire and read Khaled Hosseini and Laura Hildebrand. I think any of these people could write a grocery list and it would likely be life altering.