All her life, Jane believes she is small-town ordinary. . . until she isn’t. Some people brand her a witch because of the cat while others believe she has a demon. Her family thinks she’s ready for the nursing home, and the down-and-out reporter assumes she’s a fake. But nobody, including Jane, can figure out how she does it: heal the sick. All the sick. All the time. Is it a gift of God? The Church is divided. Then, everything erupts when the foreigners arrive along with the government people and the scientists. Will Jane become a pawn or save herself?
Doors and Liminal Space
I have since learned that there is a moment in between as one passes through a door, leaving one place and entering the next. It’s called liminal space, a period of transition. It's a gap, and it can be physical (like a doorway), emotional (like a divorce or widowhood) or metaphorical (like a decision).
In the Silence
What happens in the silence?
Back in my acting school days, we were often encouraged to dwell in the small silences between sentences—to not feel compelled to speak straight through, but to allow the character to think, to consider, to ruminate, if you will. And then going even further back, I remember a one-act play, actually a “sketch”, by the avant-garde playwright, Harold Pinter, in which silences were a key aspect. Of course, the two characters were both in midlife and I was in my twenties; what did I know of broken marriages and broken lives where silence reigned? That would come much later.