Irmgarde Brown

Sister Jane was awarded Best Books of 2021 INDIE by Kirkus Reviews
Harford County Living named Irmgarde Brown, Artist of the Week Jan 24, 2023

Irmgarde Brown

I am a semi-retired librarian/manager, a long-time blogger, a photographer, a playwright and director, an active volunteer in the Havre de Grace arts community, a friend to the Village of Hope, Zambia, a graduate of the Living School for Action and Contemplation, and an Episcopalian after forty years in the non-denominational church. I am a widow, the mother of three adoptees from Eastern Europe (now grown), and a grandmother of three. Sister Jane was my debut novel while Sister Jane's Lenten Journal is novella that overlaps Sister Jane by 40 days and ends on the same day. Sister Jane's Lenten Journal begins on the first day of Covid in Washington state. And now, I am offering a true short story, The Blue Bicycle, for signing up to my mailing. My forthcoming novel is Children in the City of Czars, with an OnSale date of December 3, 2023. 

Sign up for my mailing list 

Read More

blogpage

I

The Countdown

by Irmgarde Brown

While working through all the “best practices” and advice for a successful book launch, one of the recommendations is to post a countdown. As I think about countdowns, I realize the very act of creating a countdown has layers of emotional significance. (I have to thank my AI intern for some of these ideas.)
Anticipation: Undoubtedly, this is the most indicative of how I am feeling about my new book coming out. As each day draws me closer, I can feel my insides start to murmur. It’s not a full rolling boil yet, but a kind of trembling of the waters. Most people might recognize this feeling of anticipation for a personal event in their lives, like a wedding, the birth of a child, a graduation, or a big vacation. But I can attest, a new book coming out is very much like the wait for a new baby, both in planning and in wondering how it will “come out.” God forbid someone calls my baby ugly.

What a Day for a Daydream

What a Day for a Daydream
by Irmgarde Brown

For those who don’t remember, "Daydreamin” is a song by the Lovin’ Spoonful back in 1966. That really dates me, I know, so I might as well confess that I was still in high school. But what is odd to me is how an old tune like this one can suddenly land in my mind and not let go. It’s become a mantra of sorts.  

The main verse I sing is this one, but of course, I change the word “boy” to “girl” and my “bundle of joy” is usually an event coming up.  

What a day for a daydream 
What a day for a daydreamin' boy girl. 
And now I'm lost in a daydream 
Dreamin' 'bout my bundle of joy. 

Sequel Challenge

Sequel Challenge
by Irmgarde Brown

Here’s a surprise: I’ve started writing the sequel to Children in the City of Czars. That sounds crazy and I agree 100%. But when the story started rolling out of my head, I knew I had to hold on to the Muse as she floated by, or I might lose her.

Elizabeth Gilbert wrote a good bit about the Muse in Big Magic, Creative Living Beyond Fear. Funny, it wasn’t that many weeks ago that I wrote about Gilbert in a different vein, when she delayed the publication of her Russian book which, at the time, felt like it might impact mine. But talking about the reality of a Muse, I’m right with her. ...

Childhood Musings

Childhood Musings
by Irmgarde Brown

While promoting my first novel, Sister Jane, many people asked me if the story was true. Or worse, they’d ask if it was my life story. The answer to both is “No.” Those questions caught me off guard. If the story was true (in a factual way), wouldn’t we have heard about a miracle worker who had a “batting average” of 1000? And if it was my story, would I be out here hawking a book instead of hanging out with sick people? I’m being ultra-catty, I know, but honestly. 

Who are the Orphans?

Who are the Orphans?
by Irmgarde Brown

I am an orphan. But then, most people my age are. It’s the natural flow of life, children outlive their parents, and the baton is passed.  

My father died when I was nine and apparently, in that moment, I became a “single orphan.” I didn’t know I had a label, but I certainly knew what it was like to be raised by a single mother. In some ways, it was for the best. My father was twenty-five years older than my mother, and I believe the speed of change for a non-English speaking older gentleman would have become more challenging than bearable. It was hard enough for mother to keep up, but she did keep up until 2004, dying at ninety-one.