Acclaimed novelist Rosemary Mild pulls back the curtain on life, love, loss, and everything in between in her new book, In My Next Life I’ll Get It Right. In this charming, entertaining, and heartfelt collection, Mild dances to her own captivating tune. With a keen eye, wicked wit, and sparkling delivery, she produces a collection of essays ranging from the hilarious to the serious, from the practical to the irreverent. Clever, pitch-perfect, and polished, Mild’s conversational tales are destined to strike a chord with readers.
Mild writes with candor, compassion, and honesty in a voice that brims with humor and wisdom. Her essays run the gamut from gritty observations on everyday life to laughing at her own wishful thinking tempered with tough reality. In My Next Life I'll Get It Right has it all.
No subject escapes the pen of Rosemary Mild—wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother. Readers will delight in her Hawaii adventures; “Senior Decade”; brief encounters with the famous; medical mishaps; and her rocky road from blind dates to lasting love. Join her as she takes on sailing, skating, Jazzercise, football, marathons, and more—and come along as Mild lays bare a mother’s heart-wrenching loss. A collection that is at once timeless and timely, In My Next Life I’ll Get It Right is utterly irresistible.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rosemary Mild is an award-winning essayist whose work has appeared in the Washington Post, Baltimore Sun, Chess Life, and countless other outlets. When not dreaming up outrageous essay ideas, Rosemary Mild and her husband, Larry, wallow in crimes and clues that include their popular Paco and Molly Mysteries; Dan and Rivka Sherman Mysteries; two Hawaii suspense/thrillers; and three gripping story collections. They have two stories in the 2021 anthology Kissing Frogs and Other Quirky Tales. Rosemary has also authored two memoirs: Love! Laugh! Panic! Life with My Mother; and Miriam's World—and Mine, in memory of the beloved daughter they lost in the terrorist bombing of Pan Am 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland. Check out her website.
READ AN EXCERPT
The Hazards of a Grandma’s Bragging Rights
In June, 2004 two stone lions welcomed Larry and me as we mounted the steps to the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. We’d come for the opening of the National Scholastic Arts and Writers Exhibition, sponsored by the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers, Inc. Each state runs its own annual regional competition. The 1,200 honorees at the Corcoran were chosen from the 250,000 regional winners. We had a personal stake in this show. One of the winners was a sculpture titled The Kelpie, created by our granddaughter Alena Lau, a sophomore at Roosevelt High School in Honolulu.
In the first exhibit room we found the chest-high glass case containing small ceramics. The Kelpie was on the far right. It depicted a young girl crouching beside a rippling pond, with a horse up to its neck in the blue-green water.
“This is our granddaughter’s piece,” I announced proudly to the parade of visitors. They all stopped to look. I grandly interpreted it, paraphrasing the definition from Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary. “The kelpie—the little girl—is a water sprite of Scottish folklore who delights in the drowning of wayfarers.”
Visitors seemed to appreciate my explanation, because none of the artworks bore one. Many visitors took pictures. Speaking of pictures, I had called the Corcoran in advance to ask whether they allowed cameras. “No, only in the reception area.” Being obsessively obedient since I was a child, I didn’t bring mine. We got there and almost every visitor had one! A kindly looking woman approached and I whipped up my courage:
“If you’d be willing to take a couple pictures of our granddaughter’s sculpture and send them to us, we’ll send you an autographed copy of our mystery novel.”
“I love mysteries,” she said, “but I’ll go you one better. My sister is here with an extra throw-away camera and we’ll give it to you.” She refused to let us pay for it. What a lovely lady. I took umpteen pictures, and we sent her a book.
I held court at the Corcoran for two hours. And for the entire year after, I carried pictures in my purse, doing show-and-tell to all family and friends.
Until Alena’s mom, my stepdaughter, heard me. We were all attending a large holiday party, when Jackie said in a stern voice that every guest could hear. “No, Rosemary, you’ve got it wrong! The horse is the kelpie!”
What? Oh, no! Here’s what happened. I had indeed looked up “kelpie” in the dictionary, but I neglected to also read the origin of the word in brackets—from the Scottish-Gaelic “heifer or colt.” (You’ve heard the Latin phrase Mea culpa, meaning “My fault.” Well, Mea kelpie!)
Since then I’ve promised Alena I’ll always write down her own interpretations of her artworks. No improvising. Fortunately, my humiliating goof had no lasting impact. The sponsors of the competition bought The Kelpie for their offices in New York.