|
|
home
anthology
writing tips
publishing tips
writers' group tips
reading list
links
member pages
Colleen Fullbright
Teresa Funke
Jean Hanson
Luana Heikes
Sara Hoffman
Paul Miller
Karla Oceanak
Leslie Patterson
Kay Rios
Debby Thompson
former
member pages
Tracy Ekstrand
Kathy Hayes
Laura Pritchett
Laura Resau
Todd Shimoda
Greta Skau
Zach Zorich
all content copyright 2003
Slow Sand Writers Society
or individual authors
email:
info@slowsand.com
|
 Teresa Funke
Teresa R. Funke is the author of Remember Wake, an award-winning novel based on a true story from WWII. She is also the author of Dancing in Combat Boots: Stories of American Women in WWII and Doing My Part, the first book in the Home-Front Heroes series for middle grade readers.
Teresa has worked as a researcher for PBS and several museums and written dozens of articles. Her essays and short stories have appeared in numerous commercial and literary magazines and anthologies including Calyx, Crab Orchard Review, 2003 Fish Short Story Prize Anthology, Tampa Review, In Posse Review's Ethnic Anthology on Web del Sol, Under the Sun, U.S. Catholic, Adoption Today and several others. Two of her essays have been listed as Notable Essays of 2002 and 2004 by the prestigious Best American Essays series.
A popular speaker, presenter and writers coach, Teresa is also the host of the writers' videos The Write Series. Her antcipated six-part workshop, That Book Inside You: How to Write It, Publish It, Sell It launches in Fall, 2007.
 
Publications
- Freer Than I've Ever Been," Calyx, forthcoming, short story
- "Three Thousand Men," The MacGuffin, forthcoming, short story
- "Living on the Wind," Kalliope, forthcoming, short story.
- "Where She Began," High Plains Register, 2006, short story.
- "Las Estrellas de Oro," The Copperfield Review, 2006, short story
reprint.
- "Books in My Backyard," ByLine Magazine, 2006, end piece.
- "I Am Not Special," Adoption Today, 2005, creative nonfiction.
- "Las Estrellas de Oro," U.S. Catholic, November, 2005, fiction.
- “Una Hija Americana,” Crab Orchard Review, creative nonfiction
- “It’s Not Too Late, Connor,” ByLine Magazine, essay
- Remember Wake, 2002. "December, 1941 . . . Japanese forces overrun Wake Island. This is the true story of the American men taken prisoner and the women they left behind."
- "Just the Way He Liked It," Fish Short Story Prize Anthology, short story
- "I Am Not Special," Under the Sun, creative nonfiction
- Forthcoming: "The Summer of '79," The North Dakota Quarterly, creative nonfiction
- 2002: "Liberated Hair," The Tampa Review, creative nonfiction
- 2002: "When Mother's Play," Denver Post, essay
- 2001: "The Value of Money," Posse Review's Ethnic Anthology, short story
- 2001: "What He Might Have Been," Carve Magazine, short story
- 2001: "The Hours of Magic," A Mom's Love, essay
- 2000 : "Why Korea?" Adoption Today, essay
- 1999: "Baby Steps and Novel Strides," ByLine Magazine, essay, reprinted Authorship
- 1994: "Poems That Die in the Moonlight," Genre Sampler Magazine, short story 2
Comments/Advice/Maxims
- Teresa's 3 Ps of Writing: Practice, Persistence, and Patience
Contact info
^ top
|
Excerpt from Remember Wake
Wake Island
 Sharp coral fragments dug into Colin's knees. He'd been stripped to his undershorts and could feel the sun slowly burning his back and the soles of his feet. Before the Japanese had taken his clothing, he'd painfully removed the largest piece of shrapnel from his arm and tied a sock around the wound and the few tiny shrapnel pieces still embedded inside. A guard had confiscated the photograph of Chaplain's daughters and torn it in half, scattering the pieces at Colin's feet. He'd glared at Colin, challenging. Colin tried to look defiant, but his right eye began to twitch, and he was forced to look away. The guard grunted his disgust and bumped Colin hard as he passed.
A medic had bandaged Red's shoulder but left Colin's wound untreated as he rushed to help a seriously injured civilian. Though his elbow ached terribly, Colin's more urgent concern was the wire with which he had been bound. The Japanese had tied his hands behind his back—ignoring his cries of pain—hen strung the wire around his neck. If he relaxed his shoulders or let his arms drop, the wire would strangle him. Though the guards had tied Red's hands, at least they hadn't run the wire to his neck. His wounded shoulder could never have supported the weight.
The prisoners had been instructed to keep silent, but when the guards occasionally circled to share cigarettes, Colin whispered to Red. "If they know we're civilians, maybe they'll treat us better."
"Don't count on it," Red said weakly.
"Even though we aren't military, we still fought against them. That should only give them more reason to hate us."
"Do you think they'll shoot us?"
"Maybe. Unless they want to save ammunition. Then they could just march us into the sea with our hands tied and let us drown."
"I'm not going to die that way," Colin said. "I'll run first. Make them shoot me."
Somewhere the battle continued. Communications had been cut, and Major Devereux must still be working his way around the island ordering pockets of resistance to surrender. Colin nursed the vain hope that somehow the Japanese could still be defeated.
The guards finally waved their arms for the men to rise. Colin did so slowly, the joints in his knees popping loudly. The prisoners were arranged into two rows, and the guards kicked at their ankles to get them moving. Overhead, a Japanese plane exploded, shot down by the remaining free Americans, its parts raining over the island. The men jostled one another excitedly and grinned, until the guards cursed and kicked them harder.
They were marched to the airfield, where they were finally untied. Holding his elbow close to him, Colin rolled the tension from his shoulders and rubbed at painful indentations on his wrist. To his surprise, the men were directed toward a pile of confiscated clothing. Colin snatched a pair of shorts and one of the last shirts, which he draped over Red's shoulders. They sat down on the runway, and the guards aimed machine guns at their chests.
As the hours passed, Colin searched the faces of each new arrival for his friends. Frank came first, dragged from a hospital truck and dropped to the ground. He crawled to the front row and sat cross-legged, his head in his hands. Colin knew he'd been admitted to the hospital the night before with dysentery, but was still dismayed to see the boy looking so pale and shaken.
Patrick arrived shortly after Frank, winking nervously at Colin as the guards shoved him toward the back. His face was covered with dried blood, and his left calf was wrapped in a bloody bandage. When Marty arrived with a handful of Marines, Colin finally relaxed a little, though he couldn't stop feeling someone was missing, couldn't fully accept that Chaplain was not the man sitting to his left.
"I still can't figure out what's keeping our reinforcements," Colin whispered.
"They're not coming," said the man that should have been Chaplain. "Commander Cunningham got a message from Pearl during the battle. Our task force was recalled."
"You're lying."
"Fuck you. I heard it straight from Cunningham's aide."
"Then that's it," Red whispered.
Colin hung his head and closed his eyes. In Boise, his mother would be hanging the Christmas wreath, his sister, Gwen, would be wrapping presents. Maggie would be baking sweet rolls for the neighbors, and Eddie would be shoveling the walk. Colin imagined himself among them, feeling the crisp winter air on his face.
A sharp kick brought him back to reality. A Japanese soldier was gesturing for him to straighten the line. Colin repositioned himself, his eyes on the soldier's back. His right eye twitched again, but this time with hatred, not fear. He promised himself that if he did not die today, he would fight with every ounce of strength left in him to survive this war. No matter what it took, he would see Maggie and his family again.
^ top
|
