A CHARMED VISION: THE ART OF CAROLYN PLOCHMANN
was published by The Evansville Museum of Arts and Science, and Chameleon Books in 1994. It is currently out of print, but can be purchased through a number of used booksellers.
I began writing fiction over ten years ago, and it has become an all-consuming passion. My first novel, LEAVING EASTERN PARKWAY, will be released by DELPHINIUM BOOKS in September, 2022, and is available for pre-order through Barnes and Noble and other booksellers, but I hope you will consider supporting your local bookstore.
An excerpt from the opening page of LEAVING EASTERN PARKWAY:
My father died almost instantly. At least that is what they told my mother. She was standing right next to him when he was hit, his black fedora and shoes left at her feet, his body landing many yards down Eastern Parkway. The driver of the blue Chevrolet did not stop. The investigators said the impact speed was close to fifty, judging from the lack of skid marks and what they called the pedestrian throw distance.
This was my fault. My father would be alive today if not for me; I am certain of it. My father would be alive, and my mother would not have had her fourth mental breakdown. I would still be an observant Jew, not living as a goy. This is the guilt I bear.
I blame myself, but more than that, I blame Hashem for my love of handball. My gift. It was Hashem who gave me the ability to play with either hand, my right as strong as my left. I felt the pure joy of it from the very first time I hit the ball, as natural to me as breathing. Why would Hashem give such a gift if he did not expect me to use it? To this day I blame him, but this is not something a boy tells his Rebbe, especially when he should be in shul on Shabbos.
I was at the handball courts when my father was killed. I heard the sirens wailing in the early afternoon, first one and then another, but it was like any normal day in Crown Heights and I was distracted by the clamor of the crowd, gentiles watching in amazement as the Hasidic boy in his undershirt and yarmulke sent the favored players home in defeat. I paid no attention to the sirens announcing my father’s death. I was too busy concentrating on my opponents’ weaknesses, the holes in their game, and determining how I would systematically take them apart....