The House on Xenia

Rita Moreau’s Newsletter


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In a prior lifetime, I was petrified to get up and speak before a group. I found if I told the group that I was new at this and nervous as all get out, I felt better. Afterward everyone smiled and told me I was great, and they would have never known I was nervous. Luckily I got over that phobia (a story for another newsletter), but I feel compelled to tell you this is my first newsletter. So I’m a little nervous, but here it goes.

I am working hard on my next novel The House on Xenia. I grew up in a house on Xenia Avenue. That house built my two brothers and me. My mother and grandmother, who never agreed on anything, did agree on one thing: the power of love. They made sure we had an unending supply of love. They both were big on tradition and family celebrations, especially birthdays. Education was also vital, and so my mother made sure we attended parochial schools where she thought first and foremost we would be safe. After all, there were nuns. My mother was right, Beside a good education, the nuns, like my mother and grandmother, watched over us and kept us safe. After all, they had rulers. We have come a long way from that house, but when I am home, my brother and I still drive by that house on Xenia Avenue. It was a unique house. I know that house watched over us and kept us safe, like a mother protecting her children. My next book will star the same cast of quirky characters and maybe an alien or two, but the theme of The House on Xenia is the strength of single mothers. My mother was a single mom in the 1950’s. It wasn’t easy. She and her spirit guide my writing of words. Below is a sneak preview:

The word Xenia refers to the Greek tradition of generous hospitality toward strangers.

I am The House on Xenia.

I was born at the turn of the twentieth century, brick by brick, bone by bone. I have stood tall and proud here on Xenia for a very long time. When I was very young, I watched hardworking immigrants arrive and build houses around me. In the 1920s, I saw wealth come and then I saw it go. Then the decades gave way to war. I watched young men say goodbye, and I waited with their families for their return. Laughter and families filled my rooms during the prosperity of the 1950s. The 1960s went by in a psychedelic flash, and then war returned in the 1970s. It brought home men and women broken by its ravages. Then came the inevitable, the years slipped by more quickly and I aged. I am still alive today, but just barely. No people occupy my rooms anymore. It’s been that way for quite some time. I still live but am inhabited now only by rodents, bugs, and old memories. The chilly winter winds howl through the cracks in my windows. The winters are cold, and I feel alone and abandoned—like the neighborhood that surrounds me. It wasn’t always that way. I was once your home.

Well I better get back to work so my next newsletter can give you the dates of publication for The House on Xenia.

Until then if you get the chance—DANCE.


Rita Moreau is the author of the Mary Catherine Mahoney Mystery series. All books are available exclusively on Amazon. Also known as Radio Rita listen to her on Joy on Paper with book buzz mysteries.


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