So many stories

 Yesterday, I had the opportunity to take part in a commemoration of D-Day at the Everhart Museum in Scranton. As reported in the Scranton Times, the museum housed a display of photographs and personal items from late in WWII, focusing of course on France in 1944-45. As is usually the case when touring exhibits from horribly difficult times and places, I found myself looking for street scenes, small clips of the lives of ordinary people. What would it have been like to live there then, to be going to work or raising a family while tanks rolled down the streets of your town?

How did it affect your ability to get to the store, check on elderly family members, or walk the children to school? I find it fascinating to put on someone else's skin so to speak, to learn about an era and think, "What would I do if..."
I guess that explains why I write historical fiction.
Browsing through the D-Day exhibit, one thing struck me over and over - there are so many stories yet to be told, real and fictionalized.