I used to sit on my mother's lap while she showed me the faded pictures in her old photo album. "That's me when I had beautiful long blond hair," she's say, or ""Look at that Homer! He was a bad one." Then, a far-away look would cross her face, and she would smile. "My Lord. See that dress? I thought I looked so spiffy, back then." Tears would shine in her eyes when she turned to pictures of my aunt Ruth, who died many years ago. Then Mother would close the album and say, "Another time, honey. I must see to dinner before your father comes home." Through pictures and eventually by writing SINCERELY, LOUISE, I have come to know my mother in a new and wonderful way. Parts of her story are from her own words, parts from the early pictures, the rest, from my imagination. You may call the book a memoir, a fictional biography, or a tall tale. I simply call it, Sincerely, Louise.