Jamie Janosz

In an interview for my book, the radio host asked me why I wrote about historical women. "Did you always love history?" "Yes," I realized. "I always have." My dad was a junior high history teacher. His focus, for 7th/8th grade, was American history and social studies, but he instilled in me a love of the past. My parents took me to museums and historical monuments. I remember touching the Liberty Bell and wearing a tri-corner hat in Williamsburg, Virginia. For me, the worst part of history in school is the memorization of dates. I was (and still am) horrible at remembering what battle happened when and where, which king replaced the other. To me, this onslaught of information tumbles about in my brain and refuses to stick. I'd be a horrible guest on Jeopardy. But when I see and touch and feel history, I am completely and utterly in love. In those moments, it leaves the pages of the past and comes alive. This also happens when I visit his...

Women connect differently than men. At a very young age, we are taught to find and claim a very best friend - a girl friend who will be our BFF, our closest confidante. Anne Shirley (with an "e") and her bosom buddy Diana Barry. Nancy Drew and her gal pals, George and Bess. We tell our best friends our deepest secrets, share our fears, confide our crushes, and, sometimes, we break each other's hearts. When I was very young, I had two best friends - one who lived next door and the other who I saw at church. Michelle lived next door to me with seven brothers and sisters in a three-bedroom house that was identical in almost every way to my own suburban ranch. Their home was often bedlam - kids couldn't find socks, the littlest child was naked, Michelle's mom would be cutting huge stacks of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in one swipe - desperately trying to get her brood off to school. I loved it. Michelle and I would walk to Parkside School together,...