About Jennifer Jordan

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So far Jennifer Jordan has created 4 blog entries.


By |2021-09-07T13:29:32-04:00September 7th, 2021|

When my grandfather died, I said to myself, I will never know anyone funnier than Grampy. And I was right. It’s been forty years since his death and I have yet to meet a soul with the speed and cleverness of his wit. It definitely wasn’t a kind and gentle humor, but it wasn’t nasty either. It was just so damn quick and sure, like the thrust of an epee’s blade, especially after his nightly scotch and sodas -- plural.

But Is It True?

By |2021-08-18T11:50:23-04:00August 18th, 2021|

“And they were never seen alive again.” It was the sentence that stopped my fingers on the keyboard.  You see, for decades, fifty years in fact, the fate of three young women was a mystery. All that was known about their “disappearance” was that the last recorded sighting of them was with Tony Costa, a man who would later be convicted for the murders of two women and guilty in the deaths of three more, as well as the disappearances and presumed murders of as many as another eight. So, [...]

Writing and Fear

By |2021-02-17T09:16:45-05:00January 25th, 2021|

Writing is a terrifying experience. Or rather, getting your writing published, is terrifying. Your words, after all, expose you in many ways, revealing your intellect, the degree of your research, and most of all, your ability to simply write. And when you bare yourself to the world, you are inviting critique, which all too often is criticism. When I was writing my first book, Savage Summit, about the first five women who climbed K2, the world’s second highest mountain on the Pakistan/China border, it was exhilarating but frightening. I remember [...]

There’s your book!

By |2021-02-11T21:01:30-05:00September 8th, 2020|

I found what I think is the first diary I ever kept and judging by the boy’s name around which I drew red hearts every time I mentioned him, I’m guessing I was about 11 or 12 at the time. It has a green faux leather cover and one of those little square “locks.” I remember keeping the key for years, thinking it actually protected my secrets, first from my sister who would have read it out loud at the dinner table to mortify me, and second from my mother [...]

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