It was only the second meme I ever participated in, and it was the first one that gained me any sort of a following. I really cut my teeth meme-ing teeth on Write on Edge’s prompts.… Read the rest
I was six and Jenny was five. It was our first year in different schools, and I hated being apart from her every day. So we spent our weekends together. One night, she informed me she had met a ghost. His name was Herb, and he lived in my house. Herb communicated with us via the First McGuffey Reader. Yes, that McGuffey Reader. My mother had scads of old books, and Jenny and I were precocious.
I’ll never forget the hard brown cover or the black ink picture of children sitting under a leafy bower.… Read the rest
Now, some of you reading this knew where I was going as soon as you read the date.… Read the rest
I’ve been a writer since age ten. Initially, I just wanted a career (yes, I was thinking seriously of my future career then) where I could use the old Remington Rand manual typewriter. I loved the way it felt under my fingers, and I savored the letter-arm’s whack against the paper. Even now when I’m feeling completely empty, I type just to hear the clickity-clack of my keyboard.
My parents supported me. My dad is a musician, so they kind of had to by default. “Write,” they told me. “But have a backup.”
That advice has haunted me, still haunts me.… Read the rest
The doorbell rang at half past four, and Scott and I were gone by quarter ‘til five, before the sitter could change her mind. Even almost two years ago, it was hard to get somebody to watch Sam. Not to mention that she was fifteen and being dropped off by her Dad, and it was snowing in central Alabama.
I don’t remember exactly where we went. Dinner at least. Probably a movie. Anything at all to recover from the holidays. I do recall wandering around Whole Earth (or whatever that store is) one of the few venues that hadn’t simply shut down because of a few centimeters of white precipitation.… Read the rest
I got turned around in this warehouse district.… Read the rest
Nov. 1 8AM
“Coast is clear. Car pulled out of the driveway.”
“OK troops, let’s do this.”
“I thought they’d never leave this morning.”
“Kids probably ate themselves into a sugar coma last night and couldn’t move.”
“Less talking, more climbing, troops.”
“To the victor go the spoils.”
“Dig in, baby.”
“Oh God, I can’t believe I ate that much. I can’t move.”
“What will they think when they find us here, your majesty?”
This version of what really happens to your kids’ Halloween candy every year was written in response to this week’s Write on Edge Red Writing Hood prompt, which asked for an under 200 word story describing my version of 8 o’clock in tribute to David Wiesner’s children’s picture book Tuesday.… Read the rest
Mummum wrote out this one in September of 2001, just before Scott and I got married.
Brad’s Favorite Butterscotch Pie 9-2001 [Brad was my grandfather’s nickname]
And this one a few years later
Fold in pecan halves coat each pecan well.… Read the rest