4/01/2014

Write what you love, love what you write - Week 5

I'm linking up again this week with Angie at The Jammie Girl to share a snippet from a work in progress.  Go check it out and share a piece of what you're working on!  




I finished up the work I needed to do, and the whole time my phone kept buzzing insistently in my apron pocket.   Finally as I was getting in the car and lighting up my final cigarette of the night (hey, I deserved it after working a double shift) I pulled my phone out and saw that I had six texts from him.

“Something’s going on up the street” the first one read, followed by “ambulances and police cars on the block do u no wats happening” and “this looks like a big deal there blocking off the whole street now when will u b home” and “you need to park the next street over and walk through the back yard” and “hey r u ok” and “text me back.”  Spelling had never been his strong suit, obviously.

 I found all these text strange for two reasons – one, it WAS odd that there were police cars and ambulances and that the whole street was blocked off and two, it really wasn’t like him to take that level of interest or concern in where I might need to park.  Apathy runs both ways, apparently.  



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3/24/2014

Write what you love, love what you write - Week 4.

I'm linking up again this week with Angie at The Jammie Girl to share a snippet from a work in progress.  Go check it out and share a piece of what you're working on!  




I like building houses.  Even in the cookie cutter subdivisions that were springing up like mushrooms for a while, there's some variety.  Different floor plans, different finishes.  This homeowner wants hardwood, this one wants crown molding.  Variety.  Building strip malls is exactly the same thing day in and day out.  The same big windows across the front.  The same flat roofs.  The same cheap commercial grade  linoleum floors that everyone thinks is practical for a business but in reality will start to peel and show wear after the first hundred feet trample across it.  It’s all the same, day after day.



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3/17/2014

Write what you love, love what you write - Week 3

I'm linking up again this week with Angie at The Jammie Girl to share a snippet from a work in progress.  You should, too!



This week I'm going to share a couple paragraphs from something different that I've been working on - on and off - for the past three years.  This piece is really just for me and other than the snippets I may share here I don't expect it to ever be read by anyone else in it's entirety.  


Mama – likely surprised at the circumstances she once again found herself in, did the best she could and started to set up housekeeping, such as it was, but within one year of marrying my father, both his parents died, separately but within months of each other.  They left six minor children, ranging in age from nine to seventeen, only two years younger than Mama herself was at the time.

There were other family members who could have taken the kids.  But in 1956 in rural Kentucky, where times were hard and things were bad, no one did.  No one offered.  No one stepped up to help.  So Mama told Daddy, “We will move in their house to take care of the kids.”

So that's what they did.


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