Like all our other seasons, Winter came a bit early this year. Just between you and me, the South doesn’t handle Winter all that well. This is the sun-belt, where central air and sunglasses are more than accessories. Our winters often hold off until January and some years they don’t show up at all. Instead of a frozen wasteland, we get a dormant rainy outdoors explored only by aficionados of the hunt. The rest of us curl up with a book and a drink until it’s time to replant the garden. But not this year. This year we’re going to get winter and it’s going to be downright cold. A sure sign of winter – smoke coming from the fireplace The South becomes a different place in winter; more like the spot they wrote about decades ago. Although most Southerners are not tied to the land like they were in previous centuries, weather becomes an important factor to us during these three months of the year. Our houses are not heated the way New England homes are and bitter cold can sometimes seep indoors. Bereft of their gardens, our houses seem to pull in on themselves these days, like a freezing man huddles inside…
It’s no secret that I love to tell stories. The fact is when I’m out with friends I sometimes have to shut myself up; if I don’t, I’ll dominate the conversation with stories and they won’t be my friends anymore. But, as much as I love reeling off anecdotes, I’m not that sure I can tell one well. For that, I need the crew at Arc Stories. Arc Stories is a group of top-notch raconteurs who help amateurs (like me) tell the stories of their lives. I’ve been envious of every person they ever put behind a microphone and for years I’ve been working up the nerve to pitch a story to them. I finally sent in an idea this fall and got a call back from one of the coaches. Send me the full story, he said. Writing isn’t that easy for me, especially when the material is personal. I wrote, rewrote and rewrote my tale, choking up when some memories came back. Once I dried my eyes, I sent it off, wondering what the coach would think of my draft. He thought it needed work. My mentor was extremely kind and polite but he pointed out a big…
I’ve been thinking about the phrase “Apres Moi, le deluge.” It means, roughly, “After I go, everything’s coming down” and if everything refers to leaves, the “deluge” is lugin’ . It’s amazing. I mean, if deciduous trees were water, my address would be “Alabama River”. Now this front’s blowing in and my river of leaves has turned into Niagra Falls. Why send me more foliage to rake away, God? Don’t I have enough to clean up already?Luckily, I’ve been a rake warrior for most of my life. My hometown was blessed with a ton of elm trees and every fall brought the Battle of Leaves, where each family’s goal was to get those discarded solar panels of photosynthesis off of the grass and over the curb before rain and time glued them to the earth. There was an undeclared neighborhood competition for the cleanest autumn yard and ours usually came in dead last. Oh, my mother, sister and I would comb leaves from the of crabgrass, but our lawn never looked better than “lived in”. The best lawn on the street was next to ours, an unsullied, emerald crew-cut of grass that was perfect because our neighbor lady removed each leaf as it fell…
When I became an office manager, my sister sent me a terrific sign that became my Prime Directive (sorry, Star Trek). If I ever forgot, this sign reminded me of the purpose of my job. I was the designated gatekeeper, tasked with running interference on every distraction that phoned or walked in the door. I dealt with them so my bosses could focus on the work that kept us in business each month. Most sales reps. were willing to work with me but if one of them complained, I showed them the sign. That message gave me that last word. These days, I’m beginning to think that stories, like people, also need signs. I was in a bricks-and-mortar bookshop the other day and found a few I really liked. Now that’s great advice, no matter who you are. Every life is a story and yours is only as good as you make it. So live the life that will become the story you want to tell. If I ran the universe this sign would be on the desk of each teacher and librarian in every primary school. Maybe the secondary schools as well. I’m just sayin’, okay? And now the sign that all…
Two years ago I started writing “The Stories that Follow You Home” also known as “The Istoriaphile’s Corner.” It’s been fun to write about stories so full of thought and meaning that they ‘ve found a home in my soul. Still, I have to admit that’s not the reason I started this blog. I began this because (deep breath) I wrote a book. A bit more than two years ago, I decided to write a story about a pair of constantly squabbling sisters. This was something I knew about because my sis and I fought all the way through childhood and I wanted to see what it takes for a pair of warring siblings to cooperate and appreciate each other. I called my book The Plucky Orflings and it’s taken me almost as long to finish as it took me and my sis to stop fighting but now it’s ready for an agent to look at it. The problem is, I learned, that having a manuscript isn’t enough for an aspiring writer now. To get published, you need a built-in audience. Publishers and agents don’t take many chances on the books that they send to market these days. Between e-books and e-booksellers,…