Deep South Stuff

As I’m writing stories of hardship and deprivation like this one, the desire to keep everything as realistic as possible is what weighs on my mind.  I don’t want to overdo it, yet I certainly love to push characters to the limit.  The Stampers, and


This week is one of the challenges in doing First Sentence Friday.  When I came to Chapter Twenty Five and saw this week’s sentence, it looked (IMO) like it just sort of flopped itself out there.  I thought about maybe cheating a little, and sharing


I talked about first love in an earlier First Sentence Friday post.  This particular part of the story isn’t a sweet rendering of that one and only special first for Wallis Ann.  It’s more like a reckoning, a big realization perhaps all is not as


Living in North Carolina, we get to enjoy the four seasons.   Sure we joke about being in flip flops one day, then wearing long johns and winter coats the next, but for the most part, the weather marches to the tune of Mother Nature, and


Wallis Ann has always watched over her older sister Laci, who is mute, yet musically gifted.  In today’s terms she would be classified as autistic.  Back in those days, the term idiot savant was used, which did not set well at all with Momma Stamper. 


By nature, I am a creature of habit.  I go to bed about the same time every night, and get up about the same time every morning.  Consider this; I have cleaned my house every Thursday for decades – no matter what – yes, even


First love.  Do you remember yours?  I remember mine.  He was a junior in high school.  I was a sophomore.  He was part of the “cool” crowd, not the popular football, cheerleader, member of various different clubs sort of crowd, but still very well liked


When writing a story about suffering, hardship and deprivation, there needs to be a balance of good with bad, or readers will be slap worn out (and as the writer, so would I) if it was all negative, with nothing good happening.  I love, love,


Because parts in this story deal with a traveling show, I had to do some research to understand their way of life and in doing so, I ran across a few phrases I thought lended an air of authenticity.  One was “forty miler.”  This meant


How many times have you ever had something bothering you and someone says, “What’s the matter, you look worried.”  I’m no poker faced poker player, let me tell you.  Lying was not my forte growing up. My mother was able to draw a confession right


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