What can YOU say in six sentences?
There's a broad spectrum of talent and subject matter at 6S and writers receive feedback in the form of comments, but these comments pertain to specific pieces. What would happen if writers received…Continue
Several of us have brought up a gathering of 6S members at some centralized or otherwise favorable location. I picture kum ba yah moments or inappropriate raucous laughter and maybe getting…Continue
Choose FIVE people (more if you must), dead or alive, famous or not, real or fictional, who define how you or others see YOU. Everyone is a mixed bag of characters and personalities. You don't have…Continue
I'm sitting along a back wall at the Sweetwater Starbucks to avoid the heavy rain. My exposed toenails are blue with cold as Tony Bennett sings about good times not coming around anymore.
The man in the wingback chair to my left is reading a book, his skin pink with brown patches, tissue paper thin. His navy shirt, khaki pants and Timberland boots are still wet from rain.
I'm facing my own book, David Sedaris's Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk, but my eyes…Continue
This morning I washed the dishes from my stepdaughter's graduation party last night, the pots and pans, cutting boards and knives, crystal, china and silverware dirtied by twenty members of my husband's family.
I walked the dogs four times, wiped little boy pee off the floor, old man pee off the floor, cooked sides for the Mother's Day brisket my husband prepared, then washed the dishes again, those dirtied by his remaining family, while he took an afternoon…Continue
It's been a couple of years since my seven year old and I discussed how mistakes are made, how we sometimes blindly navigate through life.
I only remember her looking out the car window as we drove along Sweetwater Boulevard, saying as we passed a Catholic church: "We learn as we go. We learn as we travel. Because every country is different. And every day is like a new country."
When I hear the song Wildfire by Michael Murphy, time folds back to 1977, to a convention center in Waco, Texas where a T-bucket hotrod with flames painted on the doors revolves slowly among other cars on display, the song playing continuously, worn and scratchy from too many competitions.
Sitting nearby are my aunt and uncle and their enviable fun and wealthy friends, Gary and Jerry, the quintessential perfect couple who own the hotrod they…Continue