The light in the window was just bright enough to make the shadows seem to dance across the ceiling. Mary stared out at the large oaks waving to the hanging clouds; their long arms outstretched to the heavens. A full moon was looming and she could not sleep…
Excerpt from Behind the Rage (Clan Destiny, #2)
Happy Labor Day to the muscles, masses, heartbeats, sweat and backbones that make America great.
With all the troubles and tension felt in today’s USA y’all deserve to relax and be recognized.
However I must say as tough as it sometimes seems I believe this country has certainly seen worse. Our predecessors and ancestors would probably attest to that. As a matter of fact The Sharecropper’s Son, though written as fiction was based on such history.
As many of you already know The Sharecropper’s Son was inspired by a photograph (and a few stories) of my husband’s late grandfather who was indeed a sharecropper in Navarro County, Texas. That is him on the cover dressed in his “Sunday best”. My work is not always as grueling or strenuous as that of the ‘blue collar’ man but it is a labor of love nonetheless . If you haven’t read The Sharecropper’s Son yet, today is a good day to start.
Between the stock market crash, a rich man’s greed and the Navarro County drought an indentured slave is left with few choices. Jamison Baines Weir is born the son of a sharecropper where hard times and sorrow are a way of life. It is a way of life Jamie never questions until famine and malice force him to leave the dying farm and follow a path that leads to murder and mystery.
Corpus Christi (about 90 miles SW) reportedly came away with minor damage.
Rockport (about 50 miles SW) suffered major damage, Vice President Pence and Governor Greg Abbot visited today.
Houston (120 miles NE) was inundated with record amounts of rain and heart rending fatalities.
In my neck of the woods the city is in restoration; making progress with power, water and sanitation. Some homes and businesses will need to repair or rebuild, most piers are gone, shorelines and beaches have been permanently altered but our little fishing shack was spared with minimal damage. I am thankful.
I am also thankful for the outpouring support from so many wonderful people from all walks of life, counties and states.
We are staying in East Texas now but we’ll be heading south when the roads clear and the fuel panic simmers down. You know that fridge is stinking!
Hopefully we [too] will be able to lend a helping hand to those less fortunate.
For The Impact of Hurricane Harvey in Pictures visit The Stream
*(distance from our little place outside Port Lavaca TX.)
I was wading in the surf on Matagorda beach one warm, sunny day exchanging dialogue with Clara.
I had known Clara for about ten years and I have to admit, conversing with her was like pulling teeth. I don’t want to say she was dull, but she was too quiet and a tad introverted. Don’t get me wrong, she is a lovely girl. She is smart and pretty and sweet and kind, but she was just too darn nice for the most part. Too calm, too reasonable, too… dull! There, I said it!
Anyway, as I was wading in the surf, dragging my feet (literally to scatter the sting rays) I was thinking how I might kill her. I know that must sound horrible, we had been comrades for so long, but she wearied me. Her unspoiled, hoity-toity, prim and proper, everything by the book personality made me want to send her sailing face down with the outgoing tide. I think she knew it (she has a sixth sense thing, you know) and I figured she wasn’t going to fight me. It wasn’t in her nature. I thought maybe she wanted to die?
I had mulled it over and finally come to terms with the decision when a perky little blonde came running down the beach waving and shouting,
“Hey y’all wait for me.”
Oh my lord, I thought, while trying to ignore the thin, tanned Mississippian’s approach.
I quickly shoved Clara toward the incoming wave but her feet were planted too firmly — she didn’t budge, and to my surprise she pushed back!
“Do you know her?” I asked.
Clara shook her head slowly and replied, “No but you do. You met her on a trip to Biloxi once.”
I was speechless.
“Hey, I’m Maggie,” the lady smiled as she looked past me and held out her hand, “you must be Clara.”
I suppose it’s true that opposites attract. I watched Maggie come alive and in doing so she saved Clara.
*This is a story about a story. Clara and Maggie are safe and sound (for the most part) inside a fictional series.
Read about their meeting in Book 1
I (like a gazillion others) watched yesterday’s solar eclipse with great enthusiasm.
I cooed as the shadows dimmed and a cool gray color spread over the landscape. The temperature even dropped a few degrees.
This is nice, I thought as I aimed my Nikon and shot.
I am not really sure what’s in the picture but there is an entire galaxy of erratic black planets orbiting my eyeballs.
There’s an eagle out there soaring
And my best friend is out whoring
Turning tricks of any kind
Doing anything to make a dime
God forgive her for the crime
All she needs is a little more time.
On the roof three stories high
A junky cries and begs to die
Ain’t had a fix in several days
Swears he can’t go on this way
Across the street a church bell chimes
Grant us please a little more time.
An old man sick and dying
Alone with no one crying
He grieves for all the pain he’s caused
For all the people that he’s lost
Outside the window painted mimes
All rushing for a little more time
A woman labors down the hall
Her anguish echoes through the wall
But soon a laughter takes its place
When she looks upon the baby’s face
For a moment all is sublime
As we are given a little more time
The Real Janna Hill in 