Something Worth Sharing
A Pilgrim’s Prayer
Another Thanksgiving has arrived and another November nears an end which means another revisiting of A Pilgrims Prayer.
A Pilgrim’s Prayer
Once upon a time a long, a long time ago (before Black Friday) Thanksgiving was a celebration of harvest and a time to give thanks. 
The early pilgrims did not have the conveniences we enjoy today, yet somehow they survived.
I didn’t really know any of those pilgrims but I did see a John Wayne movie once.
John knew a pilgrim when he saw one.
He seemed to know a lot of pilgrims but that was a long time ago too.
I propose we are all pilgrims, each one of us on a journey of sorts; our own personal pilgrimage.
We are all looking for something. Be it a quest for self-confirmation, truth, a cure, enrichment, enlightenment, comfort, a friend, a lover, a job, a meal, or a place to lay our weary head at the end of another day.
I believe life is a journey, or at least it should be. 
It would be terrible to think we were just flailing through this experience, killing time on this giant floating gumball, while waiting for the next Black Friday specials.
I believe we all have one destination, though we travel many different roads and I trust that we have choices.
Hopefully we will choose well. On the occasion we take a wrong turn [and we will] I pray we have enough sense and humility to stop and seek direction, to reassess our route and to be considerate in our voyage.
So here’s wishing all of you pilgrims a Happy Thanksgiving and may we all, whatever road we’re on, take time to look ahead, pause, and meditate on the many things we have to be grateful for, put aside our grievances and give thanks.
My personal prayer:
I pray our good seeds of hope, humility, toil and courage produce abundantly; that love and kindness grow wild like the weeds of early spring – fruitful and undeterred. And your harvest be rich with wisdom and discernment.
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Alzheimer’s is a Cruel Stealthy Cat
November is (among many other things) National Alzheimer’s Disease Awareness Month.
Go Purple with a Purpose
Alzheimer’s is a cruel stealthy cat that lurks in the shadows. It leisurely pulls its prey into the darkness, steals their reasoning, their memories and eventually their life. The only kindness this disease provides is a cocoon that leaves the victim in a state of oblivion. However it shows no compassion to loved ones and caregivers left to witness the slow death and decay.
Let’s not give up on finding a cure.
If you know someone touched by Alzheimer’s take a moment to make a difference no matter how small. A hug, a helping hand or just acknowledging a caregiver’s struggle can mean so much.
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Wedding thoughts: All I know about love
I recently came across a poem [yes poem] by Neil Gaiman. Not only was I pleasantly surprised, I was deeply touched.
The piece struck a chord with me because (sniff. snort. sigh.) our baby boy is getting married this year. Yes, the one I reminisced about a few years ago… pondering,
Where did the years go… Why won’t he let me rock him to sleep any more…or comb his hair… or at least find him a wife so he doesn’t have to live alone…
As a mother there are so many things I want to tell him… to prepare him… and then I realize I cannot. In Wedding thoughts: All I know about love Neil says it so well I just had to share it with y’all.
May your smiles forever sparkle in the prisms of your stone.
Wedding thoughts: All I know about love
This is everything I have to tell you about love: nothing.
This is everything I’ve learned about marriage: nothing.
Only that the world out there is complicated,
and there are beasts in the night, and delight and pain,
and the only thing that makes it okay, sometimes,
is to reach out a hand in the darkness and find another hand to squeeze,
and not to be alone.
It’s not the kisses, or never just the kisses: it’s what they mean.
Somebody’s got your back.
Somebody knows your worst self and somehow doesn’t want to rescue you
or send for the army to rescue them.
It’s not two broken halves becoming one.
It’s the light from a distant lighthouse bringing you both safely home
because home is wherever you are both together.
So this is everything I have to tell you about love and marriage: nothing,
like a book without pages or a forest without trees.
Because there are things you cannot know before you experience them.
Because no study can prepare you for the joys or the trials.
Because nobody else’s love, nobody else’s marriage, is like yours,
and it’s a road you can only learn by walking it,
a dance you cannot be taught,
a song that did not exist before you began, together, to sing.
And because in the darkness you will reach out a hand,
not knowing for certain if someone else is even there.
And your hands will meet,
and then neither of you will ever need to be alone again.
And that’s all I know about love.
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The Working Man (A Labor of Love)
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.
All eyes were on Wall Street, but truth be told, the market crash paled in comparison to the Navarro County drought.
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.
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#God Bless Texas (Thankful Thursday)
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.)
Hold on, there is a point to this — Help!
This is the fourth consecutive year I have been honored to be a judge in the FAC annual teen scholastic/literary/poetry event. This year was even more exciting because I am still alive and it was the first reason I have had to shuck my pajamas since last year. Just kidding! But seriously, FAC added a short story contest. Yay!
A little aside: Forney Arts Council hosts the annual event but an invitation to participate is extended to several surrounding cities. Just FYI Forney is a booming little town about a stone’s throw east of Dallas Texas.
Just look at the beautiful poets and writers of our future.
Some of them receiving their first check for following their passion.
The winners
I am so proud of every single one of them. I know their parents and teachers are too; and the fabulous lady (Tiffany) with a passion for art that keeps this thing going.
Hold on, there is a point to this post —
What was it? ….
Oh yes, Help!
I need your help. It won’t cost you a dime and only a minute of your time.
What? Why? How? You ask?
Well, you see I am scheduled to give a talk/presentation next month on the art of the short story. Actually it is The Art of the Short Story & Micro/Flash Fiction.
The problem (other than the typical butterflies) is I know why I read and write short stories/flash fiction but I would love some input as to why others do.
Is it attention span? Time constraints? Challenge? Amusement? Something else?
If this thing works right I have inserted two polls, one for writers and another for readers. If not… the comments section is always open.
Thanks Y’all.
Why do you read short stories?
(polls)
Why do you write short stories?
(polls)
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The Gift I Mentioned
If you are a mother, had a mother or love a mother – Happy Mother’s Day Y’all!!
This is my gift to you, my family, friends and followers and please – share it with everyone you know and love.
The newest release of More Short Stories & Such.
About More:
More Short Stories & Such is the newest compilation of short stories and flash fiction written by Janna Hill. This anthology contains all of the short favorites including the newest (2017) release August Wolf, the acclaimed Door Number Four, Once Upon a Dead Gull and many ‘more’. The stories range from heart rending to heart racing; from fantasy to bizarre.
You’re Welcome. 😀
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I wear your shoes
We had pulled over and began hiking a random hill in Eureka Springs Arkansas. I thought we were going for a leisurely drive so I was not dressed for such an occasion; nonetheless I followed the others up the hill. I slipped and giggled, the sound caught my son’s attention. His eyes scanned me quickly. Seeing I was unharmed he shook his head and smiled.
“Are you wearing Mamaw’s shoes?” he asked. I nodded and laughed, brushing away the dirt and leaves before wriggling my foot back into the loafer.
“You should write about that.” He said, resuming his sure footed trek.
He did not need to say more, we both understood.
I wear your shoes
I have your purse …
Filled with scraps of paper –
Scribblings of ancient phone numbers,
and a message from me, the old me.
I have your wallet –
Your social security card,
a useless driver’s license,
a few crinkled one dollar bills
and a handful of change.
I have your letters –
A few anyway,
Written to daddy
Unstamped envelopes with no address
Because there is no zip code
for the dead.
I wear your shoes –
Black loafers with a silver buckle
They fit my feet comfortably
But they pinch my heart
The sole, too thick with patience
and forgiveness and tolerance
Slows my step and weighs me down
The pain of the soft ebony leather
is almost more than I can bear
I place one foot in front of the other
and wonder…
Will this mile ever end?
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Taken from the poetic memoir Getting Me back (The Voices Within). Those are the actual shoes written about in the photo above.
Tomorrow morning, Sunday May 14th, I will share a [more upbeat] Mother’s Day gift with my followers (please share it with yours), in the afternoon I will happily celebrate the day with my children (I hope you spend the day with yours), Sunday night I will cry myself to sleep knowing that next Sunday May 21st marks the fourth year of her passing. 
Monday I will blow my nose, find something to laugh about and get busy living because that is how it should be.
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Sometimes Truth Is Stranger than Fiction
Once upon a time, a long, long time ago I worked as a nurse. 
My daughter (on the left) is a nurse and many of my friends and family are still working in the field of nursing.
I could write forever about the combined experiences of a nursing career. As a matter of fact a few of those experiences fueled scenes in the fictional Clan Destiny series where the main characters (Clara, Linda and Maggie) are nurses. Mary Latrull (another fictional character) likes to pretend she is a nurse and would probably be a good one except –
Oops. I veered off track.
I mention the series now because this is National Nurses Week.
Happy Nurses week comrades, family and friends!
Oh poo, let me ramble off road for a minute and we’ll make this one of Tuesday’s Tell All.
Thinking on the series: when the books stood alone, before they were renamed the Clan Destiny series and before the reviews disappeared from Amazon I had a few comments that the stories were too “far-fetched” and unbelievable. Yeah, nurses with paranormal abilities. Ha! I’m not sorry, that is why I called it fic-shun.
A handful of people (mostly “nurses”) suggested the medical terminology and/or procedures were incorrect. I know it was wrong but I had to call those to attention. Why? Because I kept “procedural” scenes to a minimum for lay reasons and if practice or terminology has changed that much in the last few years I honestly wanted to know. But nope…
The real thing ‘said nurses’ took issue with was the (occasional) disrespect and unprofessional behavior that I portrayed. The strange thing is those scenes were all too real. Allow me to share.
Examples:
In book one Maggie curses a bit, insults a doctor and she and Clara have a confrontation, nearly coming to blows while on duty. One ‘said nurse’ says, “#1 no nurse would talk to a doctor like that and #2 Cursing and fighting on duty like hoodlums would never happen.” Truth? It happens. Been there, done that. Nursing is a stressful profession and nurses are human, sometimes we act stupid.
In book two Mary (as a patient) leaves the hospital against medical advice without signing the proper forms. Another ‘said nurse’ says, “A patient would not be allowed to leave without signing the necessary documents.” I laughed myself silly. Truth? I have chased more than my share of irate, deranged and determined absconders while pleading with them “just sign this and you can go.” Hospitals, clinics and care centers are not prisons; you cannot hold someone against their will and you cannot make them sign a form to c.y.[own]a. (cover your [own] a**)
In book three Maggie, Linda and Clara laugh (in private) and refer to a patient, Mr. Stenchman, as Mean-as Stinky man or Mean-ass Stinky pants. An offended ‘said nurse’ says, “You should not depict nurses in such an unprofessional and unflattering way.” Truth? Sometimes we are unprofessional and ugly and sometimes the patient is a mean-ass stinky man.
I could rattle on about sordid affairs, fist fights, missing bodies/body parts, resurrections, insurance/benefit/patient abuse, medicare fraud and more but I won’t. Not today.
Yes, sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.
I may write a true tell-all one day but until then I’ll keep changing the names to protect the guilty, add a little ‘what if’ and focus on the fictitious person – not the true profession.
For all of you nurses [with or without imperfections] keep being the best that you can be. Thanks for shoving your own sh*t aside for 8 to 16 hours a day and caring even when it seems like you don’t.
Happy Nurses Week!
The Real Janna Hill in 