Pam Reeder
Bio
Stifled wordsmith re-embracing my creativity. I like to write stories that tap into raw human emotions.
Author of "Bristow Spirits on Route 66", magazine articles, four books under a pen name, technical writing, stories for my grandkids.
Stories (141/0)
Blackberries ain't worth the Bull
My heart was thumpin' so hard like it was gonna bust right outta' my chest and I could hardly breathe. I heard his snortin' and then his thunderin' hooves as he come stampedin' towards me. He done seen me now! I started runnin' as hard as I could. But I feared it wouldn't be fast enough.
By Pam Reeder3 years ago in Fiction
The Passionate Embrace
When it happened, I knew it was right. It has always been right. I don't know why it took so long. It was like coming home. A place I had been at a much younger age but let life drift me away. The chaoticness of life like a turbulent sea that swallows up everything except the day to day banalities. But I returned to it and I immersed myself in wild abandon.
By Pam Reeder3 years ago in Fiction
Open Letter from A Grandparent to Divorcing Parents
I wrote this to two people I love dearly to help them navigate a turbulent time the likes of which they had never seen. Thankfully, they weathered their storm and knit their family back together again. But not all people can or do. Now, I share this so others may share it with those they love to help their loved ones when they find themselves tempest-tossed in need of a way to navigate to the refuge of distant shores on the other side of divorce.
By Pam Reeder3 years ago in Families
One Way Communicators
We all have someone, or several someones, in our lives that are one way communicators. They readily reach out to you when they need something. The rest of the time they disappear into the abyss of their own lives. "I've been busy they say." But you know what that really means is "I haven't needed you for anything."
By Pam Reeder3 years ago in Families
In the Shadows of My Heart
The sun birthed itself into the murky shroud of dawn. How many sunrises had I seen just like it since the cloud of doom mushroomed over us a year ago? Has it truly been a year yet? More? Or less? It's Monday I think. It hardly matters since each day is the same joyless passing of time as all the others.
By Pam Reeder3 years ago in Futurism