Cynthia Mudge
Bio
Raised in the Pacific Northwest, Cynthia is an avid reader and explorer of historical fiction, paranormal, and environmental tales that examine the world around us. Her writing explores these themes as she finds her Skookum Spirit.
Stories (4/0)
I WAS REDLINED
Maxine Cushing Grey was quite elderly by the time I came to know her. She was a staunch advocate of the arts and artists. She was highly regarded as an arts critic in the Pacific Northwest for more than forty years, reviewing dance and music for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer and Argus publications. She later founded a widely read and respected publication called Northwest Arts, which she published every two weeks until her death in the late 1980’s. Maxine was tireless in her advocacy, sitting through countless City Council and County Commissioner meetings, arts hearings, and nagging the community to support the arts through her letters to the editor.
By Cynthia Mudge2 years ago in Journal
The Web She Wove
Prologue Deep in the dark of night Lilly lay motionless in her bed. Her hands clutching the folds of her bedsheets, drawing them tight against her face. Looming over the foot of her bed was the prickly body and legs of a spider. She screamed but only a raspy croaking sound escaped. Wide-eyed with terror she watched as the enormous front legs tapped further up the bed, measuring the outline of her body before moving forward. The little girl once again croaked out a scream. “Mom!” but the sound barely made it past her lips. Finally, she just screamed. At first, the sound was a muffled squeak but as the spider advanced the scream took hold and grew in volume. This wasn’t a dream.
By Cynthia Mudge2 years ago in Fiction
The Banker's Daughter
My father bent down low and held two quarters out to me. He was looking stern in his perfectly pressed Brooks Brother’s suit. I rocked back and forth, heel to toe. “You will get one quarter a week,” Pop explained. “But only if you behave and do your chores as you’re told.” I nodded my head vigorously. “AND you will put half of your allowance into the bank every month.” Again, I nodded my head vigorously up and down. “Now then. Since this is the second week of the month you will be paid one quarter retroactively and the other is for this last week.” I didn’t know what retroactively meant. But if it meant I was getting an extra quarter, I was all for it.
By Cynthia Mudge2 years ago in Families
Poems from Netul
POEMS FROM NETUL By Cynthia Mudge These poems are my reflection of the once booming logging yard along the Netul River, near where Lewis & Clark spent the winter at Fort Clatsop in Oregon. Many of the terms are those used in the logging industry, though I’ve taken some poetic license to weave this together.
By Cynthia Mudge2 years ago in Poets
