Jean Williiams
Bio
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Stories (4/0)
The Day Art Came Home to Stay
It was in the third grade that my desire to create art was stifled. The class was in the midst of a hot and heavy spelling competition, and I was a good speller. The reward for missing a word was that you got to sit down at your desk and draw. When I misspelled a word on purpose in order to pursue my artistic designs, the teacher (who knew I was faking) chastised me and told me I should never, ever “cheat” in such a fashion.
By Jean Williiams3 years ago in Humans
Taming the Beast
When I was 7 years old I started working in the tobacco fields. My mother, who had split from my dad for what seemed like the upteenth time, left me for the summer in the care of her older sister and her husband on their farm in South Carolina while she went to secretarial college in Raleigh.
By Jean Williiams3 years ago in Fiction
The Endless Vacation
When I was a kid in school, the three months of summer vacation we looked forward to each year would stretch out before me like an endless expanse of time - plenty of time for weekly trips to the local library to pick up a stash of books to read at my leisure, whole days spent swimming and sunning with my friends at Folsom Lake (yes, near the infamous Folsom Prison), watching old Tarzan movies on my parents’ old black and white TV set, cruising the local McDonald’s parking lot in my Dad’s 1955 T-Bird convertible, listening to records in my room until all hours and then sleeping until I woke up late the next day. There seemed no end to this idyllic escape from the rigors of school, test scores and social pressure.
By Jean Williiams3 years ago in Fiction