Lydia Stewart
Bio
Lydia is a freelance copywriter and playwright, watercolorist and gardener living in Michigan. She loves to collaborate with writer friends, one of whom she married. Her inspirations come from all of these interests and relationships.
Stories (30/0)
When We Had Mooch
Mooch came to us from a rather carefree hobo-style of life. He had shown up in the little town near us and started his rounds as if he knew the place. He would begin his day at the hardware store, all 60 pounds of his big brown eyes and black Labrador smile convincing the owners to share their lunches. From there, he made his way to the grain elevator, the dairy freeze, and the furniture store where he made more friends. At the local grocer, it was guaranteed that he would arrive around the time that they were tossing out meat scraps. He was an extremely social animal; in between snacks with his human friends, he would get together with his dog friends. Due to his party-animal mentality, the town was developing a running dog pack, and concerned citizens felt like something unfortunate was just over the rise. So one day, Dad invited Mooch to come home with us in the pick-up truck. He described our acres of running space, the expected chores that went with being a farm dog, and kids to play with; Mooch accepted.
By Lydia Stewart2 years ago in Petlife
Translations of the Bible NOT Under Copyright...
I am a writer, so this information is practical for me and should be used only as a starting point for those who want to know more. This is part 2 of a series on Bible translations and copyright. Here is Part 1, Did You Know Your Bible is Under Copyright?
By Lydia Stewart2 years ago in Education
Did You Know Your Bible is Under Copyright?
Disclaimer: I'm a playwright, essayist, and copywriter--not a copyrighter. I'm the kind of writer who needs to reference previously existing works, not someone who licenses them. This compilation of basic, beginner information is as much for me as for the average person who will only use it once.
By Lydia Stewart2 years ago in Education
Bunnies in His Pockets
He called me over one afternoon while doing yardwork and told me to reach into his pocket. He's my dad, and I love him, but I hadn't a clue what I was going to find. "It's not going to bite!" he half-scolded me. I took a deep breath and plunged my hand into his deep, work-jacket pocket. Inside I found something impossibly soft. I reached in with my other hand and came up with two soft, brown, wild bunnies. He had been weed-eating the fence row and had accidentally destroyed their nest, so he scooped them into the temporary home of his pocket before the cat found them. They were about to leave the nest anyway, and when the coast was clear, they hippity-hopped happily off.
By Lydia Stewart2 years ago in Families
The Train Home for Mother's Day
"Going home the weekend?" I had fallen into conversation with two boat captains while we waited in the terminal for the train. They had sailed down Lake Michigan, caught an Uber to Chicago's Union Station, and were taking the train home to Michigan in time to have dinner with their wives. It's Mother's Day weekend, after all.
By Lydia Stewart2 years ago in Families
Sheep, Prisoner-Artists, and Making Anyway
“’Please…draw me a sheep…’ In the face of an overpowering mystery, you don’t dare disobey. Absurd as it seemed, a thousand miles from all inhabited regions and in danger of death, I took a scrap of paper and a pen out of my pocket.”
By Lydia Stewart2 years ago in Poets
- Top Story - December 2021
Miss Smythe Has a FantasyTop Story - December 2021
It had been one of those weeks. Three phone calls from parents who thought their children were gods, two or three children who behaved like it and kept everyone from learning, frustrated children who were exhausted and emotional, a fire-drill where a boy broke for the fences, an active shooter drill that was frankly more terrifying than she was prepared for, and an overwhelming sense that the people who paid her salary didn’t actually care if she lived, died, or just needed classroom equipment. She had cried in the bathroom during her lunch break over the sisters who had come to school after calling paramedics to wake their overdosed mother. It had been one of those weeks. If she was honest with herself, nearly all of the weeks felt like this anymore.
By Lydia Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
I'll Be Zorro, Thanks
At 11, I was going to be Zorro when I grew up, and I was serious about it. There had been a distinct setback to that dream when I had to get glasses (how do you wear a mask with glasses?) but I had rallied and decided I could wear them over it.
By Lydia Stewart3 years ago in Families
Mama's Pear Tree
The perfect storm had catapulted my parents to the home of their dreams. In one fell swoop, Mama had been diagnosed with MS, Daddy had lost his job, and due to a major misunderstanding that would take years to sort out, Grandpa had disowned Daddy and more or less uninvited him to all family gatherings ad infinitum. As grandkids, we were still invited, but we stood with our Daddy and Mama stood with her man. Then our landlord decided that he would rather have his kids live in our house than us, and in the space of one month, we had no job, no house, and no extended family. And Mama was sick.
By Lydia Stewart3 years ago in Fiction
A Deer in Winter
At first, I just noticed this young doe haunting the same place. She grazed there in broad daylight, tawny body bright against the spring grasses. No doe would stay so long in one place without something to protect…and after several days, I saw him. Stalking carefully through the tall grass behind her was her fawn, balancing effortlessly on his incredibly slender pins. Baby deer can look remarkably like spiders at that age. His dappled coat looked painted on when he was upright, but I knew from experience that it made him invisible when he held very still in the grass.
By Lydia Stewart3 years ago in Humans