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.
What makes an artist an artist?
I dabbled at drawing as a young child. Coloring and painting were fun endeavors from time to time although my efforts were short-lived and unimpressive. I sewed my own creations and even made little stuffed animals that I had my brothers help me sell. I did some paper crafts that were bookmarks. Glued things together now and then. Molded clay into unrecognizable shapes by anyone other than me. I remember being quite hurt that my father thought my horse sculpture was a cow even after I made it twice and worked extra hard at it the second time.
Slow Your Roll With That Pen Pardner
They say the pen is mightier than the sword and I truly believe that. But in looking at a pen, it does seem so innocently innocuous, especially when compared to the razor sharp edge of a sword, or worse, a double edged sword. My husband, a retired Marine, is into military history and its weaponry. Let's just say there are some pretty scary looking swords and daggers in existence.
Opinions are like...
We all have opinions - indeed we do, just like we all have... well however, that saying goes. The point is, we all have opinions. What we forget however, is that opinion doesn't equal fact. And yet many of us are guilty of laying down our opinions as if they are irrefutable fact. And we choose our opinions as hills to die on. We state them, sometimes vehemently, and then refuse to budge. We shut out listening to anything else that might conflict with our opinion. In fact, too many of us take any other expressed opinion as an assault on our own opinion. Triggered by fight or flight, the challenge is accepted and the dual begins.
The Willing Wear Black
The roar of the pistol was deafening and the kick knocked it from my hand. The Barn Owl let out a startled screech and flew up with a flurry of feathers. Now here I stood looking at blood leaking out onto the ground. A death I had never intended to cause. But I couldn't submit to him. I had to make him stop. I had to get away. My head swam with the details of the hours leading up to this moment.