literature
Families and literature go hand in hand; fictional families to entertain, reflect and inspire.
How Do Homes Become Hallowed Shells? An Excerpt from 'And... The Mirror Cracked' by Monica Handy
Reverend Rodgers stood in the doorway, looking at Lee-Roy through sunken, watery eyes. He never even attempted to smile. It was unsettling to see the definition of his father's age so deeply etched in his unflinching features.
By Monica Handy7 years ago in Families
Simply My Life
Chapter One The first memory I have from my childhood is riding my tricycle in the basement with gardener snakes slithering around. I had probably just turned four. We had an unfinished concrete basement, with a couple steps down to a dirt floor room where our washer and dryer were. I thought this had been a dream until one day my mother mentioned it. Now, I don’t know about you, but I think this is a logical start for my fear of snakes. This house also is the setting for another “dream” I had of a large tire filled with sand that was my sandbox. There was a snake in that too. I have no idea if this was a dream, or if this was also real.
By Jenn Pautsch7 years ago in Families
Da New Piana
Aunt Flo played the old piano as if she was shoeing a nag tied to the back porch. Well meaning Christians saved the piano from a fire of suspicious origins. It seems the blaze started in an upstairs bedroom of a local brothel. At my young age I neither knew what the word brothel meant nor why any of the local Christian men knew that a piano was located inside the ornate Victorian structure located on the outskirts of the village of Lizard Gulch.
By Dub Wright7 years ago in Families
'Lucy Green Eyes'
Why don’t you want to play with me? I’ll let you have a piece of my sandwich if you’ll play with me. It’s a fatback sandwich. Sure, I’ll be happy to have a bite of your peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Mmm, it tastes good. You can take the rest of my fatback sandwich. I’m sick of it anyway.
By Paulette Benjamin7 years ago in Families
Short Stories - Chicken Run
I grew up on a poultry farm. We had over 200 hens. Every morning, me, my brother, and my father would go out and gather eggs after we had let the chickens loose in the yard. In the evenings, we would round up all the chickens back in the henhouse.
By Andrew Hoover7 years ago in Families
Short Stories - The Mill
Deep in the heart of Missouri, there was an old mill at the base of a mountain. Every day, the miller and his son would go up to the mill to grain flour. They would spend hours in this mill. Summer, winter, fall, spring, snow, rain, and shine, they were always there.
By Andrew Hoover7 years ago in Families
Short Stories - The Pencil Maker
My younger brother, Timothy Crump, has always loved wood work. He has been waddling ever since the age of six. I remember when he was little, he was fascinated with the pencil. He used to ask my parents how they got the lead in the middle of the pencil.
By Andrew Hoover7 years ago in Families
