My favorite thing about French Camp, Mississippi isn’t that it’s steps from the Natchez Trace. I don’t care about the historic cabins. The Big Willie doesn’t incite that ‘special hunger.’
I can find other ways to get busy.
In French Camp, it’s as simple as lying on my back. Outside. On a blanket in the grass. Big Willie is optional.Continue Reading
It had to be the appearance of the gun that sent her to the divorce attorney, because, let’s face it, guns were never her kind of thing. Even though he waved it in her face, pointed it at her, touched the muzzle to her chest, and threatened to shoot himself with it, too, she survived that night.
It’s just as likely he killed her anyway.Continue Reading
Have you ever forgotten where you’ve been?
Yeah. That’s me these days. I’m blessed to be able to get out there, slap skin and meet potential readers. For a finite time, I’m living my dream.
Dreams whitewash reality.
I’ve never been this tired. Not when I worked eighteen-hour-days during tax season. Or when I performed onstage in a string of late nights. Wherever people show up, they expect my best self……and they deserve it to reward their sacrifice of valuable time.Continue Reading