RSS Feed

‘writers’ Category

  1. Meet Leandra Tuggle

    March 16, 2015 by C.

    Children playing

    Children playing

     

    Last week at my Writers Guild meeting, one young lady shared some of her poetry with us and I was just blown away by her talent. She had been coming to the meetings for several months and had never shared anything before. Her poem about her future children gave me goosebumps. I have never been a big fan of poetry but I like this work a bunch.

     

    Leandra agreed to let me share some of her work here on my page and what an honor that is for me. So please enjoy some real writing for once on this blog…Ladies and Gentlemen, a few works by Leandra Tuggle.

     

    “My Children”

    I wait for them.  My children
    for whom I dream and have dreamt.
    I soothe their sorrows with batches of
    imagined kisses and uneaten cookies.
    I talk to them – about their day, their teachers and friends;
    unanswered questions whispered into a metal whisk.
    I imagine chaotic mornings searching for lost
    socks and mittens and scurrying out the door in a flash.
    When I close my eyes as I close my door,
    I can almost hear them calling for me.

    And their names – oh their names – I have spent years
    searching for the perfect name.  I fall in love with
    characters and crayons and strangers and streets whose
    names resonate life and color. I draw them out on pieces of paper
    in hopes to find the perfect shade for
    the shades of myself.

    Eleanor ask me where I found her name and I tell
    her I never found it, it found me. Like the hidden book in
    a neglected library whose dusty jacket stands out amongst the rest;
    a name possessed by tradition and honor.

    Little Liam tells me that his name is too girly, but I tell
    him that his name reminded me of green meadows and deep
    forests – where only an adventurer could live.

    And my precious Evangeline, or Evie as I whisper to her as I carry
    her to bed; her dark hair and light eyes needed a name as
    beautiful – my heavenly angel, my shooting star.

    I remember all the other contenders: Avery and Holden and
    Lydia and Lincoln.  They’re still in the back of my mind playing with
    blocks or crudely coloring in the shapes of bears and dinosaurs.

    As I fall asleep, I hold my breath so I can hear their reassuring
    snores and imagine what they are dreaming: juice boxes and
    squeaky swings and faraway castles and talking dragons.
    And in the morning, I imagine waking to their peering eyes rather
    than those of the  inconsiderate sun, who fails to give me even just a
    few more minutes to play and talk and laugh and hold them
    in my dreams.

     

    “Bouquets”

     

    I lay here;

    the cottage cheese bed folding in around me

    like the shameful palms pursed around a pleading prayer.

    I stare at the bedside table.

    It rests like a forgotten child used only for the neglected flowers that

    I claim that you gave me.

     

    The woman with the flower cart had a lazy eye

    and she sang the saddest song.

    Of the hills of Czechoslovakia (or

    another country I only pretend to know exists)

    and as she sang this song

    Your face was everywhere.

    In the driver of the parked taxicab.

    In the reflection of a window.

    In the murky puddle beneath my feet.

    And I felt sorry for myself

    But sorrier for the

    lazy-eyed lady

    and all her

    lazy-eyed children, so I bought the

    flowers.

     

    Now when I stare at them, your

    eyes look up from every petal,

    and I feel sick.

    So I rest my cheek upon the cool nakedness of the pillow

    while a bouquet of tears collect beneath my chin.

     

    “Moonlight”

    There was me and you and the moonlight.  We existed

    in threes.  Our wholes divided and melded into one.

    Your hands were my hands.  My heart yours too.  Even

    the moon took the same shape as your eyes, they staring

    at me staring at you.

     

    I wish we could’ve stayed there forever.  The world stopping

    for one goddamn moment so that I could breathe you into me

    I want to create a hole in the world the shape of us and

    never escape.  The world can keep turning, keep bleeding, but

    you and me will rise above it               below it            between it.

     

    That night will always bring me joy.  In my old age, my

    abandoned mind will return to that moment.  The nurses will feed me

    pills and pears and pillows and I’ll go on babbling about how soft the

    blades of your shoulders felt poured into my palms and the tickle of

    your stubble on my knee.

     

    And that fucking moonlight – that blinds me from everything that

    I once thought was important, real.

     

    For more information on Leandra Tuggle please seek her out here:

    https://leandratuggle.wordpress.com/

    https://www.facebook.com/leandratuggle


  2. Move Over David Sedaris…I Have a New Idol

    August 10, 2011 by C.

    I have taken many writing classes over the past few years. One professor constantly preached to us…”Read what you want to write.” To so many that seemed pretty simple but to me it was a nightmare. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to write. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write comedy skits along the lines of what you see on “Saturday Night Live” or sitcoms or a book. I decided when taking the classes I would like to write like David Sedaris. I want to make people laugh.

    In writing for my blog I mainly write about crazy news stories I have found on the internet and then share my opinion on their stupidity. It is certainly entertaining every day just to go through a few headlines. People these days are just plain nuts. This is not the kind of writing David Sedaris does but it does on occasion make people laugh.

    One day a friend of mine (thank you Cindy!) sent me a newspaper clipping by a woman named Celia Rivenbark. I could not stop laughing. There was an e-mail address for the author at the end of the article so I wrote her to tell her how much I enjoyed it. She wrote me back and I wrote her back and so on and so forth. She even went and looked at my blog. Here is what she wrote back, “Some mighty good stuff in there. Keep at it!” She told me about her website and I was surprised to see that she has written five books. I immediately bought all of them. After about the first three stories a light bulb went off. This is how I want to write! This is what I want to be when I grow up! I am motivated, I have a direction now and I know that I would be happy writing stories like this and making people laugh. My encounter with Celia has lit a fire under my britches.

    Celia has a new book coming out August 16th. “You Don’t Sweat Much For a Fat Girl”. If you don’t buy this book, buy one of her older ones. I promise you will not regret it.