Tales from the front porch

Where we live, it’s winter, if you can call this that. It is rainy and in the fifties, and it’s muddy. This is the true Southern Christmas. Mud pies, not snowmen.


It’s in this backdrop that I’m trying to write a Summer adventure in paranormal activity. It should be interesting. The upside is the South is always this way. They say Winter is Coming, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of it yet.

And yet, the tree is up, the ceramic snowmen are EVERYwhere, and the presents are wrapped under the tree in the busiest paper I could find. We went full on seventies retro this year. Ha.

It’s a contrast when I write about the future. In fact, I find it easier sometimes to write space opera solely from a place of imagination, simply because the current setting tends to interfere with my descriptive in contemporary stories.  Sitting here with my coffee brewing this morning, I’m feeling nostalgic, and wanting to put that down. Basically, I’m resisting the urge to start an Adra short because I have to finish her first story. Therefore, y’all get all my nostalgia.

When I was a kid, Christmas was for loading up in a station wagon and heading to Doniphan, MO. If you don’t know it, you should see it. It’s a time capsule. It’s a replica of Mayberry without the picture perfect people who don’t really exist. It’s an old creepy courthouse that’s seen everything surrounded by a host of tiny small businesses on a perfect circle.

I can’t even find a wiki page on it to show you, but I miss those simple days. For us the holiday was all about food, I’ve tried to change that for my kids. Ha. That’s a southern thing that leads to many days of bemoaning the dress size.

My grandpa was small town famous. His name was Johnny Aggans, and he ran the shoe shop. He was an old fashioned cobbler, and, to this day, the smell of shoe polish makes my eyes tear up.

Everyone came to Johnny’s shoe shop to sit and have an old style glass coke from the vending machine. They sat in a row like birds on a high wire, and hid from their wives, I remember one old guy saying. I remember it like it was yesterday. I would play behind the counter and listen to them all drone on. It was the background noise of my childhood, that and the loud click clack of that old shoe repair machine in his shop as he polished and sanded edges.

I miss him. I miss that whole simple time. You may see a shoe repair in one of my stories. You will definitely see pictures of my life from years ago. I’m enjoying recreating the place I grew up, and I hope you enjoy it as well.

So, if I don’t see you again this month – Have the best of holidays!

Time to write…


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