A bit of Louis and my own version of “It’s a Wonderful World”
(Wanna know what these entries are about? Check out here.)
RAW Journel Kernels- Louis
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Tag Archives: writing
If Only…
Eleven-year-old Emma June just wants to Flee away from the bully and go to the flea circus . But she doesn’t listen to her instincts. And that’s when everything went wrong.
“Not over there, Carla. That boy gives me the creeps.” <Emma June>
“It’s only Rachael’s brother, for crying out loud.”
I remember the time I stayed overnight ay Rachael’s. Brandon kept peeking through her bedroom window trying to scare us by pretending to be an axe murderer.
“He’s a sixteen-yea- old bully,” I say.
“He’s not that bad. I’ve seen his good sides.”
“I’d rather go to the flea circus. They’re trained, you know. They can turn a miniature carousel two thousand times their size.”
“And they’re itchy.” Carla grabs my hand and leads me toward the Knock-Down-The-Milk-Bottle tent where Brandon stands motioning us forward with a bona-fide moonshine jug in his hand.
(excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket)
Mystery Blogger Award
Yippee! I was nominated for something! Thank you Andrei for giving me this challenge!
Okay, three things about me – I’m not much of a mystery. Since I wear my heart on my sleeve, what you see is what you get (for better or worse). I have published two novels, No Hill for a Stepper in 2011 and The Last Bordello in 2016. I have a third novel, The Moonshine Thicket, that is ready to be sent out to an agent but, so far, my finger can’t seem to press the “send” button. Another thing about me – I’m a pacifist but when I get to the gym, I plunk on my boxing gloves and pound the crap out of the pads the trainer holds for me.
Favorite blog posts? A Gift to Frame is one of my favorites. It’s awesome knowing that someone enjoyed my novel so much, they wrote me a hand-written letter. My very favorite was/is Remembering Who You Are. It includes a letter written by my sister for my milestone birthday. I also have a lot of fun going through my old journals, scanning various pages, and posting them in Raw Journal Kernels.
Okay, now on to answering Andrei’s questions:
- What makes you bored?
I don’t really get bored. If I do it’s because my creative juices have either been used up or are on short supply. Might mean I need an adult beverage or a nap.
2. What is my favorite pastime and why?
Spending time with my children and grandchildren. Why? Because I love them with every once of my being.
3. What is that one thing you would happily do again?
Helicopter rides are out. Hot air ballon ride? Nope. But I would happily return to Italy. I love the culture — the art, the artitechure, the food and mostly the people (who say what they mean and mean what they say). I studied Italian for over 4 years but I have forgotten SO much.
4. What is your favorite body part of the human body and why?
I could be snarky and ask for which gender. But I realize it doesn’t matter. Eyes. The eyes tell me all.
5. (Weird Question) If you were a bird, who would you sh*t on?
That’s a tough one. I’ve heard that it’s good luck to have a bird poop on your head . So if that’s true, the red cardinal would poop on the head of my kids and grandkids.
But, if it’s NOT good luck, I would gladly take a mighty Turkey Vulture dump on any politician that does NOT speak out against racism.
Now, for my nominations: It was hard to choose since I have so many cyber friends. For now, I nominate:
Here are my questions:
- If you could go back to one of your favorite pastimes in your childhood, what would it be?
- When you close your eyes, which of your favorite landscapes do you see? Describe.
- If you could make peace with someone in from your past, who would it be and why? (no need for a name)
- If someone wanted to recreate you from a recipe, what ingredients would they need?
- (Weird question) Can you tie a cherry stem using only your tongue?
WHAT IS MYSTERY BLOGGER AWARD?
“Mystery Blogger Award” is an award for amazing bloggers with ingenious posts. Their blog not only captivates; it inspires and motivates. They are one of the best out there, and they deserve every recognition they get. This award is also for bloggers who find fun and inspiration in blogging; and they do it with so much love and passion.– Okoto Enigma
RULES
- Put the award logo/image on your blog
- List the rules.
- Thank whoever nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
- Mention the creator of the award and provide a link as well
- Tell your readers 3 things about yourself
- You have to nominate people
- Notify your nominees by commenting on their blog
- Ask your nominees any 5 questions of your choice; with one weird or funny question (specify)
- Share a link to your best post(s)
The Madam is PISSED!
Madam Fannie is furious after learning “soiled dove” Sadie snuck out to attend and heckle the Women’s Christian Temperance Union meeting!
photo used to make the point!
Reba returned to the stove, hissing like her frying bacon.
My temples throbbed. If the ache continued, I’d have to take a spoonful of that sorry laudanum and tuck myself in bed. “Now, I have to figure what to do. You have put me in a terrible situation. The girls know you betrayed my trust. We have rules in this house, and by God, girls in my establishment will Abide by them. How can I possibly let you get away with this?”
Quiet now, Sadie crossed her arms and laid her head on her forearms. Her shoulders quivered a silent shrug.
Reba shook her head. “Thinks I’m about to have another sighting, Miss Fannie. It’s starting to tell me something’s fixin’ to change around here.”
It didn’t hurt for Reba to season the disobedient girl with the fear of being fired and turned back out on the streets.
(excerpt from The Last Bordello)
Cono’s Cigar Box
“A cigar box alone may have no meaning, but the Treasures inside tell a story.”
I go to bed real happy. It had been a real good honest day’s work. We’d sold three dollars and twenty cents worth of those little seed packets and after tomorrow’s sell day I know I’m just one step closer to having me a brand new geetar.
I wrap my money in a dish towel and stuff, tie it up with a string and put it in my box of specials hidden under my bed. Nothing like an honest day’s work to make a feller wore out. I put my head on my pillow and go straight to sleep, out like Lottie’s eye.
The first thing I do next morning after waking up is pull out my cigar box. My other specials are in there; my Devils Claw, toothbrush, Tiger, my pocket knife, my piece of boxing glove lace, my penny from Uncle Will. But my dishtowel of money isn’t there. I leave my room and find Aunt Nolie sitting at the kitchen table eating a biscuit.
“It’s gone!” I say.
“What’s gone, Cono?”
“All my money’s gone. It ain’t where I put it!”
Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper
I’m Noi-vus!
My third novel is finished. I love Emma June, Scooter, moonshine-maker Miss Helen. I love Emma June’s determination to find her mama and bring her back home. I love the heart-warming elements, the dialogue…
So why am I NOI-VUS?
Tomorrow I will send The Moonshine Thicket off to a literary agency, the owner I met and spoke with several years ago.
This past October, I “attended” a webinar where she and one of her agents were the hosts. The perk of the webinar was being able to submit your query, synopsis, or first ten pages (a total of 10 pages).
The agent I was assigned to was more than encouraging in her review. She gave me hope.
Still, I’m pondering. Am I ready?
Saints or Sinners Matter Not
Is Life Not Sacred?
Deep beneath unhallowed ground
The coffin flies await
Their hunger grows, discerning not,
Twixt sinners
And mere Saints.
-CDW
I looked, but found something better
I found a treasure instead. My piano, “Three-Legged Dog”, a 1917 parlor-grand Steinway piano, helped me write this poem for her coming-out, coming home party in 2000.
We celebrated her arrival in 1920’s costume and music.
She was born in Chicago in 1917, went to New York, was renovated, and settled in my living room many decades later.
So, here she is, my Three-Legged Dog, sharing her poem.
(I would scan the original poem but, I’m happy to say, red wine stains cover some of the words. So I’ve retyped.)
Well, I’ve seen a lot of changes
many looks on many faces
But I’m wondering what you think of me tonight.
So I stand here in my glory
many years and many stories
And I hope to shed for you a little light.
So looking back, we’re sorting
we begin the process courting
of a kinship to discover varied pasts
And I hope that you will find me
just a little more enlightening
than the accumulation of years gone by too fast.
My insides renovated
many hands participated
in the making of this body – Parlor Grand
I’ve been sheltered, I’ve been trampled
left behind and gently sampled
But I’m balanced on these three legs where I stand.
Have you seen me at my low times
or my even just-for-show times?
Can you tell when I need company by sight?
Let me do some rearranging
’cause the times, they keep on changing
So I’m wondering what you think of me tonight.
In front of you I’m standing
so proud of parlor granding
and though it seems you haven’t known me very long
I’ll keep us entertaining
for the years that are remaining
’cause the bond I have with you is very strong.
So, I’ll be here ready for you
and I’ll try hard not to bore you
I’m lucky and I thank the stars above
And I’ll be open, you will hear me
it’s my fortune if you’re near me —
CD-W, 10-24-2000
(or is this me I’m really speaking of?)
RAW Journal Kernels – KRUMPING
Tommy the Clown
After attending a grown-up birthday party with Tommy the Clown (known for his “Krumping,” and inspiring youth) I wrote this (hope you can read it!):
When Words Kill
Cono Dennis, after realizing his father read his private letters.
Cono Dennis, my father, age 18
I might not have sparred with him but I stopped him cold and I don’t just mean by showing off my defense skills and putting him in a head lock. As sure as a sharp axe can cut through and splinter a log and slice a thin piece of paper, a sharpened pencil can do the same thing. Words are powerful; they can be weapons as sharp as an axe. “Gene, I want to kill my Dad,” words that must have reverberated and Echoed in Dad’s ears just as loud as a sawed off shotgun, or blue lightening bouncing off a cow’s head. And just as loud as his slap across my face. I don’t think I meant for him to find all those letters, but he did.
From No Hill for a Stepper, the novel based upon my father’s life from age two till age eighteen.
Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 