Under Lavender Skies

 Recently, I've been reading a couple books aloud that are set in England and the south.  I've had quite the time reading the books aloud and practicing my accents and that's what made me think of this.  Enjoy!  Accented A woman comes into the shop, talking quickly with her husband, or whoever the man next to her is, in a flat and strange voice.  It interests me nonetheless because of how odd and foreign it sounds.   “Good afternoon,” I call out as my mother taught me, she is only a room away now, still the moment she steps away is when new people step in.   “Oh, yes, good.”  The woman says, noticing me for the first time, and her voice changes from what I’d heard a moment ago.  It rises to a higher pitch at the end, mimicking my voice but less rhythmically.  It gives me the impression that she’s mocking me, which infuriates me.  I watch as she walks around the small store, snatching moon pies, boiled peanuts, and a couple of RC colas.   I plan the way I will act when s

If the title isn't clear enough, I took the poem above as inspiration for a short story. I really enjoyed writing this short piece, I hope you enjoy it too!  Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening - A Piece Inspired by Robert Frost's poem The walk in the woods lasted longer than expected. Especially given how often I stop. Still, I don’t worry like I usually would, for it is dark, and old Mr. Johnston who owns these woods, or anyone else, won’t see me until I am long gone. Or at least I think so, it is a large wood. Mr. Johnston is a big man, he practically owns the small town but I don’t know much about him aside from that. I’ve seen him once, his round belly and the fine clothes that I once dreamed of owning, his loud voice as if everyone should hear everything he has to say.   I imagine the big Mr. Johnston and how his life differs from mine, and for the first time in a long time, I allow myself to imagine myself in his place. Waking up in a big r

 As the year comes to an end there are thoughts and hopes of new beginnings. . .  I understand the glamor and love of the new year, the promise of a new start, but I think some people give it more than it's worth.  Originally this journal entry was going to be paired with last week's post but I thought, why not separate it and make it a two-part new years series.  In last week's post, I shared some fictional beginnings and now, some of my own thoughts on the new year.   I might have different opinions if I had had a bad year, but I didn't.  My year ebbed and flowed like most do but my pits peaked again, I had highs and lows, I can't call that bad.  Still, how does writing 1/1 (or January 1st), in a journal or at the top of a task list, really matter that much?  I have found typical new years resolutions, such as working out more, eating healthily, or waking up earlier, never seem to work out well for me.  I am prone to stray from many routines and if I want to start

 As the year comes to an end there are thoughts and hopes of new beginnings. . .  I have a google document titled, "Beginnings." It's filled with story fragments, and beyond that, the title is pretty self-explanatory.  Any story that I started and only have a paragraph or two written gets popped in there, some are longer than others but none are more than a page, and when I get the desire to finish it and pull it out, I can do so.  The titles are often the characters' names or something to keep them separate. I thought it apropos that, at the beginning of the year, I would share a couple of fictional characters' beginnings that have been sitting in that document for far too long.   #1, Taxi Driver, Cleopatra (based off the song, "Cleopatra," by the Lumineers) The girl whose eyeliner ran over her face dash around the corner.  She hadn’t talked much and now she was gone, she watched her messy hair until someone else was knocking on the window.