tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post8589900292876422004..comments2023-07-17T09:55:04.909-04:00Comments on Eva Marie Everson's Southern Voice: October Writing ContestEva Marie Eversonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15159409003924304308noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-51331863253575943742014-10-12T13:25:05.389-04:002014-10-12T13:25:05.389-04:00Boring, mundane, predictable, those were the words...Boring, mundane, predictable, those were the words floating in Lilly’s head as she lay on the chaise. Why could men travel, vote, marry who they chose? If only she could convince mother that God gave her a brain for a reason and it sure wasn't just to decorate a silly pillow or marry the first respectable man who deemed her worthy.<br />Take today for example, here she was stuck inside on while her brother Willy and their father went fishing. Fishing! How she loved the ocean, unpredictable and full of mystery. Yet her mother fretted so over a tiny storm that would blow over in a few minutes.<br /> If only she could find an excuse to shake off that “tea party”. She abhorred tea. Sighing inwardly she wondered why God had made her so contrary and muttered, “Enough of these dismal thoughts, I need a plan.” <br />She closed her eyes and began to scheme, so lost in her thoughts she didn't notice the young man peering in the window behind her. Lilly couldn't know that the adventure of a lifetime was standing right outside the door.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01098722846770284444noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-62744459046130175372014-10-10T22:31:39.154-04:002014-10-10T22:31:39.154-04:00When Aunt Beatrice decided it was once again “time...When Aunt Beatrice decided it was once again “time for an adventure,” there was really nothing to do but pack and be ready for the carriage. Since I was her pet, she usually engaged me to go as a traveling companion. These lengthy excursions were a welcome change from the quiet days cloistered in a London apartment where I had nothing to do but wait for invitations to tea. <br />Thus, I found myself languidly finishing a coffee service in an antiquated but comfortable inn by the port. My cousin Alfie paced the balcony while I watched the door for my aunt’s return, anxious for our journey to begin. “This time Kate, you shall return with a husband,” she had told me. I relished the idea that I could prove her wrong and end her career as my unfulfilled matchmaker.<br /><br />-Christie HudonAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-33972120087267505972014-10-10T21:41:49.848-04:002014-10-10T21:41:49.848-04:00Well, I have to vote for this one! Not only is the...Well, I have to vote for this one! Not only is the line, "While the sun-scorched crew downed rum at the tavern, another storm brewed inside the inn" an absolutely SPLENDID transition, but I DO think black tea is the cure for everything! :)Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02033876072489611856noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-21266319184320416632014-10-09T08:21:03.498-04:002014-10-09T08:21:03.498-04:00NO DECAF. Funny!NO DECAF. Funny!Mark A. Cheatwoodhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03568897006599059468noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-40983111988347742852014-10-08T21:41:17.998-04:002014-10-08T21:41:17.998-04:00I vote for this one!I vote for this one!Lynhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00656027511213288424noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-70537466552335374322014-10-08T18:30:03.451-04:002014-10-08T18:30:03.451-04:00Frankly the whole thing is just embarrassing. All ...Frankly the whole thing is just embarrassing. All I want is for my presence to be acknowledged, but nerves are clearly on edge. I’m not even angry about it. Why, just before it happened, I was on the deck thinking of how I’d be stuck in this position for the rest of my life, never quite having what it takes. And now that's solidified. Though, I suppose the opposite is also true, because I find myself more free than I could have previously imagined. I just wish I knew how to make a bigger impact.<br />Oh, sorry, you're not sure which of us is talking. That's me through the window – no, the other window. Swinging in breeze. And the new me is clearly being mistaken for a breeze; I've been slamming these little doors for thirty minutes. I just wish I knew whose idea it was to kill me.<br /><br />- Isaac Jon EnenIsaac Jon Enenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01130862952522961559noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-77259040212788837912014-10-08T18:22:17.475-04:002014-10-08T18:22:17.475-04:00This comment has been removed by the author.Isaac Jon Enenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01130862952522961559noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-71637378493250705632014-10-08T17:50:16.862-04:002014-10-08T17:50:16.862-04:00Malcolm had made it clear that he did not drink de...Malcolm had made it clear that he did not drink decaf.<br /><br />“Any gentleman worth his weight in tobacco would sooner drink the brown water from a chamber pot than let a sip of decaf pass over his lips,” he proclaimed in a rather fervent denunciation of decaffeinated coffee. More than a mere opinion, he was sharing his passion, and he needed her to understand. <br /><br />Eleanor smiled and nodded, but was too engaged with her cell phone to take in his words. <br /><br />“1st date. This 1s a keeper!” She tweeted to her 837 followers. She was falling hard.<br /><br />Months later, as they sat together sipping coffee, Malcolm began to grow weary of Eleanor’s endless prattling about selfies, Facebook, and the like. She was making his head ache, and he eagerly anticipated the caffeine buzz he knew would help to ease the pain. However, when it did not come, he knew why. <br /><br />As she reached for her chirping phone yet again, Malcolm realized what he had to do. After all, he had made it clear that he did not drink decaf.<br /><br />~ C Jay Smith<br />CJay Smithhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18372674384611001707noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-86481448213527921372014-10-08T17:46:38.007-04:002014-10-08T17:46:38.007-04:00Nice!Nice!CJay Smithhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18372674384611001707noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-32584685466195453522014-10-08T06:09:26.980-04:002014-10-08T06:09:26.980-04:00Has my vote...enjoyed it. Has my vote...enjoyed it. Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-1924575826211506432014-10-07T19:42:53.569-04:002014-10-07T19:42:53.569-04:00The sun poked through the black clouds; a glimmer ...The sun poked through the black clouds; a glimmer on a schooner docked at York River in Chesapeake Bay. The rigging was secured to keep the sails from being torn apart by the turbulent storm. Not yet ready to dissipate, it pounded the schooner against the reef.<br />While the sun-scorched crew downed rum at the tavern, another storm brewed inside the inn.<br />“Tea? Do you think black tea is a cure for everything?” Seventeen year old Phoebe lashed out at her father.<br />John, the picture of a gentleman, silently let his impetuous daughter rant.<br />“You told me your cargo was whiskey. Whiskey, not slaves. My father ─ a slave-runner? How could you?” Phoebe, exhausted from her outburst, plopped onto the lounging chair. Her hand thrown over her forehead slipped down her face. She sighed.<br />John shrugged. He left, then turned toward the window ─ one last look at his daughter.<br />Shirley J. Conley<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04040626362717057883noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-77601046691325583522014-10-07T15:10:11.477-04:002014-10-07T15:10:11.477-04:00I like it! Well done...hope you win.I like it! Well done...hope you win.Airborne 82https://www.blogger.com/profile/14423598268951331739noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-58107015140689673432014-10-07T14:53:28.124-04:002014-10-07T14:53:28.124-04:00I hate October fifteenth.
The anniversary of Broth...I hate October fifteenth.<br />The anniversary of Brother Ben’s death has troubled me for five years. <br />Today is no different. <br />His ghost has returned from the watery depths of the Atlantic.<br />And I simply want to hide and weep. <br />Oh Ben, why did you have to book voyage on the ill-fated Jillian Tide? <br />Please forgive me, dear brother. Pardon my hateful final words. <br />I love and miss you. I wish you eternal peace.<br /><br />I hate October fifteenth.<br />Be kindhearted when you say goodbye, because it might be forever. Oh that I could go back and change that final farewell. But that’s impossible for a ghost.<br />I’m cursed to never utter another word or be witnessed in the living world again. But I can see and hear. Haunted by those hateful parting words, every October I return for a day of remorse.<br />Hello Sister Jane. We’re together again…until sundown.<br /><br />James CresslerAirborne 82https://www.blogger.com/profile/14423598268951331739noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-21350909438766492122014-10-07T14:21:00.956-04:002014-10-07T14:21:00.956-04:00I love hearing things from Gerald's perspectiv...I love hearing things from Gerald's perspective! Gerald and Mary get my vote!Katienoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-62371312997393745642014-10-06T13:23:46.665-04:002014-10-06T13:23:46.665-04:00Kemp gazed into the tearoom window. Lizzie lay dra...Kemp gazed into the tearoom window. Lizzie lay draped across the divan. He was glad. She deserved whatever comfort she could garner. While his commitment would soon be fulfilled, hers would just be beginning... He wished he hadn't agreed to be her chaperone on the long voyage.<br /><br />Glancing over the deck railing, he spotted Freemont's dark beady eyes peering up from beneath the brim of a top hat, the look of a vulture waiting to claim its prize, a young soon-to-be bride. The thought of Lizzie making love to the brute made his skin crawl.<br /><br />He turned again, and studied her delicate features. A violent storm had just passed threatening to tear the ship apart. Now the sun warmed his back as his heart smoldered. Wasn't it Lizzie who insisted as children they pledge their enduring love to one another? <br /><br />Shoulders squared, he grew confident and determined to reclaim that promise.<br /><br />- Teresa Bedwell<br /><br /><br /><br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-86532700919278503712014-10-06T10:37:54.051-04:002014-10-06T10:37:54.051-04:00Josiah peered through the dirty window. She’s done...Josiah peered through the dirty window. She’s done it again. I spend months at sea providing for her and all I ask is a comfortable place to call home. But no. The furniture’s rearranged. Again. Another new tea set. And the top half of my doors are missing. Sure, honey. I love the ocean’s tantalizing aroma of rotting fish and briny air. Especially since I just spent seven months in the middle of it. And is that a new robe or gown or whatever?<br />The boards popped and creaked as he moved into the sitting room. Margaret stirred from her nap and a slow smile crept onto her lips as she moved from dreams to reality. “You’re home.”<br />His fingertips tingled and an emptiness fluttered through his chest. He knelt, took her hand, and kissed her lips. “Yes, dear. I’m home.”<br /><br />Tom ThreadgillTom Threadgillhttp://tomthreadgill.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-64500876368456016252014-10-05T19:07:10.208-04:002014-10-05T19:07:10.208-04:00“Andrew, what’s John doing out there? I can’t bea...“Andrew, what’s John doing out there? I can’t bear to look.”<br />“I’m not sure. Still pacing, mulling it over, a wretched mess.”<br />“I swear, if he postpones the voyage another day, I’ll die. I’m sick of this port. Can’t you persuade him?”<br /> “I shall not. Never disturb a pacing lion.”<br />“What kind of brother are you, Andrew? It’s just another storm. Ships are launching daily.” <br />“Yes, and all sailing north, my dear. Not south.”<br />“Not a drop is falling out there.”<br />“Don’t pretend you know about the weather, Henrietta. Or sailing”<br />“I don’t care about either one. It’s Sis I’m worried about.”<br />“She’ll be fine.”<br />“You heartless baboon.”<br />“Women give birth every day.”<br />“Wait till you marry. You’ll change your tune.”<br />“I assure you. She’ll be alright. But not if we all sink aboard The Declaration.”<br />“Please, Andrew, reason with him. I have to be there for her.”<br /><br />Jennifer OdomAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-30272163673826268552014-10-05T01:57:13.406-04:002014-10-05T01:57:13.406-04:00Light broke the sky in two after a sudden Summer d...Light broke the sky in two after a sudden Summer down pour slapped the Mississippi River surface.<br />The scent of musk resurrected itself from the river's depths onto the steamboat "Princess".<br />Nearby moored fishing boats groaned and bobbed to the faint procession of trumpets and drums playing somewhere inland.<br />Uriah left the cabin as Joanna tried to rest. He took vigil on deck where he was sure she could not see him, but he could view her.<br />The tears he shed were as silent as he was.<br />Joanna's hysteria had worsened every month since their marriage.<br />They never had a honeymoon and always wanted to venture on the river together.<br />Now this would be their first and their last journey. <br />The sanitarium Joanna had been committed to was just around the bend. Jennifer Wright WattsAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-51728963553206937912014-10-04T20:11:01.402-04:002014-10-04T20:11:01.402-04:00Great story !Great story !Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01098722846770284444noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-51676066231173299992014-10-04T14:07:27.886-04:002014-10-04T14:07:27.886-04:00The tension between us seemed to drown the noise o...The tension between us seemed to drown the noise of the loading docks. His mind was already made, but why did they have to leave so soon. I pretended not to hear his farewell as he stared into the warmth of the fireplace. I saw his reflection in the curio. It was as if we both knew the cold sea would take him. To this day, I wish we could have traded places. He was always stronger than I when it came to loss. My anger that day made me look away. I wanted to run to him and never let go. Being married to a trader was difficult, and the image of a noblewoman had to be upheld. The ship’s men below prevented me from showing my true feelings. A captain that could not hold his wife together surely could not guide the ship. Nature would prove them right.<br /><br />-Marco VazquezAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-7193552308356573862014-10-04T13:17:19.062-04:002014-10-04T13:17:19.062-04:00I was a free spirit. Now I’m a caged bird, dreamin...I was a free spirit. Now I’m a caged bird, dreaming of opening my wings and soaring about in the outside world. I am not opposed to marriage, but I wanted to choose the one that I would spend my life with. I wanted someone that would be a free bird with me, one that would understand my love language, laugh with me…one can only dream of being with her true love forever. I had found him before, but my parents would never have approved him as a noble suitor. He was not wealthy, not into politics, nor was he well educated, but he sure knew how to make me feel beautiful. I put on my best face for the arranged wedding yesterday. Now I wistfully lay here daydreaming of true love while my husband, who barely knows me, hovers, contemplating how he will be able to make me happy.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11770591996183052671noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-47927092510078351702014-10-04T12:50:15.636-04:002014-10-04T12:50:15.636-04:00I was a free spirit. Now I’m a caged bird, dreamin...I was a free spirit. Now I’m a caged bird, dreaming of opening my wings and soaring about in the outside world. I am not opposed to marriage, but I wanted to choose the one that I would spend my life with. I wanted someone that would be a free bird with me, one that would understand my love language, laugh with me…one can only dream of being with her true love forever. I had found him before, but my parents would never have approved him as a noble suitor. He was not wealthy, not into politics, nor was he well educated, but he sure knew how to make me feel beautiful. I put on my best face for the arraigned wedding yesterday, now I wistfully lay here daydreaming of true love while my husband, who barely knows me, hovers, contemplating how he will be able to make me happy.<br /><br />-Briley Vazquez<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-1827589305290343652014-10-04T11:52:15.866-04:002014-10-04T11:52:15.866-04:00This comment has been removed by the author.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02033876072489611856noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-66571265020142601702014-10-04T11:01:48.258-04:002014-10-04T11:01:48.258-04:00I struggle to capture regret in the nomad’s eyes. ...I struggle to capture regret in the nomad’s eyes. Did I not clearly explain that he is rung with sorrow for a trite disagreement with his beloved? Yet he gives only rigid hope of a generous compensation from my waning funds. I must secure new sponsorship, and improved subjects, if I continue to paint in this miserable country. <br /> Where did Kathleen find this one? I dare not ask her. She takes such inquisition far too close to heart. As if I did not trust her. No matter her past indiscretions, she is mine. I must never lose her.<br /> She lies quite motionless. But then begins the obsessive scratching of the nose. “Kathleen, l'amour de ma vie, you must not move.”<br /> “Yes, Jaques,” she manages with little swell of her tempting lips. “I am a photograph.”<br /> “You will call me James,” I tell her in play. And she rolls her eyes.<br /> <br />Vicki Buchholdnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5015795886208691084.post-18363729942278074002014-10-04T01:16:34.933-04:002014-10-04T01:16:34.933-04:00 Staring into the fire, Nora’s eyes glazed. Outsid... Staring into the fire, Nora’s eyes glazed. Outside the mammoth window, telephone poles swayed, whining like masts in the exploding squall. A flash ruptured the sky, drenching the room with light. She clenched her eyes.<br /> “Noooo.” The scream tore her throat. She wouldn’t turn around. He had no right. His casket rotted in the church yard. Ten years. Isn’t that long enough?<br /> The sky roared. Delicate hands flew to her face. She leaped to her feet. The oval table tottered and crashed, spilling her offering of tea and sweets across the floor. <br /> “I’m sorry. So sorry.” Was that her voice? Had she finally said the words?<br /> The door slammed open. Wind rushed into the room. She spun around. He reached toward her. “That’s all I’ve waited for. You’re forgiven.” <br /> His form faded into the mist. Gazing into the storm, she lifted a tea cup in his direction and smiled. Forgiven.<br />Beth Goehringer<br />Bethhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07124508073467247707noreply@blogger.com