The Writer’s Life: Stalkers I’ve Known (& One Who Remains Unidentified)
Within a week of publication of my memoir, the first stalker appeared. Two more would follow. I never dreamt one would sneak into my home.
Musings
Within a week of publication of my memoir, the first stalker appeared. Two more would follow. I never dreamt one would sneak into my home.
A writing life is nurtured in beautiful, decadent, messy Savannah.
In a raw Savannah neigborhood, the Rutabaga Woman shines a bright light and brings water to the thirsty.
If your report cards said you talked too much, this story is in your high honor.
My first homily at the age of four. Being Southern, the sermon warned of a grievious sin against good food.
Mama Bear springs into action when a crackhead holds her baby sister hostage. You can’t make this stuff up, people.
Mama’s fondest Chicago memory wasn’t of the racial unrest she helped quell. It was of the stud muffin at her door.
Endoscopy. Holter Monitor. Meds. Cessation of caffeine. Echocardiogram. Stress echo test. Nuclear stress echo test. This is how I’ve spent the last 2 months after
We wrote. We did the soul work. We laughed. Then laughed some more. We hiked. Crafted collages. Donned tattoos. Cried. Uplifted. Listened. Shared goosebumps. Reveled
Lauretta joins WRGA Host Tony McIntosh for a half-hour chat that’s kinda all over the place. Entertaining…but all over the place.