Donnie’s Wake

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Donnie talked about Pocahontas County all the time. Camping there. I wasn’t interested. We were neck deep in converting the barn and my whole life was a primitive camping trip. I didn’t think I needed to wander into the Wild and Wonderful to experience more awkward cooking attempts and uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. My life was full of such.

She continued to wax poetic. Lyrical, an ode to the Williams River and I told her I was sure it was beautiful. But declined.

And then she was diagnosed with breast cancer. And then it metastasized before we were even able to process the news.

She wanted a last trip to the river. And we agreed to go along.

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Come Hear Me Read

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Come hear me read! I’ll be reading from my essays for the Museum of the American Military Museum as well as from my memoir and novel (both in progress) and my blog. If you have a military background of any sort, the readings may provoke nostalgia. If you don’t, you’ll get a glimpse into a world you didn’t know existed.

The bio in the photo reads:

Connie Kinsey is a former military brat who has put down deep roots in a converted barn on a dirt road at the top of a hill in West Virginia. She is pursuing happiness, one cup of coffee at a time. Her award-winning writing has been published online and in print.

She is also a spoken word artist and the Writer-in-Residence for the Museum of the American Military Family. Connie has blogged at https://wvfurandroot.com since 2008 and is wild about comments. You can reach her by email at c_kinsey@frontier.com or on Facebook at http;//www.facebook.com/ConnieKinseyWriter.  Her Twitter handle is TRConnie.

Enjoy the beauty and power of your whatever.

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The two of us, Charlene and me, were either giddy or angry, one or the other, at this stage of life.  Of course, we were.  We were 13 and hormonal as only pubescent teenagers can be. 

The air smelled of fried foods and popcorn, horse manure, and the first hint of cool, crisp autumn days.  It was October in coastal Carolina and the heat was waning.  We actually had long sleeves on.

Photo by Devon Rogers on Unsplash

The sound of barkers, the music from the individual rides, the roar of the roller coaster.  Our senses were on high alert with all the stimuli – the smells, the sounds, the feel of cool air and a breeze rippling our long hair. – Charlene was a blonde, and I was a brunette — both of us impossibly skinny and tall.

The night of the carnival we were giddy – in love with life, comfortable in our friendship, full of laughter, and looking to meet our true loves.  Or at least someone interesting. 

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Today, I want to…

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Today, I want to write.  Really write.  I want to print out my novel-in-progress and attack it with a yellow highlighter and red pen.  I want to figure out the damn timeline and people’s ages once and for all.  I want to wallow in words.   

I want to rewrite what’s been written to make it punchy and vibrant.  I want my readers to crave the next page if only to consume more quirkiness.   

In short, I want my brain to soar like my main character Laynie’s does when she is deep into transcription: 

Deep into it, fingers flying, right and left brains soaring, Latinate language free-falling in pixels to magnetic medium, Laynie. . .  

Even when I’m telling and not showing, I want to get away with it through choice of language and strength of character. 

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