Anything can be. Aren’t those lovely words? Strictly speaking, they’re not true – there are some things I just can’t be. I can’t be an astronaut, Miss America, or a brain surgeon. But there are so many things that I can do. All my life, I wanted to be a writer. I said I would write when this or that eased up, or when I had something to say, or after my child was grown, or I didn’t have to work any long, or or or.
Continue readingMelissa stood at the crosswalk waiting on the light to change. It had been long enough now that she was concerned the button wasn’t working. When for the second time, the north-south traffic lights turned green she was certain of it.
She wondered again where her strict adherence to rules came from. The thought of crossing against the light without a walk sign gave her the jitters. She was close to sweat popping out on her forehead. She stopped, channeled her yoga instructor of thirty years earlier, and breathed three long slow inhalations and exhalations. Elaine’s voice popped into her mind, “Three deep breaths at times of stress will almost always relax you enough to cope. “
Melissa needed all the coping mechanisms she could get.
On the other side of Third Avenue, she headed right towards her office. The sun was warm on her back and the thought of confining herself to her office on this lovely lovely birthday eve day was anathema.
Continue readingDonnie 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! 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.
W. Va. Fur and Root 