Mandy Haynes is the runaway writer
The runaway writer, making every day an adventure.
Several people back in Tennessee have asked to read the story. It’s a very personal story, but after my friend told me she was approached by two women at her bridge club who wanted her to thank me for sharing, I decided to put it here. The theme was Hope for The Holidays. Here’s my story –
Our lives are a puzzle - made of so many different, odd shaped pieces. Those weird ones with the sharp angles, dark red or deep blue, that look more like someone else's bad dream than a piece of your puzzle.
Kati is an amazing woman. Twenty years ago she was in the Peace Corps, traveling all over Africa making friends and teaching kids.
Hey y'all! I'm back for a minute. Sorry I've been missing in action.Lots of good things going on here in Fernandina Beach.Let's see. I submitted a story to Live Ink Theater for their storytelling event in December and it was accepted. The theme is Hope for the Holidays and I'll be telling a story about... Continue Reading →
Walking in Linda's back field in a pair of faded overalls and a wad of Red Man chewing tobacco in his cheek with a determined look on his face. Focused on the divining rods in his hands, he looked like a country preacher or moonshiner, serious in his business.
When I was twelve or so, she is the person that realized I had a little bit of talent and no outlet – except for boys – and bought me my first set of paintbrushes and oil paints. I couldn’t find enough things to paint – nothing was safe, I painted EVERYTHING – even glass. She realized I needed more things to keep me busy – to keep me out of my mama’s hair and out of trouble – so she taught me Sherinschniette
Oh my word...or lack of them. Sorry to disappear, but I've been a little busy. Most of you know I bought a house aka The Shipwreck, a few months ago, but only a few people knew how much work the house needed. Well, let me fill you in. I closed on June 1st and started... Continue Reading →
"Kid, you're wearing me out. I'm old." "You're not old!" Disgusted look on his face. I showed him my wide streaks of gray hair to prove it.
She'd taught everything they needed to know. She'd taught them compassion and trust.
She was a tiny thing with bright hazel eyes the color of a lion's, and a mane of sunbleached dreadlocks. Not a drop of makeup on her tanned skin, but she seemed to glow.