Skip to main content


Showing posts from August, 2019

"Three Things That Make You Cry: Opinions, Onions, and Plans"

Been cleaning and smiling forever, looks like ;D  Dear August,  I'm sorry I didn't say hello before it was time to say goodbye. But you aren't sad, are you? No. You're laughing because you like running off-script. You like slicing onions in my face as I spout my opinions, and you like watching my plans burn up in salt-water tears.  But the joke's on you.  I loved your blur of a month regardless. I didn't see nearly all the people I meant to see. I didn't get to hike as much as I wanted to hike. I didn't read as many blog posts as I wanted to read, and I didn't participate in Rebellious Writing's  It's So Classic Blog Party. I finished reading one book that I started reading in June. And guys. It was a nonfiction ;0 I had to take a hiatus writing for another blog (after agreeing to do it the week before). In fact, I don't know if I did half of what I planned. But, in my defense, I loved this last month. August was a sp

"What Silence Do You Speak?": My First Public Speech

So far it looks like August has been a month for sharing YouTube videos on Keturah's Korner. I hope you all don't mind ;) Last month my dad told me I was invited to speak at a conference. Now, I love words in any shape and form, as long as they are educated and clean. Yet, I warily asked, "Why and what for?" You see, I've never actually spoken publicly before. "The conference is on journalistic ethics. And because you're my daughter." "How many people will be there?" "I don't know. Maybe a hundred?" And so I agreed. Dad asked, “What will you speak on? I need to know for the program." I told my dad I'd have to think about it. Which I did as I cleaned the rest of my houses that day. A few hours later I called him back with my title. Ready to speak ... I know when to look like a hippie, and when to not ;)   But. As all things go with my life, this speaking event didn't quite turn out to be wha

For The Love Of A Word

My name is in another book.  This book is called FOR THE LOVE OF A WORD .  It is a collection of encouragement letters and poems for writers.  My name is right under a letter for extroverts.  Because everything is for introverts these days. I decided to "unbox" the package (except I'd already opened it the day before haha). I don't like making videos, but sometimes it's good to do things you hate doing.  My friend Lauren also has a letter in the book, right beside mine! Her letter doesn't discriminate against energy types ... she writes for all writers.  "BUT WHAT IS IN THIS BOOK!?"  I've done an in-depth review of every anthology I've been published in before (two counts as every, right?).  But there are too many pieces in this book.  Of course, since Annie Twitchell organized this, every word in this book sings and cries beauty.  But here are some specific pieces that resonated with me:  The first tw

My Blog is Basically a Mature Toddler Now

I started this blog on August 4, 2014. Someday I will say I've blogged fifty years. Or so, I hope ;) But for now ... it nearly feels as if I have. I'm not kidding. Nearly all of the life and who've I've become seems to have been lived AFTER creating this thing. I mean, I lived before my blog. But it's like a distant past me that's so childish and naive I hardly recognize myself. And what will I be saying about myself five years from now?  Scary thoughts ;) I haven't done very many blogiversary posts ;0  First Post One Year Four Years Since blogging I've learned to drive and got my license. I've built a business. I've left home (I'm currently at home right now). I've made gazillions of friends. I've written nearly all of my best works. I've experienced heartbreak and I've found the best contentment. I've learned how to care and how to not care. I've learned how to keep learning. I'm I've l

Chapter Six: The Hospital

Susan didn’t want food—it seemed so pointless to eat when death weighed on the world all around her. But Carl wasn’t so inclined, and he made certain she ate a little before they went on to the hospital. Eustace Scrubb lay very still in a narrow bed. Jill Pole was in another bed just a few feet away from Eustace. Both children were hardly visible through all their bandages and blankets. They were hardly sixteen—too young to be so still. Her aunt Alberta stood next to Eustace. Alberta clung to Eustace’s hand. Jill’s mother was likewise by her daughter’s bed. The children’s fathers, with Francis, sat on a hard bench. None of them looked as if they had slept in days. Susan’s guilt intensified. She rushed into the room, leaving Carl gaping in the doorway, and went straight to her aunt. “Aunt Alberta, tell me, how is he?” But as Susan looked closer at Eustace, she wished she’d never asked. The boy was so pale and his skin stretched tightly over his bones. Was he even breathin