Telling Stories

Under the gazebo

We cried, my sisters and I, the day my sister Tracy married Tim. The four of us stood under the gazebo in peach taffeta gowns, red-eyed and sniffling, trying in vain to wipe our running mascara and dripping noses with white lace gloves.

If anyone was paying any attention, they would have assumed that we were weeping with joy over our sister's good fortune. But they would have been wrong. We were grief-stricken. We weren't losing a sister, we were gaining a big jerk. The appeals had run out. There would be no last-minute pardon. If the wedding vows were to be believed, we would be stuck with Tim forever. And we knew that was going to be a very bad thing.

Just how bad, we couldn't begin to imagine. 

Preface

This is a writing-practice blog. I wanted a space to practice my storytelling skills. I'm a technical writer, not a novelist, but I do have stories to tell. I enjoy writing and reading nonfiction, because truth is stranger than fiction. I can't believe some of the things I've done and seen, and I'm just an ordinary person. I know lots of ordinary people who have extraordinary stories to tell.

These stories are true. You can't make this stuff up. Some of these events happened to me, and some of them happened to people I know. I have changed most of the names and some of the insignificant details. One story in particular will be continuing, as you'll see. I may rewrite posts and publish them a second time. It's a work in progress.

Because the stories are true, and involve real people's real lives, comments will be closed on most posts. You can e-mail me (see About) if you want to talk to me about a story.

Thanks for listening.