I was born in a small southern town way down in central Georgia. My Mama and Daddy saw to it that I visited the church sanctuary at least three times a week. We drove to the church on dirt roads. The school I attended was located in a town with a population close to 300. I began my school career in 1965. My first writing credit came in the form of an essay I did on hookworms. I won first place in that hookworm writing essay contest and was awarded a Little Golden Book. Neat huh? I wanted to be a writer. My parents thought I should go to secretarial school. I got married. Don't ask me how I figured that
out— don't know— I was a teenager. My husband and I moved to Rome, Georgia back in 1981. Rome is the home of Berry College. I had a hankering to get me a college degree, so I worked and went to school at night for a good long time. Finally back in 1987, I walked across the stage at Martha Berry College. My Daddy looked on from the audience; Mama looked on from heaven. Then I had two children. Lord have mercy I love them to death but they are about four handfuls which seems strange seeing as how the Good Lord blessed me with
only two. About six years ago I moved back to my childhood home. We southerners enjoy talking about and to our dead ancestors. They don't talk back much. Nowadays I live in the same home as did my grandpa and my daddy, the same home where I danced around in my underwear while listening to Led Zeppelin. The writer who grew up in the old home place couldn't quite figure out the mama that came back here to live. There was quite a bit of combat between the two. Finally mama began to write. She sent some of her stories to a fellow who was a writer. He told her he'd tell her what he thought. Mama's stories came back looking like a guy with a busted artery had critiqued them. On the top of the page he told her to write like a
woman— not a Mama. What the heck did that mean? The spirit of the girl I left behind here at this
home place had a merry time with that bit of news. I began to write whatever came to mind, and somewhere in those writing sessions the mama and my wild spirit reunited or maybe I should say they ignited. Wow! Do you know I just wrote a column about a rock group? I've wanted to do that since I was 16. Okay so it sounds lame. Don't care. Cause you see, I've put Mama to
sleep— (low mean evil sinister wicked laugh).