people keep telling me to write...and then i sit down to do just that and truman capote (just one of the many southern gods and goddesses) starts talking to me..."oh my god you again?"...and i chuckle...his southern drawl fills my head...his muted hand gestures and boredom with what i havent even written yet is seen in my mind's eyes...he is just mumbling now...nearly falling asleep with the tedious boredom of me...and he mumbles.."you know it is as simple as asking some good ol' boy republican down south some question about politics and he will hand you a novel on a silvah pladdah"...and i certainly know this...ask any southerner and they have their stories and their big opinions...they can deliver it with the passion of a sunday sermon and with the fire of saturday night beer joint banter...
my aunt was a storybook...give her a topic...on anything...you said the word shoes and she had a story...the substitute teachers in our classrooms were interesting storybooks...especially the WWII vets who sub'ed...gut and blood stories...or the stories of the women at the quilting circle...gossipy and always caught up in who was cheating on who around town...
and i have my stories too...living this long i have become a thick storybook...so i write...truman chimes in...wants me to fix him a drink...i wonder who else will show up as i tell my stories...
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