A New Story Brewing
I have a story rising in my gut – in my mind – from the recesses of my childhood and genetic memories. Fireflies flash around ghost stories told on the porch of an old house set firm on Texas clay. Boxcars rumbling; steel wheels clattering; steam whistles blowing. There’s an old screech owl crying in a cottonwood tree. There’s two young women that are a lot like my Grandmother and her sister when they were rough, tough, and young — back before the war — and a night that just went all wrong. I need to figure out what they are all saying to me.
