Jodi Lea Stewart

Loving and Writing About the Southwest and the South

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*All grammatical errors intentional* 1933. December 24, 7:30 p.m. If I wanted Doodles to sleep warm as buttered biscuits, I’d have to do some more quilt tucking. I pressed it in good and tight all along her side and under her chin. There. Now she wouldn’t shiver in her sleep or roll off to the…

At times, my writing focus is about as clear as swamp water. Sometimes I inadvertently go on a writing sabbatical. Things get in the way. When the “match” goes out, it’s like getting a D.C. politician to tell the truth challenging to restart the flame. For example, recently: There I sat. Alone in my office. Staring. Staring some…

Verella awoke to the sound of her wrist ringing. Her wrist wasn’t really ringing, but the compact instrument strapped to it demanded her attention in a screechy, nagging tenor. “Yes?” she whispered groggily, pushing her RESpond button. Her other hand rubbed her temple to quell the throbbing inside her head. “Verella? Great! I caught you…