Content: childhood

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Hi, this is a complete re-write changing the narrative to third person following feedback from the last posting. I also tried to give a little bit more context. I wanted to bring in some dialogue too but somehow that just didn't happen!!! I tried to keep the simplicity of the language but tone down the "little girl" voice. This was following some feedback but also I went to the Library to do some research and try to be a little clearer in my mind as to the target age group. I always intended the stories to be illustrated so if I could just ask everyone to imagine a large & colorful picture book read aloud to children in the 3 - 6 year old age group... I love feedback and am really grateful for any thoughts or help you can give. HG.

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A humorous reminiscence of my grade school years. I wasn't sure whether to place this in the Humor or the Memoir or the Non-fiction or the I don't have the guts to put my real name to this piece category. I am merely looking for honest reviews. I have no illusions or delusions of authorial grandeur.

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A kijiji is a village in Kiswahili. This was a strange story for me to write. I know I spent time with Rachi's wife. (Rachi is pronounced Ray Chee). I remember the village. Or was it big enough to be a village? Being puzzled because people talked to me and I could not understand and then suddenly understanding them. Not being able to weave the grasses and suddenly being able to weave them... for the rest - I'm not sure. It seems to me I could not have been as unsupervised as I recall? Surely!!! But I still have these snapshots in my mind. The memories are mainly visual with no audio. I do remember smells:- sunshine, dirt, coconut oil, spice and sweat - all combined. Somehow I could not seem to find the right place for a smell description. This is a new story, written since I was on this site. I tried to apply some of the very kind (and helpful!) feedback I have received for my last stories. It is actually a bit easier to write a new story than to correct some of the old ones! I am happy for any constructive feedback! PS - just spoke to someone from Tanzania and the proper word for the language is Kiswahili - I think the other way is a shortened version? hg

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Did you even hear stream locomotives rumbling close by in the night, heading for unknown places down the line?

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I've wrestled with whether to write this memoir of my childhood for several years, but ultimately decided it would be worthwhile. I'm interested to know how this piece comes across to others.

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I read poetry, poetic criticism and biographies of poets quite regularly. And it seems I might be lacking some of the "street cred" that many of the great poets earned during their childhood years. My pain, anguish and sad experiences came along later in life. Last week I was sitting near the river, enjoying a refreshing beverage or two, when this poem came to my mind. Comments are welcome.

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A young woman finds her long lost father, in more ways than one. Would appreciate feed back on pace, characterization, integration of back story, and, of course, if you enjoy it. Note: 9K word story posted in two parts, but meant to be read continuously. Thanks.

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Second and concluding part of a 9K word story. A young woman finds her long lost father, in more ways than one. Would appreciate feed back on pace, characterization, integration of back story, and, of course, if you enjoy it.

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This is what I call a "seed" piece. It gives an overview, and I am wondering where to take it. All ideas welcome.

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A short memory that waves hello every time I see this icon of our nation.

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Second half of a 7K word story, best read continuously. A man looks back on a troubled time in his youth and reflects on the two women who changed him. Input please on pace, narrative voice, characterization, and the ending. Many thanks.

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First half of a 7K word story, best read continuously. A man looks back on a troubled time in his youth and reflects on the two women who changed him. Input please on pace, narrative voice, characterization, and the ending. Many thanks.

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This is just a combination of thoughts. Of memories that have in ways dictated who I am and how I perceive the world I live in. Memories or glimpses I remember. Not sure this is poetry or just sheer release of long held emotions

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First try at a quatrain ... there are variations of this form so haven't a clue if this fits one. If not? Just a very short poem! Any and all feedback

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This is a memoir of my daughter's death and the communications we've had since her death. Since it is a true story, I want to know if it's readable and interesting.

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This is my first attempt at memoir writing. I'd like to know if you think it's publishable. Tell me about any NITs. Tell me what works and what does not. I'm trying to improve my writing. Please give all feedback, positive and negative. TIA

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I close with this final poem, torn from the pages of my childhood. I dedicate it to the greatest site on the internet and the greatest Reviewers anywhere. I will miss you all so much. Keep the Pencils Flowing. Keep the lyrics going. You have all taught me so much.

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My mother told me to go to college and never look back. I did try. I was accepted to one of the wealthiest colleges in America. But the Mystique of Pandora's box followed me even there. Why did my mother want me to forget the past so badly? Like Moses I was wrapped in swaddling cloth and pushed down stream. But Pandora always follows. I appreciate any comments and or thoughts about this poem.

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Sex, religion, and fear (not necessarily in that order) in the mind of an 8 year old boy. A few tricky parts in the narrative. Does it hold your interest? Is it clear? This is a single 11,500 word story posted in two parts because it has to be; there is no real natural break; it's best read continuously. Frank comments welcome.

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Same as part 1.

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Version #2--Only the last segment is altered. I tried for a subtler ending. Works? For those who've read the original, this better or worse?

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I had originally posted this in the Flash Fiction Contest. But, as one of my favorite reviewers pointed out, it really isn't a story. Thus, I have reposted it as poem. If, indeed, it is a poem, I have no idea what type of poem it is. I just write what comes to mind or what i feel. I'll let you fine and vastly more knowledgeable folks sort out the details! Any and all comments are welcome. And thanks! Alan

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Part 2 in the series California Days with Mama Mama takes on the Hollywood scene, from her kitchen. Feedback welcome and thank you.

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Raised dirt poor, mama was determined her girls grow up educated and cultured. My parents made their way to Southern California before the Great Depression. Through determination and sacrifice, mama gave her girls the knowledge and tools they needed to earn lifelong admiration and respect. These stories are for her. All feedback very welcome

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My first try at a real short story. Nervous? ha! Haven't a clue what I am doing! All feedback feared! I mean welcome. ha..

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I would love some general feedback on this very short story please! Thank you.

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No feedback is asked for just that you enjoy and remember times when you squealed with laughter and abandonment. Easier times when the heart wasn't so heavy and complicated havoc didn't squelch you enthusiasm.

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I'm trying to capture a memory, a feeling. What needs smoothing?

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Memories of the freedom I had as a child on my grandfather's farm that children today will never know.

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A short piece from a part of my life that no-one knew about, and still don't. I was always the perfectly happy child and friend. I would like to add that although when i wrote this i hadn't cut again for years, the urge is always there when i get down and after a severely depressing start to the year 2008 i unfortunately do have two scars that are visible in on my left upper wrist. It is something i only feel when depressed, which i am over now and it is part of the reason i would like to become a psychologist. To be able to help people that are going through things that make them feel this way. This is a rough piece i have barely edited. This was inspired by a book i read at the time, which was a story of a lady with bipolar disorder and cut herself often to the point of hospitalisation. I felt the need to write my first experience down.

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