Thursday, December 12, 2019

FOR THE LOVE OF LISTS AND LAUGHS


A few followers of my blog might remember how much I enjoyed coming up with lists for the now defunct Thursday Thirteen meme.  Whenever I could, I tried to inject a bit of humor into my lists.   I miss those days. But not long ago, I found a spot that welcomes my OCD driven brand of humor and list fixation.


If you’re at all interested in checking out my odd and (hopefully) amusing lists,  I encourage you to look me up on the Humoroutcasts website. My latest post covers the 8 Reasons I May Stop Going To The Movie Theater.  Let me know what, if anything, has altered your movie-going experience.

My first post on the Humoroutcasts website covered the 9 Wrestling Smack-downs I'd love to see. The matches included Mitch McConnell vs. The Notorious RBG and Lindsey Graham vs. The Squad. Checkout the full post on the website if you'd like to see some of the other matches on my list.


Monday, June 03, 2019

FIGHTING BATTLES

Recently, I shared the following on my Facebook Page


Okay, so I have a problem I’d like to share in hopes that some kind soul can offer a solution.  For the past several days, I’ve been struggling to win a fight--a contest of wills, if you will, and with a most formidable opponent.  At the moment, all in my world is calm to the point of being downright peaceful. I’d like to believe that I may have unwittingly gained the upper hand. But in the past my opponent has proved both clever and agile, so I’m not totally convinced the battle is over or even close to being won.
And just who might my evil nemesis be? A chipmunk. Yeah, you heard right, I’ve been doing battle with this dang devil of a chipmunk who won’t stop digging holes in the pot of zinnias I recently planted.
So, the pot--full of potting soil-- sat undisturbed on my front porch for about a week until I finally decided to go ahead and
plant my zinnia seeds. I can’t remember if I planted the seeds before my recent trip to ATL or shortly thereafter, but I do know
this past weekend is when the showdown began.  My gardening skills are limited. So having spotted a number of little green
shoots jutting up through the soil, I was feeling pretty good about myself. But on a casual stroll past the windows adjoining
the front door, I noticed all of this dirt scattered about on the porch. A quick peek thru the window blinds confirmed my
fears--something had been messing around in my flower pot.  The hubby suggested a bird might be the culprit. A cat
or possibly a snake were my first thoughts.
Whatever it was, maybe it will go elsewhere is what I told myself as I refilled the hole the little varmint had created in the
potting soil.  Ha! The very next morning, what--or make that who do I see on the porch snuggled up next to the pot when I
peeked through the blinds--yep, ole guilty himself--Mr. Chipmunk.

“Don’t you dare!” I shouted as I snatched opened the door and watched him make a run for it.  Knowing it was only a matter
of time before he made a return visit, I did a Google search for how to chase away chipmunks and found a “cayenne pepper” solution.  Mix cayenne in some water and spray around the area.  Not only did I spray the area down with cayenne water, I sprinkled a healthy dose of red pepper flakes around the pot too. You think it worked? Ha! I’m pretty sure Mr. Chipmunk said, “Well, would you look at this.  Ole Girl was nice enough to leave out some seasoning for the zinnia seeds.” Yeah, that little joker came back and dug yet another hole, leaving dirt and little green leaves scattered everywhere.
I was standing at the door, scratching my head, cursing beneath my breath, and trying to figure out what to do next when the
folks from Best Buy pulled up with the washing machine I’d recently purchased. In hauling out the old washer and carting in
the new, the Best Buy guys adjusted front door so it would remain in the open position while they work.  Not a problem--except if Mr. Chipmunk shows up again and on spying the open door decides to slip inside and pay me a surprise visit.

In anticipation of such an occurrence,  I called my son downstairs to watch and stand guard.  ‘Cause y’all know,
if Mr. Chipmunk gets inside of my house, it’s all over with right?  Yeah, I don’t have any problems going toe-to-toe with the
little varmint outdoors, on my front porch, and even in the front yard.  But once he’s inside of my house all bets are off.
Really, he can have it, I’m saying, the house as well as any and everything of value inside, ‘cause you best believe, I will be
exiting the premises with the quickness and calling for backup in the form of the nearest pest control agency.
Fortunately, it didn’t come to that.  After the Best Buy guys left, I had my son move the flower pot to the backyard
and place it on a patio table.  A temporary solution that might buy me some time until I could think of what to do next.
Another Google search turned up a suggestion for tea tree oil.  Okay, so the next morning before I head off to the drugstore to
purchase the oil, I peek out the window off the patio and guess who I see?  Yep, Mr. Chipmunk. I kid you not, he was
hanging out near the table containing the pot of the remaining zinnias, just as big and bad as you please,
as if to say, “It’s going to take a whole lot more than that to get rid of me, girlfriend!” Lil dude was straight up selling wolf tickets, but all it took was a quick jiggle of the door to send his little butt running again.
As it stands now, I guess we are at a stalemate of sorts.  On purchasing the tea tree oil, I gave the pot of zinnias a real good
greasing.  I’m not sure if the scent alone is supposed to keep the chipmunk away or if the slipperiness of the now greased up
pot will keep him from climbing inside the container again and break-dancing around in my potting soil.  Even though it’s
been a while since I’ve seen Mr. Chipmunk or any evidence of his presence, I wouldn’t put it past him to show up again. The hubby jokingly said when he does come back, he’ll probably be accompanied by a few of his little chipmunk friends.  
All I know is that Alvin and ‘nem better keep their little furry paws off my zinnias! But if my tea tree oil doesn’t work
y’all, I’m open to suggestions--especially from those of you with green thumbs and who have successfully chased pests
from your garden (s) before.  Seriously. Thanks in advance.











Friday, May 10, 2019

A LITTLE LIGHT (1 of 3 Winners in a "First Chapter" Contest)

I'M A WINNER (1 of 3 actually)


For those who enjoy my fiction, I’m proud to announce that the first chapter of my unpublished novel
--A LITTLE LIGHT--was selected as one of the winners in the Meet Me @ 19th Street “First Chapter Contest.”


Meet Me @ 19th Street is an online literary journal published by Arch Street Press. If interested, you can
read the first chapter of A LITTLE LIGHT on Arch Street Press’s website. The chapter ends in a way that I hope
will make you want to read more.  Should you happen to like what you read, please share the link on FB and Twitter
or pass it along to a friend. Also, feel free to share your comments here. Thanks!

Sunday, November 11, 2018

MORE NEW WORK / "A Lesson In Failure" by Lori D. Johnson / Chicken Soup For The Soul: Best Advice I Ever Heard



Any fans and/or readers of CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL out there?  
If so, I invite you to check out my essay
“A Lesson In Failure”
in their newly released
Chicken Soup For The Soul: The Best Advice I Ever Heard.  

⇩⇩⇩


Includes “A Lesson In Failure” by Lori D. Johnson
(Available online & via your Local Bookstore)


❤❤❤


What's it about?
Mainly, a learning experience I shared with this young man. 
⇩⇩⇩

(my son Aaron) 



Pick up a copy of the book
and read my essay 
"A Lesson in Failure"
if you want to know more.

😇😇😇



Sunday, August 12, 2018

My MaDear's Scrapbook




In an essay that appears in Chapter 16, I wrote about the scrapbook I inherited from my grandmother.  Some of her interests
truly surprised me. Yes, that's the actual cover in the pic below.
You can read more here:










Friday, August 10, 2018

I'M BACK!!!

I know it's been a while since I touched base here. All I can say is, several years ago, social
media’s rise in popularity blew in like a hurricane and left the blogging world in pieces. Like a lot of my old blogging buddies, I abandoned my post (s) and moved elsewhere. Typically, these days you can find me on Facebook and Goodreads, but thus far I’ve held off on jumping aboard Twitter, Instagram and the like.  I mean really, who has the time and energy for all of that, particularly if you have any interest in living a real life (and not a social media contrived one)?


In any case, I’d still like to use this platform to share my work and perhaps, occasionally, my interests, concerns and warped
sense of humor. So, allow me to start with some links to my most recent publications.

In April of this year, Mississippi Folklife published
my uncle, a black photographer with MS and TN roots.

If you've enjoyed my fiction in the past, or if you are new to my fiction and are
interested in a sampling, check out my short story “The Inheritance”  that was recently (June 3, 2018) featured in The Root.

As always, feel free to share you thoughts about the material in the comments section.  I do have one more link to share, but I think I will save it for my next post.



Monday, November 11, 2013

2nd Excerpt of Sunday Best (by Lori D. Johnson)

Forgive me for taking SO LONG to post this 2nd excerpt of my short story "Sunday Best."  These days, I'm much more active on Facebook, which is where both excerpts have been posted for months now.  Anyway, I promise to do better here at the Old School Mix  :-)  If you enjoy the excerpts, please consider ordering a copy of the Spring 2013 issue of the literary journal Black Magnolias, where you will find the full version of "Sunday Best" and other work that might be of interest to you.

2nd excerpt of "SUNDAY BEST" by Lori D. Johnson

     Curtis groans and tosses what's left of the partially chewed piece of toast.  Leave it to Grandma Rose to shove him into the reluctant role of savior.  Little does she know how much he himself is in need of rescue.  Just last week he'd been fired from his first decent paying job.  Typically Rose, a woman with a rep for taking in and nurturing strays, is no slouch when it comes to sensing discontent, whether his or anyone else's. 
            Silent, sullen and sorely unappreciative, the boy reminds Curtis too much of himself, or at least the self he'd been when he'd first landed on Grandma Rose and Old Man Lamar's doorstep--an event precipitated by his own mother's untimely demise.
            Dead mamas--just another unfortunate thing he and the boy have in common.  And both willful departures at that--one suicide, the other overdose.  The more kind-hearted adults in his life had done their best to shield him.  But even at the tender age of ten, Curtis had been able to see through the deceptive nicety of a term like "home-going."  What kind of mother leaves for home without taking her kids with her?
            During his stiff-legged trek up the stairs, Curtis is nearly trampled by the six year old twins, Tosha and Tiara, on their giggle-filled race down.  A happy pair, they push past him, seemingly unfazed by the fact that their mother no longer occupies a space in the landing of the living.
            While an enviable innocence to some, Curtis knows all too well the truth of how the woman the two youngsters had routinely referred to as "Mama" had seldom been one in any real sense of the word.  Dope, like a thief in the night, who boldly returns by the light of day, had years ago snatched her away from them and everyone else who'd tried to love her.
            The girls make Curtis think of his own little sister, Amanda, who’d barely been a year old when their mother had passed.  Less than a week after the funeral, Amanda's daddy and some of his people had come and got her.  Hit hard by the back-to-back losses, Curtis had cried for weeks.  But even more devastating than either his baby sister's sudden whisking away or even his mother's willful departure had been the fact that no one had ever bothered to come for him.
            Curtis's old room is where Mark has been bunking.  On easing open the door and stepping inside, he finds the boy perched atop the cedar chest next to the window.  He is a tall, skinny kid with the awkwardness of thirteen scrawled all over him like spray-painted graffiti. 
            "What's up?" Curtis says when Mark finally pulls his frown from the window and turns his head in his direction. 
            The boy is anything, but ready for church--the bottom of his shoes are caked with dirt; an unknotted tie, like the chain of a busted playground swing, dangles from his neck; his face could use a good scrubbing and his hair is a black, matted field of uncombed naps.  But what strikes Curtis most are the boy's eyes, fixed, glazed and set back in hollow sockets, they are not unlike those of a blind man whose sight, at some point, had been forcibly removed.  Rather than extend a verbal greeting, the boy nods and turns back toward the window.
            Although it clings to the tip of his tongue, like the taste of freshly-cut lemon, "You all right?" strikes him as a stupid question.  Curtis already knows how the kid feels--the same way he had--like a dumped sack of garbage with something horribly rotten on the inside.
            He shoves his hands in his pockets and wonders what Grandma Rose could have been thinking in assigning him such a task.  After a moment of coin-jiggling, foot-shuffling and longing desperately to run back in the direction from which he'd come, Curtis invites himself to a seat on the opposite end of the cedar chest and joins the boy in his silent sulk out onto the world.  Not so long ago, he had spent many an hour in the very same spot, bottom buttressed to the worn wood and nose pressed against the pane.  The windowed nook had proven an ideal one for eavesdropping, daydreaming or just pondering the complexities of life.
            He tries to get a feel for the boy's take on the second story view--a view dominated in large part by the church next door.  A friend of the family once commented on how overwhelming it must be to wake up every morning and go to bed every night with a steeple staring down on you.
            Overwhelming for whom?  Certainly not Grandma Rose, who takes full advantage of her proximity to the Lord's house.  Be it for Sunday school, eleven o'clock service, Monday night prayer vigil, mid-week Bible study, choir rehearsal, or one of her various committee meetings, she makes a point of walking through the doors of the church at least once before the day is done.
            Had it not been for Old Man Lamar, Curtis knows chances are, he would have ended up a bonafide 'Dudley-Do-Right' type or else, thoroughly ambivalent about donning the cloak of discipleship.  The Old Man had provided him with the balance necessary to understand that doing the work of the church and living for the Lord weren't always the same thing.
            He couldn't help but feel that an "Old Man Lamar" was really what Mark needed; someone with shoulders big enough to lean on in hard times; someone who in twenty words or less could tell the boy all he'd ever need to know.  In spite of his intimacy with death, what Curtis knew exceeded his ability to articulate.  Silence and companionship were about all he felt capable of offering.
            Besides, the boy didn't appear in the mood for words, however profound, poetic or potentially life-altering.  The thought took Curtis back to that first conversation between him and his cousin Rodger.
            He'd been sitting alone in the very same room when his bowed head cousin had slunk in.  "I-I-I'm sorry 'bout yo-yo-yo your Mama," is what Rodger had finally sputtered after what must have been a full minute of standing and sniffling.
            "What the hell you got to be sorry for?" is what a ten-year old Curtis had snapped back.  "You didn't kill her, did you?"
            A candy apple red Lexus pulls into the church parking lot and Mark's dulled pupils suddenly flicker.  He bolts forward, as if adhering to a drill sergeant's "a-ten-hut," and bangs his forehead against the window pane in the process.
            "Look at him," Mark says as the driver, dressed in a yellow pinstriped, grape juice colored, three piece suit exits the car.  "Son-of-a-bitch really thinks he's somethin', don't he?"
            Though they lean toward concurrence, Curtis elects not to express his thoughts aloud.  After all, the purple-clad SOB in question just so happens to be Mark's father--Jared--or J.D. as he prefers to be called.
            J.D’s wife and their three young sons follow him out of the car.  Not only do the boys’ dark, shiny, moon-pie faces, mirror their dad’s, they’re dressed just like him, too.  In a leg-dragging strut across the parking lot and up the church steps, they fall in behind him, like soldiers, pledges or robots, one grinning, big bobbing head after the other.
            At the parade’s end, Mark turns to Curtis, and with his eyes ablaze says, “Ain’t you gon’ say nothin’?”
            Curtis has half a mind to tell the boy, “So, your Pop’s a jackass.  Truth be known, your Moms wasn’t a heck of a lot better.”  But rather than voice a truth the child might not be ready to handle, Curtis stares out the window and lets several seconds pass before he stands and says, “Let’s go for a ride.”

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Sunday Best by Lori D. Johnson (Short Story Excerpt)

The following is the first of two excerpts from my short story "Sunday Best."  If you'd like to read the full story, please consider ordering the Spring 2013 issue of Black Magnolias: A Literary Journal. 

Sunday Best
by Lori D. Johnson

         Curtis jiggles the loose change in his pockets as he struts up the tulip-lined path.  His suit is a blue Armani; his shirt, white, wrinkle-free and French cuff bold and his tie, a crimson, Italian silk foulard, bearing a blue diamond motif.  Something akin to glitter dances in the space between his Rolex-strapped wrist and his brand new wingtips with the twenty dollar shine. He marches up the porch steps, pushes open the front door and glides over the threshold, chest puffed and grin wide.  But rather than extend her usual fawn, Grandma Rose whirls past him, as if he'd been idling there all morning long, like a young barnyard rooster who can’t wait to impress the sleeping hens with his ability to crow.

            "Hey!" he says, grabbing her on her re-entry.  He plants a peck on her cheek.  "And a lovely morning to you, too."

            "Oh, I'm sorry, sugar."  She scrunches her lips and returns his affection in double.

            He nods toward the spread on the dining room table. "I see I'm just in time for breakfast.”

            Grandma Rose frowns and extends her hand. "Help yourself.  The twins done already messed over all they could before running out of here, like somethin' done bit 'em on the backside."

            A round of bumping and squealing lures her eyes and his toward the ceiling.  Her scowl deepens as she stomps over to the stairs and hollers up, "All right ladies.  Enough with the nonsense.  I'm leaving outta here in exactly ten minutes.  And I 'spect you both to be ready.  You hear me?"

            A giggle-filled, "Yes Ma'am," drifts down the staircase.

            Curtis walks over to the table and butters a piece of toast.  “They're not giving you problems are they?"

            “The twins?  Oh, they’re a handful, all right," Grandma Rose says upon her hurried approach to the dining room table.  "But no more than would be expected given the circumstances.”

            He nods and chews as the old woman scurries around him, scraping plates, fastening tops on opened containers and shoving dirty utensils into the deep pockets of her apron. 

            “But that brother of theirs, Mark, I ‘clare if he ain’t ‘bout to work my last nerve.  Take this morning, child’s stomach growling so loud I can hear it from way across the hall.  But will he come down and eat?  No-ooo!  He claim he ain’t hungry.”

            Upon surveying the hearty breakfast of oatmeal, toast, cranberry juice, banana slices, raisins and the required dose of castor oil, Curtis can hardly blame the boy for passing on the morning offering.
            "And all day yesterday," Rose continues.  "He was 'round here carrying on 'bout some ole tie.  'I need me a  tie.  I ain't going to church tomorrow lessen I get me a tie.'  So what do I do?  I takes the boy shopping.  'Course he ain't satisfied with just your ordinary clip-on.  No sir, he got to go and get his heart set on one of these here fancy, one hundred percent silk, wrap around numbers."
            Ties?  Thanks to his line of work, as well as the generosity of both his late cousin Rodger and Grandma Rose, Curtis owns tons of ties in every style, pattern and hue imaginable.  How could she have possibly forgotten?  "Why didn’t you just--" he starts.
            "So silly me," she says.  "I go 'head and buy the fool thing.  But do you think he appreciates it?  No sir, he's sitting up in his room this very minute talking 'bout he can't go 'cause the tie ain't right.  I 'clare if his Mama wasn't gone and I wasn't a Christian, Lord knows I'd be up there now strangling the holy spit out that child."

            Curtis is still stuck on the ties.  He'd only taken them at her insistence.  "I can't do nothing with them," is what she'd told him.  "Besides Rodger would have wanted you to have them."

            Again, he opens his mouth, only to have the silver-haired woman wag a finger in his face.  "Uh-uh," she says.  "He ain't 'bout to make me lose my religion.  Hear me?"  Instead waiting for Curtis’s response, she smiles and lowers her finger to his lapel.  "Curtis baby," she says in a softer tone.  "Why don't you go see if you can't talk some sense to the boy?  Being that you a man, he'll probably listen to you."

            "Aww Grandma!" Curtis says, throwing up his hands.  "Come on, I don't even--"

            She plants a kiss between his eyes, pats him on the chest and says, "My, don't you look right smart today . . . handsome too."  In a wink, she's off to the kitchen, where she sheds her apron before trotting back out and over to the stairs again where she hollers up, "All right ladies.  Grandma Rose is 'bout to grab her hat and get up outta here.  Unless you looking to get left, you'd best be right behind me."

Monday, April 22, 2013

New Work!!! (A Short Story In Black Magnolias: A Literary Journal)


I’m pleased and proud to announce that my short story “Sunday Best” appears in the spring 2013 issue of Black Magnolias: A LiteraryJournal.

In addition to my short story, “Sunday Best,” the scholarly and creative offerings of professors, playwrights, filmmakers and talented poets, like my friend Margie Shaheed, also grace the pages of  the spring 2013 issue of Black Magnolias.

If you’re interested in reading my story, Margie’s poems, checking out some of the other work in the journal or simply showing support for a worthy literary endeavor, please consider purchasing the spring 2013 issue of Black Magnolias: A Literary Journal.  

Also, at some point, I will post an excerpt from my story, “Sunday Best.”  So, check back in later if you’re interested . . .

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

The Latest Q & A (Lori Johnson & The Sista Girl Book Club)

The SiSta Girl Book Club



Michelle and the ladies of the SiSta Girl Book Club always ask such great questions.  Check out our most recent conversation in their Author's Spotlight . . .

                                         SiSta Girl Book Club Q & A with Author Lori Johnson




Friday, November 02, 2012

A Bit Of Good News


Shout out to all of you KINDLE owners!  I’m happy to report that you can now “preorder” A NATURAL WOMAN for a very reasonable $4.79 and it will be delivered to your Kindle by December 4, 2012.  If you own a Kindle, I hope you’ll consider ordering a copy. 

ALSO, for those who still prefer paper copies, the mass market paperback edition of A NATURAL WOMAN will be released online and in stores on December 4, 2012.  If you’re interested, you can preorder the mass market paperback today for $6.99 via Amazon.

As always, a free excerpt of A NATURAL WOMAN is available on my website (www.lorijohnsonbooks.com). Thanks and spread the word!

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Lifestyle Changes . . . A Little Goes A Long Way

The other night I was watching this program called “Fat & Fatter.” Don’t judge me, all right? LOL. Routinely tuning into shows like that help kill my appetite more effectively than any over or under the counter diet suppressant. Anyway, one of the obese women being profiled had what looked like a serious salt addiction. A CARTON of salt (not a shaker, a whole dang carton) was typically right next to her plate whenever she sat down to eat. While dining at one of those “all you can eat” buffets she picked up a nice, healthy plate of fruit and started showering it with salt. When someone asked her why, especially given her health issues, high blood pressure among them, her response was a simple, “’Cause it tastes good.”

Watching her cover her food with all of that salt, typically without even tasting the food first, truly grossed me out. But the truth is, I was once in the habit of “salting” certain foods without giving it a second thought. As a kid, before eating so much as a forkful of watermelon, I salted that bad boy. After all, that’s what everyone did, right? At the time, that was all I knew. It’s what I’d been taught.

Bad habits are hard to break—especially those we give so little thought to that they almost become second nature, like blinking or breathing I was grown and on my own before I realized that watermelon tastes great (better even) without salt. Once upon a time (not all that long ago), I would have automatically seasoned the omelet I prepared this morning with salt and pepper. But since I’m being more mindful about my health these days, I bypassed the salt altogether and just used a few dashes of pepper. And you know what? The omelet was so good, I didn’t even miss the salt. Now, when it comes to popcorn, I still have a long, long way to go . . . ;-)

Saturday, November 05, 2011

Treasure Vs. Clutter: A Battle & A Balancing Act

The other day, I watched a cute clip of Anderson Cooper teasing his mother, Gloria Vanderbilt, about the storage unit she rents. He obviously thinks the rental is a waste of money and full of useless junk. I know a little something about that. Last weekend, I stopped by my own rental storage unit. I’m determined to empty it, but it’s a struggle.

I don’t think I’m a packrat (or God-forbid, a hoarder) as much as I am a frugal, overly sentimental “curator.” LOL. I mean really, who keeps old Sears Roebuck catalogs? Well, I have a couple, including the Holiday Wish Book from 1998. I also have a collection of Rolling Stone, Spin and other such mags with my boy Prince on the cover. Hey, I had it bad for Prince, back in the day. When the hubby suggested we trash the old microwave we’d packed away 5 years ago, my first thought was, well, maybe we could use it upstairs for popcorn and to heat water for coffee. In the end, I conceded it was probably time to let it go.

My books, I simply can’t trash, even though I know I’ll never read some of them ever again. Truly, it breaks my heart to see a book (even one I found less than enjoyable) in the garbage. I either have to find a place for them in the house or give them away.

What’s really been difficult is letting go of my son’s old toys, baby clothes, school projects, etc, but I’m starting to make a bit of progress in that area. Some items, specifically, anything torn, broken, stained, full of glitter, feathers, etc. or that makes me say, “What the heck is this?” I’ve actually thrown away. Also, after years of talking about it, I’ve finally completed one scrapbook and hope to start and finish a few more. But scrapbooking is a hobby I have to pursue with caution because it can easily become another source of clutter that requires, yikes, additional storage!

As much as my husband doesn’t want to hear this, there are a few things I doubt I’ll ever part with willingly. My grandmother’s old porch glider, for instance. No, it doesn’t glide any more. Yes, it’s rusted in some areas and no, we don’t even own a front porch big enough for it. But I’m keeping it. I’ll happily scrape the rust, slap on a coat of paint and find a nice spot for it some place in the backyard.

That glider was one of the first things I’d see when we’d pull up to my grandparents' house. I’d dare say, most of my aunts and uncles and all of my first cousins on my dad’s side of the family have, at some point, sat in that glider. The times that I sat there, laughing and joking with relatives, chatting with my M'Deah or just rocking and day-dreaming all by myself are too numerous to count. Call it hokey, or overly sentimental, if you want, but the truth is, whenever I look at the glider, I can’t help but smile and think happy thoughts. The last time I checked, happiness didn’t have a price or an expiration date. So, as long as my tendency to “curate” doesn’t earn me a visit from the health department or an invitation to star on a reality series, I think I’m good . . .

Friday, March 18, 2011

Must See Movie: I Will Follow

If you get a chance this weekend, it might be worth your while to check out an independent movie that's been getting a lot of buzz of late: I Will Follow.

I'd been hearing positive things about the movie for a while and I knew it featured Salli Richardson-Whitfield, Omari Hardwick and Blair Underwood, but I wasn't sold until I watched the trailer. A death in the family. A woman at a crossroads. A bit of romance. A serious movie with performances that aren't over the top. I can't wait! *lol*

Recently, I Will Follow expanded to 22 theaters in 15 cities. Fortunately for me, Charlotte, NC is one of the cities and I plan to catch a showing this weekend. Check your local listings for details.

Friday, February 04, 2011

Signed Book Giveaway . . . After The Dance by Lori Johnson

SIGNED BOOK GIVEAWAY! In honor of Valentine’s Day, I’d like to giveaway some of the mass market editions of my novel, AFTER THE DANCE. If you’d like a free, signed copy, email me your response to the following question:

How many times do Carl and Faye slow dance in my novel, AFTER THE DANCE? Feel free to guess.

The contest ends on Monday, (February 7th) at 5pm. AFTER THE DANCE is a love story and would make a great Valentine’s gift. Unfortunately, the contest is not open to my overseas friends, fans or readers but all others, including past winners are welcome to respond . . .

**You can find my email address on my blog's profile page. You can also contact me via Facebook or my website.**

Monday, January 17, 2011

HAPPY MLK DAY!

"The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy."
Martin Luther King Jr.

Thursday, November 04, 2010

Thursday Thirteen #50 . . . 13 Changes In My Reading Habits

Over the last ten years or so, I’ve noticed a number of changes in my reading habits. Sadly, most of the changes haven’t been for the better and “sad” is also a good way to describe what I felt while compiling this list. Will I ever regain the same sense of joy I once felt when I curled up in bed with a good book or my favorite magazine? Will Nooks and Kindles ever come close to duplicating the warm and fuzzy feelings of contentment I experience when my face is buried in the pages of a book that I can’t put down? I’m not hopeful.

1) I no longer read or subscribe to the local newspaper on a daily basis. I’ve been reading the newspaper on a somewhat regular basis since I was twelve. However my desire to read and subscribe waned upon my move from Memphis, TN to Cleveland, OH, approximately 9 years ago. I’ve since moved to North Carolina, but I still haven’t reclaimed the time or desire to read the paper on a daily basis.

2) I do subscribe to the weekend (Fri-Sunday) edition of the local newspaper. Still, often times, I don’t read any of the papers until Sunday.

3) I no longer purchase or attempt to read the Sunday New York Times. Back in the day, the hubby and I used to love picking up a Sunday NY Times before paying a visit to our favorite pancake house. Eating pancakes, drinking coffee and discussing what we read in the Times used to be a treat.

4) I no longer purchase or attempt to read the NY Times Book Review. For years, even after I stopped reading the Sunday NY Times, I’d still purchase a copy of their book review. Think that stopped around about the time my son came into the picture.

5) I stopped subscribing to “O” magazine several years ago. When I started accumulating large piles of unread copies, I knew it was time to call it quits. I still like “O” and occasionally I’m moved to pick up a copy, but I really wish it was a bit thinner and/or came out every other month.

6) I still subscribe to “ESSENCE” magazine. But the writing on the wall isn’t good. Like “O” in recent years I’ve begun accumulating large piles of unread copies. Unlike “O” though, I think I’ve become increasingly dissatisfied with the magazine’s content.

7) I no longer read several novels and non-fiction titles in a single month. Once upon a time, it wasn’t unusual for me to read 6-7 books (and sometimes more) in a month. Now, if I manage to read 1 every other month, I’m happy.

8) I no longer visit the library on a regular basis. Visiting the library was once something I once did at least a couple of times month. Sometimes I’d visit and read magazines and journals for hours. These days when I visit, I feel like I’m lost in a forest.

9) I no longer visit the bookstore on a regular basis. Visiting a bookstore used to be something I very much looked forward to doing at least once a week. I still enjoy my visits, but they don’t occur quite as often and I don’t browse as long as I once did.

10) On occasion, I still purchase a number of magazines and journals, but I seldom read them in a day or even a week’s time. I hate throwing them out unread, so I’ve been keeping them in boxes and hoping my stash doesn’t land me on an episode of “Hoarders.”

11) Once upon a time, I routinely read in bed before calling it a night. I can’t remember the last time I took a book or a magazine to bed with me. Even if I tried, I’m sure I’d be asleep after a paragraph or two.

12) I used to give my reading material my undivided attention. These days, when I read, either the TV is on, I’m listening to music or I’m simultaneously engaging members of my family in conversation. Oddly enough, on those rare occasions when I do find myself alone with a book, rather than relish the moment, I start feeling guilty, as if I really need to be “doing” something . . .

13) More and more, the news and information I read is coming from online sources. Ah yes, the computer. It’s making our lives easier, providing us with a variety of entertainment outlets and allowing us access to all kinds of information, but might it also be stealing and/or stifling some of life’s simpler pleasures in the process?

Does anything on my list sound familiar? Have you noticed similar changes in your own reading habits?

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