Writer's Statement:

I write because I have to. When I was little girl writing in my diary, I felt a kinship with Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden and the main character in Judy Blume’s book, Are You There God It’s Me, Margaret? As a young mother I wrote the adorable phrases of my children because I wanted to hang on to that part of my life forever. Sometimes I have so many words and ideas dancing around in my head that if I don’t put them on paper, I am grumpy and restless. I write because I crave a connection with the one great, great grandchild that will read the history of my life I took pains to write.

            I write because I want to. I remember the leprechaun stories my Papa loved, the simple treasures they left for me on the tiny kitchen table, and I long to pass that on. I want to create something fresh and engaging that didn’t exist before and give it to the children of the future to sit in sunny window seats and read. I trust the writing process and get pleasure from watching a story emerge. I enjoy editing and looking for just the right word to fit an empty space. I write to add to the reservoir I have drawn from all my life, and as I revise my stories, I transform myself.
                                       Lacie Myers 2013

Flash Fiction

Below is my first piece of flash fiction -- written as a blog hop entry. The writing prompt was, "It's fourth of July and something unexpected happens."

     Fourth of July had come again – Kenny’s favorite holiday. We all gathered on the sloping driveway for fireworks, finding the familiar spot where the cement was level enough.
     I  imagined I could see the black marks left from last year’s snakes and the powdery residue from the multi-colored fountains. Kenny had spent hours planning that display. Mom’s voice broke through my thoughts.

     “Before we light the fireworks I have some news to share. The public defender called to say Kenny is coming home next week. He’s done; time served.”

     I heard none of her words after that. The relief began in my chest and moved down to my stomach as nine months of clenching let go. I looked up and saw a streak of silver light shooting into the air, taking my grief with it, transforming it, and sending it to the ground in a shower of gold. 

     As a whistler shot through the silence, I started to laugh. This news meant he was safe and would get another chance. He would be free. Our little show seemed to last for hours, bringing the best message of freedom I had known in my fifteen years. 

     Mom lit the last of the Roman candles and repeaters. The bursts of light came to end, and in the dark, quiet aftermath I found myself hoping Kenny would be strong enough to hang on to his freedom, smart enough to stay out of trouble.

     “We still have sparklers,” Mom reminded us. I lit mine and wrote the word PLEASE in the sky.  

                                                 Lacie Myers July 15, 2011

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