Where Stories Come From…great slices of my life.

It’s late. Not a smidgen of my plans for writing work the past two days has come about. All manner of family needs and opportunities have kept me busy. I take it all as God’s plans. I found this previous post from 2010, which put a smile on my face. It is an example of paying attention. That’s where stories–all creativity–comes from, the simple and delightful act of paying attention.

Curtiss Ann Matlock

I was traveling down a major boulevard in Mobile in our six passenger Dodge pickup. I love to drive that truck. Apparently one can take the cowgirl out of Oklahoma but not every piece of the cowgirl out of the girl.

Anyway, I happened to spy a garden nursery, the small independent sort I have been hankering after. I had the truck, there was the nursery, obviously serendipity. I whipped in with thoughts of shrubs and who knew what all that I could fit in the truck bed.

I instantly saw it was an eclectic sort of place. So much so that I had to assume about a front door. I found I had chosen rightly, and as I passed through, a man in thick overalls was going out. We smiled and nodded at each other. I said, “How are you today?” And he said, really he did, “Better now…

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2 thoughts on “Where Stories Come From…great slices of my life.

  1. Loved this visit to the nursery. The comments were spot on—you have great fans! Have to say that I’m a big Winston fan as well. The fan that said she was his fan, really wrote one of the best descriptions of your writing. We all want you to keep on keepin’ on! Have a lovely Iris-filled day.


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