The Last Thursday of Spring!!

Well it has been a pleasure writing to you all, this semester! I figured I would save my favorite short story, for last. I find that Frank O’Connor does a magnificent job in creating a story that a large audience can relate to. The short story I’m talking about is “First Confession”.

The story surrounds a young boy and readers quickly realize how people try to manipulate with money and fear. I find that this is a great topic to write about because reaching an audience is one of the most important keys to writing. If no one is listening then your goal to get a message across becomes thwarted. Of course having the story told  by a 7 year old makes it a little humorous and dramatic.

An excerpt from the story: “ALL THE TROUBLE BEGAN WHEN MY GRANDFATHER DIED and my grandmother–my father’s mother–came to live with us…Now, girls are supposed to be fastidious, but I was the one who suffered most from this. Nora, my sister, just sucked up to the old woman for the penny she got every Friday out of the old-age pension, a thing I could not do. I was too honest, that was my trouble; and when I was playing with Bill Connell, the sergeant-major’s son, and saw my grandmother steering up the path with the jug of porter sticking out from beneath her shawl I was mortified”

I hope you all feel inclined to go and read this story because it will not disappoint! It has been a pleasure writing for you all semester but I think it’s time I take a break from writing and catch up on my summer readings!!



Second to Last Thirsty Thursday

Good evening to my plethora of readers out there! I hope you all are enjoying spring now that our rainy days are coming to an end. For tonight’s short story I decided to go with Eudora Welty’s “A Worn Path”.

It seemed fitting with finals coming around the corner and most college students. I find that college used to be a representation of the best in the world. A place where knowledge was sought and shared from all corners of the globe.

In this story we have a woman who walks miles, encountering danger and humiliation, in order to get what she needs for a special person in her life. Completely and utterly selfless, courageous, and valiant.

“She looked straight ahead. Her eyes were blue with age. Her skin had a pattern all its own of numberless branching wrinkles and as though a whole little tree stood in the middle of her forehead, but a golden color ran underneath, and the two knobs of her cheeks were illuminated by a yellow burning under the dark…’Doesn’t the gun scare you?’ he said, still pointing it. ‘No, sir. I seen plenty go off closer by, in my day, and for less than what I done,’ she said, holding utterly still. He smiled…”

I implore you to take the time, with a morning sip of coffee or a glass of wine after before bed, to read this marvelous story about a woman who embodies the best kind of person one may encounter in life.


A lost love

Hey y’all it’s me again! Another Poetry Wednesday for you guys. For this week I will be sharing a poem of my own, it is still untitled til this day, but I will give it a title for this time being. This poem here was made earlier this year when a friend of mine asked about how I felt after getting my he Continue reading A lost love

Edgar Allen Poe

Good afternoon readers!! I hope to make up for lost time this week with a few posts. Normally I post on Thursdays; however, I am going to post multiple times this week with different excerpts from different short stories that I think you all will enjoy.

Today’s short story is Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart”. If you’ve never read any of Poe’s work you might want to read with caution being that he has a way of creating characters that embody the darker side of humanity.

In this specific story he masterfully crafts a story that makes you feel like you are in the mind of the narrator:

“How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily–how calmly I can tell you the whole story. It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture–a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees—very gradually–I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.”

Poe has revealed the power one’s subconscious can have on a person. Thus, bringing us to a crossroad of choosing a darker solution to one’s turmoil or rising above the darker.