Friday, May 13, 2016

A Late Mother's Day Poem

Last Memory

She smiled, I think
The last day I saw her
Her babbling voice
Her witty retorts
Her laughter at her grandsons
They were gone
No more to be heard
And no one knew how to comb her hair
Or that she would be aghast to be seen
Without lipstick, blush, or shadow.
And no one knew red was her favorite color
Dressing her in dull pastels
She would have scorned.
And no one thought she knew anyone
But I think she smiled
The last time I saw her
The last time she saw me
I think she smiled.

Friday, April 22, 2016

Interviewing Gerry from "Rain"

With Rain scheduled to come out on the 15th of May, I thought getting Gerry to sit down and talk with me might be a good idea. He agreed to answer a few questions. Here's a partial transcript. l apologize for a few of the words. Gerry can come up one now and then if pushed. I didn't edit them out.

Partial Interview Transcript- Gerry StClare

How would your best friend describe you?

I have to laugh. Tom has described me to others in several ways. I won’t say I agree with him on all of them, but he’s described me as “tall, too good-looking for his own good”, “Hard-headed”, and “a secret mensch”. Generally all three in a sort of light-heartedly disgusted way.

How would your enemy (or least favorite person) describe you?

I never thought I had enemies until recently, but, yeah, I know how they describe me. Privileged. Arrogant. There were a few more words. I won’t say them in polite company.

Do you agree with either (or both) of those descriptions?  Why?

I’m not sure I agree with Tom or not. I do tend to get on a track and stay on it, until someone or something really knocks me off of it. So I’ll go with the “hard-headed”, though I’d prefer “persistent”. 

The first description? I know I’m tall. That’s kind of hard to ignore. The other half? Try growing up male with nothing but sisters. They never thought or told me I was anything but average. They quickly squashed anything else.

The “secret mensch”? I’m not Jewish, Tom is, but I understand the word. That is not something many know, I don’t go around sharing it, but, yeah, I probably am.

Were the others right? Some would say yes to the first. I did grow up in what some would call a rarified bubble. My grandfather owned his own construction company and helped to establish the local country club. My godmother is highly regarded in “society” circles. So, although my immediate family could be considered “middle class”, I grew up with certain expectations–learning to dance and attending cotillions at the country club, going to college, and all that sort of thing.

Do I agree with them? I’m sure they saw it that way–the “privileged” part anyway. To me it was just home and family. The “arrogant” part? There were things I had to do I didn’t enjoy doing. but they had to be done.

You’re working with a group of people on some kind pf object.  What role do you play?  (Leader, strategist, laborer, etc.)  Do you like your role?

I would say leader. Actually that’s what I do for a living. I’m a supervising architect at my firm. I do have an original job from time to time, but I supervise construction most of the time right now. I grew up following my grandfather around when he was running his construction company, worked for him, and supervised jobs for him when I was older.
Do I like it? Yes. There's something very satisfying about getting a group of people to work hard and produce something you know is going to be around for years. Centuries, if it's the right project, and the job is done right. I like it a lot. Pretty sure it will become even more satisfying when I can do more of my own stuff.

What kind of baggage do you carry around?

Excuse me? Baggage? It depends on how far I’m traveling for and how long I’m going to be gone. My briefcase almost always.

No, Gerry, not that kind of baggage. The other kind--memories--regrets--that sort of thing.

Oh, that’s what you’re talking about. Kind of an invasive question. You’ll forgive me if my answer is short.
Yes, I have memories and regrets. Who doesn’t?

Okay, a silly question then, as people seem to enjoy them. Boxers or briefs?

You have got to be kidding me! No? Damn. Okay, okay. I’ll be brief. Son-of-a. . . I can’t believe I just said that.
I’ll answer the question. Boxers. Just don’t ask me why.


Please note that is not a photograph of Gerry up there. I declined to take one. He is not shy, but I wanted you to form an opinion from his answers, not his face.

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

It's National Poetry Month! So. . . P is for poetry

Note: No, I'm not participating in the A-Z blog challenge. Far too much on my plate with Rain scheduled to come out next month. There are upcoming posts about it, but, in the meanwhile, I realized I hadn't posted any "bad" poetry lately.



I don’t keep all my memories in boxes
Tucked away in square or rectangular cardboard
All glazed over with bright-colored paper
And sprinkled with stars.

My memories lie scattered about me
In haphazard places and on dangerous surfaces
Teetering on the edges, waiting to fall
Out on display, hidden in chaos.

Over there the ballerina en pointe
Long pink tutu,
Dancing to a song I no longer remember
Twirling, mesmerizing a five year old I still recall.

Glass enclosed bookshelves
Rescued from the trash heap
Carefully restored and gifted
Strewn once with frames and pictures

Voices telling stories, markers, places
People whose faces still laugh
Whose dreams I once knew.
Pain I saw as they buried their children.

All of my memories, pieces of story
Snatches of music, whispers of touch
All scattered around me–hidden in chaos
And my voice is silenced–no one listening.


Staggering: A Writing Trilogy


Staggering upright
Changing lanes, leaning on walls
One scene to the next.

Chattering so quickly now.
Can’t type that fast . . . please.

Words no longer mine
Just theirs, telling a story
Insistent rascals. 

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

Publication Date Set: "Rain" is coming out!

Late Sunday night I looked at my to-do list for Rain, looked at the calendar, and made the following post to my author Facebook Page: S.E. Hudnall.

We’ve set the date, the cast of “Rain” and I.
Gerry was a little disappointed when I had to tell him Valentine’s Day wasn’t going to work. Impatient man. I have to give him kudos though; he’s been bugging me since the story began. Cheryl beamed. Spring, rather than late winter February, pleased her to no end. I kind of knew she’d bring him around. Valarie squealed with excitement. Tom sighed, shook his head, and mumbled something like “at last”, while his wife, Linda, gave him one of her Mona Lisa smiles. What Marilyn said I can’t repeat, but she laughed as she said it. I won’t go into the other characters’ responses, though I could easily enough.
“Rain” will be out on May 15th.

Surely that has to be one of the scariest postings I've ever done. It's real. It's coming out. No turning back. No more postponing. Baring a totally unexpected problem or the whim of a cruel universe, the story I have been writing and working on since 1994 will be in the hands of readers. I hope they like it. I hope you like it.

There's still a lot of work to be done. I'm not kidding myself about that and there are a lot of
"feels" to be dealt with.

Monday, February 15, 2016


I’ve been busy working on those adjuncts that go with getting Rain out into the world: covers, blurbs, loglines, teeny-tiny things on my author Facebook page (S.E. Hudnall), and waiting, perhaps not as patiently as I would like or should, for feedback from beta readers, so I can put on the final polish and proof. Snow is being submitted, chapter by chapter, to my critique group. And, for no reason I can fathom, my sci-fi love story seems to be peculating as well. It’s a long list and a story too long for blogging. I must write faster. I want four of them out before the end of next year. I think I can do that. I believe I can.

But . . . perhaps I have an inflated sense of my own capabilities, or maybe I’m just a cock-eyed optimist. Like this one I found in my backyard Sunday morning.




A piece of trash . . . surely
Blown in by some capricious wind
A remnant of someone’s overload refuse bin
Now caught in the skeletal branches
Of leftover summer flowers
But . . . no.
One single white iris
Blooming low to the ground
Shy, but hopeful.
Whispering . . .
I’m here. Is winter gone yet?



Sunday, January 17, 2016

The Word for 2016

I probably should have written this on January 1st , or maybe the 7th. The more traditional time for New Year’s resolutions or goal setting. It simply wasn’t in me this year. Oh, I had one. I still have one.

Rain will be published this year.

That’s it. The one and only goal–a goal perhaps twenty-two years in the making. I have to laugh at myself. So far I have managed to outdo any attempts by writing friends to moan about how long they’ve been working on a particular piece.

“Five years? Ten years? That’s nothing. Try over twenty.”

A strange satisfaction, to be sure. A satisfaction not unlike a parent who has a child still at home. Grade school and high school are finished. The rebellious stages of adolescence done and learned from. A parent knows their child isn’t perfect, but they’ve done their best. And they will always love them. Perhaps out there in the big, open world someone else will love them, too.

I’ll sniffle later and privately.


Any other goals for this year? What’s on my writing list? I used to post lists. Some projects remain there, some changed, and still others appeared out of the blue.

I’m not publishing them–not any more.

Someone in one of my writing groups posted something which appealed to me more than any list of writing resolutions for the coming year–taking just one word and applying it to the coming year. I loved it.  Simple. Flexible. Capable of being applied to every level, not just writing.

This is my word for 2016



I may not be glowing at the end of the year, or blinding others with my brilliance, but that’s O.K. I only want to shine.

What would be your word?