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Tag: historical_fiction_writer

Lagniappe

Lagniappe: something given as a bonus or extra gift. (I used this term in another blog, which was useful. Hope you might see this as helpful to you.)

I’m in the middle of so much stuff! But I did read some very interesting articles from others’ blogs. I don’t have time to share each one properly, but I thought you might be interested in checking them out, if you have the time or inclination.

I do have another blog, which is primarily genealogy-related, and I’m trying to recall how to get access to it. The blog is: Family Circle 14, and I’ve had it for many years — although I lost it for much of that time.

When I can, I’ll post less genealogy-related stuff here and just post it there. In the meantime, here’s my list.

Blog posts

Full-Text Search + Research = A Win! by Ken McKinlay on Family Tree Knots.

It Happened in Newmarket by Patrick Lacroix on Query the Past.

New Ancestry Features: One Disappeared and One Made Me Smile by Doris Kenney on A Tree With No Name.

Smarter AI Prompts for Genealogists by Natalie Webb on Family Tree Technology.

Untangling the Life of Madeleine Hélie (c1633-1677/1678) – 52 Ancestors #479 by Roberta Estes on DNAeXplained.

From Memory to Memoir by Carole McCulloch on Essential Genealogy.

Gedminer by Claire Bradley on CBGenealogy.

Articles

Acadian ancestry led Marianne Sulser to story of displacement that inspired her novel, Colorado Sun, Denver, Colorado.

Beausoleil’s Foundation: Acadian Freedom Fighter

Many people know about Joseph “Beausoleil” Broussard. That name is a proud part of Acadian history. If you’re familiar with Beausoleil, (English: Beautiful Sun), then, you know that Beyoncé is a direct descendant. I happen to share that distinction through my paternal grandmother.

Broussard is widely regarded as a hero and an important historical figure by both Acadians and Cajuns in Louisiana.

This story is about Catherine Richard, Beausoleil’s mother, (c1663 – after 1714). I’m working on a fun book which has to do with the Acadians, so, I’ve been thinking a lot about Catherine.

It is somewhat bittersweet because the content is for elementary-age school children. Naturally, the tone of the book will be appropriate for children. I considered putting the following thoughts here in this blog. Below are some facts I’ve collected from my genealogy work.

Born around 1663 in Port Royal, she came into a world where Acadia itself was unstable, contested, and vulnerable.

Catherine Richard’s life was not a neat genealogy line. It was a life lived under pressure, in fear, in grief, and in stubborn endurance.

Her parents, Michel Richard dit Sansoucy and Madeleine Blanchard, were among the early Acadian families trying to build a life on land that was never fully secure.

Catherine grew up in a place where survival meant farming, faith, family, and the constant awareness that history could break into your home at any moment.

By the time she was a teenager, Catherine had likely married François Broussard. She was still very young, probably about fifteen, when she began the life that would define her: wife, mother, mourner, survivor.

The records suggest that she and François had children almost immediately, and that some of those first babies died.

That kind of loss is easy to flatten into a line in a family tree, but in real life it meant a young mother burying infants before she had even learned how to fully live as an adult. It meant grief so early that it became part of the architecture of her life.

Then came the larger violence of history. In 1690, English forces attacked Port Royal.

Catherine would have seen the ships on the river, the cannons, the panic, the helplessness. The town was plundered. Homes were burned. Livestock was killed. The church was desecrated. The place where her children were baptized and where her dead were buried became a target. And this was not the only attack. More raids followed.

The family’s life in Port Royal became increasingly impossible, and like many Acadians, they moved upriver to Beausoleil, seeking safety, land, and some measure of peace.

But peace was always temporary. Catherine’s family was large, and the records show both growth and loss. She had children who survived into adulthood and children who vanished from the record, likely buried in unmarked graves.

She lost her mother, probably around the time she was still a young woman herself. She lost her father later. She likely lost siblings, children, neighbors, and the sense that the world could be trusted.

Catherine’s life was marked by repeated bereavement: babies, parents, perhaps even a child or two in the years after 1690. Her suffering was not singular; it was cumulative.

Her sons Alexandre and Joseph Broussard became the most famous members of the family.

Joseph, known as Beausoleil, became one of the great Acadian resistance leaders. He and Alexandre did not simply endure the English conquest and deportation; they resisted it.

They fought, hid, escaped, regrouped, and kept going when surrender would have been easier. Their story is one of courage, but it is also one of relentless loss.

They lost homes, land, freedom, relatives, and eventually, in exile, many more family members to disease and hardship.

François Broussard and Catherine Richard made the move to the village of Beausoleil between the 1693 and the 1698 census.

In today’s language, they would rightly be framed as “freedom fighters”, but that freedom came at a devastating cost.

The Acadian Expulsion was not just a relocation. It was a tearing apart of a people. Families were separated. Children were taken. Homes were burned. Entire communities were erased.

The Broussards’ story shows the human scale of that catastrophe. Catherine’s sons became symbols of resistance, but they were also sons of a mother who had already lived through decades of fear and grief before the final catastrophe even arrived.

In 1698, according to census records, Françoise, age 45, and Catherine, age 35, have Madeleine, 18, Pierre, 15, Marie, 13, Catherine 7, Elisabeth 5, François, 3, and Claude, one-half.

They have 15 cattle, 20 sheep, 14 hogs, on 16 arpents of land, with two fruit trees. Additionally, they have two guns and a servant, so all things considered, they are doing very well.

Of Catherine’s 10 known children, meaning those who did not die as children, and for whom we have names, the oldest three disappeared from the records around the time of the Expulsion, three died in Port Royal, one is last found in Maryland, one died in Quebec, and two founded the Cajun community in Louisiana.

These latter two, Joseph Beausoleil and Alexandre, were born 2 years apart. Catherine had one more child after Alexandre. I happen to be a direct descendant of Joseph through my paternal grandmother. Catherine gave birth to anywhere between 10 to 19 children, according to records, and perhaps more.

Catherine herself likely died before the Expulsion, but her life was the foundation from which her children’s resistance grew.

She raised them in a world that taught them how to survive, how to endure, and perhaps how to refuse submission.

What makes Catherine’s story so powerful is that it is not only about famous ancestors. It is about the ordinary, brutal reality of Acadian life.

It is about a woman who buried children, watched her home burn, moved to survive, and kept raising a family in a land repeatedly threatened by war. It is about the quiet heroism of mothers whose names are often preserved only in censuses and parish registers, yet whose lives shaped entire peoples.

Catherine Richard was not a footnote to Joseph Broussard dit Beausoleil. She was the root system beneath him.

And that is the deeper truth of the Acadian story. The famous names matter, but they were carried by mothers, fathers, grandparents, and children who lived through terror without the luxury of being remembered as legends.

Catherine’s life reminds us that history is not only made by battles and treaties.

It is made in kitchens, fields, graveyards, and burned-out homes.

It is made by women who keep going after loss, by families who rebuild after raids, and by people who refuse to disappear even when the world tries to erase them.

Happy Easter!

Christ is Risen!

Truly, He Has Risen!

Don’t Know Where This Was Discussed, but Here’s My Thoughts

A man slaughters a big cow, starts the grill, and says to his daughter, “Daughter, go call our relatives, friends, and neighbors to join us… We’re having a celebration!”


The daughter goes out to the street and shouts, “Please help! My father’s house is on fire!”
After some time, only a few people come out to help, while many others act like they didn’t hear anything. The ones who came stay, eat, and enjoy the food until late.

The father, confused, looks around and says to his daughter, “I don’t know most of these people. Some I’ve never seen before. Where are our friends, family, and neighbors?”


The daughter calmly replies, “The people who came didn’t come for a party. They came because they thought we were in trouble. These are the people who care about us. These are the ones who deserve to celebrate with us.”

Lesson: The ones who don’t show up when you’re struggling don’t deserve to be with you when you succeed.

What do you think? I think it all depends on the intent of a person, really. Some people may WANT to help, but don’t know how. There are times in everyone’s lives when it’s just too hard to stretch and serve another, even though we want to help.

If someone came to our door right now, my husband would do everything he can, but he can’t give money or can’t be gone from the house very long, as people need him here. Those circumstances must be taken into consideration, and not punish those with good intent.

The Magic of Runes in Modern Storytelling

As an author weaving tales of survival and mysticism, I’ve fallen in love with runes, those enigmatic symbols from our ancestors. Today, let’s explore how these ancient marks breathe new life into modern stories, drawing from their historical roots to inspire today’s readers and writers.

Imagine a world shattered by catastrophe, where survivors cling to fragments of ancient wisdom to forge their path forward. In my Zion series, a mysterious rune etched on a weathered stone whispers prophecies of hope amid the ruins. It’s not just a plot device—it’s a bridge to the past, pulsing with magic that feels alive on the page.

Runes aren’t mere letters; they’re portals to a bygone era. The Elder Futhark, the oldest known runic alphabet, emerged around 150-800 AD among Germanic tribes in Scandinavia and beyond.

Carved into wood, stone, or bone, these 24 symbols served practical purposes—like labeling possessions or commemorating the dead—but they also carried deeper, mystical connotations.

Derived from the word “rún” meaning “secret” or “mystery” in Old Norse, runes were believed to hold divinatory power. Warriors might consult them before battle, or shamans use them in rituals to glimpse the future.

Historians draw much of what we know from sources like the Anglo-Saxon Rune Poem and the Norwegian Rune Poem, which assign poetic meanings to each symbol.

Take Fehu, the first rune, shaped like a cattle horn: It represents wealth, prosperity, and the rewards of hard work.

Uruz, resembling an aurochs (a wild ox), embodies raw strength and endurance—perfect for tales of overcoming adversity.

Then there’s Ansuz, linked to Odin, the Allfather, symbolizing wisdom, communication, and divine inspiration.

These aren’t static definitions; they’re fluid, open to interpretation, which is why they fascinate storytellers like me.

In my Zion series—starting with Zion: The Beginning and continuing through the chronicles—I’ve adapted these runes to fit a post-apocalyptic landscape. Here, they’re more than historical nods; they’re survival tools.

Characters decipher rune-inscribed artifacts to unlock hidden bunkers or predict environmental threats, blending ancient lore with futuristic grit.

For instance, a protagonist might trace Uruz during a brutal storm, drawing on its energy to push through exhaustion.

This isn’t arbitrary—I researched authentic meanings to ensure they resonate authentically, then twisted them to serve the narrative. It’s like Tolkien did with his Elvish scripts or runes in The Hobbit, where they add layers of world-building that make Middle-earth feel timeless.

What draws me to runes in storytelling is their versatility. They’re visual poetry: Simple lines that evoke complex ideas, making them ideal for visual media like book covers or fan art.

In Zion, they symbolize resilience in chaos, mirroring real-world themes of adaptation in uncertain times. And honestly, incorporating them sparks my creativity—it’s like unlocking a secret code in my own writing process.

Speaking of process, let’s get practical. If you’re an aspiring writer eyeing mystical elements, runes are a goldmine. I start with research:

Books like The Rune Primer by Sweyn Plowright or online archives from museums provide solid foundations without overwhelming you. Then, I sketch them out—drawing Fehu or Ansuz helps internalize their shapes and energies.

One tip I had fun with: Try “rune journaling.” Each morning, pull a rune (you can use apps or make your own deck) and let it inspire a scene. Stuck on a character’s motivation? Draw Ansuz for a wisdom breakthrough. It’s a low-pressure way to infuse some Nordic or Celtic magic into your drafts.

In Zion, this method led to some of my favorite twists—like a rune that shifts meaning based on context, forcing heroes to question fate. It’s empowering: Runes remind us that stories, like real life, are woven from choices and interpretations. If you’re curious, grab a notebook and experiment— who knows what secrets you’ll uncover?

As we step into 2026, runes feel more relevant than ever. In a world buzzing with AI and rapid change, they ground us in human heritage while fueling imagination. Whether you’re devouring fantasy epics or crafting your own, these symbols endure because they tap into universal truths: Strength in struggle, wisdom in whispers.

From Book 1: Zion: The Beginning Of the 6-part Series “America’s Great Perfect Storm”

If runes have sparked your interest, let me know and when it’s ready, I will let you know.. You’ll dive into the Zion series on Amazon—start with Zion: The Beginning and see how these ancient marks shape a new world.

Share your thoughts in the comments: Have you used runes in your stories, or do they appear in your favorite books?

I’d love to hear! And stay tuned for more chronicles woven in runes—next up, perhaps a rune-deep dive on my upcoming podcast.

Thanks for reading, fellow adventurers. Until next time, may your paths be marked with prosperous runes.

Navigating the Digital Waves: How I Communicate Online as an Author

How do you communicate online?

Hello, readers! I’m Shirley Ulbrich, writing under the pen name S.M. Ulbrich, and today I’m diving into the prompt: “In what ways do you communicate online?” As an author of fantasy, sci-fi, dystopian, and children’s stories, online communication is my lifeline for connecting with readers, sharing my work, and building a community.

Hard at Work – MakingPlans

From promoting my books like the Discovering Misty series, George and the Eagle, The Covenant Fire (a standalone book), and the Zion series—America’s Great Terrible Storm, a 6-book series exploring themes of prophecy, survival, and faith with elements like Obama-era events, New Jerusalem visions, survival vaults, and culminating in a Survival review in the last book—to preparing to host my Pages Alight Podcast,

Misty the Mermaid of the Emerald Coast

I use a mix of platforms to engage, inspire, and interact. In this post, I’ll break down my methods, sprinkle in insights from key books on digital communication, and highlight how these tools help me spread the word about my projects. Let’s explore!

My Go-To Online Communication Methods

Online communication for me is all about blending creativity with connection. It’s not just about broadcasting—it’s about fostering conversations, sharing behind-the-scenes glimpses, and turning solitary writing into a shared adventure. Here’s how I do it:

1. My Website: The Central Hub (smulbrichauthor.com)

My website is the foundation of my online presence. It’s where I post detailed blog entries, book descriptions, and updates. For instance, I recently shared “Got a New Story in the Works for Misty,” teasing expansions to the Discovering Misty series about a young mermaid’s adventures in self-discovery and friendship. I also use it to announce wins, like taking 1st prize in a writing contest, and to promote my standalone book The Covenant Fire, a Christian/LDS YA apocalyptic novel full of adventure, as well as the Zion series, America’s Great Terrible Storm. This 6-book series weaves Latter-day Saint prophecy with dystopian survival stories, incorporating elements like Obama-era collapses, visions of New Jerusalem, and survival vaults in a saga of faith and resilience. The series includes books like Collapse (focusing on early chaos), Runners, Shadows of Zion, Rebuilding, Legacy, and ends with a Survival review in the sixth book, providing a comprehensive look back at survival strategies and themes. The site links everything together, from buy buttons on Amazon to podcast trailers, making it easy for visitors to explore my world.

2. Social Media Platforms: Engaging and Promoting

Social media is where the magic happens in real-time. I use it to share snippets, visuals, and calls to action for my books and podcast.

• Facebook (fb.com/smulbrich): On FB, I post about my multi-genre tales, from the whimsical Discovering Misty to the intense Zion series, America’s Great Terrible Storm, which follows characters navigating faith, chaos, and prophetic storms across six books, ending with a Survival review. I share trailers, reader reviews, and community discussions to build buzz.

• Instagram (@s.m.ulbrich): IG is perfect for visuals. I post book covers, AI-generated art inspired by my stories—like a podcast banner with a glowing antique book for Pages Alight—and reels teasing scenes from George and the Eagle, where young George Washington and his eagle companion face storms and adventures. It’s great for hashtagging #multigenre and connecting with visual storytellers.

• X (formerly Twitter, @SMUlbrich): On X, I share quick updates, blog links, and engage with trends. For example, I posted about my YouTube milestone for Pages Alight Podcast, which lights up discussions on my books and storytelling. I promote entries like “Narrative Nook Monday” series, tying into my Zion books such as America’s Great Terrible Storm, and even chime in on fun polls to keep interactions lively.

• TikTok and YouTube: These are video-heavy for my Pages Alight Podcast, where I will dive into book themes, read excerpts from the Zion series, and share trailers for The Covenant Fire. Short clips build excitement for upcoming releases.

These platforms help me reach different audiences—FB for in-depth shares, IG for aesthetics, X for quick chats—but they can get noisy, so I focus on authentic engagement to avoid burnout.

3. Email and Newsletters: Direct and Personal

I use email lists via my website to send exclusive updates, like sneak peeks at the Zion series’ Survival review or podcast episode drops. It’s asynchronous, allowing thoughtful responses without the pressure of live chats.

4. Podcasts and Video: Bringing Stories to Life

My Pages Alight Podcast on YouTube is a passion project. I communicate through audio-visual storytelling, discussing themes from my books, interviewing fellow creators, and reading passages. It’s ideal for conveying tone and emotion that text alone misses.

To refine my approach, I’ve drawn from several insightful books:

Lessons from Books on Online Communication

• Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other by Sherry Turkle: This reminds me that while social media expands my reach for promoting Discovering Misty, it can lead to superficial ties. I counter this by encouraging genuine comments and DMs.

• Online Communication: Linking Technology, Identity, & Culture by Andrew F. Wood and Matthew J. Smith: It explores how platforms shape identity, which helps me craft my author persona across FB, IG, and X.

• Smart Online Communication: Protecting Your Digital Footprint by Mary Lindeen: Essential for safe promotion, especially when sharing personal wins like my newsletter awards.

• Future Crimes by Marc Goodman: A warning about digital risks, guiding me to protect my content while sharing Zion series details.

These books emphasize balance—using tech to enhance, not replace, human connection.

The Impact and Future of My Online Efforts

Communicating online has grown my audience, from 25 followers on X to YouTube subscribers celebrating milestones. It’s helped sell books, launch the podcast, and connect over shared loves like fantasy and faith. Challenges? Time management and algorithm changes. But the rewards—reader feedback on George and the Eagle or Zion discussions—make it worthwhile.

How do you communicate online? Drop a comment below, or find me on socials to chat. Check out smulbrichauthor.com for more, and stay tuned for Pages Alight episodes!

Thanks for reading—let’s keep the conversation going!

You Might Be a Writer If… You’re Chasing the Spark of Creation

Being an author isn’t just about putting words on a page—it’s about chasing the spark that turns ideas into stories that touch hearts. As the creator of Discovering Misty: The Mermaid of the Emerald Coast and George and the Brave Eagle, and a blogger who recently hit 1,048 visitors, I’ve learned that writers live in a world where imagination and purpose collide. If you’re wondering whether you’ve got that writer’s spark, here are some signs, tied to my own journey of crafting children’s books, growing my blog, and advocating for hope.

What Happens Next?

You’re Always Asking, “What Happens Next?”

You might be a writer if you can’t help but wonder what’s around the next corner of a story. Whether I’m walking along the Emerald Coast, where Discovering Misty was born, or brainstorming for George and the Brave Eagle, I’m constantly asking, “What happens next?” A seashell could inspire a mermaid’s quest, or a soaring bird could spark a tale of courage. If you’re always chasing the next plot twist, you’re a writer at heart.

You Rewrite the World to Make Sense of It

You might be a writer if you process life’s highs and lows by turning them into stories. When life feels heavy, I pour my thoughts into blog posts about resilience or craft scenes where Misty faces challenges with grit. Writing is my way of making sense of the world, and if you find yourself doing the same—whether through poetry, fiction, or a journal—you’re likely a writer, too.

People Watcher

You’re a People-Watcher with a Purpose

You might be a writer if you process life’s highs and lows by turning them into stories. When life feels heavy, I pour my thoughts into blog posts about resilience or craft scenes where Misty faces challenges with grit. Writing is my way of making sense of the world, and if you find yourself doing the same—whether through poetry, fiction, or a journal—you’re likely a writer, too.

You might be a writer if you study strangers in a coffee shop, imagining their backstories. I’ve built characters for Discovering Misty: Friends Forever by watching kids play at the beach or families share stories. Writers don’t just observe—they weave those moments into narratives that resonate. My blog often reflects these snapshots, connecting everyday life to bigger themes like hope and community.

You Fall in Love with Your Tools

You might be a writer if you have a favorite pen, a lucky notebook, or a laptop you treat like a trusted friend. My desk, cluttered with notes for my GoFundMe campaign for George and the Brave Eagle, is my creative sanctuary. If you get a thrill from the click of a keyboard or the smell of fresh paper, you’re part of the writer’s club.

You’re Haunted by Stories That Demand to Be Told

You might be a writer if an idea grabs you and won’t let go until it’s on the page. The story of George, soaring with bravery, or Misty, discovering her strength, kept me up at night until I brought them to life. If you’ve ever felt a story tugging at you, insisting it needs to exist, you know the writer’s calling.

You Find Joy in Reader Connections

You might be a writer if a single reader’s comment lights up your day. When someone leaves a review for Discovering Misty on Amazon or shares how my blog inspired them, it’s like fuel for my soul. Hitting 1,048 blog visitors felt like a milestone worth celebrating, and every interaction reminds me why I write: to connect, inspire, and spread joy.

You Write for Something Bigger

You might be a writer if your stories carry a deeper purpose. For me, it’s about more than children’s books—it’s about weaving hope and resilience into every page, a mission that ties to my advocacy for suicide prevention. Whether I’m sharing a blog post about family reading or a story about a brave eagle, I write to remind readers, young and old, that they’re not alone. If your words aim to lift others up, you’re a writer with heart.

You Keep Going, No Matter What

You might be a writer if you push through rejection, doubt, or the grind of promotion—like pitching Discovering Misty to bookstores or rallying support for George and the Brave Eagle. Writers don’t quit because the spark of creation is too strong. Even on tough days, I find myself back at my desk, writing a new blog post or polishing a chapter, because stories are how I make a difference.

If these signs feel like home, you might be a writer. Embrace the spark, chase the stories, and let your words light up the world. For me, it’s about bringing Misty and George to life, growing my blog, and sharing hope—one story at a time.

Navigating Grief During the Holidays: Finding Light in the Shadows

The holidays are often painted as a time of pure joy—twinkling lights, family gatherings, and cherished traditions. But for many, this season stirs deep sorrow. Grief doesn’t pause for celebrations; it can make empty chairs, familiar songs, and festive cheer feel like painful reminders of what’s missing.

Whether your loss comes from the death of a loved one, estrangement, divorce, health challenges, or even the family you wish you’d had, holiday grief is real and valid. Expectations of mandatory happiness, resurfacing memories, and cultural pressure for perfect togetherness can all amplify the ache.

“No Empty Chairs…”

The good news? You don’t have to force cheer or pretend everything’s fine. Grief and joy can coexist. Here are some gentle ways to care for yourself this season:

• Give yourself permission to feel. Cry if you need to, laugh if it comes naturally, or simply rest. No guilt required.

• Rethink traditions. Keep what comforts you, adapt what hurts, or skip altogether. Light a candle in memory, share a favorite story, or create something entirely new—like volunteering or a quiet day alone.

• Set kind boundaries. It’s okay to decline invitations, leave early, or ask for space from certain topics. Protect your energy.

• Speak your needs. Tell supportive people what helps: “This year is tough—let’s keep it low-key” or “I’d love to talk about them today.”

• Practice small self-care. Eat, rest, move, breathe. Honor your loved one through a donation, a special ornament, or playing their favorite music.

• Seek support if needed. Friends, grief groups, counselors, or online communities can lighten the load.

Christmas Dreams

If you’re supporting someone grieving, your presence matters most. Listen without trying to fix it. Acknowledge their pain. Offer specific help. Simply say, “I’m here for you.”

Grief changes the holidays, but it doesn’t erase meaning. In time, the sharp edges soften, and space opens for new warmth alongside the memories you carry.

The Magic of Christmas

This season, be gentle with yourself. Your feelings are valid, your love endures, and healing comes in its own quiet way.

Wishing you moments of peace amid the complexity. 🎄

Another 2nd Place Winner:

A Vintage Posture 

Prose Poem: Everything in its Place

Write a prose poem – a poem written in a paragraph instead of lines and stanzas. It doesn’t rhyme or follow a structure, but it should still feel poetic. Use strong images, emotions, or rhythm. Think of it like a poem hiding inside a short piece of prose. Any topic welcome.


At the edge of the house where the floorboards remember footsteps nobody has taken for years, I open a drawer and the silver breathes out–old coins, a ribbon that still smells like a summer that refuses to be current, a photograph folded at the corners like a paper harbor. 

Outside, rain argues with the gutters and the streetlight stitches a seam of gold across the pavement; inside, the kettle hums like a small confession, and I listen to its patience. 

Memory arrives in small increments: a button with a name on its back, a ticket stub curled like a fallen leaf, the stubborn geometry of a laugh that lived here once and left an echo in the molding. 

I press my palm to the glass of the window and learn the temperature of the night; the city exhales and I count the exhalations as if they were my own. 

There is a kind of making–of rooms from absence, of sentences from the hush between heartbeats–where grief becomes architecture, where longing becomes furniture you can sit on when noon is tired. 

I set things back, not to tidy the past but to give it posture, and the house agrees, folding itself around the small lit things, holding them as if they were keys.



A pro contest 
Prose Poem contest entry

A place for Everything and Everything in its place.