Sandra Rose Hughes

Today is the anniversary of my birth. As luck would have it, it is also the anniversary of Carolyn's birth! Carolyn is my identical twin sister, and she also has a blog. Her blog is all about the struggles of being a young marriage and family therapist. She is a poet, just like me, and she often posts her beautiful, funny, and thought provoking poetry on her blog. Check out La Therapista.

104. The Break-Up 9/29/10 Poetry and I haven’t been on speaking terms for a while now. Some ugly things were said, feelings were hurt, and She stopped returning my calls a few months ago. First, I tried to pretend I didn’t care. I told myself she would call me back when we were both ready. Then, I started to panic, and tried to call more often. She answered the phone a few times, but I could tell her heart wasn’t really in it, And all our conversations were glum, uninspired, nothing like they were before. I spoke to a few people who know her, And they all said she was fine, that she’d been returning their calls. It’s very uncomfortable to need a friend who doesn’t need you. Why should poetry speak to me when she has so many other, better friends? I knew all I could do was wait. I waited by the electric glow of the computer, The threateningly blank page, And I waited on walks, talking to myself in the hopes that she might chime in. After many months of wondering when I would talk w

I am currently enrolled in a class at my church called "Financial Peace University" by Dave Ramsey. In one of the sessions, he challenged us with the question, "What would you do or what would you become if I didn’t have to work for money. If you could have any job in the world, regardless of money or education, what would it be?" I thought about this, and I wondered if perhaps I should say, “I would be a writer.” But I didn’t feel like that was really true. It took me a few days to realize that this was because I already am a writer. Sure, I don’t make much money at it and my books have yet to appear in any bookstores, but I am a writer, simply because I write. My other job as a high school English teacher is extremely rewarding. I wouldn’t change it. In fact, writing and teacher compliment each other well. I really enjoy my kids at school, and although they don’t always enjoy me- they have a grudging respect for me. It gives me a chance to get into someone else’s

On the advice of my mother, I just finished re-reading To Kill a Mockingbird , by Harper Lee. I had read it in high school of course, and I remembered enjoying it then, but at the time I wasn't really sure what all the hype was about. Anyway- It is an incredible book, an important book. It was written by a woman, but yet there is no hidden feminist agenda, proving that women can write books without constantly referring to the bitterness of our gender. It's a commentary on society, a love story, a coming of age story- so many things all rolled into one. I enjoyed it greatly. I laughed, I cried- I could hardly put it down. I definitely understand why we consider this book to be a great example of American Literature. It got me to thinking- in forty years, which books will we be forcing our high schoolers to read from this era? I am well-read when it comes to the classics, but I am practically illiterate when it comes to anything written in the past ten years (except for Harry Pot

I was just perusing my duotrope submissions tracker. About two years ago I started really seriously sending out my books, poems and short stories for publication. Since that time, I've had my fair share of rejections and no responses. In the past two years, I've had my poems rejected or not responded to at least 40 times, my short stories have been rejected or not responded to about 20 times, and The Cavey Journey has been rejected or not responded to at least 20 times. I feel like I should win an award or something. Of course, there are probably writers out there who've been rejected much more than I have. In all that time, I have had some successes, which keeps the bitterness of defeat away. My work has appeared in The Kern Valley Sun , Concise Delight , Midnight Screaming , and the Blinking Cursor . In addition, one of my poems won first place in a valley-wide poetry competition . 4 out of 80...not the highest ratio in the world, but it's a really good start. Now i

The story of Sippy- the malnourished, dehydrated cat we found in our building materials- has a happy ending! I would have kept him if I had to, so that he could stay out of the shelters and off the streets, but I was concerned because I already have way too much on my plate already. Anyway, our architect, Nancy Shebesta, dropped by this week and when we told her about the cat, she got very excited. She asked to meet him and was thrilled when we asked if she might want to take him home. Nancy is a very sweet lady with a good heart, and she loves animals deeply. She will probably be a better owner than I can be right now. I won't say I didn't cry when Sippy left me, but I couldn't have asked for a better owner for him, and for a happier ending. Another cat rescued! Hooray! Here is a poem I wrote way back in 2003 when I was in the middle of falling in love with my then-boyfriend, now husband, Anthony. "Holding Hands" As we hold hands in the crowd, In theatres, at par

I went to a women's meeting last night that meets in our community. A few of the women there know that I am an aspiring writer, and it was fun to talk about the projects I'm working on. Unfortunately, I didn't have much to report because my writing has been such a dead end lately. Fortunately, they were very encouraging, and I'm ready to try again. Plot development seems to be my weakness. I love character development and exposition, but I can never seem to get the plot off the ground satisfactorily. That is why I'm only halfway through Marilyn Marlin. It doesn't help that several of the people who have read it hate the main character's name and personality. Well, I like her, and I like how dismal she is, and I'd rather have people hate her than be bored by her- so she stays the way she is. I am going to try, try again. Here is the second half of chapter one. So instead of quitting, she simply nodded and muttered under her breath, “I will take care of he

Last Christmas, I began a new writing project. I kept thinking about some of the students in my classroom who are extremely undersized because of malnutrition or their mother's drug use while they were pregnant. These kids go through their days with their heads down, trying to stay out of trouble, trying not to attract attention. That is when I thought of the opening line of the book and wrote the first chapter in one sitting. Since then, my pace has slowed down, but I am still excited about the premise. I have written 6 chapters, and the book should turn out to be about 12 chapters. I feel solid about exposition, but when it comes to plot development...I hit this horrible wall. Anyway, here is the first half of the first chapter of Marilyn Marlin . Chapter 1 Marilyn Marlin was unusually small for her age. She had spent the past eight years of her life trying to blend into the background, and it seemed as if she had succeeded. If she had had her way, no one would ever have taken a