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Dedicated to Henry Browning, this is based on real events in your Grandfather Browning's Christmas. The time and setting have changed, but the spirit and story are the same. The most important lesson I ever learned didn't come from a textbook or a sermon; it came from a stack of small, green paper squares and the steadfast faith of my Granny Holman. Even now, in my sixties, I can still see those stamps perfectly—each one bearing the distinctive S&H logo, a tiny token of long-

TO ALL GEN XERS: I WANT MY MTV! And We Are Better For It! (Upon Cancellation of MTV, 2025) A black box glowed, an exciting, novel dream, My mother walked in, and killed the whole stream. "Not that trash," she said with a dismissive frown, The cool new music was instantly shut down. But in my mind, a silent wish took flight: A quiet little whisper of "I want my MTV" that very night. But I kept watching, a secret I had to keep, While Mom was at work, I would make a fast leap. T

On Joining the Daughters of the American Revolution, 1993 (Written 04.06.1995 For Mama, As We Are a Legacy) In ninety-three, the year my path began, At twenty-one, completing history's plan . I walked into the fold, the Chapter known as Pulaski, In Georgia's heart, a heritage was laid on me. The tie that binds is threefold, strong, and clear: God, Home, and Country, banishing all fear. My mother's light, a leader at the helm, Called me to service in this hallowed realm. I cla

Dundee Mills was more than just a textile factory in Griffin, Georgia. For decades, it stood as a symbol of economic strength, community pride, and local identity. Its story reflects the growth of Griffin itself, the challenges faced by the American textile industry, and the impact of corporate decisions on small-town life. This post explores how Dundee Mills helped shape Griffin, the changes it brought, and the void left when it closed in the 1990s after being acquired by Sp

Green Stamps were once a standard part of American shopping culture, shaping how consumers shopped and how retailers built loyalty. These stamps created a unique rewards system that influenced buying habits for decades. Understanding their history reveals how simple incentives can change consumer behavior and retail strategies. The Origins of Green Stamps Green Stamps first appeared in the 1930s during the Great Depression. The idea was simple: retailers gave customers stamps

The Italian sonnet, also known as the Petrarchan sonnet, stands as one of the most enduring and influential poetic forms in Western literature. Its structure and rhythm have shaped poetry for centuries, offering a clear framework for expressing complex emotions and ideas. For poets today, understanding and using the Italian sonnet can open new creative paths while connecting with a rich literary tradition. Handwritten Italian sonnet on aged paper What Defines the Italian Sonn

The story of Andersonville, Georgia, during the Civil War is one of hardship, endurance, and tragedy. It is a chapter of American history that often gets overshadowed by battles and political events, yet it holds deep significance for many families, including mine. Two of my ancestors were held at Andersonville Prison, and their experiences inspired me to explore and share the history of this place. This post will take you through how Andersonville came to be, what happened t

Writing a short story can feel like a daunting task. You have limited space to introduce characters, build a world, and deliver a meaningful message or experience. Yet, this challenge is also what makes short stories so powerful. They demand precision, creativity, and emotional impact in just a few pages. If you want to learn how to write a short story that grips readers from the first sentence and lingers in their minds long after, this guide will walk you through the essent

Beside New Oak Hill, where shadows softly creep, A field of stone guards men who lie asleep. From battles fought near Atlanta and Jonesboro’s line, The Stonewall Cemetery holds its sad design. The land was granted long ago, in eighteen forty, A silent promise made to those whose fate was stormy. Hundreds of Confederates found their final bed, And just one lonely Yankee rests among the dead. The Ladies Memorial Association sought to build, A tribute to the lives the cruel war

In Griffin town, the name is carved in stone, A legacy of wealth, too widely known. But trace the thread of that forgotten ease, Back to the cypress swamps and whispering seas. The 1803 rice fields spread on Grand Sapelo’s ground, Where Thomas Spalding’s fortune could be found. His cotton bloomed from the soil of bitter pain, Watered by tears and soaked by ceaseless rain. Across the currents, in the fevered dark, They bore the chains, a single, broken ark. The Igbo came, thei

The TCT Redemption, November 1995 (Dedicated to Barbara Jo Montgomery: Thank you!) My M.Ed. was done at West Georgia College, a goal I sought, A chance to teach for which I fought. My Master's path, a hopeful, youthful tread, While stacks of textile fabric lay instead. The first TCT library media score brought a sting, By one poor point, my future could not spring. Just twenty-two, no classroom time I'd known, A student seeking seeds to sown. Then Barbara Montgomery took my h

The words are highlighted to be like snow!!! :D To EAJ, On A Brandenburg, Kentucky Snow Day, 12.2.25 The news came in at 6:05,  A scrolling line that made him thrive:  "Brandenburg Schools will close today!"  A sudden, glorious snow day!  Little Emerson, tucked in his bed,  Popped up his sleepy, joyful head.  The windowpane was frosted white,  Reflecting the morning light. He tiptoed out, so very quiet,  To see the flakes that caused the riot.  Kentucky was a frosted scene, 

I'M BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAIN, but first.... This Blog is dedicated to the late Harvey Wilson: Christian. Friend, Writer. I’m a writer with two feet firmly planted in two different worlds—the traditionally published and the indie press. I'm a hybrid author. Yet, my training began in the pre-digital age: I trained as a journalist when the Internet wasn't even a common word, and concepts like digital publishing, indie writing,  or citizen journalists  were completely foreign. Th

The Moons of 2025: A Poetic Cycle The frosty glass of January's land, The Wolf Moon rises, spanned by the cold wind. February's air, where deepest snow it keeps, The Snow Moon drifts where all the landscape sleeps. The earth awakens, soft beneath the heel, The Worm Moon breaks the long winter seal. Phlox bloom early, a faint, lovely hue, The Pink Moon glows, beneath the diamond dew. All of the world in brilliant color clad, The Flower Moon arrives, joyful and glad. The shorte

The Captured Gaze (Saint Bernadette in Ecstasy, Seeing Our Lady) The camera flash, a sharp and sudden flare, Did not distract the girl, transfixed in prayer. She kneels alone, though lights and people fill the space, A heavenly wonder shone upon her face. The Rosary beads slipped from her loosened hand, Her soul was absent, in a holier land. Her gaze is fixed where no one else can see, On a memory from the chestnut tree. The photographer stole a shadow, cold and faint, A mome

The Griffin's Thread: From Spindle to Spirit To the People of Dundee Mills, 2012 (Picture Credits: (Picture Credits: David Baughn, City of Griffin, B. Brown) In Georgia's heart, where red clay lies serene, A town called Griffin dreamt a vibrant scene. Then came the rumble, iron gears began, Birth of the industry in 1883's plan. The stack rose high, a sentinel in the blue, Whispers spread of honest work to do. From the field and the porch, the people came to stay, To punch th

Ted, Waiting For His Boy, A Prose Beginning and Concluding in Couplets, August 1, 2025 Such is the pain that mothers must bear, such as the anguish woven into the air. He is Ted, the Boston, the low-slung loyal heart, who does not understand the calendar or the sudden void. He only knows his boy, now a grown man, is missing from the sound of the front door. He waits. His eyes are now clouded, his steps are slow and stumbling. He now bumps the chair leg; his gait is shaky.

A Grief Observed, CS Lewis: Two Couplets with Quotes and a Poem In Between (The quotes are in italics) The walls of my logic, built of clear, certain light, Have crumbled to ash in the first endless night. My faith, once a fortress that stood firm and tall, Now feels like a cold, empty house after the fall. "No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like that of being afraid."  She has been gone long enough now that memory is not

This blog is dedicated to my friend, Dana Holcomb Adkerson, as we share a love for traditional hymns. Traditional hymns are more than just songs; they are woven tapestries of Christian history, theology, and personal devotion. They have been sung in times of celebration, sorrow, and deep contemplation, offering a profound connection to the faith of generations past. The hymns listed below are testaments to enduring trust, glorious hope, and the transformative power of divine

An Honorable Mention. That was the news I read last night after a recent Christian writing contest. While recognition is always appreciated, I’ll be honest: seeing the list of winners made me feel like a real loser. I could have done a far better job in writing, and I decided to improve for next time. In the immediate aftermath, I took a moment to reflect and wrote an inspirational piece (which you can read below this post) about how I plan to improve. But the real work—the