Sunday, May 3, 2009


Alma was the crack head who worked at the Blue Bird Café. She wasn’t always a crack head. Before that, she sucked down a steady stream of Mad Dog and cheap gin. At the diner, it was Alma who made the fluffy biscuits every Saturday and Sunday morning for ten years. It was Alma who, like a modern day Mammy, simmered and stirred the best yellow grits with a wooden spoon while, story-telling, she smiled and exposed her gold plated front teeth to customers who were sitting around the counter with hushed mouths and big ears.

It was Alma who walked out screaming one afternoon, high on the crack cocaine she’d taken to smoking before she went into work at 5:30 a.m. She never returned to Blue Bird with a gun like she promised she would do when she yanked off her greasy apron, threw it on the ground and walked out of the front door.


This is not related to what's above, but I've been wondering: How do novels begin? How do novels begin? How do I begin?

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