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Mom and Charlie and I went to a concert on the Jeffersonville waterfront last night. The Louisville Orchestra was on RiverStage, a barge made into a stage on the Ohio River. There’s an amphitheater of grassy terraces from the river up to street level, where people can sit on the ground or set up chairs. We set up chairs.

On the way, I saw: two yearling deer standing by the expressway, then frolicking off into the woods (good choice of direction, Bambi); a flock of ducks on a pond; big snaggly bits of tree sticking out of the river; a honking great tree trunk washed up at the river’s edge with all its bark worn off by the water–the biggest piece of driftwood I’ve ever seen; LOADS of awesome houses. I’ll probably be posting some of those pictures.

I also saw this historical marker. You may not know some of this stuff: that free and enslaved black people were the major parts of “the underground railroad”, with indispensable help from sympathetic non-black people; and that the Emancipation Proclamation did NOT “free the slaves”. It only freed those in the states officially in rebellion.

The concert was most pleasant, but I can’t go farther than that. The music was not the best for that venue: the music was lyrical and the ambient noise was major. Between boat traffic on the river, street traffic on the street and the Forecastle rock festival across the river in Louisville, we could have been listening to “Pop Goes the Weasel” and we wouldn’t have known it.

But it was a beautiful evening, and it was most pleasant to be out in it, watching people play with their children off to the side, and appreciating the bits of music that made it through the competition.

Please visit my pro site for a daily writing prompt.


Writing prompt at Marian Allen’s Fiction Site.

I’m at the library today, reveling in high-speed internet access, but it was a

Not Him

near thing. I went out to the car and the air smelled SO SWEET, I just wanted to stay home and breathe deeply through my nose all day. Don’t know what it is–I don’t see anything in bloom, and it sure ain’t Joe.

That’s one of the wonderful things about living in the country: the sweet smells of growing things. 🙂 I’ll be singing a different tune, when the manure goes on the fields, but meanwhile….

One of the wonderful things about living in a small town is meeting new people. I went to the grocery before I came here, and talked to the lady in front of me in the line, telling her about the Friends of the Library‘s Book Box (used book sale building), open the second and fourth Saturdays of the month. Mom is working there this morning, and I’m going to relieve her in a bit. I came back to the Book Box to check in with Mom before I came over here, and the lady from the grocery pulled into the parking lot right behind me. 🙂

Then I came to the library, and there’s a woman at the computer next to me with her grandbaby, and we got to talk about kids, teens, grown kids, grandkids and Girl Stuff, all the while the baby and I made funny faces at each other. 🙂


It’s raining today, but it was beautiful Tuesday, when I went to the library. I had to park in the Book Box parking lot, about two blocks from the library, and I still didn’t have as far a trek as I did from the parking garage to the hotel at Marcon. Oh, will the nightmares never end?

Anyway, here are some pictures I took behind the library. Just look at these lilies. The color just pops, doesn’t it? Any day is a good day, when you get to see something like this just growing right out of the dirt.

The children’s garden behind the Carnegie local history and genealogy library gets better every year. When they cut down the tree on this corner, I was very sad, but they planted a new one and did this planting arrangement, and it’s prettier than ever. My late friend Mildred would be so happy to see what they’ve done.

Busy today, busy tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’m driving into Louisville to tape an internet radio show. Don’t know yet when it will air, but I’ll let you know.


writing prompt: Send a character to the library for something other than research of a plot point.

I spent the morning printing out a couple of stories, writing cover letters, tracking down their most recent submission guidelines and making up the envelopes and returns for them. Two of the many science fiction/fantasy markets that DON’T ACCEPT ELECTRONIC SUBMISSIONS. ‘Splain that, Loosie.

Then Mom and I went to Lisa’s for lunch. Got there at about 11:30 and they were already out of the daily special. You have to go for breakfast to get lunch there. Here is a menu from Lisa’s. Observe all the reasons evident on this menu that I love Lisa’s. Good, solid, heavy midwestern food. Low, low prices. They write their menu on a whiteboard instead of printing it up and handing it out, because it varies. And they no hau 2 spehl. Sanwich is totally how I grew up saying the word.

We had some errands to do, of course, then we went to the grocery. Saw all kinds of people we knew. We love going to town–It’s always a social event for us. 🙂

Went home and unloaded the groceries, then went back out and picked up 9-yr-old grandson from school, mailed my submissions, and went to the library, where we checked out THE FRESHMAN, an old Matthew Broderick and Marlon Brando movie. Also Bert Parks. I’ve seen it before, but Mom hasn’t, and I thought she’d enjoy it. Crazy damn movie. 😀

Came home and played with grandson, made supper, ate supper, washed dishes–Oh, got a call from the sleep doctor saying he was ordering my equipment and I should be able to pick it up by the end of the week! Yay!

It’s supposed to SNOW again tonight and tomorrow. I’m supposed to go to Louisville Wednesday for two meetings. I’m betting I don’t get to go. More time to write, write, write and submit, submit, submit!


writing prompt: What are some non-standard pronunciations/spellings you remember from your childhood or hear around you?

Mom and I only heard about AJ’s last year, after they had closed for the season. This year, we kept saying, “We’ve got to get to AJ’s this year!” but we never did. So FINALLY, we went.

Boy, were we glad we did! I hadn’t had a gyro in years, and I got a lamb/beef one. Never had one where the flatbread was a little bit crispy on the edges but still not greasy. Don’t know how they do it, but it was heavenly. Mom got feta cheese and black olives. This was a slab of feta cheese in an oil-and-vinegar herbed dressing, with sliced black olives on it. Great, but it weirdly did not come with any crackers or bread or anything to eat it ON. We shared an order of fresh-cut potato chips, meaning potato cut into paper-thin slices and quick-fried–SCRUMPTIOUS–and we used them to share the feta. We cut the gyro in half, too, and shared that out.

The weather was perfect–warm but not hot, breezy but not windy.


Next time, I think I’ll try their fish and chips.

This morning, I’m printing out program books for the Corydon Women’s Literary Club and going to get my hairs cut.


writing prompt: See if you can find a summer joint like this. Go eat there. Observe your fellow customers.

So I went into Butt Drugs to get my Epi-Pen refilled. I was sure I had a prescription on file, but they couldn’t turn one up. Woe was me.

Then, who should walk in but my doctor. They gave her a scrip form, she wrote it up, and they filled it. She even took my old one with her, to dispose of safely.

I remember one time my husband went to the store to get some groceries and I found something else we needed after he had left. I called the store, told them my name and his name, described him, and told them what we needed. They saw him coming in and gave him the message. He was like, “That’s just scary.”

My kids certainly hated it when they were teens. Tell you the truth–so did I. I was like, “Dear God, can’t you let them get away with JUST ONE THING without my knowing about it before they’re finished doing it?”

Oh, and about those cupcakes–In addition to equal amounts of butter, eggs, sugar and flour, I like to add about 1/4 tsp of grated dried orange peel and 1/4 tsp of vanilla.


writing prompt: If a person reaches across the spigot to turn on the faucet and accidentally gets her pajama sleeve caught under the spigot and doesn’t notice, and turns on the faucet and the cold water pours down her sleeve into her armpit, is that REALLY funny?

I’ve seen people on email lists and blog sites complain because they don’t get comments on their posts. Goodness knows I’m guilty of reading blogs and not commenting. The only blog I comment on regularly is FatalFoodies, because I post there myself and want other people to comment on my posts, self-serving back-scratcher that I am.

So here I am, back in town. I’m becoming addicted to high-speed internet. If I could get my husband to start jonesing for it, too (Is that term out of style now? If people my age are using it, it probably is), we might get it at home. But then what excuse could I have to hitch up the buckboard and drive into town? I’d have to collect a raft of errands to justify it. Love the luxury of being at the library (or the coffee shop) with the sound of traffic all around and folks wandering in and out of my view. One of the many nice things about living in a small town is how often you see people you know–and usually like–anywhere you go.

Fatal Foodies is having an open mic night tonight. I’ll be accessing it on my dial-up, which disconnects itself erratically, so it’s liable to be spotty for me, at best. It used to happen when I went to chats with the Patrick Bauchau fans, and I would return and be advised to fasten myself onto the list with duct tape. Didn’t work.

Although no one reads this blog–and why should anyone read it–it’s BORING–I’m going to post a writing exercise, just in case anybody stumbles in by accident and actually reads this far:

You are sitting in the library and someone passes the window. You’re working on your laptop, which is plugged into the wall socket. The door is at the other end of the building. The person who passes is going away from the door. This is someone from your past, someone you never thought you would see again, someone you very much want or need to speak to. Who is it, what’s the backstory, what do you do?


Here is where I ramble on about whatever happens to fall through my mind. I also have a professional site, where I post about my books, stories, news and appearances. Every month, I post a “Hot Flash” there–a story or prose poem of about 50 words. I hope you enjoy your visit. –Marian Allen

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