When I was ten, my best friend and I made a hideout just off school property. We ripped out hanks of honeysuckle wrapped around a circle of dogwood saplings until we stood in a vine-covered shelter, hidden by a veil of honeysuckle.
Under the honeysuckle vine we spied on the old man who I
believed pretended had murdered his family with a hammer and was quietly living out his days in the old house by our elementary school. Mostly I told stories that I later wrote down. The honeysuckle hideout also provided a safe place to talk about stuff with my best friend.
Years later, after I became a writer of children’s books, I discovered a place where I could talk about stuff with new friends in cyberspace. My blog has evolved over the last few years. The name has changed from “Notes from the Riverbank” (I planned to discuss high-falutin’ ideas while I got my M.A. in children’s literature) to “Book! Book!” (the expression teachers in Appalachia used to call their students in from the school yard—I planned to post high-falutin’ book reviews).
Then I got over myself.
If “Under the Honeysuckle Vine” has a theme it is: Write Small, Travel Small. Here I share memories of my life, thoughts about writing, tales of teaching, stories about my cat Winchester, accounts of my adventures in vintage-binging, and reports on the (very) tiny little trips I make, camera and notebook in hand, to odd corners of Virginia.
Thanks for dropping in. Stay a while. As my stepfather used to say, “No rush. Long time between now and morning.”