Roses For Mama

Roses for mama 2These roses, mama,

I planted for you.

I hope you see them,

in morning’s dew.


I look to their beauty,

behold your spirit.

Each flower I see,

I feel you near it.


Beautiful flowersRoses for mama

you always grew.

Gardens of grace,

in their morning’s dew.


I long for the day,

I see you again.

You in the roses,

must do, till then.

These roses mama,

I planted for you.

Bessie Hardy 5/30/23—4/4/2013

What a “Novel” Idea!

chapter-1-pictureI love finding cool Groupons, and that love becomes ever deeper when the said groupon is cheap.  One day while wandering the groupon field I discovered one that offered a “novel writing course” for only five bucks.  “Well,” I say to myself, “It’s cool and it’s cheap.  It’s a “Win-Win,” and before the words left my mouth the groupon was put into my shopping cart!

This purchase occurred months ago and I’ve yet to get my five dollars of worth out of it.  This is true, not because the course sucks, but simply because I’m so damn good at procrastinating.  I chide myself and say within my head (and sometimes out loud), “Okay, Hardy this pattern has  got to change!”

Well, of course I always agree with the rebuke and in that moment I become sanctimonious in the feeling that “change is a’coming.”  Like a “born again” believer I embrace the change and begin my walk on a new path.  My good intentions are clothed with determination and held together by gritted teeth, but then, it never fails…life gets in the way (mostly Facebook).  I try to ease my guilt with promises of “I’ll do it as soon as I ______.  (You fill in the blank)

…and on and on it goes….

Then I had this “novel” idea. (a light-bulb moment)   I say to myself, “Hardy, why don’t you blog about your experience of going through the writing course?  Then perhaps, your readers would hold you accountable and  together, with their help, you could get this novel written!”  With that thought in mind I grabbed my computer and begin to write, and so, here I am, again, feeling sanctimonious and determined to get it done!  I’m excited because I truly believe blogging as I progress through the course will keep me true to my intent.

It is my hope that you, my readers, will poke and prod me to stay the “course” of this “novel” idea!  (All puns intended.)

This “novel course” is divided into 19 modules, and so without further ado I present module one:

 Task:  Explain why you want to write a novel, detail how long you have had this ambition, identify the type of novel you would like to write, and describe how you feel before commencing the writing process.

Module I: 

I want to write a novel because when I write I live.  Nothing in this world makes me feel more alive than channeling my creative spirit.  I’ve wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember.  As a child I grew up walking a rusty dirt road that hugged the corner of our old home place in rural 1905_new3North Carolina.  My bare feet plodded the road, one step at a time but  imagination whisked me away to worlds unknown; and my dirty little feet never left the dusty ground.

I was a quiet and extremely shy child that lived in her head most of the time.   My make-believe world proved easier to navigate than reality.

Many times I played the cowboy, Clint Eastwood…if you will, crossing a scorching hot desert in search for  water to cool my blistered lips.  I still remember the hand-me-down poncho I wore.  It wasclint_eastwood the coolest of all my clothing because when I put it over my shoulders I stepped into a land of “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly”.  Oh and yes, I can never forget how a crayon magically became the cheroot my hero smoked or rather chewed.

One night while watching television I happened upon Bowman Body, a ghoulish creature who hosted a horror show complete with Vampires, Werewolves and monsters galore.  After this discovery I was helplessly hooked on the macabre and I watched and read anything spooky I could find.  Of course as I grew older I discovered the demented world of Stephen King and I was, to say the least, mesmerized!  I am still in awe of the man and devour his work like a zombie eating brains. (I’ve always wanted to write that line)(BIG satisfied smile)

I am my own worst critic.  I let fear keep me from that which inspires me most.  I have these wonderful horrible stories festering inside, begging to be released and yet I fear to put them to ink as they may not be as beautiful on paper as in my head.  They are my babies, my creation and I don’t want to do them disservice, and so I succumb to the idea that not writing them is better than writing them poorly.

What am I to do?  I fear mediocre so much so I hush my writer’s voice with the hope of escaping failure.   Ironically, in my endeavor to escape failure,  I only embrace it all the more.   Still, never a day passes that I don’t think of writing.   It’s like an ember never dying.  It’s there, inside…it’s always there…ever burning.  Dare I fan the flames?

Stay tuned…



Writing 101 Day 5:  Write a response to the following tweet.

(Buckle your seat belts for this is going to be a horror ride!)


Ghost ChildI was quite the unusual child.  No one dared speak it out loud, but none-the-less, I knew it ate upon their brains like a canker sore.

“Different…,” they’d say.  “Just a wee-bit queer…for my like’n.”  Then they’d catch me looking at them and the old timer’s faces would blanch white as the cotton they were picking.

I enjoy making them uncomfortable.  I enjoy hearing the rhythm of their heartbeat quicken.  It makes me alive within this skin.

It’s a funny thing to feel so alive when scaring others to death.  I almost get giddy with the pleasure.  Once I almost smiled but  I never let them see me smile.

One day I’ll leave this backwater country, but not until I’m finished with them.  I never leave a job undone.  I stay until the end…and sometimes it takes oh so long for the end.

The end makes me sad.  After the end there is no fear and that’s what I miss most…the fear.  And so I stretch the means to defer the end.

I linger long, but alas the end is always inevitable.  So when the job is done I lay them to hell and spill dirt to cover the faces…and then I smile.

I wonder the woods, for beyond yonder hill, my new family awaits.  The cabin is bright and I knock at the door.  When it opens they invite me in and then my job begins again.

Over the centuries families come and families go and yet I’m here…still the same girl of seven.  This one thing remains I’m never alone for this body I possess is always my home.

A Day In The Life of Bagsby Jones: Bull Dog P.I.


Bagsby Jones, Bull Dog Private Investigator, was on the case!

He wrinkled his brow, sniffed the air, and vigorously kicked his hind legs.  He rarely took the time to relieve himself while on the job, but, this particular deposit had been necessary.  Call it an emergency that couldn’t wait, or, an accident waiting to happen; either would be true.  Feeling his tummy rumble, he grimaced, and vowed to pass by the next road kill.  Bagsby surmised it must have lain in the sun for too long.  He vowed the next time he came by such a find, he’d take it home to the cat.  He snickered at the thought.

Bagsby scanned the busy street, and was relieved to find that his target had yet to round the corner of Big Bills Butcher Shop.  He was so thankful the poop stop had not hindered the mission at hand, that he sent up a silent “thank you” to Pooch Heaven.

All four of Bagsby’s short, but muscular legs, carried his stocky, body towards the perfect hideout.  He had spent weeks watching and calculating the moves of the big guy, and Bagsby was confident this was the perfect place for the ambush.

Stifling a bark of laughter, Bagsby began back into a small space between two large trash cans.  This maneuver proved difficult, as the space was quite small.  He grunted a cuss word, or two, and wiggled his booty back and forth, until he finally squeezed into the tiny opening.  Had it only been yesterday that he had been able to back in with ease?  Bagsby was baffled, until he remembered the road kill, and realized the tainted stuff must have given him given him gas.  A repetitious rumble, sneaked out his back door, giving credence to his assumption.  The confined space captured the ripe fragrance, and wafted it to his nose.  Bagsby curled his upper lip, scowled, and cursed the road kill, but then he thought about the cat, and smiled.

His mischievous day dream, of poisoning the cat, dissipated at the sound of a distant whistle.   Harmonious whistling had always preceded the big guy’s approach.  Bagsby, reigned in his thoughts to the task at hand.  He knew his target was close, so he tensed his body, and readied himself for the ambush.  Sure enough, the whistling grew louder as the target rounded the butcher shop.  After a moment he could hear the big guy’s footsteps, so he hunkered closer to the ground, in preparation for the attack.  Bagsby could barely contain his excitement.

“Wait for it…wait for it…not yet,” he chided….wait for it…wait… ”

Then it happened!  Shoe leather, and blue fabric entered his field of vision.  Without hesitation, Bagsby lunged his bull-dog frame forward, but his bloated body wedged to a halt.  The noise startled the big guy dressed in blue, and when he caught sight of Bagsby ricocheting between the two trash cans, he screamed, and ran down the busy sidewalk, dodging the passerby’s.

Bagsby feared his target would escape, but adrenalin and another slippage of gas propelled him forward, toppling over both trash cans.  He hit the ground running, booking it in the direction of the fleeing man.  When he was within striking distance he jumped with teeth bared and jowls flapping in the wind.

Bagsby came down on all fours, with a mouth full of leather.  Proud of his conquest, he vigorously shook the leather bag, spraying a cascade of stamped envelopes to the wind.  Bagsby dropped the satchel, sat on his haunches, and smiled.  He enjoyed watching the array of colors fall all around him.

After they had settled, Bagsby knew it was time for his finishing touch.  He waddled over to the leather bag, and for the first time, he noticed it had the big guy’s name stitched on the front.  Bagsby saddled up close, lifted his hind leg, and christened Mr. Newman’s mail bag.

Afterwards, he kicked his hind legs, and happily headed towards home, after all, he had a cat to feed.



Treasure Chest

Writing 101 Day 3:  Treasure Chest

“Hope should be treasured, loved and kissed.”  ____  Lisa Hardy


Treasure Chest

I opened the chest to look inside,

And there she lay.  Had she died?

 Dirty, cold and all alone…

There in the chest she called home.

Hope, beaten by guilt and shame,

Lay there dying, crippled and lame.

Wiping at tears I squinted to see…

If she would look and recognize me.

Too weak to raise her weary head,

Hope whispered faintly to me and said;

“I’m still here…don’t let me die…”

And with that my Hope began to cry.

I lifted her up… cradled her close

Wiped the tears from the tip of her nose.

Kissed her lips and laid her to rest

Within my heart, her treasure chest.


10 Lessons I learned From Bugs Bunny

Writing 101 Day 2:  Today, let’s write a list.

Today, write your own list on one of these topics:

  • Things I Like
  • Things I’ve Learned
  • Things I Wish

10 lessons I learned from Bugs Bunny:


  •  “I knew I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque.”  —–Wrong turns are like shit:  It happens!  Recognize it, change it and stop feeling guilty about it.
  • “Gee, ain’t I a stinker!” ——Nobody’s perfect…that’s okay…just be yourself.  
  • “Eh…What’s up Doc?”-——Ask lots of questions…even if they don’t want you to.  Refuse to stop learning.
  • “Carrots are divine…you get a dozen for a dime.  It’s magical!” —Enjoy the little things for in them you find peace and happiness.
  • “My, I bet, you monsters, lead innnnnnnnteresting lives.”—Diversity Rocks!  Embrace it.
  • “Stop steamin’up my tail! What are ya tryn’ to do….wrinkle it!”—  Don’t tread on the rights anyone….everyone should be treated equally. 
  • “Just a minute partna’you can’t talk to me like that, them’s fightin’ words”   Freedom is worth the fight.
  • “Well, what do you expect in an opera?  A happy ending?”  —There are no guarantees and sometimes you don’t get the happy ending.
  • “Jumpin’without a parachute?  Kind of dangerous, ain’t it?” —-Prepare and have a plan.
  • “Don’t take life too seriously.  You’ll never get out alive” Lighten up and have fun!

Don’t underestimate the value of cartoons.  Do yourself a favor…watch a cartoon!  You’ll be surprised what lessons you learn.


I Write Because…

 Writing 101:  Day 1 Assignment:  

Why do you write? This is a question you can answer again and again, as your response might evolve over time.


“I write only because
There is a voice within me
That will not be still”
— Sylvia Plath

“That is why I write — to try to turn sadness into longing, solitude into remembrance.”
— Paulo Coelho

1463729_10202770787815776_1695430257_nToday, tell us: why do you write?

I write because I am quiet, and all introverts need a way to release the noise within their head.   _____ Lisa Hardy