TIME TO SIGN OFF FOR THE YEAR…

19.charlotte winter

HAPPY HOLIDAYS IN 2017 AND HAPPY NEW YEAR 2018

 

 

 

BOOKS AT AMAZON.COM

https://www.amazon.com/Honeysuckle-Memories-Ann-Johnson-murphree/dp/150029070X/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Asterial-Thoughts-Journey-into-Thought/dp/1540862356/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Rutted-Roads-Collections-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1532909365/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF81

https://www.amazon.com/Journey-into-Art-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500502960/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Sachet-Poetry-Adoration-Aspirations-Asylums/dp/1500483354/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Voices-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500426709/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Echoing-Images-Soul-Journey-into/dp/1500366811/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Reflections-Poetry-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500168645/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

Bits and Pieces of Love…

womanwriterblog

Bits and Pieces of Love…
The box of Christmas ornaments hidden away spilled onto the floor; memories flooded back, two children taken from their mother. Frozen in time, she picked up the handmade treasures; paper, ribbon, bits and pieces of love formed into special ornaments that her children had made for her.
Tonight she sat a wounded soul and wrote a letter that she had not written since she was a child.

 

Dear Santa Clause,
There are just a few wishes on my list this year. Leave me a sign that my children know how much they are missed. Leave me a box of magic needles and thread to mend my heart. Maybe a bag of Christmas Spirit filled with love to ease the pain of what I lost. Do you still remember me Santa after all of these years; do you remember how your gifts could wipe away my childhood tears? I know that I have ask for a lot, but can I have a reason to live tied up in a shiny new box; seven years…a long time to grieve, please Santa with all my heart in Heaven I want to believe.
Love, Ann

 

 

th3FX1POS7

Books at Amazon.com by Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree

 

41+X2DEZIpL._AC_US218_
https://www.amazon.com/Flying-Broken-Wings-Charlotte-Murphree/dp/1547051329/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510122648&sr=1-1&keywords=ann+johnson-murphree

 

https://www.amazon.com/Honeysuckle-Memories-Ann-Johnson-murphree/dp/150029070X/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Asterial-Thoughts-Journey-into-Thought/dp/1540862356/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Rutted-Roads-Collections-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1532909365/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF81

https://www.amazon.com/Journey-into-Art-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500502960/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Sachet-Poetry-Adoration-Aspirations-Asylums/dp/1500483354/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Voices-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500426709/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Echoing-Images-Soul-Journey-into/dp/1500366811/ref=asap_bc?ie=UThttps://www.amazon.com/Reflections-Poetry-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500168645/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

Happy Thanksgiving America…

womanwriterblog

Recently in researching information for my own life story, I ran across a term called FPP or Fantasy Prone Personality. A personality trait in which a person experiences a lifelong extensive and deep involvement in fantasy. This disposition is an attempt, at least in part, to better describe “overactive imagination”. Does this apply to those of us who are writers? Yet, I believe that I can tell the difference in the fantasy world and that of reality.

 
It is believed by some psychologists that these traits can begin in childhood and likely to have laid the basis for fantasy proneness later in life. Yes, I was encouraged by my Aunt Vina to read when I was a child, and on most any subject that I wanted. Yes, I treated my animal friends as if they were human friends…I grew up alone. I was left alone from the time I was about three years old to fend for myself. I roamed the woods surrounding the house we lived in; and climbed the bluffs to check out the caves by the time I was six years old.
I played alone when I begin school, hiding among the tall grasses that grew around the little Priceville School. When the bell rang, I ran to class like all the other students. My childhood was one that no one would have wanted, a mother that was emotionally detached from anything or anyone other than getting ahead in life and her only child my sister. I learn to live alone and I became an expert paracosm. My childhood fantasy was very detailed and became real to me at times. There were places I would go and stay until my mother brought me back to the world of the living, the controlled living.

 

This life of fantasy when needed served me well; I lived many lives from child to teenager and right into a marriage arranged by my mother, to someone I had only known six weeks; my daddy had no say into anyone’s life including his own. My sister ran and never looked back! I was left to live with the fallout of her actions.
I was never much of a “daydreamer”; I am one who can create allowing me to leave a bad situation to a more calming atmosphere, such as storytelling. In checking further, I am told that I have an Avoidant personality; I suffer from anxiety but not to the extreme. I fear rejection, but I rationalize then avoid them when possible. I would like to live in a social world; nonetheless, I chose to live in my own world alone. I am frequently depressed, but I have a great sense of confidence.

 
I guess I would fall under all of the negative and the positive things that give me the ability to create a story, a poem; or paint a beautiful landscape. When all is said and done, I am just me, an artist, and a writer, now go enjoy your Holiday and leave me in my own fantasy world.

J89cFKH.jpg

 

©2017.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books at Amazon.com by Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree

 
https://www.amazon.com/Flying-Broken-Wings-Charlotte-Murphree/dp/1547051329/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510122648&sr=1-1&keywords=ann+johnson-murphree

https://www.amazon.com/Honeysuckle-Memories-Ann-Johnson-murphree/dp/150029070X/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Asterial-Thoughts-Journey-into-Thought/dp/1540862356/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Rutted-Roads-Collections-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1532909365/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF81

https://www.amazon.com/Journey-into-Art-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500502960/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Sachet-Poetry-Adoration-Aspirations-Asylums/dp/1500483354/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Voices-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500426709/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Echoing-Images-Soul-Journey-into/dp/1500366811/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Reflections-Poetry-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500168645/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

The Cost of Freedom…

womanwriterblog

 

The Cost of Freedom

thD1W0O3UD

Standing in what looked like a sea of white as a warm afternoon breeze touched their bronzed faces three young men rode home in an old wagon through fields of cotton unaware that their youth would soon be forgotten.

There was a time when they were three babies crawling at their mothers feet waiting patiently for warm sweet milk and tea cakes luxuries in their world, a poor man’s’ treat.

Their mother insisted they go to school and discover their own dreams she vowed at their birth that her children would not break their backs or sell their souls working as poor farmers in the cotton fields planting, hoeing and picking the South’ white gold.

Eighteen, nineteen and twenty years old, they had never known anything but working the red southern soil day after day sacrificing their mothers’ dream for very little pay.

Threadbare overalls shirtless and shoeless they stopped at the dirt road leading to the farm they called home, knowing that this way of life was quickly to end their decisions saddened their father. broke their mothers’ heart leaving it so crushed that it would never mend.

They reached a nearby creek at setting sun sipped on moonshine laughed had one last day of fun then left for home. It was no more than a shack but supper always a feast for kings then they crawled into cornhusk beds it was a hard life but a life where they knew that they belonged.

Then one winter day it all changed as proud Americans that wore their pride like armor there was no question they would answer the call, not only for them but for us all.

It was early morning when their father stood quietly drawing on his old pipe under the old oak tree thinking of the warmth of the coming spring while their mother sat in her rocking chair afraid of what the future would bring.

One by one they walk out the door childish faces broad smiles, shinny shoes, starched uniforms. Three young men proudly walked down the old dirt road that day no one knew when or if they would ever return but these young men knew it was to defend freedom an endowment blessed the day they were born.

Mother and father held each other as they slowly walked into their home and closed the door, while their three young sons walked away straight and tall ready to fight a war in a land they did not know, on a faraway shore.

The window of their house proudly displayed three gold stars, the days gradually turned into years their mothers’ heart had stopped beating, death had finally stopped her tears. Their father grew old as he walked fallow land alone, with his life consumed by his many fears.

Then one day as he stood beneath the oak tree drawing in the smoke from his old pipe while thoughts begin to drift back on his life. He wondered where it had gone but knowing that their mother at last is happy that her young sons were finally coming home.

He stared down the road as three shadowy figures grew closer, would he recognize them, he could not even remember how long it had been. Their youth was gone their smiles were drawn, the war returned his sons now three broken and scarred old men.

 

 

©2017.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

Books at Amazon.com

https://www.amazon.com/Flying-Broken-Wings-Charlotte-Murphree/dp/1547051329/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510122648&sr=1-1&keywords=ann+johnson-murphree

https://www.amazon.com/Honeysuckle-Memories-Ann-Johnson-murphree/dp/150029070X/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Asterial-Thoughts-Journey-into-Thought/dp/1540862356/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Rutted-Roads-Collections-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1532909365/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF81

https://www.amazon.com/Journey-into-Art-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500502960/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Sachet-Poetry-Adoration-Aspirations-Asylums/dp/1500483354/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Voices-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500426709/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Echoing-Images-Soul-Journey-into/dp/1500366811/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Reflections-Poetry-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500168645/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8
 

The Lady and Her Mandolin

womanwriterblog

The Lady and Her Mandolin

The mandolin played softly from the room beneath my bed, the melody matched the moonlight dancing on the prisms hanging in my window, yellows, blues and reds. The lady plays over and over, thrumming aimlessly, as the night breeze takes the harmony over the cliff falling gently into the sea.

In her room decorated with blue butterflies cascading along tawny silk, lying upon sheets white as milk. her skin glistening, motionless, her eyes like a cobalt sky, she never leaves her room, I always wonder why.

When the crimson sky grows darker and there is nothing left but time, I go sit down beside her pouring Brandywine. Soon the stars will shatter, rockets will soar; I lay in a sea of saffron scent, my hunger spent, and then she will slowly begin her aimlessly thrumming once more.

©2017.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books at Amazon.com

41+X2DEZIpL._AC_US218_
https://www.amazon.com/Flying-Broken-Wings-Charlotte-Murphree/dp/1547051329/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510122648&sr=1-1&keywords=ann+johnson-murphree

thvz0a0qe0

https://www.amazon.com/Honeysuckle-Memories-Ann-Johnson-murphree/dp/150029070X/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

asterial_thoughts_cover_for_kindle-jpg

https://www.amazon.com/Asterial-Thoughts-Journey-into-Thought/dp/1540862356/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

1th319iyzau

https://www.amazon.com/Rutted-Roads-Collections-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1532909365/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF81

th

https://www.amazon.com/Journey-into-Art-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500502960/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

55th

https://www.amazon.com/Sachet-Poetry-Adoration-Aspirations-Asylums/dp/1500483354/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

11th

https://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Voices-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500426709/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

66th

https://www.amazon.com/Echoing-Images-Soul-Journey-into/dp/1500366811/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

41YvwitvQfL__SX312_BO1,204,203,200_

https://www.amazon.com/Reflections-Poetry-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500168645/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

 

Disclaimer
Last updated: June 03, 2017 The information contained on ajmurphree@wordpress.com website (the “BLOG”) is for blogging general information FACT AND/OR FICTION purposes only. ELIZABETH ANN JOHNSON MURPHREE.

  MY FAVORITE PEOPLE… MY FOLLOWERS

womanwriterblog

MY FAVORITE PEOPLE… MY FOLLOWERS

I HAD A BIT OF TROUBLE WITH MY HEALTH; THIS WILL BE MY EIGHTH DAY IN THE HOSPITAL; THEN TO A REHAB FACILITY FOR TWO WEEKS OR MORE.  I WILL HAVE MORE TIME TO WRITE WHEN I LEAVE THE HOSPITAL WHICH IN CURRENTLY UNKNOWN.  I WILL UPDATE YOU WHEN POSSIBLE.  THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENCE.  MY RECOVERY IS CURRENTLY STATED TO BE SUCCESSFUL TO DATE.  I WILL KEEP YOU UPDATED FROM TIME TO TIME.

EAJM

The Heroine’s Journey of Lindy Michaels

One of my favorites, follow Lindy she will never disappoint you with her writing. E.

The Heroine's Journey

What’s the best thing I love about my work? So many jobs, so little time. As a writer, a comedy writer, for the most part, I do love putting my funny sensibilities into my characters, as I let them live in the plots I’ve come up with. As a script/book analyst, I love helping writers with their musings, putting them on the right track for their characters to live within their imaginary lives. Having owned LA’s first children’s bookshop, OF BOOKS AND SUCH, (1972-1987) I am also the children’s person at BookStar, in Studio City, CA, still trying to inspire young minds. The movie, You’ve Got Mail was based on my life, really, except for two things… no email in the 70’s and I didn’t marry Tom Hanks!

What is my idea of perfect happiness? At my age, waking up in the morning!

What is my greatest fear? Not exactly…

View original post 2,199 more words

The Chickasaw – Part 4

womanwriterblog

Continue – The Chickasaw

They all spoke softly among themselves about what was happening and of the strange land, they were taking them too.  What use to be a proud people, they were now faltering under degrading conditions. Many elders, young children and babies died as all were herded like cattle on a dusty path.   Many years later, this action by the white man against the Indians would be called “The Trail of Tears”.

Ma’s grandparents died before reaching Arkansas …

thX79AAKUM

There were many fires at night when they were allowed to stop; all Nations were represented, the most were the Cherokee.  Ma was told that many young men spoke of escaping, Hawk agreed with them.  She remembered her father saying that he had rather be dead than living like animals herded into circles by the soldiers.  One of the Over-Town elders a Shaman, “married” them, giving them many spiritual blessings.  Hawk would not leave without Sipsee.  During the darkness of night, they slipped away; Hawk did not tell Sipsee, he knew that their parents would pay for their freedom with their own lives.

 

Hawk found a way to cross the Mississippi River into Northern Alabama.  They made their home on the Eastern side of Alabama.  They lived among a few Indians that were not forced to leave.  Hawk knew that if they did not live like the “white man” they would be forced to leave or killed.  Sipsee learned the language and would walk to the nearest settlement to work; they wanted to build a cabin.  Sipsee knew that they must change with the times, Hawk kept to himself and his own dreams.

 

 

To be continued…

Resource – Storyteller – Jane Over-Town “Overton”
1848-1954 at the age of 106 her mind was
Like a steel trap, she never forgot anything,
It was her body that was ready for death; she lay
down for an afternoon nap and woke only to
say goodbye to the grandson she raised, my father

Post Writer – Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree
Great granddaughter