Prerequisite to writing – the #Bushwhacker. The darker the skies get, the happier I get. And in the background, someone is singing old #WillieNelson. #AlabamaGulfCoast #writing #Solo #RoadTrip
Category Archives: Alabama
DON’T Let Go Of A GOOD THING To Get To THE NEXT THING!
I am not writing. I am relaxing!
There was a time -when looking upon trees – that I wanted nothing more than to climb to the highest branches, or curl up beneath with a good book. (Part of that was a long time ago.)
I am soaking up every minute I have of these peaceful mornings. Thank goodness for the trees and the birds, and the books.
Yes, WE do SHARE THE SAME SKY!
#WeShareTheSameSky Join me for a week in #NYC, visiting historic sites, enjoying the history, famous eats & reflecting on growing up in the #DeepSouth
~Ah, and the battle for best cUpCaKe between Magnolia Bakery & Sugar Sweet Sunshine; my quest for the tastiest rice pudding & frozen custard! What a satisfying trip!
💛 In pApERbAcK & #KindleUnlimited
WE SHARE THE SAME SKY, a memoir is Available Here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1985762838/ref=cm_sw_r_awdo_RAMP9ASEEAV4ZGDFXEB4
Wordsworth had his Tintern Abbey—- I have Dunaway Mountain.
#SouthernCulture #poetry #RainbowCity #Alabama #writing #spring
Travel when you can – hop a flight, ride the train, or just step out of your own back door and roam! Join me for a week roaming New York City & reflecting on growing up in the rural South! amazon.com/Elizabeth-Mozl…
Often, we are so caught up in our day-to-day activities and our thoughts that we do not recognize one of the most precious gifts HE gave us. Our senses –
To see the tall oak and watch the leaves and limbs sway against the gentle breeze – cool and delicate when it touches our skin or lifts our hair; the smell of the earth- rich soil tilled in the garden, the mossy spots around the Crepe Myrtle – the delicate decay of leaves, damp at the base of the stately oak; the sounds of birds with birdsong dancing from verdant brush and limb; the exquisite taste of a perfect cappuccino!
Be still. Be silent. Give that time to yourself and HIM each day.
Ashamedly, I admit, I am guilty too.
You can find Elizabeth’s books on Amazon: Elizabeth Mozley
Signed copies available!
Signed copies of DANCING ALONG THE FRINGES TO THE SIGN OF SILENCE – CENTIPEDE- WE SHARE THE SAME SKY – & FROM HERE TO THERE, THE LONG WAY HOME —— available in Gadsden, Alabama at The Stone Market!
And Available on Amazon ~ https://www.amazon.com/kindle-dbs/author?ref=dbs_G_A_C&asin=B00J7KJWIU
#ElizabethMozley #AlabamaAuthor #WeShareTheSameSky
SOMETIMES BEING BAD is JUST SO… GOOD!
DANCING ALONG THE FRINGES TO THE SIGN OF SILENCE is Southern Gothic through and through.
A subgenre of Gothic fiction in American literature, the story takes place in the American South. The elements of deeply flawed, disturbing & eccentric characters, hoodoo, decayed & derelict settings, grotesque situations, & sinister events stemming from poverty, alienation, crime & violence are knitted like a finely spun web.
Join me in reading Dancing Along THE FRINGES To The Sign Of Silence! (A whole lot of Southern & more than a little wicked.)
WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT, MURDER; DEPLORABLE LANGUAGE.
Available for purchase on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/kindle-dbs/author?ref=dbs_G_A_C&asin=B00J7KJWIU
“Put down that Harlan Coben or James Patterson book you’re reading and instead pick up this novel by Elizabeth Mozley.
Why? We read to escape, but we also read to connect with characters who are a little bit like us. The distance that words written on a page provide allow us to experience excitement and danger vicariously.
There is plenty of treachery in this novel, and there is an abundance of love. There is something about stories set in the American South like this one is.
Like any good Southern Gothic there are graveyards and bastard children and nostalgia for the past. Through the five women around which this story unfolds, Mozley examines the values of the South such as loyalty and deeply ingrained decorum.
That is not to say that all is well in Memphis. With the mix of strong women and coarse men, violence is never far away and the bonds of loyalty fray. There are entanglements aplenty with the usual culprit at the center…money and sex.
The passages of dialogue ring true and the pacing of the story keeps you turning the pages. There is even travel to a place far away from Tennessee–both distance and culturally–that came as a surprise.
If the old adage to write what you know is true, Mozley knows a thing or two…
I think this book is worth your time reading…compelling dialogue makes an interesting movie.
So what are you waiting for Hollywood? Option this book.
It will be a hit on Netflix…
Seriously, order it today.”
Don Jacobson @BigSurfDon
CENTIPEDE ~Chapter 1, No Beer on Sunday
CENTIPEDE is the story of an eleven year old child, who when faced with seemingly insurmountable odds, survives and succeeds in obtaining the life every child deserves.
Willa Cather Jennings, who detests her given name and therefore goes by Willie, is the lone survivor of her family’s harrowing murder. Consumed with emotion, she finds herself traveling with Thomas, the manic depressive stranger, who stepped in to save her.
The two travel together through North Alabama, the Appalachia to the Outer Banks in North Carolina before arriving in Savannah, Georgia where they join his sister Jane. Along the way, Willie’s dependency on Thomas turns to trust; he, in turn, finds new meaning in life through his friendship with the child.
In Savannah, Willie -who grew up in a fragmented and impoverished family -finds comfort, happiness and belonging. But, just as she comes to terms with her past and embraces her future, Thomas returns to Alabama seeking vengeance and Detective Nicholas Cox, an old friend of Willie’s mother who has been searching for the missing child, pieces the past and present together.
~Several years ago, my students asked why I had not written a book for them; it was then that the idea for Centipede was born.
As a teacher, the majority of my time is spent with children. At the end of the day, many return home to ideal family settings; many more do not. There are some who rarely see their parent or guardian and so they’ve learned to fend for themselves. Willie is one of those children. You know the kind -the kid who is self-resilient, who harnesses the magical power of imagination to make it through the especially rough times.
Many children live in a low socio-economic area; the poor are quietly poor. When I read parts of Centipede to my students, I saw recognition as they acknowledged the similarities between the heroine’s life and theirs, and how her indomitable spirit mirrors their own.
I hope you enjoy the novel!
Elizabeth Mozley https://www.amazon.com/Elizabeth-Mozley-McGrady/e/B00J7KJWIU/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
Mule Skinner Blues
I knew when I wrote the scene in CENTIPEDE where Willie runs through the tall grass along the waters of Muscle Shoals that this would be the song the air carried!
Excerpt from CENTIPEDE:
In the following weeks, Willie found there was something mystical about Florence and Muscle Shoals, Alabama. Here, further north, she found the mountains more craggy, the Tennessee River powerful and strong, streams teamed with wildlife. Green grasses grew in clumps along the river banks; in the surrounding fields the grass blades were so fat they had to be double the size of any she had ever seen. And, the breeze that lifted, drifted out across the river brought back strange exotic smells that played rich upon the nose, an odd scent that smelled both dirty and clean at the same time.
Willie paused in her walk, noticing that she felt something similar to how she had felt before losing her family. At first she couldn’t put her finger on it. But, as she moved through the tall grasses and raised her face to the gentle breeze, she understood it was the feeling of being part of nature. For this, she was thankful. She knew she would never be the same again but at least she didn’t feel as broken. Just lonesome and sorry that she no longer had Cotton and her mother. Missing them was the hardest part. But the deep, restless worry that had plagued her was losing its hold on her mind and she was learning to once again see the things around her, appreciate nature and the comfort it contained.
Slowing, she tilted her head, listening intently. The low melodic winds blowing across the river blended with the sound of its gurgling urgency; together they seemed to sing. Willie took flight, running through the woods before her, beneath the tall pines and evergreens, over the mounds of deep, tall grass, trailing her fingers against the blades. The faster she ran, the louder the music and enchanted singing hummed against her ears.
There is magic here, she realized.
At the middle of the field almost hidden from the tall razor edged grass, Willie came to a sudden halt and squatted down on her haunches. She gazed steadily toward the wood line and listened intently to the katydids clattering in the distance. They seemed to rise and draw closer as if they were moving toward her. She closed her eyes and heard them draw nearer. Opening her eyes she noticed the dense growth of trees around her. They too had come closer! A sly smile spread across her face. Indians are here, shiftin’ on quiet feet behind the trees as they watch me, the blonde girl, interloper in their woods!
A gathering of crows, their dark bodies frenetically moving, flying among the uppermost branches suddenly lit and began their raucous squawking. She stood very still and sniffed the air, sucking in the clean freshness of it. Like fuel, it lit her from within and she set off running again, her movement liquid like a too-full creek, like water forced between smooth stones, movement tunneled too long and then freed to rush up and outward, directionless.
Run! Run! Run! The shoals called across the fields. So Willie did, and the shoals rewarded her with a song…
“Well, good moooornin’, Captain. Good moornin’ to you, Sir –Hey heeey yeaah. Oh, do you need another mule skinner, Down on your new mud run? Hey heeey yeah. Yodel –a-eeeee-he-he, He-he-he-he-he-he…”
Willie reached out and grabbed the song as she ran, made it her own. She might not know about mule skinning but she knew all about running free.
Dolly Parton, “Mule Skinner Blues”. https://youtu.be/Fwc1FkkWulc