tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42527031424822349302024-10-06T22:22:02.230-07:00Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-5111139163093801752021-03-11T08:23:00.003-08:002021-03-11T10:09:54.414-08:00

A couple of years ago, one of my younger brothers signed up for a citizen’s police academy, during which he volunteered to be tased. Yes, you read that right. He volunteered. The footage of this epic experience circulated the ranks of our family for a few weeks, and all of us—including him—were both horrified and amused by his electrifying reaction.  To me, it looked like something out

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-38972720076894892112019-03-07T12:15:00.001-08:002019-03-07T12:15:21.339-08:00

It’s hard to fend off the vertigo of a constantly shifting perspective. But is there any other way to see? Sometimes the ten thousand foot view is calm and clear while trouble brews below. And sometimes a moment resolves as it should for one single, significant person while blackening storm clouds gather overhead. Who’s to say what the weather really is? And how can the needs of the masses mean

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-2435168769977029872019-02-12T11:39:00.003-08:002019-02-12T11:39:41.025-08:00

 In what I often think of now as a former life, I spent a decade or so in academia. I earned a BA and an MA in English Literature, reading primary works of authorship as well as critical analyses of those works, and writing my own analyses for contribution to that storehouse from which I drew interpretation. I taught composition and literature at three different universities, first as a

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-26780494191682267392018-08-15T09:09:00.000-07:002018-08-15T09:12:38.142-07:00

On late summer evenings, I straddle the edge between awake and asleep, lights all out and windows open wide. The wind, tired of lining out leaves and branches that refuse to stay straight, sidles into my bedroom, knocking around the blinds and checking some papers on the dresser before wandering back out. I know these nights are not the time to make plans. They are only for listening -- to the

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-16107104856721944012018-06-18T08:59:00.001-07:002018-06-18T08:59:18.118-07:00

Dear Writer, I've been thinking about this for a long time -- years, actually -- ever since I started down the road of pouring my energy, my ideas, my whole soul into a manuscript I hoped would someday blossom into a real, published novel. I've spent decades opening myself up, like you, to judgment and criticism, exposing the dearest parts of myself and my dreams to strangers and critics. I've

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-74145075909099217702018-06-17T16:53:00.002-07:002018-06-17T16:53:47.625-07:00

I've found myself in a most unusual position this summer. Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. I know of more than one published author who started out interning for a literary agency and then used what s/he learned to write an effective query letter (and manuscript), land an agent, and get a book deal. I don't know of anyone who started out querying and then became an intern.

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-5642827180482637722018-04-04T10:42:00.000-07:002018-04-04T10:42:11.859-07:00

O Dirt! Where do I find thee? Let me count the places. Under my children's fingernails and in the folds and grooves of their ears, In the washing machine where the water doesn't reach and the lint collector where the crevice tool won't reach either, On the window blinds (of course) and the tops of the baseboards, In the bathtub after draining the water to find each rubber duck traced in dirt on

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-30517215959024577202018-04-03T11:51:00.000-07:002018-04-03T13:36:22.865-07:00

Seven years of facebook from ShaunnaSanders

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-7315896190915525192018-04-02T07:30:00.000-07:002018-04-02T07:30:19.810-07:00

I've been thinking about how to live more deliberately—about how to get as much as I can out of life while I still have time. There are a lot of options. I could abandon my family and live in a cabin in the woods that I built with my own two hands. But I love my husband and children and hot showers and indoor plumbing. I could build a well, install solar panels, disconnect the internet, and go

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-58834812783480795252016-01-02T13:53:00.005-08:002016-01-10T18:00:49.674-08:00

The trees are tired in this wild rush of fall, tired of the leaves constantly clamoring to be up and bursting into brilliant flame, tired of being awake. They feel the frost nibbling at both ends of the day, sense the coming of winter when sleep and death hover peacefully in the air and all the leaves are silent. This last effort is not for them, the straining of the colors and the trembling

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-55952666891466169892016-01-02T13:52:00.000-08:002018-04-09T20:46:14.672-07:00

She was tired. She sat on the couch, legs crossed (right over left) and arms folded (left over right) and stared at the silence. She heard the hum of the refrigerator and the soft whoosh of the heater and a strange buzzing in her ears, as if her brain could not process the absence of children's voices and the sound of bare feet slap slap slapping on the stone floors. As if silence wasn't

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-26495435946922902812016-01-02T13:48:00.001-08:002016-01-02T13:54:25.691-08:00

Excepting snakes, the desert makes night creatures of us all. We wait the long day in languid silence while the sun burns across the sky. We hide in dark corners, fighting the madness, until the evening drops, the light fades, the earth exhales. When the night winds blow like the whispers of dryads, when stars pierce the deepening blue, when cicadas set down their bows and crickets pick them up

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-65468900368478401232016-01-02T13:28:00.000-08:002016-01-02T13:28:44.220-08:00

The flutters and excitement Were pleasant while they lasted-- The pseudo imitation Of a deeper kind of grace. Though we pursued intently After passion's bright illusion, We were only chasing shadows That dissolved without a trace. After all the sparks went out After all the flames died down After life was back in route Then we fell in love.

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-31051016500877993662016-01-02T13:14:00.000-08:002016-01-02T13:21:47.922-08:00

I like to believe that I will save the world from certain destruction if I immediately repost this  - illuminating comparison of the similarities between two presidential assassinations,  - thinly-veiled criticism of the current administration's platform disguised as an economics professor    failing his entire class  - little-known fact about ATMs that can help my

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-33552199173621999342013-03-06T20:52:00.005-08:002016-01-02T13:21:58.043-08:00

Mira stood in the hallway outside her father’s room and looked around.  She had passed a couple of nurses, but the floor was otherwise deserted.  The scene was utterly different from the last time, when it had been her mother dying in the next room. That time, the hallways had been crammed with people -- media correspondents, government officials, aides, consultants -- all waiting

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-51202370326716727762012-10-24T19:07:00.000-07:002016-01-02T13:22:12.065-08:00

I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook; I suspect most people do.  On the one hand, I love keeping up with friends who would, in a non-Facebook world, get lost in the distance and time separating us.  On the other hand, my news feed is often so clogged with reports of the games my friends play, political rants, pseudo-inspirational forwards, and pictures of dogs and cats looking

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-80966801527638032542012-06-20T12:32:00.000-07:002016-01-02T13:22:24.679-08:00

My dear friend, Fiona Ostler, recently posted a question on Facebook asking friends what helps them find peace and balance in their lives.  Up until the last year of my life, I would not have answered, "running."  I always thought runners were a little crazy.  Running was boring and hard and I never enjoyed it.  I don't know what changed.  All of the planets must have

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-62849353390942948892012-06-20T12:15:00.000-07:002016-01-02T13:22:36.967-08:00

       She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door.  At the threshold, she began to worry.  The knob felt heavy in her hand.  She couldn’t remember it being so difficult to turn.  Only by gathering all her courage could she twist it just enough that it popped open.        The mechanism of

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-59335711091464511742011-12-16T22:26:00.000-08:002016-01-02T13:29:40.610-08:00

So at this very moment, Janet Reid is hosting a writing contest on her blog using a suggestion I sent her for a reversible poem (plus an example of a poem I wrote). You can check out the contest here for a limited time only. However, I thought it might be fun to read some of the other reversible poems I wrote, so here are a few more: Shipwreck LIVE: She wanted to send a message to the world.

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-17309518687372061562011-11-14T19:11:00.000-08:002016-01-02T13:22:49.798-08:00

DISCLAIMERS: Sorry about the skipping lines. I wish I could figure out a good way to indent on my blog, but so far, no luck. Also, I am not making fun of people with Turret's Syndrome. Aquatic Turret's doesn't even exist. Isaac’s vacation ended the moment his tires crossed the city limits. He hadn’t even breached the suburbs when his cell phone rang. “I’m fifteen minutes away,” he

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-79402967527391983762011-10-28T19:51:00.000-07:002016-01-02T13:22:58.603-08:00

So I've been thinking a lot about literary fiction lately. It shouldn't be a surprise, I guess, what with my Master's degree in English Literature and all. I guess the surprise comes from my writing genre fiction after having studied literary fiction for that many years. The thing is, I don't want to write literary fiction because I don't think people like to read it. That's no big insult

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-15982252606613506612011-10-09T15:09:00.000-07:002016-01-02T13:23:07.179-08:00

*Disclaimer* This is not the entry I submitted for Round 7 of NPRs Three Minute Fiction contest.  This post is the entry that didn't even pass my personal screeners: Fiona Ostler, who blogs at www.fionaostler.com, and my husband, who doesn't blog unless it involves a yearly physical or flu shot. As a prelude to the story, however, I must quote "Leda and the Swan" by W.B. Yeats. A sudden

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-25031371563140339142010-10-31T18:41:00.000-07:002016-01-02T13:23:19.567-08:00

I am throwing away the Halloween candy, feeling, to borrow a well-worn phrase, grim but determined. Grim because I realize, with each step I take toward the garbage can, that I have, once and for all, become my mother. Determined because I now know that she is, and has always been, right. My children will wake up in the morning and hurry downstairs in anticipation, hoping against hope that

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-32060479120830865412010-10-25T18:40:00.000-07:002016-01-02T13:23:45.170-08:00

I've been blogsurfing lately, and it's making my head hurt. By blogsurfing, I don't mean clicking the links on our family's blog to read our friends' updates and see the pictures of their kids. I mean, I start at QueryShark and read the latest query that has been (artfully and usually rightfully) ripped to shreds, then sort through the comments about it to see if I can glean something useful.

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4252703142482234930.post-91442512481621687802010-09-30T12:57:00.001-07:002016-01-02T13:23:56.165-08:00

At 2:30 a.m. waiting for the baby to sleep again I discover why the electric bill is so high. The A/C has been running for an hour-- some contest to outscream him? or try to get ahead of the Florida summer? I wonder who will last the longest in this battle of wills and lungs? Surely I can outwit the air conditioner-- turn up the thermostat and make it go to sleep. But the baby? He must struggle

Shaunnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542124673668776592noreply@blogger.com1