I taught English for thirty-four years in the public high schools of Kentucky, the last twenty-six of them in the same room at the end of the same hall, and I retired in 1994 with a gold-plated apple, a sheet cake, and more free time than I knew what to do with. My late husband used to say I would read the cereal box if nothing else were handy. He was right. What he did not know, because I never told him, is that I had been writing stories since I was fourteen and hiding them in a hatbox in the closet.

My nephew set up this page for me last year and showed me how to put the stories on it. I have been surprised and a little alarmed by how many people have read them. I post a new one when I am satisfied with it, which is not often, because I have read too many good stories to be easily satisfied with my own.

Necessary
A county spelling bee in 1947, two girls, and one word. About 1,500 words.

Last Period
A teacher's last afternoon before retirement, and the one student left in detention. About 1,300 words.

The Hatbox
Still in the hatbox. Coming this winter, if it behaves.

Six Rules I Gave My Students, and Now Try to Keep

1. Write the thing that happened, not the thing you wish had happened. Then, if you must, change it.
2. A strong verb is worth three adjectives.
3. If you would not say it out loud to your grandmother, ask yourself why you are writing it down.
4. Read your work aloud. Your ear knows things your eye has not yet learned.
5. The comma is not seasoning. Do not sprinkle it.
6. Finish. A finished bad story can be mended. An unfinished good one is only a hope.

A Note to My Former Students

A great many of you have found this page, and written to me, and I have loved every letter. Yes, it is really me. Yes, I remember you, even if I have to look at the yearbook first. No, I will not be changing your grade from 1978, though I admire your persistence. To the young man who wrote from Germany to tell me he finally finished Moby-Dick: I am prouder of you than you know.