We all have stories to tell. Some of us write them, others relate them orally. Some folks do both. Our stories help define who we are, connect us with our ancestors (and perhaps with our descendants), and the world at large.
Stories can entertain, enlighten, educate, and inspire. They can soothe, terrify, support, tear down, unite, or divide us. We are transitory, but our stories can endure.
The purpose of this website and blog is to explore the world of sharing stories and perhaps inspire you to share some stories of your own.
For me, it all started with the sudden realization that I’ve led an amazingly interesting life. Upon introspection, three major categories shook out:
The short stories are easy. As I recall memorable—often funny—events, I jot them down. When time allows, I return to the list, choose an idea, and flesh out the story. More often than not, this triggers additional memories to add to the idea list. When I have enough of these stories written, I hope to put the collection into book form. Meanwhile, I’ve put a couple of samples on the Short Stories tab of this website.
Nature nuggets are easy, too. Most of my short stories share personal experiences in the great outdoors. Some of them nudge me to dig a little deeper into some aspect of nature that appears in the tale. What I learn by doing this is invariably fascinating and worthy of passing along. Maybe someday I’ll have enough of these collected for a book, too. For now, though, I’m working on adding a Nature Nuggets tab to this website.
Books? This one isn’t quite so easy, other than publishing collections of shorter tales. But I am making significant progress. I've got two under my belt now, and am working on two more.
S. G. (Sandy) Benson writes from her home in the mountains of western North Carolina, where she lives with her husband, Barry, and two bossy dachshunds.
Why Out on a Limb? A forester by training, she worked in the woods most of her life. Along the way, she published a real estate magazine and wrote many outdoors articles for newspapers and magazines. Recently, she’s begun ‘branching out’—sharing tales at local storyteller gatherings and working on several book ideas. She published her first book in 2021: My Mother’s Keeper: One Family’s Journey Through Dementia and her second book, Dear Folks: Letters Home 1943-1946, World War II in 2024. See the Books tab for details and ordering information.
The second half of last Saturday’s Scribes on Stage event, An Evening of One-Act Plays, featured local authors reading their works at the Peacock Performing Arts Center in Hayesville, North Carolina. I had the honor of sharing two of Dad’s letters home from World War II, in which he wrote about crossing the Atlantic on the luxury liner-turned-troop transport Queen Mary in 1944, and his day observing the Nuremburg trials in 1946.
Add a postscript to your Valentine's Day celebration next Saturday evening! Treat your sweetheart to a night at the Peacock Performing Arts Center in Hayesville, North Carolina! Enjoy an evening of reader’s theater with local actors and playwrights delivering entertainment at every turn!
Please check out my story on today’s 6-minute Stories Podcast. Randell Jones does a superb job reading my piece that appears in his latest Personal Stories Publishing Project anthology, Foiled. I’m delighted to be featured!
The new administration has “paused” funding for federal grants across the board, including those previously approved to assist rural communities in becoming better prepared to deal with wildfires. Reports indicate that some analysts believe that “pause” is a euphemism for “cancel.” If that is correct, then this action will effectively crush what has been a heartening commitment by local leaders in states both red and blue to try to get a handle on an increasingly out-of-control, climate-boosted environmental situation that now regularly sparks ever-more-destructive wildfires that kill, maim, and render people homeless. And it’s not just in California.
A sense of dread overwhelms me on the eve of America’s first coronation. I don’t know what lies ahead, but I do know that I am afraid. In a conscious effort to be grateful for the small things that can brighten such moments, I’ll share with you something that happened this morning.
A classmate of mine lost his home in the Los Angeles-area wildfires. My heart goes out to him and his family, as well as the thousands of other folks who suddenly found themselves homeless. It surprised me that the fires burned across regular suburban neighborhoods as well as the chapparal-covered hillsides where luxury homes nestle—and burn on a regular basis.