56 comments

Submitted on 08/27/2020

Categories: Drama Funny

I watched him from a distance. Most people passed by him without a second glance – probably not even a first.


He sat in a beat-up folding chair on the corner of one of the busiest streets in downtown Memphis. His smile was crooked as were the teeth I could see from where I was standing if he spoke to someone.


A little plump at the waistline, and his dark skin was aged – wrinkles here and there, he wore a faded pinstripe – gray and pink – suit, with a pair of scuffed dress shoes.


On his head, he wore one of those funny golfer’s caps – you know the kind – my dad used to call them ‘cabbie caps’ - flat and rounded. This one was black, and from underneath you could see a mix of salt and pepper wisps of hair. He reached into his pocket- and pulled out a pair of reading glasses, and slipped them on.


You wouldn’t think much if you saw him – just an old black man sitting on the street corner watching the world go by.


I leaned against my car across the street. That is when I saw him reaching to his right, past the portable amp that was plugged to an outlet on the wall behind him, and slide his guitar case to the front. He opened it ever so gently, almost like it was a piece of precious glass or something.


And to be honest, it was a treasure – his guitar. I had to catch my breath as I watched him pull out a Gibson ES-5 with a flame top was just breathtaking. You could tell that guitar had been around a while the way that the man cradled it, and attached his strap to it, and plugged it into the amp. He reached into the case, and brought out his face mask, and put it on awkwardly, and started strumming.


Yes, the coronavirus was rampant in our cities, it couldn’t stop this man from providing some musical medicine to those who came near – even if they were masked up and six feet away.


I closed my eyes, and exhaled, listening as the sounds of vintage blues poured out of him through his guitar.


Street musicians around here have always been the norm – someone trying to get a break or maybe a retired “someone” hoping to catch hold of some of the memories of their glory days.


Everyone of them had a story, and this man, well, he had one too. This is why I was here – I am the senior features writer at the newspaper – a job I have held for a decade and half. My boss got the call about Cecil Greene – the man with the guitar’s name.


So, my boss sent me to see if Cecil Greene would tell me his story. I am Mia Wingate, by the way.


He didn’t have to ask me twice. I had seen Cecil Greene perform several times. As a fan of the blues – no, let me rephrase that – an obsessed fan of vintage blues music – I have known of Mr. Greene for a long time. My dad used to take me to hear him play when I was little.


Then, he kind of disappeared from the scene. No one knew where he was. But his riffs were widely heard, appreciated and played even without him. T-Bone Walker – bless him , B.B. King and others were probably much better than Cecil Greene – and Cecil played with these legends – as their back-up.


But Cecil Greene brought something to rhythm and blues that no one could. I can’t explain what “it” was … all I can say is – well, imagine this – put a little bit of Elvis, B.B. King, T-Bone Walker, Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, Little Richard, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis, Jr. in a bowl and mix them around, and you have got Cecil Greene – the total package.


I guess I could be bias.


My dad and I still get out some of Cecil’s old albums and play on my grandfather’s vintage record player. My mom will dance around the room, and Daddy will laugh.


I had a crick in my neck, so I was trying to pop it when Caleb Waits, our photographer, pulled up behind my Jeep in his SUV.


“Girl, you know you could have warned a brother that we were coming down here to talk to Cecil Greene. Does the boss know about you two … Oh, my gosh, is that him?” Caleb walked over, with his camera in one hand, and lenses in his vest pocket.


Caleb had done well as our photographer, and his work earned him some play in some major magazines. He was not your typical looking photographer either. He stands about six feet tall, broad shoulders, a mocha complexion, dimples in his cheeks and chin that make him look happy even when he is not, and those gorgeous brown eyes that you could just melt in.


He rubbed his bald head, and looked over at Cecil. He looked back at me, walking a little closer. “Wow.” Caleb leaned down and gave me a quick kiss.


Did I mention that Caleb was my fiancee? “Crazy isn’t it?”


“Did you call your dad?” Caleb started taking some pictures, as a few people had gathered to listen to Cecil play.


“Texted him this morning. He has a meeting down the street but said if I thought it was cool, he might come through. So one of us needs to text him.” I said, reaching into the pocket of my khaki pants. I pulled out my mask.


As I started slipping it around my ear, I looked at Caleb who was walking around snapping pictures. “Did you bring your mask?”


Caleb stopped, and turned around, pulled it out of his vest pocket, and put it on. “I am all for wearing this thing – but phew, it is hot out here.”


Once I got my mask on, I took the black scrunchie off of my wrist, and pulled my crazy mess of long, straight, thick auburn hair into a ponytail. It was hot. Caleb snapped my picture. “You know that maroon t-shirt looks familiar.” He mentioned the shirt I was wearing under the reporter vest we wore outside. It was his shirt. I smiled.


“And you know what else,” Caleb said looking at his camera, and looking at me, “I didn’t realize how tan you have gotten this summer. I thought I was dating a white girl, but now look at you – your are coming to my side of the world.” He showed me the picture.


I did look tan. “All this working from home and quarantining has not been so bad since someone got a swimming pool at the house.” We had put in an above ground pool right before the coronavirus took over.


Cecil’s music just seemed to fit the moment, and gave me a shot of energy. I shivered. “I can’t believe he is here.”


Caleb grinned. “So who are we waiting on?”


As of if by magic, I saw him. The man who had called my boss at the newspaper was the director of the local homeless shelter/soup kitchen.


He was someone we had worked with before – Sam Woodson. Sam whispered something to Cecil, who nodded, and Sam pointed our way.


Sam, with his mask on, walked close to us. “Well, he is game. Good morning.”


I nodded, and took my reporter’s notebook out of my pocket. I don’t know why. I knew every bit of Cecil’s story – except for the last 12 years.


“Caleb is going to just walk around and get some shots first. Is he good with that?” I asked. Caleb was standing on my right side.


“Yup. Go to it. The only thing I want to warn you about is sometimes, Cecil’s memory isn’t like it used to be. He tends to even forget where he is,” Sam said as we walked across the street. “Which is why we have found him a caregiver. That is Derek. He goes to Cecil’s apartment, and helps him get ready and get down here or do little things for him.”


I stopped. “Alzheimer’s?” Caleb turned around and looked at me.


Sam shrugged, “He won’t go to the doctor for a diagnosis … He said it is the dementia. Said his mom had it.” My heart sank deep into my chest.


As we got closer to Cecil, I noticed the guitar had some dents and scratches, but it was polished, and didn’t seem to mind – the tones coming out of it were utterly amazing.


“Cecil this is the reporter from the paper, Mia Wingate, and their photographer, Caleb White.” Sam said.


Cecil looked at me. His eyes seemed to be searching my soul – deep down in it. There was a twinkle in one – both eyes were a deep hazel. “Forgive me if I don’t shake your hands – you know, this coronavirus has all of us doing things a little bit differently.” His voice was raspy, but articulate.


I had interviewed all sorts of people in my career – from the famous to the infamous – and for some reason, Cecil had me in awe. When I gathered my composure, “Yes sir, it has. But it has not stopped you from playing.”


That is when Cecil looked at me, “Well, Shortbread, music is not something you just stop playing, it is a part of your life until you stop breathing.”


Sam said, “Why don’t you take a break for a minute and let’s come inside and talk to the reporter?” Same pointed to the doorway of the office building behind them – it was his office. The soup kitchen was four doors down.


Cecil looked down at his stuff. I said, “You know, Sam, if it is OK, I am going to sit right here, and talk to him while he plays? We will be OK.”


Derek stood in the doorway, and nodded to Sam, who shrugged, “OK, we will be inside.”


Cecil nodded, “We will be fine.”


I sat down on the sidewalk, a few feet away, on Cecil’s right side, and looked at him. Caleb leaned against a light pole a few feet to the left, and played around with his camera – but I know he was watching and listening.


When Sam and Derek went inside, Cecil looked at me, “You’ve grown, Shortbread.”


Cecil Greene’s real name is Cecil James Wingate – my dad’s dad, and my grandfather – or Big, as we kids call him.


“Well, it has been about what, 15 years, Big.” I looked back at him with my hazel eyes – people say I favor him except for the color of my skin.


Cecil strummed along. “Is this your fella?” He nodded toward Caleb. Caleb stood up, and said, “Yes sir, nice to meet you.”


“How did you know he was my fella?” I asked, putting my feet in front of me.


Cecil looked at me, “He kissed you on the mouth when he got out of the Jeep, Shortbread. I saw you pull up … knew it was you. You got your great-grandma Wingate’s build.”


“I have a zillion questions … personal ones,” I held out my notebook and pen first. “But, I have to do this story. You going to answer me?” My grandpa had been stubborn.


He started playing on his guitar, “I reckon … How is your daddy? And your uncle Beau?” My dad and his brother were Cecil’s only kids by my grandmother- Nana was white and from Louisiana - a Cajun. She died about 18 years ago.


“They are good. Daddy is in town at a meeting … He wanted to come by if I got here and it was you.” I said, deciding to sit criss-cross on the pavement.


Cecil started playing louder, “Well, we will see. Did you tell anyone who I was to you?”


“Caleb knows, but that is all.” I answered.


Cecil looked up at Caleb, and squinted, “Young man, what are your intentions? I mean, how do you feel about my Shortbread here?”


“I plan to marry her soon, sir, and do right by here until the Lord calls us both home,” Caleb said as he snapped a picture with me in the frame.


Cecil said, “You know why I call her ‘Shortbread?’”


I looked at the sidewalk. “No one knows you call me that except for family, Big.”


“But I would like to know,” Caleb said, moving around us, taking photos of Cecil from different angles as he played.


“Shortbread came early, and she came quick and hot, and that is how she lived her life as far as I know well, at least until she was 15 when I left. You turn 30 in a few weeks right, Shortbread?”


I was surprised he remembered. “Yes sir.”


Cecil stopped playing and looked at me, dead in my eyes, “Let’s get this story done. My memory is not so good … I think I got Mamie’s disease.” That was my great=grandmother.


“When did you first fall in love with the Blues?” I asked. From there, Cecil gave me enough to fill 12 pages in my notebook. He even mentioned his family, but then he looked at me, “If you want to name us and connect us, you can.”


Caleb looked at me with his eyebrows raised.


Cecil added, “But no one is to know until that story comes out … your uncle is the mayor.”


“Last question, where have you been the last decade? And why did you leave?” He knew that was coming. I waited, pen in hand.


Cecil took a deep breath. “My heart broke when your grandmother died. Nothing felt right anymore, nothing tasted good anymore and I had no music in me anymore. I didn’t know what to do, where to go and I didn’t want to be a burden to my family. I was 60. I just didn’t know what to do.”


I could feel the tears developing in my eyes. Caleb knelt behind me, and I could lean on him as he aimed his camera toward Cecil.


“So, I left. I went on a journey to find myself. I ended up back home in Georgia, and deep in the country where some of my cousins still live, I found myself again, so I made my way back here.” Cecil said.


I couldn’t resist. “What about your family?”


Cecil was playing, and nodded toward someone who threw some money in his bucket. “Well, I had a friend here – do you remember Lou?” My grandfather’s best friend was always at the house and family things. He gave me and my brother and sister gifts all the time.


I stopped. I reached into my pocket, and pulled out my keys, and there was a brass key ring in the shape of a guitar. “You told him to give this to me, didn’t you? When I graduated from college?”


Cecil nodded. He smiled. “Lou told me you played, and were pretty good.”


“She still plays,” Caleb said from his spot a few feet away, “and sings too …”


Cecil smiled. “So, Lou kept me in touch until I was ready to be a dad again, a grandfather again. I was ashamed of myself.”


I said, “Lou convinced them if something happened to you that they would know. In fact, I remember him telling Daddy you would come back when you were ready.”


Cecil stopped playing and said, “I am ready now.” The song was familiar. It was a blues’ lullaby that he used to play when we would spend the night.


I stood up, and sighed. “Do you want me to call Daddy?” I reached for my phone.


“Not yet. Young man, can you take a picture of me and my granddaughter? And maybe could I get a copy of it?” Cecil asked. He looked at me, “Can you come closer?”


I nodded, and crouched near his chair, looking at his guitar. He saw me. “You want to play old Mildred, don’t you?”


Laughing, I said, “You named the guitar after your old poodle?” Him and Nana had a white poodle they named Mildred. She was old, and died before I was born, but they still talked about her, and had pictures of her all over the house.


I could hear Caleb clicking away, as Cecil was looking at me, and I was looking at him. “Yeah, you know, old Mildred was a special dog.”


Sam and Derek walked out. “So, how was it?” Sam asked.


I nodded, “It was good.”


Cecil nodded, and looked in his bucket. It was full. “Well, you know, Shortbread, you may have to come back … you were my good luck charm today.” Cecil winked at me as he unplugged his amp, and Derek helped him put everything back in place.


“We are going to head back to my apartment so this young man can feed me and help me get my meds. Sam can tell you where to find me.” Cecil stood.


He continued. “I will be glad to introduce you to some of Mildred’s people, and we can continue?” Mildred’s people, I was sure, were his other guitars.


Sam handed me a piece of paper with Cecil’s address. Cecil turned around , “And Shortbread, I have a question for you.” He called.


I stepped forward, “Yes sir?” I called through my mask.


“When did you first fall in love with the Blues?” He grinned.


I thought for a second, “When I heard my grandpa play his guitar, and he riffed out a T-Bone Walker song.”


He asked me, “What was it?” I am not sure if he was trying to remember, or if he was testing me. Cecil was smiling. He knew.


“Papa Ain’t Salty.” I was like four at the time.


Cecil cackled as he turned around and walked behind Derek. I could hear him whistling. Sam said, “He is whistling that song, isn’t he?"


Old Cecil Greene could make music with anything.









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56 comments

Scout Tahoe
13:57 Aug 30, 2020

This story was packed with emotions and had a personal feel to it, and I really liked it. Maybe it's because you were working for a newspaper, but the journalist part of it was really realistic. I spotted a few grammar errors along the way, but I honestly forget what they were. The only thing I remember is that you mentioned Caleb's last name was Waits in the beginning, and then when they're being introduced, you say it's Caleb White. Amazing story, though. Keep writing!

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Becky Holland
18:11 Aug 30, 2020

Thanks, Scout. Dang. Must have been a slip even after editing a few times, and thet feedback from here. Thank you!

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Scout Tahoe
18:15 Aug 30, 2020

:) I was wondering if you had another idea for a title for The New York Window. I'm still deciding if I like it. Thanks and you're welcome.

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Becky Holland
18:30 Aug 30, 2020

I left a comment under your story. There are so many different options. You could work in the panforte - did I spell that right?

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Scout Tahoe
18:45 Aug 30, 2020

Yes. Thank you!

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17:40 Sep 03, 2020

Great story R.I. :-) I enjoyed reading your story very much. I love the references to music and the twist that the journalist and Cecil are family.

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Becky Holland
19:09 Sep 03, 2020

Thank you so much for taking the time to come on over and check it out!

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Jan H
00:44 Sep 01, 2020

This is such a wonderful story. I could picture the scenes in my mind. Being from the South, not too far from Memphis, I appreciate the Southern vibe. I especially liked Cecil calling her Shortbread. I don't know if it's too late to edit, but I think you might have wanted a hyphen in great=grandmother and not an equal sign.

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Becky Holland
19:13 Sep 01, 2020

I did. And when I caught it, it was too late to edit. But thank you. I appreciate your time.

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Zilla Babbitt
00:30 Sep 01, 2020

Okay. You asked me to read, so here I am. Very sweet! I LOVE that they're family. I also like the mentions of jazz. Other things, too, of course, but those two stuck out to me. I would cut the unnecessary extra info, like the detailed description of her hair that the reader doesn't really need. Also the meticulous family connecting, like always clarifying the relation of the mentioned name, can get redundant. Sweet and satisfying. Keep it up!

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Becky Holland
19:13 Sep 01, 2020

I have such a problem of being way too detailed sometime. Thank you. Will watch that for next story, and I thank you for your time - I know how busy you are.

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Bianka Nova
19:57 Aug 30, 2020

Loved the story and all the musical references - I could almost hear the soundtrack playing in the background while reading. I've notice a similarity with your other story "The secret in the purse" - both protagonists have boyfriends who appear in a scene with them, but in a role that's completely unrelated to the relationship - would it be a trademark of yours? ;) Just one note: "I guess I could be bias." -> I guess I could be biased

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Becky Holland
00:57 Aug 31, 2020

Yes, I caught that biased way late in the game. No one else caught it though - thanks! It is funny ... I never thought about it. I don't have a trademark .. Maybe it is something I am thinking about developing later? It is not always intentional.

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Bianka Nova
09:49 Aug 31, 2020

I found it curious. Maybe it does have a potential of becoming a recurring theme :)

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18:10 Aug 30, 2020

Great story Becky. Very descriptive. Made me feel like I was right there in the middle of the story.

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Becky Holland
18:32 Aug 30, 2020

Thank you, Michelle. By the way, everyone has an idea or two on how to make things better or go smoother, and it doesn't matter if they are "new" or not. I appreciate all feedback!

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Alwyn Mcnamara
05:53 Aug 30, 2020

Such a heart warming story. I loved the connection between the characters and this snapshot of this moment they are sharing. You build the background of the bigger story behind this moment well, without doverting the story away from it. A very well written and lovely story.

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Becky Holland
18:31 Aug 30, 2020

Thank you for taking time.

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Doubra Akika
20:28 Aug 28, 2020

Hey, Becky! Just read your story! I loved it, honestly! It was a beautiful piece. Felt really personal. So, it’s great you were able to do something that feels really personal in such a short amount of time. Just some things I noticed since you can still edit, So, my boss sent me – Mia Wingate to see if Cecil Greene would tell me his story.and then I don’t think the and then is meant to be there. “Young man, what are your intentions to my Shortbread here?” I think it’s better if you change the to to with Sam can tell where to find...

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Becky Holland
00:41 Aug 29, 2020

See, that is why I knew you would be a good editor of my story! No one else caught it! Thank you. Going to go change.

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Doubra Akika
00:47 Aug 29, 2020

Lol. Glad I could help!

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Velma Darnell
17:59 Aug 28, 2020

That's another great story from you, Becky! I truly enjoyed the way you described everything as it helped me to imagine the events in my mind and better understand the story. Also, your dialogues are very well-written. Keep writing :)

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Becky Holland
18:31 Aug 30, 2020

Thank you. I will be over to your "story wall" soon!

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Lynn Penny
14:27 Aug 28, 2020

This was quite sweet. It had a beautiful family tree built up and portrayed such wonderful relationships. Also the addition of the pandemic without it being the centre stage helps to normalize the mask wearing world we live in.

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Becky Holland
14:28 Aug 28, 2020

Thank you for taking the time - that was quick. I have a long way to go in this short story telling genre, but I appreciate those kind words, and really look forward to reading more of your stuff, and exchanging ideas!

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Lynn Penny
14:31 Aug 28, 2020

Thanks! I’m always up for exchanging ideas! I was actually here before and read this last night. I was just too tired to comment so I’m glad I came back today to do so. 🥰

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Becky Holland
02:26 Aug 29, 2020

I understand. I have been that way too.

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Peace Nakiyemba
14:24 Aug 28, 2020

I liked your approach to the prompt and how you give us their back story in small doses. It helps to ease into it and make it more realistic. Your dialogue flowed very well. It was enjoyable to read. An overall great story.

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Becky Holland
14:26 Aug 28, 2020

Coming from you that means a lot. Thank you. Got a long way to go I am sure, but I am loving this community and these prompts, aren't you? Looking forward to reading more of your stuff!

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Lily Kingston
14:06 Aug 28, 2020

This story is so touching and personal. Keep up the good work and keep writing!!

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Becky Holland
14:08 Aug 28, 2020

Thank you, Cara, for taking the time out of your schedule to come and check out the story. The only way we learn is feedback from other writers. I look forward to reading more of yours!

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Rayhan Hidayat
07:54 Aug 28, 2020

This felt like a very personal tale! I love the dialogue and the Blues theme, they really give a unique atmosphere to this story. Good stuff, keep it up! 😙

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Becky Holland
14:06 Aug 28, 2020

Thank you, Rayhan, for taking the time to give some feedback and read the story. It is the only we learn is when we share. I don't know about you, but sometimes, fictionalizing personal stuff does make for good stories - but no, this wasn't, I have not experienced. It was based on a story a photographer friend told me about a street musician he found.

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Rayhan Hidayat
16:17 Aug 28, 2020

No problem 🙂 You are definitely correct, personal experience makes for fantastic writing fodder because we are there to live, breathe and taste the moment!

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04:49 Aug 28, 2020

It is very evident that you put a lot of your heart and soul into the characters and scenario. It feels very warm and personal. Kudos!

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Becky Holland
14:14 Aug 28, 2020

Thank you, Joshua. When I first started submitting on here, I was just writing to submit, then someone here, and my dad too, suggested doing some research and write with a purpose and not just to submit. Got a long way to go. Your feedback means alot.

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Lata B
02:17 Aug 28, 2020

Oh, I love how you described everything in here. That is one of my weaknesses so the way you did it really impresses me. This actually felt like a real-life story! Also loved you the way you used dialogue here. Some parts made me laugh :)

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Becky Holland
14:17 Aug 28, 2020

Thank you, Lola. I still have a long way to go - from newspaper writing to creative writing. This one though felt more real to me than the others i have submitted, don't know why. Thank you for taking time.

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Amazing job! This story was really creative...I enjoyed reading it...nice work!

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Becky Holland
01:30 Aug 28, 2020

Thank you. that was quick. keep writing.

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No problem! Yup, I read fast... Thanks!

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Sahitthian 🤗
02:37 Sep 04, 2020

Hilarious story.Great job 👍keep it up. Would you mind reading my story “The dragon warrior?”

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Becky Holland
02:47 Sep 04, 2020

I think I just did! It was a good read!

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Nandan Prasad
06:35 Sep 03, 2020

Hey, this was such a sweet story! I loved the relationship between Cecil and Mia, and Shortbread and everything. You asked me for some feedback, so here goes. 'That is Derek. He goes... and do little things for him.' This one should be, 'That is Derek... and does little things for him.' Of course, if the subject of the 'do' verb is not Derek, then you don't need to change it. I did spot some others, but people have already pointed those out. Otherwise, very well-written and keep writing!

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Becky Holland
19:10 Sep 03, 2020

See. this is what I like readers who edit for me!!! You are so right. Thank you for that eagle eye. I will change it on my copy here.

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Keerththan 😀
03:24 Sep 03, 2020

Wonderful story. Only thing is that you described a lot of Cecil Greene. You could have made it a lot shorter. And another paragraph where you mentioned many singer names. That could have been a lot shorter. Otherwise, well written. It was very picturesque and I love it. I also like your different concept and your imagination.

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Becky Holland
19:12 Sep 03, 2020

Well, Cecil was the main character in the story, and for later possible development, so I am thinking, some of the descriptions could stay. It is to set the mood of the story, to give the reader a chance to dive in and feel where they are. But I will look at it again when rewriting. Thanks. The paragraph about the singers -yeah, i was thinking I might need to take some of that out. But was not sure what. So thank you for giving it your eye! Have a good day!

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Keerththan 😀
06:31 Sep 07, 2020

Would you mind reading my new story and give some feedback?

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Charles Stucker
07:31 Sep 02, 2020

This is a pleasant Americana story about family reconnecting- very solid premise. The speech is stiff. You need to use contractions more, since these are American speakers. Example - Derek stood in the doorway, and nodded to Sam, who shrugged, “OK, we will be inside.” Cecil nodded, “We will be fine.” Ignoring the repetition of we will, why does NEITHER use we'll? Cecil is a blues player from Georgia- where is that soft Georgia burr? He is indistinguishable from Shortbread most of the time. Yet his words make up a sixth of the entire p...

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Charles Stucker
07:31 Sep 02, 2020

“Forgive me if I don’t shake your hands – you know, this coronavirus has all of us doing things a little bit differently.” “Well, Shortbread, music is not something you just stop playing, it is a part of your life until you stop breathing.” “We will be fine.” “You’ve grown, Shortbread.” “Is this your fella?” “He kissed you on the mouth when he got out of the Jeep, Shortbread. I saw you pull up … knew it was you. You got your great-grandma Wingate’s build.” “I reckon … How is your daddy? And your uncle Beau?” “Well, we wi...

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Becky Holland
15:08 Sep 02, 2020

OH, and you are right. That was a typo - the granddaughter should have been 35. She would have been 20 when she first became a reporter. And yes, I just saw the Same that should have been Sam. Lordy. Thanks!

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Becky Holland
15:03 Sep 02, 2020

First of all, thanks for all your comments. I appreciate all feedback. Cecil had not been to Georgia in years, and not all Georgians have that slang talk. He had been in Tennessee for ar long time. Contractions - Not all people in the south use contractions all the time. But I get what you are saying. Not all Americans speak with contractions. Some are proper, some are not. T-Bone walker died in 1975 at the age of 64. In 1968, he was around the age of 58. A lot of Blues singers got their start in their early teens, and some play...

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Charles Stucker
16:06 Sep 02, 2020

The easiest solution to who he played with is to just remove the corona reference. Then he could have been eighteen in 1953 which would have allowed him to have fifteen years with those early greats when they were in their prime work years. A lot of solutions are easier than we think.

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Becky Holland
18:01 Sep 02, 2020

True. Thanks

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