Laura Lann
Bio
I am an author from deep East Texas with a passion for horror and fantasy, often heavily mixed together. In my spare time, when I am not writing, I draw and paint landscape and fantasy pieces. I now reside in Alaska where adventures await.
Stories (128)
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Wooden Boats
My grandfather had a sawmill. It was a large shop under a tin roof. The floor was always covered in piles of sawdust, which smelled of pine and work, and the tables adorned with stacks of wood and projects resting near the large blades. It was a magical place where his strong hands crafted doll houses, tables, chairs, and many other things. I spent my childhood sitting at a table made by him in that shop. It was of pine and cedar and lacquered over with a clear finish to protect if from the messes children make.
By Laura Lann2 years ago in Families
Grief
Death is so putrid and difficult. I cannot hold it nor soothe it, and I suppose I should find beauty in it. After all, with death the sufferings of this life end. They close and a new door opens. What you believe drastically impacts your perception of what's next, and I believe in an eternity free of the sufferings of this life. It gives me hope and something beautiful to dwell on in the face of loss. But, loss weighs heavy on me still.
By Laura Lann2 years ago in Families
Unfinished Work
My writing comes in spurts or spells. It's hardly ever planned or disciplined. I have quick ideas for challenges and prompts, but never find the urgency to put them to paper. No, they aren't what I want to write. Though they aren't confining, my restless hands turn to other stories like shiny objects caught in a crow's beak. I'll play in the poems sometimes. They're quick and easy for me, like fiddling notes out on a guitar. Like sketching lazy shapes with no shadows or details.
By Laura Lann3 years ago in Confessions
River Walks . Content Warning.
You never would say goodbye at the end of visits. No, not you. There was always a bony hug and a gentle, "See ya later" in that sing, song cadence you spoke in. Like a story teller. Like someone who had seen a lot of the world and just wanted to spend the rest of his time sitting around a fire, talking. And, goodbye, it was too definite for you. You would see me at the next campfire. At the next game of dominos. The next shared hot meal at Grandma's table. There would always be a next time.
By Laura Lann3 years ago in Humans
The Beast Returns
I'm at the river again. The cool current of brown water rushes over my hands gently as I dip a rusted bucket down into the water. Across the water, the bank is steep and crumbling, the grass growing right up to the edge. The trees dance in the wind and the mountains loom over me.
By Laura Lann3 years ago in Fiction
