Author: Dogwood Girl

I'm Annie; I'm a mom, wife, daughter, sister. I was born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia, attended the University of Georgia, and became a Technical Writer. I write fiction on the side, including lots of unread, unfinished, and unpublished short stories. I enjoy writing, but haven't gotten around to feeling comfortable with others reading my work yet. Dogwood Girl is part of my working on that fear. I run, but not very fast. It doesn't matter, as running is more of a means to keep my spirits high and those around me alive and well - Without endorphins, i would be on the National News. I have trouble following through on things. I like to grow things. I like puzzles and games. I like to challenge myself, and my problem with challenges is usually my follow through. I am ultra-competitive and will wager small amounts on just about anything. I love to win, but i am no sore loser. I have days where i think i am an awesome mom, and days where i think I am completely fucking my children up. Likewise, i have days where i feel motivated and successful, a modern day Superwoman, and other days, where I feel about as motivated as the Brad Pitt character in True Romance. My husband is my best friend and I would be a basket case without him; My kids have taught me more about myself (and about patience) in five years than I have learned in the whole rest of my life. They are my pride and joy, my heart, and often a royal pain in my ass. I would die without them and their father. I also have a slightly unnatural attachment to my dog, the Q-Man. I write about all of it here on Dogwood Girl. It's cheaper than a therapist.

An Imaginary Line

I haven’t written anything since January. That may be the longest I’ve gone without writing here in 15 years. I guess things are just too heavy, too overwhelming. Too much. Too painful. And they aren’t just my story any more. I am really brimming with the need to write, and yet, I’m unable to cross some imaginary line, one that… Read more →

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Hoping MachineWords by Woody Guthrie, Music by Jay FarrarDon’t let anything knock your props out from under youAlways keep your mind clear, let your plans come out of mistakesThese are the plans and nothing can tear downMade out of things that have already been torn downWhatever you do, wherever you goDon’t lose your grip on life and that meansDon’t let any earthy calamity knock your dreamer and your hoping machineMusic is the language of the mind that travelsCarries the key to the laws of time and spaceLonesome train whistling down the silent wail of windLife is the sound, creation has been a songWhatever you do, wherever you goDon’t lose your grip on life and that meansDon’t let any earthy calamity knock your dreamer and your hoping machineOut of orderQuick to manufacture their schemes and ideasFaster than any turn a tide can wash you outWord is the music and the people are the songTomorrows chances feel like a singing godWhatever you do, wherever you goDon’t lose your grip on life and that meansDon’t let any earthy calamity knock your dreamer and your hoping machineOut of order

Hoping MachineWords by Woody Guthrie, Music by Jay FarrarDon’t let anything knock your props out from under youAlways keep your mind clear, let your plans come out of mistakesThese are the plans and nothing can tear downMade out of things that have already been torn downWhatever you do, wherever you goDon’t lose your grip on life and that meansDon’t let any earthy calamity knock your dreamer and your hoping machineMusic is the language of the mind that travelsCarries the key to the laws of time and spaceLonesome train whistling down the silent wail of windLife is the sound, creation has been a songWhatever you do, wherever you goDon’t lose your grip on life and that meansDon’t let any earthy calamity knock your dreamer and your hoping machineOut of orderQuick to manufacture their schemes and ideasFaster than any turn a tide can wash you outWord is the music and the people are the songTomorrows chances feel like a singing godWhatever you do, wherever you goDon’t lose your grip on life and that meansDon’t let any earthy calamity knock your dreamer and your hoping machineOut of order