Tag Archives: author

Poet Hop: Laura A. Lord

Happy Monday, everyone!

(Oh – and May the 4th Be With You!)

My friend and fellow poet Laura A. Lord is throwing an epic Poet Hop party, and today she is kind enough to grace us here with her writerly presence! Please read on to find out more about this extremely talented author and her work, including a chance to win a free copy of her newest collectionOf Roots and Wreckage!

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Author Laura A. Lord (Isn't she the cutest?)

Author Laura A. Lord (Isn’t she the cutest?)

Laura A. Lord is the author of numerous collections of vignettes and poetry and one awesome children’s book about a T-Rex screwing up her entire day. It’s absolutely a true story.

Laura’s work has been featured in The Beacon, The Collegian, Whirl with Word, Tipsy Lit, Precipice, Scary Mommy, The Powder Room, The Reverie Journal, and Massacre Magazine.

Laura’s collections focus heavily on women’s issues in today’s society. She writes:

I haven’t traveled the world. In fact, I’ve never even been on an airplane. My upbringing has been a sheltered view in a static, rural town. But I’ve lived enough lives for twelve people. I’ve gone through stages of names, tearing them off like a badge on my shirt and replacing them just as easily.

I’ve got battle scars. I didn’t wage war against domestic abuse. My fight or flight kicked in and I ran. I hid, cowering and broken, and spent years trying to get the needle threaded, to stitch the holes in the patchwork quilt of my self-esteem.

I never fought the demons of drug abuse and alcoholism. I spent weeks on my sofa, weak and thin, while my mother made me grilled cheese sandwiches and I tried to figure out if I wanted to live or get high.

I survived my teenage years, not by resilience, but by pure luck that my attempts to end it were never fruitful.

I didn’t learn to love me until every man I’d chosen had managed to redefine “love” as some twisted, ugly thing. Loving myself was never pretty.

I wasn’t the hero in my story, I was the human. And this human is writing that story and she’s got a hell of a lot to say.

Her newest collection, Of Roots and Wreckage, focuses on where she grew up. Split into three sections, this collection explores the ideas of “roots” and hometowns, of people and change, of aging and death.

Want to win a free copy of Laura’s Of Roots and Wreckage? Enter Laura’s Goodread’s Giveaway Here!


Here is a selection from Of Roots and Wreckage:


Home Grown Saints

The fire kick-started this demolition,

and so they bulldozed the town,

drug commerce by its fingernails

out to the highway.

They painted the shop windows black with

white birds in flight –

Trapped, unmoving.


But we put in sidewalks, they said,

and I watch the old woman,

arm severed by the thick tangle

of plastic bags –

their gaping mouths vomiting

split peas across

pot-holed tar…


They want to make us into a Saint,

import a history and haul in

the Bay, kicking and screaming

while they drop their lines

and trawl the chicken necks

for a heredity they can use.

Our birds need an inheritance.


So the town hall sits –

a lopped off head in the

center of retail’s graveyard.

Long toothed white columns,

impatient finger tapping

along bricks that tripped

my grandmother in ’63.


There’s a whole lot of change coming, they say.

They’re shoving it into the empty spaces

between an Irish pub and

a five star dining experience

two blocks from the prison,

three from where the click

of your car locks can be heard.


It’s an audible shunning,

the flurry of wings.

You painted white birds

on all the windows,

the black-toothed maw

where all we’ve got for sale

are home grown saints.

© Laura A. Lord 2015


Pre-order your copy now!


You can find this author and poet in all these wonderful places!








Google +


Independent Author Network


Please give Laura’s work a read – you won’t regret it.

And check out my guest post over at Laura’s blog tomorrow!


Filed under Writing

How do you flesh out a murderous, drug-addicted, overprotective stripper in 1985? I’ll tell you how.

In this story, the hair doesn't matter.

Or at least, I’ll try. Angel Vasco is 25; young, hot, can have any man she wants and knows it. It’s 1985 in Queens: sex, drugs and rock & roll, baby.

Angel lives in a cramped apartment with her sister, Sarah: 23, naive, already defeated. Angel and Sarah lost their mother as children, and were forced to care for themselves when his wife’s death emotionally disconnected their father. Sarah allows a long line of boyfriends to take turns beating up on her, and even Angel isn’t able to knock some sense into her sister’s head, so instead she ignores the problem.

Until something happens that almost wipes away Angel’s former identity as a female powerhouse. After a performance at Angel’s club, Half Moon, an admirer enters her dressing room, and refuses to leave until he gets what he wants.


“I’m gonna head home.”

I stood up, somewhat uneasy now, pulling everything into my arms as quickly as I could. He had moved to the doorway, and when I looked into his face the features had changed. His green eyes were muddy, and his lips had thinned and lengthened across his face. A layer of sweat glistened between his eyebrows and an erection throbbed against his zipper.

“I said I have to go.”

I attempted authority, raising my chin to the air, but I could feel the walls tightening around me. No one had ever tried to follow me back to the dressing room, but the men who took to the other girls were always nervous or eager, pathetic – middle-aged and grey-haired, smoking a cigar to look important. This man had a messy confidence, and a stone face that never doubted he would get what he wanted.

I tried to squeeze under one of his arms that blocked my exit, but he lowered it against my breasts and I felt its strength against my own weight.

“I don’t think so. I haven’t gotten my money’s worth yet.”

Angel is traumatized by the incident, and almost loses herself in the aftermath. But she quickly bounces back, and has one thing on her mind: revenge.

This is a very quick look into what I am working on, to hopefully gather more interest and motivation towards finishing. Let me know what you think, and if you’d like to know more!


Filed under Writing