weallhearvoices.com Blog
Author Sam Taggart
We All Hear Voices
Brimming with Southern flavor and peppered with quirky characters with their own unique challenges, We All Hear Voices serves up a tale of unlikely friendships and the human desire for happiness.
Jack, the troubled cook at Moon’s Bar and Grill, has the gift of synesthesia; that is, he hears colors and tastes shapes. His passion for flavors and smells turn even the most ordinary dishes into magnificent creations and soon Moon’s is the hottest eatery in the Mississippi Delta.
Mary Ann, the waitress who befriends Jack, is waiting for some tall-cotton cowboy to sweep her off her feet and far away from this town. The problem is: when Mr. Right shows up she isn’t sure she wants to go.
Moon, the owner of the grill, is a man who has spent his life convincing himself that bad ideas are good ideas. He’s on a first name basis with the God of Chance and his get-rich-quick-schemes threaten to bring down this little house of cards.
ISBN: 978-0-595-44184-6
Available in Hardback, trade paperback and E-book format through your local bookseller, B&N.com and Amazon.com
Buy We All Hear Voices at iUniverse.com
96 Responses on We All Hear Voices
We All Hear Voices.What if: every joke worth laughing has been told, every desire worthy of lust fulfilled, every grandeur marveled at, every pathos wept over and every act of man’s cruelty raged at. What if! Thank goodness for short memories. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Just before dawn I stop at Red Oak Station to get a cup of coffee; it and my imagination accompany me to work. First I drive through a meadow just outside Ainwick in Northern England, then climb Mount Ventoux in the Pre Alps, cross a fog shrouded valley near Wonju, Korea and finally pass… a well-tended farm near Levice, Slovkia. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. If you take your wishes and dreams to heart, you may, in the end, be forced to act on them. the pretender,Sam
We All Hear Voices. This is Jack’s favorite, a sponge cake with lavender and unsweetened chocolate; the bitter taste of semisweet chocolate, with all of its sharp edges and powerful movement, was paired with the smooth quietness and encompassing warmth of lavender. The pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. This morning I had an encounter with a dime: first, it slid away from me on the counter and then dropped from my hand as I went out the door. I was relieved to give it, along with several other coins, to the lady at Red Oak Station for a cup of coffee. I hate it when money tires to dictate my day. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. The morning was perfect for running: forty-five degrees, clear and no humidity. I ran hard for an hour and then walked, kicking the leaves, in the soft early morning sunshine. The red-winged black bird liked it too, he was singing in the river birches down by Glidewell Branch. To borrow a phrase from Mr. Frost, I could do worse than be a kicker of leaves. The pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. In December I had surgery on my eye; my plastic arm band had a bar code. I was quite relieved, now I was part of someone’s inventory and there was no way I could get lost in the system. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. The eyes have it: it’s in the way they say aye or nay; it’s in the averted glance or the purposeful stare; it’s in ice or heat. The pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. There is a hunter’s fire in the barrel at Red Oak Station. The regulars are standing around, drinking coffee and warming their hands. An old man tells the story about the night his hound treed a bobcat. They all grin and nod; they’ve heard the story a thousand times. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. The sidewalks of South Street seem to have been struck by a series of seismic sparks. Significant slabs of stone stand sideway to their sisters, sliding silently into sand. Buchart must be scintillating in this season. The pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. The orange echo of a laugh fills the hills and valleys of my mind igniting a smile. Nice way to start a day. The pretender, Sam
We All Hear Voices. A weeping fog lay heavy over the graveyard like a gray shroud. Grieving for her son, Mabel’s hair turned gray over night; still, she came to the graveside each day, the lavender gray sky of dusk made her even more mournful, Lamenting the fate of his people the God of Lost Children cried a cold, gray rain. the pretender
We All Hear Voices. Our lives are spent a nickel and a dime at a time. The question is: are we getting value for what we spend. the pretender, sam
We All Hear voices. The taste of conflict sits high on a perch waiting for some unsuspecting fool. I certainly hope it isn’t me.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. In running I find refuge in quiet and the illusion of directing my own play, of finding awareness in isolation; but, it’s only a delightful mirage because in truth I am not a solitary human. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. At the edge of the parking lot, between the hospital and the graveyard, is a narrow strip of land with a few sapling pine and talk grass, weeds really. It’s where the smokers stand, their backs to graveyard. When people drive by they seldom make eye contact. I think I understand, it must be hard. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices The taste of conflict sits high on a perch waiting for some unsuspecting fool. I certainly hope it isn’t me. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. A red-winged blackbird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song: a lot like a poet. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices Turning the corner onto ArkRidge my lights flashed on the ghostly image of a white horse halfway across the pasture and up the hill. Just as quickly as he was there, the image was gone.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. This morning I noticed a cross had been erected beside the freeway; not an evangelistic cross but a memorial. Someone’s car had not made the curve and now they were a memory. It was raining as I passed the marker and the big truck in front of me tapped his brakes almost as an acknowledgement. The pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices Forsythia, quince and red bud, all on a backdrop of green, have lit up the mountains. The birds are very pleased.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices When I get older and die, I will miss spring, but the question in my mind is: will spring miss me? the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. The transparent veil of cynicism adds very little to the final painting. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Just the beyond the corner of my vision there is a shadow. I’m always aware of his presence but when I turn for a better look he is gone. The pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. It is amazing how a small farm pond and a warm spring afternoon almost always attract a crowd of folding chairs and fishing poles.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices.That’s him, the man in the center: square-faced with his hair sweep back and parted in the middle, a John Ruskin cigar in his left hand, gesturing with his right, a mischievous smile as if he knows something that no one else knows. That’s him, that’s my dad. The pretender, Sam
We All Hear Voices. There is a old one-eyed pickup turck parked in an open shed just up the road; it lost its right eye in a farming accident. It only goes out in the day time and then only just as far as the fillin’ station.the pretender,sam
We All Hear Voices. I have friends who say that they enjoy having written but they find the process tedious. I enjoy the process at least as much as the product. Sitting on the porch looking for a word in the dark. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Turning the corner onto ArkRidge my lights flashed on the ghostly image of a white horse halfway across the pasture and up the hill. Just as quickly as he was there, the image was gone.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. As for me, I would prefer to live out my life as an optimist and find out the day I died that I was wrong, than to live out my life as a pessimist and find out I was right. Pessimism is deadly for my soul. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices.This morning, I noticed a faintly familiar image in the knap of the carpet at my feet and then a few minutes later saw the same image in the green-on-green weave of the trees along the road. No religious icon just a hint of a smile and then it was gone. the pretender, sam
Pris Campbell’s Sea Trails is a wonderful poetic narrative intertwining of a dreamy adventure and ill-fated love. Mark Twain wrote, “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor.” Wonderful description of this book. I would strongly suggest that you get a copy of this book and read it till it is dog-eared. Sea Trails LUMMOX Press. ISBN 981929878024 Sam
We All Hear Voices. I enjoy getting lost, not knowing for certain where I am, even if is a journey of the mind. The pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. A small wind chime hanging from the porch is giving voice to a gentle morning breeze.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. The cataract in my right eye was nothing, really. My eye surgeon removed that tiny scar and replaced it with plastic. It’s the cataract in my mind that worries me the most. From my position on the front bulwark I can clearly see other people’s faults but not my own. Don’t know if that will ever change. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices Clearly, I am finitely old and, hopefully, infinitely young. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices On my run this morning I heard a saw sawing, a measured effort of back and forth. It was partially obscured by a high scrub but I could clearly see the top of a large head with a bald spot moving to the rhythm of the saw. An old dog in the side yard near the road barked announcing my presence. The saw stopped for a minute and then, said, “Shut up,” then it went back to its work. The pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. I folded the stationery into a paper airplane and flew it across the room, during its erratic flight it was no longer stationary. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Senor Wences loved to spin plates on tall thin sticks giving just enough attention to keep them from falling to the floor; one plate at the end always seemed to titter on edge of oblivion. Johnny, hidden in the wooden box would say, “I’m afraid.” The Senor would respond, “Don’t be afraid.” And Johnny would say, “ s’awright.” The Senor was in control of his little universe. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices The Gods have deicided that on this daythey will fight out their battles over the middle section of the United States. Conflict between Gods can be a violent affair that tends to drift over onto the little ants scurrying around on the ground below. Batton down the hatches. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. I was making a purchase at the office supply store and the young lady behind the counter gave me a coupon that entitles me to a free PC checkup. This is great; now, I can go in, they can ask me a few questions and determine how politically incorrect I am. I certainly hope they can offer corrective action; Lord knows I need it. the pretender
We All Hear Voices. A weeping fog lay heavy over the graveyard like a gray shroud. Grieving for her son, Mabel’s hair turned gray over night; still, she came to the graveside each day, the lavender gray sky of dusk made her even more mournful. Lamenting the fate of his people the God of Lost Children cried a cold, gray rain. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. There is a hammer being swung by a powerful arm just up the ridge. The force as it strikes the nail driving it into the wood has a delightful resonance that echoes down the hillside. Our cove acts like the bell of a trumpet sending this sound out for the rest of the world to hear. I wonder how far it goes. the pretender, sam.
We All Hear Voices. Are old wives tales, tales told by old wives or old tales told by wives? I’m confused. The pretender, sam
WAHV The morning is cool and overcast, the trees are fully leaved and Gracie is on watch; the birds and I are playing in the treetops. sam
WAHV In each of us lies a tiny grain, a romantic spark. Patiently, the infant of hope waits, dreaming of riding the Santa Fe Trail. sam
We All Hear Voices. Someone,somewhere hit the reset button on our computer, it gives us an opportunity for a fresh start.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Being the servant of a 15 year old cat is a humbling experience.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. This morning, on my way to work, the thought occurred to me that I might want to rent a new color. You know, something with that new color smell and taste, something sporty with a lot of zip. After I thought about it for a while, I decided to stay with my old color, it suits me so well.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. A curious combination of light and dark, new and old, happy and sad, high and low, ease and intensity–just another day in my life the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Life is only simple when you don’t look close. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices A whimsical shadow lingers around the edges of my world: echoes of my father’s laugh, my mother’s quiet smile. As I turn to look it recedes into the mist.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices Across the overpass from my friends the red-winged blackbirds lives a young mockingbird. His favorite perch is the power line just west of the road. I’ve noticed something rather strange about his bird song. Intermixed with his various sounds is an odd, almost mumbled, refrain; I think he’s trying to imitate the sounds of the cars on the highway. I guess we all take what life throws our way.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Did you hear that? That sound. It wasn’t noise but not quite a song. It had a restless lavender feel and the wavy texture of mourning. You didn’t? I guess it was my soul. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Clearly, we have the ability to communicate, yet we don’t seem to have the ability to communicate clearly. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. When they moved to Arkansas, she insisted that they carry all thirty-five boxes, each loaded with old pieces of fabric: Grandpa Mac’s flowered western shirt, Aunt Jenny’s gray wool skirt, Uncle Sanford’s high-pocket trousers, Mama’s christening gown. Now bit by bit, quilting needle in hand, she has laid them out in a diamond pattern on a blue background like a family album. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. The sharp-edged silhouette of anger is blunted only by light and tolerance. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. I’m waiting for the muse. He loves the time just before dawn when it’s black and the universe has my attention. Sometimes he stands along the road as I ride my bike, waves as I run up a steep hill or whispers to me as I swim. I have found him hiding in a camera and all I had to do was open the shutter. He’s there, biding his time. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. It seems that I was mistaken the other day when I said the old man was gone; apparently he was just taking a nap. Now he’s back, telling me how to think and what to believe. His pessimism is somewhat overwhelming and leaves my soul saddened. It takes a lot of energy to deal with this fellow. Such is life. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices A rose-colored sky backdrops the machine-gun laugh of a woodpecker and I am enjoying a really good glass of wine. Life is good. sam
We All Hear Voices. Inadvertently, I pick up a left-handed coffee cup and was surprised at how good the coffee tasted. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. The warm spiral taste of butterscotch drifted up into my nose and i was lost in a distant world. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. I came here young and will leave old; that’s not a bad thing.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Each morning in the summer Dad would stop at the Ice Plant, get a block of ice, drop it in large metal water can attached to the back of his truck and chip it up with a ice pick he carried on his dashboard; by mid- morning that iced water was a valued commodity. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices.This morning, well before the alarm went off, my right hand woke us up. “Get up,” he said, “we’ve got things to do, people to see!” My left hand yawned and rolled over, “Oh, please, give me a break. I was having a wonderful dream.” “If it was up to you,” the right responded,” we’d spend our whole day conjugating verbs and reading poetry.” In the end, the right hand prevailed. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. A thread-bare towel with that fresh off-the-clothesline smell and feel; what a delightful memory. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. A rose-colored sky backdrops the machine-gun laugh of a woodpecker and I am enjoying a really good glass of wine. Life is good. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. This morning as I drove to work the sky with filled with the image of two giant birds with their wing tips low toward the horizon; then, the McDonald’s sign got in the way. The pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. One day I went to the Woodruff County courthouse looking for my mother, I was told she was upstairs straightening up for a trial the next day. When I walked into the old courtroom, the evening sun was shining in through the tall windows on the south wall. The open wooden blinds left shadows that looked like bars across the room. It was an eerie feeling. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices.When I was small, Mama sat with the old people in the family. Each week she went to the library and checked out a stack of books. One of the highlights of my childhood was going to our little library and getting my own library card; that night I sat in our dimly lit hall and read a Zane Grey novel. The pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Here I am lying in the crevice between wandering memories and persistent desires. It’s amazing that I can still move but it is still great fun. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. The old pickup was painted cherry red and had a green homemade camper shell on the back. Written in a crude calligraphy on the side panel was a sign that read: Lotions, Potions and Cures. That might have been me driving the truck. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. The sky is clear and blue. There is a wisp of rose-shaded fog over the river. What a great canvas to create a day. sam
We All Hear Voices.I love the intense flavor of the tango when it is storming.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. My world is quiet and still except for the rain in the trees and birds that seem excited about a new day.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. On the bank above our dock is a large red-oak tree, a staging area for the birds as they come and go from Annette’s feeders. A moment ago, an acorn cut its ties and fell, striking the metal roof of the dock; it rolled to the edge and then fell into the water: a most reassuring sound. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. There is distant thunder rolling back and forth among the dark odd looking clouds, the voice of an unruly God.the pretender,sam
We All Hear Voices. For me the ideal firework display is one Roman candle fired from a hidden location, taking me by surprise. It makes that initial swooshing sound and then bursts into a bouquet of light. If it’s far enough away you don’t even hear the sound just the wonder of a falling star. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Thoughts drift through and bubble to the surface, a song, a random thought. At the next table a little girl hums to no one in particular:Happy Birthday to you the pretender,sam
We All Hear Voices. In each of us lies a tiny grain, a romantic spark. Patiently, the infant of hope awaits, dreaming of doing battle with a windmill or riding the Santa Fe Trail. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Who am I to question the wisdom of a cat. Their lives are played out on a stage that I know very little about. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Life is far too important to be taken seriously. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices.The lake is still but silent; it’s full of force, waiting to rise with the slightest of wind.the pretender,sam
We All Hear Voices. I learn a lot from Gracie: sitting, watching, absorbing all that is around me. the pretender, sam
We All Hear voices. Here on my porch looking out into the tree tops it is different world altogether.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. My grand daughters are natural born philosophers every other word is: Why? the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. Gracie has had a good life, even the dog’s bark in the distance doesn’t perk her ears. She is safe. Nice way to be.the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices.At the gym I often find myself falling into cadence with those on the machines around me. In the verdant canopy surrounding my porch the same is true: the gentle winds and the point-counterpoint of bird song create a rhythm that moves my soul. the pretender,sam
We All Hear Voices. Just outside of town there were three large dogs lying in a straight line beside the road, monitoring the traffic. They seemed to have everything in control. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices. On occasions anger bubbles up to the surface, with all of it’s dark rumbling violet power. The part I dislike the most is the taste lingers for a while. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices.Digging in the hillside we often unearth crystal and an occasional arrowhead or shard of cut rock showing the worn edge of human use. I am not the first to sit on this perch and contemplate my navel. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices.It’s dark here on my porch and there is no 60 cycle sound , no mechanical drone, just the birds and the cicadas.the pretender,sam
We All Hear Voices. A small wind chime hanging from the porch is giving voice to a gentle morning breeze. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices Between my neighbor and I is a small creek that empties into the lake at my feet. Based on its needs the creek changes course every so often; in the process my land becomes his or his becomes mine. The creek seems to laugh at the idea of owning this land. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices.I ate enough wonderful pasta and olive oil in Italy you could have thrown me against the wall and I would have stuck. the pretender, sam
We All Hear Voices.In the Cisten Chapel playful artisans smile down from the ceiling and across the centuries. the pretender, sam
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