Writing

Listen to this brand new “Before and Laughter” excerpt:

Before and Laughter by Sandra Moulin

Writing Samples:

“BEFORE and LAUGHTER: A Humorous Perspective on the Mundane,” 2011

The Big Guy may have created us, but He didn’t put much thought into two humans living together.

There are some things people need to know about the Woman’s Restroom. First of all, it is blatantly clear that NO WOMAN designed such a place, and I’ve yet to see any woman resting there.

My favorite word begins with an “S.” It is not a nice word. It cannot be replaced by any lame version of it like “stuff, junk or crap.”

“Sweetheart, are you going to wear THAT?” he asks. “No,” she replies. “I’m just standing here in it two minutes before it’s time to leave.”

I prefer novels replete with sex and violence. Plot is optional.

I hid my buttocks under sweatshirts, sac dresses and overblouses for years, and now I can’t find it!

Today I went to a lady’s lecture. I counted at least six times when everyone laughed when nothing was funny. I have come to the conclusion that laughter does not imply that something is funny. That’s funny.

Short Stories:

Short Story Collection in Progress (Stories of loss, joy, success, fantasy and mystery)

Excerpt from “Gone.”

He was gone. Gone. Her best friend, her soul mate, the one whose funny expression in the morning made her approach each day with a cheerful heart. How would she survive without him? Who could ever again have that effect on her? She swallowed, trying unsuccessfully to get rid of the lump in her throat , for she knew that once she allowed the dam of tears to leak, she would drown in the pain. For him, she had to be strong; she had to act “as if” he were still there. She would talk to him with the same lilt in her voice. She would get his breakfast, set down the paper and brew her coffee just like always.

Excerpt from “Doggerel”

“DOGGEREL!” The startling red letters jumped off the page as she anxiously tore open the large manila envelope, her fingers trembling. Daddy had told her to send her first poem to “Uncle” Grant, the editor of the county newspaper and a family friend. Holding the paper in her hand as though she had given birth to it, she gently smoothed the edges scanning the red marks and exclamation points scattered carelessly across the page. “Uncle” Grant was “brilliant,” Daddy had said, and he would tell her if she had any talent. After all, “Escape,” had been published in a student anthology and awarded an “Honorable Mention.” Her teacher had chosen her poem of all . . .