content – Catherine Hamrick

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back 2 basics: 7 #twittertips

PushPullChamrick

Am I flattered when someone with 21,000 Twitter fans follows me? Not necessarily. Scrolling a few seconds through the posts tells me whether that persons sings a one-note song: “Me-me-me-me-me-e-e, please RT me-e-e! Me-me-me-me–it’s all about me-e-e-e!” My answer? “Forget you-ou-ou!” However, anyone who follows these Twitter basics grabs my […]

Estimated reading time: 5 minutes

Let Your Content Soar!

Welcome to my blog, a canvas for short reflections and poetry. However, if you seek the services of a storyteller, editor, and writing coach adept in print and new media, click on the menu in the upper lefthand corner. Let’s explore taking your content to new heights.

Estimated reading time: 2 minutes

My Other Blog: Random Storyteller

The New Orange (on a False Fall Day)

In the dead of August, A few leaves yellow-scuttled yards Unready for rakes, autumn’s casual brush by— A 68-degree flirt with sweater weather after a fine rain. In a deeper South, the Amazon burned; The slideshow played, a frame or two, On a small screen, swiped by android thumbs Tracking the finer points of the […]

The Shadow of My Father’s Beard

It’s the small things, After a person is gone, That keep him alive, For a time, The things unnoticed Until they rise Out of memory’s grave. My father’s beard, Always a shadow, Even at 5 a.m., Briefly bristled my cheek, While my mother Lilted, “Rise and shine,” In the dark Of day number four […]

My Father on D-Day: Why Do You Ask This?

They made movies of our memories,

Of what they thought they were:

German mortar and exploding artillery,

The strewn wreckage

Of flipped, ripped jeeps,

Of wire,

Of bodies, whole, some with faces yet,

Of twitching pieces, arms here and legs flung there,

Of middle parts, spilling guts, oozing.

What was I thinking?

The sea foams, so does blood.

Then my hands did the thinking, and doing, on semi-automatic,

What the doctor ordered:

Stanch bleeding,

Apply dressings,

Sprinkle sulfa powder,

The lone wound antiseptic.

And dwindle the morphine—

On who has the best chance?

The hands became the machine

That patched the broken living and passed them to other hands

That stretchered them up the ramp.