Author Archives: Heidi Stauff throughsinaisand

About Heidi Stauff throughsinaisand

Ultimately ending up in Atlanta, Heidi's creative impulses followed many paths. She delivered middle-class, white-girl, angst to tens and twenties of Generation-Xers through the now defunct rock-band, Belljar. She designed hundreds of dresses for Disney-bound little girls. She birthed two babies she now homeschools, lost and then found her faith again, and writes about all of it in her free time: which is usually after midnight with a glass or three of wine.

Temporary Attractions

In August they appear shimmering in the highway haze. Metal caravans refracting the sun. They set up in plain view. In parking lots or the rented dirt of fair grounds. By nightfall they’re up, red lights running, the kind of … Continue reading

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The Good Day

I found my grandfather’s funeral program in the junk drawer, looking for batteries to put in the remote-control car my son had just unwrapped for Christmas. I found it underneath the Chinese take-out menus, phone books and old coupons; he … Continue reading

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The Composition of Dust

On Saturdays, she stays inside to wipe away the residue of the work-week, covering every surface of the house like dust. She scrubs and scours every seam, in between feeding machines constant cycles of dirty then clean. All the while, … Continue reading

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The Mythology of Stars

  “Let’s just lie here for awhile and look at the stars,” he said. But that was back when you were still just a girl who believed in the stories of gods and men. Like how the man in the … Continue reading

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BraveandReckless blog

Go over and check out BraveandReckless writing competition results. I enjoyed participating and reading all the different takes on the writing prompt.

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He carries out the nightly ritual ordained by his mother by embracing whoever’s there. He moves among us through the incense of nicotine like a little priest in a pair of hopeful spiderman pajamas. He tiptoes over the empty beer … Continue reading

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The Taste of Paper

      After seven years of silence —a soft mumble of an email. I miss you. More of a murmur in sleep than a conscious sentiment. But we were never friends. More like refugees huddled together trying to survive … Continue reading

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