One of my favorite sites is Senior Women, http://www.seniorwomen.com/ , an online journal written by mature women, meaning wise women, who have lived long enough to have great insight into what life is all about. These women also have found that laughter, even when we laugh at ourselves, makes delightful reading. I could name several of the writers on this site, but I will mention only one today. I hope you will go to Senior Women and get to know them for yourself.
Joan L Cannon, 80 plus published author
Joan L Cannon, novelist, lives in western North Carolina. She has published several novels, a book of short stories, and is now publishing poetry as well. Soon after I started the Netwest Writers site, Joan contacted me. I suggested she contact Senior Women . The rest is history, as they say. She has been sharing her essays for years and is popular with readers of Senior Women.
I firmly believe there is a disparity in the publishing world between men over sixty and women over sixty. I know older women who have faced age and gender bias in the literary world. Luckily we have a few places that only want work by older women.
I admire Senior Women for excellent writing and savvy information enjoyed by young as well as older readers. My only complaint is that I can't seem to leave the site when I go there. Just too much good writing.
Only Women Over the Age of Sixty
Persimmon Tree is another publication for the older generation. Persimmon Tree showcases an impressive variety of literature and art by women over 60, many still working well into their 80s and 90s.
"Persimmon Tree is intended to fill a niche that has been neglected by contemporary publishing, whether in print or online," said Nan Gefen, the magazine's founding editor and publisher. "There is a growing body of work by male writers and artists who are entering or well into old age. But the comparable body of work by aging women is much smaller and mostly limited to a few already well-known writers and artists," Gefen explained. "Women are creating, but they are not getting the exposure they deserve."
Shouldn't we women visit and support these online journals? Youth is idealized in the U.S. but our brightest young people don't have the gift of history and experience that can only be gained from living a long life.
Do you like reading work by older women writers? Who are some of your favorites? And they don't have to be on the Best Sellers List.
Name two.
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Showing posts with label Persimmon Tree. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Persimmon Tree. Show all posts
Friday, March 15, 2013
Monday, October 6, 2008
Passing on our Wisdom
Since I am an "over fifty" person, I find the online journal Persimmon Tree filled with stories, essays and poems I relate to and I recommend that "under fifty" women and men read this ezine. In our youth-centered culture, much could be learned if the wisdom of mature individuals was respected and shared with those who could benefit from our struggles.
Page from old album: William Henry Robison, daughter Mildred, and Lula Jones Robison.
I've been fortunate in my life to have the opportunity to make a difference in the lives of children, as a teacher and as a friend. In recent years I've come to know younger women who counsel with me on issues important to them. We learn from each other, and I imagine that to be the way of generations past, when grandmothers lived with their children's families.
I never knew my grandmothers. They died long before I was born.What I know about them, I heard about from others. My sister June told me how she liked to sit in the hammock of Mama's dress as it hung between her knees. Mama was my mother's mother, Lula Robison. June loved Mama. I envy her having known the woman whose name I carry. Mother named me Glenda Lou in memory of her mother. As a child I hated the name. My first grade teacher called me by both names: "Glenda Lou, please read."
I came home from school upset and complaining. "Mother, I hate Lou. I don't want her to call me that." No one at home ever used my second name.
It was many years later that I accepted the honor that accompanied the name. My brother Hal still calls me "Glenda Lou" at times. And my husband often shortens it to "Lou." It conjures up a picture of Mama, the woman Mother spoke of with nothing but love in every word. Just as I speak of Mother who learned her parenting skills from Mama and practiced them on all seven of us.
My grandmother was William's second marriage. He first married her sister Ada who died in childbirth when pregnant with their first child.
I wonder how Lula felt about William before he married her sister. Did she come to fall in love with him after he was widowed as she consoled him in his grief? His name was William Henry Robison. Her name was Malula Jones. Both lived in Decatur County Georgia before their marriage where William's father, John Monroe Robison was a well respected man in the community. John served in the Confederacy as a blacksmith.
What stories they could have told me. What stories I could have heard from my mother if I'd only asked more questions, listened to her history.
I plan to do more discovery of my Robison family in the coming months.
But I'll never know my grandmothers.
Page from old album: William Henry Robison, daughter Mildred, and Lula Jones Robison.
I've been fortunate in my life to have the opportunity to make a difference in the lives of children, as a teacher and as a friend. In recent years I've come to know younger women who counsel with me on issues important to them. We learn from each other, and I imagine that to be the way of generations past, when grandmothers lived with their children's families.
I never knew my grandmothers. They died long before I was born.What I know about them, I heard about from others. My sister June told me how she liked to sit in the hammock of Mama's dress as it hung between her knees. Mama was my mother's mother, Lula Robison. June loved Mama. I envy her having known the woman whose name I carry. Mother named me Glenda Lou in memory of her mother. As a child I hated the name. My first grade teacher called me by both names: "Glenda Lou, please read."
I came home from school upset and complaining. "Mother, I hate Lou. I don't want her to call me that." No one at home ever used my second name.
It was many years later that I accepted the honor that accompanied the name. My brother Hal still calls me "Glenda Lou" at times. And my husband often shortens it to "Lou." It conjures up a picture of Mama, the woman Mother spoke of with nothing but love in every word. Just as I speak of Mother who learned her parenting skills from Mama and practiced them on all seven of us.
My grandmother was William's second marriage. He first married her sister Ada who died in childbirth when pregnant with their first child.
I wonder how Lula felt about William before he married her sister. Did she come to fall in love with him after he was widowed as she consoled him in his grief? His name was William Henry Robison. Her name was Malula Jones. Both lived in Decatur County Georgia before their marriage where William's father, John Monroe Robison was a well respected man in the community. John served in the Confederacy as a blacksmith.
What stories they could have told me. What stories I could have heard from my mother if I'd only asked more questions, listened to her history.
I plan to do more discovery of my Robison family in the coming months.
But I'll never know my grandmothers.
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