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Shawna Wells

A letter to my past self on brilliance and regret

As a little girl, I remember sitting at tables full of adults telling stories. I barely understood the story’s context, but I watched as the power of a good story moved through a room. The sweetness of each sentence drifted through the air like the smell of freshly baked biscuits. My favorite stories

Woman smiling

To the Waitress at The Red Rooster

As a little girl, I remember sitting at tables full of adults telling stories. I barely understood the story’s context, but I watched as the power of a good story moved through a room. The sweetness of each sentence drifted through the air like the smell of freshly baked biscuits. My favorite stories