The Writing Life of Rebecca Barrett
Discover the stories crafted by writer Rebecca Barrett. Immerse yourself in her imaginative, fictional worlds of well-drawn characters, compelling narratives, and emotionally rich novels and short stories.
Hello. I’m Rebecca Barrett
Welcome to my website where I practice my favorite pastime…story telling. I’ve been an avid reader all my life and I’m blessed to be the product of “front porch” socializing where all the best stories begin. Growing up on a farm in a very rural area where the phone was on the party line system (yes, there was such a thing) and neighbors socialized by coming to “sit a spell” on the front porch swing, I began my journey as a story teller. The love, laughter, heartache, and sometimes juicy gossip of those visits still whispers to me whenever I sit down at the keyboard and let my imagination run wild.
Listening quietly to my elders as I sat on the porch steps or (when they were unaware of my presence as I played quietly under the front porch) taught me the art of a good story. I’ve been scribbling ever since. I hope you’ll find some of those scribblings enjoyable. I’ve posted a few short stories for you to sample here.
I’m very excited about my new detective. The first book in the Hugo August Detective Series, The Rat Catcher, is now available at your favorite book retailer. I find I really enjoy murdering people…on the page, of course.
If you’re interested in being an early reader in the next book in this new series, She Had To Die, email me at firstname.lastname@example.org to learn how to become a beta reader.
What Do I Write?
A snatch of conversation overheard, an image that you can’t erase either because it is so moving, so memorable, or so unbelievable; these are the seeds of short stories. They entertain, enlighten, and sometimes shock. And they are such fun to write.
These are some of my favorite short stories. I hope you’ll like them.
My mother is fond of saying that life is full of situations and that it’s up to us to make the most of them, good or bad. I’ve decided that at eleven and three quarters years of age, my life is the cross roads of bad situations and there isn’t a lot to be made of them.
She reached across the pillow on the empty side of her bed and picked up the telephone. Thunder grumbled loudly as a flash of lightning revealed the rain frantically trying to penetrate the glass of her bedroom window. Had the phone been ringing or was it just the thunder that had roused her?
I had managed to get through Ash Wednesday with my vow of abstinence intact. The ball gowns were divided into those destined for the cleaners and those to be left at the Junior League Second Hand Shop for recycling by some future patronesses of the Queens of the Nile or the Maids of Ophelia, better known as MOO.
She had had the good fortune to be widowed at the perfect age, she said. At sixty-three she was old enough to have raised her children, paid for her home, and established a nice little next egg. And yet she was still young enough to have her health, to be physically active, and mentally sharp.