All Night, All Day: Life, Death, & Angels: Introducing AVERYELL KESSLER!






For previous posts on the contributors, see these authors who were all featured in the first section of the book, “Mystics and Messengers.”

Cassandra King

Sophy Burnham

Nancy Mardis, the Artist!

Susan Cushman, Editor

Suzanne Henley

Sally Palmer Thomason

River Jordan

Natasha Trethewey

And from the second section of the book, “Angels Watching Over Me.”

Sonja Livingston

Johnnie Bernhard

Frederica Mathewes-Green

Angela Jackson-Brown

Lauren Camp

Christa Allan

Renea Winchester

Jacqueline Allen Trimble

Mandy Haynes

From the third section of the book, “All in the Family: Mothers, Fathers, Sisters, and Grandfathers.”

Wendy Reed

Lisa Gornick

Jennifer Horne

Ann Fisher-Wirth

Next up?

Averyell Kessler

I invited Averyell to submit an essay for this collection although she does’t have a published book. Yet. She’s a natural-born storyteller and I knew she would come through with a good story. My connection to Averyell is that we’re both from Jackson, Mississippi, although we didn’t know each other while growing up there in the 1950s and ’60s. She spent ten years in marketing and publicity for her husband’s national touring Broadway productions, where she learned that anything can happen backstage including fist fights, dressing room shenanigans, and arrests in the middle of a major downtown street. After retiring from the peace and quiet of a lengthy legal practice, she’s taken up writing in hopes of finding additional peace and quiet. Averyell, a columnist for The Northside Sun has been published in the Ponder Journal, Mississippi Magazine, Our South Magazine, and Episcopal Café. Her weekly flash fiction posts are available at Averyell’s essay for this collection is about her late grandfather, Wes. Here’s an excerpt about their relationship . . . after Wes died . . . .

“Little Ole Girl”

He speaks to me again on a moonless January night. I wake to the faint aroma of cigar smoke and peppermint. I see nothing, but I know he is here.

“Wes?” I whisper. “Are you around?” “Yes,” he replies.

“I’m glad,” I say.

“I hurt you,” he says. “I know better now. Will you forgive me?”

“Already done,” I answer.

“When we come, take my hand,” he says.

“We?” Who’s we?”

“You call ’em angels; I call ’em friends. You will, too.”

“I don’t understand, Wes.”

“Just take my hand, little ole girl,” he says. “I’ll always be around, even at the end. No one goes home alone.”