Author: jennygracespoetryandcreativewritingtechniques

I am a published poet and short story writer. I have been published in SNHU's the penmen review. https://penmenreview.com/author/jenny-andrews is the link where you can find my poetry and a short story. Currently, I am writing a collection of short stories, and a collection of poetry. I am trying my hand at writing a novel. Well, not a novel, actually. Make that two novels. My passion is writing. My inspiration is Franz Krafka because he managed to see the absurdity of life. Life is all about perspective and who is telling the story. We all see this life through the lens of our experiences. Literature should inspire us to think, to analyze, and to get lost in unfamiliar worlds in which we learn something new about this human existence. It is my hope that my writing challenges the reader to think, and to see a different perspective, as well as be entertained. My faith in Jesus strengthens me and gives me the courage to survive the twists and turns of this life. My faith influences a lot of my writing in that goodness always triumphs over evil, in that love conquers all. I hope you enjoy reading my blog.

New September

Zinnias dance in swirls of saffron, pale pink, and tangerine; God blesses me with this day.

Coolness of autumn at summer’s scorching finale.

Doorstep of Autumn; God blesses me with refreshing coolness.

Steel gray birds serenade from the canopy of mint green beauty bush leaves laden with deep purple berries.

September morning oak branches brush the pale blue sky; God’s artistry calms my soul.

The heavens heal my brokenness.

Sunshine, breezes, birds, trees, bees, the earth beneath my feet prove that God is holding me.

Jenny W. Andrews copyright 2025

Shades of Purple: A Short Story Sketch

Pressed against the lilac sky, rain clouds marched across the dusty, beige hills. Haddie watched the advancing storm from her kitchen window and clicked her chipped cherry red fingernails in rhythm with the song playing on her transistor radio.

Purple rain, purple rain, purple rain.

The man’s voice pleaded as if he were stuck on a thought that was at once sorrowful and unintentionally seductive.

Jazz, Haddie’s scarlet macaw, scratched at the mauve and fuchsia threads of Grandma Heloise’s old afghan. Jazz strutted along the back of the sofa and perched himself smugly on the top of the tiffany lamp, also Grandma Heloise’s.

Purple rain, purple rain, purple rain.

There was that sorrowfulness. That catch in his throat. Rawness of emotion.

She switched the volume louder in an attempt to merge with that voice, in an attempt to absorb the freedom of that voice, the freedom to feel, to expose that raw emotion.

Then the voice stopped.

She drowned in her own sorrow as torrents of rain pelted the tin roof of Grandma Heloise’s bungalow. It had been built by her grandpa Carlton in 1939.

Time had stood still in that little space.

Time had stopped.

But the rain pelted the earth with a cruel, unrelenting voraciousness.

Haddie turned the transistor radio dial in search of that voice that had the capacity to express emotions that she had clamped down deep within herself.

Jenny W. Andrews copyright 2025

Note: Unless you’ve been living on another planet in a distant galaxy several light years away you should recognize “Purple Rain” is the title of a song sang by the musical artist Prince in 1984.