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True Inklings;

Diary of a Hard-Headed Woman

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Sixteen Candles


Even though he had died when I was five years old, Grandpa Teen appeared to me in a dream a few months before my sixteenth birthday. It was on his birthday in March of 1963. His appearance didn't scare me. In fact, his soft smile warmed my heart.


After a while, he spoke in silence telepathically: You’re a woman, now. Before that, I had not thought about whether I was or was not a woman. But when he said it, I knew it was true.


In his day, a girl of my age would be prêt à marier, ready to marry. My grandmother, like many other Cajun girls of her time, had married at fourteen.


We stood facing each other in mute admiration before he faced the brightness behind him and started to walk away. After what seemed to be an afterthought, he turned back toward me and extended his hand, inviting me to go with him.

True Inklings;

Diary of a Hard-Headed Woman


I believe in magic. Not abracadabra magic, but the real kind.

The kind that settles in the bones and guides the hearts of those willing to listen and surrender to its ancient wisdom.

True Inklings; Diary of a Hard-Headed Woman is a blend of dark, spicy gumbo, sweet potato pie, and homemade wine. A mixture of  the best of two worlds––the hypnotic appeal of living way down yonder in New Orleans and the joie-de-vivre of Southwest Louisiana.

Both cultures, though mutually exclusive,  afforded me the means to put off converting my inner maiden into the completion of womanhood. While suffering the consequences, I also enjoyed a ride I could never have imagined.

Yes, I do believe in magic––the magic that transformed me––a silent, indifferent, yet unrelenting sacred power.


Work in Progress by

     Connie Hebert


True Inklings

Diary of a Hard-Headed Woman