Weekly column by M.M. Cochran
I’m 24 years old. I work full-time as a newspaper journalist, covering everything between crime stories and feel-good features. My side gig is authoring novels. My free time, therefore, is slim but typically found around sunset on a weekday evening, when I gently ease into nighttime on the front porch.
There’s a lot of words I want to say, but I was unsure how they’d spill out of me in this column.
I thought they’d come to me while I spent my weekend in Boston. But they didn’t.
They didn’t come to me as I pranced out of the Celtics stadium, celebrating because the Heat won.
There’s a picture I rediscovered a few months ago. My mom must have snapped it behind my back, and somehow, it ended up making its way back to me not so long ago.
My home is split in two: half of us is pining for summer weather, and the other half is still craving the snowstorm our town never got.
My home is split in two: half of us is pining for summer weather, and the other half is still craving the snowstorm our town never got.
My home is split in two: half of us is pining for summer weather, and the other half is still craving the snowstorm our town never got.
Springtime, for as long as I can remember, has been my least favorite season of the year. I love the winter cold, the fall breezes, and the summer beach trips. Spring? I either want cold or hot weather, sunshine or rain, shorts or pants.
Dearest readers, I had a realization the other day.
Before I delve into all that, let me start with this: When I was in my last semester of college, I read a book called Winter Birds, written by a local author.
Dearest readers, allow me to introduce myself.
I’m M. M. Cochran, your local journalist, author, and lover of all things bookish.
317 Trade Street Greer, SC 29651
Phone: 1-864-877-2076
