Bob Burdick


Bob Burdick photo
Bob Burdick is the author of The Margaret Ellen, Tread Not on Me, and Stories Along The Way, a short-story collection that won the Royal Palm Book Award. Bob can be reached at: [[email protected][email protected]][email protected][/email]

Most Recent Articles by Bob Burdick:

The Last Step

Jan 11, 2014 — Bob Burdick

The year was 1946 and Carolyn was the new kid in my fourth-grade class.  In a word, she was different.  Not in looks, however, as with soft blue eyes, long brown locks, and dimples that pulsed with her vibrant smile she was certainly cute enough.  No, the difference was her mature demeanor, including an aura of self-assurance in her speech as well as her actions.

2014 Resolutions

Jan 1, 2014 — Bob Burdick

I woke at noon on New Year’s Day, disgusted at the sight of my clothes strewn from the living room to the bedroom.  That was the good news.  The bad news was an eye-watering odor filled the house, and my right ear throbbed with each beat of my heart.

The Greatest Gift

Dec 23, 2013 — Bob Burdick

I was twelve that Christmas eve of ‘48.  In previous years my little brother and I had tried to stay awake all night so we could catch Santa.  We always failed.  This year proved to be the same.  Minutes after consuming his bedtime milk and cookies, my brother was asleep.  Worry, however, kept me awake.  Would the gift I had prayed for be under our Christmas tree in the morning?

Angel of the Lord

Dec 17, 2013 — Bob Burdick

If one tradition defined a community, Christmas Eve caroling defined Cherry Log, the mountain village where I was born and raised.  And other than those years while serving in uniform for the country I loved, I had never missed one of the festive occasions.  Even now as an older man with a family of my own, this special night still triggered excitement.  The lone exception was the heartbreaking Christmas Eve of ‘98.

Cowgirls Need Love Too

Sep 28, 2013 — Bob Burdick

Mom plunged into depression when Dad died.  I had tested my wings and left the nest years earlier, and now, for the first time in her life, Mom was alone.  I lived nearby and checked on her often, but it didn’t take a trained eye to see she wasn’t faring well.  She shunned friends and neighbors, lost weight because she wasn’t eating properly, and the “toddy” she once enjoyed before bedtime was now poured in mid afternoon.  One day I caught her drinking at noon.  I couldn’t allow this to continue.

Competency: No Oval Office Should Be Without It

Sep 4, 2013 — Bob Burdick

“Integrity is not a conditional word. It doesn’t blow in the wind or change with the weather. It is your inner image of yourself, and if you look in there and see a man who won’t cheat, then you know he never will.”—John D. MacDonald—-The Turquoise Lament

The Road to Hell

Aug 27, 2013 — Bob Burdick

In the years I’ve been dabbling with words my feelings have ranged from mountaintop highs—-like when receiving a pleasing comment from a reader—-to abject lows—-like when catching a scathing critique from a pompous dude with a sprinkling of the alphabet following his name.

The Flatland Peddler

Aug 16, 2013 — Bob Burdick

Living here in the North Georgia Mountains is peaceful, but like most things in life the seclusion we enjoy comes with a few tradeoffs.  One example is grocery shopping.  Oh, we have grocery stores, but reaching one involves more than a quick trip down the block.  In fact, we don’t have blocks, just miles of twisting roads, which makes the closest grocery store a fifteen-minute drive—one-way.  For this reason, and the price of fuel, we keep a well-stocked pantry.

Ambidextrous

Aug 7, 2013 — Bob Burdick

I was still a little squirt when I learned Dad was ambidextrous.  His sister, Nina, my favorite aunt, was visiting with Mom in the kitchen, and I was supposed to be in my bedroom changing out of my romp-around clothes and into my go-to-town pants and shirt.

J.W. Died Today

Jul 31, 2013 — Bob Burdick

Sunset Memorial was quiet that Saturday afternoon.  I stood in the long shadow of a sprawling magnolia, alone, surrounded by a silence that seemed to stretch forever.  Despite the heat I shuddered, realizing as I did that the temporary silence of my world was no match for the perpetual silence surrounding those who were interred here.

Long Shot

Jul 23, 2013 — Bob Burdick

Nineteen-forty-four was a year of war.  On battlegrounds around the world our armed forces fought our nation’s enemies; on the playground of Camphor Elementary School, my brother and I fought the Porter brothers.

The Porters, Stinky and Lard-O, were a year older than us.  They were also bigger and faster and better at all the stuff that counted most in fights, in particular their awesome ability to fling a rotten orange laced with gravel farther and with greater accuracy than we could.

Daughters are Special

Jul 16, 2013 — Bob Burdick

I’d often heard this axiom, “Daughters are special;” however, it wasn’t until I’d held my own daughter in those first minutes of her life that I fully understood the meaning in the words.  But there was more at play at that moment than the simple understanding of words—-there was an identity crisis tearing at my inner being.

The Clinic Caper

Jul 8, 2013 — Bob Burdick

I’m often asked, “Where do you get story ideas?”  Quite simply (and as I believe most writers would answer), it’s a rare day when I DO NOT encounter something that triggers a story idea.  Here’s an example.

Beyond the Call

Jul 1, 2013 — Bob Burdick

July 4, Heartland, America.  Eunice Locklin visited her son with day-after-day repetition, a practice now into its fourth decade.  And while she cherished each visit, today’s visit was precious.  You see, this day was not only symbolic for the nation, it was symbolic for Eunice as well:  Elliot W. Locklin, the only child of Roger and Eunice Locklin, was born on the Fourth of July.

Rex

Jun 23, 2013 — Bob Burdick

Divorce is nasty.  This ordeal is bad enough, but when participants also fight over splitting the sheets, the dissension worsens.  Such conflict was the case when Chuck and Dee Dee rescinded their vow of “… until death do we part.”