Sarah Scott is in the Now

One of the characteristics of writers on ReadThisPlease—they are multi-talented, and Sarah Scott exemplifies this attribute. A mom, wife, student, writer, dramatic poet, photographer, soap maker, painter, literary adjudicator, winner of the Louse McColl Creative Writing Scholarship for Fiction—-Sweet, as we affectionately call her, is a deeply passionate and focused individual. Her spark’s an odd glow; she sees the subtleties of life intensely. Her experience on the planet has been dynamic and peppered with moments of observation and reflection. These impressions percolate in her writing. She’s new and she’s got that heartache of the Romantic school, but Sarah Scott is real. Her words are a weave of dichotomy, splicing the innately sublime with a mix of in-the-day application. People have woes and joys; Sarah expresses them.

Now.ReadThisPlease is a short form project—daily columns, a few articles, glimpses, and not constructed with the same preparation as our periodical. Yet, Sarah has politely acquiesced to the challenge of our in-the-box style—we’re including bits of her prose and observation. Now we all get a chance to read as she wanders in words, through brambles of the heart and bliss of the senses.

Every once in a while you meet a writer who can take a dewy-eyed glint and impale it on the page, then tease out the sentiment. So we introduce Sarah Scott, a regular contributor of ReadThisPlease, who has come over to the Now.



An Ancient Art by Sarah Scott


The limbs are naked, withered arms reaching for the gin jar in the high cupboard, leathery skin sagging from the hinges. Feeble and freezing in the first light of morning, he stands stark against the skyline, tired muscles aching, eyes drooping.

The harsh morning chill gives way to afternoon breezes. A little life seeps through weary bones. Green eyes twinkle in sunny glow. Sprigs of hope, ideas and afternoon plans take shape. An hour in the garden. A stroll down the lane. Sitting on the porch sipping tea with a friend.

The fullness of the day, rich warmth brightens his tawny complexion. A toothless grin on his dimpled face. An old-timer sharing stories from youth. A chuckle, a cackle, a knee-slapping roar. He shakes with delight. He bends and sways with grace belying his age.

Evening falls. Golden and crimson streak across the sky. His aged hands still. He stands with radiant, full branches basking in the setting sun.


An Ancient Art © 2010 Sarah Scott. By permission, an excerpt from ReadThisPlease, Volume One, Edition Four.


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