Tag Archives: R.T. Dickinson

Friday Night Writes: Who is the Baby No One Wanted?


Photo taken October 2012 by R.T. Dickinson outside Bamberg, SC of my father and son.

He was no one’s child. He was everyone’s child. Wrapped in his first blanket, the baby lay in a crib carved by the pastor. The man smiled. Eyes – the color of ashen storm clouds at dawn – stared at him.

“Can he see me?” the pastor asked his wife.

He ran his finger over the small, soft brown hand.

“Maybe, Eth,” replied his wife. “He’s a new baby. He’ll see things close to his face in a few days.”

“I bet he’ll be a smart boy.”

“Only time will tell,” said his wife as she pulled a needle through the collar of one of his work shirts.

Pastor Eth Benedict stood from his spot next to the crib. He looked at his wife. Lily May Benedict had not wanted this child. She had not wanted to move to the town in the valley near the Little Salkehatchie River. She had not wanted many things in her life with Eth.

 

Sample from The Unclaimed in the Red Loam Stories

Photos and Words by R.T. Dickinson

© 2006-2013 by R.T. Dickinson. All rights reserved. No part of The Unclaimed, Sons of the Edisto, Red Loam stories, manuscripts or related material may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of R.T. Dickinson.



That was the Place

The doorway of Mizpah.

Go to a place almost forgotten.

It could be anywhere.

I take a walk in the world surrounding my book, Sons of the EdistoAt the end of a path sits a one-room, meeting house. Mizpah was a church created by Methodists in the nineteenth century.

The town around it, Buford’s Bridge, was burned by General Sherman’s troops during the American Civil War. According to legend, Mizpah was used as a stable for the Union Army’s horses.

The historic white church—surrounded by graves and trees with Spanish moss—first captured my imagination when I was ten. I went with my parents and grandparents to a family reunion at Mizpah Church. The five families are the descendents of those who originally lived in Buford’s Bridge.

I won the South Carolina Lieutenant Governor’s Award for Creative Writing in the fifth grade. I wrote an essay about Mizpah.

All I remember about that essay is the award, and how  I described the autumn air as smelling like bacon.

I confess I have no idea where I came up with that description, but Mizpah’s inspiration remained with me long after my much-loved paternal grandparents died.

 

“A white wooden sign reads Mizpah Methodist Church. The black iron gate is closed. Groves of oaks hide the church.” ~ Description from Sons of the Edisto, by R.T. Dickinson.

Sons of the Edisto is a small part in a world made up of research, interviews, true stories, news stories, politics, photography and art. That world began with Mizpah.

I was hesitant to tell any of my father’s relatives about Sons of the Edisto and related projects, such as From Red Loam—a short story collection– or  my photography collection. Six years after I began research, I hardly talk about Mizpah, Sons of the Edisto, or the work I’ve accomplished with relatives or close friends.

I talk or write about that world with other writers, authors and professionals. When I was first inspired by that little church in the middle of nowhere, I was a kid in a Little Mermaid t-shirt.

Writing for Sons of the Edisto commenced when I was 21. I knew then my book and its research would most likely take me a decade, and I am more than halfway there.

All it took to start that commitment was a place almost forgotten; a place remembered by descendents of five families once a year and a little known writer.

By Rebecca T. Dickinson

© 2006-2012 by R.T. Dickinson. All rights reserved. No part of Sons of the Edisto, From Red Loam, or material related to the manuscripts may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of R.T. Dickinson.

Six Sentence Sunday

I am happy to share.

Sharing is good, I am told. The action leads to good character.

Today, I will share the beginning of a story in my Red Loam collection. The manuscript, From Red Loam, features ten short stories connected to my novel, Sons of the Edisto. Two of the stories have been published.

For today’s Six Sentence Sunday, I invite you to read a passage from The Unclaimed. The pastor is gazing at the son he claims as his own.

You may also read posts from The Bannister Histories or visit the Sons of the Edisto page to learn more.

~*~

He was no one’s child. He was everyone’s child. Wrapped in his first blanket, the baby lay in a crib carved by the pastor. The man smiled. Eyes—the color of ashen storm clouds at dawn—stared at him.

“Can he see me?” the pastor asked his wife.

By Rebecca T. Dickinson

© 2006-2012 by R.T. Dickinson. All rights reserved. No part of this manuscript or material related to it may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of R.T. Dickinson.


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