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Lee St. John

After retiring from teaching where she taught every grade but first, Lee St. John wrote two humorous books, Teacher Tattletales and Other Southern Shenanigans and She's a Keeper! Cockamamie Memoirs from a Hot Southern Mess. Her writing is featured in two anthologies, Finally Home (December 2019) and Chicken Soup for the Soul: Believe in Miracles (February 2020).

She contributes weekly columns to the Fayette-News in Georgia. In 2019, she was named among the top four essayists in the 2019 Georgia Author of the Year book competition.

Lee describes herself as "an unapologetic rogue Southern belle, a high-jinx expert and mayhem confessor." As a storyteller, she has been compared to Erma Bombeck (yet with an edge), Lewis Grizzard (but with PG-13 rated twists) Ali Wentworth (a tell-all who fearlessly describes her secrets), any "frisky" Seinfeld episode and even National Lampoon's parodies.

Lee and her husband of 36 years have two Millennial sons and a tater-tot-looking white Schnauzer named OBie, who, as a very talented talking dog, hosts "Spilling the Beans Book Club" on her Facebook page on Mondays.

Previous Post

My son, the rock star

It's winter break and my son is home from college. Nightly my husband and I are jarred awake by his clang of a spoon against our one remaining ancient Corelle cereal bowl. He hadn't managed to quite break them all by the age of 10 with his enthusiastic rounds of Nerf attack over breakfast. In the dark as I press a pillow to my ears, unwilling to call him out, I am bitterly aware of the fact that no one ever warned me the sleeplessness of mothers lasted forever, or the way in which we pare ...
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Was that a nuclear event, or a hot flash?

Our bed has a smoldering pile of blankets in the middle of it. It serves as a burn barrier for the innocents who don't teeter on the verge of spontaneous combustion at least three times a night. Namely, my husband and the cats. After several months of menopausal volcanic flashes of heat that somehow erupt from my body without vaporizing everything in the general vicinity, they've all become used to interrupted sleep. When I leap out of bed screaming to shed my clothes, it's no longer fore ...
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