Pam Muir & Venű Magazine

Pam Muir, workshop & room member is featured in this month’s issue of Venű Magazine.

Pam Muir grew up in rural Chester County, Pennsylvania, where she spent many hours in front of her parents’ old manual Royal, pounding out poems and stories.  Writing developed into a true love; she doesn’t remember a time when there wasn’t a character whispering in her ear.  Pam went on to earn a B.A. in English, and spent the years following working for Investment Banks in New York City, all the while daydreaming about writing full time.  In 2010, after a lot of number crunching and planning (she’d like to thank the California wine producers for helping to take the edge off the process!), Pam decided to pursue those dreams and traded in her Wall Street Blackberry for a pen and notepad.  She is happily working on short stories as well as a romance novel.  Pam lives in Fairfield, CT with her husband Martin.

From her short story, “Personal Day.”

Family Rest Cemetery was so inviting this time of year, the trees bursting with orange, red, and gold leaves, and the single women or couples swapping the dirty white summertime plastic lilies and daisies for winter chrysanthemums. The crisp air, the vibrant sun, the brilliant trees, invigorating. It reminded Bob of his parents’ funeral all those years ago. Such a nice shiny day that was, too.                                                                                              

He turned and moved in closer to the big crowd, men and women, a few children, a baby who didn’t cry, but all the adults in black or grey, heads downcast. Bob Foster clasped his hands and filtered through the crowd—sometimes shimmying sideways to protect his eye from a rough shoulder pad or his ribs from a boney elbow— until he arrived at the best place. Graveside. Money. Bob figured the dead man had plenty of it, given the coffin, the huge crowd, and the long procession of expensive cars complete with official police escort. Boy, was Bob thankful; if it hadn’t been for the flashing lights, he might not have noticed from his booth in the diner. Bob loved a good funeral.

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