Celebrating 40 Years of Writing

    With Dwain Penn approaching his fortieth year of writing which began in 1962 with a prize-winning letter to Santa Claus, a special publication had to be created resulting in the Give Me Time book.  It is a compendium of most of Penn's short stories from the infamous 1962 letter to Santa, two fourth grade stories, several descriptive stories composed for high school English classes, a prize-winning story about an electric clock published in the high school literary magazine, a train-wreck of a college book report, dozens of stories written for a local writers group and a few amorous attempts at love literature.

    Penn wanted to have a title that would create controversy when asked about at a book store or library.  While the book was being created, Penn talked about it with his high school English teacher, Mrs. Doris Watson.  She was intrigued and asked what the title of the book was.  He answered: "Give Me Time and I Will Tell You."  Raising her eyebrow, she looked at Dwain with her classic gaze of reproof.  After an awkward pause, she asked again...   It was an eloquent  moment!  Imagine the black eyes and hurt feelings which may result from the title!

194 pages                                    $9.95



    After the prayer, Mama rose up to dish out a bowl of chicken soup for the preacher.  My detective work proved fruitless.  I would have to take another sniff.  As I saw Mama busily spooning out some soup for Frankie, I slowly exhaled all the breath that I could and then turning slightly toward our honored guest, I closed my eyes and began to draw in the biggest and quietest breath of all.

    Pepper, black pepper!  I opened my eyes to see the preacher copiously seasoning his soup with pepper, shake after shake of pepper!  I stopped my sniff before any more offending pepper had a chance to invade my nostrils.

    I grabbed my nose and mouth.  I couldn't sneeze, it would have been unacceptable and punishable by Mama's scornful look and a whipping later.  But something had to blow somewhere.  Soon, it did, inside my head.  My brain rumbled in the throne room of my skull as my eyeballs bulged painfully.  But the pent-up gas had to escape somewhere.  I tightened the muscles in my butt as I sat heavily on the oak chair until the pressure eased.  Somehow, I had managed to stifle a monster sneeze or fart into an almost imperceptible, but gut rattling grunt followed quickly by a smile and a heart­felt "excuse me."  Since that day, I was completely cured of sniffing men, especially preachers!