Growing up, I only went on one vacation that wasn’t to a family camp. That single exception became the makings of family lore still told today. My oldest sister was performing summer stock in Utah that July, sparking the…
Once upon a time my family vacation looked different – no fuss, no glamour, but full of all the classic summer substance that freckles childhood. Mom’s family had a lake house upon a hill that rolled down to the…
The first time I sat across from him, I knew we’d clicked, but I also got the immediate sense that I’d be working in a manner I never had before. He was the biggest man in the room at…
Last summer I encountered a surge of domesticity prompting two culinary purchases: A really good cast-iron skillet set and a moderately snazzy outdoor grill. I took weirdly obsessive care of the skillets, seasoning them properly. Upon each wipe of…
I was twelve the first time I really heard myself. Ms. S. is what we called the choir director at school. She was a sharp, interested woman, tasked with breathing art and fantasy into a rather vanilla set of…
I’m pretty sure I broke three cardinal rules of parenting within 55 minutes last Friday morning. Somehow May has become the busiest month of the year, busier than December, busier than February in New Orleans even. It is a…
It’s not that I think I need to be perfect. It’s not even that I strive for close to perfection. But, a passing grade would be a little nice from time to time. It was Friday afternoon. A surprise boil…
A friend told me a story the other night that sent me into a tailspin. She’s been seeing this guy. I use the term “seeing” loosely, as they make no public appearances as a couple.…
What I find most difficult about grief is the disobliging nature of it. Its waves come without warning. When we try to stifle them, up they rise. When we will the pain of it gone, it sticks to our bones…
It was in second grade that I first experienced total and complete mortification, leaving a scar on my psyche against which all future blunders would be measured. It was taco day, and I was biting into one of Ms. Marie’s…
In New Orleans, no matter how much we grow from tech booms and film booms, championships and top ten rankings, that small-town vibe we’re known for stays put. We are well aware of the risk we take ducking into the grocery…
I was six years old when I started going to dancing school, and I took to it instantly. At my first recital I tapped to “Me and My Shadow” in a sparkly minidress and top hat. For ballet we were dolls with…
When definitions of love and forgiveness grow up
Are women partly to blame for time not being up sooner?
The greater matter when holding a grudge
When a wet Mardi Gras is a metaphor for life
Why your meltdown matters, and why you should listen to your whine
The secret to knowing your life’s calling
Sex and “The Talk” that shouldn’t end in health class
A safer alternative to hiding behind emotional armor
Why people pleasers need a recall
The excess of New Orleans (with minimal explanation)
A candid letter to a millennial
Meddling words from a mad, overly meddled-with woman
When your back is to the new year
When the reason for the season becomes your responsibility
When a Cajun boucherie knows you better than yourself
The secret to belonging that perhaps only age reveals
When change is sprung upon you
The finer points in the broad spectrum of life
Annie D. Stutley was born in New Orleans and spent her childhood listening to the Bangles, crimping her hair, eating Twizzlers, and journaling. She graduated from Southern Miss with a degree in speech writing and since then, has survived several careers in both New Orleans and New York, proving that you don’t have to have it all figured out to live a good life.
She’s worked in theater with Tony-winning producers, in marketing with local gurus, and in education with people probably smarter than herself. However, it’s her time spent working with or volunteering with young people that she has found the most rewarding.
In recent years, she volunteered for her national sorority as a rush advisor, finding joy in building leaders and guiding young women through the murky waters of where college life meets real world. She eventually stepped down from that post because the powers that be didn’t see eye to eye with her approach of frankness and honesty. She turned that conflict of opinion into a new adult fiction book, currently in development, and this blog.
Annie loves music—especially alternative, shenanigans with girlfriends, and all things Mardi Gras, particularly her two walking krewes. But mostly she enjoys movies on her sectional sofa with her husband, three children, and two dogs in her Carrollton home.
Annie welcomes comments, topic ideas, and glasses of rosé. Surprisingly, rosé pairs well with Twizzlers.
