About Me

Life in central North Carolina, the tiny town of Zebulon, to be exact, is slower paced than life in the bustling cities of Fort Worth/Dallas, TX. Texas will always be my home, where I was born and raised, where my family still lives, but I love North Carolina now and can’t imagine ever living in Texas again. My partner, Lisa, and I share our home with three cats (Geri, Mouse and Jewels) and two dogs (Madison and Lil Bit). We love being only a few hours from our beloved ocean and so close to nature any way we turn.
	When I was four years old, my mother, in an attempt to achieve a few minutes of peace and quiet, handed me a piece of paper and some crayons and told me to draw her a picture. Instead, I drew a story. To give her credit, she sat and patiently listened to my interpretation of the story, asking questions and letting me expand it as I went. That was my first attempt at writing but not my last, by far. Being a published writer was a dream I had through high school and into my first few years as an Air Force sergeant’s wife. But “reality” set in as I began raising my family and moving every few years at the whim of the military. Those moves and the experiences I had were all recorded in my ever-growing collection of journals. I never thought I would do any more than pen an occasional short story to entertain my children or scribble in my journals.
In 2006 I was six years divorced and my kids were grown and on their own. I wrote almost daily in my journals, but I avoided writing stories and poetry. I had been told for so long that writing was a “waste of time” and there were “better” things I could apply myself to that I never thought anything I wrote would ever be good enough. But then a wonderful lady came into my life. She refused to believe me when I told her I had no dreams, that there was nothing more I wanted to accomplish in life. Finally, in a vain attempt to shut her up, I told her I had always wanted to be a writer. “Write me a story,” became Lisa’s mantra. In another vain attempt to shut her up, I wrote her a story. And then another and then another. “Now, write me a book,” she said. I laughed, but secretly I began to believe I actually COULD write a book. Welcome Home, my first novel is the result of the encouragement I received from Lisa and the self-confidence she helped me gain.

I have been taking pictures ever since my mother put my first Kodak Instamatic camera in my hands on my ninth birthday, over forty years ago. Even then I wanted to capture images of nature more than anything else. Nature, the outdoors, calls to me. I bring it inside through my photography.

My inspiration for the photographs comes from the subject itself. The reflection in a calm lake; a butterfly flitting from flower to flower; raindrops lingering on a leaf; the birds, the frogs, almost all other living beings fill me with delight and wonder. I enjoy spending hours outdoors observing and photographing the natural beauty around me.

I hope, through my photographs, others can see my love for the natural world. I also hope my pictures will inspire them to explore the outdoors themselves, searching for the tiniest to the imposing, feeling the calm and peace and silence settle over them.

My photography has won awards ranging from Honorable Mention to First Place at the Alaska State Fair in Fairbanks, Alaska (1991 – 1994); several prints were shown in a now out-of-business art gallery on Hilton Head Island, SC (1998 – 1999); a print won first place at the Texas State Fair (2001); and one image was given the “Viewers’ Choice” award on a now defunct photo critiquing site (2002). I was privileged to have a one-woman showing of my photography at the Eye of the Eagle Art Gallery in Clayton, NC, in April, 2009. It is also on display and available for purchase at Storyteller’s Bookstore.

When my writing muse takes a break or a vacation or goes into hibernation, I have to find other creative outlets or go slowly, or sometimes rapidly mad. I've always like dabbling in paints and making collages, but because of very limited space I didn’t indulge in them for a long time. Then I discovered oil pastels and turpentoid, water color pencils and water color crayons and my little water tube brush and I was once again making the mess I lovingly called “art.” Because of the aforementioned lack of space, I cut my watercolor paper down to 6x9 and started making the proverbial mess. I decided to see if I could actually make any of the images on the page recognizable. I pulled out some of my photographs and attempted to copy them onto watercolor paper. Some are actually worth looking at, if I do say so myself!

Thank you, dear visitors, for visiting my website today. I am so honored to have you. Don’t forget to sign my guestbook and leave comments – what you liked and didn’t like about the site, the stories, the photography – or contact me privately if you wish. Visit my web-madam (also known as my daughter, Kaycee) if you like what you see and would like her to build you a website as well.

Disclaimers:
All of the photographs seen on GlendaPoulter.com were taken by Glenda Poulter unless otherwise noted. They are all protected by copyright. Please do not try to copy or download the photographs without the express written permission of Glenda Poulter or her web-madam, Kaycee Hawn.

All poetry, short stories, and novels presented on GlendaPoulter.com are Glenda Poulter’s original work. The short stories and novel are fiction. While some of the characters and events may have been based on actual people and events, names, places and details have been sufficiently altered to protect those people and their privacy. Most of the characters are not based on any one person in particular and are not meant to bear a resemblance to anyone, living or dead.
Some of the short stories contain adult material. These stories are marked "AC" for Adult Content and an * (AC*). People under the age of 18 and people offended by explicit sexual content should not attempt to read them. Please confirm your age in the box that will pop up if you choose one of those stories from the table of contents.