I write under the name P. Avice Carr. I use that name to remind me of my mother. Her name was Avice, and she was always proud to correct people about the spelling; “Avice like Alice with a V” and the pronunciation “Not Avis with a long A. “Her name was the only thing I can remember her standing up for. For the rest of her life, she was careful. When she got books at the library, she only took out “Christian” books with a cross on the spine, already censored.

I tried to challenge her to read other books without a carefully scripted plot and very few surprises. I remember the day I told her I was going to write books. She looked at me with a lot of doubt in her eyes. I said, “Yes, Mom, I’m going to write. When I do, I will use your name, and everyone will know who it is. I’m going to write “Smut.” Smut was her name for any mention of sex. She dismissed me with a laugh and felt safe until I got my first story published under her name. There was not “Smut” in that article, but she was scared.

I don’t write much “Smut,” but I do write about being careful, and I wonder and wander around the question, “Is it always worthwhile to be safe and careful?” I write fiction stories to show the possibilities available for us when left to our imagination if we dare to bend the rules.

As P. Avice Carr, I’ve always considered myself a human tumbleweed, rolling through life gathering stories. I’m settled in St. Thomas now, writing the stories I’ve found and finding more every day.