Front Porch Views: a Podcast by Lauretta Hannon

 I turned 55, and something strange happened. Suddenly 50-year-olds were saying “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am” to me. The people in the TV ads for geriatric drugs and step-in tubs were looking like me. I started mocking millennials and...well, you'll just have to listen. 

When Mama and I went back-to-school clothes shopping at Kmart, there was everything: thrills, extreme danger, catfights, and con games.

Within a week of publication of my memoir, the first stalker appeared. Two more would follow.  I never dreamt one of them would sneak into my home.

That time I was summoned to Nashville to write a tell-all about a country music legend.  Shortly after, I was approached to pen a true crime book about the murder of a bar owner. Two books that were not mine to write.

I know you should let the wild things be wild.  But when a hugely pregnant cat is yowling for food at your front door...

Researchers have found that the Georgia version of the Southern accent is fading away. Resist, I say. RESIST!

A writing life is nurtured in beautiful, decadent, messy Savannah.

In a gritty Savannah neigborhood, the Rutabaga Woman shines a light and brings water to the thirsty.

My first homily at the age of four. Being Southern, of course the topic had to do with sins against good food.

If your report cards said you talked too much, this story is in your honor.

Mama's fondest Chicago memory wasn't of the racial unrest she helped quell. It was of the stud muffin at her door.

Mama Bear springs into action when a crackhead holds her baby sister hostage. You can't make this stuff up, people.

Lauretta joins WRGA Host Tony McIntosh for a half-hour chat that's kinda all over the place. Entertaining...but all over the place.

She was sitting there alone studying.  All I could see was a massive, sparkling crown on her head–and a purple sash with glittery words. Clearly, this person wanted to be seen and recognized for whatever the crown and sash denoted.

There's more than meets the nose when it comes to those treacly and savory aromas of fall candles. Lauretta busts the conspiracy wide-open in this live studio appearance.

A story about the assumptions we make--and the consequences of lousy artistic skill.

A tale so fantastic I wouldn't believe it--had it not happened to me. Douse the overhead lights, curl up with a hot beverage, and enjoy this haunted house story.

The nuns and I hit the streets to offer food, cold drinks, and a listening ear to our unsheltered neighbors. Three encounters stand out. This work is incandescent, wrenching, funny, and exhausting.

Sometimes the one nobody would place a bet on ends up the best redemption story.

Let's get ready to RUMBLE! Third-grade style. Recess. My hulk of a nemesis is thirsty for blood. And I'm about to pee down my leg--or possibly not live to see field day.

A very literal illustration of how life on earth–or in eternity–is merely a breath away.

My mother had a lifelong hero–a vivacious musician from just up the road from us in Macon, GA. The undisputed architect of rock-n-roll and the self-described “Beauty on Duty:” I’m talking about Little Richard–Little Richard Penniman. Mama was 13 when her church members flung her forbidden Little Richard records into a bonfire. She never forgave them for it.

The nicer folks would always describe my dog Benji this way: “He’s so ugly he is cute.” That’s the Southern way of saying your dog is bad ugly. 

The reading with the psychic medium did not go as expected--for either one of us. 

I was 40 before I could say this word without coughing it up like a furball.