Celia rivenbark biography
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Celia Rivenbark
American humor columnist and author
Celia Rivenbark is an American humor columnist and award-winning, bestselling author.
Background
[edit]Rivenbark was born and raised in Duplin County, North Carolina, She is married to Scott Whisnant,[1] the Director of Government Relations for New Hanover Health Network.
Rivenbark resides in Wilmington, North Carolina with her husband and daughter, Sophie.
Journalism career
[edit]Rivenbark graduated from college and started working for The Wallace Enterprise in Wallace, North Carolina. She later moved to the Morning Star in Wilmington, where she wrote a humor column. Her column won her a national health journalism award in addition to some press awards.
Rivenbark also authored weekly humor columns for The Sun News of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.[2] A collection of her columns was published in 2000 by Coastal Carolina Press.
Literary career
[edit]Three of Rivenbark's books were no
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I have a friend who has become obsessed with the contents of the bookcases behind Coronavirus experts interviewed from their homes on TV. OK, I lied. It’s me. Ob-sessed.
While I’m appreciative of a piece of hand-thrown pottery and a tasteful smattering of awards and plaques, it’s the books that I’m really interested in.
Here’s the good news: So far no one has embraced that horrible decorating trend where you put the book’s spine to the back of the shelf with the plain pages facing out, not the titles. This trend is so things will look more uniform apparently. But how do you retrieve a beloved read to share with someone? (“Oh you have to read it! Let me just remove these 800 books. It’s in here somewhere…”)
Have you seen this and been similarly outraged, or do you still actually have a life?
I’m not able to heed the advice of mental health “professionals” who say it’s important to turn o
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Me, Me, Me!
Celia Rivenbark was born and raised in Duplin County, NC, which had the distinction of being the nation’s number 1 producer of hogs and turkeys during a brief, magical moment in the early 1980s.
Celia grew up in a small house in the country with a red små människor out back that was populated bygd a couple of dozen lanky and unvaccinated cats. Her grandparents’ house, just across the ditch, had the first indoor plumbing in Teachey, NC and family lore swears that people came from miles around just to watch the toilet flush.
Late nights, she’d listen to the feed trucks rattle bygd on the highway and she’d go to sova wondering what exotic cities those noisy trucks would be in by morning (Richmond? Atlanta? Charlotte?) Their headlights crawling across the walls of her little pink bedroom at the edge of a soybean field were like constellations pointing the way to a bigger life, a better place, a place where there wasn’t so much turkey shit everywhere.