Until a few years ago, Glenna Sheerin didn’t consider herself a writer. But when she joined the SaddleBrooke Writers Group two and a half years ago, something shifted. What began as a curiosity quickly became a passion—one that tapped into a deep reservoir of memories, reflections and life experiences.
“I had never taken a writing or poetry class or done any significant writing,” Glenna shared. “But I had a lifetime of experiences and stories to tell and felt compelled to tell them. Once I began, I found it hard to stop.”
And readers are grateful she didn’t. Drawing from a rich and varied life—growing up in the Chicago suburbs, earning degrees from the University of Illinois and Syracuse University, building a career as a clinical social worker, and living fully as a wife, mother, grandmother and artist—Glenna Sheerin has discovered an inexhaustible well of inspiration.
Her stories, much like her life, span a broad emotional range. Some are humorous, others deeply poignant. Many explore the subtleties of family dynamics and the quiet, lasting lessons of everyday life. One such story is The Quilt, a moving piece that highlights Sheerin’s narrative voice and her gift for weaving emotion into simple yet powerful imagery. (See a copy of the story included with this article.)
In The Quilt, Glenna crafts more than a story about fabric and stitches—it becomes a metaphor for memory, connection, and the enduring ties of family. Through gentle prose and reflective tone, she invites readers into a world that is both specific in its detail and universal in its emotional resonance. It’s the kind of story that lingers.
“I can’t imagine ever running out of ideas for stories,” she said. And it’s easy to believe her. Travel, family, friendships, personal trials and triumphs—Glenna has experienced much, and she brings it all to the page with warmth and authenticity.
She credits the SaddleBrooke Writers Group with giving her the confidence and community she needed to begin—and continue—her writing journey. “I feel fortunate to have found the SaddleBrooke Writers Group and am proud to be associated with such a fine group of writers,” she said. “The group has provided wonderful support and often helpful advice to this fledgling writer.”
Glenna’s work shows a maturity of insight that goes far beyond the label of “novice writer.” Her stories offer readers the kind of perspective that only comes from a life deeply lived—and now, beautifully written.
As she continues to write and share her stories, one thing is clear: Glenna Sheerin may be new to writing, but she’s already made a lasting impression on her readers.
For SaddleBrooke residents interested in joining the Writers Group, call Mary Richling at (520) 437-8329 or send an email to jmrichling@yahoo.com. We meet on the first and third Saturdays of each month from 10 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. in the Catalina Room at 38735 S. Mountain View Boulevard.
The Quiltby Glenna Sheerin
“No! No nap.” I protested. “Just a little nap,” my mother insisted. Then you can get up and play with your cousins.” Then I was carried, amid kicks and screams, upstairs to my father’s childhood bedroom. This was during an annual trip to my grandparents’ farm for Thanksgiving. It was always a wonderful day filled with delicious smells of all the usual Thanksgiving food, but everything was made from scratch — the breads, the pies, even the butter. The vegetables were all grown from my grandmother’s garden.
The cousins were always excited to see one another and join in the fun of swinging from a rope into the hay in the barn, feeding the pigs, and chasing the chickens around the farmyard. Then there was the attic to explore with all the ancient toys and clothes dating from the 1910s and ’20s.
As I lay on the old quilt, feeling not at all tired, I noticed the fabric in the quilt. Some of the pieces looked so familiar. Here was a scrap from an old dress of my mother’s, there was a piece of one of my old dresses which had been handed down from my sister, and over there a piece of one of my father’s old neckties. Other scraps I recognized as being pieces of my cousins’ old dresses. The stitching was small and perfectly aligned. “How many hours had it taken my grandmother to put this all together?” I wondered. The quilt was a tribute to her patience and persistence. It was also a symbol of the life she led of stitching our family all together into something beautiful. I caressed it gently and fell asleep.
After my grandmother died, nothing was ever the same. We tried to gather at my aunts’ houses for Thanksgiving, but the food wasn’t quite as good, and the laughter wasn’t quite as loud. We cousins looked at each other and wondered what to do with ourselves. And what became of that old quilt? It disappeared with my grandmother and the wonderful times that we had shared.
