When past, present, and future collide — When past, present, and future collide You’re driving down a two-lane divided highway. The heat of an August day surrounds you; kudzu chokes the road, threatening to spill into your path. The wet air hangs from the sky. It’s Tennessee. You’re singing along with your daughter and the radio. She…

And the care we gave each other — One night, I dreamt that my granny was lying on her couch and I was sitting beside her, and I knew in my dream that she was dying. It was the couch in her living room, where she napped after fixing me Sunday supper for the first twelve years of…

Prayers from a childhood lost — While I was still in middle school and for a short time in high school, I attended the youth-group meetings at our church every Wednesday night. Granny would be upstairs, having Bible study, singing and praying, while I was downstairs with a room full of kids and an adult or…

A ghost of Christmas past — Growing up, I learned that although holidays were the best thing ever, there was also a very real chance that something would go wrong anytime we gathered for a family meal or opened presents. We went to Grandma Wright’s on Christmas Eve, but we went to Granny Conn’s house for…

A series of excerpts from my memoir, In the Shadow of the Valley, as I share some of my favorite snippets. — A series of excerpts from my memoir, In the Shadow of the Valley, as I share some of my favorite snippets. From the Prologue, and shared with permission: Life was different in our holler, I came to learn. And we were definitely living in a holler, not a hollow like…

Our hearts live in these hills, bound to these hollers — The Appalachians are among the oldest mountains on Earth, born of powerful upheavals within the terrestrial crust and sculpted by the ceaseless action of water upon the surface. — Encyclopedia Britannica Those mountains still stand, mostly intact, though smaller now than they must have been in the Precambrian era, or…

Reviving the “darlings” left behind — Reviving the “darlings” left behind The directive to “kill your darlings” is one of the most challenging and valuable practices we can employ as writers. But how do we pick those darlings? And if those passages are so dear to us, how can they truly be worthy of deletion? A good editor is the answer…

I struggled to understand my father. Here’s what I do know about him. — There are some things you should understand about this man, the man who fathered me: 1957 He looks like almost every other baby ever born: red-faced, hairless, eyes closed. His cries pierce the quiet country desolation and scatter among the last brittle oak leaves of winter. Spring is coming. 1968 Middle child…