I ran into the church and had never been met with a more peaceful atmosphere in my life. None of the foulness that I’d had a whiff of this afternoon could ever enter here.
Category: Appalachian fiction
Sugarpool, An Appalachian Novel
Shannon knows about boys, smokes cigarettes and pot, uses fake I.D.’s to get into college bars, and once spray painted the window of a furniture store.
Sugarpool, An Appalachian novel.
He’s been through countless trucks, motorcycles, guns, hounds, his one time shot at religion, and a Boy Scout troop he offered to lead and then, dumped in his assistant’s lap.
Sugarpool, an Appalachian Novel
All my life I’ve been looking over my shoulder for my sister. We were inseparable until she stepped into the Guyandotte River, plunged into a current, and drowned. I stood on the bank, frozen. She bobbed up once, her face frozen, too, but for her eyes. She knew what was happening. I ran for Daddy, and then the men came with the dogs. They found her body on a sandbar near Branchland, her feet tangled in brush.
Sugarpool, an Appalachian Novel.
“Appalachian crafts are a myth; he was buying a porch quilt.”
Sugarpool, an Appalachian novel
“Arabella Raine, come to Daddy and see this tree. It’s sprouting Elvis instead of fruit!”
Joan Spilman 