An Appalachian Christmas

No, we do not shoot a double-barrel shotgun into the sky to celebrate Christmas, but like most families, here in the coal fields of southern Appalachia we have our Christmas traditions. The key word is family. In our small coal mining community, there are areas where you will find clusters of homes where the residents have the same surnames. Many of these families can trace their roots back to the founders of this part of Appalachia. Perhaps it’s the strong Scotch-Irish heritage that many here lay claim to that makes us such clannish people. Whatever the reason, family is important in southern Appalachia, especially at Christmas.

At Christmas, most families have a gathering place. It’s the home where the festivities always take place. Family members travel from near and far to be there. Even though each family has its own traditions that are unique to them, the one thing they have in common is this need to gather together at Christmas. It doesn’t matter if they open presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning, or if they have a real or artificial tree, what matters is that they are together.

If you had the chance to visit one of these Christmas gatherings, you would find those family members that are indigenous to all. First and foremost is the clan matriarch. Yes, I said matriarch, not patriarch. He’s sitting back in the recliner smiling benevolently at all the grandchildren probably watching football while his wife is in the kitchen. She is the one who has cooked and baked for a week, shopped and wrapped all the gifts to put under the tree she has decorated; well, you get the picture. As my mother

is fond of saying, “Men think Christmas just falls from heaven!”

Now, let’s take a look at the rest of the family. There is the relative who regales the group with his/her physical ailments. This includes an endless recounting of aches and pains; trips to the doctor; medications; and countless other miseries. Across the room is the cousin who shows up with another new boyfriend or if she’s “lucky” husband. She is the one all the females in the room are waiting for, so they can whisper about them behind her back. Before long, the relatives show up that everyone is dreading. They are the ones with the kids who charge in like a pack of wild dogs who haven’t eaten in a week. While they tear through the house, mom and dad disappear to a corner and pretend for an evening they are childless.

By the time dinner is on the table, Uncle ? has made a dozen trips to the car carrying his glass of coke with him. Funny how it’s always full when he returns and his face has a rosy glow (from the cold, of course). At least he’s happy and not like Aunt ?, who finds something wrong with every dish of food on the table, even though she eats more than anyone else in the room. While everyone eats dinner, there is always one family member who runs back and forth to the kitchen, keeping the serving bowls and glasses full while baking pans of rolls throughout the meal so everyone will have hot bread. She’s also the one you never see eat. She never sits at the table with the rest of the family, but stays in the kitchen the whole time.

These wonderful people are your family, and at least once a year, you are reminded that what matters most is that you all are together because as the years swirl past, there are empty chairs where cousins, aunts and uncles used to sit. You are the one who has the job of keeping them alive - the family storyteller and this is your story.

Never Say Never!

Never say,

Don’t bother to enter those contests. No one ever wins.

Because I did and I have the book to prove it!
The contest was sponsored by Writer’s Digest and Abbott Press and was called #Pitch2Win Writing and Publishing Contest. I discovered it on Twitter, and it sounded simple enough - in a single tweet of 140 characters or less, pitch your novel.

I had just completed a novel called Mama’s Shoes, and had waded into the frustrating world of agents and publishers. And now, on the computer in front of me, was a contest that promised the winner a publishing contract with Abbott Press. I read the rules and decided I wanted to enter. There was only one problem, the contest ended at midnight, on Sunday, March 27, 2011 and it was just after 11:00 PM on March 26! I had less than an hour to come up with my pitch and the clock was ticking.

I remember staring at the computer screen in front of me. How could I describe my novel in 140 characters?

For the next half hour, I typed and erased; typed and erased. Just before midnight, I filled the space with a line from my novel, “Mama always said you can tell a real lady by the shoes she wears, but then nobody ever accused Mama of being a lady.” I clicked send.

I knew I had found the perfect tweet to describe Mama’s Shoes. After all, it was that line that was runner-up in another contest, this one in Writer’s Digest Magazine. If you keep every issue of Writer’s Digest like I do, pull out the October 2003 issue. On page 14, you will find the winners of

Your Opening Line #8 Contest.

The object of the contest was simple; based on a tiny black and white picture of flip flops on a beach; write the opening line for a novel. It took me eight years, but that’s exactly what I did. That line,

Mama always said you can tell a real lady by the shoes she wears, but then nobody ever accused Mama of being a lady

became the foundation for Mama’s Shoes. And even though it’s not the opening line, it is in the first chapter. Page nine.