I’m a serial storyteller and I can’t help myself. There’s probably a twelve step program to help me out, but I want no part in it. Stories have long coursed through my southern veins, nagging me to create a world for them to thrive in. Those suckers just pop up in my head and I just have to share them. Really. I have to! I admit I’m completely addicted to doing so too. My fingers itch and my heart beckons until I give in and set the story free. My southern roots entwine meticulously throughout my stories with y’all, ain’t, and dang sneaking in when I’m not paying any attention. I adore taking my readers out to the cornfield for a game of hide-and-seek or down the humble country river to wrangle up some fish for frying. I can probably even talk you into taking a leisurely stroll down a cool dirt road barefooted while the crickets serenade us and the lightening bugs illuminate our paths at dusk.
Stories go way beyond a dance of southern words and settings though. Oh yes. My words may sound simple, but simple they are not. Readers want someone to hate, someone to fall in love with, someone to mourn, and someone to root for to the very end. Readers need a story that’s going to lead them on an unpredictable roller coaster of emotions, both good and bad.
My stories want nothing more than to deliver all of this while being packaged in a charming southern setting full of twang. There are endless subjects that plead for us to explore and to provide a brave voice. Whether it’s abuse in its various detrimental forms, or self-doubts that plague relentlessly, or tragedies that creep in and turn our worlds upside down before tearing it apart.
So, yes, I’m addicted to my southern stories and want nothing more than to give them the chance to ease their way into the readers’ heart and to open their eyes to a whole new world.