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Monthly Archives: January 2022
I haven’t talked books with y’all in awhile. I just finished one that’s like all the rest: Devastatingly handsome guy meets girl. They fall in love. They get married. They both have brilliant, successful careers in the big city that has a small-town vibe. Guy becomes abusive. After much back and forth, girl leaves. He begs for her forgiveness and to come back. Meanwhile, girl has reunited with high school boyfriend, who is perfect in every way, wealthy, and unattached. Girl discovers she’s pregnant by dreamy, abusive, estranged husband. They try to work it out. Girl decides she’s gonna be strong and still pursue divorce. Guy is emotionally wrecked and never stops trying to win her back. The author’s note at the end said she wanted to create a strong female protagonist and show that abusive relationships aren’t always black and white. Yeah, I get that. Abusive relationships are generally created by a subtle, gentle erosion. They don’t just throw you up against the wall and break your jaw on your honeymoon. It’s a much slower process that I believe begins mentally. My problem is this. You want to create a strong female character? Well, give her a life that won’t be so great without the abusive husband. Don’t give her her own business with a strong support system of girlfriends and an understanding mom who lives…
If my Uncle Dale were still alive, I would be out there swapping lies with him right now. He’s not, so it’s on me to tell this one. And as much as I wish it was a lie, it ain’t. From 2002-2009, when the weather permitted, and TVA was running “big water” (two turbines) at Norris, we’d go fishin’ for rainbow trout on my day off. We’d set off early, before school traffic, and be humming down interstate 75 as the fog lifted off the limestone mountains. I’d be nodding, hopeful that the fishing yield would be worth sacrificing one of my only days to sleep in. Fords get one thing right- they’ve got a heater that blows hotter than the hubs of hell. Combine that with Newstalk radio, the hum of the throaty diesel, the smell of coffee, and you’ve got a recipe to lull Amy right on to Dreamland. We’d put in at the canoe ramp right below the dam, and walk the trailer through the bollards. I’d load our life vests and pop the seats up, readying for embarkment. Uncle Dale would climb in, get the trolling motor cranked, and let it warm up while he tied on his first plug of the day. I’d stand there holding the rope, yawning and shivering in the mist the Clinch is always shrouded…
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