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Browsing Tag: #hometown
Shot one. Collective intake of breath, shuddering. Shot two. Sobs break out. Shot three. The men weep. The widow exhales and raises her chin, defiant and courageous. She is presented the flag from the honor guard as the hollow notes weave through the crowd behind her. She is elegant in her good jewelry and navy blue dress, poised on her sharp heels. I can see our breath on the air. The rain continues to fall, indifferent to our tears. The service is over. I can still detect the acrid odor of gunsmoke, silent and invisible now. He brought many of us together today, back in his hometown after so many years spent scattered the four directions the winds blow. Family from all over the world, friends he knew, some he never met through simpletractors.com. I knew one, a former supervisor at the Co-op. He said he’d never met Kent, but wanted to pay his respects. He’d never imagined seeing me there. You never know where I might pop up. Friends from his graduating class and mine, there with our aging parents. People I haven’t seen in many years, old neighbors and people with babies that I remember as babies themselves. There were pictures and his plaques commemorating a job well done for 27 years. A patriot, proud to serve. There were plenty of mourners and lots of handshakes and hugs. There were many…
I decided the other day I was tired of sunshiny, waxing nostalgic posts about the South. My beloved, mosquito-infested, sun-tea South. I wanted death and mayhem. It was a Stephen King kind of day. But instead of reading one of his tomes, I thought I’d try my hand at my own. There’s a little hotel in Seymour, my hometown, that’s been around since before me. Seymour isn’t a destination; it’s a place you pass through to get somewhere better. We have no attractions, unless you count McMahan’s Nursery. Generally, if you come to Seymour, you’re visiting relatives, and if they’re not crazy, you’re staying with them. If space is tight, or they don’t have a pool, you’ll stay in Sevierville. Preferably close to the Cracker Barrel. I digress. The name of aforementioned hotel is The Wayoma Hotel. I don’t know what it means, I’ve never really thought much about it. It used to have a teeny tiny pool out front, surrounded by a utilitarian chain link fence, but when I started doing my Google-based research I saw that it has been filled in and now serves as a “playground”. Read: patch of browning fescue where you might walk your dog. I’ve had it fixed in my head forever that this was a no-tell ho-tell, you…
About a week ago, there was a post on the Sevierville Speaks Out Facebook page. A gentleman was requesting local writers message him their word rate to write a local article, 2000-4000 words, twice a week. I was tagged by four people. So I thought, I’ll humor them. “Good morning” I wrote, using his name. “I was tagged by a few people on your post in Sevierville Speaks Out. I’m a native Sevier County resident. I worked at the Co-op downtown for 13 years, and now work as a secretary for {I’m not publicly announcing my location to potential stalkers}. I’ve met a lot of local color…some might say I AM the local color. 😁 I’ll be completely honest, I don’t have a rate per word. I have a blog that I started last year. Please feel free to check it out and you can get a clear idea of my style. Amysappalachia.com I have written two articles for our local fair book, an article for 911 magazine, and the feature for the first installment of Sevierville Living. I would be interested in learning more about your position. Thank you.” The message I got in response five days later was clipped and standardized. “Hello. We offer 3 cents a word. If you are still interested, please send you name, address, and a sample writing the 3rd person…
