Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence. – John Adams- The park ranger welcoming us to the old house at Peacefield wore a twine and bead necklace snug against his neck. I noticed it before he turned and unlocked the door to the library that John Quincy Adams son built for him. He’d asked, in his will, that the library... Read more
My daughter spent a couple of summers on a firefighting crew. I’ll be honest, it terrified me. The forests on these mountains surrounding us are dense. I’ve seen how one lightening strike can set a mountain afire. I lived in a small valley town where the entire community rallied around those fighting the fires on the mountains, where every morning was greeted with, “How are the firefighters doing today?” My son-in-law worked on a hot shot crew. I know... Read more
I have been dancing in high cotton since last week, when my publisher — Mercer University Press — received a letter from Thom Chambliss, the president of the Pacific Northwest Booksellers Association (PNBA). That letter was in reference to an advanced reader copy of Mother of Rain that Thom read. I asked Thom if I could share the letter with you and he said: Sure, thang, darlin’. Okay. He didn’t really say that, but he did say yes, I... Read more
I have been reading Camp Redemption by Raymond Atkins. I met Raymond years ago at a book event in Canton, Georgia, where we were both panelists. We didn’t get much time to visit but it was clear that Raymond was a legend among his friends. After reading this romp of a tale, I understand why. Raymond is a hoot of a storyteller. You know the type. He’s full of smart-a** one-liners, and his story meanders down dirt roads, and sneaks... Read more
So you may have heard by now that I have a novel coming out in September. It’s my sixth book and my first work of fiction. I’d be lying if I said I’m not nervous about it. You’d be scared, too, if you were me. Writing fiction is a totally different process than the journalism-based work I’m used to doing. Journalism is exacting. Fiction is imagining. Journalism is fenced in. Fiction is wide-open space. Journalism demands the truth.... Read more
I don’t believe in bisexuals. I figure the rest of us have to choose, so why shouldn’t they? -Suzanne Sugarbaker/Designing Women A history-making day, that’s what all the news pundits and talking heads are calling it. And even those who didn’t agree with the Supreme Court’s decision to strike down the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA), recognize the truth of that. We will no longer be solely divided by Red and Blue states, but rather those same talking heads and... Read more
She wrote all sorts of notes in her bible, my mother did. Not just favorite verses, although there are those. But poems that spoke to her. Like this one: A kiss of the sun for pardon, A song of the birds for mirth. One is nearer God’s heart in a garden than anywhere else on earth. She wrote it twice on the same page and dated it: Rose Garden, 1975, Portland, Oregon. My mother embodied those words. She was far... Read more
I’m not much of one for conspiracy theories. Oh, I’ve watched the occasional movie and read a handful of books about such things, but overall, I tend to believe that people are too busy doing their regular jobs and living their lives to sit around devising evil plans against the masses. The Obama administration has changed the way I think about all that. And, listen, anyone who has read this blog for any length of time knows that is a... Read more
Take the test. Answer each question truthfully: 1. Have you ever used a racial slur of any sort? Y or N. 2. Have you ever been present when a family member or a friend or co-worker used a racial slur? Y or N. 3. If yes to any of the above questions, in what context was that racial slur used? 4. If no, is there any context you can think of at all in which it would be appropriate... Read more
I grew up in a home absent of newspapers. Oh, to be sure, my mother was a reader. She kept stacks of books beside her bed and piles of magazines throughout the house. Not the highbrow sort of reading found in Vogue or The New Yorker. Mama was reading Valley of the Dolls, the Happy Hooker, True Detective, and True Crime. During an era when others were reading Betty Friedan’s feminist literature, my mother was reading stories of women... Read more
Karen Spears Zacharias
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