Looking in the rear-view mirror while driving down those narrow country roads is a bad idea.
-Amy Le Ann Richardson, from Don’t Look Back a poem in the Summer 2024 issue of Untelling
Amy Le Ann Richardson is another one of those do-gooders the world is lucky to have. She seems to be everywhere all at once, full of ideas that she is busy putting into motion. She is a writer, a farmer, a visual artist and an advocate for small farmers and the environment, all while raising her young family. One of the cool things she has been up to is hosting writing workshops for mountain women farmers and gardeners through a grant from the Kentucky Foundation for Women to honor and preserve their stories. I’ve spent many hours with her on the porches of Hindman Settlement School in wide-ranging conversations, the kind of talk that spins worlds into being. She doesn’t know this, but I keep the little maple leaf bottle of syrup from her farm she gave me a couple of years ago on my meditation altar. It is there to remind me of the sweetness of friendship.
I like overcast days, and I like this Diamine ink. It will be lovely in my writing pen.
My Advent Tree this year is dedicated to my writer friends and teachers. I am so grateful for all the light you shine in the darkness.
An Apology: I am behind on my Advent tree posts, the last week of school before the holiday break has pretty much done me in, but I aim to catch up in the next few days.
I love these lines so much, these lines and this poem Sunday Open House by my friend Angie Mimms. I feel this in my bones, this longing for hope. I love its evocation of the Emily Dickinson poem that has lived in my head for many years. Angie nurtures hope, she is a careful guardian of it. She’s been my roommate at the Appalachian Writers Workshop many times along with our friend Patsy Kisner. Angie is floodkin too, we were sharing a room in Stuckey, one of the rooming houses on campus, when the 2022 flood in Eastern Kentucky rose up in the middle of the night. Stuckey became an ark that night, sheltering lots of people and their children and pets on campus seeking higher ground. We had a kitten that belonged to musician Sarah Kate Morgan in our room that night, keeping it safe from the dogs who were in the rest of the house. I only have to close my eyes to be right back in that room with her.
A cherished memory: walking through Angie’s neighborhood with her beautiful daughter Anna blowing bubbles everywhere we went. Angie is a former newspaper journalist who has lately been writing poetry and creative nonfiction around her daughter’s struggles with Dravet syndrome, a rare and debilitating form of epilepsy. Recently she has been working on a daily devotional for Anna and others who may not move through the world like most people. I know this will be a work of hope and beauty.
This looks black in the photo, but it’s a stunning metallic teal that sometimes looks red by Diamine called Laurel.
My Advent Tree this year is dedicated to my writer friends and teachers. I am so grateful for all the light you shine in the darkness.
An Apology: I am behind on my Advent tree posts, the last week of school before the holiday break has pretty much done me in, but I aim to catch up in the next few days.
-Karen Salyer McElmurray, from I Could Name God in Twelve Ways
I am in the middle of Karen McElmurray’s latest book of essays I Could Name God in Twelve Ways and I can’t count the times I have already had to set the book down to catch my breath and get my bearings. Wow, I have thought, this is bedrock, this is what is real. I am reminded of my first reading experience with Virginia Woolf when I was a young woman. I read the first page of To the Lighthouse and had to put my head in my hands to stop the dizziness as an interior world opened up that was far larger than the exterior one. You can do that? I thought, you’re allowed to do that with writing? That’s what Karen does, she opens vast interior worlds. She is one big beating heart, vulnerable and utterly courageous. I am suddenly thinking of the last painting Titian completed as an old man The Flaying of Marsyas, a gruesome and arresting depiction of the satyr Marsyas, who dared to compete with Apollo, being hung upside-down and flayed alive, an otherworldly expression of transcendence on his face. That’s what it is to be an artist and Karen is an artist. The costs are high.
So kind, so very kind, I treasure all the conversations I have had with her at Hindman Settlement School where she has been a teacher and a mentor. Her work is luminous. I’m grateful for all the love she has sent out to the world.
A writer of fiction and creative nonfiction, she has a beautiful website:
My Advent Tree this year is dedicated to my writer friends and teachers. I am so grateful for all the light you shine in the darkness.
An Apology: I am behind on my Advent tree posts, the last week of school before the holiday break has pretty much done me in, but I aim to catch up in the next few days.
-Marianne Worthington from I wanted to write a poem
Marianne Worthington is a wonder. A light many of us have come to depend on at the Appalachian Writers Workshop. Poet, teacher and a friend to everyone but someone who won’t let you off the hook either- do it and do it well. The last couple of years she’s taught a pre-workshop at the AWW open to just 20 or so registrants, first come first serve. As soon as you get your acceptance letter from Hindman, you can sign up. It allows you to come a day early for some writing sessions with special focuses in poetry. I’m no poet, but that doesn’t stop me from writing poems anyway. It helps to have a teacher.
This last summer I was particularly relieved and grateful to be at Hindman for AWW and Marianne’s session. I’d spent the spring in the hospital with my 24 year old daughter who had a cryptogenic stroke that affected her entire right side. It was a terrifying time, but we were helped by so much kindness- from my family, Hindman friends and from my church and school colleagues. Sitting in rehab one day, out of the blue I received a DoorDash gift card from Marianne that made me cry. So thoughtful and so much needed at that moment! By the time Hindman came around, my daughter was in her last week of outpatient rehab and was doing well, though still early in her recovery. My sweet family made it possible for me to go take some deep breaths at Hindman that last week of July.
I hadn’t written anything outside of my journal for months, but it was Marianne’s class that helped create a way in, a door that I could open to begin writing about the stroke. I ended up with a draft of a poem that made me shake inside, so I knew it was truth. It has since become part of a trio of poems called Daughter that will be published in the next issue of Untelling. Thank you, Marianne, for your wisdom and wit and thoughtfulness. Thank you for showing me so many doors.
This is a fabulous red with gold sparkles. Ruby Taffeta by Diamine. Terrific drag name.
The lines I use in my ornament are from Marianne’s book spine poem in the Summer 2024 issue of Untelling. It’s a feature in every issue in the back pages- different writers are asked to take books from James Still’s office and stack them to make a poem. The photo of the books is by Corey Terry. James Still was a titan of Appalachian literature who lived for many years in Oak Ledge, a house built by Lucy Furman out of the proceeds of TheQuare Women, her book about the remarkable women who founded the Hindman Settlement School. Tickles me pink that you can get this book today, even on Amazon- https://www.amazon.com/Quare-Women-Kentucky-Mountains-Industries/dp/1950564037 though I hope you’ll ask your local bookstore to order it for you instead.
Here is a terrific podcast episode where you can hear Marianne read her work. It’s also a great site for anyone interested in Appalachian literature.
Marianne is a writer, educator and editor. She co-founded Still: The Journal an online journal that energized and celebrated contemporary Appalachian writers. It’s no longer being published but you can still access the archives- it’s a treasure trove and it’s free: https://www.stilljournal.net/
The words will be there waiting whenever you are ready.
-Neema Avashia from Untelling Summer 2025
What a joy to be in Neema Avashia’s writing workshops. She is a master teacher, someone who lights up the room so that you suddenly see all sorts of things you never noticed before. The ink flows, as does the laughter. Like me, she teaches middle school, so mad respect right there. No one knows how to ride the waves like a middle school teacher on top of their game. I’ve been in her section at the Appalachian Writers Workshop at Hindman and I’ve also taken her online monthly generative writing classes that help keep the lights on for me. I received encouragement and affirmation from her when I needed it most. The way she speaks of ‘my book’ as if it were inevitable gives me courage and heartens me. Such kindness. She returns to Hindman this summer to teach creative nonfiction and I am already wishing on every star that I will get to be in her class again.
Her writing is brave and true. Her memoir Another Appalachia: Coming Up Queer and Indian in a Mountain Place has received well deserved awards and praise. On her website you can find links to her many essays and opinion pieces that shine light into dark places.
And here’s where you can register for her monthly generative writing sessions. I just did. They start up in January! You can register just for a single session or sign up for all of them and get a very reasonable price indeed. https://hindman.org/events/generatetogetherjanuary26/
A sparkly blue Diamine Ink.
My Advent Tree this year is dedicated to my writer friends and teachers. I am so grateful for all the light you shine in the darkness.
An Apology: I am behind on my Advent tree posts, the last week of school before the holiday break has pretty much done me in, but I aim to catch up in the next few days.
To make a photo is to preserve a feeling, to love it into a shape that can be carried…
-Amanda Jo Slone from Salvage, an essay in Troublesome Rising
One of the traditions at the Appalachian Writers Workshop that I love is the participant readings in the afternoons where folks read short pieces of their work for everyone assembled. Maybe it’s work that’s never been shared before, maybe it’s the very first time someone has ever shared their work out loud. There is great vulnerability and courage at these readings, and often revelation. For a number of years now, the readings have been facilitated with compassion and expertise by Amanda Jo Slone. Kind, funny and clear, she keeps everyone on track and on time- and let me tell you, that’s not an easy thing to do. She sets everyone at ease and makes it easy for people to take risks.
Amanda Jo is a gifted educator and writer who works to lift all boats through her work at University of Pikeville and her research project The Appalachian Way, which I hope you will check out.
The line on the ornament is from an essay she wrote for Troublesome Rising about the work of salvaging artifacts and archives from the 2022 flood in Eastern Kentucky.
Diamine Ink color Mittens. The older I get, the more I like pink.
My Advent Tree this year is dedicated to my writer friends and teachers. I am so grateful for all the light you shine in the darkness.
An Apology: I am behind on my Advent tree posts, the last week of school before the holiday break has pretty much done me in, but I aim to catch up in the next few days.
-Chain of Custody, Melissa Helton from Troublesome Rising
None of us can thank Melissa enough for the way she is adding to the legacy of the Hindman Settlement School. Since 1902 it has been a place of inspiration, respect and preservation where people have come to learn and teach and share. Melissa has helped widen their circle even more as Literary Arts Director. She started the Ironwood Studio, a writers workshop for high school students that has quickly become the life blood of many young writers. She’s expanded the weekend retreats that are my personal oases throughout the year- not sure I could get through the year without them at this point. She puts together a kick ass Appalachian Writers Workshop that exceeds expectations every year. She founded, edits and fights for the absolutely gorgeous Untelling: The Literary and Arts Magazine of Hindman Settlement School (and there really is no literary print magazine out there like it). Right this very minute she is at Winter Burrow- a very cool weekend gathering of artists, scholars, writers, musicians and community organizers that I hope to be able to attend one year, another one of her brainchildren.
She’s a remarkable poet, artist, teacher and editor. Her anthology Troublesome Rising is a powerful collection of writing and art about the 1,000 year flood of Eastern Kentucky in 2022. The Appalachian Writer’s Workshop was in midweek when it hit, water rising 20 feet in just a couple of hours in the middle of the night, scouring the narrow valleys of the region. All of us who were there were changed by that flood. We, all of us, are floodkin now.
I’m happy for the chance to express how grateful I am to Melissa for all her reclamation work- on the school archives and buildings, and for our community and our memories.
-from alone in the house of my heart, Kari Gunter-Seymour
Some of the great gifts of the Appalachian Writers Workshop are the evening readings by faculty in the social hall where we all gather together. This morning, I am remembering Kari Gunter-Seymour’s reading this last summer- the delight of it, the bubbles, how even the hardest things rose up shimmering. I am remembering her singing, the surprise and joy of it. We can still sing she tells us, when all else fails, we can still sing.
I’m so grateful that I can sit here on a gray snowy morning reading your poetry Kari and be able to hear it in your own voice. Thank you, friend.
Kari Gunter-Seymour is the Poet Laureate of Ohio and a 9th generation Appalachian. She has a pretty fabulous website where you can find out more about her remarkable work.
I’ve been a soup bean connoisseur my whole life, and I know a Luck’s bean when I taste one.
-Mandi Fugate Sheffel from The Nature of Pain
Mandi Fugate Sheffel’s nickname has become “The Appalachian Treasure” and all I can say is that it isn’t bragging if it’s true. For someone who hates the spotlight, she’s had to spend a lot of the last few years squirming in it from all the do-gooding she’s been up to- flood recovery, opening a gorgeous independent bookstore in Hazard, working with the Foundation of Appalachian Kentucky and the Appalachian Arts Alliance. That spotlight only got brighter this fall when her stunning memoir The Nature of Pain was published. I’d gotten to hear and read parts of it as it was developing, but I wasn’t prepared for how powerful it would be as a whole book. I am in awe of the courage it must have taken to write this memoir of personal and regional addiction at the height of the opioid crisis in Eastern Kentucky, ground zero for the aggressive marketing of Oxycontin. Good lord, your blood will boil reading what Purdue Pharma did to a region already victim to various extractive industries. Mandi began writing pieces of her book at Hindman Settlement School as a way to manage the grief of losing her beloved cousin whose life was destroyed by addiction. We all have addiction stories- our own or those of people we love. This book is a gut punch, but it is also full of hope and the possibility of redemption. I hope you will read it.
Mandi got the news that her book was accepted for publication by University of Kentucky Press the morning of July 27th 2022 when we were at the Appalachian Writers Workshop at Hindman. I remember how very happy she was, how very happy and celebratory we all were. What a glorious day and evening that was! But that night all the rain that ever was came pouring out of the mountains and all the creeks and rivers in multiple counties rose over 20 feet in just a couples of hours killing 45 people and destroying countless homes, schools, libraries, churches and businesses. This link will take you to a short piece Mandi wrote that manages to hold worlds of stories about it: https://hindman.org/fireside/titles/troublesome-rising/troublesome-rising-digital-anthology/reflections-mandi-fugate-sheffel/
If you want to buy her book, and I think you should, you really ought to buy it from her own bookstore. It’ll benefit independent bookstores everywhere:https://www.readspottednewt.com/
Brrr! is a sparkly blue Diamine Ink that’s perfect for this snow day home from school.
My Advent Tree this year is dedicated to my writer friends and teachers. I am so grateful for all the light you shine in the darkness.
-it remained a place of beautify, seen and unseen, transformed but still lovely.
-Jayne Moore Waldrop from Drowned Town
Lovely is how I would describe both Jayne and this rich wonderful novel of linked stories about homes we can no longer return to. There are a lot of drowned towns in Kentucky and Tennessee, an excruciating sacrifice made when the Tennessee Valley Authority dammed rivers to make lakes during the New Deal to control flooding and create electricity. I had the great privilege of watching this book take form as parts of it was workshopped at Hindman and in a Covid writers group on Zoom that helped me keep my sanity- thank you very much Matthew, Cathy, Jayne, Rachel and Tamela. That Zoom writers group was one of the best things that came out of the Pandemic- two published books were born, including Drowned Town, and who knows, maybe more soon from the rest of us.
Jayne has been super busy with a couple of wonderful and important picture books, a collection of poetry, PandemicLent: A Season ofPoems, and other writing. It’s been too long since I got to spend time with her, but I hope that changes soon. You can find out more about her and her work here: https://www.jaynemoorewaldrop.com
I just can’t seem to capture the beauty of these sparkly inks. This Diamine ink is a deep sparkling violet.
My Advent Tree this year is dedicated to my writer friends and teachers. I am so grateful for all the light you shine in the darkness.
The Fox at Dawn 