Authorship

Don’t judge a book by its cover.

When I say, “I’m writing a book,” people seem interested (once they re-adjust their facial expression from skepticism). They inquire. They ask questions.

“What’s your book about?” they probe.

I reply, “It’s a memoir counter-narrative about growing up in Appalachia.”

“Oh, really? How interesting! Do you mean like, Hillbilly Elegy?” they say.

They at least appear intrigued. Curiosity is a given.

Until I respond with, “Actually, no. I hate Hillbilly Elegy.” After that, they tend to change the topic.

Writing a book that they (whoever “they” is) will actually read, well that’s something altogether different. There are between 500,000 to one million new books published each year, not including self-published authors (bringing the number closer to four million).

“Oh, thank goodness, I’m so relieved… This will be easy,” I think sarcastically.

Seriously, if you’re reading this, thank you!

I like to observe what people are reading. I think you can discover much about a person from what is on their bookshelves… and more if they actually have read the books, not just acquired them to fill the shelves because of pretty dust covers and colorful book jackets. Do they like history, art, mysteries, drama, romance, self-help, science, religion, or biographies? Do they read to learn, to escape, for enjoyment… or maybe, like me, all the above?

While I prefer a happy ending to the stories I read, and for things to get tidied up neatly before the last page of a book, that isn’t how life really works. Perhaps that is the escaping part? Reading in order to believe that success, love, and happiness are attainable without failure, heartache, and sadness… or at least achievable with perseverance, commitment, and turmoil… that’s called fiction.

People love stories of the underdog triumphing. The “unlovable” finding their soulmate. Rags to riches… ugly to pretty… fat to skinny… illiterate to PhD… and [cue scene] The End.

We love it so much that we got a library card. We join book clubs. We stock our shelves with endless pages. The books are just a metaphor, of course. A distraction. There are a thousand examples that could apply.
We struggle to have real conversations. We’re challenged by asking questions, intentionally and carefully listening to the response… and more so, by answering them. We like our characters (including our own selves) to be tight and predictable… but we struggle with friends, family, and ourselves when we are less than perfect… messy even. We falter when the path forward is unknown; or worse, when that path ends abruptly and without resolution. We are inept when it comes to being bare, naked, raw. We master illusion. We perfect deflection. We pretend.

If our mess is our message, why do we have so little to say?

If it is captured in a book, will anyone read it without the guarantee of victory, absolution, transcendence, wedding bells, or a neatly tied up bow?

I’m not J.D. Vance and this isn’t Hillbilly Elegy. His story is his truth. This is my story. And, well, I guess you could say I’m an anti-Vancer.

Appalachians are tenacious, resilient, and beautifully alive despite the swan song people keep singing about us. I hope my story can offset the stereotypes that Vance, in particular, perpetuates and so willingly hangs his hat on… and use words that people of all ages and walks of life can understand without a Webster’s dictionary nearby.

Did you know the word “elegy” is defined as, “a poem of serious reflection, typically a lament for the dead”? I giggle when I hear someone say, “hillbilly eulogy” instead of “elegy.” Mostly because I think Hillbilly Elegy was a pretentious attempt to sound cultured and mysterious (because it absolutely lacks poetry) and because a eulogy is also associated with the dead… but rather the praising thereof, not the lamenting.

Praise Be (and long live) the hillbillies!

Hillbilly Elegy is a widely acclaimed New York Times best-seller that represents nothing I know about Appalachia, my life, and the place I call home. There is also a movie adaptation of the book by Academy Award-winning director Ron Howard (a Californian by way of Oklahoma), with Academy Award winning actors Glenn Close and Amy Adams– all fabulous– but without anyone of note, to my knowledge, FROM Appalachia.

I once heard, “there is no forgiveness without honesty.” Some folks live without consideration as to their lot in life. I’ve lived with a decent amount of guilt related to mine. Truth is, I won the birth lottery. I didn’t choose it. I didn’t work for it or “earn it.” But, it is mine and I get to decide what to do with this life I’ve been given. If there is an obligation… or any sense of responsibility for my birth rite… let this be a small part of mine.

I will tell you my story, but I’m writing it for me… for my daughters… for Appalachia.