Publications

Winner of the South Carolina Fiction Project

"It's your own fault. I told you not to put all that fertilizer on the tomatoes, but you went ahead anyhow. Now look. They're burned up." The dishes made a muffled rattle in the chipped porcelain sink. With soapy hands, Pauline pushed back a strand of gray hair. She peered out the kitchen window at their vegetable patch.

"You never listen," she mumbled low.

But Lyman heard her. He always heard her, even when he tried not to.

The Worst Bad Neighbor

Essays

Turn on your television today and chances are good you’ll be treated to a barrage of slick commercials about striving for American energy independence. These ads are all about ingenuity and freedom and pride. They talk about resolve and resourcefulness and wrap all their imagery and verbiage in the American flag.

No doubt some companies are indeed working to make ours a better country and a better world. At least I hope that is the case. But I’m jaded where energy messaging is concerned. I’ve been in public and media relations for more than two decades and I understand how corporate communications manages public opinion. Commercial wordmeisters solicit and elicit, incite and delight with carefully honed slogans. Nowhere was this more evident than in coal company ads that ran throughout the 2008 presidential debates in an attempt to influence votes and reinforce their clean coal brand.

Clean Coal—how it rolls off the tongue. How cool and sanitary it sounds.

A Strong Sense of Place

Essays
I knew the moment my father spoke that something was wrong. His voice was thinner than usual through the phone lines, edged with trepidation. “Well, Janna.” He paused. “I’ve got bad news. Grandma Riedel passed away this morning.” The next day, I left sunny South Carolina behind. As I neared home, I drove through road cuts of the Appalachian foothills, marveling at exposed limestone walls that dripped frozen ice like giant gobs of candle wax. I shivered from the overcast Kentucky weather and the gloomy prospect of why lay ahead.
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Lee Smith

Literary Art Articles

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Landscape Painting

Visual Art Articles

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Ceramic Art

Visual Art Articles

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Pluff Mud

Featured Publications
Winner of the Free Times Colossal Short Story Contest Lucy held the station wagon to a crawl and squinted at street signs through yellow, pollen-smeared glass. The frantic wipers made arcs of bright gold on the windshield. Lucy scanned the rows of ranch houses, each home a squat mimic of the next. The entrance sign read "Sabal Palm Estates," but there was no trace of the indigenous tree, only denuded lawns with scrawny dogwoods and parched red tips. "I think we're over one more street." Lucy sighed and checked the rearview again to be sure the U-Haul of dusty furniture still trailed behind. "One street looks like any other in this place." Stella had lost the fight about moving to this common house. She had refused, then been dismissive, then argumentative. She had now moved on to sarcasm. Her manicured nails picked fretfully at her scarlet pout of a mouth.
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Happy Camper

Essays

I loved summer camp. My favorite was 4-H camp, where lakeside cabins were filled with my friends from other clubs across Kentucky. Conservation camp ran a close second because you could earn badges for everything from first aid to swimming. I even loved Bible camp, although I always ended up having a guilty cry around the campfire the last night and left feeling gloomy about my soul.

My favorite part of camp was the freedom. At home, I had chores, but at camp -- other than having to clean our cabin -- there was very little actual work expected of me.