Shannon knows about boys, smokes cigarettes and pot, uses fake I.D.’s to get into college bars, and once spray painted the window of a furniture store.
Author: joanspilman
Former teacher, writer of Appalachian Literature, short stories, and fantasy. Current publication, "This Will Never Stop" see Kirkus Reviews, Vol. LXXXXVII, NO. 22 Nov. 15, 2019. Also featured on booktrib, and Booklife. Has published a YA entitled "Sansablatt Head", and books for children under the general title of "The Waddling Dead". Received MFA from Wichita State University where she received the fellowship. Published in Southern Humanities Review, Short Story International, Carriage House Review,Willow Springs, Laurel Review and other literary magazines. Winner of George Garrett Prize for Best Prose, W.WashingtonU. Winner of Microkosmos Fiction Award, WSU. Winner of John Maier Award at Marshall University.
Sugarpool, An Appalachian novel.
He’s been through countless trucks, motorcycles, guns, hounds, his one time shot at religion, and a Boy Scout troop he offered to lead and then, dumped in his assistant’s lap.
Sugarpool, an Appalachian Novel
All my life I’ve been looking over my shoulder for my sister. We were inseparable until she stepped into the Guyandotte River, plunged into a current, and drowned. I stood on the bank, frozen. She bobbed up once, her face frozen, too, but for her eyes. She knew what was happening. I ran for Daddy, and then the men came with the dogs. They found her body on a sandbar near Branchland, her feet tangled in brush.
Sugarpool, an Appalachian Novel.
“Appalachian crafts are a myth; he was buying a porch quilt.”
Sugarpool, an Appalachian novel
“Arabella Raine, come to Daddy and see this tree. It’s sprouting Elvis instead of fruit!”
Sugarpool
(Just another Appalachian novel, to keep Dee Cyrus Henderson satisfied) Prologue It is 1986 and the flat ground along Route 60, which will someday be Mill Creek… Read more “Sugarpool”
Light Moves, a short story
Marsha was dreaming and in her dream she was a girl again and begin cheated out of all the money in her piggybank. Cheated, not robbed for in place of the multitude of nickels, the polished quarters, the flood of dimes, were pennies, dirty pennies, raining down upon her, falling through the belly of a spotted sky.
The Women Rewrite Themselves, final installment.
“Oh, I remember that night. I chased you down Beech in the rain, my bare feet slapping against the sidewalk. I wasn’t going to give up. You… Read more “The Women Rewrite Themselves, final installment.”
The Women Rewrite Themselves, part 3
Lorraine has never been much of a talker, but when surrounded by three avid listeners, she has no choice. “Go on, Mom,” says Jenna. She leans forward… Read more “The Women Rewrite Themselves, part 3”
The Women Rewrite Themselves, Part 2
“I didn’t mean to leave you,” Carmen repeats. “I was coming back the next day. I wanted to turn around the same night, but I got sick.… Read more “The Women Rewrite Themselves, Part 2”
