Very good story, Drom; you have a great sense of humor.
Thanks, Colorbook! I'm very glad to hear that you liked it.
Thanks, Edgar; I appreciate your comments [-;.
Good evening. I am realjohnboy. I've been watching this thread for awhile and have enjoyed it.
I like writing stories but I don't, sadly, have time to put together an entire tale all at once.
Is it okay to submit snippets which, by themselves don't necessarily have a beginning or end, but fit the whole. Thanks. -rjb-
Go for it rjb. I intended this thread to be something of a workshop, and wanted the stories posted to be fresh, new pieces.
okay, cav, you will probably rue the day...
BUCK'S ELBOW
(The Place)
Virginia, the state of Virginia, where I was born some 60 years ago, has some 200 years of history.
We produced Washington and Jefferson, Madison and Monroe. Lewis and Clark grew up just over the ridge from me.
And there is Robert E Lee. We have statues honoring him in almost every city.
Virginia is not a sleepy southern state anymore. We did some stupid things years ago but I think we are now beyond that. Virginia is now a Mid-Atlantic state.
There is a very rural part of Virginia, way down in the Southwest, on the border of West Virginia and Tennessee. I don't know much about those folks.
If you head west from Rt 29, right next to theUniveristy of Virginia, you would be on Barracks Road. It turns into Garth Road and, eventually, when you get to the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains it becomes Rt 831 and later 2034 before you get to the sign that says "End State Maintainance."
It's all uphill from there, on a gravel road that the residents of Buck's Elbow keep up.
Twenty-five familes up there. And not yuppies or hiippies. People who have lived there forever.
You've never heard of any of them except, perhaps, back on September 9th, 1969. A Piedmont Airlines DC3 crashed into the mountain somewhere closeby. For two days and nights the rescue people camped at Buck's Elbow until they found the wreckage. One passenger was found alive, still strapped in his seat. He was brought to Buck's Elbow. -rjb-
rjb, to continue, what you need is who was there, and what happened to that pilot (it doesn't need to be accurate). Clearly, these folks have their "own ways" which opens up many possiblities for an American Gothic tale. I would love to see some backwoods-style ritual cannibalism happening, but I'm a sucker for schlock. I might start with developing a few characters, local folk. Then, how do these people live? As nobody knows them, let your imagination run wild. Then, throw in the airplane crash situation. That would chalk up to an intriguing story, IMO.
Cav, your story moved me. The first time I saw my mother cry was at her mother's funeral.
Great story, well told. sniff sniff
cav...that was great. -rjb-
I liked it, cav. Often I have to revisit a piece on here before coming to a conclusion. Too many distractions.
From the heart, Cav. The best kind of writing.
<APPLAUSE>
BUCK'S ELBOW
(The People)
Look in our phone book and you will find two and a half pages devoted to variations on a family name:
Shifflet, Shifflett, Shifflette, Shiflet, Shiflett, Shiflette, Shiftlett, Shiftlette and even Shifletttte.
Look in your phone book. Do any of those names appear?
It's an interesting clan. In my mind they pretty much showed up out of nowhere; appearing in the early 1800's. One of my employees, Jason Shif..., claims that they are Scottish.
Anyway, that clan, along with the Morrises and Maupins, settled into those narrow valleys: Buck's Elbow, Bacon Hollow, Blackwell's Hollow and so on.
Sometimes the folks (particularly the Shiffett's and the Morris's) wouldn't get along and Sheriff Bailey would have to go up there.
In general though, all of the folks on Buck's Elbow wanted was to be left alone.
rjb, sounds like there might be a little inbreeding going on there. People who marry their kinfolk always make great characters. We must hear more.
cav, the inbreeding joke is, relatively speaking, getting a bit stale. I'm not going there.
I ask, in all seriousness, that y'all look up these names in your local phone books and let me know how many folks from this clan have made it to your communities. -rjb-
(Surviving)
It's difficult to grasp the notion that, a mere hundred miles from Washington; thirty miles from Mr Jefferson's Univerity of Virginia, there could still be places that, by choice or circumstance, are still so isolated.
The folks in these places aren't eager to have ousiders visit. They aren't hostile. Rather they are wary You weren't here before; why are you here now? I happened to have an entree; a totally unexpected opening to the world of the hollow dwellers.
I wanted to start to tell you about how they live, but I'll maybe do that tomorrow.
Please don't ridicule these people because they aren't as sophisticated as you think you are. -rjb--
RJB, I see where you are going here, and think it's fascinating. My apologies for wearing out a thin joke. I had trouble finding the names in my neck of the woods, but your tale is building and we must hear more. Your scope and analysis of this clan is almost leaning towards a novel, rather than a short story. Great stuff.
Good afternoon...First a digression and then a bit of story.
My screen-name here is realjohnboy. I live outside Charlottesville, Virginia. Back in the 1970's there was a TV show called The Walton's. The creator of that show was a man by the name of Earl Hamner. He grew up, during the depression of the 1930's, in one of the places I have been talking about; up in the hills.
Hamner wrote himself into the plot as the eldest son, Johnboy (played by Richard Thomas who went on to other roles as an actor). Johnboy was the narrator and fancied himself to be an aspiring writer.
The show did tend to get syrupy but the writing, to me, was well-crafted and lyrical.
I regret to inform you that "Jim-Bob" died yesterday. He was Earl Hamner's youngest brother. Earl is 80. His brother was 67.
