Appalachian

If You Can’t Do…

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

If you can’t do, teach.

We’ve all heard that through our lives in some context or another. The basic idea being that people who don’t have enough ability or gumption to perform an action or accomplish a task just give in to teaching others how to do it. Teaching others to be better than they are, in other words. As a teacher, of course, it is a common hope that this is exactly one of the things we are accomplishing – inspiring the next generations to aspire to rise above the things we have done and take the initiative to do wonderfully in their endeavors.

I’ve heard the old adage about teachers my whole life, honestly, and it has never really bothered me much until very recently. Of course, in addition to being a teacher I am also an author. I don’t ride the top of the best seller list, but I have 9 books on the market right now and plenty more in progress. I often hear positive feedback about my work, and I am very pleased and proud of what I have accomplished.

One of the people who has been something of an inspiration for me, the first published author I ever met, in fact, is another person I know who is proud of what they have accomplished. This person is someone I have known for more than half my life, and has encouraged me without fail in all of my endeavors. They are also the person who showed me just how damaging that statement about teachers really is.

While at an event this week I was working away preparing for a new school year, and brainstorming story ideas – double tasking as I have every year since I became a teacher. One of the authors who was at this event with me happened to be the very one I mentioned above, and they were doing their very best to sell books like the rest of us were. At one point a couple of teachers came over and started talking to this author, revealing that they are teachers and what they teach, as we do. The author in question mentioned her history in the school system and continued talking until the pair of educators left.

At this point this person, whom I’ve known to have some larger than life opinions before, turned to some of the authors there and said “I worked in the school system for 23 years, they don’t want me to tell them what I really think about teachers.” She went on to rant about how teachers are not able to write books and do anything other than teach and that one of the reasons she wrote the books she has is because teachers can’t and she wanted to show them up.

I was floored. Like I said, I’ve been writing for nearly 20 years and I’ve known this person for most if not all of that time. I’ve been teaching for five years and, ironically enough since teachers “can’t do it,” I have published more work since starting to teach than I ever did before getting my license. This author laughed her comments away and just went on about her day while I tried to fathom how someone could make comments that are so harmful and, frankly, so irrevocably stupid. 

All too often in this world we don’t think about the things that come out of our mouths before they spill over into the void and show everyone our true selves. It is easy to make a comment disparaging against someone else or downplaying their accomplishments. In fact, in former generations this sort of speech was pretty common in my area, as a lot of older people I’ve encountered have no qualms about calling each other “fat boy” or something equally tasteless. This author is one of that generation. I’m sure that goes without saying. The statement about teachers is also one that is far older than myself, and probably even older than she is, so it’s not a shock that she has heard it. 

The shock comes from someone actually expounding on it, stating that teachers “can’t write books” especially while in the presence of not just one, but two teachers, because my wife was right beside me – and another author who has a sibling that has taught for more than 20 years. It blows my mind how someone can have such an honestly simple-minded and senseless opinion. Granted, we all know what they say about opinions. They’re just like assholes, everyone’s got one. It’s often best to keep them to yourself, too. 

My point in all this is multifaceted, but it  starts with this: think about the things you put out in the world. Don’t talk trash about others just for the sake of doing it or to make yourself feel better. It definitely does not make you seem high and mighty, but it shows the world you think that you are.

Also be wary of who you listen to in this world. They might ultimately be a bigoted, small-minded person whose opinion of themselves is much more inflated than it should be.

Saying like “if you can’t, teach” might have started out seeming a funny quip about someone who maybe didn’t get where they wanted to with a chosen field, but it has not aged well.

Coming from a teacher who both teaches AND does – let old, false sayings die with the past like they should. Your accomplishments are not limited to or by your profession. How would the world react to it if the saying  “If you can’t play, coach” came back into more popular circulation? We all know how hopelessly obsessed with sports a large portion of the population is, especially in Appalachia. I dare say coaches everywhere would throw a fit and be on the defensive far more than teachers ever have been.

Talking down about anyone’s abilities based on their profession or their chosen vocation of any sort is not OK. It is not intelligent. It is not funny. Someone I’ve thought was a bit inspiring for a long time lost a lot of my respect this week, but I doubt they will care, even if they read this. Frankly, I don’t care enough to confront them about it and bring it up, either. It just isn’t worth it. What I will do, however, is continue to teach to the best of my ability and train the future generations to be better than I am while ALSO writing and publishing books and using the gift God gave me while hoping to hit that bestseller list one day. But, even if I don’t, I’ll still know – and so will others – that I both taught AND did. And that’s definitely something to be pleased with.

Superstition

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 2 Comments

I do want to say no to this, but to be honest, it’s hard to be Appalachian and not hold some superstition. Growing up in this area you hear a lot of wives’ tales about why things work the way they do, what this event or happenstance might mean, or how changes in the weather can effect the seasons ahead (can anyone say “mythology” and the origin of storytelling?). Hearing those things, you also can’t help but notice that some it does kind of make sense. For instance, there is a saying that if you see a bee/hornet/wasp nest built high off the ground in a tree or on a structure it means there will be a bad winter. The idea is that insects know that bad weather is coming and try to build high enough to stay out of the snow.

I noticed late into Fall and early into Winter there were several nests/hives built high in the trees on my drive to and from work, and made note of the myth. This winter we had some decent snows – nothing like the 3 footer we had about ten years ago, but a decent amount. You can see how there are some elements of potential truth to things like that, I hope.

Knowing there are truths to some of the superstitions in these mountains is not exactly a bad thing, either. Seeing the leaves turn upside down in the summer typically means there will be rain soon, so that can give you an indication you should seek shelter soon. Likewise, the color of the sky in the morning or at night can give you an amateur meteorologist’s view of the day’s weather (Red sky at night, sailors delight vs. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning) and let you plan a little.

On the other side of this, there was a wives’ tale I heard growing up that said if you hear a Screech Owl (one of my personal favorite sounds in the mountains) at night while in the bed you should tie a knot in your bedclothes or someone you know will die. Needless to say, I don’t have any reason to necessarily believe this is true, but when I heard that lonely, warbling screech last year I was sure to tie that knot. In other word, I may be superstitious at times but, with some things, it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?

Daily writing prompt
Are you superstitious?
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Coming to Terms

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

I went to the visitation service for my biological father last night. I’m not at all sure what I expected to happen there, but it was certainly not the way things went. Or maybe it was.

For those of you who don’t know, I was raised in a single parent household because my father made his own choices. Those choices did not involve me. Through the years I have made an abundance of attempts to reach out to him and create some sort of relationship, against the advice and better judgement of pretty much everyone around me. For a little while at one point it worked. When I was 12 I convinced my mother to take me to his adoptive parents house and ask about him. This resulted in his nephew taking us directly to his house and we began forming what I hoped would be a real friendship, if nothing else.

It may have lasted a year. During that time we went to a few movies, ate a couple of meals. he bought me an action figure or two and I paid for at least one of those movies with saved allowance. Of course, toward the end of this period of time as we were driving him back to his home he asked to stop at a convenience store and borrowed money from me for a beer. I probably should have known.

Not long after that the contact stopped. Again, his choice, not mine. He stopped answering calls and letters. Faded into the distance again with no explanation or excuses.

For five years I didn’t know if he was alive or dead until we received a letter from the state that he had been summoned to court for back child support. The state’s choice. Not ours. So, at the age of 17, I convinced my mother to go with me to the courthouse and see if he showed. Surprisingly he did. He was told to pay, said he would, walked out the door with barely a glance in my direction, but I followed. I shouted for him and watched as he thought about walking on and getting in the car as if he hadn’t heard me.

But he stopped. He turned around and came back with his shark-toothed grin and made me feel like he was happy to see me. More empty promises of future contact, blank apologies for a lack of communication, and we went our separate ways.

I never heard from him again.

For nearly 18 years I went without a single word from him. Nearly as long without any word about him, save the mention of him given by his brother after the man found me online. I could have had a child of my own in that time, and watched them grow to be the age I had been the last time I laid eyes on the man who contributed to my DNA. I know damn well I would have treated that child a lot better than I had ever been treated.

Several times during those 18 years I attempted contact again, including one shameful time when I went to his house and knocked on his door. As I looked at the window I saw him looking back out at me before the woman he lived with opened the door and told me he wasn’t there.

I told myself that was it. I had done more than enough. But, it didn’t stop me from sending some last ditch letters. Or from making a phone call after my grandmother passed. A phone call that asked me to leave a message on a voicemail that had his name on it. I told him I wanted nothing from him, no money, no goods, I just wanted to speak to him. Even once.

I won’t even pretend I was surprised when the call wasn’t returned. Or that the next time I tried the number it had been disconnected/my number was blocked.

That time it really was over. I stopped trying. I won’t pretend I hadn’t thought about trying again, but I hadn’t. I had no clue if the man was alive or dead, if he had other children, if he thought about me. I knew nothing. Until I got the message last week that he was actually dead.

If you haven’t lost a parent, I’m glad. It has been something of a whirlwind for me, and nothing like the standard I’m sure. In talking to friends who have reached out, I do realize how many of us have a non-standard (read non-glamorous, non-Hollywood, non-cookie-cutter) relationship with our parents, so I definitely know many of you will know what I mean. A parent who has been nothing but a repeated disappointment, who you truly had no relationship with despite your best efforts, suddenly passing, is still quite a shock.

As I said, I went to the service last night. A more than two hour drive from where I work and nearly the same back to my house. To say I was nervous is an understatement. I have always hated funeral homes and hospitals, and this made that even worse. But I went. I’ve asked myself why it was important that I do so, and others have wondered the same, and I think the full truth is exactly what I said from the start. This is the only time I have had full control over the way this relationship ended. I never got to say my goodbyes. I never got to be the one to really choose how things would progress, or whether they would progress.

Sure, I had decided to stop trying to reach out, but that was really tantamount to deciding to stop pounding a closed door and let my bloodied knuckles heal. It was already sealed. I merely gave in to the choice of others. No, this time I was the one who had the final say. So I went to the service. It took a while to work up the gumption to walk in, but I did it. Amanda and I were 2 of the 7 people there for the man who had isolated himself from his flesh and blood. I will never be able to thank her enough for putting herself through that for me, for supporting me in what she knew was a lost cause. Having her by my side was the only thing that kept me from losing my grip, as it so often is.

When I went to the casket he looked so different from the man I remember, the man who I have maybe three pictures of, that I was worried we were in the wrong chapel. But it was him. His mother was there. My grandmother. Whom I hadn’t seen in probably 25 or more years. She had to subtly walk to the sign-in book to see if I was who she thought I was, but she came up to me and spoke. Told me she knew the effort I had put in, but chalked it up with the true Appalachian “you know how he was.”

No, ma’am. I do not know how he was. He made sure of that. You all made sure of that. I know next to nothing about the man. Even the things my own mother can tell me about the father of her child is little more than three decade old facts. How much of that changed? How much different was the stranger in that box who made sure I never had a chance to know any version of him from the 22 year old she had once cared for? I have no idea. And, given the likelihood those who have chosen not to reach out in the past will continue on that trend, I may never know.

Not once did my grandmother ask about me, my life, my wellbeing. Would it matter to her? No. Just shrugging off the way her son had behaved the same way he shrugged off his own child. I can’t pretend I’m not upset by it all, but I finally am at a point where I can truly say I did everything I possibly could. I will be able to go to sleep tonight and every night knowing I never closed the door on my father, though I likely should have. At the end of the day I was able to say goodbye on my own terms, something that feels as close to satisfaction regarding the matter that I may ever get.

Anchoring in Hope

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

One of the hardest things about a tired morning, especially a tired Monday, is maintaining (or even finding at all) a positive outlook on the day. We all know the weekends are never long enough and the idea of a 40+ hour work week seems longest after we crawl out of bed on that first day. Granted, I won’t for a minute pretend that I’m not a morning person, as my wife will sleepily remind me of as I’m chattering away ere the sun deigns to show his fiery face over our lovely mountains. I also might point out that I tend to be even more of a night owl, with the occasional bout of mid-afternoon lethargy, but that’s a whole different story. This morning was no different.

On this incredible Monday morning I found myself waking up to a few images from my cover designer (the ever incredible Mollie Estep) for the upcoming Blood and Moonlight, and looking forward to the prospect of my second full week in the return to teaching high school English. With the plan to decorate my classroom with some old and new items as well as introduce some of my students to the dark and twisted works of Edgar Allan Poe, I was feeling pretty darn good. I realized last night while preparing for the week that, for the first time in a long time, I was not feeling any of the dread or questioning that had followed the last year and a half or more of my previous teaching job. I loved the students I worked with at that school, and the difference I made in their lives is something I am so thankful for I can’t put it into words. There were, as always, underlying factors, however.

With the job I have just started, my (hopefully) triumphant return to the world of secondary education, I feel a new and powerful positivity. I feel almost certain that I am in the right place. I love feeling that way with a job or with any task I am working on. It makes it that much easier to put your all into something you feel RIGHT about, doesn’t it? That’s kind of where my mind was as I rode the beautiful, rain-damp roads into Wise this morning, my current audiobook humming right along. I felt good. Right. As the drive went on, carrying me closer to my current home away from home, my eyes looked to the right of my vehicle, almost unguided. There, less than a mile away from me, I saw the absolutely stunning sight of an early morning rainbow. I hadn’t realized while I was driving that in the valley ahead of me, which I was about to drive into, was experiencing a rain shower. All around me the sun was beaming down on the world in wonder and magnificence, and to my right glimmered this incredible symbol of hope, meaning, and love. It couldn’t have been a better sign for me.

If you’ve been around for a while, you know I’m a big believer in signs and guidance from God and the universe. I give all credit to God for my gifts and talents as a writer and a teacher, and I can’t express enough just how thankful I am to have the blessing to be able to do these things with my life. Seeing that rainbow this morning made an incredible peace come over me and reminded me again that I am on the right path. Sometimes we all need that reminder. I’ve been hard on myself lately about how little I have been able to write this year and how some things haven’t gone the way I planned. But that’s life. I’ve always heard if you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans. Whether you are a believer in God or not, one thing we can all relate to is that the universe is not always one to fall in line with our intentions. Regardless of what purpose we have behind our motivations and hopes and dreams, sometimes it just doesn’t happen. And there is nothing wrong with that.

As soon as I was able to come to a quick stop I snapped a photo of the now-fading rainbow as a reminder of the powerful feelings in my mind. I’m keeping that rainbow with me this morning as I ponder over all the things that have gone not exactly according to plan to put me right where I am today. Between job changes, family issues, even changes in my education plan, things have not stayed the way I had them mapped out in my mind for quite some time now. But I have been blessed beyond measure. I have my best friend by my side every day of my life, and I could not be more thankful for the experiences we have shared – even if they have been surprises to us both at the time. Looking at all of that, and looking at the hopeful plans I have for the rest of the year I can’t help but keep thinking of that rainbow. That promise. That image that holds so much meaning and so much love for so many people around the world. In my heart and my mind, that sight always tells me I’m going to be OK. No matter what is thrown at me, no matter how hard some days may be, if I keep that image of hope and love in mind everything will be fine. I think that’s why the rainbow means so much to so many people, as well. The merging and unification of so many colors in the spectrum, so many things that nature combines so perfectly, is intended to remind us that it’s OK. Whatever is going on, it isn’t going to hold us back or hold us up forever.

What I’m trying to say with all of this is that we all need our rainbow. Whether we’re feeling positive or negative about whatever situation we’re in, we need something to remind us that good is coming or that it is OK to allow ourselves to be happy. That’s something that sometimes seems hardest of all, I think. With the amount of things that go wrong every day, with all of the trauma we all have seen or been through, the idea that it is OK to be happy can be hardest to grasp. Take it from someone who has struggled to find that permission within himself on and off for decades. Whatever is going on and whatever you have been through, it really is OK to be happy. It’s OK to have hope. Find your rainbow today, whatever it is. The world isn’t always a horrible place. I hope this message can reach someone who needs it, whether it’s today or 100 years in the future. The point remains the same for me. You matter. You are allowed to feel what you feel. And you CAN make it through the hard times. The sun will always come back out eventually.

Summer’s Approach

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Greetings, all! We are officially halfway through another year, and I have to say I have no clue how time has been speeding by so quickly. Much has happened this year already, and I hope everyone can consider themselves in a better place than they were at least this time last year.

Personally, I have been working toward getting some new books and stories ready for publication, as well as seeking out some areas to get some fresh photographs for my website. Now that school is finally over and summer (at least summer break) has officially begun I hope to have much progress to report on those things.

Granted, that progress will still be affected by the mere fact that I am currently working my brain like crazy in my graduate school program. It has been a fantastic experience so far, and I have gotten some more awesome practice with literary theory and the like. For someone like myself, who is near obsessed with the written word, it is a whirlwind of knowledge and decorum. I am loving it.

In an effort to reconnect with myself and get some beautiful photos, I spent the morning in nature today. From High Knob Observation Tower to Flag Rock Recreation Area and around the top of Stone Mountain all in Norton/Wise County, Va. I spent a few hours out hiking and photographing the beautiful scenery the region has to offer. As always, I feel invigorated by getting to experience the raw beauty of the Appalachian Mountains. I thank God I was born into this area and get to spend my time here. Finding myself out in the wilderness I, much like my beloved Transcendentalist writers of old, feel not only a physical and emotional connection with nature, but very much a spiritual one. To be out on a mountain top, breathing that pure air, and interacting with nature and wildlife is an experience I will never tire of. I plan to make as many trips into the wild as I can this summer (assuming I can weather the heat that is). After my foray into nature I got to spend the evening out with my amazing wife, enjoying our life and adventures together. The level of happiness and contentment this gave me is indescribable. I am truly blessed.

By and by, I think the second half of the year will be quite full of adventure and, hopefully, beauty untold. I hope this for all of you as well. I look forward to hopefully meeting as many of you as possible through the rest of the year and in the years to come. With luck I will have new writing to present soon as well, so keep your eyes open for that! Be sure to enjoy life and make the most of every minute. And, as always, feel free to reach out to say hello or anything any time!

It’s Never Too Late

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 1 Comment

As another school year winds to a close, another birthday passes, and May looms ahead on the road of life, I have to say things have been quite a whirlwind already this year. I managed to finish one novel, some poems, a couple short stories, and got tons more ideas. I have gotten several wonderful local opportunities, including being the first author featured in a local art gallery (St. Paul Va Small Art Gallery in St. Paul, Va), and I feel truly humbled by the immense support I’ve gotten from those who follow my writing and photography. On top of that, I have the undying support of my amazing wife, and we have gotten to go on several adventures this year that we will never forget. In all, life is good. The positive definitely outweighs the negative, and I thank God for that every day. It is because of His blessings I have the talents and passions that I do. I am incredibly thankful for everything I have and I want to make the most of these chances.

In light of that, I have to admit there is one area of my life I have long wanted to improve, to grow. My college experience is something that holds a huge place in the journey of making the man I am today. It was there I met my wife, where I first got to work in journalism and the creative arts for a meaningful production. But something still felt incomplete. I completed my Bachelor of Arts program nearly ten years ago and I have had a wealth of career opportunities based on it, but I also have a strong desire to do more. My love of the written word goes deeper than I can even explain without ranting for hours on end. My dive into literature was the deepest it has ever been during my undergrad experience, leading me to have a paper included in the COPLAC undergrad research conference in 2013. That feeling was always exhilerating and after graduating I have wanted to experience that deep educational dive again. It’s easy to say it was high school that helped me narrow my focus to literature, but it was college where I feel that love blossomed to a never-ending obsession. Because of that I have always felt a desire to teach at a college level and be involved in higher education. In short, I have always regretted not going on to get my Master’s Degree.

I’m proud to say I no longer have to feel that regret. As of April 26, the day after my 32nd birthday, I have officially been accepted into a graduate program at Liberty University. I will be completing a Master of Arts in English Literature through an online program, and I could not be more excited. I could also not be more nervous. Short of a few continuing education classes to maintain certification to teach high school, I have not been on the recieving end of formal education for nearly a decade, so the idea is a little daunting. Regardless, this is a venture I have been wanting to take for a long time, and I finally kicked myself into gear and got it going. I am beyond excited for this and I can’t wait to see how it goes.

In addition to furthering my education I am still working endlessly on spreading my name and my art far and wide both in the Appalachian region and beyond. I have recently grown to more than 610 likes on my Facebook author page and had a fun giveaway opportunity there and I am ever growing in my viewership on TikTok and other apps. To say I am blessed to be given this platform and my talents and passions is an understatement. I offer another huge thank you to everyone who supports and encourages me in all of my adventures, from education to beyond. The underlying message behind all of this is simple, and one that we might hear a lot but not always listen to. It is never too late. I’ve been out of school for nearly ten years and I’m going back. I come from an impoverished region where many of the people I have known are either in the grips of addiction or know people who are, and I rose above. There is no obstacle too big, no desire too great, no end too impossible for you to overcome. Especially with prayer and God on your side. I fully respect everyone’s right to a religion, or a lack of one, but that is my own experience talking. I rely on God, I’m thankful to God for all I have, and I feel like that is the right journey for me. Overall, I must press the fact that if you have a desire (as long as it is a good desire, and not one to harm yourself or others -i.e. Asimov rule one) you should chase it. Dreams are powerful, and we have them for a reason. No one is exempt from that. Walt Disney said “If you can dream it you can do it,” but I think no one says it better than Dr. Frank N Furter:

“Don’t Dream It, Be It”

New Ventures, New Work, Small Businesses

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Greetings, everyone! 2023 has been moving right along with crazy speed so far. I can hardly believe we are almost into the month of April already, but that means it is that much closer to warmer weather, longer days, and the blissful peace of summer vacation. At least in my neck of the woods.

This year has brought with it some insane tales of unidentified flying objects being shot down, wild chemical spills, and even more uncouth behavior from the general public, but it has also offered some awesome opportunities for those artists and small business owners who so deserve more attention.

Last month my wife and I attended a dinner at a locally franchised business that made us absolutely ecststatic. Not only was the dinner at Moe’s at the Pinnacle in Bristol,Tn. ( go there immediately!!) amazing, but the community that came together there was astounding. Another local business owner ( from Abingdon Gifting Co. ) invited several people from the community to come join her for dinner to help support Moe’s and bring attention to a great locally owned business.

As an author, photographer, entreprenuer myself, it was incredible to see the community coming together to support a local business owner. My wife and I were humbled to see the restaurant literally packed out with people wanting to support local. More than 3 dozen people attended the dinner, and many plan to make the local support a regular occurence. This thrills me.

I have always loved being able to reach out and help my business minded community members, and I’ve worked with tons of small businesses to house my books as well. It is always a pleasure to work with and support these small businesses, and I encourage each and every one of you all to do the same. Small business is the life blood of American creativity and freedom, in all honesty. Many of the huge chains and franchises we now know and love exist because people supported a local business at one point or another and allowed them the ability to succeed and expand.

I love working with local businesses and I would love to work with as many as I possibly can, so if you own, work in, or know of a business who has interest working with a self-made Appalachian author and photographer, by all means reach out to me or to them and make a recommendation.

That being said, I am thrilled to be able to share with you all some news about my work that makes me ecstatic. I have recently started working to sell my photography! I have created a page on my site here to advertise my work, and I am hoping to get some pieces into local businesses as well. If you are interested in Appalachian or Travel photography, check out the page and let me know if any of my pieces interest you.

In addition to this, I have some gallery appearances at the Small Art Gallery in St. Paul, VA. this year that promise to be hugely fun! My books will be the showcase of the exhibit this April (~April 1-May 15) and my photos will be the feature in November/December (~November/15-December/31). To get a consistent schedule of the gallery’s 2023 exhibits check out their info here.

I’ll bore you all with only one final bit of news in today’s post. I have finished the second novel in my Shadow Slayer Saga, Darkness Awakens, and have started work on a novel that will be of great interest to my Appalachian friends. This tale is going to dig deep into mountain culture and feature one of the more interesting bits of local folklore (and that is saying a lot!), so keep your eyes open for more information about it. I’ve also been working on some short stories and poems again lately, so my creative heart is pounding away like crazy!

Thank you all for checking out what I had to say today, and I’ll leave you with this reminder. Small businesses absolutely deserve our support. Make sure you do what you can to buy and shop local, everyone. It can make differences you can’t even imagine. As always, I welcome comments, questions, concerns, and communication. My novels are available worldwide and in multiple formats (including most libraries or digital library apps), so I hope you will all take the time to read and review them and make this author’s day! Enjoy your art, and enjoy your lives, everyone!

Returning Home

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Greetings and Salutations, everyone! We are growing ever closer to the spookiest time of year, quickly chased by the merriest time of year. In other words, I am absolutely in my element! I have been immersing myself in all things horror for the last few weeks, as opposed to the rest of the year when I immerse myself in all things horror. It’s very exclusive. As I near another busy time of year, filled with events and signings and all manner of awesome opportunities to meet you all, I have to tell you about the most recent one.

On October 9th I was honored to do a discussion and reading in my beloved hometown of Tazewell, Va. Being from said small town, the Appalachian tradition of ‘coming home’ took on a new meaning for this event. The Tazewell Historical Society asked me to do the event, which was held in the recently revamped and reopened Tazewell Train Station, formerly known as ‘the old depot.’

The old depot had been abandoned, just sitting in its historic spot, going back to the earth for years, decades even. Fading, dirty bricks, boarded windows and doors, vines crawling up the sides with reckless abandon, the building was exactly something that would inspire this little horror lover’s heart (and there may or may not be something in the works based on this). The coolest thing about this is the fact that I lived less than a quarter mile away from the building. I passed it every time I was going home, every time I left to go anywhere. It was always a figure of history that loomed on the edge of my vision, and instilled curiosity consistently. I may or may not have tried various times to take a peek inside the building, with never a spark of luck, so this was an even more interesting opportunity.

Needless to say when I was asked if I would be interested in doing a presentation on Appalachian Myth and Legend, along with a reading of some of my work, I leapt on the chance. The fact that it was going to be held in the depot building was just icing on the cake.

To prepare for the event I examined much of what I already knew of myth and wives’ tales that exist in Tazewell. There are a fair number of those, but one that has always interested me is that of Devil’s Slide Cave, otherwise known as Higginbotham #1. Supposedly farmers that live and work near this cave, which rests just off the road at the foot of a mountain, have heard moans and cries of unknown origin coming from within. Animals that get too near the cave are said to die soon after or simply disappear. A group of spelunkers and cave mappers went into the cave and reported a sinkhole not far from the entrance. Once they made their way down they went several miles in (I’ve heard they may have spent as much as two days within, but I’m not sure of that part). Eventually they found another dropoff and began hearing the sounds they had been told about. They lowered themselves down to the full extent of their equipment and reported that they couldn’t quite reach the bottom, although they could see it. The group claimed to have seen a set of heavy iron doors at the bottom of the hole, through which the sounds of Hell itself could be heard and a great heat could be felt. I’ve heard the tale several times throughout my life, but I have never gotten to explore the cave, as it is on private land.

Being a lover of all things lore and myth, I made the connection here with the Devil’s Looking Glass in Erwin, Tn. and several other evil seeming legends, of which there are no shortage. The group of people that showed up to listen and converse with me were fantastic, and it was honestly an amazing event. Looking back on it, I can’t imagine how I could be so blessed to be able to experience that thing of wonder, the Appalachian Homecoming. Getting to present some of my work and my research, an object of my passion, that close to where I spent some of my most formative years – in a home that was and is still passed down through my family I might add – is nothing short of a blessing that I am ever so thankful for.

That, I think, is something we all sort of hope for. To be able to return to our origin with our story strapped to our back, not in an act of desperation, but an act of triumph. To be able to return home and say “look at what I’ve done. I’m here because I WANT to be here, not because I have to be.” It is a feeling of success and achievement that I hope I can always keep with me. Having a passion for the arts is by no means an easy journey, and it does not often come with the sort of instant gratification the world is growing more and more used to, but this truly makes me feel like I am on the right path. I have had my ups and downs lately with my work, especially while striving to revamp my website, up my market presence, and make myself more widely known. Sometimes it seems like I’m just pounding my fists against a brick wall, hoping against all odds to bring it down. On the bad days, it seems this is a futile attempt, but on the good days, every now and then, one or two of those bricks come tumbling down. These last few weeks, those bricks are tumbling, and I can’t be more thankful for that.

I know, of course, that every journey is one of ups and downs. As happy and successful as I feel this week, I may end up feeling just as unsuccesseful next week, but the key and point of this post, is that sense of failure, that ever-present nag that is imposter syndrome, is false. Your journey is always successful as long as you don’t give up on yourself. You have to push through the bad days, the low times, the negative commentary, and realize that these are merely speedbumps. Tests. They are nothing more than life’s way of making sure you don’t get moving too fast or flying too high before you slow down and take a tumble. Your time of ultimate achievement, your moment in the spotlight, will absolutely come. But no amount hemming and hawing, whining and crying, forcing and threatening will make it happen. It will happen when you have overcome those obstacles and truly have everything you need to embrace the big finish.

So, my advice, as always, is to keep going. Push through the pain, the bad days, the sadness. Never let a road block cause you to come to a full stop. Turn the wheel and seek out a different path. Have faith in yourself and your journey. Fight your way through the hard days and enjoy every moment of the good ones. Most importantly, remember those good feelings and use them to keep you motivated through the bad. One day, you too may have that storybook ‘homecoming’ and it will be a moment you can definitely be proud of.

If you need anyone to talk to or motivate you through those hard times, I am always available as well. You can find me on social media, use the contact page on the site, comment on a post, or use any other method you can to reach out to me and I’ll be happy to help any way I can. Also, my amazing wife filmed my presentation at the depot and I have since uploaded it to Youtube. You can watch it here, if you’re interested. Have a great rest of the week, everyone. I look forward to hearing from you!

Celebrating Spooky Month with Mountain Song & Story

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Happy October, everyone!! I have been leaping into this spooky season with plenty of awesome projects and events so far. My most recent short story collection, “When These Mountains Talk: Tales of Horror From the Heart of Appalachia” was released on October 1st, and it has gotten great attention so far. In addition to that, I had a huge and awesome experience I wanted to share with you all.

Last night I was a part of a local radio show, originating from Bristol Va’s Birthplace of Country Music Musuem called Mountain Song and Story. The weekly show, hosted by Toni Doman, features and explores different aspects of Appalachian culture by discussing various arts and crafts, cultural elements, and even some phenomena and myths. I had the chance to sit down with Toni and have a candid discussion that covered a range of topics including my work, the importance of Appalachian culture, and some of our amazing Appalachian legends.

To say I was, and am, honored is an understatement. I can’t thank Toni and everyone at Radio Bristol enough for having me on the show and allowing me to talk about my writing on such a cool platform. The episode was an hour long, and it was filled with classic regional music, and genuinely fun content. I think you would all truly enjoy hearing it. Fortunately, the episode now lives in the show’s online archives at https://birthplaceofcountrymusic.org/event/mountain-songs-and-stories-with-toni-doman/2022-10-06/ and can be checked out at any time. My episode is the one that aired on October 6th, if you are interested. I have to once again say thank you to Toni, my friends Wendy and Myrissa for recommending me for the show, and to everyone who helped make it possible. These opportuniites make me feel very connected with the community and help me remember how blessed I am to be able to create my art and use my voice to draw attention to our culture.

In addition to last night’s opportunity, I am ecstatic to announce that I am getting another chance to embrace our local culture this Sunday (October 9th) in my hometown of Tazewell, Va. I have been invited to present and read some of my work to a group of community members at the Tazewell Train Station – which is literally just yards away from where I spent a good number of my formative teen years and essentially grew to be the man I am today. This is a huge honor for me, as I love being able to bring my work back to my hometown and see the old stomping grounds. The event will begin at 2 pm, and I hope to see plenty of familiar and even new faces there. I truly can’t thank God enough that I have the talent and skill I do. I was truly made to write and celebrate the written word and the culture that helps make these mountains what they are, and I am ecstatic to embrace those purposes. If you are able to attend the event this weekend, that would be fantastic. If not, I completely understand, and I welcome you to check out my events page to see when and where you can see me next!

As always, feel free to reach out with any questions or comments you’ve got for me, and I look forward to speaking with everyone. Keep reading and being spooky!

Where the Crawdads Sing (2022)

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 1 Comment

As many of you know, I have an extreme love and respect for the book by Delia Owens. It has been one of my favorite pieces of literature since the day of its release. From paragraph one, the book had my attention and would not let me go. Needless to say, when I heard the official announcement it was getting the silver screen treatment I was beyond nervous. How could anyone do such fantastic, eloquent prose justice? I’m thrilled to say my worries were exceedingly unfounded.

Last night I finally got to watch the film that took the world by storm, and I’m proud to say that from the opening scenes to the last seconds of credit scrawl I was hooked once again. Owens’s world and character were brought to life in such a fantastic and thrilling manner that I was almost ashamed at being concerned. Daisy Edgar Jones breathed such a refreshing breath of life into Kya and her harsh, pain-filled early life that I found my heart reaching out to this character again. With a narration by Jones that allowed some of Owens’s more poignant lines (a phrase that is honestly such a shock it’s not even funny) to live and thrive on the big screen.

The story, if any of you are unfamiliar, is of a small town on coastal North Carolina that is rocked by the death of one of its star young men. Chase Andrews, a regular jock and good ole’ boy, who came from an old money family, is found dead in the marshes. When police consider the possibilty that this may have been a murder, the first suspect they seek is someone the townspeople call “Marsh Girl.” This opens into the sad story of Kya Clark, a sad young woman who was abandoned by her mother, siblings, and finally her abusive father in their family home. We learn of the hardships of Kya’s life, including her relationship with the dead man and the attempted rape that led her to fleeing for her life.

As a native Appalachian who grew up just a few hours from these coastal marshes, I was blown away by the cinematography and the beauty of the film. The marshland is truly a whole other world, and one that offers its own set of power, grace, and beauty. Kya’s story as told through the cinematic lens, under the production power of none other than Reese Witherspoon with close consultation by Owens herself, made my heart break again and again. I laughed, I gasped, I even found tears in my eyes on multiple occasions throughout the 2 hour film, and I would not have it any other way.

Kya’s life in the marsh was by no means easy, but the power of a pure mind and heart is exemplified in her ability to find the true beauty nature has to offer. The marsh raised Kya in its own way, and the world made sure she knew she wasn’t accepted. The strength behind a young woman’s determination is exemplified in this story, and Kya’s connection with nature is one that we can all be jealous of. I know I am. Long story short, I highly recommend this movie, and the book that gave it life, of course. Book first, of course. Once you enjoy both I’d love the hear your thoughts, too. Comment, message, whatever makes your little heart happy. I look forward to hearing from you! As always, read on, happy people.