Auburn Jackson was alone, ignorant, and pregnant, but not unBibled. She had sinned and was punished with a brain-damaged child to raise in the impoverished wilds of West Virginia. But she had spunk and the guile of the street-smart, and she believed in the innate goodness in all. So armed, Auburn guts out a nursing degree while caring for her child, only to see him die like his father in a mine. Thinking to redeem herself from God's wrath, Auburn takes a nursing job for handicapped youth on Hatteras Island and finds happiness and fulfillment for a time. She revels in loving an Indian child from her own birthplace on Knapps Creek. No good deed goes unpunished, the sage says and Auburn is not immune. Marriage, an in-wedlock child, and a happy home are not in God's plan for her redemption in this love story.
Auburn Jackson was alone, ignorant, and pregnant, but not unBibled. She had sinned and was punished with a brain-damaged child to raise in the impoverished wilds of West Virginia. But she had spunk and the guile of the street-smart, and she believed in the innate goodness in all. So armed, Auburn guts out a nursing degree while caring for her child, only to see him die like his father in a mine. Thinking to redeem herself from God's wrath, Auburn takes a nursing job for handicapped youth on Hatteras Island and finds happiness and fulfillment for a time. She revels in loving an Indian child from her own birthplace on Knapps Creek. No good deed goes unpunished, the sage says and Auburn is not immune. Marriage, an in-wedlock child, and a happy home are not in God's plan for her redemption in this love story.
Zippy Cosmo moves his wife and family from Baltimore to the Eastern Shore to escape the citys inhumanity and growing civil rights violence. The small provincial town they settle in is sleepy and remote; it seems ideal to raise their five children. But, a tattoo artist rents the old post office building and tattoos the wrong farmers daughter according to the local intel. The search for his killer and how it impacts this familys lives is what makes THE INK MASTER MURDER, a mystery by Gene Lovell, a fascinating read. Can you dig it?
A critical look at the work of and philosophical influences upon the American Modernist composer. Charles Ives (1874–1954) moved traditional compositional practice in new directions by incorporating modern and innovative techniques with nostalgic borrowings of 19th century American popular music and Protestant hymns. Matthew McDonald argues that the influence of Emerson and Thoreau on Ives’s compositional style freed the composer from ordinary ideas of time and chronology, allowing him to recuperate the past as he reached for the musical unknown. McDonald links this concept of the multi-temporal in Ives’s works to Transcendentalist understandings of eternity. His approach to Ives opens new avenues for inquiry into the composer’s eclectic and complex style. “A trenchant and intellectually expansive reading of Ives’s relationship to time by connecting several compositions?and indeed, the composer’s larger conceptualization of the past, present, and future?to the Emersonian concept of the “everlasting Now.” This book is a wonderfully written, important contribution to scholarship on the music of Charles Ives.” —Gayle Sherwood Magee, author of Charles Ives Reconsidered “McDonald investigates both the temporal and spatial effects of multidirectional motion, as well as its ramifications for understanding some of the larger philosophical issues that are raised in Ives’s music.” —Music & Letters, May 2015 “McDonald brings together analytic and personal factors to sharpen the image of the composer in convincing ways. . . . This book . . . deserves a close reading. The bibliography provides a select list of scores and recordings as well as articles, books, catalogues, and unpublished commentaries. This book is recommended for college and university libraries and for readers with a music theory background.” —Music Reference Services Quarterly
Spanning three centuries, this collection traces the historical evolution of legends, folktales, and traditions of four major native American groups from their earliest encounters with European settlers to the present. The book is based on some 240 folklore texts gathered from early colonial writings, newspapers, magazines, diaries, local histories, anthropology and folklore publications, a variety of unpublished manuscript sources, and field research with living Indians.
He was big . . . the biggest of the litter . . . big enough to wrestle bears, and he did, two, maybe more; but he killed many. When he woke up in that black inky night he couldn’t see, thought he was blind, and had a massive hangover from his Daddy’s Cherry Jump moonshine. A buzzard had died in his mouth and with it came rotten dog breath. A headache like someone had hit him with a pole axe made him feel like he was dead, dead as four-o’clock. And did he smell! Wow! His torn bib overalls were soaked in sour mash. Other than not knowing where he was, he still thought he was alright, and that too was a problem. Was there any hope or any salvation? Luckily, he had been weather hardened by war. He stood up and he tired to walk, but ran into something. It knocked him down. When he fell, he heard something rattle. It was a trace chain attached to a leather dog collar around his neck. But in the inky dark he couldn’t see his hand in front of him. He got up again and found the trace chain wrapped around a tree, and locked. Shocked, he screamed out, “Goddamn! I’m chained to a tree,” then screamed louder, “They have chained me to a tree like a wild cur dog!” Now mad as hornet with his stinger busted, he felt around and found something else about the tree. This time he screamed even louder, “Son of a bitch! It’s my goddamn tree! Who in the hell would chain me to my own tree?” He sat back down against the family tree stunned, and then realized; “It’s got to be my . . . family. Chained me like a goddamn cur dog to a tree. But which one of them would have the nerve to do this . . . to ME?” Then he realized it could be only one person. He stood up and screamed, “Mama! Then he fell down again, pounded the ground, cried like his heart tore out. He got up off the ground, went into a wild-man’s rage then fainted with exhaustion. Then he got sick, tried to walk, but threw up all over himself. And the chain snatched him back and down into his vomit; it was all over him like those bugs. He pounded the ground with his fist, wondering how in the world he had gotten here and where he was. Again and again, he got up. Each time he tried to walk in another direction, but the chain snatched him off his feet and back down on the ground and into his rotten vomit. It didn’t matter what direction he walked. Finally exhausted, he couldn’t get back on his feet. Still he kept asking himself, “Where in the hell am I, and who in the hell put this collar on me?” All night he shouted and wallowed in his vomit like an itchy, old, fat hog taking a bath in new mud. He heard no one come in the dark, silent, black night. Thank God! His vomit smell finally ran the goddamn bugs off his body and away. AUTHOR REVIEWS "Another one of the best of the best; has an eye for writing more good novels. Just Great! What can a person do when they read a story like this one? You have the knack for telling stories from the Blue Ridge Mountains. Just keep it up and I’ll keep looking for another book." -Hyway94, Everywhere, USA- "I like the back-story (flash back) that leads in. Very well written and has great flow about something I know nothing about." - Isle of Travey, Auckland 1172 New Zealand- "Another highly written book, written in your unique style, and I loved the antics in this one. You are so gifted to have such a unique spelling ability." -rivki1111, USA- "This is the very best chapter (#54) of your novel. Of course, I am so glad the villain got his come up-ins. Dredd reminded me of one of my ex-husbands. You’ve got a great book here." -Oatmeal (Camille Whitman), USA- "You have a talent for realistic character, engaging dialogs
Book Summary Oh, my sweet missy, he said then pulled the knife from its scabbard. Crouching alongside Emma he reaches across and pressed the cold sharp blade against her neck then covers her mouth with his other hand. Emma is stunned. She cant move. She is frightened! Who is this man? Whats he doing? What does he want? Her mind races! God, help me! I aim to turn this territory around. I intend to run a second term for Governor, and the only way that I will be reelected is to control the rustling, robbing, senseless murders and some son of a bitch who is raping women. I need this stopped . . . Cotton Williams, U.S. Territorial Marshal, is sent on a mission to stop the corruption in Southern Arizona Territory and to find a rapist. He has only one clue to find the rapist. One word Missy.
