Phoebe Kate

Another exciting Dead Mule update for y’all.  We are proud to announce that we will be featuring the work of Carolyn Kreiter-Foronda, including three poems from her newly released book, River Country, on the Mule tomorrow, April 29. 

Kreiter-Foronda was appointed Poet Laureate, 2006-2008, for the Commonwealth of Virginia by Governor Timothy M. Kaine. She is the author of several books and anthologies. Her poems have appeared throughout the United States and abroad in numerous publications. Her many poetry honors include three Pushcart Prize nominations. She has been named a Virginia Cultural Laureate for her contributions to American Literature. And yet, when the Mule asked her for poems, she replied by saying, “How kind of you to write to request a poetry submission.”
 
Please drop in at the Mule and enjoy the work of this stellar poet — and don’t forget to check out her website.  She is an artist, too and her paintings are as marvelous as her poems.

–phoebe kate 

As some of you may know, I’m an assistant editor for a Southern literary e-zine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature.  Despite its name, it’s not an actual, that is to say physical, place where you can enroll and study the craft.  But we like to think of ourselves as a virtual institute comprised of writers and readers from all over the world who relish the Old and the New South in all its contradictions and idiosyncrasies. And like all good schools, we’re always on the lookout for up-and-coming new talent with a fresh perspectives on the Southern experience to add to our ever-growing list of alumni.   

We’re proud to say that we “discovered” writer Ann Hite – we published her first short story several years ago, a marvelous piece called “Gabriel’s Horn.”  Since then, her work has appeared all over the place and she’s started a blog. 

Recently, Hite completed a short fiction collection Life on Black Mountain, which (ta-da!) we’re excited to say that we will be publishing next month in the Mule – one story a day on even-numbered days, beginning May 2.  So grab yourself a nice big glass of sweet tea, sit back and revel in the pure joy of Southern literature. 

Here’s an excerpt from Hite’s Introduction, describing how she came to write Life on Black Mountain and giving you a sneak peek at some of the characters you’ll meet:

“Often I feel I’ve channeled the Black Mountain Stories from several of my eccentric relatives from long ago. I was born in Georgia and raised everywhere but Georgia until I was ten years old. That’s when my mother brought my brother and me back to live with my grandmother. It was then I began to absorb both wonderful and eerie tales told by my extended family. One of the first stories I heard upon arrival at my grandmother’s home was about a fighter pilot—an air force base was nearby—had crashed into the house down the street. The eighty-year old home was owned by two old maid sisters: one who had spent her life in a wheelchair and the other looking after her. The whole street ran to watch the fire. Some claim to have seen the pilot in the front seat of the jet trying to get out. Others claim to have heard one of the sisters screaming. The only survivor was the sister in the wheelchair. It was in this atmosphere of tall tales, spells, and spirits that Black Mountain was born. I didn’t have a name for the community back then, but I spent many hours writing and forcing my little brother to listen to my stories of spells and ghosts. Ah, but children do grow up. Or do they?

The fictional community of Black Mountain finally got its name while I was flipping hamburgers in my kitchen one night in the spring of 2004.

Mama warned me against marrying Hobbs Pritchard. She saw the future in her tealeaves, death. 

This sentence shot through my mind in a strong southern voice that was not my own. Nellie Pritchard was alive and well. She wanted to tell her story, Ghost On Black Mountain.”

–phoebe kate 

Seems that there’s a new device being marketed in the U.S. and Canada called Kid Be Gone.  I kid you not.  It’s designed to repel teens and young adults in their 20s by emitting an ear-grating head-splitting high-pitched noise that only those of a certain age can hear.  Ostensibly, its purpose is to prevent youthful undesirables from loitering in public areas.  So far, it’s been successfully implemented in urban areas with gang problems and in parking lots to shoo off skateboarders.

Personally, I see a whole new market for the product that the its creators may not have anticipated.  Loitering, you know, is not just something done outside on the street corner by strangers.  It can, and frequently is, performed indoors by our own flesh and blood.  Kid Be Gone is the perfect answer for parents who have 20-ish kids who have “failed to launch.” 

Listen up, you long-suffering mothers and fathers out there who dream of finally having an empty nest, this is a helluva lot easier (and a great deal more effective) than finding a Sarah Jessica Parker dreamgirl to bestir your lovable lout to get his act together.  No bigger than a smoke detector and a cinch to install, the Kid Be Gone can be unobtrusively placed in strategic areas – by the refrigerator, near the big screen TV, above the pool table in the family room, behind a favorite couch used for all-day naps and in the bathroom to stop those interminable showers that run up your water and electric bills. And don’t forget to pop one in the most important place of all –that messy bedroom.  Get your message across quickly and efficiently without those stressful arguments and unpleasant scenes to convince that young man of yours he needs to “find himself” and get a life.  Kid Be Gone works equally well with daughters under your roof who’ve dropped out of college, can’t keep a job and spend the day manicuring their nails and watching the soaps and “E! True Hollywood Story” while waiting for Mr. Right. 

Just imagine the delight you’ll experience when you see that pristine empty bedroom and the astounding drop in your utility bills and grocery tabs.  Makes the ideal gift for couples with in-law problems and visiting relatives who overstay their welcome.  Get your Kid Be Gone today, supplies are limited.  Satisfaction guaranteed.

–phoebe kate                  

“Expect problems and eat them for breakfast.”–Alfred A. Montapert

I have no idea who Mr. Montapert is/was, but his sentiment needs no credentials or authentication except the reality we all know. 

Problems blindside us.  Setbacks, losses, disappointments, frustrations, failure. They crop up out of seemingly nowhere. 

In every arena.  Relationships.  Marriage.  Family.  Career.  Business.  Health.  And everything else. 

Name the arenas of your choice.  They are endless.

Been blindsided?  I betcha you have.  Just like me.

It ranges from a bad day on the Dow to the death of someone close to a major disaster, and everything in between.  And all of it, from great to small, takes its toll on us.

And our reaction is usually the same: “How could this happen?”  The implied, if not spoken, words that follow are: “To me?”

Our country is still trying to come to grips with terrorism on our home turf. 

As individuals, we still can’t figure out why bad things happen to good people.  Why we have to suffer.  Why we can’t be happy all the time.  Hey, doesn’t the God-given right to the pursuit of happiness mean it’s a God-guaranteed item-in-stock that we just have find on the right shelf? 

For decades, the cereal Wheaties has been advertised as the Breakfast of Champions.  We don’t need General Mills to feed us what we need to be people strong enough to triumph.  Whether we like it or not, life does that, quite on its own.

–phoebe kate

Okay, it’s really no laughing matter, but it cracked me up anyway.

A Roman Catholic priest in Brazil is missing. 

What happened to him?  Did he fall victim to the high crime rate in Sao Paulo?  Abduction?  Foul play?  A disgruntled parishioner?  A serial killer with a vendetta for men of the cloth?   

No.  Nothing so mundane. 

Father Antonio de Carli floated off into the sky, carried aloft by hundreds of helium party balloons.

(I have once again dissolved into paroxysms of laugher after typing that line.)

Sheeesh.  I hope they find him…

–phoebe kate