by Ann Hite Mama had these little crystal bowls that sat by each dinner plate. Each bowl held a few drops of water so we could dip our fingers in the bowl before we ate our meal. Somewhere Mama got the idea that it was a sign of class like we had money or something. [...]
by Ann Hite Men are the stupidest animals on this earth. Mollie decided this long before she celebrated fifty years of marriage, but that year, that golden year, really put her to thinking on a lot of things. Like, how men thought they knew everything and they never was wrong. Or, how they tried to [...]
by Ann Hite Carly K came to Black Mountain in the summer of 1972. Nelson should have given more thought to a woman alone in a hick mountain community, but to tell the truth he was purely dazzled by her the first time he laid eyes on that smile. She was visiting Carson Waterfall, his [...]
Southern Legitimacy Statement:
Well, some ten generations of us dirt farming Yelton’s have trod the good soil of Virginia and North Carolina. I am a Rutherford Countian by birth and live there now after periodic exiles to Charlotte, Greensboro and Atlanta (which used to be a Southern city). I study the Civil War and live it in my waking dreams. I admire Lee and Jackson, Longstreet and Hill. My great-grandfather shed blood at Amelia Courthouse when Lee’s miserables were forced to skedaddle west and south by the Yankee hordes.
I travel on foot, in my thoughts, and sometimes in my dreams to the high mountains of the Old North State as often as possible. Their pull on me is strong. I like to write about them and their mysteries. They are as old and inscrutable as the moon.
I love Southern writing, though I find Faulkner a bit dense and claustrophobic. I prefer Pat Conroy, Howard Bahr, and James Lee Burke.
by Ann Hite The world was filled with blood: roiling, boiling, unending sticky redness. Or, so thought Miss Arlene Bradshaw, who spent most Saturday nights watching scary movies. This contributed to her over active imagination and her firm belief that something evil was in Holly Iowa’s house next door. Arlene, Holly’s dearest, oldest friend was [...]
by Ann Hite My mama always took the time to tell me a story each night before I fell asleep. She was good like that. My favorite story was one she called, Ghost on Black Mountain. For the longest time I believed it was a story about our family, but when I told Mama my [...]
It was late December 1965 when Susan Holcomb found Black Mountain, North Carolina. She must have lost her mind thinking she could buy an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere, but solitude was impetrative at this place in her life. Susan was there under the guise of writing a book, based on the true [...]
Life on Black Mountain
a short story collection by Ann Hite
Life on Black Mountain
A short story collection by Ann Hite
Life on Black Mountain
A short story collection by Ann Hite
Life on Black Mountain
A short story collection by Ann Hite
Life on Black Mountain
A short story collection by Ann Hite
Life on Black Mountain
A short story collection by Ann Hite
Life on Black Mountain
A short story collection by Ann Hite
Life on Black Mountain
A short story collection by Ann Hite
Hey, ya’ll. I forgot to load the new Coverpage for the May 2008 Mule. Apologies all around, especially to dear Ann who worked so hard on the Life on Black Mountain story collection. Take a gander at her blog when you get a moment, would you? click here. It was pure bliss working on the [...]
Life on Black Mountain
A short story collection by Ann Hite