Southern Legitimacy Statement:
In this mid-sized town nestled in the deep south of the U.S.A., every street corner has a church and every church has a sign reminding me that I should be there. I’ve been told I have a southern accent, but only by Yankees, which (in these parts) includes folks from north Louisiana. I have gotten superficial cuts from peeling shrimp. I have cramped my fingers by using crackers on crab legs. I don’t buy groceries; I make them. I consider buttermilk biscuits to be divine. Where I’m from, folks say things like “bless her heart,” “cha baby,” and “boo.” Nine times out of ten, the city feels like it’s operating under a wet blanket because the humidity is 90 percent.

Having spent sixty years in the great state of North Carolina, and having attended four of its finest universities, and having married a genuine southern belle whom I dragged from city to city in pursuit of a career in psychology, I hearby declare (declaah) myself a southern boy, who was raised in the boondocks, hunted and fished a lot, and socialized occasionally with live mules, but no dead ones.

Southern Legitmacy Statement

Even though i pretend to be an intellecutal, I’m a redneck at heart. My Jewish stepmother says NY woudl be a better place for a writer. She’s right about many things, but Spartanburg, SC is a happening place for writers. When my Dad comes to visit from Princeton, he appreciates the fact that you can go to a thai resturant and hear Red River Valley playing on the radio. We’ve got grits and thai and sushi and a little bit of everything. I was born and raised in the house where my mother and grandmother grew up. My mother now owns the house and the land located in Spartanburg, SC.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:
I was born in Alabama and have lived in the south almost all my life. Being about three bricks shy of a load and stubborn as a mule, I strayed north once upon a time. Turned tail and ran back home after three months because it was Sunday and I couldn’t smell fried chicken cooking. And nobody understood that pot likker and moonshine aren’t the same thing. I’ve been to river baptisms, downhome revivals, and my share of dinners on the ground. I don’t eat fried green tomatoes unless cornmeal and a cast iron skillet were involved in the cooking. After the famous movie came out all these crazy Hollywood types started putting out low-fat, baked versions – that would’ve had my granddaddy writing Washington and threatening to secede again. And when I was a kid, Grandmama picked out the cloth sacks of flour and feed based on her fashion sense because I wore feedsack dresses till I was about seven.

Just a reminder that the deadline for the Gemini Magazine Flash Fiction Contest is August 31, 2009. Grand Prize is $100 and publication in the October issue of Gemini (www.gemini-magazine.com). Three (3) Honorable Mentions will also be published in the October issue.
Stories must be 1,000 words or less and may be written in any [...]