Southern Legitimacy Statement: Alan Watkins was born, raised, and still lives in the Raleigh, NC area. Generally, his writings end up as short films, but recently he has decided to delve into the written word after being intrigued by several anthologies of horror related short stories. As a Southern Baptist, there are generally subtle religious aspects in most of his stories.Read More
I know that my Southern legitimacy may be marginal, having lived my whole life in a border state, but thanks to my North Carolinian grandmother, my father’s family name was Bubba, and we only ever vacationed in Morehead City. And I reckon that my hometown of Indian Head, MD had adequately Southern sensibilities. I am hopeful that my SLS effectively expresses my honest affection for the people amongst whom I grew up.
Southern Legitimacy Statement: I was raised on a narrow neck of land between the Potomac River and the Mattawoman Creek, in a town where the eggs were never poached but the venison very likely had been.Read More
My southern legitimacy has oft been disputed, and for this reason, I really am at a loss for words. If you can believe it, I was told “you sound like a New Yorker” and (mis)identified as the descendent of “carpetbaggers”—false, false. Perhaps there was a bed switch. Anyway these poems have pleased. And I have an MFA from AlabamaRead More
I was born and raised in and around Mobile, AL mostly but have lived all over the heart of dixie, even way up north in Anniston, Alabama. My first memories are of Tuscaloosa back when my parents were going to school and the Bear was coaching. I went to high school in the Gator country of Satsuma where it’s not unheard of to see the those massive, prehistoric reptiles crawling in your backyard. I went to college at Troy before finishing up at South Alabama located in my hometown. Now, I teach English down at the very bottom of the state in Bayou La Batre where the students come to class fresh off the shrimp boats wearing their white Bayou Reeboks.Read More
Southern Legitimacy Statement: There is at least one dead mule in my family’s history. My uncles “accidentally” killed the family plow mule with a hammer blow between his eyes, then tried to bury him but rigor mortis set in and his feet stuck up about two feet about the ground when they rolled him in the hole. Being rural Southern Children of the 1940’s guaranteed their resourcefulness and determination and so they buried him anyway. My grandfather discovered him when he went looking for the mule that had run off. My uncles were 10 and 13 at the time of the “incident.” I’m a child of South Carolina’s low country, story telling and black water runs in my veins and family history. I’m a fading Southern Belle who believes and says; ” Here in the South we don’t keep our history in a moldy old book on a dusty old shelf, WE LIVE it EVERYDAY!”Read More