Have Some Chicken And Joe!

Night Train is my main baby, let's keep that straight. How­ev­er much it's 'my' jour­nal, I feel con­strained, by dint of the sto­ries and poems we've pub­lished in the past, and our sta­tus as a non-prof­it com­bined with our incor­po­ra­tion as a qua­si-edu­ca­tion­al insti­tu­tion, to a rea­son­able fac­sim­i­le of what peo­ple expect to see. Else, why should they come back? And make no mis­take, folks do come back to see what we do, and that's great. I appre­ci­ate their atten­tion. I crave it, in fact. But there's always some­thing else.

The great dirty or not so-dirty secret of my past, is that I grew up in the north­ern­most por­tion of the Appalachi­an Region­al Com­mis­sion des­ig­nat­ed 'Appalachi­an' area, north-cen­tral Penn­syl­va­nia. The stereo­type, or more prop­er­ly, the arche­type, of the Appalachi­an region cen­ters around the Kentucky/West Vir­ginia por­tions of the ARC's des­ig­nat­ed area, but the eco­nom­ic dif­fi­cul­ties and many of the same issues and sim­i­lar­i­ties con­tin­ued into that Bradford/Tioga coun­ty area in Penn­syl­va­nia, where I spent the first 24 years of my life. I played in cricks where all the rocks shone orange with runoff, where no fish lived, though the coal indus­try was dead by the time I was old enough to know what it had been and how it had caused the dam­age, and the lum­ber indus­try gone too, fifty or sev­en­ty-five years before. What was left to me and my friends was sim­ply grow­ing up and find­ing a way out, via the armed forces, via col­lege, via just shit­ting and get­ting, if you could, the 'brain-drain' typ­i­cal of rur­al Appalachia. You stay and become part of the scenery, or you nev­er go back. Case in point, my father's fam­i­ly has lived, with three or four excep­tions, in the same three-coun­ty area for 230 years.

We all know the sto­ries, or we can look them up if we get the urge. Har­ry Caudill's Night Comes to the Cum­ber­lands, rev­enuers, snake­han­dlers, the Hat­fields and McCoys, feud­ing in gen­er­al, moon­shine, blue­grass, gospel, hard men, loose women, church women, coon dogs , coon huntin' and the folks who love them, or the NASCAR set, NRA set, how­ev­er you choose to name them. I didn't see all of this, of course, being both North­ern (pro­nounced Appalachia with a long sec­ond 'a' until I found out bet­ter, much lat­er per­haps than I should have). and more well off than many in the parts of Appalachia below the Mason-Dixon. But what I found, in this lit­er­a­ture of rur­al Appalachia and the rur­al south (and oth­er places to be sure) was a sense that I had found some­thing to mine, some­thing that could be mine alone, some­thing that felt exact­ly right to write about. And that's what I want this blogazine to be about.

I want to pub­lish sto­ries, poems, and essays about the rur­al life I lived for 24 years and still think of as my pri­ma­ry world and moti­va­tion. I still, near­ly twen­ty years lat­er, feel out of place in my cho­sen milieu, as a work­ing-class kid who now teach­es in pri­vate col­leges and edits and writes. I don't have to explain that to any­body who's made the move them­selves, but trust me, it's a bitch, and you nev­er recov­er from it and the sub­se­quent ques­tion­ing of self and career that inevitably accom­pa­nies the process.

I'll have some offi­cial guide­lines up soon, but suf­fice it to say that you can send your shit to rusty DOT barnes AT gmail DOT com. What I like I'll pub­lish here as I get it. It'll even–gasp–be edit­ed, pos­si­bly. You retain all rights to your work if pub­lished, of course, and as pay­ment I will send you a book of my choos­ing from my per­son­al library. It may be a lit­tle worn from read­ing, but I promise it won't be crap. All I ask in return–and I know it's a lot to ask for not much–is that you let me keep your story/poem/essay/interview on the blog in per­pe­tu­ity. You can sell the thing to some­one else the same day you sell it to me, I don't give a shit. What I want is to find good stuff and give it expo­sure. So pre­vi­ous­ly pub­lished pieces, espe­cial­ly those appear­ing in print-only jour­nals first, are fine by me.

I want to say some­thing else, too. I don't plan on being super-polite here, or apolo­getic for my views. What I say here is just me, bs'ing with you all, dis­cussing work, doing inter­views, etc. and I don't expect much crosstalk between here and my offi­cial gov­ern­men­tal­ly approved and sanc­tioned gig at the Train. OK?

If you'd like me to link to you and you have rel­e­vant con­tent, hit me up via email, and I'll begin a list. I have inter­views planned, art, poems, all kinds of neat and nasty stuff. As a final treat, I'll leave you with the work of the band that inspired this blogazine's title.


If your work has affini­ties with any of the writ­ers I've list­ed in my pro­file, by all means, give me a shot.

This entry was posted in the beginning. Bookmark the permalink.

12 Responses to Have Some Chicken And Joe!

  1. Brad D. Green says:

    I think a major com­po­nent of rural­ism is just a raw appre­hen­sion of a world with less con­crete. When we aban­doned grav­el for our dri­ve­ways the world changed. Grav­el dri­ve­ways help keep a fam­i­ly intact. If the road lead­ing up to your house is smooth, then the shocks and vibra­tions with­in the walls more eas­i­ly shake loose the riv­ets of the lives that are real­ized inside. When you dri­ve down a mile of rat­tling, joun­cy grav­el before you get home, what­ev­er the wife does to screw things up isn't so bad anymore. 🙂

  2. kaolin fire says:

    Fun video. Best of luck with that thar hill billyism! 🙂

  3. Rusty Barnes says:

    The blank page awaits, John. 😉

  4. fjsharp says:

    Count­less orphaned sto­ries on my hard dri­ve and not a one has a lick to do with ruralism.

  5. Yokel (TKS) says:

    Rusty Rusty RustyY­ou trou­ble­makah­h­h­h­h­Fried Chick­en and Cof­fee are two of my favorite food groups. I'm subscribin'Tamara

  6. jc says:

    i fuck­ing LOVE this idea!! this may be just the thing to snap me out of it.JC

  7. GO says:

    Playin in the crickbed w/ stones I was raised up north of you in a schizoid place still w/in the bound­aries of Appalachia. The coal we knew was what passed through town on the train from the south that went north to the pow­er plant along the east shore of the lake. Know­ing that we almost have a com­mon rural­ized back­ground I will see what crap I can throw at ya!

  8. Rosie says:

    This looks great, Rusty! Thanks for the link. You should check out Buffy Holt, too. She's an ex-pat Appalachi­an gal in Lon­don and writes beau­ti­ful prose. I'd love to read some of your sto­ries about where you grew up.

  9. miette says:

    I was sold with the "saucy con­tent… one of these days" dis­claimer preface.

  10. Spencer Troxell says:

    My fam­i­ly (on my mother's side) comes from Maet­wan, and are inti­mate­ly famil­iar with the hat­fields and mccoys. I grew up in an atmos­phere filled with men play­ing cards and smok­ing unfil­tered cig­a­rettes by train tracks, and am unhealth­ily famil­iar with tale of how the dev­il can draw a per­son from the light. I dig what you're shoot­ing for.

  11. Rusty Barnes says:

    Yeah, I'll cross-pol­li­nate via Face­book and MySpace and my LJ. Just not NT.

  12. Sue Miller says:

    are you going to post a link on lj when you pub­lish something?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.