Rooted in the oral culture of the northern-most Blue Ridge mountains, a 19th century way of life preserved into the 1930’s; deeply influenced by oral reading of the King James Bible, which led to a love affair with Shakespeare; an oldest sibling plunged into mothering early; determined to go to university in spite of poverty; chose teaching over acting for stability (always front and centre anyway in classroom); put children before career, but ended up teaching English, media and creative writing for over 30 years; has lived in more than 20 homes; constant reader and avid fan of mysteries; lover of the Blues; author of an unpublished body of poetry and an e-book Never Tell: recovered memories of a daughter of the Temple Mater (Alternately daughter of the Knights Templar)
Is it safe now for Joyce Hood to come out of the closet? Evie Hood was my biological grandmother who gave birth to my father in the Coos County poor house. The infant was sold for $30, but his birth was never registered. Later Evie married his father Richard Smith. It was the Howe family that took my father in, but never quite got around to adopting him. It was tough for dad to get a passport. He said, “I must have been born. Here I am.” I call myself Howe – defiantly.
The blog’s name quickly became outdated. There are now 139 journals. That’s not bragging. It’s more the confession of a deeply troubled compulsive writer. What will happen to them now that bonfires are outlawed?