Welcome

When I was a child, the soundtrack of my life wasn’t crickets or wind in the trees. It was half-starved dogs barking, strangers knocking at all hours looking for their next high, and the sound of my parents fighting through Xanax withdrawals.

I could lie and say it was roosters crowing or my mama making chocolate gravy and biscuits. I could pretend I grew up some sweet little country girl tucked away in the mountains. But that would be a lie — a pretty one, maybe — but still a lie.

I didn’t grow up in a cozy cabin. I grew up in trailer courts and whatever place we could land next. Chaos was normal. Survival was routine. And the secrets? I carried those far longer than any child should have to.

If you love Appalachian stories, survival stories, or if you’re just curious whether you know “Rowan” — that’s a pen name, by the way — then maybe this is for you. Maybe you’ve passed me in the aisles at Quality Foods or Double Kwik. Maybe I’ll write about someone you recognize.

Can you put the pieces together?

Enjoy!