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bookquotesfrombooks · 5 months

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“Disability may stem from injustice, but it is not itself injustice. To equate disability with suffering is to ignore the value of disability, disabled people, and disability culture.”

Rebecca-Eli Long

“An Appalachian Crip/Queer Environmental Engagement”

Published in Y’all Means All: The Emerging Voices Queering Appalachia

#rebecca-Eli long #y’all means all #queer appalachia #queer studies #disability studies #disability #quotes #essays #books #book quotes #bookblr

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anarchypumpkincowboy · 14 days

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I just started listening to old gods of Appalachia and y’all it is so nice hearing my accent and like that familiarity has gotten me hooked quicker than any other podcast I’ve tried listening to

#old gods of appalachia #I just started episode 1 #appalachian gothic #it’s so good I’m so hooked and that’s not good I’m needing to sleep soon #and it’s got queer rep too???? so fucking good #queer appalachia

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princip1914 · 2 months

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I loved your fic The False and the Fair. While I was reading it, I thought, this is so good, the author should rework this into an actual novel, then in the endnotes you mentioned that you were planning on using elements of it to write a novel. I would love to read it if you do, though I don't know how I would find out about it. Would you announce it on your Tumblr if you did? I would definitely buy it if you manage to publish it. Thank you for writing it.

Thank you so much for such a lovely ask! Yes, I am working on a novel that is (sort of) based on TF&TF, but I’ve been working slowly in part because I the fic is so special to me and, if I did publish an original novel, I’d want to do it in such a way that I can keep the fic up on AO3 and also let the tumblr crowd know about the novel. I am also working on a few other unrelated original fiction projects that are higher on my priority list right now (partially because I am a much more enthusiastic writer than editor haha).

So yes, I suppose in the hypothetical distant future when the novel is finished, I would likely make a post here so that y’all could check it out. But I’m not rushing into that future any time soon!

One of the reasons I wrote TF&TF was because I hadn’t read much published queer fiction that dealt with themes that have been meaningful in my own life (especially: telling a happy story that involves HIV, telling a story where being queer in a rural area isn’t reduced to homophobia and hate crimes). I am so happy that fandom has provided a way for me to share this with the world! ❤️

If you want to read The False and the Fair check it out here! (It’s archive locked so you do have to log in to read it).

#good omens #ineffable husbands #the false and the fair #princip writes #original fiction #Appalachian fiction #queer appalachia #princip answers

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mc-writing-empty · 5 months

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1902, Kentucky.

The fire’s gone out.

Turn a little deeper into the cotton quilt your mama made in some other lifetime. Blink slow against the dimness, steep deep in the stillness as the night stretches, yawns, gives way to a blessed new morning. You are alive again.

Cold and hungry. Feel the stiffness in your bones. Feel the heavy in your flesh. The tired, the lonely, the longing. But there’s a heart thumping under your ribs—feel it sing, slow and steady, at the sight of sunbeams. Sunbeams, again, like every morning that’s ever been. Sunbeams—new every day to a heart like yours, a heart that says: sunbeams, they’re a goddamn wonder.

Lead with it—that steady little drum of joy. Grab hold and let it pull your feet to the old floorboards. Little heart, pattering out a plea to see the sky—what shade of blue today? The question is as good a reason as any to commit to another day.

Dress in the gray light. Pull on the flannels and linen and denim that will keep the cold at bay. Keep your body safe. You know what’s at stake, kid. You know what it takes—to keep your body safe.

Breathe deep, cough against the rush of the cold—your breath hangs in the air. Little ghosts. Water from the bucket by the window, splashed against your face—close to frozen, stings against your skin. You’re awake. You’re alive.

Pull on leather boots, hope the laces got another day in them. Walk out into the wide world—see the slope of the clearing you made, the way the high grass meets a wall of trees—trees bigger than god, and maybe older, too. They hug in tight around your slice of paradise, your hard-hewn home. They form a cathedral of green—and brown and gold and flashes of deep, dark red. Like old blood, dried in a smear under your heavy, swollen lip after your Pa had finally had enough of you.

There’s a quiet here so deep you can feel it in your bones. Quiet like the moment after the preacher asks for bowed heads, but before he starts praying for hell to swallow all the sinners like you. Quiet like the first girl you ever loved, in that moment after you spilled that soft, silly confession to her—but before that foreign hardness took her face, before the slow panic and repulsion made her a stranger you’d never met. Quiet like that moment when you learned your first lesson in self-preservation: love is for other people. Better people.

It’s a real shame, kid—the way the world kicks around beautiful things.

But you’re alright here, ain’t you? You’re alright. You feed the bleating sheep in their little pasture, and the chickens, too, and you love that there’s life in every inch of this place. The sheep, the sun, the seeds in the ground—they don’t give a shit who you are or what you’ve done. What you look like, what you own. You give to them, they give back. You’re alright here.

You go down to the crick for water, just as the sun starts pouring proper down into your little dip between the hills. You can feel it, warm and easy against the back of your neck. The cold can’t hold you forever. Nothing can hold you forever.

The afternoon brings a visitor—a boy, a horse, an empty cart, trundling up the holler path. You split one more log, let the pieces fall, lean the ax against the same post where you’ve hung your shed coat. The boy hops down from his saddle, raises a hand in greeting.

Brought your saw back.

He lifts the tool in question for you to see.

Pa sends his thanks.

You take the saw, and he dives into his bag to bring out a small parcel wrapped in a bit of an old flour sack.

Cornbread from Mama.

You thank him for returning the saw, and for the cornbread. He’s tall and lean—maybe a little underfed. His shoes are two sizes too small. His coat’s missing a few buttons. A boy still, pushing at the seams of what will come next. His parents can’t keep up.

You ask if they need any firewood. He refuses, says his Pa won’t accept charity. You eye the empty cart his Pa sent along with him.

You tell him he can take whatever he can split—ain’t charity if you’ve sweat for it. By the evening, he has a full cart, and you split the cornbread with him on the porch.

And maybe it’ll all count for something someday. Maybe it’ll all count when hell finally swallows you up.

Before he leaves, he stops there on the creaky old steps, looks back up at you.

Pa says you’re a good, Christian man, sir. He thinks mighty high of ye. Just thought you oughta know.

Maybe it’ll all count, when his Pa has to help put you in the ground someday.

When the evening comes, you retreat inside. Feed the fire, warm the place up. Cold dinner, ‘cause your body’s awful tired, kid. Your mind, too. You dig up a box of tobacco, take a pinch and pack it into a pipe you won in a game of cards—maybe one of the finest items you own. You sit on the porch and watch the last of the burnt bronze evening melt back into the trees. You’re alright here.

Just as the darkness of the night swells up, you see the flicker of a lantern up yonder on the hill—a soft, yellow star moving through the trees.

Could be anyone. Could be the boy, come back for more wood. Or this could be the moment everything unravels. Could be the night they drag you behind a horse, put you in a tree, bury you as someone you’re not.

You aren’t scared, but you’re ready—you fold your fingers around the rifle leaned next to the door and wait for hell to open up and swallow the sinners like you.

A quiet knock.

You open the door.

It’s her. The widow from over the next holler. She stands silent in the doorway, and her dark, tired eyes meet yours. She’s dry as a bone, but in the empty pools of shadow cast by her lantern, you could swear she was a drowning woman.

You let her step inside and you exchange pleasantries, as you always do on these visits. She asks after the book she loaned you—have you been enjoying it? You confess you haven’t had much time for reading. She offers to read a chapter or two aloud for you.

That’d be real nice, ma’am.

But neither of you moves to retrieve the book. Her hands cling to the black linen skirts of her dress, knuckles gone white with it. You can feel the empty, howling grief that came in with her, followed her like a roving spirit. You wish you knew how to help.

She cuts the space between you in half a step and touches her lips to yours. She tastes like tears and uncertainty and so many sleepless, heartsick nights.

It’s not proper. It’s not the way things ought to be. It’s not what either of you imagined, back when you were small and the world told you what your hearts should want. But no one prepares you, do they? For the weight of it all. For the sadness that creeps in between the boards, settles into your chest like a cough you can’t shake. For the way the haints and hurts hollow you out, slow and steady, until you wake up one day feeling like maybe you ain’t even a real person anymore.

You know she’s just lonely. You know she misses her husband and that you ain’t him. Don’t wanna be him. But when she pulls off your clothes, all those layers of the day—when she sinks in against you, meets your skin to hers—you remember, for a moment, that you’re wonderfully, terribly, brilliantly human. And that’s enough.

Later, in the deepest part of the night, she does read to you. Her voice dips and lulls through the bare little room, until you can’t really distinguish the words themselves—all you can hear is low, lush birdsong, and the content thumping of your own heart.

You sleep the sleep of the safe and relieved—heavy, deep sleep—and by the morning—

—the fire’s gone out.

You watch as she dresses silently in the first sunbeams of the day. As she leans in toward your dusty little mirror and pins her hair back into place. Hasty, but careful. She gathers her things, prepares to leave.

She hesitates, turns back to you in your bed. Maybe you could pretend to be asleep, but—you’ve been seen now. There’s no going back.

There’s a long, soundless moment that stretches out in the space between you. She says:

You aren’t a man.

Statement or question or accusation—you can’t be sure what she means. Can’t be sure that it matters. You give no response.

But underneath your mother’s quilt, your hands begin to tremble with fear.

She leans down, kisses your forehead with reverence, the way folks kiss the statues of saints. Or maybe it’s with pity, the way folks woulda kissed the corpses of those saints before they put them in the ground.

She leaves you there with your trembling hands.

And the fire’s gone out.

#short story #short fiction #writing #queer writers #appalachia #queer Appalachia #queer history #queer #queer literature #queer fiction #queer story #lgbtqia #prose

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queermediastudies · 1 year

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Queer Appalachia

Queer Appalachia is seeking to re-define stereotypes away from the typical "hillbilly" stereotype that is typically present in the region. Queer Appalachia wishes to make it known that queer people exist and thrive in the region as well through drag queen readings, zines, art, queer farmers, and more.

Zines helped generate wealth to feed their activism. Much of the queer wealth from Appalachia left the region and through the use of zines, Queer Appalachia was able to get some of this wealth back into their community while also creating jobs in the region. Furthermore, the social media aspect provided a much more connected queer community than the region often enjoys. By connecting through social media, queer people no longer had to travel hours to connect with other queer folks.

Access to healthcare is difficult with many in the region living in such remote areas. Queer Appalachia also helps gender non-conforming and transgender people get care in the region who are scared of stigma in a conservative area.

-Grant, Gillian, Maya, Jordan, Avi

#queer appalachia #appalachia #queer #queermediastudies #country

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tribadenerd · 2 months

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Sometimes I get homesick for the home I used to have.

It turns in my belly and tickles at my eyes.

I don't fit there anymore.

Hundreds of acres and no room for me.

Wide open spaces before me, I still made myself small.

I'm homesick for a place I don't belong, I hope one day I will.

#poetry #poem #poets on tumblr #original poem #homesick #queer appalachia #i found myself and lost my home #healing

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magic-dustt · 5 months

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The way I would sell my soul just to have one person who would be willing to lie on the floor with me and listen to my favorite podcasts. Am I asking for too much? I know you'd like Limetown, I know you'd like TMA, I know you'd like Archive 81. Why won't anyone just lie on the floor with me, goddammit…

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jojo-oliver · 1 year

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chemainus - appalachia - long's peak - west coast ferry

#queer artist #trans artist #traditional art #painting #original #original art #my art #artists on tumblr #british columbia #appalachia #jojoliverart

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votingonrandmthings · 7 months

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Vote On...

#podcast polls #the two princes #the midnight library #freaky folklore #queer movie podcast #old gods of appalachia #hello from the hallowoods #the magnus archives #tma #the sandman #the sandman dreamcast #the black tapes #re dracula #dracula #ghoul intentions #welcome to nightvale #wtnv

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bookquotesfrombooks · 5 months

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“Queer organizing that works to move beyond recognition, inclusion, and rights and toward collective transformation predicated on a collective privileging of intersectional activism that seeks to root out systemic injustice is world-making.”

Heather Brydie Harris

“Home Grown: Critical Queer Activism in Appalachia and the South”

Published in Y’all Means All: The Emerging Voices Queering Appalachia

#heather brydie harris #home grown #y’all means all #queer Appalachia #queer studies #queer #appalachia #Appalachian studies #books #essays #quotes #book quotes #bookblr

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anarchypumpkincowboy · 4 months

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Poor Appalachian’s Trans Masc Workout

What you’re gonna wanna do first is load up the tub with dirty clothes, water, and detergent.

Then find a large stick to swirl said clothes in said soapy water (I use my bokken but any large stick will do)

Do this for an indeterminate amount of time until clothes are clean, really get in there and swirl them

Wet clothes are heavy as shit this is a great upper body workout especially in the winter your muscles will be screaming by the third load

Play working class folk music, or really any kinda anti capitalism music, for the duration of your workout

#my arms are sooo heavy rn #I just finished washing a lot of jackets hoodies sweaters and pants #wet clothes are so heavy especially when you gotta start wringing them out #our washer’s been broken for a bit now and honestly washing the clothes is more of a workout than weights #transmasc #appalachia #queer Appalachia

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princip1914 · 9 months

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youtube

Oh my god how dare this gay Appalachian music video love story come out on this Day of Good Omens truly the world is conspiring to not let me get any work done.

I wrote an essay below but tl;dr grab a box of tissues and watch this video right now and then scream with me about it!

I love this. It’s a little hokey, it’s sweet, it’s a country love ballad that is *so incredibly in keeping with the genre* that my guess is people who don’t like country music and country iconography won’t really like it…and that’s kind of the point.

So much stuff that’s about queer rural identity is made for outside eyes looking in, by outside hands (even in my own writing I worry about this constantly, as someone with family roots in Appalachia but who grew up outside of the region and has lived in a big city for the past 11 years). This video feels like it’s made from the inside for the inside—and, in fact, it is! It was written by Silas House (probably the best known Appalachian writer), all the extras and nature shots are from Kentucky, and the artist is a genuine country artist—not someone dipping a toe in the genre for something different.

The iconography is country—there’s beer, there’s tractors, there are flannel shirts. Of course, this is not the only way to be queer and country, but it’s a way that we don’t see represented nearly enough—these dudes love each other but they also fit into the culture, it doesn’t make them less country to be queer. I also love that the story is not just about homophobia. Homophobia isn’t ignored but it’s not centered, it’s not the point.

Also let’s talk about the ending (sorry there are spoilers here for a 4 min video, watch it then come back to this). The ending—tragic in the way of country love ballad endings everywhere—is somewhat open to interpretation. Frequently in queer love stories set in a certain era AIDS is implied if not stated…this video is very clever because it subverts that expectation while still stating nothing outright. I’ve watched it several times now and I’m convinced that what’s implied is lung disease from the mines. This shifts the story from a message about the inherent risk of being gay to a labor story about the inherent risk of being a *coal miner* that’s in keeping with the politics of OG country music and creates a tragic romance without pathologizing queerness.

#country music #gay and country #queer Appalachia #I don’t even know how to tag this #if you enjoyed the false and the fair you’ll like this video #if you hate country music you’ll probably hate it #but you should watch it anyway #Youtube

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intheholler · 4 months

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went on a nice long drive through west virginia today. soooo pretty. i never spent much time there.

it was really nice skitterin through small towns and seeing pride flags hangin on the front doors of businesses in these rural areas. like, more than one. *especially* because WV is one of the most heavily and harmfully stereotyped states in the region

tiny things like this show some things are really changing for the better in appalachia, and i'm tired of people pretendin they ain't just so they got more fuel for their hateful narrative about us.

when i was a teenager i never even saw that kinda thing in comparatively progressive western nc. and now here i was today, windin through the hills of west virginia with rainbows blowing everywhere

keep being loud and unapologetic, y'all. it's working

#the turbo queer mountain trash is winning #appalachia #appalachian culture #west virginia #txt

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genderqueerpositivity · 1 year

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(ID: four images of sky and mountains with a blue filter overlay and white text, text reads "trans people have always been here", "our communities are incomplete without trans people", "protect and defend trans lives in Appalachia", and "reject transphobia and anti-queer hatred".)

Photos taken in Western North Carolina and Upstate South Carolina.

#trans #trans rights #lgbtq #lgbtq+#lgbtqia #queer #fuck transphobia #transphobia #protect trans lives #op #south carolina #north carolina #appalachia

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arthurtaylorlester · 1 year

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hugs? more like [fabric rustles]

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kissmefriendly · 8 months

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Don’t listen to the voice that goes “This horror show will help you fall asleep, the narrator has such a nice voice” that’s the devil talking. You will be right about to drop off when the gruesome descriptions and sound design of burnt reanimated miners on a murder spree will have you sat bolt upright with the side light on

#it’s a fantastic series. it’s horror. it’s history. it’s queer.#but jesus mary and all the saints what did they DO to get that level of sound design #and then the DEER #jfc the deer #and the dead queen jesus wept #that is a horrific arc #old gods of appalachia #I love this show been here since season 1 #but god DAMN

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