Tag: poetry chapbook release

Discovering Stories and Connections at Plus Ultra Coffee

Megan here and boy…there are some events that leave you tired by the end of the day, and then there are the ones that leave you full in the best possible way. Sunday at Plus Ultra Coffee in the Bradley Square Mall was very much both.

Thank you to everyone who came out, browsed the tables, picked up books, asked questions, shared stories, and stayed awhile to chat with us. One of my favorite parts of these events is getting to sit down with people who are just as eager to geek out over history, mythology, folklore, dragons, and strange old tales as we are. We always crave those connections and conversations!

And truly, that is always welcomed by all three of us — me, Megan, D.B. Hopson, and Roy, who somehow manages to turn imagination into something tangible with every drink and project he touches.

One of the most rewarding things to witness throughout the day was seeing people light up when they found their thing. Sometimes it was one of the dragons D.B. designed and Roy printed. Sometimes it was finally spotting the book they’d been searching for and realizing they could actually take it home with them that day. There’s a kind of quiet magic in that moment — when a story, an image, or even an idea suddenly clicks into place for someone. That is what makes all of this worthwhile.

The Wings of Wisdom series continues to grow, with one more slated to come out within the next year or so. But there are other children’s stories already in the works. Some are whimsical and some lean deeper into folklore and myth. All of them are being built with the same hope: that stories can still spark wonder, teach values, and bring families closer together.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the far back corner of my very eclectic mind, a handful of historical fiction and science fiction projects are continuing to percolate. Slowly. The hope is to have at least one of those finished before the end of the year slips away from me.

And for those who enjoy poetry, I’m also preparing to load my recent chapbook, Appalachian Roots, onto KDP and IngramSpark so it will be more widely available for readers interested in that corner of my work as well.

Thank you again to Plus Ultra Coffee for hosting us, and thank you to every person who stopped by the table. Independent storytelling survives because people still care enough to seek it out, talk about it, and carry it home with them.

We noticed. And we’re grateful.

Discover Art and Poetry in Cades Cove

A Return to the Cove (and a Table Full of Paper Dreams)

There are places that live in your bones whether you intend them to or not.

For me, it’s the stretch of road that bends toward Cades Cove—that quiet, almost reverent unfolding of field and mountain that never quite looks the same twice, and yet somehow never changes at all.

On Friday, April 24, from 10 AM to 3 PM, I’ll be there—well, just outside it—on the grounds of the Cades Cove Museum for a craft fair, book signing, and sale.

And if you’re wondering why a museum hosts a craft fair in the first place: it’s both practical and a little poetic. Events like these bring people in, keep the lights on, and quietly ensure that the stories held in those buildings—stories of families, land, and long memory—don’t slip through the cracks. Publicity helps. Funding helps more. Showing up helps most of all.

The Long Way Back

I grew up passing through Maryville on the way to the mountains, though “passing through” isn’t quite right.

It’s where my parents were married. It’s where my husband proposed—at the same church, because apparently we are nothing if not consistent in our sentimentality.

And beyond it, always, the pull of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Summers meant camping with the Pathfinders at Lazy Daze in Townsend—a place that felt, even then, like a threshold between the everyday and something older. We’d bike through the Cove until our legs gave out, or until someone spotted a deer and the entire group decided that was reason enough to stop and stare like we’d never seen one before.

Even now, years later, something shifts the moment I turn onto those roads. It’s not nostalgia, exactly. It’s sharper than that. A kind of recognition.

Like the mountains remember me back.

Paper, Thread, and a Little Stubbornness

I’ve had a series of children’s stories—Appalachian “princess” tales—rattling around in my head for a while now. They’re stubborn things. They refuse to be rushed, which is inconvenient but probably correct.

One day, they’ll make their way into the world. For now, though, I’m starting somewhere quieter.

At the craft fair, I’ll be releasing my first poetry chapbook—a small, handmade collection rooted in this region and the way it has shaped me. First editions of chapbooks tend to be a little different from the books you order online without thinking. They’re often limited, assembled by hand, imperfect in the best possible way.

This one is no exception.

It’s been a labor of love—mine in the words, my husband’s in the artwork. Between us, we’ve managed to produce something that feels less like a product and more like an object you happened to come across and decided to keep.

Eventually, I’ll make it available more broadly. But not yet.

The Analog Gamble

For now, I’m doing this the old way.

No preorders. No “link in bio.” No quiet warehouse waiting to ship copies across the country.

If you’re at the craft fair, you’ll find it. If you’re not, you’ll miss this particular version of it—the handmade, first-run edition that smells faintly of ink and effort.

There’s something honest about that. A little inconvenient, maybe. But honest.

If You’re Passing Through

If you’re already planning a trip to the mountains, or if you need an excuse to take the long way somewhere, come by.

Walk the grounds. Support the museum. Pick up something made by hand. Stay longer than you meant to.

I’ll be there with a small stack of chapbooks, probably rearranging them more often than necessary, trying to look like I expected any of this.

And if nothing else, you’ll get to stand at the edge of the Cove for a moment—and remember, or discover, what it feels like when a place refuses to let you go.