November 25, 2012
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KDP Confusion; “Pinkhoneysuckle,” Aroung The Globe
This may be a light in the window which I had not put out for the sailors lost at sea in the mega storm of American Literature which has, so I thought, gone around the globe.
Good Friends, in The United States, Europe, and Japan. I have wondered over one year why my very American Story which was winning awards in San Francisco and Hollywood just was not moving along with KDP, so the God’s who entered the cataclymic action of atomic particles which make up my brain walked me tonight through The Kindle Process; So I am here world! My husband has played all over Europe, America, And Japan with the Cincinnati Symphoney Orchestra in the great days when our Japanese friends, especially, loved the symphonic tunes of Westside Story,Sound of Music, Music Man, Most Happy Fella, Oklahoma, and I can stop the list there, but I know the Japanese are especially Appreciative of the American Musicals.
He used to speak of the Japanese audiences as being the, “Most Polite Listeners,” on the face of the earth. Then conductors, Erich Kunzel, Jesus Lopez Cobosh, and Paavo Jarvi — the main conductors he would play with in the orchestra. That I traveled Europe on my own seems less fascinating than the fact that my husband got to travel on the continent — Even the Canary Islands and play the great works of America, and the greatest of them as far as I am concerned has to be, “Fanfare For The Common Man,” by Aaron Copeland. For anyone who loves American Music; There is none to equal the feel of when America was building — The Industrial Age, farming the soil, planting the vineyards which would be California, or the beautiful groves of Florida Oranges, or the sweet Georgia Peach, or music row in Nashville, Tennessee; Nothing comes close to Mr. Copeland. I can hardly listen to the beautiful music now, for I am flushed with tears, down my body and straight inside my shoes. Anyone who thinks the greats of American Theater, and patriotic themes from the fourth of July like the 1812 Overture, or even the country sound from, “I Am Proud To Be An American; ” Well, you just have not heard them played by a great Orchestra.
That part of our lives would pass on several years ago when we came back to my husband’s home in San Francisco. We loved it all from the great symphonies, Mozart, Mahler, and the wonderful operas we listened to and my husband would play each summer from Rigoletto, to The Barber of Seville; It was all there, and I still have problems listening to those, for so many of the people we loved have gone on to other places, retired, or — like us, left that world for health reasons. One who has heard music from the most fabulous pieces in the world can never go back to not having a fix of listening and watching the players on stage now and then.
But with all of this in my heart, I came out to this California, and I deceided that it was time to get out on the table the American novel, the art which I had in me — the ability to write a classic story, and so I did. That was when I wrote, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” for there is a forgotten world in America, and I lived in it. It begins at the southern most tip of the Appalachians, down around Sand Mountain in Alabama which overlooks Coon Valley as in Racooon Valley of Tennessee where my Mama left her heart as a little girl, for she would walk up from that valley to meet my father and to marry on top of a rock, her brother, one preacher, my mother and my father, there overlooking among God’s rough and tumble incredible scenes in America where Tennessee and Alabama or coming together with The Big Tennesse River which once flooded everything in its way now tamed by TVA dams.
They would marry in 1933, live in Jackson county, and life was difficult for my mother, for she left home at 16 and married thinking a little loving was better than the zero love which she was experiencing on her own. I would be her fifth child in 1949, and I make it fairly clear that I was not wanted much from the day that I was born. My brother, Robert Van Everett starts the book off with what it was like to be a seven year old boy committed to working like a man starting at age seven years old after my big brother, Ira had taken off for the Navy.
“Pinkhoneysuckle, with its Kindle capacity will take this American mid-century until around 1974 story out, and blast open one great big idea which is present, especially in Europe and maybe Japan, — That America was rich with a, “Justice and Equal Opportunity For All.” Much of this agrarian country was still on the farm in mid – century, and the Eisenhower administration began the death knell of American Agrarian Life, for hard backs and rough hands were needed in the Rust Belt cities of America from Chicago to Cleveland, and we proud and independent folks who accepted not a scoch of help when offered found ourselves deeply without.
The Southern Diaspora was on and American farms were failing which were farms full of promise in most places, but whatever could be done to kill farm life in America, it was done, for the big boys were coming — From Texas oil, especially to buy up land, turn them in to mega farms made possible by a machinery, and small town America who depended on the crops along The Appalachian Trail would disappear. “Pinkhoneysuckle,” dares to tell you for the first time the truth of America’s creation of a third world of poor whites and a few blacks, mainly farmers who would fall into such depressions that wife and child beating was a common sport. Moonshine was everywhere, and children feared for their lives. Yes, dear neighbors of the world, right here in The United States of America.
“Pinkhoneysuckle,” by Barbara Everett Heintz, Amazon, Kindle, KDP — and Create Space is a novel which turns everything proper folks presummed to be true about American life in the mid-century upside down, and there is an outpouring of the filth with which America’s southern farm communities came to be seen; From, “Hillbilly,” to Bible Thumpers, anything to demean what had once been a proud and self reliant group of farmers; Infact, the first of the organic farmers, only we did not think of it as organic farming. All of these years later, Alice Waters, of Berkeley, California would be the , “Dion of Organic Foods,” and embarassingly taking a role as if all such processes began with her and her simple life. I would like to see Ms. Waters go and live among The Amish or the Mennonites, or some of the organic farmers around the south who used the barn cleanings for fertilizer, get her little hands black and filthy, still have the cows needing to be milked, and water to tote for scrubbing her body, and then she might have one ounce of respect from those of love who lived off of the dirt, the woods, and picking hicory nuts out for some nut meat, and then I might think that she has an ounce of right to her claims to fame.
Mid-south mountain folks, we are curious that way, for no matter what we had; People were going to take off with the income of whatever we earned; For it was a God given right to pick on what folks would label, “White Trash.” My book, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” takes you to a place you have never been — Unless you were neighbor or family. It follows one woman from birth through a childhood of nightmares and scenes one child should not see. It folllows her coming of age in this harsh world, not knowing what to expect from tomorrow with a father in the north and a mother dealing with pain and madness. It brings you to her teenage years after the cotton picking had played out and she was send out as the local maid to be sent in to various houses, to clean, but one especially pathetic torment of maid duty is reflected up on, and all of this to get through high school.
He then tells you of sexual naiveness, the tears from incest which were left on her, the missing girls, and how to get away from being one of them; She felt a spiritual awakening, almost a voice from God saying, “Leave,” and now, for you are going to be the next girl in an insane assylum as they were called. My book is going to make you sweat. It will make you laugh, for we could have had our hours on stage, for when things are too horrible to live; You turn them in to a manical laughter.
“Pinkhoneysuckle,” will be explained, how such a wonderful word became such a valley of thorns, but her life begins with the escape, and you will follow the loves, the passages, Washington D.C. on fire, and you will even walk with Coretta King when The Poor People’s March begins. Please, now, dear readers, will you come to the America you did not know existed, that still exist, and lay down with a young woman on the bed of lost souls which began with looking for love on a rock on a mountainside in 1933. I will strip naked, and bear every ugly scar, but it is time that you knew America has some sins to atone for, for I was one woman; This is my story, and I make it so honest that you who judge are just too withered of understanding or the reality that we are a class system country; and “Pinkhoneysuckle,” reveals your sins against a people, The southern Appalachians.
KDP, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” is genuinely ready, but keep in mind that it is an adult book told in harsh trth and dark humor.
Blessings, Barbara Everett Heintz, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” Amazon, Kindle Ready, KDP Cleared for Europe and Japan ” An American Story… Prologue By — Robert Van Everett.
