An Open Letter to Joe Hill
Dear Joe Hill,
Today is August 9th. I don't know if you've ever been to North Carolina, particularly the southeastern part of the state, but let me tell you that in early August, NC is hot and muggy. The so-called cold front that lowered our temps to the mid-80s yesterday has obviously gone on to better and bigger things.
I'm telling you about our climate for a reason, Joe.
I sat on my back porch this morning with your short story collection, 20th Century Ghosts. I had on shorts and a t-shirt, and I was drinking hot coffee in an effort to chase away the early-morning cobwebs.
Keep these details in mind, please: summer, hot coffee, shorts and a t-shirt. There is nothing wintry about this scene I've set up for you.
By the time I reached the ending of the fine story that bears the same title as your book, I was shivering. Shivering, Joe. My skin had pebbled into goose bumps despite the hot coffee and the muggy warmth of this North Carolina morning. My scalp was crawling in that lightning-bolt-or-migraine kind of way.
I was certain that at any minute, I would feel the almost-touch of a cool fingertip on the back of my neck.
I had to come inside and make another cup of coffee just to make myself stop shivering. I'm still waiting for the random shudders to ease up.
Thanks for scaring the bejesus out of me in broad daylight, dude. Rock on.
Your fan,
Mel
Today is August 9th. I don't know if you've ever been to North Carolina, particularly the southeastern part of the state, but let me tell you that in early August, NC is hot and muggy. The so-called cold front that lowered our temps to the mid-80s yesterday has obviously gone on to better and bigger things.
I'm telling you about our climate for a reason, Joe.
I sat on my back porch this morning with your short story collection, 20th Century Ghosts. I had on shorts and a t-shirt, and I was drinking hot coffee in an effort to chase away the early-morning cobwebs.
Keep these details in mind, please: summer, hot coffee, shorts and a t-shirt. There is nothing wintry about this scene I've set up for you.
By the time I reached the ending of the fine story that bears the same title as your book, I was shivering. Shivering, Joe. My skin had pebbled into goose bumps despite the hot coffee and the muggy warmth of this North Carolina morning. My scalp was crawling in that lightning-bolt-or-migraine kind of way.
I was certain that at any minute, I would feel the almost-touch of a cool fingertip on the back of my neck.
I had to come inside and make another cup of coffee just to make myself stop shivering. I'm still waiting for the random shudders to ease up.
Thanks for scaring the bejesus out of me in broad daylight, dude. Rock on.
Your fan,
Mel