Appalachian writer, poet and artist Emma Bell Miles’ Some Real American Music is required reading for any dedicated country, bluegrass or folk fan.
Born in Evansville, Ind., Miles moved to Red Bank, Tenn. as a child. She and her family later relocated to what is known today as Signal Mountain, Tenn. She studied art in St. Louis before returning to her beloved Appalachia, where she fell in love and married Frank Miles.
A primary source of income for the Miles’ was often short stories and poems Emma sold to magazines like Harper’s Weekly. She is best known for her 1905 book, “The Spirit of the Mountain.” Emma died in 1919, and her prose piece on country music was long forgotten until journalist Nick Tosches’ “Country: The Twisted Roots of Rock ‘n’ Roll” was released in 1977. Tosches calls Some Real American Music “the most beautiful prose written of country music.”
Dearest, darlingest bleedtoloveher. You read just about every fucking word I write and then convince me it’s good (and point out ways to fix it when it isn’t.) You listen to me all day, every day, no matter how boring or whiny I am, and you’re always there with encouragement whenever I need it. I don’t know if you remember but we once brainstormed a story featuring Bellamy x Clarke as jaeger pilots, because if there’s two things we both love it’s Bellamy Fucking Blake and killing some motherfucking kaijus. So on this anniversary of your birth please accept my humble one-shot as a present. You’re the fucking best, Linds, so this is the least I can do.
And everyone else: enjoy, and if it’s not up to my usual standards, that’s because it’s a present for my beta so this is just all me. Rated M, as if I’d do anything else.
“Blake, this is not up for discussion.“
“I said, no,” Bellamy snarled and stepped toe to toe with Marshal Kane. “And her mother will never allow it, so it’s a stupid idea. Find me someone else.”
“Watch your mouth, Blake. Let me worry about Commander Griffin. Report to the Shatterdome at oh-eight hundred tomorrow. You’re dismissed.” Bellamy opened his mouth to protest. “Dismissed, Ranger Blake.”
Kane stormed off in one direction while Bellamy stood still, fuming. He had not worked this fucking hard to get through the Jaeger Academy to be assigned to the princess. Octavia being assigned to the nearly mute hulk named Lincoln had been bad enough, but this was enough to make him bail entirely. In fact, he probably would have if he hadn’t promised his mother that he would do everything to protect Octavia and promises made on someone’s death bed are sort you kind of have to keep.
It wasn’t even that he hated Clarke. They got along pretty well, actually, if you considered “thinly disguised hostility with a side of mutual respect” to be pretty well. And Bellamy did, because aside from Octavia and Miller, he didn’t really get along with many people. Clarke was a damn good pilot and a tenacious fighter. Anyone would be lucky to have her by their side—anyone that wasn’t Bellamy. He just couldn’t stomach the thought of her being inside his brain, seeing his weaknesses, knowing his fears.
Clarke was the sort of woman who made people want to be brave. She didn’t seem to have any weaknesses, actually, no matter how hard her mother pushed for her to take a job with the medical corps instead of as a pilot. Bellamy wasn’t scared of the drift with someone like Miller, or hell, even Murphy, but Clarke? This was going to be a goddamn disaster.