|All About Li'l Ol' Moi|
Okay, Okay,let's face it, this is a work in progress... It's been progressing or regressing or whatever for seventy-odd years now, and yeah, "odd" is the word to watch, there, for a good many of them. No, no, I'm not saying that I'm any odder than anyone else. That would be hubris, and I'm not into hubricity.
I mention back on the home page that I was born on what was then regularly Memorial Day—that was May 30th, and hang the day of the week (though in fact it was a Sunday)—in 1937. It happened in Brevard, North Carolina, around 9:30 in the evening (astrologers reading this now know all about me), and my mother told me (somewhat later, gang—I wasn't much into explanations at the time) I was running a bit late. That's a trait that stayed with me most of my life. I've gotten better about it, but that came late, too.
|Okay, that got rid of the mystically intolerant crowd, so the rest of us can gather 'round here and I can let you in on a little secret. I kinda made that part up. It could be true, lord knows, though one might have to spread the circle wider—there's the Brevard Music Center, right there, of course, but it isn't too far from Henderson, NC, where Carl Sandberg had a home (it had a nice summer theatre, too, last time I was there, though that was a while ago), and there's Asheville, about 40 miles north, where Thomas Wolfe composed extraordinary literature (no, not Tom Wolfe; that's somebody else entirely) and seems to me I recall that Manly Wade Wellman hailed from around there, too. [Okay, the linked site points out that he was born in what is now Angola, and lived in various parts of the U.S., but he lived in his last days in Chapel Hill, which is over near Durham. But he wrote about the western part of the state...]|
|Not everybody knows about Wellman but, well, he was one of my favorite fantasy writers a couple of decades back. I guess he'd been around a while before that. Main thing was that he told stories of John the Balladeer, or Silver John, that built on the folklore of that part of the country and from what I gather he had a pretty rich tradition to draw from. So if I get a little mystical-eyed talking about my natal region (no, no—sheesh! wash out your mind with soap!)—about the land of my birth, why then, I have some justification. Besides—there is a bonus for the fantasy lover. Brevard is the county seat for none other than Transylvania County, and I can say, with all truth and a fair-to-middlin' Bela Lugosi accent, that I was "Born in Transylvania." Enh, don't worry, I haven't bit anyone's neck in ages. My wife can attest to that.