SOUTHERN BYWAYS BOOKSTORE PROJECT: MAPLE STREET BOOK SHOP
Maple Street Book Shop
Address: 7529 Maple Street , New Orleans, LA 70118
Phone: 504-866-4916
Manager: Gladin Scott
Website: www.maplestreetbookshop.com
Twitter: @fightthestupids
Mary Kellogg and Rhoda Norman opened Maple Street Book Shop back in 1964, celebrating their independence as women and free thinkers. From the beginning, the bookstore became a place the left wing and avant garde could depend on as a source for their books and as a meeting place. The location was ideal, near both the Tulane and Loyola University campuses in New Orleans, and Mary and Rhoda soon found their store becoming the city’s answer to the conservative norm.
The current owner, Donna Allen purchased it from Mary and Rhoda in 2007, joining the world of bookselling after years of teaching history at several local universities, including Loyola. She decided to continue Mary and Rhoda’s legacy with longtime customer Gladin Scott on-board as the store’s manager.
Literary fiction, children’s books and books about New Orleans are favorites among The Maple Street Book Store’s clientele, with Southern 
literature like “Confederacy of Dunces,” “Keepers of the House” and “The Moviegoer” claiming Dixie fans as well.
Speaking of “The Moviegoer,” it is important to note that this legendary book store had a very special relationship with local author Walker Percy. (I love it when authors can develop a deep connection to a bookstore that they know and cherish!)
LAUNCH AT DAVIS-KIDD A FAMILY REUNION
Last night I introduced Bezellia Grove to the Nashville community at my hometown bookstore, Davis-Kidd. It was like the best family reunion . . . ever! Better than that . . . it was like THIS IS YOUR LIFE Susan Gregg Gilmore.
Authors River Jordan and JT Ellison at the release of The Improper Life of Bezellia Grove
Treva Horne was there, the woman who held my mother’s hand the day I was born. Tricia Saperstein (and her precious mom) and Betsy Bass, playmates from the first grade, were there. Babs Young, Mary Addison Hackett, Jennifer Herbert, Ann Hunt, Olivia Miller, Currin Mifflin, all buddies from the sixth and seventh grades were there, too.
That’s not all. Karen and Rick Miller were sitting on the front row. Heck, this book was born at their dinner table! Book club friends, editor friends, mothers-of-my-daughter’s-friends friends were all there. And amazingly talented writer friends like J.T. Ellison whose next mystery thriller, The Immortals, will be released October 1, River Jordan whose next book, The Miracle of Mercy Land will be released on September 7th, Lisa Patton (Whistlin’ Dixie in a Nor’Easter), and poet Lisa Dordal, my roommate at the Sewanee Writers Conference, were all at the bookstore cheering me on. And my Davis-Kidd family, wow! OK, I know they had to be there to run the store, but I love this staff that has supported me on this book-writing journey from day one.
Simply put, I was so touched. I just wanted to stand there and take it all in, memorize each and every smiling face.
No doubt having a book published is a big, wonderful deal, but having your friends surrounding you on such a special evening is absolutely incredible. Thank you for the giving me that moment.
SOUTHERN BYWAYS BOOKSTORE PROJECT: THAT BOOKSTORE IN BLYTHEVILLE
That Bookstore in Blytheville
Address: 316 West Main, Blytheville, AK 72315
Phone: 870-763-3333 / 800-844-8306 (toll-free)
Owner: Mary Gay Shipley
Website: www.tbib.com
Twitter: @marygayshipley
Thought I’d start the Southern Byways Bookstore Project all the way down in Arkansas, at That Bookstore in Blytheville, which – you guessed it! – is at the heart of the historic commercial district of Blytheville, Arkansas. Considering that Blytheville is truly a small-town, I can’t say enough about how owner Mary Gay Shipley has created such a vibrant and bustling indie, becoming a powerhouse in the book-selling world. Customers come looking for current fiction, signed books and Southern authors from John Grisham to Pat Conroy to Kathryn Stockett.
Hand-selecting a friendly staff that loves to read, alongside the store’s creaky wooden floors, rocking chairs and a real working wood stove, Mary Gay has created a welcoming refuge for book lovers.
One of the very cool things about the store is the special seating for readings and alike. For an event, Mary Gay pulls out a collection of wooden folding chairs and every year, every author who comes to the store signs the chair for that year. I actually signed my name alongside John Grisham’s, so people would be sure to see it!
And – as a personal aside – I must share that it was one of her staff members, Marvel, who tweaked the title of my book from “The Proper Life of Bezellia Grove” to “The Improper Life of Bezellia Grove.” In fact, one of the main characters in my next book is named Marvel in her honor.
Secret insider’s tip: If you get a chance to pay call on the store, go around the corner afterwards to Sharecroppers for delectable chocolate meringue pie!
THE SOUTHERN BYWAYS BOOKSTORE PROJECT
My bags are packed. My maps are highlighted. And my car is gassed and ready to roll. That’s right, I’m hitting the road again. Tomorrow, I’ll inaugurate my book tour of the Southern byways right here in Nashville, Tennessee, with the release of my second novel, “The Improper Life of Bezellia Grove.” And the very next day, I’m off and running – Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Pennsylvania (yes, I know it’s above the Mason-Dixon Line) – here I come!
Without a doubt, one of the great and unexpected joys of being published two years ago was meeting YOU – all the readers, booksellers, and bloggers – who enjoyed “Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen.” I drove more than 18,000 miles in total introducing myself to the reading public and I believe every truck-stop employee along I-81. But every mile was worth it, well, except for maybe about 75 of those miles in Mississippi when I’m certain I barely out ran a tornado.
After that experience, I couldn’t help but want to give a little something back to the independent booksellers down South. So, while I’m traipsing across the Southeast and farther afield for my book tour, I’m gonna be starting a special series of blog posts profiling bookstores in Dixie. Some I’ll be visiting in person. Others I’ve only gotten a taste of through photos, fans and alike.
I’m christening this special series of posts The Southern Byways Bookstore Project.
In the end, we’re all part of one big, wonderful book-loving family – and this is just a small way for me to celebrate being kin. Can’t wait for the “family reunion,” hitting the road to spend some time with the people who love books as much as I do.
WHAT I LEARNED FROM A POET
For a couple of amazing weeks in July, I attended the Sewanee Writers Conference. I took a a few pages of my third novel, very much a work in progress, along with me. Jill McCorkle and Tony Earley were my workshop leaders, and I cannot even begin to thank them both for their insight and advice. The Funeral Dress will no doubt be a better book for having been there.
Days and nights were filled with readings and craft lectures, workshops, and yes, cocktail parties and one very dark mothing expedition where I saw more bats than moths. But the greatest discovery, for me, was poetry.
The gods must have known what they were doing when they assigned my roommate – a poet – a poet who thankfully woke up every morning before 6 am just like I did. First, Lisa opened my eyes (usually after a strong cup of coffee) to the emotional, heartfelt, human poetry of Pulitzer-Prize-winning poet Claudia Emerson. Then she patiently taught me a little about meter and narrative form. But more than anything else, she taught me to look at my own work, my own fiction, with the eyes of a poet.
As a journalist, I always thought I used words sparingly, appropriately. I’ve spent hours staring at the computer searching for just the right word – the word that conveys the right emotion, that carries the right rhythm. But now I was suddenly paying attention to the movement and message of each and every word on the page – thinking about the best, most powerful, most economical way to describe a character, a scene, a moment with more determination that I ever had. When you are writing with few words, you must use them as wisely and as powerfully as you can.
I will never be a poet, but I found myself reveling in its beauty. And I found myself appreciating its instructive nature for a fiction writer. I will write poems someday, for no one but myself. But that will be a gift in and of itself.
MOONSHINE HIP?
Yesterday’s local newspaper ran an article on moonshine – the great illicit whiskey – white lightening – hooch – mountain dew – ah, you get my drift. I don’t care what your pedigree is, if you claim to be a Southerner, there is somebody, somewhere in your family tree that has at one time or another done a little shining.
In my own family, apparently it was my grandfather who liked to tend to the still under the light of an East Tennessee moon. Then somewhere along the way, he went to a revival, found the Lord, and took up preaching. As I write in Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen, “he built a church and nurtured a flock, all the while delivering another libation just as intoxicating as his moonshine.”
But now the infamous drink is becoming cool, hip, and worst of all, LEGAL. The mystery and aura around moonshine will, I’m afraid, fade with the setting sun now that micro-distilleries are brewing small batches of rye, wheat and millet shine with cute, catchy names like Death’s Door, White Dog and Wry Moon. Soon there will be moonshine-based martinis and other specialty drinks with even cuter names like Lightning Breeze or Corntini.
Please, please, listen to reason. Some things just need to remain a little shadowy, a little prohibited, a little banned!
TAKING ON THE CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT??
Someone asked me recently if I had any trepidation about taking on the Civil Rights Movement in THE IMPROPER LIFE OF BEZELLIA GROVE? The question was inevitable. But I wasn’t really prepared to answer it.
Relationships were undeniably complicated in the 1960s American South, where society remained neatly ordered by class, status, and skin color. There’s no doubt about that. And Bezellia definitely pushed those once well-defined boundaries. There’s no doubt about that either.
But quite truthfully, I never felt I was “taking on” anything, particularly something of such importance as the Civil Rights Movement. I was only wanting to tell the story of a young girl who was desperately trying to be loved and love other people and struggling to find ways to do that with some compassion and integrity.
Was it coincidence that I was first asked this question only days after leaving Montgomery, Alabama, where the Civil Rights Movement took some very important first steps? Probably not. I’m not a big believer in coincidence.
But again, am I “taking on” the Civil Rights Movement? No. My job, my responsibility, as a writer is a simple one, to bridge the gap between what I have observed and experienced and what I can put on paper. With that said, I would never assume what it meant or means to be African-American in the South. But I can honestly look at the culture in which I was raised and share that imperfect world with others.
Bezellia is not an activist or a hero, far from it. She only tries to be more heroic than those who stumbled before her.
FROM MONTGOMERY TO CULLMAN
I arrived in Montgomery shortly before three in the afternoon. The air was already hot even though the South had barely stepped into April. I would be speaking at Huntingdon College later in the evening but had time to do a little exploring. The hotel seemed fairly busy but the streets were oddly quiet. I walked a few blocks to the post office, mailed some letters that I’d been driving around for days and then noticed a short line of people standing outside a small, two-story building. I crossed the street and found myself standing in front of the Rosa Parks Museum at Troy University.
A foggy morning in Montgomery, Alabama
Glancing at my watch, I’d have just enough time to check it out before needing to get back to the hotel and prepare for the talk I’d be giving later in the evening. I bought a ticket, rushed inside and welcomed the cool, air-conditioned air against my skin. But I quickly noticed that the lobby was full of people, people whose skin was much darker than mine. I immediately felt embarrassed that I had forgotten until that very moment that Rosa Parks’ refusal to vacate her seat for a white passenger on a city bus on December 1, 1955, had happened right here in Montgomery.
In fact, it was the Montgomery Improvement Association, led by a young Martin Luther King, that guided the Montgomery bus boycott which was one of the first but pivotal steps in the Civil Rights Movement. And I left reminded of the sacrifice, courage and faith of so many men and women who wanted nothing more than to be treated equally.
Fast forward to the next afternoon and about 120 miles up the road, and now I find myself pulling off the interstate and heading to Cullman, Alabama. Oh, I had heard of Cullman. I knew its reputation — white, racist, a place where in the dead of night the Ku Klux Klan had once thrived.
More than a month ago though, I had been reminded of this small Alabama town in the red hills north of Birmingham. I had read an article in the NY Times Magazine about an African-American man named James Fields who was born and raised in Cullman County. His growing up was, as he called it, “rough and tough.” But now he’s a minister and the Democratic state representative from a county of 81,000 people but claims only 401 African-American voters.
The article, by Nicholas Dawidoff, is brilliantly written, and I encourage you to read it. Bottom line, personalism trumps racism. How about that? When people take the time to stopping judging one another based on the color of their skin, they see each other for who they really are. And apparently that’s why James Fields was elected in a county that overwhelmingly voted against Obama. Because they know the kind of man that James Fields is.
But I kept asking myself, why am I headed to Cullman? What did I think I was going to find there?
It was another charming Southern town. Churches, a library, a couple of rather trendy-looking boutiques, an old funeral parlor that now houses an architectural firm, even a coffee house or two. I saw a stylish young woman with long blonde hair. I saw a lot of white men in pick ups, farmers, I imagine. I saw two heavy-set women riding along in a beat-up old chevy. Life had already treated them too hard, even I could see that.
I parked my car and walked around a bit, finally stepping into a fabric store to buy a spool thread so I could hem the pair of pants that I’d been holding together with scotch tape. A friendly couple, need I say “white” couple, welcomed me inside.
After a bit, the man looked at me and said, “Where you from?”
“Nashville,” I answered.
“I knew you was a ferener.”
“How’d you know that?” I smiled.
“Cause I’ve never seen your car here before. I saw you drive down the street earlier.”
Yeah, you’re right, I thought to myself. You haven’t seen me before. But I’ll be back and for some reason that I still don’t fully understand.
A downtown street in Cullman, Alabama
GUEST AUTHOR CELIA RIVENBARK
One of the best parts of being a writer is meeting other writers. And I’ve decided that you need to meet them too! I hesitate to say that every Friday or even every third Monday of every other month, I am going to feature a guest author. (Sticking to a schedule as you have learned is not my strongest gift.)
But with that said, today is the first of hopefully many to come, and I hope you enjoy meeting nationally syndicated humor columnist and best-selling author, Celia Rivenbark, as much as I did. We sat on a panel together at the South Carolina Book Festival back in February. And I can honestly say that this woman is funny, funny, funny.
Celia Rivenbark
I asked Celia three simple questions and here are her answers.
If you had to compare yourself to one character in literature who would that be?
I wanted to come up with something noble sounding, but I keep coming back to Nancy Drew. And not just because she was a blonde with a convertible “roadster.” She relied on her gal pals to get her out of scrapes, as I do, and she required a good steady fellow in her life. My husband Ned Nickerson all grown up. Like Nancy, I have a curious mind, love solving little mysteries, adore getting into everybody’s else’s private business and believe that good must always triumph in the end. I’ve read all the Nancy Drew books and it is with grace disappointment that I realize my own daughter prefers vampires and teen-clique books. Sigh.
I knew I liked this woman. I quote Nancy Drew in The Improper Life of Bezellia Grove. (Have you noticed the way I keep working the title of my new book into every blog post these days?)
Back to Celia.
Will you see a movie before you read the book? And what food item do you typically buy at the movie theater?
Sure I’ll see a movie before I read a book. Although, that does make it a tad less likely that I’ll get around to reading the book. I kinda hate candy so I’m more of a popcorn girl, none of that fake butter or cheese powder on it. Oh, and I won’t eat it until the opening credits start to roll unless I’m absolutely starving.
Tell us one things about your life as a best-selling author we would be surprised to know.
I didn’t get a cleaning woman until I was 52 years old (last year). She comes twice a month and it has changed my whole life. Why I didn’t I do this sooner? Dave Barry never has to Pledge the sideboard, now, does he? If you wanna be big time, you gotta act the part.
Check out Celia’s newest book, You Can’t Drink All Day If You Don’t Start in the Morning.
NEW SHOES AND NYC
OK, what I’m about to share with you sounds very exciting. And it was. But bear in mind, this is not normal living for me.
A couple of weeks ago, my sister and her husband send me a plane ticket and an invitation to come to New York City for two short but wonderful days. We will do, my sister promises, anything I want. So we head into NYC first thing Friday morning. We meet my agent, Barbara Braun, at a hip but cozy little restaurant near Greenwich Village called Danal around 10:30 am. We eat scrambled eggs with spinach and Manchego cheese and chat about everything from the recently received galleys of The Improper Life of Bezellia Grove to the third book, The Funeral Dress, still very much underway. We talk about the new shoes I want to shop for and the moo doo (yes, cow shit) that Barbara and her hubby will be spreading on their garden in the days to come. We share stories about our children and thoughts about the state of the publishing industry.
My agent, Barbara Braun, and me leaving Danal.
And when we finally leave the restaurant, it is well after 1:00 pm. We hug goodbye and then my sister and I run in and out of every boutique on Fifth Avenue. And, at last, with a new pair of silver flats on my feet, we jump in a taxi and head up to Random House to say a quick hello. Of course, when I step into the lobby, I feel my knees buckle a bit. It is simple but grand all at the same time. And some of the greatest, most important literary works are shelved in thick glass cases lining the walls to my left and right. As a writer, I admire them, am inspired by them and very much humbled by them.
We leave Random House and head to a swank but casual restaurant in the theater district. We have a martini and talk about the day. My adorable niece joins us, and Kelsey Grammer walks in and sits down at a table nearby. He looks good and tan and I wonder if he’d mind if I said hello. I have another martini instead.
The theater tickets are waiting for us at will call, my sister reminds me. So we pay our tab and head a few blocks east to the The Black Box Theatre at The Harold and Miriam Steinberg Center for Theatre. We’re there to see Good ‘Ol Girls, the new musical based on the writings of Lee Smith and Jill McCorkle. My sister has bought the best seats in the house, she tells me. And she’s right. The theater is small, intimate, and we are on the front row. I was three feet from the stage and I felt that the actors were in my house performing just for me.
Good 'Ol Girls will run until April 12th.
After the performance, we walk to our car, pose for a quick pic in Times Square and then leave New York and the day behind.
Somewhere near the Newark airport, we hit the biggest pothole EVER, blow a tire and damage two others. But even still, it was a PERFECT day!
Thank you Hall and Tom.
Love,
Susan
My sister, Hall, and her daughter, Hannah, celebrate the day with me.
