With penning out a weekly column now on my to-do list for the better part of five years, I am beginning to think that I might want to try something a little more extensive.

Perhaps I will write the great American novel, which seems like it should be in capital letters for some reason.

Then I could spend the rest of my life traveling around to speaking engagements, acting like I know something just because I had a book published. That sounds like the life.

Honestly, I was somewhat inspired by Lon Leatherland, who woke up at 4 a.m. and started pounding away at the keyboard. Or was it a notepad? At any rate, such passion for anything is admirable. Realizing this, I think all I need now is a topic and a good start. In college, the creative writing class instructor always told us to "Write what you know." Therefore, I suppose Billy the Hillbilly could be the star of my book, along with his girlfriend, One-Tooth Ruth. I can feel the creative juices flowing already, or is that just Ruth's snuff?

I can help readers return to a world where coon dogs still sleep on the porch in peace alongside discarded living room furniture, where the critters are fed, pots are filled and the local drink of choice all come from a nearby corn field, a place where shoes and indoor plumbing are optional.

I suppose that would seem to many to be the life of the average country person around the turn of the century, or even later. In books and film, we really have gotten a bad rap.

All kidding aside, I agree with TJ's earlier assessment that some films give us ‘ignorant country people' a bad name. I take issue with their obvious ignorance of our culture and abilities. In fact, I think the average mountain person historically has a much greater need for intelligence than those who lived in less trying climates.

The soil and short growing season here didn't exactly lend themselves to an abundance of food for most, even though hunting and fishing could be utilized for a food source. Even roads were (and still are) a challenge, hacking out something like the Blue Ridge Parkway from the side of a mountain takes more than your average ‘country ignorance,' in my opinion.

Lessons from trapping, fishing, hunting, clothes making and even navigation would have been very necessary. Not to mention the fact that supplies weren't always as close as the nearest Woolworth's.

People here learned to use their wits and unconventional materials to do a passable job on task after task. And all that took place before duct tape and baling wire were widely available.

Perhaps I will continue to portray the truth about the modern hillbilly, the category I place myself into. The fellow who tries to do the best he can in a changing world, holding on to the old and watching the new try and take over tradition. On the other hand, my book could feature a person who watches powerlessly as land prices continue to climb beyond his reach and people give up nickel envelopes and 37 cent stamps for $2,000 computers. That means, even at 50 cents per letter, the average computer would have to send about 5,440 emails in a three-year computer life span to be cost effective — not even considering the monthly bills and personal checks that we all have to mail anyway. It is noteworthy that computers are not the wonder-drug they are cracked up to be in some places, but neither are hand-written letters. Besides, they don't even have spell-check.

As for the book to be, maybe mountain life won't be such a good topic. Instead, I could try to write about working at a small newspaper in a rural area and the challenges it presents. Or maybe I could write from the perspective of the community and look at what it faces every week in the newspaper. Or something like that.

But, no matter what I choose to write, someone out there will believe me and agree with me, while others will inherently disagree.

The only thing I have to do now is sit down and get started. I could get to it after supper; but you know, I kind of think the whole thing is out of my system after writing this. Sometimes there's only so much of himself that a man can take. By now, we've all had enough of our weekly dosage of me.

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