Rick Bragg in Retrospect

I remember my mother wiping her eyes as she turned page after page of Rick Bragg's novel, "Ava's Man".

"This is writing", she would say.

She would laugh at times, cry at times, and punch the wall at times. Words that can sit you on the porch of your childhood or bring back memories of your legs without a razor are in my opinion, writing. Reading it, she told me stories of teeth and Pale City, Alabama and her father catching fish the size of small cars. His writing did just that for her. It sat her in places she didn't want to be, it sat her in the arms of her Grandmother, Grandfather, and in the arms of her Daddy without the smell of whiskey on his breath. It moved her. I love Rick Bragg for that. I want my writing to make a woman cry, laugh, and sing. I want my writing to move someone.

I read "Somebody Told Me" my freshman year of college. It still sits in my senior dorm room today, ragged and torn. It is covered with notes about Kelly Clem and the tornado that destroyed Piedmont, Alabama. I love it. I have quoted from it and I have read it at least 4 times. But I must say, I didn't read it that many times because I am some crazed fan of Rick Bragg's, but I read it over and over again because that is the way I strive to write. I want to bring back the smells of your childhood, the hardness of the church pews, and the sourness of the hard candy that the elderly woman gave you for being quiet in church.