Honey Child

In Honey Child, a soon to be released novella, Tim Rouse speaks with the voice of a mountain poet. His description of Appalachian people and mountain existence rings true and clear. His mamaw and papaw could well have been my own.
He transports the reader back to a time of country kitchens heated to a Hades-like temperature by wood-fired “cookstoves.” He recounts how his mamaw felt obligated to cook nearly everything in site – “…not one day would pass when every pot, plate, coffee cup and dish wouldn’t be filled, emptied, washed and re-used at least twice…”
Rouse talks of people who were god fearing church goers with fondness and reverence. He also tells, with unflinching honesty and without apology, of those who are not drawn to the churches or guided by the Bible. His papaw, Gene and Uncle J. C. (Ooze) displayed a passion for strong drink, sharp knives and strong language.
The people of Honey Child are real – at least to me, because I grew up in these mountains. I knew Gene, Ooze and others like them when I was a child. However, I’m certain that had I grown up in a city, the words of Tim Rouse would make me feel as if I were right there at his mamaw’s table, watching young Timmy try bravely to eat a bite of her rice pudding, or perhaps sitting on her front porch enjoying a cooling evening breeze as it wafted down from the mountain tops.
Honey Child is a true delight – a fair and adequate tribute to a generation who are gone, but not forgotten.
By J Russell Rose, Author (www.jrussellrose.com)