THE WOODS OF FANNIN COUNTY

"It took us years to realize what happened to us."

A great deal of nervousness accompanies any new book for me, but I’m feeling more nervous than ever to announce the release of my latest. You’ll understand why in a minute.

I set a lot of standards for myself—I want a book to be accurate, I want it to be free of grammar mistakes, I want it to move a reader (and the world) toward healing. As a writer of creative nonfiction, I’m often writing about the lives, habits, and conversations of real people; and I want these to be as close to the truth as possible.

I’ve written some things, such as getting whipped as a child or watching a forest get destroyed, that I’m sure have been painful to read. Those things make me nervous.

But I’ve moved into new territory with this release.

Somewhere around 2014 my father called to tell me that he’d just heard an incredible story that morning and he wanted me to come hear it too. “You need to come now,” he said. “This would make a great book.” If you ever met my father, you know that he was a force to be reckoned with. If he wanted to get a book signed for somebody, for example, he would hunt me down, no matter what I was doing. He could hear every other word but “no.” I used to hide in the corn crib on the farm to write, so he couldn’t find me.

Also, you can imagine that I hear sentences akin to his a lot: “I’ve got a great story for you to write.” If you want to be a writer worth your salt, you have to investigate the stories. Most of the time I find out that the story would be a great one for that person (the person telling me) to write. Sometimes, however, someone leads you to a jewel, a gem, a diamond of a story, a story that reaches out and grabs you and won’t let go.

I asked my dad a few questions about this greatest of stories, but he wouldn’t say much, only that it had been told to him by his friend Jimmy, who ran an antique store in Baxley, Georgia, where he and my mom lived their entire lives. “You’ve got to come hear it,” my dad said. “Can you come now?” I couldn’t, but my dad exacted a promise that I’d visit Jimmy soon and hear the story myself.

The next Sunday afternoon my parents drove me to the Woods home, in the countryside of southern Georgia, down a long, light-gray dirt road bordered by cotton fields. I remember the weather that day. An early-summer thunderstorm threatened, and clouds like large purple bruises tormented the sky.

Mr. Woods lived in a nice brick ranch home with a well-kept yard surrounded by trees and flowers. He met us at the door. He had invited his sister from Alabama, Phyllis, as a back-up, and she was visiting for the weekend. All of us moved toward the kitchen.

From an oak dining table I sat across from Phyllis. My dad and my mom sat to my left, and Jimmy was to my right. Out a bank of windows I could see the sky darkening over pecan trees and Mexican petunias throwing up their lavender moons. In front of me was a legal pad. I sat scribbling under violet, circling clouds while Jimmy and Phyllis poured out the fascinating and terrifying memories of their childhood.

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That story became my latest book. It’s set to be released this week. It’s available now, in fact, to order via Amazon or at my website. It is a work of fiction.

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It is based on a true story that took place during the 1940s in Fannin County, northern Georgia, in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. One fall day eight children whose last name was “Woods” vanished from a small rental house in Morganton, Georgia. They ranged in age from ten years old to newborn. For the next four years they would live mostly alone in a shack on a remote mountain, scrounging for food among the pawpaw groves, ramp coves, and wild apples of southern Appalachia. When they were rescued they ended up at Georgia Baptist Children’s Home, located south of Baxley, which is why Jimmy was living there and how my father heard his unbelievable and intensely moving story.

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The book is called The Woods of Fannin County. The word “woods” refers both to the children and to the place that provided for them.

During a span of ten years I interviewed five of the eight people who’d been involved as children. Two of the children had already died, and since those interviews, two have deceased. In addition, I studied historical and genealogical records to verify anecdotal information, visited the area where the cabin once stood, and researched extensively the time and place in which this story occurs.

I worked closely with the Woods family. They made the decision to leave their names intact. In most instances names of other characters in the book have been changed to protect identities, and here are used fictitiously. Similarities with other real people are accidental. Otherwise, the story is as close to the truth as possible.

Also, this work is intended for an adult audience since it contains a couple of situations that are inappropriate for children.

This column by Preacher Culpepper appeared in The News Observer, Blue Ridge, Ga. on January 26, 1994.

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The chapters in the book alternate between the past and the present. The voice of the present is told by Bobby, the oldest child. I chose him because, as the oldest, he would have been most cognizant of what was happening. I would like to note that Bobby’s voice is actually an amalgamation of the grown children with whom I spoke. Although the story is told in Bobby’s voice, in reality I never spoke with him, because he had died by the time we began this project.

Additionally, in the book Bobby accompanies his siblings when they are rescued. In real life, however, Bobby was too old to be accepted to the children’s home, and, unbelievably, he was forced to strike out on his own at fourteen. Exactly what happened to him between fourteen and adulthood we will never know.

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So you can see why I’m jittery. This is uncharted territory for me. It’s fiction, my first published full-length work. (A short story published years ago in The Georgia Review.) To write about my own childhood is one thing, but to write about someone else’s is another matter entirely. Also, many people are going to be shocked by this story.

Almost every time I’ve done anything worthwhile, I’ve felt nervous. Yesterday before I spoke at Ashantilly in Darien, a place I love, where I’ve spoken many times, among friends old and new, I was nervous. It’s a feeling I am familiar with, one I expect, and also one with which I’ve never quite come to terms. It just is.

So here goes. After eight years of work on this project, after countless hours spent interviewing, researching, and writing, I’m officially announcing the release of The Woods of Fannin County. Ebook and paperbacks are available, and I’m recording the audio version.

May the book do its work in the world.

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If you find an error

I will mail a bag of dried mountain apples to you AND a copy of the book to a friend of your choosing to the first 5 people who find a grammatical or spelling error in the book. This does not include the colloquialisms that are common to the southern Appalachians, words like “we-uns” and “rimptions” and “pizen.”

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If you write a review

I will send you a coupon good for free tuition to any webinar that I teach to you AND a copy of the book to a friend of your choosing to the first 10 people who write a review on Amazon or Goodreads.

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If you post on social media

Please tag me @janisseray or @tracklesswild.

Possible hashtags to use: #thewoodsoffannincounty #janisseray #booksyoushouldread #bookrecommendations #naturewriting #naturewritingbywomen #southernfiction #newread #bookinmyhand #goodreads (and hopefully #booksyoucantputdown)

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Thanks to

Eleonora A. Machado for cover design.

Raven Waters for cover art.

Christopher Ian Smith for author photo.

Kimberly Coburn for marketing assistance.

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I want to show you one last photo. This is the actual cabin where the children were secreted. The photo was taken about 30 years after they were rescued.