Southern Fiction Novels & Stories

"Well, I'll put your therapist on hold." Twelve hours later – Savannah, Georgia The humidity was the first thing I noticed. California had pampered me. The Southern air clung to my skin like a clingy ex— hot, humid, and unwilling to let go. As the black SUV passed through the Thornwell gates, I kept my eyes fixed ahead. The ride was curved just as it always was. Magnolia trees towered above like ancient, disapproving gods. The house appeared on the horizon. Still monstrous. Still perfect.

We’d just beaten a goddess with school spirit, a baseball bat, and Southern stubbornness. The South: 1 The Void: 0

Both Cajun and Creole, beignets and po boys, gumbo and jambalaya, boudain, and beans and rice along with other southern fares. I didn’t want to eat meals with them. Food was too intimate, food was heart and soul, love and grit. So I lived off of bread ends and random fruit or canned bits of this or that, cold and empty like the heart of the woman staring back at me. I swear Maggie's wit and signature coffee warmed my soul, in a way it felt like a grandmother's embrace. Not that I ever knew what that felt like, but I could imagine. Her, Zoey, and my pure bullheadedness were the reasons my spirit still lived and refused to crumble to the dust it threatened to become at times.

I can't understand certain keywords and dates the signs say, hence I picked a simplistic book having an intriguing title: Southerners, the devils. I wasn't sure if this was friendly or not, but who am I kidding? I should expect these types of headings. As I settled down on a wooden table, I picked up the book and barely even turned to the second page when I read: The skies were clear and blue but the day the Southerners arrived, the rain poured red... I sighed. This is long, I presume...

I felt a reassuring warmth from Clay, a silent show of approval that comforted me. The truth was, it was impossible to hide my Southern heritage. My appearance spoke for itself. In the North, people were fair-skinned, often with blonde hair and slender builds. Northern women had that pale beauty, willowy and straight-figured. In contrast, my skin was kissed by the Southern sun, a natural tan that hinted at my origins, with dark, wavy hair and a curvier figure. Southern women were typically fuller-bodied, pear-shaped, with noticeable curves that made us distinct. Each territory had its unique look—the East with its tall, dark-skinned people with woolly hair, and the West, like Gregory, with t

He sat in his garden and grinned at the thought of the irony of the warning his colleagues gave him. Detective Flynn, prior to his arrival in Dirty South, bought an apartment close to Chief Kaave's mansion. To take down the mafia in Dirty South, he needed to be close to the rulers of the mafia. He thought about his family in New Orleans, his aged mother and three siblings. His younger sisters and brother.

Henry took a sip of water before placing a stack of documents on Winifred’s desk. “Miss Zea, have you heard of Southern Sophistication?” He asked. “Southern Sophistication,” Winifred said before she went silent for two seconds. “I have heard about it,” she said and nodded quickly. “Southern Sophistication is the largest new media platform in the south, and it’s dedicated to promoting fashion brands,” Henry explained. “It is as prominent as Northern Grace in the north,” Winifred said.

Instead of facing his own demon, Sabrina's father took his own life in front of his family, scarring his own daughter for life. Being a non-fiction novelist, most of my stories are about people’s experiences. I collect facts through research and interviews, then retell the stories through books. My stories, in turn, memorialize their contributions in life and highlight their suffering and pain. This way, they shall be remembered and hopefully, their story helps someone along the way, someone who currently faces these difficulties.