Jeffrey L Carrier - An Interview

Coal Dust On Purple Asters is a trio of stories set in early twentieth century Kentucky, bringing alive the era and lifestyles.

Open Shelf caught up with author Jeffrey L Carrier to find out more. 

Let's get straight into the current work.

Q: What first drew you to writing about Burfield County and the Appalachian communities of the Great Depression? 

A: It wasn’t so much a conscious choice as it was a natural inheritance. I was raised in the Appalachian Mountains of Northeast Tennessee, and my mother’s childhood was spent as a coal miner’s daughter in the Kentucky hollers during the height of the Depression. In many ways, writing about this time and place felt like returning to a landscape I already knew through the stories passed down to me. I wasn’t reaching for a setting; I was simply documenting the echoes of my own lineage.

Q: Did the idea begin with a character, a moment, or the setting itself? 

A: It began with James Herald Gibson. I was captivated by the idea of a young boy standing at a literal and metaphorical crossroads—feeling the crushing weight of expectation from his family and the community to go into the mines, yet possessing a spirit that resisted that fate. The rest of that fictional world grew outward from that central idea. Interestingly, the idea of a trilogy revealed itself to me in reverse; "Red Snow in the Kentucky Woods," which serves as the final movement of the trilogy, was actually the first story I put to paper.

Q: How did your understanding of Appalachian history shape the stories you wanted to tell? 

A: While I don’t claim to be an expert on Appalachian history, my understanding is deeply rooted in the lived experiences of my kin. The stories I heard from my mother and relatives about the mining life weren’t romanticized; they were grit-edged and difficult. None of them were particularly happy, and that stark reality inevitably coloured my prose. I wanted to honour the hardship of that profession without sanitizing the toll it took on the human soul.

We came away with a real sense of place from the stories so let's look at how that was developed.

Q: The stories show the landscape vividly. How did you approach capturing the textures, rhythms, and dialect of Eastern Kentucky? 

A: That process felt almost instinctual. I have always been hyper-aware of the sensory details of the mountains—the specific way the light hits a ridge or the cadence of a casual hello. Capturing the dialect wasn't about mimicry; it was about honouring a rhythm of speech that I’ve heard my entire life. I wanted the reader to feel the mist in the woods and the dust of the mines as tangibly as I do. That particular dialect is not easy to capture on the page, and I followed the example set by such writers as Jesse Stuart and James Still, whose 1940 novel, River of Earth was my most significant inspiration.

Q: Why was it important for the setting to function as part of the emotional fabric rather than just a backdrop?

A: Living in the mountains dictates a specific way of moving through the world; it brings a set of physical and psychological challenges that those on flat land rarely have to navigate. In these stories, I view the environment as a mirror to the characters' internal lives. The crushing claustrophobia of the coal mines, the steep, unforgiving hillsides, and the sudden devastation of flash floods are more than just features of nature—they are constant, looming threats. While I didn't set out to use the landscape as an intentional metaphor, the ruggedness of the terrain inevitably reflects the resilience and the "hard-scrabble" nature of the people who inhabit it. The setting doesn't just surround the characters; it tests them.

Q: How did you balance historical accuracy with storytelling needs?

A: My approach was to let the human experience lead the way. Having grown up with my family’s first-hand accounts, I already possessed an intimate understanding of the physical and emotional toll coal mining exacted on a community. However, to ensure the world of Burfield County felt authentic, I researched the technicalities of the era - the birth of the industry, the structural engineering of the mines, and the gruelling process of refining raw coal. I view these historical details as the essential scaffolding for the narrative; they provide a firm foundation of accuracy, but they always remain secondary to the people. My primary goal was to ensure that the facts never overshadowed the lived reality of the characters.

At the heart of these stories there are some common themes that we can now look at more closely.

Q: Across the trilogy, themes of resilience, poverty, family loyalty, and quiet endurance recur. Which of these themes felt most central as you wrote?

A: While these themes are inextricably linked, forming the very fabric of the narrative, I found myself returning most often to the concept of resilience. In the world of these stories, resilience isn't a loud or grand gesture; it is a quiet, stubborn refusal to be broken by the weight of poverty, illness, or the inherent violence of the era. I wanted to honour the endurance of a people who, despite facing overwhelming hardship, remained rooted in their landscape and their loyalty to one another. To me, the essence of the Appalachian spirit is found in that steady, persistent survival.

Q: The stories explore the tension between dependence on the mines and resentment of them. What drew you to that conflict?

A: This conflict is the heartbeat of the Appalachian mining experience. Growing up, the stories I heard always painted the mines as a double-edged sword: they provided the only viable path to a decent living in the region, yet they demanded a staggering physical and mental price. I was drawn to the inherent tragedy of men who were forced to rely on an industry that was essentially killing them. This resentment often manifested in destructive ways, such as the heavy drinking that plagued many mining families. I wanted to explore how that cycle of dependence - the constant negotiation between the need for a pay check and the fear of the mountain - warped the domestic lives of the characters and the community at large.

Q: How did you navigate portraying hardship without sensationalizing it?

A: My goal was to portray this way of life through the eyes of those who lived it. To an outsider, the conditions in the coal camps might seem extreme or harrowing, but to the people of that time and place, and in the Burfield County I created, those challenges were the ordinary fabric of existence. Hardship was not an anomaly; it was a shared, communal reality. You cannot sensationalize a struggle that your characters accept as commonplace. By grounding the narrative in their perspective rather than viewing it through the lens of modern sensibilities, I hope I’ve represented their lives with the dignity of truth rather than the exaggeration of drama.

Of course, settings and themes are all very well. A rich story needs richly portrayed characters.

Q: Each story features characters who feel lived-in and deeply human. How did you develop such textured, believable personalities?

A: The texture of these characters comes directly from the people who shaped my own history. As a child, I spent a great deal of time in the small coal-mining town where my mother was raised, absorbing the stories and spirits of my grandmother, my great-uncles, and my great-grandmother. These weren't just relatives; they were the living embodiments of a specific era. By listening to their speech and learning the details of their daily struggles and triumphs, I was able to move beyond mere archetypes. My goal was to translate that deep, personal connection onto the page, creating characters who breathe with the authenticity of those I loved and learned from.

Q: Vergie, May, and James Herald all face different forms of pressure. What connects them in your mind?

A: While their individual struggles vary, they are bound together by a shared instinct for survival. Whether navigating domestic upheaval or the pressure to be a coal miner, each character must find a solution to resolve their problems. This brings us back to the core theme of resilience; however, I wanted to demonstrate that resilience is not a "one-size-fits-all" trait. For Vergie, May, and James Herald, the path to endurance is uniquely shaped by their personal histories and the specific choices they make. They are connected by the universal human necessity to forge a way forward, even when it seems hopeless.

Q: How did you approach writing dialogue that reflects Appalachian cadence without slipping into caricature?

A: My approach was to write from the ear and the heart. I relied on the natural rhythms I absorbed during my childhood. While some people might view that vernacular with derision, I find it utterly captivating. To me, the Appalachian dialect isn’t a sign of a lack of education, but rather a rich, poetic linguistic heritage. I wanted to honour that "mountain music" by treating the dialogue with the reverence it deserves. For anyone looking to understand the profound beauty of this dialect, I always recommend James Still’s River of Earth. Reading his work instils a deep respect for the way the mountain voice can turn simple speech into something timeless.

Let's step a little into the author experience.

Q: The trilogy has a steady, unhurried pacing that still builds tension. What guided your decisions about rhythm and escalation?

A: My approach to pacing is largely intuitive, guided more by the internal lives of the characters than by a rigid narrative structure. I do not set out with a calculated plan for escalation; instead, I begin with a clear understanding of the story’s destination and allow the characters to find their own natural path to that conclusion. Because I am so deeply immersed in their world, the rhythm of the prose tends to mirror the unhurried, yet purposeful, pace of the lives they lead. By letting the characters dictate the movement, the tension builds organically, a steady accumulation of reality rather than a forced dramatic shift.

Q: How did you ensure each story stands alone while still contributing to a cohesive whole?

A: The trilogy came together slowly. It began with the story of James Herald Gibson, and I found myself so invested in the world of Burfield County that I felt compelled to explore other families inhabiting that same landscape. After completing the story of Vergie and Wiley and the devastating flood, I realized I had the beginnings of a larger narrative arc, which inspired me to write about May and Zeke. To create a cohesive whole, I utilized the geography of the county and a few recurring characters as connective tissue. My goal was to ensure that while each story functions as a self-contained emotional journey, they collectively offer a broader, more immersive portrait of a specific time and place.

Q: There is a softness in the prose that makes the darker moments more powerful. Was that a deliberate stylistic choice?

A: It was a very deliberate choice. I believe that for a reader to truly feel the weight of a character's suffering, they must first connect with that character’s capacity for goodness and vulnerability. By infusing the prose with what you call "softness," I am looking for the essential humanity that persists even in the most harrowing circumstances. This tonal balance ensures that the darkness isn't just a bleak backdrop, but a sharp contrast that makes the moments of resilience and grace feel more profound. Ultimately, making a character relatable means capturing their tenderness as clearly as their trials.

The three stories are a collection but they stand alone too. So we can now focus on each one in turn.

Q: What made Rain on Chinquapin Holler the right opening for the collection?

A: The decision was ultimately guided by the timeline of Burfield County itself. Once the stories were completed, I realized that arranging them chronologically allowed for the most natural narrative progression. "Rain on Chinquapin Holler" reaches back to 1920, providing the historical foundation for the stories that follow. By starting there, I wanted to invite the reader to step into the world at its earliest point in the trilogy, allowing them to witness the gradual shifts in the landscape and the community as the decades unfolded.

Q: In A Sprig of Purple Asters, domestic tenderness and strain sit side by side. How did you balance those emotional layers?

A: This balance was essential to capturing the reality of these families. As I mentioned earlier, even when characters are navigating overwhelming circumstances - be it poverty, flash floods, or the physical demands of mountain life - they do not lose their capacity for tenderness. By imbuing the characters with these softer moments, I hope to show that their humanity was never fully eclipsed by their hardships. It is in that friction between love and struggle that the most authentic stories are found.

Q: Red Snow in the Kentucky Woods spans decades and carries the trilogy’s emotional weight. What was most challenging about writing it?

A: The primary challenge was maintaining the continuity of James Herald’s voice as he moved through the various stages of his life. I had to capture the evolution of a frightened boy into a frightened man - though the sources of his fear shifted significantly. It was vital to me that he remain a sympathetic figure, one whose likability endured despite the difficult, often compromised, choices he was forced to make. Of all the characters I have created, I relate to James Herald most deeply. I recognize that had I been born into his specific circumstances, I likely would have navigated that world exactly as he did.

What jumps out from all the stories is authenticity - of voice and culture, making the setting feel real and lived in.

Q: The stories incorporate the lilting, poetic speech patterns of mountainfolk. How did you research or recreate that voice?

A: Recreating the Appalachian voice felt less like a research project and more like a recovery of my own history. Because I was immersed in these dialects from birth, the sounds and patterns were already part of my internal landscape. However, translating oral tradition into written prose requires a specific kind of care. To refine that transition, I looked to the "masters" of the genre - writers like Jesse Stuart, Harriet Arnow, and James Still - who demonstrated how to capture the mountain vernacular with dignity and lyricism. My process was a synthesis of those early childhood memories and the literary examples set by those who first proved that our regional speech is, in fact, a form of poetry.

Q: What aspects of Appalachian culture did you feel most compelled to preserve or highlight? 

A: I felt a profound responsibility to document the foundational pillars of mountain life: the fierce, unwavering loyalty of the tight-knit families and the communal resilience of the coal towns. These communities operated on a system of mutual dependence and shared history that is largely unrecognized or misunderstood in the modern era. My goal was to pull these lives out of the shadows of the past and highlight the dignity of a way of life that - while geographically isolated - was rich in emotional complexity and cultural depth. I wanted to preserve the "mountain music" of their existence before it fades entirely from our collective memory.

Q: How did you approach writing about mining communities with both honesty and compassion? 

A: I believe that true compassion is rooted in honesty. Because my own roots are so deeply entwined with this culture, I felt a profound obligation to approach these communities with a sense of reverence that refused to look away from the darker realities of their lives. To write about them with respect meant portraying the grit and the sorrow as clearly as the triumphs. I didn't want to offer a sanitized version of history; instead, I wanted to honour the remarkable endurance of a people who faced an unforgiving industry with a quiet, persistent dignity. By telling the truth about their struggles, I hope to have validated the depth of their strength.

As we conclude our questions on the tirlogy, let's consider the reader experience.

Q: What do you hope readers carry with them after finishing the trilogy? 

A: I’ve never considered myself a "message writer"; my primary goal is to tell a compelling story and offer an engaging experience. However, I do hope to provide readers with a vivid, authentic glimpse into a way of life that is rapidly vanishing from our collective memory. If these characters and their world linger in the reader's thoughts long after the final page is turned, then I have succeeded. Ultimately, I want the reader to walk away having felt the heartbeat of a community they might otherwise never have known.

Q: Were there particular emotional beats you wanted readers to feel strongly?

A: My primary hope is that readers become deeply, emotionally invested in these characters' lives, that they don't just observe their journeys but truly walk alongside them. I want them to experience the tension and the stakes personally, cheering for these individuals to overcome their circumstances and find some measure of hard-won contentment. While I want the reader to be moved by the struggles throughout the trilogy, I hope they feel a particularly strong emotional resonance in the final story, where the weight of the previous decades truly comes to a head. If a reader finishes the book feeling a sense of empathy and a genuine connection to these characters' survival, then I have fulfilled my goal as a storyteller.

.

Q: How do you want modern readers to connect with characters living nearly a century ago?

A: I  hope readers recognize that while the setting has changed, the fundamental human condition has not. We spend our lives identifying and solving problems, and the residents of the coal towns a century ago were no different. While the specific nature of their challenges - economic survival in a coal camp versus the complexities of the modern digital age - may vary, the intellectual and emotional effort required to navigate them remains the same. By focusing on this shared necessity of problem-solving, the characters become more than just historical figures; they become relatable mirrors of our own persistence.

There is a lot more in Jeffrey's catalogue so, whilst we are focussing on Coal Dust On Purple Asters, let's have a look at some other titles.

Q: In your back catalogue you have written bio-bibliographies of Tallulah Bankhead and Jennifer Jones. What drew you to those actors?

A: My attraction to these subjects was a convergence of two long-standing passions: my fascination with formidable, strong-willed women and my education as a film historian. When Greenwood Press announced in 1987 that they were seeking contributors for their bio-bibliography series, it felt like a natural opportunity to document two of my personal favourites. I was fortunate that they accepted my proposals, a milestone that provided me with my first professional credits as an author. Writing those books allowed me to channel my historical curiosity into a formal structure, and in many ways, it laid the groundwork for the research I still apply to my writing today.

Q: You have also catalogued your extensive correspondence with Patsy Ruth Miller, star of The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923). Can you tell us a little about that project?

A: That project was born from a lifelong passion for Hollywood history and a desire to connect with the pioneers of the silent film era. After seeing her performance in The Hunchback of Notre Dame during my college years, I sought out Miss Miller, which began a deep and meaningful correspondence that lasted for over a decade. During those years, I had the honour of assisting her with her autobiography, My Hollywood: When Both of Us Were Young, published in 1988. When I rediscovered our letters nearly forty years later, I realized they offered a rare, intimate perspective on her life and the industry’s early years. I felt it was worthwhile to publish them as a resource for film historians and enthusiasts alike.

Q: And your writing started out with the recording of the cemeteries of Johnson County (Upon A Lonely Hill). How did sixteen-year-old you become drawn to such a passion project?

A: That project was actually an inheritance of my father’s passion for history. After witnessing a historic local cemetery lost to land development, he realized that if we didn’t document these gravestones, the history they held would vanish forever. When he asked if I would be interested in recording information from the cemeteries in our county, I think I surprised him by saying yes so readily. What began as a teenage interest turned into a six-year journey across Johnson County, Tennessee. It was a gruelling but deeply rewarding apprenticeship that taught me the importance of preservation, an accomplishment I remain incredibly proud of to this day.

Let's bring things to a close by looking ahead.

Q: Do you see yourself returning to Burfield County in future work?

A: I certainly believe there are more voices in that fictitious place with stories left to tell. While I’m open to the possibility of a follow-up trilogy in Burfield County down the road, my current focus is on a new trilogy set in a Depression-era farming community in Northeast Tennessee. It’s a different landscape with its own unique rhythms, but it shares that same historical gravity. I’m enjoying the process of bringing this new community to life, though a part of me suspects I haven't quite said my final goodbye to Burfield County just yet.

Q: Are there characters or threads from the trilogy that still linger for you as a writer?

A: James Herald Gibson is the character who stays with me most vividly. The process of writing his story left a deep and lasting impression on me, primarily because of the scope of his journey. I discovered that I find a great deal of fulfilment in crafting a narrative arc that spans decades, allowing me to witness a character's complete evolution from youth through the complexities of adulthood. That sense of continuity - watching how a single life is shaped and weathered by the passage of time - is a thread that I suspect will continue to run through my work.

Thanks to Jeffrey for joining us to discuss Coal Dust On Purple Asters and more!

You can read more about Jeffrey and his work HERE.