Lenora Bellhurst

Welcome to The Appalachian G’Author

Gather round, my fellow Dark Hearts. Things are about to get weird.

I’m Lenora Bellhurst, otherwise known as The Appalachian G’Author, and if you’ve somehow stumbled into this strange little corner of the internet, welcome. You should probably know a few things before we go any further:

I like old houses. I like old cemeteries. I like mountains, folklore, ghost stories, local legends, abandoned places, ravens, moths, thunderstorms, books that smell old, coffee strong enough to resurrect the dead, and basically anything that would cause a sensible person to say: “Maybe we shouldn’t go in there.”

Because I, for one, would very much like to go in there. Immediately. Preferably after dark.

So…What Exactly Is an Appalachian G’Author?

Excellent question.

It is approximately 47% author, 32% Appalachian folklore enthusiast, 14% cemetery wanderer, and 7% woman standing beside a crumbling Victorian house whispering, “Oh my God, I love it.”

The math is approximate.

As an Appalachian G’Author, I write about the strange, beautiful, haunted, forgotten, and occasionally downright unhinged corners of Appalachia. This means you can expect stories about haunted houses, Appalachian legends, forgotten history, folklore, mysterious deaths, old cemeteries, historic buildings, strange creatures, local characters and whatever else I happen to discover while wandering around these mountains.

I do this because Appalachia is much more than a backdrop. It has a distinct and undeniable spirit. These mountains are old. They have stories. And some of those stories are…well…weird as hell. Not surprisingly, those are generally my favorites.

I Am Also a Professional Coddiwompler

One of my favorite words in the English language is coddiwomple (v.) — a wonderfully weird modern word l, meaning to travel purposefully toward a vague or unknown destination. ( Its actual origins are murky, despite the internet’s insistence that it’s ancient British slang.) But you get the general idea.

Basically:

“Where are we going?”

I don’t know.

“What are we doing?”

Not entirely sure.

“Should we have researched this first?”

Probably.

“Are we going anyway?”

Get in the car.

That is the spirit of The Appalachian G’Author. I love taking the back road just to see where it goes. I love stumbling across tiny mountain towns, strange roadside attractions, old churches, forgotten cemeteries, historic houses and places where somebody inevitably says, “They say a woman died here in 1863 and sometimes you can still hear her crying…”

At which point I have already parked the car.

Yes, I’m Goth…But Appalachian

My personal aesthetic is what I call natural goth.

I love black clothes, boots, silver jewelry, ravens, moths, crystals, moonlight, candles, old books, and generally looking like I may or may not know how to place a minor curse on someone (you’re curious now, admit it). But I am also a creature of comfort and past the age of stark white make-up, vinyl corsets, and black lipstick (though it’s been known to happen if you catch me in the right mood…)

But I also love forests. Mountains. Autumn leaves. Winter snow. Wildflowers. Old barns. Creeks. Fog rolling through Appalachian hollers. So give me a worn pair of faded black jeans, a pair of boots, a misty mountain trail, and approximately four ravens circling overhead, and I have achieved my final form.

I’m less Mistress of the Underworld and more Local woman who went ramp digging and accidentally found a crypt.

So…yeah. Natural goth.

And about the Cats…

We need to discuss the animals. I am a crazy cat lady. Not becoming one. Not at risk of becoming one. We have crossed that bridge, burned it behind us, and installed a cat tree on the other side.

I have multiple cats, a dog, a snake, and a household that increasingly resembles a small, poorly regulated wildlife sanctuary. Animals also seem to find me. Cats find me. Dogs find me. Random creatures appear at my doorsteps: possums, raccoons, and deer. Basically , if an animal is lost, hungry, weird, socially awkward, or has simply decided that human society has failed it, there is apparently some invisible woodland bulletin board directing it toward me:

GO FIND THE GOTH WOMAN. SHE HAS SNACKS.

Honestly, I understand. I have good energy and great snacks, as well as a soft spot for all living creatures (except mosquitos—zero stars for those bastards). But be warned: If a raven ever lands on my shoulder voluntarily, it’s over for all of you.

I will become absolutely insufferable.

Things I Love

Obviously, I write. A lot.

I love literature, storytelling, history and digging into the kind of historical rabbit hole that begins with: “I wonder who lived in that house?”…and ends six hours later with seventeen browser tabs open while I’m reading an 1872 newspaper article about a suspicious drowning.

I love Edgar Allan Poe, the Brontë sisters, Flannery O’Connor, Gothic literature, old legends, spooky stories, and the delicious intersection between history and folklore where nobody is entirely certain what actually happened anymore.

I love traveling.

Especially when the destination involves castles, historic towns, strange museums, cemeteries, old mansions or alleged paranormal activity.

Beach? Lovely.

Beach with the ruins of a seventeenth-century fortress where locals report seeing a headless sailor? Now we’re planning a vacation.

I also love coffee with an intensity normally reserved for religious devotion.

I collect stories. I photograph weird things. I read. I write. I wander. I research. I occasionally dabble in the mystical. I believe autumn should last approximately nine months. And Halloween is not merely a holiday. It’s an annual performance review for my entire personality.

But This Isn’t Just a Ghost Blog

There will absolutely be ghosts. Let’s establish that immediately. There will be many ghosts. But The Appalachian G’Author is really about something bigger.

I love Appalachia. Not the caricature of Appalachia. Not the version outsiders sometimes imagine. The real place. The beautiful, complicated, funny, stubborn, creative, haunted, heartbreaking, and deeply storied culture of these mountains.

I want to explore our folklore. Our history. Our language. Our food. Our superstitions. Our storytellers. Our old places. Our forgotten people. Our legends. Our haints. And yes, our weird shit.

Especially our weird shit.

Because Appalachian history lives somewhere between the courthouse archive and the story your grandmother swears happened to her cousin’s neighbor sometime around 1954. And I love both.

So Come Coddiwomple With Me!

I don’t entirely know where this project is going, and, well, that’s sort of the point. So bring your coffee, wear comfortable boots, and get to know these ancient mountains I call home.

W—Lenora Bellhurst