Tim Carmichael
Bio
I’m a firm believer life is messy, beautiful, and too short, which is why I write poems full of heart and humor. I am an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. My book Beautiful and Brutal Things is on Amazon, Link 👇
Achievements (19)
Stories (257)
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Easter in the Mountains
When I was growing up in the mountains of western North Carolina, Easter came along with a promise that things were about to feel a little brighter, if only for a while. We didn’t have much in those days, and everybody knew it, but somehow Easter had a way of making you forget all that. For one Sunday out of the year, we felt like the richest people in all of Appalachia.
By Tim Carmichaelabout 12 hours ago in Families
The Deleted Paragraph
I sit at my desk, staring at the paragraph like it has personally insulted me. I have been circling this thing all morning, moving sentences, swapping words, cutting lines, adding lines, sighing, muttering, “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” more times than I care to admit. I’ve patted it, pleaded with it, threatened it with deletion, and yet it remains, refusing to cooperate. I realize now that it’s not that the paragraph is bad. It’s that it is too full of itself. Flapping its sentences around like wings, trying to explain what I already said, trying to justify its own existence.
By Tim Carmichael2 days ago in Motivation
The Eastern Junction
The village of Strale sat between two hills and a railway line that had carried goods east for forty years. The men who worked the line lived in a row of identical houses along Cutter Road, and Raymond Hesk had lived in the third of these houses for seventeen years, since the day he married Dorla and carried her suitcase up to the second-floor room that faced the tracks.
By Tim Carmichael3 days ago in Fiction
An Apology for Bringing the Squirrel into Church
Dear Members of First Self-Righteous Church, I write this with a humbled heart, a sore back, and a memory that replays in vivid, chaotic detail. I must apologize for bringing that squirrel into your church last Sunday. Every shriek, hallelujah, and blush-worthy confession began with my decision. I take full responsibility.
By Tim Carmichael7 days ago in Humor
Buried in the Holler
Time falters and the rhythm of the holler unravels, and every legend must be redrawn. What was once a reliable peak has surrendered to the valley. A mother’s passing is a slow erosion of the foundation that held our world in place, leaving us to study the silence, a new law governing the atmosphere. The heavy stillness is a presence, lingering in the spaces mother once filled.
By Tim Carmichael9 days ago in Poets
Foraging Appalachia’s Wild Edibles. Top Story - March 2026.
It's that time of year again and Appalachia offers a remarkable abundance for anyone willing to learn its seasonal gifts and practice careful gathering. Across ridges, holler's, stream-side's, and meadows, edible plants, berries, roots, and fungi appear through every part of year. Knowledge is key and teaches not only what can be eaten, but also how to gather with respect so that these resources remain available far into future.
By Tim Carmichael13 days ago in Feast
