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Readalong for Joshilyn Jackson's The Opposite of Everyone Our readalong with Traveling With T for Joshilyn Jackson's new book is under way. The Opposite of Everyone was released on Tuesday, so get your copy now and start reading. The readalong runs through March 18, when we chat with Joshilyn on Twitter. Notes will be posted starting next Friday on Deep South, with additional content posted over at Traveling With T. You can also join the discussion on social media using the hashtags #southernlit and #jjreadalong. Click here for more details on how to participate!    Literary News  We have an interview with North Carolina writer Matthew Griffin on his debut novel Hide, about the very recent history of gay love in America. As a companion, Autostraddle has compiled 7 Must Read Books on Queer History and Identity in the South. Publisher's Weekly's Most Anticipated Books of Spring includes John Hart's Redemption Road. Natalie Baszile's book Queen Sugar is headed to television at the helm of Oprah and Director Ava DuVernay. We have the scoop! TurnRow Books offers up a Winter's Last Roar Reading List of titles to bundle up with before spring.   Literary Events & Contests  Arkansas Repertory Theatre presents An Evening With Rebecca Wells and the Ya-Ya Sisterhood through February 21. Andalusia Farm in Milledgeville,

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by T.K. Lee The window above the kitchen sink was open because of Wayne; he liked having it open. The soft whistle spitting through it though made a pitiful excuse for a breeze. Her focus was mostly on the glass of sweet tea in her hand, her back, its spray of garden sweat drying, against the cloth recliner, and the bucket of purple hull at her feet left to do. “Mama.” Dorabell turned and looked at her son. “Yes.” “I could help, could I? With them beans.” “Peas, Wayne. They’re peas.” Wayne nodded. “Yeah, I could help with them beans, could I, Mama?” A sigh. “You can, baby. Go get a paper sack or two.” “I can, Mama.” She watched him from the recliner, to make sure. It was years before she wouldn’t cry every time he spoke. He’d be sweet, the doctor’d told her. Most mongoloids were kind and sweet, and that’d be a comfort, he’d said to her, in the years to come. Then, Harold died, soon after. It’d been Wayne and Dorabell alone ever since. And Wayne had been a kind of comfort. The first real hug he’d given her had been standing graveside, ten years old, after the church folk had left, and her sister, and the

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