About that story from The Bitter Southerner
Some of you have been reading Rapid Eye Reality since 2001. Other folks have found it in the years since then. Some of you are just arriving after having read “Bust” on The Bitter Southerner. Welcome and welcome back.
Almost exactly five years ago at this time, I was sitting at the Redwood Bar and Grill with three amazing writers (Howard Swains, Ryan Kallberg, and Neal Pollack) and I told them the story I’m telling on The Bitter Southerner this week. I told them then because I was just a few days removed from walking through a bloody house and even fewer days removed from hanging out with a guy who had just won millions in Vegas. I was still reeling from both.
I showed the guys some pictures from the scene of the shootout that looked like this.
By the end of the night—best I can recall—we’d all decided it was a story that should be told. We just couldn’t figure out the right place to tell it.
By and by, I found The Bitter Southerner. It was the place I wished I had the vision to create. It gives a home to the best stories from and about the South. What’s more, the people behind it like whiskey, so we’re simpatico. By and further by, editor Chuck Reece found me, I told him this story, and here we are today. It’s the same story–now much more deeply-researched–told in exactly the right place.
“Bust” is coming out in four parts that will span one epic story over two parts, an epilogue, and an essay of a more personal nature. As they are published, I’ll link them here:
If you found this story because you know Rapid Eye Reality, then I would encourage you to read and support The Bitter Southerner. The site operates ad-free on funds it gets from supporters and people who buy the cool stuff from the General Store. In this digital “must-have-click-bait-to-survive” age, that seems almost ridiculous, but it’s working because the storytelling, photography, and design are as good as it gets, hands down.
Or in the more likely event you found me because of The Bitter Southerner and are wondering what I do when I’m not telling bloody poker stories, here’s a quick catch-up:
Although I spend a majority of my time writing about poker around the world, my nights and weekends often end up focusing on other subjects. Here are some recent pieces folks have told me they like.
Carry me home: My flight home with an American hero
The monsters are real: When a monster stole a little girl from my hometown
Giggling at hell: Children practicing how not to get murdered
This is our home: Raising my white children 2015 South Carolina
Dear Son: On the morning of Sandy Hook
If you’d like to read more, I’ve posted other links in the clips section of BradWillis.net.
That night at the Redwood, we had a friendly bartender and we told a lot of stories, but the one I’m telling this week is the one that has stuck with me ever since. It’s not a happy story, and it’s still too early to tell if it will have a happy ending. Nevertheless, it’s a story that I felt had to be told. So, thanks to The Bitter Southerner for helping me tell it.