Hello all,

I would like to thank everyone who has started following me here over the years. “That’s Not Southern Gothic” was born from the back of a semi-truck sleeper cab on America’s highways… Most people didn’t even seem to know I was the one writing it. Most of the works that were once here have been taken down to be circulated elsewhere.

I am excited to let y’all know about new things I’ve got cooking. First of all, as before, you can see a list of my published works at

I also now have a Patreon account:

My Patreon subscribers can help me continue to produce works such as my critical essays, my poetry featured previously on “That’s Not Southern Gothic”, and much more. “Reader” level subscribers ($10 a month) gain access to all of my works, unpublished and previously published. That includes poetry and prose, fiction and non-fiction.

It is very important to me that I create a group of readers who are engaged and who follow me in my future projects. Your financial support is only part of realizing that goal. In the future, as my reader, you can expect to see the following projects from me:

  • New blog on folklore from a psychoanalytically-informed and class-conscious perspective
  • Serialized novels
  • Physically published and commercially available poetry chapbook
  • Works of Spanish-English translation
  • Critical essays on in-depth topics of arts and culture with my signature style of critique
  • Collaborations with other artists from around the world
  • A new lease on life for “That’s Not Southern Gothic”, focused on recounting subaltern stories of real American life

Please consider becoming a Patreon subscriber so you can help make these things a reality.


Jeremy Ray Jewell

Rim Jumpers

People that sit on the edge of the Grand Canyon keep falling in. They just can’t help it. As they stand up to leave the canyon starts moving and they intuit some special significance in it. They think they hear some name being called that they hadn’t known was theirs. But that shit ain’t real. Them fuckers just fall. Now, if you sit on the edge of America it’s much the same. The view is splendid, but don’t you stand your ass up to go — oh, no. Your depth perception will get all fucked up and before you know it you’ll be falling, too. But there’s nothing to fall into — no village of Supai with mules carrying down tribal Amazon orders for the US Mail. You just fall and you never stop, you just stay in that state of clarity knowing that that damn canyon was bigger and more silent than your brain thought, stupid headcheese always looking for a human quality to it all. America has no human quality, so you best not dangle your legs over the edge before you find out the hard way. Stay behind the railing, folks.