Cell Service, and Bellyaching

Recently, I took a trip to Shade Gap, Pennsylvania, the setting for my upcoming novel Revelation 11, to pick up those little details that give stories their texture. I chose Shade Gap as the novel’s setting because of its overall spookiness. A sign on Route 522 cites 18th Century settlers referring to the area in a narrow gap between two mountains as “The Shadow of Death”. 

Shade Gap’s lone claim to national fame occurred in 1966 when a mental patient and self-styled “mountain man”, William Hollenbaugh kidnapped seventeen-year-old Peggy Ann Bradnick setting off the largest manhunt in Pennsylvania history up to that time. Thus, it has all the necessary trappings of the Southern gothic novel, a curse, grotesques, and I’m tossing in a religious cult and a gruesome murder for good measure. 

At this point, I’ve written about 40% of the novel. In one key scene, the protagonist must use his cell phone to record a conversation and e-mail it. When I tried to reenact this feat, I found that I had no cell service. The mountains not only choke off the light, but phone service as well. Guess that scene needs rewriting. 

Undaunted, I set out to meet some locals. Restaurants are great places to catch slices of life and hear local accents and expressions. Since it was Sunday, all restaurants in Shade Gap were closed so I went up the road to Orbisonia and its conjoined twin of a town, Richmond Furnace. Orbisonia’s dining choices consist of the Pizza Star restaurant, that’s it. 

Inside, I witnessed a multi-generational, bilingual family drama. The shop owner, a balding man in his 50s, moved back and forth between the kitchen where his son and daughter worked, and the dining room where his parents sat. The family outnumbered the three paying guests. When the owner sat with his parents, he held his head in his hands and spoke Italian in hushed tones. His father dosed across the table only to be periodically awakened when the mother barked some command to the kitchen in Italian. One of the children would respond quickly to each summons with her glasses, drink or whatever “Nonna” wanted. 

At one point, the daughter complained about some issue in the kitchen. The owner raised his head from his hands jumped up and yelled, “What are ya bellyachin’ about?” Bingo. “Bellyachin’”, I hadn’t heard that term in ages. Rest assured, someone will be ‘bellyachin’ in this novel.