The Secrets Raspberries Keep – A Story Rooted in Soil, Silence, and Survival

Some stories don’t come easily. They grow slow and tangled—like raspberry vines in the holler—thorny, wild, and aching for sunlight. The Secrets Raspberries Keep is that kind of story. And after years of carrying it in my bones, I’m finally getting ready to share it with the world.

Set in the heart of Appalachia, this is a Southern Gothic novel that follows Jenny Thompson, a girl shaped by red clay, old wounds, and the echoes of a mystery buried deep in the woods behind her family’s farm. It’s a coming-of-age tale—but not the polished kind. This is a story about trauma, faith, silence, sisterhood, and the long road toward healing. It’s about what we carry and what we leave behind. About the weight of memory and the resilience of women, especially Appalachian women, who’ve always known how to survive with grit, grace, and a garden hoe in hand.

This book was born from more than imagination. It grew from family stories, late-night journal entries, and the soft grief that lives between generations. It’s woven through with pieces of my own heart, my own land, and the lessons I learned shelling beans on Mamaw’s porch or hanging clothes out to dry under the weight of summer sky.

And it’s not just a novel—it’s an offering.

I hope readers will find themselves in Jenny’s story, whether you’ve known the hush of a church pew, the ache of losing someone before you understood how to say goodbye, or the strange power of coming home to yourself.

I’ll be sharing updates as we get closer to publication—including sneak peeks, behind-the-scenes journal entries, and some of the poems and sketches that helped bring this story to life. So stay tuned, and if this book sounds like something your heart’s been waiting for, I’d love for you to follow along.

You can also follow me on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/amber.gilpin.94/) for more about the book, Appalachian culture, and the art and stories that keep memory alive.

Because down here, we don’t forget the past—we learn how to live with it. And sometimes, we even find beauty in the briars.

—Amber Gilpin Artist. Homesteader. Storyteller.

Milkglass & Memory “Where story meets brushstroke, art bears witness, mountain ghosts still whisper, and the soul of Appalachia speaks.”