A Spark in a Smoky Mountain Cabin
In a dim-lit cabin nestled between the Smokies, Lynne, Steve, and I huddled around a sputtering propane stove as a voice drifted from a battered turntable.
Steve shook festival feathers from his jacket, still grinning at the chaos of Knoxville’s garage shows. Lynne tapped her pen against a notebook full of freelance pitches. I traced the vinyl’s grooves, heart racing with an electric question: why chase legends when we could become one?
We scrawled a manifesto on a cocktail napkin—news built on grit, melody, and Dolly’s defiance. In the smoky hush, The Dolly Daily was born, a paper fueled by passion and a touch of Southern rebellion.