Lake Lanier is many things to me. It is a source of nostalgia. It is a fixed point for all the mystique I can fathom: Sunlight catching the top of dark waters, dappling all deceptive and bright. It harbors the kinds of secrets you know to be true and others that might keep you awake at night.
I was recently asked to speak about Lake Lanier on a podcast. I said yes. It was an easy sell because Lake Lanier is in many ways inextricably linked to my own childhood.
On the street where I grew up, Lake Lanier was a 1/2 mile hike through the woods (toting fishing pole and tackle box of course) and a kind of wonderland: I could stand on the shore, toss line and bait beneath, and bring forth all manners of hidden monsters and gems from its depths. It was magical.
I think Lake Lanier got into my brain at a very young age, and there it remains, and likely always will.
I wrote my second book, Imminent Domain, loosely based on what I’d gathered about Lake Lanier after a failed attempt to capture the facts of its construction in a historical book I set out to finish a decade ago.
Lake Lanier remains many things to me. Those still waters run deep, and some believe they harbor all manner of biological horrors and fodder for campfire lore. The dividing line between fact and fiction – between the surface and what lies beneath – will never fail to fascinate this Georgia boy.