How does anyone greet an iconic author--like Flannery O'Connor, James Alan McPherson, or John Berendt--at the back door of his or her mind? Is such a thing even possible? Maybe it is when the voice of such an author no longer restricts itself to a printed page. Instead, adopting the form of searches for answers to troubling questions, longings for more engaged connections, or the sudden manifestation of an unexpected dialogue, it takes up residence in a particular life. For more than one demographic of America's diverse populations, back doors were once synonymous with emblems of racial, economic, and political oppression in their most cutting conspicuous forms. They stood alongside crosses burning with flames of hatred as opposed to crosses gleaming with messages of love or redemption, with "Whites Only" and "Coloreds" signs attached to public restrooms and water fountains, seats at the backs of buses and trains or up in balconies of theaters, segregated beaches, pamphlets on eugenics, and "strange fruit" (as Billie Holiday sang of lynched bodies) hanging from southern trees. The back door as it is approached, entered, and exited in the pages of Greeting Flannery O'Connor at the Back Door of My Mind represents points in time, places in space, and regions of spirit where sensibilities of an uncanny nature either collide or converge. The results are the kind which continue to increase literature's indispensable value as it pertains to specific communities and the world at large, providing solace and shelter during the best of times and the worst.