In recent months, I’ve journeyed twice to Colquitt, GA to reconnect with the people and setting of my original Hardscrabble Road novel and the sequel, the unoriginally titled Return to Hardscrabble Road (working name: Scrabble Harder), which will be published on October 11.

These visits reinforced the kindness and decency I’ve always found in the folks who live there. My host for these trips was the son of a man who was friends with the real-life inspiration for Roger “Bud” MacLeod, which made my time there especially wonderful. With his help, I was reminded about the notable landscape of Southwest Georgia.

Some who reside in the northern part of the state believe that all of Georgia is hilly and tree-covered, with red clay underfoot. In fact, I remember speaking at a book club where the hostess apologized for one member’s absence; that individual had complained that she couldn’t bring herself to read past the first page of Hardscrabble Road, where I described the sandy dirt—she insisted that Georgia soil was slab-like and as red as Mars. That’s true in some parts of our fair state, but not once you get down to Colquitt. In fact, driving south on US Hwy. 27, you can actually see where the landscape transitions from red dirt to the sandy loam I described.

Southwest Georgia also has a very flat topography, with pines, oaks, and other trees at the horizons, huge expanses of grasses and that gritty soil, and the vast blue bowl of sky that could make you think you’re out west. At night, with no light pollution to mar the view, you’re treated to a million more stars than you can see while peering overhead anywhere in metro Atlanta.

In this location, back in the 1930s and ’40s, the actual people who inspired the Hardscrabble Road novels toiled and lived and laughed and loved and cried—and, in some cases, died. The Great Depression and World War II era were hard on folks everywhere, but these were among the poorest people, often growing up without prospects unless they could escape into the military or marry up the economic ladder. In Return to Hardscrabble Road, Roger MacLeod, having done the former in the first book, is now afraid of getting thrust back into that punishing life. Standing in those fields much like the ones he plowed and feeling the unrelenting sun as a blazing weight on my scalp and shoulders, I could readily conjure those fears.

But it was also easy to relay the steely determination and rugged humor of the people who call Colquitt home. One of the ways in which Return to Hardscrabble Road is easier to read and was more joyful to write than the first book is that it’s somewhat funnier. I worked hard to capture the wry spirit of the people I know who once lived there or do today. Admittedly, some of this is gallows humor, because there are any number of harrowing situations in which Roger and his family find themselves in the sequel, but I think you’ll laugh out loud more than you did while reading the first book.

Those trips to Colquitt brought back everything that’s special about the place and the people who call it home. I look forward to many more visits to that unique corner of Georgia and to spend time with the good folks who welcome me as if I were returning home myself.