Congratulations to our Greenville Chapter members whose works will be featured in the upcoming edition of SC Writers Workshop's anthology, Catfish Stew. Russ Burns won the highest honor among us with his third place essay "Nature's Revolt." Phil Arnold also placed among featured essay authors with "The Fabulous Mirror Vase." Featured authors in fiction included Kevin Coyle for "The Storm" and John Migacz for "Confessions of a Domestic God." Phil Arnold also placed among featured poets with "Nappy Rules the Chair."

Thanks to John Migacz for stepping into the driver's seat for last month's meeting when Phil had to be away. We welcomed a couple of new faces around our table, Art Dennis and Martha Thomson. Please come again and share some of your work.

The 14th Annual SCWW Writers Conference will be held October 15-17, 2004 at Ocean Creek Plantation Resort, Myrtle Beach, SC. Confirmed faculty include:
Keynote Speaker: Robert Olen Butler has published eleven books since 1981, nine novels and two volumes of short fiction, including 1993 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, "A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain."
Chuck Adams, VP and Senior Editor at Simon and Schuster Publishing.
Martin Barnard, Senior Acquisitions Editor/Human Kinetics
Faye Bender, Literary Agent, Anderson Grinberg Literary Management
Sonny Brewer, Author/Editor/Bookseller
Elizabeth Dewberry, Author
Hallie Ephron, Mystery Writer of the Peter Zak series for St. Martin's
Colin Fox, Editor, Warner Books
Holly McClure, Agent and Principle with Sullivan Maxx Literary Agency
Duncan Murrell, Editor
Alan Nevins, Film and Literary Agent with Firm Books
Susan Page, Self-Help Author and Writing Coach (http://www.susanpage.com)
Kelley Ragland, Editor, St. Martin's Press
Sharon Spence Lieb, Author
Marjory Wentworth, Poetry/South Carolina Poet Laureate
Kathie Fong Yoneda, Talk Story Productions

For details, schedule, accommodations and registration fees, see the SCWW website: http://www.scwriters.com/2004%20Conf.htm

Take a few seconds now to plan to be at out our September 2nd meeting, 6:00 p.m. at The Open Book. Bring something that will have us calling for seconds! And don't forget our second chance to do the write thing on the third Tuesday, September 21, 6:00 p.m. at The Open Book.

In, arguably, the greatest and most advanced country on the face of the Earth, poverty still reigns supreme. In "The Great Wall," Pat Stewart artfully portrays a section of Greenville that is as far from the American dream as the Great Wall of China. The comparison of the 1,500 mile long wall and the 1,500 meter section of town serves as a compelling analogy and reminder of our shortcomings as a civilization.
In the critique, some were confused by the wall analogy. John suggested moving the Great Wall section further down in the story. Nancy was concerned about pronoun use in the third paragraph, "Steve took them...", and in the fourth paragraph asked whether it should be called "the inner city." She did like the opening with the Great Wall analogy.
Overall, most suggested adding more narrative to assuage the confusion over the analogy section. Whether 1,500 miles or 1,500 meters, Pat deftly showed that walls exist. Some are made of stone while others are mental, but they both have the same effect.

Kami Kinard read "The Day the Pets Took Over," a delightful poem about the family pets gone berserk. They ruled the house with the turtles locking the bathroom door, causing a big problem for her. It ends with a great line, "I've made a bathroom key."
She had intended it to be part of a collection, but Kami may use it as a picture book. A few verses needed revising. Don't have the parrot with a cigar in his bill. Try toothpick instead. Or even a new line altogether. Maybe, "The parrot wrote checks and paid the bills." Verse five's last line needs a better phrase for "but can't have dairy." It is a great poem, with lots of potential for a picture book. As one other member said, "When it's out, I'll buy one for my grandchild."

A tense courtroom examination was the scene of Kevin Coyle's latest reading of his novel, A Cool Dry Place. This reviewer, although not a sci fi reader, always appreciates Kevin's crisp writing and attention to detail. There was a lot of constructive criticism, one of which had to do with colloquialisms, such as "Hoser," being of Saskatchewan opposed to Quebec origin. This was a great help to Kevin. It was also suggested that he rework the scene to include more court room details to build tension. A minor discussion about the narrative voice resulted in a clearer view by changing one phrase. One thing that does hurt Kevin's presentation is that he reads too fast and sometimes I have a tough time fully appreciating his writing.

Fatz is glad that Mike Gibb seems to be turning into a regular. It's good to have talented people infusing the group with new blood. Speaking of blood - Mike read the prologue from his untitled book about a Celtic grove god who needs a new body. We've got human sacrifices, bubbling cauldrons, screams, faeries, gushing blood, spooky beings and the scariest of all - mistletoe. Mike has collected all the ingredients for a Koontz/King creepy, edge-of-your-seat thriller.
The group felt that the prologue, done in narrative and filled with good imagery, would be stronger if the scene was from the point of view of the victim. Internal dialogue might heighten the fear and draw in the reader. Mike needs to stay away from explaining Celtic ideology in the middle of the section - it detracts from the terror approaching the victim. Anachronisms must be avoided to steady the scene - don't use a description of an "automobile-sized mound" in a pre-Caesar Britain - and Mike's confusing "low exhalations" needed to be explained better.
Mike has made a good start on the promise of a terrifying roller coaster ride that has Fatz wanting to hear more.

At our August meeting John Helfrich shared another of his reality based poems with us. In this one he sprinkles rain symbolism throughout as he navigates the reader through a much anticipated date. Most readers will be able to relate to the speaker's nervous expectancy as he drives through the rain to meet his date, pleasure as he enjoys the time spent with her, and uncertainty about the future after their kiss goodnight.
John punctuates each stanza with a refrain. Some liked his use of this literary device, others found it too repetitious. Other suggestions for change included omitting the stanza in which the two cars passed, and making the rain play an even more active role in mirroring the speaker's emotions.
Like many of John's other poems, this one is from the heart. John is able to articulate feelings evoked around a particular occasion. Hopefully we will get to hear about a second or third pleasant date in John's future poetry.

I walked the mud stained asphalt path beside the Reedy. Planks and plywood littered the banks and dangled from low hanging tree branches, debris of our most recent flood. The bent and broken handrail of the catwalk over the river lay in a heap awaiting removal to the scrap yard. I walked on, beneath the Church Street bridge, into Falls Park, where the hand of man had wrought much more change than the wrath of Mother Nature.

A new trail meandered near the shoals below the lower falls, beside the ruins of the old mill. While they hadn't improved on nature, it was now more accessible, particularly for the handicapped. A new overlook offered an expansive view of Reedy Falls, no longer imprisoned by the columns of the Camperdown Street bridge. For all that had so obviously changed, the roar of the falls, as always, drowned out the din of its urban setting.

"Some things never change."

"No, they don't," I said, turning to the sound of the voice. No face met mine. I heard a giggle.

"Down here," she said.

I dropped my eyes. An Irish Setter at my feet sat and raised a paw in greeting.

"It's me!"

"Thaleia!?"

"Glad to see you still know me." When not speaking, her tongue lolled as she panted in the August heat.

"Well, you're still a redhead. Who else could it be." I took a sip from my water bottle. "Kinda' warm to be wearing fur, isn't it?"

"It's murder," she said. "How about a drink."

"Sure, but no doggie lips on my bottle. Change back to your usual self."

"Can't," she said, her russet fringed tail drooped. "Give me a drink, then I'll explain."

I knelt, cupped my hand and poured a stream as she lapped. A pair of shiny black shoes planted themselves beside us.

"Got a leash for that dog?"

"Oh, she's not really... I mean," I looked up at the police officer. He already had his citation book out. "She's really well trained. Doesn't lift a paw without my permission."

"I'll need to see that." My face in his mirrored sun glasses didn't reflect confidence.

"Thaleia, sit." She complied, the officer crossed his arms. "Thaleia, lie down." She lay placidly at our feet, her forelegs crossed. "Thaleia, roll over." She cocked her head and looked at me quizzically. The officer repeatedly clicked his ballpoint pen. "Thaleia, ROLL OVER," I said firmly. She rolled her eyes and executed a reluctant rotation. I couldn't resist a bit of theater. Extending forefinger and thumb from my fist, I pointed at her and said, "BANG!" Taking my que, she rolled to her back with a martyred look.

Our audience pocketed his book and applauded. "You're good to go, but keep a leash on hand in the future."

The officer walked away. I could hardly suppress a chuckle until he was out of earshot.

"That was so embarrassing!" said Thaleia.

I had to laugh out loud. "Never thought I'd see the day you'd be taking orders from me."

"It's not funny!" she snarled "I may be a dog forever."

"Why? You were about to tell me." A pair walked by, hand in hand, gesturing at the falls and talking wedding plans. "Let's get away from the traffic."

Thaleia at my heel, we walked across the stone bridge, behind the set for Shakespeare in the Park's Othello, across the bridge to the secluded Arboretum. I took a seat on a low wall beside the stream. Thaleia sat before me and related her dog tale.

"Everyone in Olympas has been in high spirits with the return of the Games. Bacchus threw a huge party and Dad got a bit too much of his best brew. When it came time for the javelin event, Dad pitched one of his thunderbolts. Fortunately, it went wide and landed in Iraq, where no one noticed. When he lifted another, I tried to stay his hand. 'My child,' he cried, 'Thou are naught but a red haired bitch!' The Fates took him at his word and... What's so funny?"

"Sorry." I tried to restrain my laughter. "I couldn't help but imagine... If he had called you a wench... you might be riding the bumper of a Jeep right now."

"It's lucky for you I'm a female our your jeans would be wet to the knee by now." Her voice became plaintive. "This is serious! You've got to help me."

Stifling my levity, I said, "I'll do what I can to get you fixed."

She jumped back. "Never say 'get you fixed' to a dog!"

"Okay. What about your father? Surely he can set things right."

"Men!" she growled. "He, too, thought it funny. He told Bacchus he would breed me to Kerberos just to see how may heads the puppies would have."

"You really are in a..." She shot me a look of suspicion. "...jam. What am I supposed to do."

"That's just it, I have no idea." She lay at my feet, her head between her paws. "When I asked the Oracle at Delphi, she said, 'You are what you are until you become what you were.'"

"She should be writing fortunes for Chinese cookies." I reached down to stroke the silky head. "Hang in there, my little Muse."

She heaved a doggie sigh. "If only I were."

At her words, the light went on. "That's it! You were. You have to show yourself to be a Muse again."

She raised her head. "How am I to do that?"

"By helping me finish my play." In an eye blink she jumped up, put her forepaws on my chest and, tail wagging, licked my face. "Ack! Down, girl. Sit!"

She sat before me, her fringed tail sweeping the ground. "Let's get started."

"Okay," I said. "The story begins with three kids at the school on the hill and a mischievous Nymph who lives in these woods...."

Printed Matters is the newsletter of the Greenville Chapter, SCWW, which meets on the first Thursday of each month at 6:00 p.m. at The Open Book, 110 S Pleasantburg Drive, Greenville, SC.

Thanks to our contributing writers and news reporters: Michael Gibb, Pat Stewart, John Helfrich, John Migacz and Kami Kindar.

Copyright 2004 by Leland Beaudrot, Editor. Contributing writers retain all rights to their work.