Door prizes and silent auction items are still needed for the SCWW conference in October. Donations may include cash, checks, or anything that might be useful to a writer.

We will be collecting donations at the next few meetings. Any contributions are tax deductible and very much appreciated.

If you have prizes or suggestions, contact Susan, Sarah, or Bob.

The SCWW Conference will be held October 20–22 in Myrtle Beach. We will be returning to Ocean Creek Resort for a conference that promises to be great!

For information and on-line registration, click: www.scwriters.com/2006%20Conf.html#fees

The SCWW Board of Directors held their third meeting of the year on Saturday, July 22. Notes from the meeting should be available for next month's Printed Matters.

Phil Arnold announced at the last meeting that his blog site, Elvisblog, has had more than 50,000 hits since its inception in the first half of 2005.

Sarah Cureton 's Breathe takes us back to a time and place ... "where even fire and brimstone cannot burn for lack of air." Unfortunately, this great line happens to be in a paragraph that will probably be edited from the novel. Not to worry, though. There are lots of great lines in this compelling piece about the trials of a racially–mixed couple.

Panama 's notion is that breathing is paramount to this particular excerpt. First, Kel, the African–American female protagonist, is so intense one wonders if she does breathe. What I mean is — this chick has attitude: "I told him to go f– – – himself." Second, her sexuality has blurred the line Mark crossed, and Kel's need to do a little "heavy breathing" has her backpedaling on her anger. The mystery surrounding a clandestine tryst adds an element of suspense to the spice.

In the critique, the group praised Sarah's enviable use of language — "It was one of a hundred little habits that made 'us' a 'we' — a single thread in the cloth binding us together." And, we liked her attention to detail that changed a simple note to an intimate study in communication. Suggestions involved clarifying the language in one paragraph having to do with nightmares, nicely depicted as "mind–riots," and dividing some passages into new paragraphs for added impact.

No doubt — Sarah has a way of creating thought–pictures that will keep the reader turning pages — as long as they remember to breathe.

Phil Arnold read two of his latest blog postings. He covered the visit of the Japanese Prime Minister, J. Koizumi to Graceland. The Prime Minister had released a CD of his favorite Elvis songs. Phil listed the 25 favorites. Where else could an Elvis fan find this kind of information? He was fascinated by the choices of the PM, none of Elvis' biggest hits. Many were the flip side of hits. Mr. Prime Minister did something not many others could do. He named three favorites that were totally unknown to Phil.

In his second blog Phil tells the story of his interview with Al Wertheimer, a man who made almost 4000 photographs of Elvis in one week. He missed the really big one, a shot of himself and Elvis on a Harley. He also missed one of a woman who rescued them when they ran out of gas. She and her daughter got them a can of gas. She got a kiss from Elvis as a reward. But Al had no film left!

I would never go to the trouble to find all the data Phil puts on his website. I bet his other readers are glad Phil finds all the good stuff.

One suggestion was to drop the paragraph at the bottom of page two, explaining about why he used the title he did.

One listener wondered why Phil gives his readers the sources of his work. Why not keep those to himself and be a sort of "oracle" who enlightens the readers? I like this idea myself. Keep your searches to yourself and be the "Elvis Oracle."

I guess I'm getting used to characters with names I can't pronounce, because the more of The Saga of Snorri the Priest we hear, the more I like it. To be honest — and I bet most of you would have guessed this — I've never read an Icelandic saga. But I think two things are happening: the uninitiated, like me, are developing an appreciation for this literary form; and, Kevin Coyle is hitting his stride with this story.

The latest installment is full of humor and poetry, which are my favorite elements of the tale. The smitten Thorodd provided a few chuckles, and the scene where he is introduced to Thorljot flowed smoothly. Most of our discussion revolved around the later scenes, where Kevin divulges the fate of characters that we won't see again. Several of those present felt that this takes away from the story, and it would be better to leave the reader in the dark as to their fate, since the main characters will never know what happens to them. Personally, I think it all boils down to what the norm for the form is. If, in your average Icelandic saga, it is customary to let the reader in on this kind of thing, I guess Kevin really needs to be true to the genre. If not, I'd say drop it and get on with what happens to your main characters.

The other hot topic was whether or not Kevin should include a genealogy and a glossary for his readers. The consensus was yes to both. While Snorri is entertaining, there are parts of it that few of us would understand without benefit of the author in the room to answer questions.

Someone once told me they liked Tom Clancey's novels except for the parts where he gave detailed explanations how to build bombs and other technical stuff. They would probably feel the same way about Chapter 28 of Jim McFarlane's novel The Widow Dunn. Jim read the first five pages to the group, and the common response was that it was too technical. We love his characters Laura Ann and Angus and their extended family, we love the wonderful period dialogue Jim uses in his book, and we love the tension and action and romance of his earlier chapters. However, we just weren't too thrilled to hear the fine details of adapting a well to irrigate the dying cotton fields.

One simplification suggested by the table was to eliminate reference to the two–gallon water bucket and the three–gallon whisky keg Willie stood on. They cause confusion with the important salt barrel used to bring up the well water. This reader would also subtract the business about the well house roof being too low and having to rebuild it. Also, would Jim's readers really miss the part about using pine tar to keep the sluices from leaking?

Jim has probably already gone back and found other areas to tighten up or eliminate, so the story can move on. Unfortunately, my peek at Jim's query letter after the meeting revealed some heartbreaking times ahead for his characters. He will definitely get back to touching his readers' hearts and bringing on their tears.

Susan Boyer treated us to another delightful installment of Low Country Boil. Susan's writing makes for a good read, easy on the soul, the mind, the ear. In this one, Liz goes for a bite to eat accompanied by her phantom friend, Colleen.

My God, we love to critique Susan's work! First of all, her writing is so solid and enjoyable that it's easy to form an opinion about what she's written. Second, she takes criticism well, graciously receiving all comments, gently parrying the ones that miss her intentions, because after all, she's the author and knows what she's after. Finally, she has the maturity — emotionally and as a writer — to quickly grasp the gist of the comments and either concede to or lucidly defend her counter–point.

So, the group went right to work. Someone suggested that there be less description of the restaurant, or perhaps, to have the characters "doing something" and work the description into the action. Möbiustrip says "hogwash." The description works well where it is — it paints a nice backdrop for this scene. This is the second time the reader goes into this restaurant, but the first visit came earlier in the story where there were descriptions of other places/things, so another description may have been overwhelming at that point. I like the descriptions.

Colleen — an island phantom who tags around with Liz — was the source of much discussion. Colleen's ability to pull Liz's sleeping/conscious mind into other places and times adds a surprising dimension to the story. In this installment, Colleen demonstrated the ability to physically materialize — apparently, a new ability for this character. I initially thought that Colleen was a minor character, but she has these supernatural abilities that are gradually revealed to the reader, which moves her closer to center–stage. A sci–fi/fantasy word of advice: when you bring a paranormal character into play, be sure to consistently abide by the rules of your universe. It's fiction, so you can do anything, but once you set the rules for your universe, don't arbitrarily break them. If Colleen can travel to the past, she can always travel to the past — or there should be some explainable hindrance (ghosts can't travel backward in time if the moon is more than half–full, or some such.) Another group concern was whether or not Colleen's prominence in the story might shift this story out of the Southern Women's Fiction (Country–Chick Lit?) and into speculative fiction.

Colleen's omniscience allows the author to jump into and out of various POVs, to be in places and know things that the character, Liz, would otherwise not know. An anonymous member of the group (whose initials are der Tubemeister) cautioned Susan against using Colleen's "omniscience" to the detriment of disciplined prose with a clean POV. I'm afraid I agree with der Tubemeister this time (dammit to hell.) The concern, I think, was that too much perspective–shifting, not enough boundaries, might muddy an otherwise clean view of the story.

Colleen spices up the scene with her acerbic observations. This was my first exposure to the island haunt. I'm not sure how I feel about her yet. Her sarcasm certainly adds a new flavor to Low Country Boil, but it may be like adding red pepper to apple pie. Cynicism has it's place, but whether or not it's in the middle of this particular story remains to be seen. I'm looking forward to it.

Pat Stewart always writes interesting stories about her large, energetic brood. However, the reader is occasionally lost because Pat forgets that the reader isn't intimately familiar with the family members and the settings. One could say that the family knows. But if the family knows, why is Pat writing? She is writing for the younger members who have no sense of history, for the children of the children who spent a few years in France, for the grandchildren who hear confusing snippets from aunts and uncles.

Therefore, I advise Pat to write like a novelist, that is, to write for strangers who are venturing into this new world of Pat Stewart memories for the first time. Set the scene carefully, keep the cast of characters manageable, don't assume.

This advice may be a bit late, but in case Pat plans to have another family and to write their memoirs too, there are twenty-six letters in the alphabet. Let each child's name begin with a different letter.

Oops. I've just started another work about James, his son James W., and his grandson James W. Jr.

This is the Cosmic Burghermeister's twenty–sixth review. Some of you might have noticed that all the titles of my reviews are "inspired" by song titles. This month, with "Grabbing at Moonbeams," Bob Strother has done the reverse — written a short story "inspired" by a song, namely the Dixie Chicks' "Traveling Soldier." TouchÈ, Bob.

Having never heard the song, unlike so many others in our group, this reviewer considered the story free and clear of its source material. In this story, Bob's voice is consistently Bob — the same smooth, languid voice we've come to expect from him. It's a shame that Bob usually reads first because we could use him to "soothe the savage beast" after one of the group's more heated debates. But that's neither here nor there.

I have two criticisms of the story: one general and one specific. The general criticism concerns the outcome, which, if you've heard the song, you'd know. I've since heard the ending of the story, so now I know for sure, too. While the ending is certainly a tearjerker, my criticism has to do with how soon I saw it coming. In a ten–page story, the tragic ending was obvious to me by the middle of page three. That may be because of Bob's source material and may have nothing to do with his writing. But I point it out nonetheless. You certainly don't want to telegraph your ending so early in the story.

My second criticism is more specific. On page two, I winced at this line: "He felt his head must be bobbing like one of those little dolls some people had in the rear windows of their cars." Putting aside for the moment the fact that Bob is certainly skilled enough to come up with a better simile, I must repeat certain criticisms I made when another member of our group used this very same image in one of his stories. It may be that "bobbleheads" have been around for a long time, as old as the hulahoop and the bobby sock. But unlike the latter two, which this reader firmly associates with decades gone by, the recent resurgence of bobbleheads led me to believe — rightly or wrongly — that these annoying dashboard ornaments were of more recent vintage. The perceived anachronism yanked me right out of the story. This may be entirely my fault, a result of the "generation gap," but I don't think it is completely far–fetched to expect that other readers of my age group might be similarly flummoxed by the appearance of a bobblehead in a Vietnam–era story. Given that it's a poor simile anyway, my suggestion would be thus: "Off with his head!"

Bob Strother finished reading "Grabbing at Moonbeams," a short story about Private First Class Tommy Devlin and Janie, the teenage girl with whom he is corresponding. When he met Janie the first time, "he knew right then that he was going to fall in love with the girl with the [pink] bow in her hair." In October, he writes to her from Viet Nam and tells her that he loves her. He says, "It's easier to write than to say, but I will say it to you when I come home – over and over again. Just keep your eye on the moon and watch for me." Some time later, Tommy is killed in action, and Janie learns about it when they announce the list of local Viet Nam dead at her high school football game. The following Sunday, Tommy's mother calls Janie to say, "...he's coming home, dear, this afternoon. If you want to come [to the train station] with me ... I think he'd want you there." Janie "went to the closet and took out a pale blue dress with pink piping. It wasn't really appropriate for the season, but it would go nicely with the pink bow for her hair."

Susan Boyer read Chapter Twenty–Two of her novel, Low Country Boil. Liz goes to bed and falls asleep. She immediately finds herself with Colleen on top of an arbor in her sister Merry's front yard, apparently dreaming. They watch as Merry's ex–boyfriend Troy pleads with Merry's roommate Kristen to let him into the house: "I'm supposed to keep an eye on the prima donna, just like you are, and make sure she stays focused on getting her juvy house approved." He gets into the house, and Liz and Colleen watch from the couch as the two begin to get passionate. By this time, Liz has discovered that she can hear their thoughts and feel what they're feeling as long as she maintains physical contact with Colleen. At this point, Merry walks in on Troy and Kristen, and tells them both to get out. In the ensuing argument, Merry loses her footing, falls, and cracks her head sharply on the fireplace hearth. Listening to Troy's thoughts, Liz hears, "What if it all comes out? The Boss and his people are ruthless. If their multi–million dollar deal blows up in their faces because of this mess, I could wind up dead, even if it wasn't my fault." Even though he feels Merry's pulse, he tells Kristen that Merry is dead and sends Kristen to his house so he can finish the job. Just then, Merry stirs.

Kevin Coyle read another selection from The Saga of Snorri the Priest. Ragnar the Keel–Farer is the navigator for Snorri's fleet. After sailing west for three days, the winds force them south for many more days, and fog prevents Ragnar from judging their location. When the wind and fog finally relent, they resume their journey west. But three ravens released by Thorbjorn Vifilsson fail to leave the ships (they are too far from land,) and Ragnar finds that they have sailed as far south as Rome, ten days south of their desired latitude. They head north toward "dark clouds hovering in the sky... forming a black column like the trunk of a gnarled tree." The ravens are now flying towards it, so it might be land.

In Phil Arnold's blog, "Like A Prince From Another Planet," he tells his readers about a four–show block of concerts Elvis gave at Madison Square Garden on June 9, 10 and 11, 1972. These were the first concerts Elvis ever gave in New York City, and "every newscast in the city that night carried a segment on Elvis' press conference." "The same New York Times that cruelly dismissed Elvis in 1956, now said, ... 'He looked like a prince from another planet.' "

Aiming to enter another writing contest, Elyzabeth Eldering wrote a mystery/flash fiction piece. Everyday guy John wakes up in a pitch black room, groggy and tied to a bed. He only remembers walking home from work, getting grabbed, then total darkness. His captors, Bobby Joe and Susie, wake him up to give him water and food. They fill him in on their plan to use his eye (with or without the rest of him) to open the vault at the Daily Diamond. The story ends with John at work, demonstrating the vault scanner to a tour group as the thieves slip into the vault unnoticed. John locks the vault and waits with security to catch Bobby Joe and Susie.

Jim McFarlane's book The Widow Dunn continued with Laura Ann and her family trying to save their drought–stricken cotton by pulling water out of the well and sending it through sluices to the fields. Soon the well runs dry, and Angus and Hampton take turns climbing down the well to dig it deeper. Finally, after weeks of effort, they give up with only two acres of cotton left alive. The next day, it starts to rain. On the same night, Laura Ann gives birth to her second son (Angus' first,) whom they name George Walter McFarlane. The rain continues nonstop for the next eighteen days so that the sensitive roots of the cotton are sitting underwater.

Steve Heckman read two limericks, and a haiku for his answering machine:

Aimee Caruso presented an article intended for publication in a law journal. It describes a trip to Argentina taken by Dr. Marty Price "to educate workers in the Argentine criminal justice system about restorative justice." Restorative justice "views crime as a violation of human relationships ... requiring opportunities [for offenders] to redeem themselves in their own eyes and in the eyes of the community." "Price will return to Argentina early next year, this time to train criminal justice system workers in mediation techniques."

The next meetings of the Greenville Chapter of SCWW are as follows:

• Thursday, August 3 - First Thursday Meeting, 6:00 p.m. at The Open Book
• Tuesday, August 15 - Third Tuesday Meeting, 6:00 p.m. at The Open Book

All genres welcome at both meetings. Suggested limit for reading selections is five double–spaced, typed pages, although longer selections may be possible if time permits.

The Open Book, 110 S Pleasantburg Drive, Greenville, SC

This is the fourth, and probably last chapter of "Critiquing 101. " If you missed any of the first three chapters, "Basic Critiquing Etiquette, " "Point of View, " or "Beats, " you can catch them in previous editions of Printed Matters. This month's topic is "Show, Don't Tell. " I wish I could say that "telling" was a rookie mistake, but we are all guilty. The only difference is, when a critiquer says to a rookie that he's telling, he gets a blank look. A veteran, told the same thing, says "D'oh!" Not that Homer would know what we're talking about.

Consider this statement: After a hard day working as a garbage man, Charlie smelled really disgusting. Now here's how John Sanford says it: Charlie wiped the sweat out of his eyebrows, wrestled the garbage cans out to the truck, lifting, throwing, then dragging and sometimes kicking the cans back to the customers' doors. He could smell himself in the sunshine: he smelled like sweat and spoiled cheese and rotten pork, like sour milk and curdled fat, like life gone bad.

That's a pretty extreme example, but it shows the difference between telling and showing. Don't tell us Charlie was working hard, show us what that means, what he actually did, what his attitude was. Don't tell us he smelled bad, show us what he smelled like, and let us decide whether that's disgusting or not.

But showing isn't just a matter of adding more detail. Here's another example of telling:

It was the rainiest summer since '86. Eight inches fell in June, then Tropical Storm Agnes dumped five inches the first week of July. The river was six feet over flood stage from that, and again the end of . . .

There's certainly lots of detail here, but it's dry and impersonal. It doesn't help the reader experience the rain.

Now listen to Alice Munroe. This was the summer of rain and more rain. They heard it first thing in the morning, loud on the roof of the mobile home. The trails were deep in mud, the long grass soaking, leaves overhead sending down random showers even in those moments when there was no actual downpour from the sky. Carla wore a wide-brimmed old Australian felt hat every time she went outside, and tucked her long thick braid down her shirt. These are details that show what the summer of rain felt like, what it sounded like, how it affected people.

Another way to think about telling is that it generally imposes a value judgment on the reader. It was hot. He was ugly. She drove too fast. Don't tell your readers what to think. Show them the panting dog, the browned-out lawn, the clinging shirt. They'll figure out that it's hot.

That's it. That is everything I know about writing and critiquing. Since I have nothing left to say, I'll close with some quotes on writing:

There is a difference between a book of two hundred pages from the beginning and a book of two hundred pages which is the result of an original eight hundred pages. The six hundred are there. Only you don't see them. -- Elie Wiesel

Writers are always at the edge of the Inferno and the fire is licking our toes. Luckily, it turns us on! -- Erica Jong

I've also grown weary of reading about clouds in a book. Doesn't this piss you off? You're reading a nice story, and suddenly the writer has to stop and describe the clouds. Who cares? I'll bet you anything I can write a decent novel, with a good, entertaining story, and never once mention the clouds. Really! Every book you read, if there's an outdoor scene, an open window, or even a door slightly ajar, the writer has to say, "As Bo and Velma walked along the shore, the clouds hung ponderously on the horizon like steel-gray, loosely formed gorilla turds." I'm not interested. Skip the clouds and get to the fu**ing. The only story I know of where clouds were important was Noah's Ark. --George Carlin

And my favorite:

"Read over your compositions, and wherever you meet with a passage which you think is particularly fine, strike it out." -- Samuel Johnson

Printed Matters is the newsletter of the Greenville Chapter of South Carolina Writers Workshop.

Thanks to our contributing writers and news reporters:
Bob Strother, Pat Stewart, Susan Boyer, Phil Arnold, Sarah Cureton, Jim McFarlane, John Migacz, Kevin Coyle, and Steve Heckman

Copyright 2006 by Marcia Migacz, Editor. Contributing writers retain all rights to their work.

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