CONFERENCE

WRITING CONFERENCE SATURDAY, MAY 6
REGISTRATION FORM

WWW.NCWRITERS.BLOGSPOT.COM



Showing posts with label Appalachian Women Writers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Appalachian Women Writers. Show all posts

Thursday, May 12, 2011

COFFEE WITH THE POETS: NANCY DILLINGHAM & CELIA MILES


THIS MONTH'S SYLVA COFFEE WITH THE POETS (10:30 A.M. , MAY 19, AT CITY LIGHTS BOOKSTORE) WILL WELCOME POET NANCY DILLINGHAM AND FICTION WRITER CELIA MILES. SHE AND CELIA ARE THE EDITORS OF THE ANTHOLOGIES CHRISTMAS PRESENCE, CLOTHESLINES AND A FORTHCOMING ANTHOLOGY FOCUSED ON WOMEN FINDING THEIR "PLACE." NANCY AND CELIA WILL DISCUSS THEIR ADVENTURES AS EDITORS, AND NANCY WILL READ FROM HER NEW BOOK OF POETRY. THIS PROMISES TO BE A FASCINATING PROGRAM, SO PLEASE JOIN US FOR COFFEE AND TREATS, BOTH EDIBLE AND LITERARY.



Celia's novels are A Thyme for Love, ThymeTable Mill, Mattie’s Girl: An Appalachian Childhood, Sarranda, and (in 2010) Journey to Stenness. Two short story collections are On a Slant: A Collection of Stories and Islands One and All: Stories and Otherwise. Nancy's books of poetry include include Home, recently nominated for a SIBA book Award in Poetry. Here's an interesting post from Kaye w. Barley's blog. http://www.meanderingsandmuses.com/2010/09/movin-on-by-nancy-dillingham.html.



Wednesday, April 28, 2010

POET OF THE DAY: LEE SMITH

(Lee signs her new book for me.) Lee Smith probably wrote poetry back in her student--or childhood--days, and she may secretly write it now, but I think she also writes poetry in her novels and shorts stories, and I have shamelessly used those to rev up my own poems when I felt my poet's engine running down.
Lee came to Asheville on Sunday to read from her new book of stories, Mrs. Darcy and the Blue-Eyed Stranger: New and Selected Stories. There was standing room only at Malaprop's Bookstore. Afterward I had time to visit with Lee and the woman who has brought her work to life on the stage, Barbara Bates Smith. Barbara's wonderful husband and my brother joined us for a glass of wine at a downtown restaurant.
Go to Barbara's website to learn more about her one-woman shows. (Mugging it up with Lee at Malaprop's)
Here is the last paragraph from "The Southern Cross." Chanel, the narrator, (not her real name, of course!) has jumped off the yacht on which she's been cruising with Larry, the man she calls her fiance but who has never had any intention of leaving his wife, as she learns near story's end. She lands in the dinghy and heads for the tropical island nearby and a new life. "Going Native," she yells back to the astonished men on deck.
A part of me can't believe I'm acting this crazy, while another part of me is saying, "Go, Girl." A little breeze comes up and ruffles my hair. I practice deep breathing from aerobics and look all around. The water is smooth as glass. The whole damn sky is full of stars. It is just beautiful. All the stars are reflected in the water. Right overhead I see Orion and then I see his belt, as clear as can be. I'm headed for the island, sliding through the stars.

Monday, April 26, 2010

POET OF THE DAY: JULIA NUNNALLY DUNCAN

Julia Nunnally Duncan has been a friend for many years. Her work came to my attention when I was on the reading committee for the Appalachian Consortium Press and found her story collection Blue Ridge Shadows in my hands. I liked it so much that I contacted her after the selection process. We've been in touch ever since. Julia was born and raised in WNC. Her credits include five books: two short story collections (The Stone Carver; Blue Ridge Shadows); two novels: (When Day Is Done; Drops of the Night) and a poetry collection (An Endless Tapestry).

She has completed a second poetry collection At Dusk and continues to write and publish poems, stories, and personal essays. Her works often explore the lives of the unemployed, the socially outcast, the lonely. She lives in Marion, NC, with her husband Steve, a woodcarver, and their eleven-year-old daughter Annie. She studied creative writing at Warren Wilson College's MFA Program for Writers and teaches English at McDowell Technical Community College in Marion, NC.

English Leather Lime

The rectangular box was stored

in my parents’ dresser drawer,

kept perhaps to hold loose change

or sales receipts,

too small to be very useful

but well enough made

of light soft wood

to make my mother think

it too important to throw away.

I pulled it from the drawer

while looking for some high school memento

from my cheerleading days,

and opening the box and holding it

to my nose,

I thought I caught the smell:

a citrus scent evoked

by the illustration of a lime

on the green label:

English Leather Lime.

The cologne the box once housed

had belonged to my brother

forty years ago.

I recognized that scent

in 1969

when the handsome

seventeen-year-old boy—

star of a rival basketball team—

passed through my parents’ front door

on a November evening.

It was my first date,

and I was afraid

to sit alone in the living room with him,

so my mother stayed close by

in the kitchen

while he courted me.

On our second date, though,

I savored our closeness

as we sat in his car

at our town’s drive-in theater

and awaited the film Thunder Road.

The speakers crackled B.J. Thomas’s

Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head,

and when rain suddenly began to fall outside,

we looked at each other and smiled.

When the movie started,

he scooted closer and

coyly rested his dark head

on my shoulder,

his lime cologne mingling with the remnants of my

Love’s Fresh Lemon Cleanser.

He might have kissed me in a moment,

but when he reached to turn the ignition key

for heat and windshield wipers,

the engine would not start.

After that, he rushed around,

some tool in hand,

tinkering for a minute under the hood

and then trying the ignition again.

His efforts were useless, though,

and as if to admit defeat

he finally called his father

and then mine—

a courageous move indeed

since he was supposed to have taken me

to our warm downtown theater

to see Kurt Russell starring in

The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes.

When my father did drive up

in our red Mustang

to rescue me,

I never heard goodbye

from the boy

who huddled beside his father,

their heads bowed under the car hood,

both of them soaked and shivering

in the December rain.

Lady in the Truck

Lady in the Chevrolet truck,

parked beside me at Wal-Mart,

I can tell by the way

your blonde head leans against your window pane

and your side presses into the passenger door

that you cannot get far enough away

from the driver.

I know by the angle of his head,

the way his dark tangle of hair

shakes when he shouts at you,

that his anger couldn’t wait

until he took you home.

What are you thinking

when you peer out of the grimy window?

Do you take to heart

this man’s hard words?

Do you hurt when his fingers squeeze your arm

to make you listen?

I can see by the way he looks straight ahead now,

tight lipped,

leaning to start the ignition,

that though his rage is not over,

he has spoken his mind.

I see by the way your head is lowered,

your hand covering your face,

that you do not want him

to spy your pain.

You are a young woman still,

and though I can’t discern your face,

I know it is a face

that another person could love.

Your mouth could smile at a lover’s whisper;

your eyes close at a caress.

Yet more so I know that

tonight when this man

pushes his body

close to yours

in your sweltering bed,

his voice calm,

cajoling you back,

you will look at him

and hope that his words

won’t be so cruel again,

that his love might be

worth your faith.

Monday, April 20, 2009

THE CLOTHES WE WEAR: A Call for Submissions



We are soliciting
Material from women writers in western North Carolina
For a second book project


Celia Miles and Nancy Dillingham want your stories, memoirs, essays/reflections, poems for an anthology about the garments we wear—metaphorically, symbolically, literally---from hair bow to bra to Birkenstocks, from christening gown to prom dress, from waitress uniform to nine-to-five stiletto heels.

We expect an October 2009 publication date, in time to market the book alongside the 2008 Christmas Presence.



General Guidelines


Submit no more than 2000 words
Previously published material is fine–as long as you provide acknowledgments
You retain all rights to your material
Send in an email attachment (or contact us)–in Ms Word or RFT
Formatting for submissions:



Double space with one-inch margins
Left justify only
Center or left justify title



Use 12-point font (Times New Roman preferred) for body and title

Editing is a “given,” but we will try to ask about changes
DEADLINE: MAY 2, 2009
In return for your effort and creativity, you will receive

A complimentary copy of the book
An opportunity to buy additional copies at reduced cost
A publication party and potential readings/signings

Contact Information:
Celia Miles (277-6910)> celiamiles@fastmail.fm
Nancy Dillingham (254-3143)> nandilly@earthlink.net

We are excited about compiling an interesting and entertaining collection of theme-related work from women writers in this region. We know you’re out there! So, we invite you to look into your clothes closet (past or present), and if you have a story to tell, a memory to share, a point of view to espouse, send it along. We promise to treat it with care.