UPDATED LIST OF 2015 COUNTY REPS FOR THE NCWN-WEST REGION

NCWN–WEST 2015 COUNTY REPS

Cherokee County

Mary Ricketson maryricketson311@hotmail.com

Lucy Cole Gratton lgratton@hughes.net



Clay County 

Glenda Beall glendabeall@msn.com

Janice Moore janicem@yhc.edu



Henderson County 

Patricia Vestal patricia.vestal@gmail.com

Nancy Jane Zelman jazele@live.com



Jackson County 

Kathryn Stripling Byer ksbyer@aol.com

Newton Smith smithnewton@gmail.com



Georgia

Rosemary Royston rosemary28rr@gmail.com

Karen Paul Holmes kpaulholmes@gmail.com

NCWN Executive Director Ed Southern to receive award

The North Carolina Writers' Network Executive Director, Ed Southern has been awarded the prestigious Ethel N. Fortner Writer and Community Award, 

"St. Andrews University will present the 2015 Ethel N. Fortner Writer and Community Award to North Carolina Writers’ Network Executive Director Ed Southern on March 5."

Ed has headed NCWN since 2008 and the organization has grown and served more writers over the years.
Read more about Ed and the award at this link:   http://www.ncwriters.org/whitecross/

On a personal note, I was program coordinator for NCWN West, (Netwest) when Ed came on board. I had heard good things about him and was excited to know we were going to be in good hands. Right away, I asked Ed to come to our far western area and meet all the writers and poets scattered in these mountains. And for the first time since the early 90s, the  Executive Director of NCWN came out here and talked with us. Even more important, he listened to us. Our promised funding sanctioned by the  NC Arts Council had been terminated, but Ed promised he would see that it was resumed. He did as he promised.

I know all of our members and readers join me in congratulating Ed Southern on receiving the Fortner Award.

Three Poems from Peg Bresnahan, poet from Transylvania County, NC

Peg Bresnahan’s second poetry collection, In a Country None of Us Called Home, was published by Press 53. Peg is a member of the North Carolina Writers’ Network. She received her MFA in Poetry from Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpeliar. Her work has been published in numerous literary journals and anthologies.  She lives in Cedar Mountain, NC with husband, sculptor, Dan Bresnahan.  Kathy Smith Bowers, former Poet Laureate of North Carolina said of Peg’s latest book, "This is one of the most beautifully crafted and moving collections I have read in a long time."

At the Jordan Street Cafe'

I didn't know who she was and I don't
know who asked her but suddenly
this woman standing at the restaurant door

about ready to leave in raincoat and boots
was singing Puccini's "Vissi D'arte" from Tosca.
Someone turned off the CD player

and we all listened as Tosca's torment
for her dead lover took flight. Questions
to the God she felt had left her, soared 

over tables and bar stools, cruised down a hall
to the kitchen where even the chef paused.
It didn't matter we couldn't speak Italian,

each heart knew its own breaking,
every face translated its grief.
The aria froze us like a tableau—forks 

in midair, a waiter with full tray held high,
the bartender in front of the mirrored wall
of bottles and glass about to pour a draft.

Everyone heard her music.
Some from cages. Some winged.
Some tethered to a fire, to ropes of ash.

At the Sunny Ridge Retirement Center

During Harriet's memorial service,
Frances leaned, put her head
on my shoulder and died—quietly 

as if she didn't want to interrupt 
Harriet's program. 
The minister didn't see us,

no one knew except me. At the piano,
Mary played the introduction 
to Going Home. Everyone thumbed

their hymnals for page two hundred forty-three.
I didn't know what to do, since Frances
still looked like Frances, only not quite

and she was ninety-five. I put my arm
around her so she wouldn't fall
and waited for someone to notice.

Through the French doors 
finches squabbled at the bird feeder.
The squirrel we call Rocky

contemplated his next move.
A laundry truck rolled by. 
I looked down at Frances' navy blue crocs,

the ones she claimed felt so much
like bedroom slippers
she could wear them anywhere.

Slipstream

Yesterday you asked if our life would change
because of your heart attack.
I grabbed the sheet of air between us
and gave it a good shake
to make a commotion
jump-starting the no that roared from my throat,
poured off the walls of our house.

Today I can't seem to finish anything,
my trail littered with little piles of intentions.
I could blame it on what I dreamed last night—
you know how in a dream
you need to talk to someone
and that person's always out of reach,
just leaving? If you do go before me

I will give away your empty shoes,
walk the dogs until we're all exhausted,
buy half a bag of groceries.
But for now I lie beside you, listen
to you breathe each breath, hitchhike
a ride with them into our future.

You can order Peg's book from Press 53.
http://www.press53.com/bioPegBresnahan.html