Entries about south carolina writers conferen

"Here in the south, we don't hide crazy. We dress it up and put it on the porch." That was a slogan on a dishcloth in a shop in The Hammock Shop Villages. That, in part, is why I love the south.

I've already written about my jealousy of southern writers, so I'll move on to my obsession with the food.Two other reasons I love the south, besides the lovely writing, are the food and the southern love of a good drink. First, the food. I believe that the only true American foods are hamburgers, fries, pizza, and southern cooking. Feel free to disagree. It's my opinion, but I'll warn you ahead of time: I'm not open to changing my mind. That said, all southern cooking has its roots in Africa, so we stole it, adapted it, and made it American. The best southern cooks and recipes come from what grows in the southern soil and lives in the waters along the eastern southern seaboard. Farm to table and sea to table are not new concepts here.

I had some awesome food in my recent visit to South Carolina's Pawleys Island. The charming and welcoming South Carolina Writers Association hosted its Dream Conference there in October and I ate and drank my way through the warm days. Clam chowder, oyster sliders, shrimp and grits from the amazing Rusty Table, balsamic glazed pork from Websters, and hush puppies from The Deck were perfectly cooked with fresh ingredients and just enough heat. I could go on, but I'm making myself hungry just thinking about the (delicious and fattening) southern foods. So much so, I've decided to do a southern-themed Christmas dinner. Cornbread, sweet potatoes, mac & cheese, creamed corn are on the menu, so far. I'm testing a shrimp & grits recipe. Let me know if you have a good one!

As for alcohol...I've consumed my share of wine, but have never had the stamina for anything much stronger, so I wouldn't make a good southerner. I have the utmost admiration for anyone who can handle their liquor. It seems that bourbon is a way of life in the south. A luncheon partner at the writers conference bemoaned the fact that the bar was closed and he had forgotten his flask of bourbon. Then again, maybe it's not a southern thing. Maybe it's a writers thing. I have enough trouble writing sober and keeping my crazy to myself, so I'll probably just stick to wine.

Going almost anywhere excites me. Going back to places I know and love has a special feeling. But there's something about going somewhere entirely new that opens up possibilities and gives me a sense of giddiness. As anxious as travel can make me, I love the entire experience. I love being in an airport and wondering where everyone else is going and why they are traveling. I love remembering the last trip I took. This trip, I sat in the airport recalling last January's trip to the Cayman Islands for my daughter's wedding. Our airport trauma was lugging her beaded gown through the airport, through security, onto the plane where the flight attendant got angry at my son who had carried the dress like it was a Faberge egg the entire way, only to watch her try to fold and stuff the gown into a compartment. He. Was. Not. Happy. And she called security. Yikes. But it all ended well and, after that, the trip and the wedding were perfect.

So far, this trip is fairly uneventful. I did get pulled aside at security because I had a suspicious item in my carry-on. Turned out, it was my breakfast muffin. Every the TSA guy shook his head and laughed. Other than being seated behind someone who had a "companion kitten" on his lap (seriously? that's a thing?) this was a quick flight to Myrtle Beach where I picked up my cool rental Jeep that I got for points and headed to Pawleys Island to the South Carolina Writers Conference I'm attending at the Litchfield Beach Resort. Low country. It sounds like a place writers go to write, doesn't it? I've long envied southern writers and their ability to tell stories set in swampy, marshy places with names like Pawleys Island, Edisto, and Murrells Inlet. Let's not get me started on southerners and their ability with words. Pat Conroy, Carson McCuller, Eudora Welty, Lee Smith...There must be some magic, some kind of alchemy which occurs due to the combination of Spanish moss, soupy humidity, and an unabashed love of alcohol.

I am here hoping some of the luck of the southern writers will rub off on me as I try to find a publisher for my latest book, a family saga inspired by historic events. It's called GOODBYE, LOVER and it's about an introverted bartender who discovers three tiny skeletons in a trunk in her grandmother's attic which upends everything she thought she knew about her family.

Wish me luck!