Sharing Prose

The nascent Writer’s Group at Albert Carlton-Cashiers Community Library is a safe

This is the first summer that Michael Redman has facilitated a writer’s group at the Albert CarltonCashiers Community Library, but local writers have been meeting in various ways and at various times for many years.

Redman, a writer for many years, has been an adjunct professor at Western Carolina University, teaching freshman and sophomore composition. With a WCU master’s degree in English, and a concentration in literature, Redman is interested in discussing all types of writing with attendees from all walks of life.

“Absolutely anyone is welcome — the more diverse our group is genre- and style-wise, the better,” he said.

The writing group meetings are every Thursday at 1:00 P.M. in the conference room of the Cashiers Library.

Redman provided The Laurel with an excerpt from his short story, “Downriver”: … “You’ve been here long enough to know the place, right? It’s out past those old bungalows on the east side of town. It looks more like a swamp than a cove, actually, with the murky water and the Spanish moss everywhere. For a long time, it was a kind of unofficial community picnicking spot — the children could go swimming while their fathers manned charcoal grills and their mothers sat around in the shade and gossiped. A few years ago, the state put up some signs to discourage the kids from swimming there since no one really knew what might be in the water. There could be leeches or water moccasins, but no one ever saw them, so everyone pretty much ignored the warnings. … No one knew why they named the boy Ambrose, but he sure got picked on about it at school. He was a strange child, though, and not many parents would let their kids play with him. When he came down to the cove, he’d go swimming alone while parents made their own kids keep their distance. People tended to avoid him in general. You know the type of kid: the sullen boy who traps houseflies on a screen door and plucks their wings off or only smiles when he’s cut a worm in two and can watch the half-worms wriggling around in the dirt.”

by Deena Bouknight