Pretty Southern

  • Joseph Conrad Loved an Atlanta lady

    The other day, my mother-in-law presented me with a news clipping from 1991. Keep in mind y’all, this was back when The AJC was still The Atlanta Journal in the morning and The Atlanta Constitution in the afternoon. “This seemed like something Pretty Southern,” my Momma J told me when she presented me with the yellowed page.

    And indeed it was. The headline from this article read “Conrad’s lover from Atlanta”. This story turned out to be a book review on “Joseph Conrad: A Biography” by Jeffrey Meyers. The book critic who penned the story was S. Keith Graham, for whom Google did not turn up any search results. Well, my mother-in-law found him worthy of historical preservation. I am glad she did.

    The British author who penned “Heart of Darkness” was actually in love with a Southern woman. Jane Anderson, an Atlanta native, was the fabulously gregarious daughter of Ellen Luckie (a.k.a. the family for whom Luckie Street is named). While this was supposed to be a book review about Conrad’s biography, the the critic did a fantastic job of digging deeper into the story.

    From Goodman’s review: “When Conrad, 58, met her during World War I, she was a beautiful war correspondent for British papers, just 28 years old (and probably the mistress of Lord Northcliffe, the British newspaper magnate). Her Georgian accent and fun-loving manner thoroughly charmed not only Conrad (whom she called ‘the greatest writer in the world’) but also his gluttonous (and devoted) lump of a wife Jessie and their two sons.”

    The journalist goes on to cite the biographer (Meyers) who informs the reader, “Jane was Conrad’s last (and perhaps first) chance to sleep with a beautiful well-born woman…He knew this and seized the opportunity.” Meyers cites in his work that the Georgia-girl-journalist later went on to marry a Spanish count (which she served prison time for her loyalty to the fascists during the Spanish Civil War). In the 1940s, she was indicted “along with poet Ezra Pound” on a charge of “treason for broadcasting Nazi propagande (in her case from Germany) against America and its allies. And, though she was arrested following World War II, she subsequently disappeared, perhaps under the protection of Spain’s Franco.”

    A letter which Anderson herself wrote to Conrad appears in the biography. “[Joseph Conrad’s] voice is very clear and fine in tone, but there is an accent which I never heard before…And his verbs are never right…His head is extraordinarily fine in the modeling, although the forehead is not high. There are certain planes about the eyes, however. It is the pose of the head, which is a little shrunken into his shoulders, which gives the impression of strength. His mouth…is full but sensitive. But is is his eyes which are the eyes of genius. They are dark…And in them is a curious hypnotic quality. ‘I would show you,” he said, “ze spire of ze cathedral as you would see it from ze hills – but my car is broken, and we do not go. Zis will be for anuzzer time.”

    There’s a lost art to penning reviews. Back in my glory days at UGA, I was privileged to take Valerie Boyd’s critical writing class. Professor Boyd, the former arts editor from The AJC, taught us that all good journalistic principles apply to critiquing another artist’s work. A writer must be fair and balanced in telling the public the true story. This review by S. Keith Graham is a pretty fine example of an excellent critique and one I will transfer from my mother-in-law’s files to my very own.

    To purchase the biography, click here to Amazon.

  • Naming A Pretty Southern Heroine

    “Do you know what your name means, Vivienne Grace? And why your Christian name is after my mother, Vivienne?”

    “Not exactly,” I admitted.
    “Did they not teach you Latin at that fancy Magnolia Academy?”
    “I took Spanish instead.”
    “A lot of good that will do you.” stated Grand Mere. “Well mon petite. When your mama told me she wanted to name you Grace, I said that’s a fine name but would love for you to be christened Vivienne. It’s translation comes from the Latin ‘vivus’ meaning ‘alive.’ Your name was given to you recognizing our French heritage, where adjectives always come before nouns. Literally – you are the living personification of grace. And as such, everything about you is good.

    For all your lovely innocence, the divine goodness which beams out of your pretty blue eyes, you’ve lived a false life. I knew from the start your daddy wouldn’t be good enough for your mama, and he’s proving it now.”

    My eyes started to swell again, and Grand Mere realized she may have gone too far. The old woman sighed, and placed her manicured hand over mine.

    “All I’m trying to say is you are too good for this, Vivienne Grace. In both Greek and Roman mythology, long before Jesus walked the earth, the Graces represented natural beauty, creativity, charm and the best life had to offer. You are all that and more. Get out of this world. It’s drowning in cheap whiskey and pretension.”

    “Never forget the fact, you are a pretty Southern girl. Life can disappoint you sometimes. Circumstances you never anticipated will arise. I have always seen in my mind a picture of the fabulous lady you were meant to become. Dearest, think lightly on your troubles. Letting them pile up on your heart will break it faster than any dumb boy ever could.

    “Remember the beautiful dreams you dreamed. Think upon your God-given talents. They are blessings from Heaven meant to help you succeed on Earth. Use your charms to live the life you want. Women, especially good-looking and intelligent ones, have so many talents they can rely on to see them through hard times. Add to that a decent amount of gumption, which you have in spades, and my dear that’s a force to be reckoned with.

    “Grace, you are remarkable. There is so much ahead for you. Take this time to truly get to know yourself. You are so young. One day, when you’re old like me, you’ll look back and truly understand how you ever made it through this dark time.”

    Grand Mere pulled me into a warm embrace. She held me, tighter than I could ever remember her doing before that weekend. I could smell her Chanel No. 5 perfume mingled with Vaseline lotion and White Rain hairspray. In her arms, I felt safe. Knowing I would be going back to New Orleans with her gave me such a comfort. I would be getting away from Atlanta, leaving Wesley and my family’s troubles behind me.

    I looked up to my grandmother. Her pale green eyes sparkled like Mama and Macy’s but her nose and lips pursed into a smile which were like my very own. Although my face was burning with the flush from crying, I tried to muster a smirk.

    “At least I’m going through the worst time in my life when I’m only 17. It’s hard to imagine I could ever be more sad.”

    She shook me out of the hug, holding me at arm’s length. Her face changed from one of compassion to a reprimand a priest might give a confessing sinner.

    “Vivienne Grace, it’s a very bad thing to think the worst has already happened. This gives one a false sense of security that nothing more terrible could ever occur. Let me tell you, mon petite. Things can always get worse. It’s better to be afraid of something. A lack of fear can sink one into further doom. Not living cognizant of future terrors will demand even more sacrifice when bad things happen. Always fear something, just as you always hold some things in this world the most dear.”

    Editor’s Note: this is an excerpt working novel. Click here to read Chapter 1. All material belongs to the author and may not be republished or copied without written consent. Should you want to publish this story, well hell’s bells by all means please let me know! Any thoughts, feedback, likes, dislikes, please comment below and check back for more from this Pretty Southern novel.

  • Baltz Fine Writing Instruments

    Their slogan says it all – “Make a statement without writing a word.” Southerners know the simple art of writing with a quality pen, and founders Bart Creasman and Cass Baltz have a true understanding of what it means to produce premium, hand-made writing instruments and accessories. The pair of gents met while playing soccer together during their days at Davidson College. After graduation, they found themselves in North Carolina looking for more meaningful work. Both young men always had a knack for woodworking, and after going through several rounds of prototypes, they created their first line for Baltz Fine Writing Instruments.

    Bart & Cass relaxing over pints

    Their pens are crafted at their shop in Raleigh using exotic woods combined into a unique design – featuring Birdseye Maple, Padauk, and African Blackwood.

    “We named these styles after our friends who helped us get off the ground,” said Bart Creasman, who went onto explain how the first line of prototypes were created in Cass Baltz’s father’s cabinet shop. After reading an article on how wood pens were a special gift to send overseas to U.S. troops, the pair looked around but couldn’t find any unique pens made in the South. “We thought, we could do something like this,” Creasman explained. That’s when the idea for a business truly started to form.

    The Sartorio pen, complimented by a nice glass of whiskey.

    In August 2011, the partners received a grant from the Kickstarter(hyperlink) campaign plus took out a loan to launch their first line of Baltz pens. Their next steps are to continue promoting their new offering, plus adding a few more products. “We’d like to do money clips,” Creasman said, “or handmade sunglasses with wood sides. There’s lots of options for mixing wood and leather to bring a modern style to classic products.” The newest Baltz line, Exemplar +, features exotic woods combined into a unique design – including Birdseye Maple, Padauk, and African Blackwood. The custom designed hardware finished in polished stainless steel with the curved clip distinct to the brand of Baltz Fine Writing Instruments. Their pens come with both blue and black ink inserts from the Schmidt rollerball ink writing system. And of course, all the pens are handmade by these gents here in the South.

    The Mincey pen (journal sold separately).

    For more information about Baltz Fine Writing Instruments, check out their website, like them on Facebook and follow them on Twitter. While y’all are at it, follow Pretty Southern too. Check back soon for our 2012 Southern Holiday Gift Guide for the ladies and gents in your family.

  • Words Southern Women Say

    If y’all loved our post Words Only Southerners Say then you’ll love Sh%t Southern Women Say. As it’s Pretty Southern’s mission to ask the question “What does it mean to be a Southerner in the 21st century?” we were tickled to discover this video by Julia Fowler. This /Writer/Producer/Dancer/Choreographer/Pilates Instructor/Actor/Chi Omega from the University of South Carolina cast three of her pals from Mississippi, South Carolina and Louisiana for their first collaborative You Tube Video.

    Of course, like real Southern ladies, these gals can “funnel a beer” and drink Jack Daniels like gentlemen do. There’s also some curse words in here, but they sound so much sweeter with a Southern accent. Now this is why we love the South! Some of our favorite quotes from this video are “my mama is drivin’ me crazy” and “my daddy is gonna kill you” plus enough “durn”, “damn,” “sweetie pie,” and “bless your heart” to keep you smilin’ all week. Let us know your favorite quote in the comment section below.

    Editor’s Note: the above image of Bryce Dallas Howard as Hilly Holbrook is a stock photo we accessed during our interview with “The Help” and not to be reproduced.

  • Where We Belong

    Pretty Southern was privileged to attend a cocktail party for Emily Giffin at the W Hotel in Buckhead honoring this beautiful lady’s latest novel Where We Belong. The party took place in Atlanta’s most posh neighborhood hotel, where pretty Southern ladies toasted champagne and vodka cocktails while noshing on cupcakes. Together they watched the sun go down while Giffin attended a Google Play hangout in her suite inside the hotel. Later on she graced party-goers with her presence to sign autographs and pose for photos. Where We Belong is the sixth book from the critically acclaimed offer yet it deviates from her popular Something Borrowed Series.

    Emily Giffin poses with Southern Color’s Elizabeth Hoskins and Pretty Southern’s Lauren Patrick

    “Marian Caldwell is a thirty-six year old television producer, living her dream in New York City. With a fulfilling career and satisfying relationship, she has convinced everyone, including herself, that her life is just as she wants it to be. But one night, Marian answers a knock on the door . . . only to find Kirby Rose, an eighteen-year-old girl with a key to a past that Marian thought she had sealed off forever. From the moment Kirby appears on her doorstep, Marian’s perfectly constructed world—and her very identity—will be shaken to its core, resurrecting ghosts and memories of a passionate young love affair that threaten everything that has come to define her.

    For the precocious and determined Kirby, the encounter will spur a process of discovery that ushers her across the threshold of adulthood, forcing her to re-evaluate her family and future in a wise and bittersweet light. As the two women embark on a journey to find the one thing missing in their lives, each will come to recognize that where we belong is often where we least expect to find ourselves—a place that we may have willed ourselves to forget, but that the heart remembers forever.”

    To purchase “Where We Belong” click here or download it now from Google Play. For more information, check out Emily Giffin’s website, like her on Facebook, follow her on Twitter. While y’all are at it, check out our pals at Southern Color and Follow Southern Color on Twitter, plus like Pretty Southern and Follow us on Twitter too.

  • Swampwise – A UGA graduate moves to Gainesville, Florida

    Swampwise – A UGA graduate moves to Gainesville, Florida

    Editor’s note – this was an essay which was originally published in Athens Magazine  (Vol. 20, No. 4 September-October 2008) with “G-O-D-A-W-G-S-! printed on the binding of the issue. In this edition, an almost-23-year old me writing from the perspective of “A recent grad learns about life beyond Athens.”

    “Swampwise” is the first long-form nonfiction narrative I was ever paid to write, and it was all thanks to my pal, Margaret Blanchard. I first met her when I was 16, attending the Georgia Journalism Academy. Each summer, for one week, the Grady College of Journalism & Mass Communication is home to high school students aspiring to major in the field once they get to the University of Georgia. This week I spent in Athens changed my life forever, and a big part of it is because of Margaret.

    So we present to you Swampwise: A UGA grad learns about life beyond Athens

    Swampwise UGA Florida

    One year-and-some-odd months ago, President Michael Adams stood in Sanford Stadium and officially released me from the University of Georgia into the real world. This certainly has been an interesting ride.

    At a past performance in Athens, comedian Patton Oswalt said of our fair town: “This city is like Willy Wonka’s factory. You (Athens residents) are living in a weird bubble, dream city of goodness.”Oswalt’s words have definitely rung true. My first year out has been drastically different from the comfort of pseudo-adulthood I enjoyed for four years. This has been the hardest year of my young life – including three different jobs, two car wrecks, and one major break up with my college boyfriend.

    Growing up and moving on are just part of this game called life. But when life gets hardest, I find myself longing to be back in Athens. I believe that many folks in the Bulldog Nation may feel the same. Athens has a magnetic force that keeps an invisible power over its former residents: a wistfulness for times gone by, and the unifying factor that we can always daydream of better days at UGA, and hope to return to Athens soon.

    For me, the best days as a student started by getting off the Milledge Avenue Bus in the morning, grabbing a coffee at Walker’s Pub, then venturing across North Campus to class listening to my iPod. I fondly remember waking up on Game Day, putting a temporary Georgia “G” tattoo on my cheek, donning a red and black dress, hiding a bottle of So-Co in the bottom of the largest purse I own and venturing off to tailgate.

    While I was fortunate enough during my tenure at UGA to trot across the Western Hemisphere – including studying abroad at Oxford University – ultimately, for four glorious years, Athens was my home.
    Who would have thought, that I would leave it for Gainesville, Fla., the home of the mighty University of Florida, Gator Country, and The Swamp?

    When I arrived in Gainesville, I felt a bit like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. It wasn’t the Emerald City, but the land of Orange and Blue. Just like Dorothy, I made great friends along the road, encountered my own version of the Wicked Witch of the West, Glenda the Good Witch (my two closest Gator girlfriends), and even acquired a Toto. But Gainesville was never Athens or Atlanta: I just wanted to click my heels and go home.

    There’s a reason they call Gainesville “The Swamp.” The first six weeks of living there were like living in a rain forest. My hair, typically straight as a board, for the first time began to frizz. And the fauna of this town was enough to give anyone pause. Warning signs to “Beware of Alligators” as you walk your pooch in the dog park are common, as are armadillos strolling alongside joggers out for a morning run. Lizards lay in packs sunbathing (or mating) on the side of buildings.

    My favorite critters of all had to be the silverfish, these skinny little silver bugs that will nest in closets. Mother always said they liked paper, but it turns out they also have a penchant for Polo shirts. And in the year-round swampy heat, fleas and mosquitos never really die.

    Even though my heart still belonged to the Bulldog Nation, I discovered the land of Orange and Blue was actually a unique and fun city. Once the weather turned cooler (and football season ended) I began to feel a sense of belonging. I discovered a few good restaurants, made friends, and even joined a bowling league at work.

    But try as I might, returning to Gainesville after a trip home to Georgia never gave me the same surge of happiness I felt driving back to Athens or Atlanta. It was a sense of obligation, for work, and a sense of dread, knowing it would never feel as comforting and welcoming as the cities in Georgia I love so much.

    Last February (2008), my lease was ending on my apartment in Gainesville, and the homesickness because too much to bare. This was before the economic slump became so steep, and job opportunities were plentiful back in Atlanta, so I returned to my home state. I’m now back in familiar territory, but it’s not as if I crawled back into the womb.

    Being a 23-year-old since Atlantan has more treats, trials and tribulations than I ever expected. When I first moved back from Florida, I thought life would be perfect: I landed a new job within two weeks of arriving, found a great apartment in the city, and rediscovered old friends from both high school and college. Life, I thought, would never get any better than this.

    But within a week, the bottom fell out. I was suddenly broke (who knew fender benders would be so expensive?) and broken up with my college boyfriend. Although, hitting rock bottom only meant there was room to rebuild. I sought solace in my friends and family, and worked even harder at my new job.

    Living in Atlanta, especially near the ever-growing Buckhead, I find myself longing for the simpler days in a less congested city. I miss the times worrying about newspaper deadlines, finding a dress for sorority date night, and where to meet up Downtown (The Grill or Pita Pit?) for our sober driver. Now there are nights when I come home from work and plop on the couch with a glass of the latest Kroger bargain wine and wonder, “is this really what life after college is like?” [Editor’s note: for the record, when I submitted this draft to Margaret Blanchard, she wrote back “Yup, pretty much.”]

    Where do we go from here? Keep moving up in the professional world, get married, buy a house, have kids and eventually retire? Recently, at an event in downtown Atlanta with my new mentor, he predicted my future: Married with my first baby (a son) by the time I’m 30, living in an $850,000 house in Chastain Park, and being a stay-at-home mom…at least for that present time. This future sounded great (albeit we had a few cocktails) and I found myself enamored with the idea of marrying well and not having to work. Then again, many folks dream of being a “kept” spouse, but that’s definitely not why I attended the University of Georgia. This time (in 2007) I was prepared to take the world by storm. I was willing to move to London, for the right job.

    Somewhere along the way between posing in my cap and gown and job hunting, it became clear that I needed to have a few small adventures before committing to move overseas. The future shouldn’t be predestined for the 20-somethings of the world. This is my official declaration that I will refuse to settle for a job, significant other, or life in general simply because it seems safe or comfortable.

    The University and the town of Athens itself are both always growing and changing, and in a few years, my favorite restaurants, coffee houses, and shops will probably be renamed or nonexistent. Just the same, there are pieces in my life I always want to improve upon: I dream of going back to grad school, finding that special someone, and, yes, living overseas.

    Despite all the stress of being an adult, I want to savor every moment the same way I cherish the best times from Athens. If there’s one lesson being a college graduate – above everything I learned in the classroom – it’s to always keep dreaming. No matter how old we are, we should always be looking for the next big adventure. Just because we leave the “weird, bubble, dream city of goodness” for the “real world” doesn’t mean we have to stop dreaming or settle for mediocrity. Athens will always be in my head and in my heart, wherever the road leads me.

    — Lauren Morgan is a freelance writer living in Atlanta. She graduated from the University of Georgia in May 2007 where she served as Editor-in-Chief of The Red & Black. She has been featured in The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, The Gwinnett Daily Post, and a variety of publications. Lauren lives in Atlanta with her dog, Indiana Jones, and is searching for her next big adventure.