Big Bertha was my favorite character.

Got locked out of the house yesterday – something I used to do a lot as a dopey teenager, not so much these days. The front door tends to snib itself if I’m not careful; that’s my excuse & I’m sticking to it. I tried to break the door down but that just made a racket and gave me a headache. I stopped when I heard police sirens approaching, figuring that the neighbors had dobbed me in for noise pollution.

As it turned out the cops weren’t coming for me, but rather than calling for a cab I decided to walk to the hospital where my wife works (about 4 miles – a cinch). On the way I’d check out a couple of art shows that were opening as part of the Piccolo Spoleto Festival here in Charleston.

I used to walk everywhere, coming up with stories on the way, saving on gas or bus fares on the way to work. These days, I don’t like to give my brain too much time to reflect – I have too many regrets. But as I walked towards the downtown area of Charleston, I started to think that this was a good decision – a brisk journey by shanks’ pony was much more fun than sitting at my computer with my mind full of fug. I noticed the things I usually ignore – marshland, the sun-spangled Ashley river, cyclists and tourists (I especially try to ignore the tourists). Holed up at home, it’s easy to forget where I am and what my surroundings are, despite their beauty.

As it turned out the walk wasn’t a luxury I could truly afford. I spent more on a notebook, pens and drinks than I would have on cab fare. I ran out of time at the end of the day, meaning that I had complete a review of a musical called One Mo’ Time this morning instead. I don’t feel an ounce thinner and my knees are complaining. But I’m sure it won’t be the last time I try to get closer to nature by losing my keys and taking a hike.

Get lost in "The Unending Mystery".

THE UNENDING MYSTERY: A Journey through Labyrinths and Mazes. By David Willis McCullough. Pantheon Books. 231 pages. $24.

Reviewed by guest blogger Ros Smith

Eons ago, labyrinths were etched by human tools on Scottish mountainsides, Aboriginal caves and Arizona rocks. Throughout the millennia, its shape has been found in the mosaic floors of ashen Pompeii, Victorian palace gardens and 21st century American hospitals. Despite this ubiquity, the original meaning of the maze is one of humankind’s oldest mysteries.

Is it an erotic dance, a game, a symbol of the Underworld or the City of God? Does it represent the human brain, the birth of a child or Mother Earth? McCulloch does not solve these puzzles. Instead he guides the reader on a fabulous journey of discovery, through the ancient cities of Troy and Jericho, to the legends of the Minotaur, Ariadne’s ‘clew’ and Joshua’s wall-tumbling horns.

Divided into eleven chapters representing the eleven concentric circles of a labyrinth, McCulloch examines the countless manifestations of the design and its synonym, the maze. His easy narrative allows the reader to meander through the etymology, symbolism and metaphor in poetry, drama, and art of the labyrinth. The huge range of meaning within artistic, theological and philosophical disciplines is explored but McCulloch is at his best when paralleling ancient myths of the Egyptians, Greeks and Romans with 21st century labyrinth followers.

Carl Jung cites the labyrinth to be as old as thought or even older. This primal act of creation is the basis for the communication of ideas throughout the history of mankind. For those interested in life, death, art, mythology and language this book will entertain as much as provoke thought and inspire the imagination.

I have to admit, I prefer Charleston pizza to the kind you find in Rome.

One of my first experiences of a really heavy rainstorm was on my last visit to Italy, a few years back. One minute bright sunshine; the next, raining cats and dogs. Now, having survived two hurricane seasons in South Carolina, I'm used to the odd downpour. But come October, wet weather won't be the main thing I associate Italy with.

"Scritturapura is a small Italian publisher with quirky books and several English language writers in translation," says Nele Andersen, my favorite agent and rights developer for my publisher, Luath Press. They approached us and made an offer for Milk Treading, and we granted them the Italian language rights."

Scritturapura also have the first refusal on The Kitty Killer Cult (as they bought the predecessor). I hope they like the first one enough to get the second novel out to their bewildered readership. As people the world round know, Italian cats are the coolest.

Worse than having a monkey on your back.

I'm not sure if these chaps know where they're supposed to be headed.

Apart from a couple of art gallery visits, today has been a quiet affair - what I'd call a recovery day. I'm using it to recover from 3 days of filming the Siege of Charleston. No, the city wasn't threatened with invasion by hordes of Spoleto-seeking tourists; it was visited by Revolutionary War re-enactors instead, commemorating the 225th Anniversary of the defeat of American troops and the fall of Charleston to the British.

Filming consisted of rushing from one location (Drayton Hall, where the British were camped) to another (Magnolia Plantation, where the Patriots stayed), trying not to miss any action in between. With other camera crews vying for the same spots I'd picked, this was impossible.

Harder still (yes, some things are even harder than impossible) was the taping of skirmishes in the woodland between Drayton and the plantation. As I ran to catch some handheld shots of a skirmish I envisaged a tiny headline in the back of the local paper: "33-year-old Filmmaker's Fatal Heart Failure."

But I survived, as I live and breathe, only to find that I'd brought some unwelcome guests back home with me. In the woods I'd picked up some ticks and they'd latched themselves onto places where you'd never want a parasite to be. No, worse than you're imagining. Now you've got it.

Alligators and snakes also live at Magnolia, but I'll take critters you can see and avoid anyday over the ones you can't... until they've started feeding.

Something terrible has just left my house, something more debilitating and exhausting than a twister, as disruptive as a flood or a plague of bed bugs, but much, much nicer. My parents have just left town after their first ever visit to Charleston, South Carolina.

It was quite a trip for them from Lincoln, England, so they stayed for 2 weeks to make the journey (and the travel expense) worthwhile. They didn’t cause any trouble or make me sleep on the floor for a fortnight; they were low maintenance as far as visiting relatives go. So why am I in the thrall of such fatigue now they’ve gone?

They didn’t need to be entertained every day – they were happy on the sofa dazzled by the wonders of TCM. I didn’t need to dance jigs or sing sea shanties to stave off boredom for them. In fact, I think I’m weary because I tried to keep up with them.

During their whirlwind visit, they went to Fort Sumter and helped a tour guide celebrate her birthday; they explored Drayton Hall and discussed wainscoting with the manager; they took a carriage ride and laughed at the driver’s hokey stories; they ate too much at Hyman’s, the Mills House Hotel and Ryans, coming back for more. They located liquor stores and haunted houses, took a breezy boat trip in Magnolia and tracked down some of the best bargains the local mall had to offer.

I only accompanied them on half these excursions, and I was pooped. Other times I was a willing chauffeur, driving them around and pretending that I knew all about my home town. In fact, it dawned on me how little I know about Charleston – when buildings were constructed, the significance of local landmarks, the price of a well-thatched sweetgrass basket. When my folks were here I was smaller, less important – inferior to my elders and betters.

Now the folks have gone I can start puffing myself back up to my regular, self-inflated status. It’ll take time for the bruises on my ego to heal, but while they do, I’ll reflect on my city with the wondering eyes of a stranger – an exhausted tourist in my own town.

The original Fiji Mermaid?

In 1843, a mermaid visited Charleston to charm local curiosity seekers with her unique skeletal form. She was brought by PT Barnum on a route across the country, creating a furor amongst the Lowcountry nature lovers.

They complained that such a she-creature was a shocking sight, an abomination, and she looked like some sloppy showman had grafted the skeletons of a monkey and a fish together to create her.

The resulting letters to the editors of the Charleston Mercury and Post & Courier only served to make the Fiji Mermaid a more popular draw. Now, thanks to Mark Sloan, the mermaid’s back to confuse creationists (which, let’s face it, ain’t too hard) and amaze visitors to the College of Charleston’s Halsey Gallery.

It may be harder to shock people these days, but Halsey director Sloan’s having a damned good try. “Alive Inside: The Lure and Lore of the Sideshow” is a collaboration with Redux Contemporary Art Center, RTW and Magar Hatworks. These venues are hosting work from thirteen contemporary artists who use the historic sideshow as muse or point of departure.

This multi-media gathering of artists boasts banner paintings, clay marionettes of the sideshow characters, clothing and headgear worn by imaginary sideshow performers, cryptozoological creations, woodblock prints, pitch books, posters and much more. Opening receptions will take place at all four locations on Friday the 13th of May from 7 - 9 p.m.

The Sideshow looms large in the popular imagination even though the genre has morphed into a very different version of itself today. Old timers will say the sideshow reached its peak in the 1950s, and then began a precipitous decline. Sideshows traveled with carnivals and circuses generally, and were therefore temporary exhibitions in any given location.

The term sideshow refers to a display of people with either physical abnormalities (sometimes referred to as “freaks”) or special talents (such as sword swallowing or fire-eating). Sideshows often contained strange and curious objects as well, such as a stuffed two-headed goat or a pickled specimen of some sort. All three of these types of displays are represented in “Alive Inside” and it’s well worth checking out. Go see it if you can, and be amazed.

Fave site of the week has to be Sarah Weinman's litblog. She took a sniff at MILK TREADING and remarked, 'it's certainly odd but I really liked it.' I get that a lot - especially the odd part. I try not to take it personally.

Anyway, both my novels were recently mentioned in Sarah's weekly picks section:

Julius Kyle was once a bestselling writer fending off throngs of fans. Now he's lost his muse and toils as a journalist and wonders where his life's headed. Then his best friend jumps out the window and Kyle gets embroiled in political intrigue, class warfare and searching for his next bowl of milk -- milk? Well yeah, Kyle's a cat. As are many of the characters in this surreal novel, unless they are the dogs they fight with.

It's weird as hell but Smith smartly plays everything straight so why wouldn't we accept anthromorphic cats engaging in a hardboiled tale like this?

Look out now for Smith's next novel, THE KITTY KILLER CULT, which is Kyle's "comeback" novel...

Film Festival Deadline Extended

There are a couple of weeks to go for short film submissions to the 2005 Folly Felder Film Fest, an informal event I'm coordinating as part of this year's Charleston Piccolo Spoleto Festival. It's open to any genre, any format and any experience level, and with the screenings only a month away I guess it's about time I started letting people know about it.

The 2005 festival will run on June 3rd & 4th, 7.00 p.m. at Folly Beach. All original short films suitable for a family audience will be considered for screening. Films running 5 minutes (approx) or less will be eligible for the Palmetto Awards. The Golden Palmetto winner will also receive $500.

There's a $10 handling fee for each entry (checks made payable to Actors’ Theatre of South Carolina) and unfortunately, submissions cannot be returned. We accept entries on DVD and VHS (NTSC) and we prefer an AVI format.

The deadline: May 16th 2005

Send your entries to: PO BOX 930 FOLLY BEACH, SC 29439

The festival will be held at FOLLY BEACH COMMUNITY CENTER, CENTER STREET, FOLLY BEACH. For further information, drop me a line!