T-zero Xpandizine
 The Writer's E-Zine

 

 Produced and published by the members of Writers' Village University since 1998    ISSN 1521-2639       
01 December 2008
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In Memoriam

Slawe

Charlotte and I got to know each other mostly through the chats on Wednesdays and Sunday evenings. I was her WVU site guide, too. She never actually asked me questions as her site guide, although she would send in messages about something or another to the Help Desk.

As a Fiction 99 student in the November/December session, Charlotte entered the Mentors Award contest. Now I look back at the story she submitted and find there is something about it that touches my heart in ways I never would have imagined three months earlier. I believe in my soul that Charlotte has reached the truest Writopia of all.    Judy Hunt

My Writopia

Charlotte Crane

Ah! One more line and ... there, all done. The last period is in place.

I've been working on this piece now for two months and finally, it's finished. I can't believe this started as a short story for lesson 6. It just would not end. But now, there it is, The End.

Hey, what was that? About half way up the screen, the font seemed to move. There it is again. Heck, I sure hope I haven't caught a virus. I better save this before something happens and I lose this last part. I'll download the whole thing to a disk too, so that it can't be lost in case of a hard drive failure. Suddenly, I feel that this little so-called short story is very important to me.

Hey, what's happening? Those quotes are a lot bigger than they should be. Hey! What, I don't, OH! Two sets of quotation marks grow to a humongous size and bulge right out of the screen. Just like two pairs of hands, they grab me by the collar and jerk me toward the monitor. I close my eyes and steel myself for the conk on the head I expect, but feel nothing.

Upon opening my eyes I find that things have changed somewhat. I am sitting on a small knoll of soft green grass. The fragrance is a wonderful mixture of fresh cut grass and wildflowers. There's a field of wildflowers running off in two directions to the horizon, but when I try to touch the flowers my hand meets resistance. The fields are really just pictures painted on two walls.

In another direction, there is a glass wall through which I can see a distorted view of my bedroom office. There is my chair and sitting there, just inches away, is my half-empty coffee cup. I try to reach out to the cup but again I cannot. So far, I find myself enclosed, quite closely, on three sides. I'm a little claustrophobic, and if not for the painted fields and the see-through wall giving the impression of space, I might be climbing these walls right this minute.

Instead I turn to the final wall, which is painted black. I reach out to touch it and my hand totally disappears. It looks as though the black is trying to crawl up my arm. Scared, I jerk my hand back. Ah, just like new.

What's that? I hear whistling. To my left I see the quotation marks skipping toward me, through the painted fields, whistling an old favorite of mine, Rockin' Robin.© Quite the talented quotes they are, I think. If they can whistle and abduct people, maybe they can speak.

As they approach me I ask, "Where the heck am I and why did y'all bring me here?"

One brave little quote jumps right up in my face and says, without lips I might add, "Lie back and put your feet toward the black wall. We'll take care of everything and all questions will be answered."

"Yeah, right. Why should I trust y'all?"

"What else are you going to do?" the little quote says, while the other just giggles and twitters.

"Well you have a point there, but what ... "

"No," it declares, "no more questions. Lie back and let the adventure begin."

I squiggle around so that I am able to lie down in the small enclosure. My legs extend into the awful blackness. I don't like it and am just before protesting when I feel a nudge on the top of my head and ...

Whoosh. AAAAAAGGgggghhhhhhh h h h! Plop. What a ride! It was like a cool water slide without the wet part. It was much too fast for me to be too scared. I land on my feet, surprise, surprise, right outside a sidewalk cafˇ. There are several tables and quite a few people gathered around talking and laughing. A woman extracts herself from one group and approaches me.

Extending her hand in welcome, she says, "Hi, my name is Judy and I'll be your guide."

Taking the hand offered, I tell her my name and start in with my questions. "Where am I?"

"This," she says with a sweeping motion of her hand, "is Writopia."

With her direction, I notice my surroundings for the first time. Fields of wildflowers run off in two directions to the horizon. A slight breeze is blowing the grasses and flowers, so I assume they are not painted. There are buildings scattered between lovely parks and gardens. I notice one building is a very large Library. The words on one says Barnes & Noble®, one B. Dalton Bookseller®, and another says Waldenbooks®. On and on goes the promise of books galore. Or should I say, as one building proclaims, Books A Million®. I notice a small cloud drift by with the words Amazon.com® emblazoned on it.

Wow, is this heaven or what? My heart beats faster just being this close to so many books.

Judy leads me to a table away from the other groups and offers me a seat. I notice that there are notepads and pencils on every surface. I reach out and touch the paper and get goosebumps as always. Judy sees me and I blush, embarrassed, but she nods her head in understanding.

"Would you like coffee or a latte?"

"Yes, coffee would be great, thank you. Black, please."

After placing the order Judy turns to me, pats me on the hand and says, "Don't be embarrassed by feelings. This is a place designed for a writer's heart. Writopia is here to bring writers together for the enrichment, encouragement, and nurturing of their talents. Writopia was established a long time ago by a genius named Bob Hembree."

Leaning closer and in a conspiratory whisper, she says, "Don't ever call him that to his face though, because he would deny it."

The coffee arrives and after a sip Judy continues, "He wanted a place where writers could gather to learn and share the joys of their craft. A place where they could be comfortable and get needed feedback without the fear of being rejected or ridiculed."

I lean in toward Judy, so as not to be heard by others and misunderstood. "How do you make sure that bad guys are not allowed in to wreak havoc on the writing community and possibly dash the future of a budding New York Times® Bestseller writer by giving harsh and harmful critiques?"

"We have a little test we run a few of times a year called FictionXX. You remember it don't you?"

A nod from me and she explains, "Well at the end of those six weeks, only the most dedicated writers are left hanging on. To complete the class and participate even with all the other lifely duties hacking away at our time and imagination is quite a feat. And to do it and enjoy it is fantastic. Most ne'er-do-wells don't hold out. And some are found out early and asked to leave."

With another sweep of her hand, she exclaims, "So we invite from that test all who show an interest in continuing their learning in an atmosphere geared just for writers."

"Am I being ... "

"Yes," she answers the question on my lips, "this is your invitation. And no, everyone is not invited in just this manner. All invitations are different according to what suits the individual. We thought you might like this one. Don't worry, you won't have to enter Writopia just this way again." She hands me a slip of paper. "Here, take this password, it is your key to the city. With it you may come and go as you wish, and as your creative drive commands you. Do you accept?"

"This is heaven."


T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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A is for Archive's

Margaret I. Carr

An ePublishing Asset

T-zero's Archives from June 1998 are now accessible with a simple mouse-click on the Archives link at the top left of the Main page. Kudos to Alison Hawke for a job well done in making it so much easier to find what you are looking for in the old issues! Alison's expertise in html is outstanding! She has also written an html class for WVU (starts April 19th) and, having had an advance peek at the lessons, I think it will take a lot of the mystery (and apprehension!) out of the subject.

One of my favorite 'paper' magazines periodically sells back issues at a reduced price. They give "running out of warehouse space to store them" as the reason. They do not mention the Inventory tax or the changes in the method of valuing inventory that have shortened the 'life' of so many books.

How fortunate we are with electronic storage. We can keep our old issues available indefinitely at a relatively low cost. One accessible copy plus a backup is all we need. Neither rodents nor insects can damage them and age will not yellow the pages.

The reader who discovers a new favorite can easily access back copies and need not build new shelves to store them. One of my shelves, that in the past afforded endless hours of entertainment for my cats as they removed paperback books, has now been sub-divided into an unappealing (for cats) storage area for floppy boxes and a CD area. By the time it is full I should have more e-books in that three-foot space than I have paper books in all the boxes in my garage. Even better, if I want to recommend a book to a friend next year it will still be available without having to search used bookstores!

Distribution is another advantage. When I found a list of the major book distributors and saw that the average 'discount' was about 65% I began to wonder how any 'paper' publishers manage to stay in business.

ePublishing is a topic of interest to many writers and you can expect to see articles about it and reviews of e-books here. Let me know if there are particular aspects you want to know more about and we will try to find the answers for you.


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Catherine's Kitchen The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Catherine's Kitchen

Catherine Manning

Faraway

Faraway.FORTY ONE YEARS AGO (I was just a young thing then!) my father did a momentous thing, he bought "Faraway."

Barbados is a small island, but nevertheless with the long summer holidays I think my mother went ballistic with the six of us and strays. She never knew where we were or what we were up to, so she decided that we should find a "bay house" or holiday home to keep us out of mischief. I'm not quite sure how she arrived at that conclusion however we ended up with "Faraway."

We lived at Westmoreland on the west coast and "Faraway" is on the east coast. My mother loved the Bathsheba coast(north-east) my father hated it, said it was too gloomy at night, I see his point. The south was out of the question. One evening my mother was at a cocktail party and mentioned to someone she knew that they were looking for a "bay house" to buy on the east coast, he blithely said "I'll sell you Faraway for $7000.00 (house & 8 acres plus half the bay)." My mother had heard terrible things about "Faraway" and replied that he couldn't give it to her. However, she was wise enough to mention it to my father and they took a drive the next day. The deal was sealed that night over the phone.

"Faraway" is almost 100 years old, it has withstood hurricanes and is now withstanding me. It was originally a Boer hut. During the Boer war in South Africa, some genius of an Englishman decided that they would send the Boer prisoners to Barbados! As a result of his thoughts, "THEY" whoever "they" were, built these huts or wooden barracks on the pasture behind this house. No prisoners ever came, so eventually the huts were bought by individuals, removed and set in other locations. However, "Faraway" moved no more than quarter of a mile. We bought it in 1959 and moved in for the summer holidays. By the end of September "Faraway" was no longer a "hut" it was a completely renovated home. We slept on the floor, outside, wherever, but it was fun. I moved in two years ago permanently (as far as I'm concerned) and I haven't been forgiven yet, as my mother used to rent it on a regular basis to certain people. So I stepped on several corns, but do I care "NO". I have renovated, built a new kitchen and made it very liveable and I'm sure my father in the great beyond, is as happy as I am!

The area is actually called Skeetes Bay and is a fishing village, which naturally suited my father very well as at that point there were 17 fishing boats in the bay. We had fish in abundance and he didn't have to do the work! Apart from the King Fish, Snapper, Mahi Mahi, Flying Fish etc. there were Lobsters and Sea Eggs(sea urchins). Both the Lobster and Sea Eggs are protected now as they have been fished out, hopefully they will be back. To some extent progress rears it's ugly head, but it still remains a fishing village and the people retain their family values. Tonight I heard a shout which set the dogs barking, but when I went to the fence, I was handed a 20lb Dolphin (Mahi Mahi). Nothing better than fresh fish.

We use a lot of seasoning in the Caribbean. I make my own which is a mixture of fresh chive, thyme, marjoram, parsley, onion, garlic, basil, hot pepper etc. This might sound strange but it's not really, we add a little bit of this or that depending on whether it's meat or fish! It's really a matter of taste, and with fish especially, preparation is important if you want to be rid of the fishy taste.

FRIED STEAK FISH

Allow 8ozs. fish per person. Mahi Mahi, King fish, Snapper etc.

Clean fish, removing skin, bones and any brown parts. Cut into steaks. Wash and drain and rub with lime and salt and leave to soak refrigerated for about an hour, turning occasionally. Wash and dry. After this I use my seasoning and rub the fish thoroughly and leave it soaking in the fridge till I'm ready to fry, even overnight.

You need:

  • Flour to dredge.
  • 2 eggs beaten in approx.: 1 cup of milk. This depends on the amount of fish to be fried so adjust to suit.
  • Breadcrumbs.
  • Oil to fry.

Dredge fish in flour shaking off excess, using fork put one piece of fish in bowl with eggs to cover and drain off excess, then dredge with breadcrumbs, shaking off excess. Repaet with the remaining fish. Let dry on plate for a little and then fry in hot oil till golden on both sides. I tend to have the oil about half way up the sides of the fish. Use a frying pan which won't stick, also if the oil and pan are hot enough it shouldn't stick. Serve hot with slices of lime or sauce of your choice.

SEASONING

I make seasoning in large quantities so the following is just a guideline,

  • Chive:   6 fresh stalks
  • Thyme:   1 small bundle of fine leaf
  • Garlic:   3 cloves peeled
  • Onions:   2 medium peeled
  • Salt & pepper to taste or 1/2 tsp. each, hot pepper to taste.
  • White vinegar to taste or 2 TBS. plus a little lime juice to taste.
  • Add other herbs parsley etc. to your taste.

Clean everything and add to blender or food processor, season to taste. Mixture should be liquid but not runny. Put in clean sterilised jars. May be kept in fridge once opened but I find it has a very good life otherwise. Experiment, this may be used for all meat, chicken etc.

Bon Appetit
Cath


T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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Craft feature

Betty Kreier-Lubinski

The Art of Cutting Out Your Heart

"There!" Keena said. "I'm done, and it's perfect, as good as I can possibly make it." Then she counted the words—and discovered the manuscript was 200 words longer than the editor required. "I can't cut it," she wailed. "It's rock bottom now. I'll ruin the story if I take out one more word." Cutting anything would be like chopping out her heart, inch by inch. Impossible! Can't be done!

Oh, yeah!

When faced with a word length requirement, it doesn't do any good to moan and groan and say you can't cut it down. Editors are always right. If they say they want 2000 words, they mean 2,000 words. You want the editor to read your manuscript? You follow their rules. You may have a little more leeway with a novel, but there are still word length ranges you have to meet if you want to be published. That isn't quite as arbitrary as it sounds. For instance, magazine layouts are complex; editors know how much space they've allocated to a particular item, and your story has to fit together with all the other stuff. If it doesn't fit, they can't buy it. Simple!

So—quit whining and get started. Here's how!

Compare the following:

He is a very bad, bad boy.
He is a very bad boy.
He is a bad boy.
He is bad.

The last one is stark, strongest, and the most effective. It also uses the fewest words. Keep that example in mind as you look for words to cut from your manuscript.

Go through and examine EACH WORD in your story. Be sure it's essential to the meaning. If you can leave it out without demolishing the story, leave it out. Examine the "the's." You can even eliminate one of those sometimes.

Pay particular attention to descriptive words. Do they move the story along? Does the reader really need to know that the antique vase was a deep Chinese red, was brought from the Chinese mainland by the narrator's great uncle on her deceased father's side and was presently sitting on an old wooden hand-carved antique chest before it was suddenly knocked off and broken on the plush burgundy carpeted floor--or could you just say the vase shattered as it fell to the floor? You decide. Is a detailed description essential to the plot, or just padding?

Be ruthless in eliminating words which don't carry their own weight. A number of commonly used words and phrases do not contribute anything to the story. Examples: however, by the way, often, in fact, very, usually, at this point, only, just, really, actually—and a whole lot more. Novice writers may use these words for emphasis, but they can serve as a distraction.

If you are desperate and still have too many words, go through the manuscript and check to see if you can use any contractions. Can "it is" be written as "it's" or "there is" as "there's?" Contractions are fine, especially in dialogue. Also, incomplete sentences are okay in dialogue. Eavesdrop on someone else's conversation, and note how many times they don't talk in complete sentences.

Now you're down to bare bones. Do a word count and if you have some words to spare, start adding back only the words that are MOST effective—-one word at a time. You'll discover there are never as many absolutely essential words as you first thought. The pared down draft often moves the action along faster and carries more punch than the longer first version.

Be sure to save the original version, though. It's like saving the finger chopped off in an accident so the doctor can sew it back on. If you don't like the effect of cutting something out, you can always sew it back in.

Keep both versions in different lengths. You may want to use the same story later in a longer version.

Set up a "scraps and pieces" file, and save particularly wonderful sections which don't move this story along. It's less heart-wrenching to cut your priceless words if you don't throw them away, and you'll be amazed to find you can use some of your wonderful prose in another story--or maybe as the catalyst for writing a whole new story.

Be assured, it gets easier with practice! Good luck!


T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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Fiction Corner

Alison Hawke

Drabble of the Month

Thank you to all who sent in drabbles about ignorance. This month's winners are Cheri Rievley and Rolando S. delos Santos.

What you don't know, can't hurt you
by Cheri Rievley

"Excuse me, do you have a calorie count on your chicken salad?"
The girl behind the counter rolls her eyes, "We’re all out."
"Okay, just give me a chicken salad, no dressing, and a large ice water. By the way, is your ice cream non-fat?"
"I don’t think so," the girl’s voice is getting tense.
"Darn, well that’s all then." She starts counting out change.
I step up to the counter. Glaring green eyes dare me to ask. I hold up both hands,
"Don’t look at me lady, ignorance is bliss. I’ll have a burger, fries, and a chocolate shake."

Ignorance
by Rolando S. delos Santos

There was nothing unusual that night. The teen-aged daughter was hearing the usual sermon from her dad.
"I tell you, young lady, you are too immature to know the ways of the world. Why do you think I forbid you to go out alone in the streets? Why do you think girls have a different bathroom in school? Why do you think you are alone in your room while your brothers have to stay together in theirs? That is because you are so delicate and ignorant of how things are, my child."
But dad, don't you get it? I'm pregnant!

The theme for May is the game, (due April 10th), theme courtesy of Peter Keane, the theme for June is identity (due May 10th) and the theme for July is incompatible (due June 10th). If you have any ideas for Drabble themes, please email me.

PLEASE read the drabble submission guidelines before sending in your entry. Only one entry per person per month.

Email your Drabbles to me at drabble@technologist.com.


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Healthy Horizons

Laurie Lupold

Heroes and Friends

This issue is a bit out of the ordinary for this column as it doesn't pertain to us as writers but to us as one's who appreciate the arts. This is a walk into the life of a fallen hero. A journey into the heart of a man who brought us laughter, yet at times expressed a solemn voice in his characters. His art taught us lessons and helped us grow. Each one of us grew up knowing this man and became part of the history that grew through his characters.

Charles Schulz was born in November of 1922. Within a week, however, Charles became known as "Sparky". He was given this name by an uncle and it stayed with him throughout his life. Early on Charles Schulz recognized his talents and as he grew his creative abilities grew with him.

During the Great Depression, Charles' father struggled to keep both his family and his barber shop afloat but also found the means to enroll his son in a correspondence course in cartooning at what is now called the Art Instruction Schools, Inc. A shy and insecure student, Charles struggled through the program only earning a C+ in "Drawing of Children".

Eventually Charles completed the art course but was drafted into World War II before he had successfully sold any of his cartoons. Within days of his induction into the military Schulz's mother passed away due to a long battle with cancer. Charles realized that even though the military was a welcome change of pace life would never be the same again. During his time in the military Charles became known as the resident illustrator and took pride in decorationg soldiers' letters home with cartoons of barracks life.

It was Timeless Topix, a small Roman Catholic magazine, that offered Charles his first job in cartooning. The magazine hired him to letter already drawn comics. Soon after, Charles took on a second job as a teacher with his alma mater, Art Instructions Schools. Here, he practiced his drawing and met many of the people who would inspire his future, including a friend named Charlie Brown and a girl with red hair who broke his heart.

With growing confidence, Charles began marketing his comics. Eventually his persistence paid off and he sold a number of simple comic panels to the Saturday Evening Post. He went on to land a weekly comic feature called L'il Folks in the Saint Paul Pioneer Press. The fruit of his creativity and labor, L'il Folks featured Charlie Brown and Shermy and became the sole focus of Charles' career.

Charles signed a five year contract with United Feature Syndicate and because they felt that the title Lil Folks could cause some legal issues they renamed the strip PEANUTS ®. The name made Charles cringe. Even after the strips success he felt the name resembled the "insignificant" or "unimportant". Over the years, Charles earned the respect and autonomy due to an artist of his caliber.

He introduced into our lives, characters such as : Snoopy, Charlie Brown, Lucy, Linus, Woodstock, Franklin, Sally, Peppermint Patty, Schroeder, Pig Pen, Marcie and ReRun. They became a special part of us. We grew up knowing them and somehow it felt as if they understood us. Whether we were the confident child, or the shy and insecure there was a part of us in his creation.

Charles gave us many wonderful years of laughter and of hope. As we grew older he put a smile on our face as we sipped our morning coffee. He was a model of respect and generosity. As I journeyed into the life of the man behind the cartoon I took with me the knowledge of what we need as creative artists. Two things came to mind right away, though I am sure there are many more but those two things were "heart" and "persistence". Though the legend has been laid to rest his spirit lives on forever in the dream he left behind.

'Til next time treat yourself to a bit of the legend and keep reaching for those Healthy Horizons!


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Inclinations

Priscilla Fagan

Learning

"Wherever there are beginners and experts, old and young, there is some kind of learning going on, and some sort of teaching. We are all pupils and we are all teachers."
Gilbert Highet, scholar and writer.

As I cruise the halls of WVU and read the message boards, wearing the new hat of Education Coordinator, a question I hear repeated is, "How can we learn without an instructor in the classroom?" But what Mr. Highet has to say is so true. We learn from each other. I always contend that the special quality of WVU is writers helping writers. We're all at different levels in our writing. We pass on what we've learned and we learn from what other's have passed on. Surely we have something to gain from this. Writers, whether published or not, are continually honing their skills. Improving with each critique, rejection letter and even success.

William Sloane says: "Publication is not necessarily a sign of success." And William Saroyan takes it a step further. "Even after you've won fame and fortune, every time you write you've got to write, there's no shortcut, you have to start your career all over again."

It's humbling to know Michelangelo's favorite saying was: "I am still learning." After each masterpiece, each novel, each hit song, each new model automobile, the designer, artist, writer must reinvent him or herself. If you choose to say, I've nothing more to learn, you might as well hang it up right then and there.

"We think we learn from teachers, and we sometimes do. But the teachers are not always to be found in school or in great laboratories. Sometimes what we learn depends upon our own powers of insight." Loren Eisley taken from The Hidden Teacher (1978) I know I've found that to be true. I took the Mythic Structure course (F401), The Heroes Journey by Christopher Vogel, and suddenly the light bulb went on in my brain. The theory made perfect sense to me, my writing began to fall into place. It seemed so simple.

Baltasar Gracian said, "Make your friends your teachers and mingle the pleasures of conversation with the advantages of instruction." It sounds as if Baltasar may have had a vision of WVU in 1647. So, what is the definition of a teacher? Richard Bach defines it as: "Every real teacher is myself in disguise." Hmm, I really have to think about that one.

Confucius says: "If a man keeps cherishing his old knowledge, so as continually to be acquiring new, he may be a teacher of others."

What makes a teacher? Emerson quips: "I pay the schoolmaster, but 'tis the schoolboys that educate my son." Well, okay we know what he means by that, but there is a lesson here. I can remember some professors in college who didn't have a clue how to teach, what I learned was from the reading assignments and the discussion I had with the other students.

But now let's ask ourselves what makes a writer? Jessamyn West maintains, "There is no royal path to good writing; and such paths as exist do not lead through neat critical gardens, various as they are, but through the jungles of self, the world, and of craft. (1957)

I'll finish with this quote from Ivan Illich which I believe might just be a cornerstone of WVU. "Most learning is not the result of instruction. It is rather the result of unhampered participation in a meaningful setting."

Til next month I remain,
Priscilla, the eternal optimist


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In the Writing Jungle

Suzi Goode

The Romance Genre

The first genre I'm going to examine in some detail in this column is the romance genre. What is a romance? It's a novel that concentrates on showing a relationship between a woman and a man and ends in love and a permanent relationship. This is my working definition of a romance novel and might not agree with yours. If you want another definition, try the one in The Novel and Short Story Writer's Market. That definition is "the genre relating accounts of passionate love and fictional heroic achievements."

So you think those definitions are vague? You can do one of two things. You can accept Leigh Michaels' interpretation that "a romance novel is the story of a man and a woman who, while solving a problem, discover that the love they feel for each other is the sort that comes long only once in lifetime--leading to a permanent commitment and a happy ending." The other thing you might want to try is to go to a used bookstore and buy ten books from the section labeled ROMANCE. Read them all and then define romance for yourself.

Now if you're writing romance, you're going to ask what genres you should write in. I would read extensively in all the romance lines - Harlequin, Silhouette, Kensington and Avon books come immediately to mind. What do you most enjoy reading? Harlequin Presents, Harlequin Temptation, Silhouette Intimate Moments, historical or inspirational romance? Read at a least couple in each category. Chances are that the novels you like to read, are the ones that you'll enjoy writing. (A word of advice: always write what you most enjoy reading. If you're forcing yourself to write, the reader will pick this up. Your work will seem labored and contrived and won't sell. Stick with the genre or genres you like to read.) Now you're ready to come up with your own definition of romance.

Since I'm frequently asked what is the difference between a category and a single title romance, I'll start there. A category romance is one which you'll find as a name branded line - Harlequin Presents or Silhouette Intimate Moments, for example. Their covers look similar and they are sold together in a packaged line. Each line has certain common elements, such as the level of sensuality or the level of mystery. Word count is generally about the same but can differ greatly from line to line.

A single title romance is one which stands alone on the shelf without being part of particular line. This type of romance may stay on the shelf and in print much longer than a category. Promotion between a category and a single title romance varies. Since the category novels are marketed in a group, each might sell better than if they stood alone. Considering Harlequin Presents sells six novels a month in a packaged line, your chances of gaining recognition are much better if you are published in a line.

Other romance genres are:

Contemporary: romances which occur in the present day and deal with realistic problems. They avoid mention of current events or real people so they don't become quickly outdated. This genre is subdivided into: Short contemporary romance generally 50,000-65,000 words long and Long contemporary romances, generally 70,000-85,000 words long. The Long contemporary romances usually have more secondary characters than the short contemporary romances.

Traditional romances which are short, contemporary romances without a man and woman making love.

Inspirational romance are novels, either contemporary or historical, with a religious element, usually Christian. The length varies.

Romantic suspense is a novel as the name implies, a romantic situation with a mystery woven in. The focus however is on the romance, not on the suspense or threatening situation. The shorter novels include Harlequin's Intrigue but be sure to check publisher guidelines for the correct balance between romance and suspense for each publisher.

Historical romance is a novel of 85,000-100,000 and located in Europe or North America between 1066 and 1900 (although this is may be changing since we've arrived in the twenty-first century and the 1900's may now be considered historical). Your chances of selling a first novel are better if you stay within these guidelines.

A perennial favorite of romance writers is the Regency romance set in the period 1811-1820. They are normally about 50,000 words long, involve the upper class and have no love scenes. Instead they rely on being sweet.

Paranormal romances are those which don't fit anywhere else in the general genre of romance. The elements include fantasy, science fiction (steadily increasing in popularity), time travel, witches and vampires and other unearthly aspects. You may find futuristic romances here. The length varies.

Mainstream romances where the romance is not of the utmost importance - if the romance was removed, there would still be a story.

Ethnic romances are those novels which involve heroes and heroines of color. At the current time, they are mostly contemporary but there are some historicals published.

Young adult romances involve the development of innocent first love and contains no sexual scenes. They are intended primarily for pre-teens and teens. Another young adult line now carries realistic situations which may focus on premarital sex.

You might also hear the term "sweet traditional romance". This eludes to the original romance of about 50,000 words. It has no explicit sexuality.

Next month, I'll give a list of websites and printed material to help you learn more and write more effectively in the romance genre. Until then, keep writing!


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Poetics

Christine

Definitions

Writing this column has inspired (a nice word for forced) me to take stock of my own poetry and expand my range. I have gone to the library and checked out books on the writing of poetry, explored some new and old poets, and have come to the conclusion that I can only share with you things I have learned and revelations that have occurred to me. I recently ran across a definition of verse in an old book, Three Genres by Stephen Minot, that struck me as cutting to the core of it all. Minot says that verse is distinguished from prose by its special use of the line, the sound of words, the rhythm of phrases, and compression of suggestion.

I have elaborated on a couple of these below, and taken the liberty to work on a couple of other things that I found worth thinking about.

Rhythm

All poetry has rhythm. I know, some of you free verse poets would take exception to this, but wait a minute. It is easy to find the rhythm in Thayer's Casey at the Bat or Little Things by Fletcher. Harder is to find rhythm in free verse - but it is there. It is the rhythm of life. All life has rhythm - listen to your heart if you don't believe me. We all have a little drum inside. This is what makes the poetry flow - the knowledge of where to stop a line, to breathe, to go to the next stanza. Without it, you have nothing but a story broken up into choppy lines and paragraphs, and I have read some free verse that is just that. When you are exploring this venue, watch for the natural rhythms of words and phrases, of the "thought stops" and the breathing. This is what will give your poetry rhythm and make it flow for your reader.

Don't get me wrong, all poetry is not simple phrases and images. If you are telling something violent or heart-stopping, then again listen to your heart. When it gets excited, the rhythm changes, going non-stop like a runaway horse. This is the rhythm you will give to your piece - making us out of breath when we reach the end.

Rhyme

O.K. Now you free verse guys are going to really get me - but there are all kinds of rhyme. Sure, Kipling, Thayer and the others all have nice rhyme and rhythm going, but what about internal rhyme? Alliteration, the repetition of sound within our lines, such as "slow, sure signs of spring" (the s's have it) or the use of words that rhyme or roll - 'light and bright', 'wild and woolly' bring rhyme to your poem, even if it is not a formal piece. These things all help your reader understand your poem - I don't know why, but the mind latches on to these things, makes the reader able to put the whole thing in his mind and live, see or understand.

Repetition

All my life, in creative writing and English Lit, I was told not to use the same word twice, to find different words for the same thing so the reader would not get tired of what they were reading (you know - the girl had beautiful eyes, her hair was beautiful, her smile was the most beautiful - how beautiful can you get, anyway?) But in poetry, repetition is a good thing. It can reinforce your idea, giving the reader focus on your meaning. It can also set a mood, tie things together, or define a rhythm. Good examples would be Poe's The Raven and Kipling's Boots.

One last thing, now-

Clichés.

Find new words, new thoughts, new experiences to give your reader. In Goldberg's book Writing down the Bones she gives the reader exercise in which she applies verbs not normally connected with the noun she is using. One of my favorites is "Irises slicing the sky with purple". While this does not always work, sometimes it can give you a new slant on what you are trying to say.

Take the standard story of the babbling brook and the leaf. The leaf falls from the tree and goes on a trip down the noisy stream. Got the picture in your mind? O.K. Is the leaf an oak, maple, elm, or what? Is it red, brown, yellow or perhaps a green leaf that simply could not hold on to the tree any longer? And now that you know that - how red, what shade of brown, how bright the yellow? Now, animate the leaf. Is it a bumper car careening through the water, ricocheting and spinning as it goes? Does it have the company of other leaves? Perhaps it is one of a group of young children playing tag among the rocks.

And the brook - is the water shallow or deep, clear or muddy (or green?), fast, slow, crooked steep, - what exactly does the brook look like? Is it winking in the sunlight as it darts into the shadows, playing a game of hide and seek? Does it sound like a bunch of pre-teens at a sleep-over, giggling and gossiping in an exhaustive effort to not be the first to go to sleep? My brook plays a reckless game of uncontrolled volleyball with the leaf - slapping it against the rocks to accomplish set-ups and spikes, laughing and crying Foul! My point! as it slings the leaf on to the next player. This could be a hockey game, too, with the leaf as the puck. Boy, sports opens up a whole new world of imagery, doesn't it?

As a poet, you owe your reader more than the story of the babbling brook. You owe him the experience of being that leaf and knowing what it is like to be caught in that helpless, maniacal trip, to be catapulted, pressed, wrenched through the gauntlet. Tell him exactly what he would be feeling, tasting, thinking as he spins to the end. But try to be different. If you tell it the same way as everyone else, he will be easily bored and go to something else.

Well, that's all I have for now. Hope this helped remind you of what you already knew, and to sharpen your focus. If any of you have thoughts to share, please pass them on! Until next time, keep listening to your heart - and write!


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Sparks

Karen Grunberg

Colorful Musings

This month we're delving into the world of the abstract. I happen to be a huge fan of colors. I believe they serve to brighten up your life and provide a feast for your eyes. So, I decided to have an exercise that helps us put color into our writing.

As always, the first rule is to get comfortable. Situate yourself in your favorite spot and convince yourself that for the next hour, you will think of nothing besides this exercise. Forget about your overflowing to-do list, turn off the phones, stop checking your email, just relax and let yourself be sucked into the world of creation.

Close your eyes and think of a color. Write this color down. It could be your favorite color, a color you hate, an unusual color; it doesn't make any difference. Once you've picked your color, it's time to make a list. (Can you tell I am a fan of lists?)

Here is my color: Red

Make a list of anything that comes to your mind when you hear the name of this color - from the most specific to the most abstract. Since this is brainstorming, you are not allowed to cross out anything, no matter how stupid or inappropriate it looks.

Here is my list:

  • apple
  • lips
  • sunset
  • books
  • leaves
  • autumn
  • stripes
  • lollipop
  • eyes
  • tired
  • angry
  • embarrassed
  • nail polish
  • lipstick
  • hot
  • fire
  • hair
  • shoes
  • "lady in red"
  • evening dress
  • power
  • Ferrari

That's all I could come up with in five minutes. You can give yourself five minutes or thirty minutes, depending on your free time. I think fifteen minutes is a good number.

Some of the items in my list may sound completely unrelated to red, but the idea is to write anything that comes to my mind. For example, in my list, I visualized red eyes, which then made me think of a tired person. Feel free to go wild with your list.

As you can see, some items in the list are visually red - like apple or fire, while the others are emotions we associate with red - such as angry or embarrassed. Go through your list and next to each item, mark a V or A to indicate whether it's a visual usage of the color or an abstract one.

Now it's time to use our words. Staying with the color you picked, try to write an entire paragraph where your color dominates.

Here's my try.

I could see the fire in his eyes. In an effort to calm him, I tried to change the subject.
"Look! I haven't seen such a beautiful sunset in months."
It didn't work. Crimson overtook the sky, spilling through the tall trees. All I could think of was how he would never forgive me.
"I know I messed up," I said, between tears, "but you must give me another chance." Surprise covered his face and his lips formed a thin line.
"I don't have to give you anything," he screamed. "You betrayed me and you don't deserve any chances."
His slap stung less than his words.

Ok, it's not going to win the Nobel Prize in Literature, but I hope that you get the gist of what I attempted to convey. I used the sunset, fire, anger, crimson, and lips.

After you're done writing your paragraphs, you can go back and repeat this exercise for different colors. You can also try making list to represent synonyms as well as shades of that color, so that you don't overuse the same word.

Now it's time to take a look at your writings and see if you can spot any colorful patterns. Read some of your old stories, and each time you see a word that conjures up images of a color, mark it. See how much attention you've paid to using color in your writing.

From now on, when you write, integrate colors into your writing, either explicitly or in a subtle way. Not only will it help you write more details but it will also liven things up!

As always, make sure to have fun, fun, fun!!

Karenika

Reader's Suggestions:

This month's suggestion comes from Rie Sheridan: (excerpted directly from her email)

"One of my favorite exercises if I am stuck is to put on a piece of instrumental music (Holst's THE PLANETS is a particular favorite) and let the inspirations come--what images are created in the mind's eye? What characters do you see? What activities are they engaged in? The type of music that you use depends on the type of story you are writing of course. The New Age category seems to lend itself to fantasy and science fiction particularly well in my opinion."

Thanks a lot for the great sparkle, Rie!

If you have any sparkling ideas, mail me at karenika@wvu.org so I can share it with our readers.


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STARS

What was STARS?

STARS was an experiment in providing some of our gifted students with the opportunity to have selections from their lessons looked at by our editors. With the student's permission, lesson posts that met the lesson requirements were submitted. No guarantee of publication was offered.

Here are some of the selected submissions.

Conflict

Senses Sentences and Paragraph

Plot

Senses Paragraph

Theme

Another Senses Paragraph


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Conflict

The Conflict lesson requirements include starting with some small conflict and escalating. Often petty conflicts mask much more serious underlying problems. The scene is to end with the conflict unresolved or if the initial conflict is resolved it should lead to the prospect of much more serious conflicts.

Conflict

Heir To The Throne

by Julia Tennison

Golden yellow sunlight flooded the kitchen with warm greetings, adding a smile to Yvonne's face, as she entered clutching the hem of her nightgown. The dimming memory of her episode in the bathroom was rekindled by a glance of her older brother who was now sitting at the corner breakfast table with a cup of tea and large print newspaper. Letting go of her hem with a low grunt of annoyance, she moved delicately about the kitchen making herself a cup of orange and lemon tea, 2 pieces of lightly toasted bread topped with margarine and crowned with orange marmalade.

Teddy returned her glance. Noticing the wet condition of her clothing he cleared his throat, "Looks like you had a little accident. I thought you were broken of bed wetting years ago?"

She did not appreciate the dryness of his humor this early in the morning and turned to face him, preparing to unload everything she had on him. Placing one hand on the counter, the other hand moved into attack position on her hip as her first shot rang out, "My nighty would not be wet if I hadn't sat IN the toilet instead of ON it..I hate it when you leave the toilet seat up, Teddy." Yvonne's arms fell to her side and then reached for a plate for her food.

"You need to look before you sit, little sister." The smile on his wrinkled face disappeared into his cup of tea, the aroma of black and orange pekoe lingered in his nostrils for a moment and he turned back to his paper.

Yvonne came to live in Teddy's home a little more than a year ago and it was a mixed blessing for both, trying to make the best of the awkward moments when their differences hit head on. "You expect me to be totally awake and rational first thing in the morning?" asked Yvonne as she pressed the topping into her toast.

Teddy did not lift his eyes from the morning cartoons, "Awake, yes. Rational,. I've learned not to expect that."

Yvonne paused with a rounded spoon of marmalade, contemplating carefully catapulting a lob onto his precious paper. "Why can't you put the seat down when you're done?" she whines while pulling a stool up to the counter to eat.

"Why should I? Do you lift the seat when you are done?" He smiled to himself again thinking he had knocked his opponent from her high horse.

"If I knew you were going to be next in the bathroom, I would." Her voice replied sweetly, but with a sickly haughtiness as she munched on her breakfast.

"What! Plan my hospitality first thing in the morning, in a half-asleep state." He mocked her innocence and angrily pushed the paper aside.

The momentum gathered as they swept themselves into yet another heated discussion about what a pain-in-the-butt Teddy was to live with. He was about to ask her if her own doodoo didn't stink, when Yvonne blurted, "You'd just as soon not have to think about anybody but yourself!" crumbs of toast spraying from her mouth.

"You don't like it? You can move out." Teddy squirmed in his chair, aware that his near blind condition required a better sighted person to assist him in taking care of his daily needs.

Understanding that he could not afford paid in home care, she asked facetiously, "And who are you going to get to help you?" The sound of her voice shrilled and bottomed like the fluctuating scream of an ambulance siren.

"Somebody who doesn't mind a normal man, who leaves the toilet seat. where I damn well feel like!" Teddy leaned forward in the chair, his wide eyes peering over his thick magnifying glasses.

Yvonne could now feel the damp cloth of her nightgown turned cold and sticking to her leg, chilling her. Looking potty-faced, she climbed down from the stool, setting her empty soiled plate in the sink. Leaving with her cup of tea in hand she made one final jab, "It's too bad that after all these years you aren't interested in treating me thoughtfully." The back of her head absorbed her brother's glare as she headed for her bedroom to change clothes.

Looking to drown his apparent defeat, Teddy lifted his tea cup. Stopping short of his lips, he cocked his head as a thought struck him and he sat the cup back down on the table. "After all this talk about toilet seats," he raised himself from his chair, shuffling across the floor, arms feeling for the guidance of the nearby wall, "I need to go.. So Yvonne, did you leave the seat up for me?"

 

Next STAR


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Senses Sentences and Paragraph

The Senses Lesson writing portion has two parts. In the first part students are asked to write individual sentences for each of the eight senses, the traditional five senses plus time, space and unknown. They do not label them and should avoid using sense names in the sentences.

The sentences need not be connected.

The second part is to write a paragraph using all eight, again unlabeled.

The Senses

Lorraine Messineo

Exercise 1:

  1. The bark of a raven cut through the silence.
  2. I walked over tiny crystalline particles, hard as diamonds beneath my feet.
  3. Hues of pink, lavender and blue were evident in the deep pockets left in the snow by my footprints.
  4. As my teeth punctured my lower lip, I licked away the warm, sticky sweetness of blood.
  5. Try as I might, I could not detect the sulfuric pungency of the sea that I, as an Easterner, had come to expect.
  6. Monolithic mansions, ugly in their outward plainness, guarded the vast empty beauty of the Sound.
  7. The moon rose slowly over the eastern mountains as the sun dove quickly into the sea.
  8. I felt the goose bumps on my skin rise, despite my warm down jacket, as I approached the tunnel.

Exercise 2:

The woman watched the small child as she approached the tide line. Long tendrils of hair the color of moonlight escaped from tight braids in response to the humidity that hung, like a heavy mist, upon the shoreline. A slight breeze wafted off the boardwalk, carrying with it the promise of pizza, hotdogs and popcorn. The child reached for something in the water, and then she was gone. The woman screamed, but the cacophony of the ocean swallowed her cries. Before help could arrive, the child was once again deposited on the shore, still and lifeless. A man, claiming to be a doctor, pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered around the small, battered body,. He put the girl on her stomach, pressing down and up on the child's back. Although it seemed he was too late, he refused to give up, and just as the ambulance arrived, his efforts were rewarded by a gush of brine and bile.

 

Next STAR


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Senses Paragraph

Lizzy's Nickel

by Jeanne Berent

The bell jangled brightly, as Lizzy opened the rotting oak door to Jamison's, the hinges squealing in protest. The heavy yeasty smell of the baking bread spread over her, like her grandmother's comforting quilt on the cold foggy evenings of winter. Mother had given her strict instructions to buy a rye loaf for supper, but the sight of the pillowy custard cakes drew her feet without hesitation to the aged wooden display. Her soft gray eyes grew round at the rows of iced cinnamon buns; she swallowed as her mouth filled. She drew up on the tiptoes of her worn high-top shoes to see the top shelf of blackberry muffins fresh from the ovens, tops glistening with sweet butter and sugar. The nickel grew warm and wet in Lizzy's little hand as Jamison's wife, Milly, gently removed Lizzy's selection, delicious gooey icing reluctant to leave its counterpart beside it. Milly handed the bun over the counter to her as Lizzy held her hands high, one to receive the treat, the other to relinquish the dear nickel. Lizzy ran out of the shop, popping the bun into her mouth as the door slammed behind her. Her mouth turned to ashes and bile as her stern mother's face rounded the corner.

 

Next STAR


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Plot

The Plot lesson focus is on one Short Story plot type which begins with a conflict, adds complications as the Protagonist attempts to resolve it, a climax where the conflict reaches maximum and then a short Falling Action segment.

Short story plot

by Patty Carroll

She had just sat down in front of the computer and looked at the blank, white space in front of her. Sighing, she put her fingers to the keyboard and was just about to type when she heard a wee sound. She froze. "What was that," she said aloud.

"I'm down here by your foot. Please help me."

Observing a, well a something, by her foot she replied. "Who or what are you?"

"I'm a Crastinator. We don't usually show ourselves to people, but we need your help."
Eyeing the creature suspiciously the writer left the keyboard to find out what this curious thing had to say.

The strange creature continued, "There is a dragon that only you can kill. If you don't, it will eat all of us. You must come right now!"

"I was just sitting down to write. Why can't someone else do it?"

"Because"

"That is a lousy answer."

"I know, but it usually works. Come on it's over here."
The small fuzzy creature, resembling a hairy, purple raisin, led the writer out of the office. She followed the little guy, gal, or whatever, down the hall. Suddenly the thing started jumping up and down and pointed.

"I don't see anything little creature. All I see is some dust on the windowsill. If it makes you happy I'll wipe it clean."
The writer dutifully cleaned the windowsill. She had to admit it was rather dirty, but hardly a thing to be called a dragon.

Looking around her she didn't see her furry friend. Then she heard it call from the kitchen. "Help, quick, the dragon is here." Running into the kitchen she saw the hairy raisin pointing to the sink. All she could see were piles of dishes.

"It's in those dishes. Kill it, please."

So like a good friend the writer cleaned all the dishes, but found no dragon. "Okay, little buddy. I have dusted and cleaned dishes and found no dragon. If you want my help you better show me the dragon fast."

Hearing nothing, she turned to go back to work when she again heard the little voice.

"Help, I saw it run outside. It's going toward the garden."

"Let it go outside, then, it won't bother you out there anyway."

"But we live outside too. That dragon will destroy our gardens of purple fluff that we clothe ourselves with. You must help us."

"This is getting ridiculous," the writer said as she went outside. Once in the garden she did notice the flowers looked dry and thirsty. I guess I'll water while I look for that dragon, she thought to herself. After a half-hour of watering the writer went back inside.

"Oh writer, the dragon came back in while you went outside. He's a most awful fearsome thing. Black scales and fire coming out of his mouth. Please come in the living room and kill him for me."

"Look you little raisin, I haven't seen any dragon and I have chased all over this house. But if it makes you happy I'll check out the living room."
With that the writer went in and looked on the couch and on the end tables. While she straightened things up the TV came to life. One of her favorite shows was on. Feeling the couch beckon her she sat down and began to watch. An hour later when the show was over she got up and started for the office. There was still a little time to write.

Then she heard it again. "Oh please, can't you help us get the dragon. He's in your bedroom now. I think he carried off one of our little ones."

Looking at the small creature she raised her hands in disgust. Then a picture of a wee one in the claws of a dragon came into her mind and she knew she had to go and find the dragon. Entering the bedroom she checked out her bed but found no dragon. Feeling tired she laid down for a little nap.

Waking with a start she realized it was after four and time to make dinner.

Going toward the kitchen she passed by her office. With a sigh she looked at the still blank screen on the computer. No writing done today she sighed.

Then she heard them. Wee little voices coming from her office. Going over she saw several of the furry raisin creatures jumping up and down and playing. The writer got mad. They hadn't seen her yet and she could hear them making remarks. "We took care of her that time didn't we. Hee hee hee. I had her chasing all over for imaginary dragons while all day I had her killing time."

"Way to go, think she'll ever figure it out?"

"Naw, she's all for us Crastinators. Why I even heard her call herself a Procrastinator. So she's definitely for us."

With a roar the writer scattered the purple furry creatures, knocking them out of the room. She even knocked the purple fluff off of one or two of them. That done the writer jumped back into her chair and began to type furiously. All the time screaming at the Crastin, "Don't you ever came back here. I will not listen to you again."

And that's the end of the story. The Crastinators fled, Time smiled with relief that it would no longer be killed, and the writer wrote.

 

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Theme

The Theme Lesson is no longer offered alone. It has been incorporated into the Plot lesson. However, this submission met the requirements, including both the development of Theme using the Subject, Variations, Results and Conclusion technique and then a short synopsis of a story based on the resulting theme, so well that it was selected for publication.

Theme Posted by Pris (P. FRULLA)

  • Theme: bitterness leads to self-destruction
  • Subject: bitterness
  • Variations:
    • rejecting kindness,
    • distrusts family,
    • jealousy
  • Results:
    • lost opportunities,
    • isolation,
    • dissatisfaction with life
  • Conclusion: self-destruction

Alice and Lisa are two very bright and creative sisters. Alice is a talented violinist and Lisa likes to draw and paint. Tragedy strikes the pair as teenagers when their parents are killed.

Lisa accepts the misfortune with grace and tries to help her older sibling cope with their new life.

Alice withdraws into her music and finding no solace there, eventually quits practicing.

Alice is sure she and her sister are unwelcome burdens on her uncle and aunt and tries to avoid them whenever she's at home, which isn't often. She stays out too late almost every night and is resentful when her aunt talks to her about her dropping grades and questionable friends.

Although her family begs her to let them help her go to college, Alice refuses to accept their "charity." Instead she takes a job as a cashier until she can save the money up herself. She moves out the day after graduation and stops returning phone calls even though she receives countless messages inviting her to family functions and dinners.

Eventually the phone calls stop coming right around the time she starts really yearning for her family connection. Yet, she feels she cannot go to them without an invitation, she is embarrassed about ignoring them for so long.

Alice gets an invitation in the mail for Lisa's college graduation. She never managed to save any money to go college herself and feels some resentment towards her sister.

Alice goes to commencement and stands alone by the back door. At the end of the ceremony, Alice finds herself overcome with emotion and wants to go to her family.

Then she sees them. They are laughing and taking goofy pictures. There is a handsome young man with them who is obviously Lisa's boyfriend. She hears her uncle ask about Lisa's waiting job at an advertising firm.

Alice is racked with jealously. She watches them all leave together with arms intertwined. She goes back to her tiny apartment and pours herself a drink - the first of many that night and the many nights to come.

 

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T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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Copyright 1998 - 2007, Writopia Inc. All Rights Reserved

 

© Copyright 1998 - 2007, Writopia Inc. All rights reserved