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 T-zero Xpandizine
 The Writer's E-Zine

 

 Produced and published by the members of Writers' Village University since 1998    ISSN 1521-2639       
09 January 2009
Beyond the Textbook The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Beyond the Textbook

Laurie Lupold

The Bare Essentials

Who: Deciding characters for your story is not an easy task. You want characters that will be believable and add to the color and vigor of your story. You want to also express them well in each scene. What I mean by this is using description and detail to express to the reader what the character might be feeling at the moment or what he or she is going through. For example, you wouldn't want a traumatic episode expressed with laughter. Who each character is offers life to the story. The quality of a story is not taken by the number of characters but more by how valuable they are.

When: How you dress your characters helps determine the era in which your story is taking place. In the Victorian Era we certainly would not find our characters casually dressed in jeans and tee shirts. The scenery also describes to the reader when the story is taking place. Are there vehicles or is this during the times of horse and buggy? What does one spend at the grocer? Many such things can tell you when your story exists and you can express it just by being creative.

Where: Deciding location can be very important to a story. If the author expresses a time designed for skyscrapers then the reader could more than likely imagine that the story was taking place in a big city. On the other hand if the author wanted to describe a dusty pale ridden town one might think the story setting is back in the day of horse and buggy, saloons and corrals. You might even expect to see a gunfight. So you see location can really do a lot for your story.

What: The basis of the story is probably the largest part to be worked out. It comes in three particular sections. The first is the beginning. Introducing characters, setting, and era are all done at this time. Though some of these things may be expanded on later in the reading. Here we start to introduce conflict. Why is the story being told? What's it about? The second is the climax. This is when the story sees the most conflict. The plot is built. Tensions rise. Here reality takes hold. Even in stories of horror and fantasy they are given a somehow lifelike quality. The final section of this part is the conclusion. What is the end result? Did they live happily ever after or simply fade away?

These are just some of my opinions of the secrets to writing. They are not necessarily the true essentials by text but certainly important ones.

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

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Catherine's Kitchen

Catherine Manning

Well, folks, I'm feeling tardy and guilty. Why? Because I'm late with the column more often than not and it gives problems to all of those hard-working editors and production people who produce T-zero. I'm not deliberately late, just end up being busy and trying to please all concerned. Keep trying to convince myself that I need help (which I do) but then I keep trying to convince myself that I can manage. Guess who's losing?

Anyway, I took the plunge and bought a car to save myself a lot of hassle, but not a lot of money! The old one is sitting on my lawn waiting to be sold. Every morning when I hose it down from the sea air and birds, I ask myself "Did I do the right thing?" Not from the point of view of having a nice new car to drive with A/C that works etc. and hopefully will last me another eleven years, but that it was still a good car and after all I've spent on it, might still have lasted me a bit longer, but at more cost. Oh well, procrastination is over, for now. Why was I born a Libran? After having it for two weeks, I reckon my old one has more power, so I'm going to look into that. It shouldn't do, but then maybe I haven't broken in the new one yet.

I'm trying to get this column written early, as I don't know what the next week will bring. My ex-husband is in hospital in England, and not in very good shape. Seems strange to be worrying about it but I have three children and two stepchildren so he's still part of me and them and he has no one else but us and his sister, who has not visited him for years. It is doubtful whether Nat or James will get there in time, especially not James as he's let his passport lapse, so I have to get things together early tomorrow morning to get it renewed. Not a good thing to do, especially as we are entitled to two passports each, one Barbadian and one English and he let both lapse. Oh well, that's life and you have to deal with it at the time.

Anyway, so far we have had no hurricanes or in fact much rain or bad weather. It makes one wonder whether we are in store for something worse, I hope not as I have not done my usual precautionary measures this year. Not because I haven't thought of them, but because my handyman has been busy and hasn't come so far. But then if 'Faraway' is to go, it will. So far it has withstood a lot and is now 102 years old, all lathe and plaster and a little wood and wall. I'm not sure where the safest place would be in a hurricane, but I'm not moving! I have plenty places to go, but I also have too many animals to take with me, so here I stay.

Saturday night.
I'm writing in stages and we are now going through a tropical depression, but hopefully it will have passed by tomorrow, hope so as it's all muddy, but have to get this done now.

Someone asked me sometime ago for a recipe for Pumpkin and Ginger Soup and here it is:

 

Pumpkin and Ginger Soup

  • 6 cups diced pumpkin
  • 1-1/2 cups diced carrots
  • 3/4 cup celery
  • 1/4 cup fresh ginger grated or to taste
  • 1-1/2 cup onions
  • 8-10 cups chicken stock
  • Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  • Bunch of fresh herbs of choice, marjoram, etc.
  • 1-3/4 cups cream

Place all ingredients except the cream in a saucepan, bring to a boil and simmer for 25 minutes. Cool, blend and strain if necessary. Reheat and season to taste and add cream just before serving. If the soup is too thick add a little more stock.

Some pumpkins are more watery than others, so it's better to be on the safe side and add more stock afterwards, rather than have a watery soup.


Broiled Plantain in Bacon

Allow 3 pieces per serving

Peel and cut one large ripe plantain into four. Wrap bacon strips around each piece and secure with a toothpick. Place under broiler until golden brown, turning for even browning.


Homemade Garlic Bread

I used to take the time to make my own bread, but lagged because of the time so now I use my bread machine and do what I like with it. I find that so long as I keep the liquid and flour mixtures correct, I can change anything else and it comes out great. I'm just making garlic bread for a lunch tomorrow, so I'm using my basic white loaf recipe, which is in the following order:
  • 1-1/2 cups water and 2 Tbs. skim milk or 1-1/2 cups milk, which I prefer.
  • 1 Tbs. sugar
  • 1-1/2 tsp. Salt
  • 2 Tbs. butter or margarine. I add more, usually about 4 Tbs.
  • 4 cups flour. I find all-purpose works just as well as bread flour. I usually mix 3 white to 1 whole-wheat.
  • 1-1/2 tsp. Yeast; add last so it doesn't mix with the salt. I usually throw in extra.

Set to dough cycle, when finished remove and knock about on a floured surface for a minute or two. Divide into two pieces, roll each into a rectangle and then roll up from the long side, shape into a French stick, put in pan on a floured surface and let rise for about a half hour. Make a few slashes with a sharp knife on the top, brush with beaten egg white and sprinkle with seeds of choice, sesame, poppy etc. Bake at 350F till golden, brushing with the egg white after about 20 minutes.

Yummy, mine is smelling throughout the house and I can't even eat it... just as well. I have a B & D by the way, a good one. Also, because my bread usually hits the roof, I butter the glass top and it doesn't stick.
 

Gotta go to the oven and the smell.
Bon Appetit
Cath

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Creative Outlining The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Creative Outlining

Jennifer Turner

Not an Oxymoron

The first time I was asked to write an outline, I balked. Stifle my creativity with Roman numerals and chapter titles? The process was like pulling my fingernails out. Not only had I never tried to summarize the scenes in my half-finished book, but deciphering what should be detailed and what could be omitted was almost as difficult as creating the dreaded synopsis.

Although the assignment was a monumental struggle, it taught me a valuable lesson. With direction, with the upcoming events in my novel detailed, I felt motivated to write the last scenes that had previously eluded me. This worked wonders for a novel that was nearly completed.

As I approached my second novel, I missed the plot line and character prompts and decided I needed a new outline. Easier said than done. With only a few ideas for scenes and very little else, the traditional outline stumped me. How could I decide what needed to go into which chapter if the story was still largely a mystery even to me? Every outline attempt was convoluted and difficult to follow. Frustrated, I gave up. There had to be a better way.

As with most dilemmas, I polled other writers and published authors for solutions. One author explained that before she began to write, she created a synopsis and used this as both an outline and a tool to sell the unwritten book to her publisher. Impressed by this dual duty, I knew I had to find a way to make this work for me.

But if outlines intimidated me, then a synopsis terrified me. How could I combine the two into a format I could follow? How could I brainstorm all the "what ifs" and avoid the constant rearranging and renumbering of chapters?

After much consideration and thought, the answer came to me. By combining the two — a traditional outline and a synopsis — a story could be detailed with very little structure but maintain a workable format. Once I'd started, I discovered how invigorating this form of free writing was and decided to call it a "creative outline."

What Is Creative Outlining?
Creative outlining is, in essence, a scene outline. Without Roman numerals or chapter headings, you have the freedom to maneuver plot points and swap scenes. New ideas are easy to add without confusing the format. This technique gives you the freedom to write an entire novel, or other lengthy work, in a few short pages.

As with most writers, I picture a story in my head, not as words on paper but as a mini-movie in my mental cinema. Sometimes I know the whole story; other times, I only know the low and high points. Brainstorming is an integral part of shaping a novel. For any writer who's fallen in love with the inherent creativity in free writing, this is the perfect outlining technique.

How It Works
As aspiring writers, we sometimes forget we are the masters of our universe. Creative outlines are written "for your eyes only." The sheer flexibility of this technique lets you go back and insert as much as you'd like, wherever you'd like. The purpose is to breathe life into your outstanding inspiration. Do not edit, do not to stop to research. Use asterisks (***) to make it easy to find areas that require more research later on.

Using "The Three Little Pigs" as an example, these are the steps of a creative outline:

Step One. Begin by describing any information that occurs before the opening scene. Use quick, memory cementing sentences:
Three little pigs are born on a farm, but escape becoming Easter dinner by running away. They lose their mother, family, and friends but are safe. Until they have an encounter with the Big Bad Wolf. As they are chased, they are separated.
Step Two. The opening scene should be written as above, with quick, strident, labeled sentences:
Opening Scene: Little piggy is looking for a safe haven from the Big Bad Wolf and thinks how a house of straw might protect him from all his huffing and puffing. **Look up Timber Wolves**
Step Three. Free-write the rest, using the 'And Then' method:
(And then) Little Piggy's brother decides that he wants a house made of wood. The Big Bad Wolf would have a tough time blowing that down! **Research different kinds of wood**

(And Then) Third Little piggy decides to build his house from bricks in hopes the Big Bad Wolf won't get inside. **Research types of bricks for home building**
The beauty of this outline is the ability to be totally creative without stopping to find facts. When you begin the actual work, you'll find that your creativity is stimulated by the research and the development of your characters.

For instance, I've made the Three Little Pigs runaways. Through their mutual need to survive, I can showcase their reliance upon one another and their growth as they discover the importance of teamwork and family. Feel free to play with the structure, rearranging or adding ideas as they occur to you. Making changes is much easier when you're dealing with paragraphs instead of whole chapters or scenes. Additions and changes might appear this way in your outline:
(And Then) Little Piggy's brother decides that he wants a house made of wood. The Big Bad Wolf would have a tough time blowing that down! **Research different kinds of wood**

(And Then) First Piggy's house of straw is destroyed by the Big Bad Wolf. He escapes and runs squealing into the woods, terrified, alone, and lost in the night.

(And Then) While buying wood, second Piggy's younger brother shows up and relates the frightening tale of the Big Bad Wolf and his home of straw. Little Piggy is relieved his brother survived and they tearfully reunite. (Include a mention of their mother here.)
With very little adjustments to make, adding the results of your brainstorming, even during the actual writing phase, is less daunting and easier to assimilate into the original outline. As you progress through your career, the actual outline will likely become sketchier and less detailed, but for aspiring writers this can greatly increase your focus and keep the work-in-progress on course.

In my experience, too many otherwise-excellent stories are lost in the confusion between where the beginning, middle, and ending scenes should lead the characters and how the plot should develop. With a map to follow, you'll increase your chances of completing those first works.

Another benefit of creative outlining is that once you're familiar with this technique, it will become easier to create, even before it's needed. If you use the outline feature in your word processing software, there are usually options you can select that will give you greater freedom to implement the creative outlining technique. When inspiration hits, write the creative outline and save it for your next project. Over the course of a year, I developed seven such outlines and eventually three of these were requested by an editor in New York who was intrigued by my writing style.

Creative outlining provides the benefits of an outline, but lets you maintain a higher level of creativity. As master of your writing universe, you can decide to add as much or as little as you need. This simple tool will prompt you during those dark moments when your novel falters and help keep the story on course. Have fun playing with "what if" and follow your instincts.


About the Author:
Born blonde and Polish, Jennifer Turner has used her unique perspective to write historical and contemporary romances. She lives with her husband, a red-headed Texan, and her three children in Wisconsin. Between her commitments to family and writing, she actively pursues three things: chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate.

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Copyright 1998 - 2007, Writopia Inc. All Rights Reserved
Fiction Short Story

 

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Fiction Short Story

Dennis Phillips

"The Offering"

Enrique hammered the ancient Volkswagen up the washboard gully, bumped through a crumbled gash in the low gravel wall, and clattered to a stop beside the stone carving of a snake's head.

From the cramped passenger seat, Homer Arbor brushed at the dust that swirled through his open window, coating his striped shirt and checked shorts. "Did I tell you I met the Dalai Lama in Seattle last year?" he said to the driver. "He's a god, you know. My buddy Jeff was with me. We both saw the Lama, but I got to shake his hand. Shook the hand of a real god. Tough to beat touching a god, En-Ricky."

Enrique Obispo sighed, "We have our gods here, too."

Enrique turned off the air-cooled motor. The silence after two hours of laboured driving into this remote area of central Mexico was absolute. No birds. No breeze.

"Yeah, but this was a flesh and blood god. Not some bogus god that nobody knows anymore." Homer looked at the parched grey-green scrub bushes and cactus. "Does everything here have thorns?"

"The sharpness of the thorns protects the heart of the plant." Enrique slipped the ignition key into his shirt pocket.

"Makes it damned inhospitable, if you ask me. But I didn't come here to talk about bushes. I want my buddy Jeff to know how adventurous I can be without him. I don't want to visit the same old tourist traps."

"I'm sure we can find something to suit your taste, Señor Arbor."

"Last night I saw some Mexican kids all decked out in Hallowe'en costumes. Made me feel like I was back home in Philly. Things aren't so different here."

"Hallowe'en is a foreign fabrication. Here we believe that the spirits of our departed ones return each year on this, the Day of the Dead. They must be welcomed. Perhaps you would like to participate?" said Enrique as he opened the door and slid out from behind the steering wheel.

"Great idea, Ricky. I'm in your hands. You did wash 'em, didn't you? Hey, it's just a joke. No need to look all squishy-eyed."

"On the Day of the Dead we bring offerings to the graves of our ancestors. I will take you to a sacred cemetery and show you Tlaloc, my ancestral god."

"Sounds great. I bet Jeff didn't go to a cemetery when he came to Mexico. He probably hung out at the bars on the beach. He won't believe this. Take me to your ancestor."

"First we must prepare the offering. We believe our ancestors' spirits require sustenance. They take the nourishment we offer them, and in return they nourish us. They give us the harvest, the corn, and the seeds that grow. The ears of corn must die to feed us, and when we die, we feed the seeds. Life becomes death. Death becomes life."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Ricky. Let's get started, 'cause tonight there's a football game on TV back at the hotel. I want to get back in good time to watch it."

"I assure you, you will not miss your game." Enrique opened the front trunk of the Volkswagen Beetle and reached inside. "Will you carry this clay urn to the offering place?"

"I don't see any gravestones, Ricky. You sure this is a cemetery?"

"It is where my ancestor, Tlaloc, reposes. Tlaloc of the rain. I shall ask him to nourish our crops. I will give to him precious liquid, and if he is pleased, he will give us back precious liquid. Do you see that stone mound ahead of us? That is where we will make our offering."

"I thought you guys brought tequila and tamales and stuff. All you've got is this dirty pot and," Homer pointed inside the trunk, "that bundle of old rags. What are we going to give Tlaloc?"

Without removing the bundle from the trunk, Enrique peeled back the covering rag. The rag had once been blue but was now stained ochre. From within the heart of the bundle, the black edges of an obsidian blade shimmered and glinted as though beating with a hungry energy.

He turned and said with a smile, "I'm sure we'll find something."

(c) Copyright September 2002 Dennis Phillips

 


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Fiction Short Story

 

The Writer's E-Zine Home

Fiction Short Story

Judy Ealy

"Tony"

Tony stood on the steps of his large brownstone townhouse. He fumbled in his pocket for his keys as he surveyed the neighborhood. "Upper middleclass" he thought, "not so bad for a poor kid from the streets."

He was still pretty hyped up from the job he just finished, so as he entered the house he made a beeline for the bar. He tripped over Perkins, his slant eyed Siamese cat, who came bounding down the stairs at the sound of his keys rustling and he almost fell on his ass. The cat slithered around Tony's legs and mewed plaintively.

"Hey Perkins, watch out. I almost fell." Tony reached down and picked the cat up and looked in its face. "Whatsa matter boy? You hungry?"

The cat continued mewing as Tony set him back down.

"Let ol' Pop get a drink here and then I'll get you some dinner."

He poured himself a large snifter of the brandy Don Bennedetto had brought him from his last trip to Italy. As he drank, he closed his eyes and savored the smooth velvety feel of the amber liquor in his mouth.

Perkins continued making figure eights around his legs and his mewing turned into an incessant yowl.

Tony carried the cat into the kitchen and reached into a cupboard for a can of SophistaCat gourmet cat food. He hugged the cat. "Nothin' but the best for daddy's baby." He opened the can and scooped the contents into a bowl he had retrieved from another cabinet. He set the cat down on the counter in front of this delicacy but Perkins just glanced at it, arched his back and leaped to the floor.

"Hmmm, whatsa matter with you, boy? You sure are actin' funny today.

He took his drink into his comfortable den and sank into the recliner. He set the brandy on table next to him and picked up the remote that controlled his stereo. He chose "Opera's Greatest Duets" and his deep brown eyes lit up as the music began with "Gia Nella Notte."

Perkins jumped into his lap and groomed his front paws while he warily glanced towards the staircase. Tony turned up the music, although he knew his neighbor, Mr. Trouche, who was a retired professor of French Literature would undoubtedly soon complain. Mr. Trouche hated Italians and anything Italian. It had something to do with World War Two but Tony had no idea what.

The music and the brandy were doing their jobs soothing his nerves. It seemed each hit became harder than the last one. When he was a kid it was a kick doing someone, but now he got no enjoyment out of it at all. Maybe it was time to throw in the towel. Maybe he should start thinking of retirement. "That's the ticket! I'll be like the old guy next door. Putz around in the garden all day and hang out at the deli with the other old farts."

He jerked his head towards the stairs; he heard a creaking noise. Perkins hissed, his hair stood up all over his body. Tony listened and there it was, he heard it again.

"Who's there?" he shouted. He waited a moment and heard nothing. He chuckled to himself, "Just the house settling. Boy my nerves are bad." He closed his eyes and nodded his head in cadence with the music.

"Tony," a voice whispered.

Tony opened his eyes. "Holy Christ," he sputtered. "Lefty Vincenzo! What the hell's goin' on here? You been dead for ten years. Look at you, you're drippin' slime all over my carpet!"

Before him stood a rotting corpse. The gray skin was sliding from the visible parts of his body, his face and hands. His neck had a ghastly black ligature mark all the way around it where the garrote had cut through the skin and choked the life from him.

"Tony." The scratchy whisper again, moaning in the background. "You gotta pay for what you done to us. We can't have no peace until you pay."

He clutched the cat close to his chest and slowly opened his eyes, which quickly filled with fear. The whole room was full of them! Bodies in all states of decomposition filled the den. He saw Slats Wingo, and Benny the Turk, and many other of his past jobs. Their eyeless orbs stared in his direction.

Most of them were so far gone he didn't recognize them. He smelled the putrid odor of death emanating from the disintegrating corpses. He started gagging. He noticed bullet holes and stab wounds he had inflicted on these pallid creatures. There in the back he saw Jimmy the Blade, with his head bent over to the side in the same position as when it broke after he had kicked the stool from under his feet and the rope around his neck jerked tight.

He continued to grip Perkins tightly against his chest, so frightened he never noticed the cat's bulging eyes and its final suffocated breath.

*****

Butch and Darla were parked across the street from the deli arguing, as usual, over which of them would run in for the coffee. They were working the four-to-midnight shift, had eaten dinner at Orlando's Tacos and now wanted a cup of coffee. Dispatch came on and put out a noise disturbance call. Butch rolled his eyes and asked, "Didn't we ignore that same call last night?"

"What was the address?"

"One-twenty-one Prospect Avenue."

"Yeah, that's the one. Guess everybody else ignored it too." Darla pulled away from the curb and headed for Prospect.

"Darla, you're not actually answering this?"

"Well, somebody's got to. Might as well be us. Call it in."

"C'mon, let's at least get the coffee first."

"Butch, call it in." She was getting angry at him now.

He sighed and picked up the mic. "294, we got the noise at 121 Prospect."

Darla parked the squad car in front of the nicely landscaped brownstone. As soon as they got out of the car, a tall, elderly gentleman came out onto the stoop.

"It's about time you people got here! What took you so long? I've been calling 911 for the last three days." He was waving his arms in the air and stomped his foot when he said last three days. "I have not been able to sleep a wink with that terrible Italian music blaring. The same disgusting pieces over and over."

Butch muttered, "Gee, maybe we had something more important than noisy neighbors..."

"We're here now, sir, so just calm down and give us your name." Darla shot Butch a dirty look.

"I'm Durand Trouche."

"OK, Mr. Trouche, we'll check it out." Butch started up the steps of house with the offending music.

"It won't do any good. He doesn't answer."

Darla said, "Maybe he went off somewhere and forgot to turn the stereo off."

"No, when he takes a trip he has Mrs. Perlman on the other side over there feed his cat. She's not doing that."

"How come she hasn't complained about the music?" Butch asked.

"She's hard of hearing. Now get on with it. Get that damn noise turned off!"

Darla rang Tony's doorbell. "Who lives here?"

"A terrible man named Anthony Copello. I think he works for the mob."

"What makes you think that?" Butch wanted to know.

"He's Italian, they are all mobsters."

"Butch, I'll go around back and see if I can get someone to answer the back door."

As Darla left, Butch asked Mr. Trouche, "How do you know, Mrs. what's-her-name, Perlman, isn't watching the cat."

Mr. Trouche arched his ample white eyebrows and icily told Butch, "Because you fool, she told me."

"Oh." Butch rapped on the door with his nightstick. Still no answer. As he stood there waiting for Darla, he noticed an all-too-familiar fetid smell originating from the house.

Darla came running from the back. She told Mr. Trouche to wait on his stoop. When he left, she asked Butch, "Do you smell what I do?"

"Yep. I'll call Fire and a bus. There's gotta be a body in there."

*****

Inside the house Butch and Darla stood over the corpse of Tony sitting in his recliner. Perkins, the cat, lay in his lap. Tony's throat was slit and a butcher knife was clutched in his right hand, which hung over the arm of the chair. Blood that was now clotted and caked, spilled down the front of him covering the cat. Tony's mouth was frozen open as if in a scream.

The ME, Linda Darnell, and her crew of forensic people arrived and were swarming all over the house.

Butch said to Linda, "Seems like an awful lot of people here for just a suicide."

"Yeah, it would be if it were just a suicide, Butch. But look, he's holding the knife in his right hand and his throat was cut by a left-handed person. Looks like murder to me."

Back out on the street Darla looked Butch in the eye and said, "See, even the most mundane calls can be important to us."

He looked back at her like she was a nut case. "Oh, shut up and get in the car. We still gotta go get our coffee!"

© Copyright 2002 Judy Ealy

 


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Copyright 1998 - 2002, Writopia Inc. All Rights Reserved
Fiction Short Story

 

The Writer's E-Zine Home

Fiction Short Story

Sue Borgstad

"Windigo"

Roger heard a footfall sound softly on the porch stairs. Still within his dream, he snuggled deeper into his covers and ignored the warning. The significance of the noise finally triggered his inner alarm and he sat bolt upright. He and his family were vacationing at their lakefront property. The area was nearly deserted at this time of year. A blizzard was brewing in the clouds and foreboding winds howled through the tall, dancing firs. Uncertain what had wakened him he listened intently into the quiet hum of the sleeping cottage. He glanced at his wife, Janice, to assure himself she had not been disturbed, tiptoed over to his closet door and pulled down the bathrobe he had casually draped over it a mere two hours earlier.

Yawning hugely and rubbing his itchy, sleepy eyes, he shuffled down the moonlit hallway to make certain everything was secure. He shivered at the ominous sound of the soughing winds as he stopped at his daughter Leanne's door and peeked in to make sure she was sleeping soundly, then into his son Norman's room where he assured himself everything seemed A-okay in the Patterson household.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder. He stifled a scream, whirled around and stared his startled wife in the eye.

"I've seen calmer cats," she remarked, a little taken aback by her husband's reaction.

Roger leaned against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought you were a burglar. I almost had heart failure," he whispered.

"Why would you think I was a burglar?"

"I don't know. Something woke me. I'm not sure what."

"Why are we whispering?"

Another footfall sounded on the porch stairs. They stared round-eyed at each other. A loud banging reverberated through the cabin and a deep male voice hollered "Hello inside."

"Who's there?" Rogers voice quavered slightly. "What do you want?"

"It's Leo Gervis and Bert Doans. We're the game wardens. We have to talk to you folks.

"The door, constructed from rough-hewn logs, required a good yank to open it. A sardonic greeting died on his lips when he looked up into the six-foot-four warden's steely gray eyes. A younger, smaller man with a pleasant smile stood next to him. They were both dressed casually in jeans, blue feather down jackets and light blue woolen toques.

"Hi, there, what can I do for you this early in the morning?

"The taller man nodded a greeting to him and Janice, then said goodbye to whoever had been on the other end of the cell phone pressed into his ear. "Sorry about that. I was checking in with the office. My name is Leo Gervis and my partner's name is Bert Doans. Sorry to disturb you this time of night but we came to advise you of a marauding grizzly in the area."

"Hello," Roger said, smiling slightly. I'm Roger Lester and this is my wife Janice. We're renting the cabin for a month from Connor Preston." He gave the Warden a small wry smile. "Doctor-enforced vacation. A grizzly, you say? In this area?"

Both game wardens nodded their hellos. "The odd one treks through once in a while. This one's been wily; he's avoided capture for over a week now. We wanted to alert you because he attacked some people in a cabin about ten miles from here a few days ago. Sorry we didn't drop by earlier, but we didn't know anybody was living here until we noticed your travel trailer parked in front of the shed."

"Aren't bears in hibernation by now? I didn't think there were any grizzlies in this area."

The first heavy snow of the winter had already fallen and the headlights of the warden's snowmobile, parked just in front of the tall, dark trees and brush, bounced from the white blanket into Roger's eyes making it difficult to see beyond vehicle. He thought he saw movement in the brush beyond the lights but he dismissed the idea. It was probably the wind moving around the trees.

Leo gave a short laugh. "I guess he didn't read the book. But, I just talked to base and they say he has been captured. Sorry to have bothered you folks." He flipped his cell shut and clipped it on his belt.

"Hi, kids," he said to Norman and Leanne who had come to see what the disturbance was all about.

This time Roger was certain he saw a dark shadow in the bushes. He was about to say something when he heard a hoarse snuffling noise and the cracking of tree limbs and an animal charged from the brush. When it reared onto its hind legs he was positive he had never seen anything so immense and menacing in his life. So humanlike in its actions. It let out a deafening shriek and still on two feet, charged the snowmobile. With one great swipe of a mighty paw the machine flew through the air and crashed into the ground.

"In the door! In the door!" Leo's voice was urgent but calm. All thought of civility was gone as he shoved everyone inside the cabin, heedless of the strength of his blows. "Now!"

It felt like everything was happening in slow motion to Roger as he and the two wardens herded his family to safety. He was shocked to realize the high-pitched strident voice blaring in his ears was his own. "Move! Move! Move!"

Thick log walls muted the snorts and hisses of the animal but it didn't make them any the less frightening.

"Oh, no!" Roger followed Leo's horrified gaze. He could see into the kitchen at the end of the long hallway and at the other side of the kitchen, a glass patio door.

"Do you know if there are any storm doors?" Leo asked Roger. "We sure could use some right about now."

Roger stared at Leo with fresh panic. "Yes, but they are in the shed. There is door leading off from the kitchen into the shed, but unfortunately its an outside door and wide open. We were busy taking our things out of the trailer and into the cabin and didn't think to lock up. There isn't anything of real value in it except the storm doors and windows and wood for the fireplace."

Roger glanced at Bert, who stood motionless in the middle of the room, his deep brown eyes filled with terror as he stared out the window. His lips were barely moving and Roger had to strain his hearing to make out the word.

"Windigo."

Leo spun on his heel and stared at Bert. "There is no such thing." He grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him onto the couch. "It is only a myth."

Roger fastened his eyes on Leo as he and the rest of his family waited for an explanation.

"Bert is native Indian. His father was a shaman and he taught Bert to believe in all the old ways and legends. The Windigo is a mythical beast that comes for the soul of someone who has spent too long in the winter alone and hungry. He is said to ride the winter winds."

Another unearthly shriek surrounded the cabin and tore through all the tiny chinks and crevices.

"Windigo," tore from Bert's throat and he lost all color. "It's calling for me!" Roger thought the man was going to have a heart attack. His voice shook with fear. "I told you last winter it wants me. Ever since I escaped starvation and Louis didn't." He jumped from the couch, hit Leo solidly on the shoulder and ran for the door. "I have to go. It wants me. It has come for me. It wants my soul."

A mournful howl mixed with the wind's keening cry bounced from wall to wall. Roger was positive he could hear a strident voice hissing Bert's name.

Bert threw the door open and hollered into the wind. "I'm coming. I'm coming," and disappeared into the night.

They could hear his faint cry as he wept. "My soul. Oh, my poor soul. It hurts my soul." Then it faded away and only the wind remained, singing softly through huge boughs of the swaying trees.

Leo contacted the station and within fifteen minutes help arrived in the form of two more snowmobiles and four well-armed men. They waited until full daylight to try to find Bert's trail but his path through the snow ended beside imprints in the snow of two huge feet.

© Copyright September 2002 Sue Borgstad

 


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Literary Lights

Priscilla Fagan

Editor = censorship, criticism, wisdom . . .You decide.

There are, it seems, two kinds of editors. The first kind cares mainly about himself, about how his editing performance reflects on him and getting ahead or getting stroked or getting to lunch, as the case may be. Such editors are not editors at all and ought to go to breakfast and stay there. A real editor, however, is a rare thing, and I've been lucky in working with a few. A real editor is focused totally on the writer's work and helping the writer realize a vision of the piece or the book he's set out to do. Editing requires a certain selflessness that is hard to find. David Remnick

As writers, we have one way or another dealt with an editor. Whether through querying our novels or articles to publishing houses or agents, or submitting articles to e-zines, so, what is the definition of an editor? William Sloane tells us his, The editor is a specialist about reading. His specialty is what is sufficiently general and common between a possible readership and what the author has to say. The tool he works with is himself. If the author cannot reach him, he can't reach the editor's readership either. All writers, no matter what genre, seem to agree: editor equals power. How they use that power is the difference between a good editor and a bad one. Being a free-lancer means that you accept the fact that the editor is an absolute despot as far as acceptance/rejections is concerned, and that from his decision, there is no appeal. Isaac Asimov

Opposition to this power also exists:
Gay Talese Listen, then make up your own mind.
Witney Balliett Listen and nod –then put it back in later.
Conor Cruise O'Brien Don't let any of them mess you about.

After all, editors are human, aren't they? John Gardner says, One should fight like the devil the temptation to think well of editors. They are all, without exception–at least some of the time–incompetent or crazy. By the nature of their profession they read too much, with the result that they grow jaded and cannot see new talent though it dances in front of their eyes. Like writers, they are under insupportable pressures: they have to choose books that will sell, or at least bring the publisher honor, so they become hypercritical, gun-shy, cynical. Often they are consciously or (more often) unconsciously guided by unspoken policies of the publishing house or magazine they work for… It is useful, in short, for young writers to think of editors as limited people, though if possible one should treat them politely. Since you've begun to learn the craft of writing, have you become jaded as you read works of others?

Max Frankel tells us, How to handle an editor: grieve for him/her.  To paraphrase an old cliché. . .walk a mile in my shoes.

So, have you come to a conclusion about editors yet? I suppose it depends on what your experience has been. All in all, I tend to agree with the advice Herb Caen received, The best advice I've ever received was from my first editor, Paul C. Smith, as I began my column in July 1938: "For God's sake, kid, be entertaining. And remember, I have a short attention span."

With that said, I bid you adieu until next month.

Priscilla, the eternal optimist


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Nonfiction

Nannette Croce

Timing Is Everything
Getting & Publishing Your Newsletter's Content On Time

In my last article, I detailed some of my experiences writing for newsletters and noted how newsletter writing has provided the satisfaction of seeing my name in print, as well as valuable experience that I have used in other non-fiction writing. In this issue, I'll address one of the most basic elements of newsletter writing: timing. Because a large part of newsletter writing revolves around events — fund-raisers, meetings, talks — timing is everything.

 
Why Do Newsletters Run Late?
If information gets out too late, people can't fit it into their schedules. If it's too early, it gets lost in the "to-do" pile. This may sound like a no-brainer but, in reality, a lot of newsletter articles miss the mark. Of course, the worst problem is lateness. It's pointless for a person to read an article about an interesting program the day after registration closes. And you won't get many volunteers for your fund-raiser with only a day or two of notice. However, this happens far too often, for several reasons:

1. Those responsible for providing information often don't get it in on time.
2. The mere mechanics of mass mailings (stapling, labeling, bulking) can be overwhelming.
3. Most newsletters are sent bulk mail, which means there can be large variations in the time people receive them.

However, while these may all be valid reasons, there is nothing that will undermine your publication, and annoy your readers, more than continual lateness. So what is the remedy?

What Can I Do If I'm The Editor?
As the person in charge of my organization's newsletter (i.e., the one who gathered information, wrote the articles, and got the publication out), I learned to be scrupulous about information deadlines. I didn't wait for people to come to me, I went to them...with e-mail. In my e-mails, I would tell them when the next issue was scheduled for mailing, what dates it would cover; and what was the absolute deadline for getting information to me. I also developed a form to be completed; that way I didn't have to re-contact people for missing details.

For this system to work, though, you must be ruthless. Accept nothing that arrives past the deadline, otherwise no one will take it seriously. Also, reject anything that does not include the who, what, when, and where — unless they can get it to you by the deadline. Folks will learn quickly when they see that their important event was not written up. (Of course, if the request comes from a major contributor to your organization, you might reconsider using this tactic.)

When setting your deadlines, check with your postmaster to determine the maximum amount of time that it could take for people on your mailing list to get their issue (e.g., one week? three weeks?), and be realistic about how long it will take to get the mailing out. Failure to be realistic on this point is probably the single major cause of late newsletters. Always add a couple of more days than you think it will take.

Also, if the mechanics of mailing seem to always make your newsletter late, you may want to suggest that your organization decrease the frequency — for example, from monthly to quarterly. It is also sometimes possible to "borrow" help from other organizations that have a stake in getting the news out and, of course, nonprofits can always solicit volunteers.

What Can I Do If I'm A Writer?
If you are not in charge of the newsletter, but simply contribute articles, and your information is always dated by the time it gets out, consider setting your own deadlines. For example, instead of waiting for the editor to request contributions, send yours ahead of time. Always be diplomatic, explaining that you are trying to make his/her job easier. Or, if the deadline the editor uses — for example, two weeks prior to an event — doesn't seem to work, submit your article two deadlines ahead of schedule. Of course, with newsletter articles, timing cuts both ways. While it's frustrating to your readers to get information late, information received too far in advance is often set aside and forgotten. In my experience, for a local event or program requiring people to sign up in advance, the most effective articles appear as close to the sign-up deadline as possible. That way, readers will need to take action right away. If possible, these articles should appear no more than a month in advance. For events where people will simply "show up," you can allow a little more lead time, but certainly not more than three months.

This, again, can be a big problem if you contribute to a newsletter that does not get out on time. If this is the case, submit your article further in advance. Follow up with a short "reminder" blurb in the next issue, and hope for the best.

When events are of national or international interest, more lead time is required. Six months to a year is not too much notice to let people make the necessary arrangements. And a person who books an international flight to attend a conference is not likely to forget it. Even so, plan to follow up with one or two articles on different aspects of the event or conference. This will increase interest and pick up anyone who joined or subscribed after the first announcement.

Timing of my articles was one of the most difficult things for me to learn when I started newsletter writing. But as with so many other aspects, it was a lesson that could be applied to other writing as well. I never think of submitting a seasonal article, for example, without first checking with the editor on lead time, and I always remember that something of great interest on the day I sit down at my computer to write the query letter may be yesterday's news by the time the editor reads it.

Tips For Better Timing In Your Newsletters

  • Send out a form to collect basic information for articles (preferably via e-mail) and set a strict deadline for its return.
     
  • For bulk mailings, check with your post office for the latest possible date people on your mailing list might receive their copy (e.g., people in your state might receive their issues within a couple of days, while people in a neighboring state might receive it within four to six days later than that).
     
  • Always overestimate the amount of time it will take for the mechanics of getting the mailing out, and solicit help whenever possible.
     
  • If newsletters continually go out late, see if the frequency of mailings can be reduced.
     
  • For local events that require advance registration, time your article for no more than a month prior to the registration deadline; for walk-in programs, no more than 2-1/2 to 3 months prior.

 

 

About the Author:

Nannette Croce, wife, mother, and former career woman, decided to take the plunge and write full-time. She writes both fiction and non-fiction. In addition to her work for T-Zero, she recently was asked to become a regular book reviewer for Montana, The Magazine of Western History. Her short story, "At the Edge of the Woods," won recognition at the Philadelphia Writer's Conference this past June.


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Poetics Presents

Caitlynrose

Like most people, Caitlynrose is just trying to find her way in life. Sometimes it's easy, sometimes it's hard, but it's never boring. She has learned to like herself in the process and that is the greatest goal that she has ever achieved, because loving yourself is easy; liking yourself isn't.
 

Afraid of Life

Gasping for breath
the old man
takes a timid step
on the edge of the smoky abyss
while all around him
young ones are leaping boldly
making the jump
fingers
torn and bloody
scrabbling wildly for passage
on the other side.
He watches them
shaking his head at their impetuosity
as he slowly
breathlessly
takes another step
and wonders if
he will ever have the courage
to look over the edge.

Copyright (c) 2002 by Caitlynrose


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Recognitions

Judy Hunt

Welcome to Recognitions, a column dedicated to proclaim the writing successes of Writers' Village University members!

Sharon Bakar's short story, "Just Like Steven Spielberg," made its debut in the July 29th issue of the Malaysian weekly financial newspaper, The Edge. Her second published work, "Just Like Steven Spielberg" had its genesis in an exercise Sharon did for the "Demystifying the Writing Process" course she took at WVU last year.

"The biggest thrill after seeing myself in print was that I actually got paid for it, and the editor has asked if I will write more stories for the paper," explained Sharon. "I have a lot to thank WVU for. I have been lucky in making some good friends along the way from the classes I've taken. I also count myself extremely lucky that there's a wide open market for new writing out here [in Malaysia]."

Sharon has been a member of WVU for 18 months and credits her membership for helping her to experience these kinds of writing accomplishments. She said, "WVU gave me the courage to get started, and I love the classes."

Judy Bridges has been busy, writing poetry. "Ring So Hollow" appeared in the summer issue of Voices Online Literary Magazine. Judy's byline for this poem was Judy Eridees. "Repugnant Mockery," was published in the July issue of the online ezine, The Stump, while "Shew" can be found in the September issue.

The Stump is the publisher for Judy's new monthly column of ezine and author interviews, "Zine-Thyme." The first interview with Kristen Biss, Editor of Voices debuted in the August issue. Judy's interview with Chris Gavaler, author of Pretend I'm Not Here, can now be read in the September issue.

Judy was recently notified that her poem, "Smokin Buddy," has been selected for publication in the 1st Voices Anthology Poetry Competition sponsored by Voicesnet, The Voices Network. She clarified there is no association between this publication and the other Voices Online Literary Magazine in which she was published. Judy reacted to the news: "Yes! I'm jumping around now! I'm finally getting into paper print. I'm so thrilled!"

A WVU member for three years, Judy says her membership "is the best thing I could have done for my writing mind. Without WVU, I don't think I would be seeing myself published. I like the following quote as it applies to myself and writing: '"The more I think about it, the less I can do it. The internal critic takes control. 'We never do anything well till we cease to think about the manner of doing it.' "(William Hazlitt, The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, third edition)

Sue Borgstad achieved a personal first, earned money for her writing when she won the Writer's Crossing Gazette's August Short Story Contest. The untitled piece was written in response to the prompt for the contest: "I peeked through the keyhole of the door, trying to see what or who made the high pitched sound." Her story will be published in the October issue of the Writer's Crossing Gazette.

66 years old, retired and living in Surrey, B.C., Canada, Sue is active in the Writer's 911 study group. "I have been hanging around the hallowed halls of WVU for about a year and a half, and I'm a Lifetime member," she explained. "I love writing!" Sue has been previously published in T-Zero, F2K-Zine and WOW.

Betsy Gallup was able to call herself a published author for the first time this summer and quickly followed that up with another publishing credit to her name the following month. Intentional or not, Betsy's life has become a succession of pairs.

Betsy attained her first published work when her short story, "Time and Again," appeared in the August issue of Revolution SF. Another of Betsy's short stories, "The Biker Wore Red," was then published in the September issue of Demensions.

A WVU member for one year, Betsy takes classes that deal with novel writing and actively participates in the Writer's 911 study group. The support she has received in both the technical aspects of writing and the camaraderie with other writers has far exceeded her expectations. She said, "It is due to my affiliation with this group that I have been able to not only complete several short stories in multiple genres but also my first novel which I am still working on to get published. The feedback from the group has been invaluable to me not only in improving the mechanics of my writing but in the sheer good will and support that I have received."

Betsy appreciates the focus on pairs in her life and realizes that a larger concentration would greatly impact her lifestyle. On bedrest, she awaits her twin babies' entrance into this world.

Alisa Bosworth's poem, "Fall," was published in the September issue of T-Zero. Alisa taught high school and college students her entire life. She especially enjoyed her Creative Writing classes. The range of emotions she experienced while going through divorce triggered her interest in writing poetry. Alisa is a Lifetime Member of Writers' Village University.

We look forward to reading about your writing accomplishments in this column. If you or someone you know has received recognition for writing, please send the information to recognitions@wvu.org Let us know!


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Signs of Life

Nancy L. Horner

Drive 'Em Till They Drop, Part 2


Our elderly Nissan, which we'd quite nearly given up for dead, was finally alive and running. Having driven the car around the block, David determined that he was ready to resume the insurance coverage. I had misplaced the insurance bill for a time and discovered the envelope on the day the payment was due, so I hopped into the Honda and drove downtown.

"While I'm here," I said, "I'd like to start up the insurance on our Nissan."

The agent tapped into her computer. "There's no Nissan listed under your names," she told me.

"Well, that's because you canceled our policy. I called and asked to keep it suspended. Do you not have any records at all?"

"Not a thing. They purge the files when a policy's dropped. You can only keep them suspended for six months."

I nodded. "It was dead for a quite a while."

She informed me that I'd need the identification number, which I didn't have on me. Good try, but the insurance would have to wait.

The next week, a mechanic at the quick oil-change shop informed me that my Honda must be running hot because it had a hose that looked like "it's about to bust". He pointed out the hose to me. "See that one that looks all fat like a balloon?"

I looked at my fat hose and nodded, sighing inside. Sometimes a driveway full of aging vehicles can be a real nuisance.

David changed out the hose but I kept my eye on the thermostat and discovered, while picking up my ten-year-old from school, that the engine was definitely overheating. Fortunately, William was experienced and knew to turn on the heater and open the windows to cool off the engine– miserable in our hot, humid climate, especially after sitting in line with the sun beating on one arm and sweat trickling down my back for over half an hour.

When the thermostat began to drop, I thought, "Funny that my ten-year-old has already experienced an overheating car."

The next day the car overheated, once again. William moaned as we rolled our windows down for the second time.

"I replaced the thermostat," David told me later, "and since that wasn't the problem, we'll probably have to take it to the shop." He looked pensive for a moment. "There are a few other things I'll check first, but we need to get that Nissan insurance started up."

A few days later, the insurance taken care of, David climbed into the Nissan and started to back down the driveway, headed to work. The car was so noisy I cringed. I pointed at the front left tire, which looked perilously low on air. "Should you drive with that tire so low?" I asked.

"It's okay; I still have a little tweaking to do," David answered with a grin. "I'll fill it up on the way to work. Or, maybe after."

I shrugged. "Oh...and I think you might have wasps living in the trunk. I noticed there was an interesting buzzing noise."

He nodded and drove away with a wave. I opted not to hold my breath, waiting to see if he made it all the way to work safely.

After work, David drove the Nissan to the gas station to fill the gas tank and tire, then proceeded into the automatic car wash. As sudsy water was vigorously brushed against the exterior, he noticed wasps emerging from beneath the hood of the car.

"I checked the windows to make sure they were rolled up tight," he told me, "and crossed my fingers that the wasps couldn't figure out how to get into the car with me."

"You know," I told him, "I'm starting to think Daniel may be right when he calls that car a piece of junk."

"It has character," David answered.

Daniel drove the car with character to school, the following day, while David took My Beloved Mazda to work, intending to get its oil changed. I had a meeting to attend in Jackson, about 50 miles east, and the plan was for David to fetch our ten-year-old from school so that I wouldn't have to rush back home after the lunchtime gathering. We would take the Honda to the shop another day.

I called David to remind him to pick up Will, while waiting for an email reminding me how to get to the meeting location. "Are you on your way?" he asked.

"Not yet."

"I'll come home for lunch then. Be there in a minute."

I hung up the phone and within a few moments it rang. "Uh, I can't get the Mazda started. Is this meeting important?"

The words "good grief" came to mind.

He managed to get the battery jumped and made his way home, but then the Mazda promptly died on the driveway. "Okay," I said. "Three out of four cars need work." David nodded and took the ailing Honda back to work while I hit the road.

The next day, I ran some errands in the van. When I returned, David pointed at a wet spot on the driveway. "The van's leaking transmission fluid," he said. I felt my shoulders slump and another sigh coming on. The automobile situation was really starting to stink.

Over the weekend, David managed to fix enough of the minor car troubles to keep all but the Honda out of the shop.

"You know," I told him. "I think it's about time to think about investing in a new automobile. I'm beginning to feel a little trapped, here. I need to hit the road, now and then, and how am I going to do that with all our vehicles limping?"

"They're okay, now," David said, defensively

I gave him a long look. The "Drive 'Em Till They Drop" policy has its merits; but all the same, I plan to spend the my autumn lobbying for a revision to: "When They're All Getting Old, Ditch The Worst Car And Get a New One."


© Copyright 2002 Nancy L. Horner


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Writer's Read Writer's Read

 

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Writer's Read

Wynelda Shelton

The Right to Write: An Invitation and Initiation to the Writing Life

The Right to Write: An Invitation and Initiation to the Writing Life
By Julia Cameron
Paperback, ISBN 158 542 0093
Published by J.P. Tarcher

As you may have noticed by my previous columns, I don't "do well" with conventional books on writing. Some bore me to tears with their talk of adverbs and subject-verb agreement. I prefer to share with you the books that light a fire in my writerly heart.

I am very pleased to say that I have found a book on writing that has lit that fire once again: Julia Cameron's The Right to Write. In each chapter, Ms. Cameron gives the reader both an essay that embodies what she is teaching the reader and an exercise to help the reader achieve that goal.

But Ms. Cameron does more than give writers something to do in the form of her initiations. She gives us something to think about. When we say we have no time to write, do we mean it literally? Or do we mean that we don't have time to plan out our writing? I haven't been writing much since I've been planning my wedding, but I do find time to write in my journal, to write this column, to write letters. The time may be stolen at work, during lunchtime, or late at night. But I find the time to let my writer loose for these non-fiction items.

I have to admit that the preceding fact bothers me a bit. I've always thought of myself as a fiction writer, yet the things that I have been finding to write lately aren't fiction. Is it because I'm not into it? Or is it because I've forgotten the joy of a truly rough draft? I'm used to editing as I write, and it can be exhausting at times. I try not to let my descriptions run away from me, try not to go off on tangents. But in controlling myself so tightly when first sitting down to write, am I stifling the writer within?

Or is it that I miss the conversational tone of my journal, letters and this column? My fiction has usually been third person omniscient. Perhaps I should be writing something just for fun. Write something just because. Write something in first person, as if the narrator is having a long conversation. The Right to Write gives us permission to write for fun again. To throw the rulebook out on the first rough draft. The plot might not work out. The sentences may run on for paragraphs in that first draft. That is, after all, what revisions are for.

 


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Submissions Guidelines The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Submissions Guidelines (Updated)

Until further notice, only plain text submissions in the body of the email will be considered.
NO ATTACHMENTS.

What We Pay For

Fiction: Stories should be of interest to writers in general, not just a narrow group.

Fiction should be submitted to fiction@thewritersezine.com. Payment starts at $15.00.

If considered for publication, you will be asked to return an email agreement including your name and address.

Craft Features: Queries about Craft features should be sent to nonfiction@thewritersezine.com.

Payment starts at $15.00, and, if considered, you will be sent an email agreement to fill out and return.

Poetry: Due to the large number of recent poetry submissions, a temporary hold on further poetry submissions is in place until early 2008.

Please do not email us to ask what we pay for in other categories. When we can add to our list, we will include it in these guidelines.

What We Publish

Original short fiction, poetry, and non-fiction, particularly non-fiction related to the craft of writing and interviews.

For fiction we prefer something with a plot and resolution. If we like the main character, we are more likely to accept the story. If the main character has a problem to resolve or has to make a choice, that's conflict, and we love conflict! Too many writers confuse conflict with fight scenes. Don't be one of them. Give us a protagonist who acts, makes choices no matter how hard they are to solve his or her dilemma, not a wimp who drifts along and has to be rescued.

Non-fiction should be related to the craft of writing or be good resource material for writers. Accuracy and originality are vital. No reprints. If it has already been published somewhere else, our readers will spot it and let us know.

What We Won't Publish

Anything that inspires "hate," is defamatory or is pornographic.

Simultaneous submissions.

Material that has appeared elsewhere (reprints).

Seasonal material submitted during the same month (i.e., a Christmas story in December). Our lead time is short compared to print publications, but we do need time to edit, html and proof submission. A good guideline is to submit the manuscript by the first of the preceding month (i.e., submit a Christmas story before November 1st).

Length Recommendations

  • For Fiction, under 1500 words is preferred. We will consider excerpts from longer works.

  • Poetry should fit on one printed page if possible. A maximum of five poems may be submitted at one time (when the hold is lifted).

  • Non-fiction or Craft features have the most leeway in word count. In general these manuscripts should be 750 to 2,000 words. We like to take advantage of the hypertext capabilities we have available and link to charts, graphs, lists and so forth. Thumbnail versions may be included in the body of the article.

Rights

All rights other than first electronic, non-exclusive 'anthology' (for collections of T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine works only), and non-exclusive archival rights (we keep back issues online) are and remain the sole and exclusive property of the author.

Formats We Will Accept

Plain text in the body of an email.

T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine is an HTML publication. This gives us access to a variety of options but it is also a limiting factor.

  • Underlining is used exclusively for links in HTML. Please do not underline in your manuscript. It you are including a link to a webpage for reference, please mark the link the following way: (WEB LINK) http://thewritersezine.com (END WEB LINK).
  • The less than (<) and greater than (>) signs are used to enclose HTML encoding. If you need to use brackets, please use the square [ ] ones instead.
  • Paragraph indentation requires time consuming insertion of multiple HTML symbols. Please separate paragraphs by inserting a hard, blank line between them.
  • Fonts need to be simple. No multiple fonts. We prefer standard fonts such as Times New Roman, Courier or Arial set at 12 point. If your subject matter requires something else, ask us first.
  • The curly (smart) quotes, apostrophes, the em dash (two hyphens together) and ellipsis … (three periods) become strange and exotic characters when copied from your word processor into email. Check your preferences or options to see if you can use straight quotes. 
  • Text formatting such as bold, italic, centering, bullet list, etc., should be noted in the text by using all caps in parentheses. For example, if you wanted to italicize the word submission, you would type: (ITALICS) submission (END ITALICS).

Editing

We expect you to run spell-check and to check your grammar and punctuation before submitting. We will not reject a submission for a few typos or errors, but will if there are an excessive number of errors.

Note: Since our reading audience is international, we do not require a specific version of English. Use the spelling appropriate to your region.

We will automatically correct obvious typos such as “ton” for “not” and may correct simple agreement problems. For anything beyond that, time permitting, we will return the submission to you with a request for corrections.

Getting to Know You

Fiction and Craft features published in T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine include brief third person biographical notes on the writers. For all submissions, please compose your own bio and include it to save our editors and yourself time later if/when your piece is accepted for publication. We suggest sharing a little about your background, occupation, geographical location and what inspired your story.

How and Where to Submit

We do not accept submissions via US mail. Email submissions only, to the appropriate department, in the body of the email. No attachments accepted.

Fiction should be sent to fiction@thewritersezine.com.

Craft Non-fiction should be queried first. Send query to nonfiction@thewritersezine.com.

Poetry: Due to the large number of recent poetry submissions, a temporary hold on further poetry submissions is in place until early 2008.

Include the type of submission (fiction, non-fiction) in the subject line.

Be sure to include your name and email address in the body of the email.

If you do not receive an acknowledgement that your submission or query was received within a week, please send a follow-up query with “Did you Receive?” in the subject line. In the body of the email, please include your name and email address, the title of the work submitted, and if different, the email address sent from. Do not resend the submission unless we request it.

Good luck!


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

 

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