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 Produced and published by the members of Writers' Village University since 1998    ISSN 1521-2639       
19 November 2008
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Author Interview

Janet Smith Interviews Lynne Hinton

This month of April 2003, national best-selling author, Lynne Hinton, releases what is sure to be her next best seller, Forever Friends, in her third and final book of the Hope Springs Trilogy.

In the first book of the trilogy, Friendship Cake, (published in May 2000) we found the heartwarming story of five special women as they struggled with everyday problems. These women came together and formed a committee to create a cookbook. They embarked upon a project more meaningful than any of them could ever have imagined.

The second book of the trilogy, Garden of Faith (newly titled, Hope Springs), released in April, 2002, was welcomed with open arms by adoring fans, drawing them in once again to share the sorrows and joys in the lives of five special women who live in the Hope Springs community.

Lynne Hinton enjoys balancing her role as pastor of the First Congregational United Church of Christ, in Asheboro, North Carolina with being a writer. She writes with a warmth and sensitivity that touches readers, allowing them to believe that good things really can happen.

It was my pleasure to interview Ms. Hinton and share this candid and introspective visit with T-Zero readers.

T-Zero: Was it your goal to write a trilogy when you first wrote Friendship Cake?

Lynne Hinton: When I wrote Friendship Cake, I had no plans for a series. Harper San Francisco offered me that lovely deal. I found that I enjoyed getting back to Hope Springs and the characters that had much more to tell us, but no, it wasn't my original idea.
TZ: Did you enjoy your book tour last spring with the release of the second book in your trilogy, Garden of Faith?
LH: I do love meeting folks who read the books I write, but ‘the tour’ can be quite grueling. Last year I was in sixteen airports in twelve days. I was searched in every city because I was using one-way tickets or changing airlines, an automatic selection for security searches. I was lonesome, homesick, and finally had a bit of a breakdown in Oklahoma City. It was a difficult time.
TZ: How do you feel about your upcoming tour this month with the release of the third book in your trilogy, Forever Friends?
LH: I am looking forward to the release of Forever Friends. There's more excitement about this book, now that all three are out. There will be church events along with the bookstore events, a raffle and a contest, bringing lots of new energy.
TZ: I feel close to and enjoy reading about the lives of your characters, Margaret, Jessie, Louise, Beatrice, and Charlotte. How do your fictional characters compare to real people in your life?
LH: My characters do seem like real people to me, however, they are not based on real folks. I try to keep my church folks and encounters separate from the fictional ones.
TZ: Are you an outline/storyboard writer or would you say you just write the stories as they evolve when you are writing them?
LH: I let the stories evolve. If I have a plan or agenda, that's a sure sign that I'll be throwing those pages away.
TZ: Who are some of your favorite authors?
LH: Some of my favorite authors are Toni Morrison, Louise Erdrich, Barbara Kingsolver, Pam Duncan, Amy Tan, Frederick Buechner and Ann Lamott.
TZ: How important was it for you to have an agent?
LH: I would never have been noticed by editors if I didn't have an agent. It has been most necessary for me. I have a fantastic agent and a talented editor. If I pass muster with them, I'm pleased.
TZ: What are your thoughts regarding e-books on the Internet?
LH: I don't really know enough about e-books to comment. I know I just like to smell my books when I'm reading and like to feel the pages in my hands.
TZ: How difficult is it to shift from writing fiction to sermons? Do you think they compare in content and messages?
LH: Writing sermons and fiction are the same in that I must move myself and my agenda aside. Good writing, both fiction and sermons must be about allowing the story to come through me. I am just the vessel. The content however, is different. Fiction is just telling a story. My sermons have an element of teaching in them with practical information on how to live a more abundant, more faithful life. I'm a little more directional in my sermons. I don't intend to teach or inspire or challenge in my writing. I'm just telling a story.
TZ: Did you have dreams as a little girl of being something other than a writer and minister?
LH: When I was young, I was planning to be a missionary doctor, but that was soon out of the question when I took Freshman Chemistry.
TZ: What do you like to do when you’re not writing or delivering sermons?
LH: Other interests: I'm a runner and a gardener and I love engaging in deep, personal conversations.
TZ: What are your future plans, after your upcoming, whirlwind tour with Friends Forever?
LH: Future plans? Well, I'm moving west to Santa Fe, New Mexico. That's been a dream of mine for many years and now I'm able to see it fulfilled. I don't know what else I'll be doing other than writing, but I look forward to new opportunities to love life and learn.
TZ: Thank you, Lynne, for sharing yourself and your writing with us. Continued success, blessings and happiness in all you do!
LH: Thank you for the opportunity to blab away!
Visit Lynne’s website at: www.LynneHinton.com





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Beyond the Textbook The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Beyond the Textbook

Laurie Lupold


Many of us write for various reasons and each is important to our ability. This month I am going to touch on an area which is not constructed by our ability but solely by our thought. This month we are going to discuss how writing can be therapeutic.

Many times we come across situations which bring us a great deal of frustration. Try as we might, we worry and struggle with them in our minds but have no results or conclusions. When presented with this we have the option of giving up or looking for a different alternative to obtain a solution. Many times we can gain insight from other individuals but at times that opportunity might not be available or it might be a situation which we don't feel comfortable sharing. In this situation, I have an alternative.

Write your problem out, all thoughts and frustrations accompanied with it. Anything that comes to mind that has to do with this particular topic. Pay no attention to grammar, emotion or how it might sound to someone else. No one else has to read it. Just let it all hang out, so to speak. Pull no punches.

By the time you have completed this portion of the exercise, you should be feeling more relaxed and less boggled down in frustration. If not, you've held back, left things out. Continue to write.

When you have come to the point where your thoughts are more stable, go back and read thoroughly what you wrote. Pay close attention to the problem itself, not the emotion behind it. Quite often we will find that through our writing, we resolved the problem or at least provided a permissible plan with which to address it.

Writing allows us to see things more clearly and because our minds are ventilating we are regaining perspective and more able to see things in a new light. As an example, please read my Healthy Horizons column for this month. You should be able to recognize how through the beginning I was frustrated and confused about the situation but as I ventilated my thoughts to my readers, I, by the end of the column, was able to make choices that were beneficial to the situation. It's harmless, easy and it works.




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The Business of Writing The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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The Business of Writing

Rhonda Bracey

Top Tips For Nurturing Your Network

"Forget injuries, never forget kindness." –– Confucius

"What goes around, comes around." Networking is not just about using your contacts for your own (business) purposes. A lot of reciprocation is involved as well –– to the extent that you give more than you receive. In my opinion, karma is a powerful force. Even if you are not directly giving to those in your circle, the fact that you are giving somewhere is important.

There are some very simple things that freelance and contract writers can do to nurture their networks.

1. Maintain contact with people you know.

2. Go out of your way to help people.

3. Do your best at each job or activity; be professional, courteous, honest, and thorough. Build yourself a reputation of excellence.

4. Make no enemies. Some industries and groups are very close-knit. You never know who is part of someone else's network, so there's a reasonable chance that the person you bad-mouth is known to your contact. It's a very small world.

5. Watch your approach. Don't be aggressive, egomaniacal, or obnoxious in your networking or else you will alienate people (read: potential employers). Follow the mantra of all writers: Know your audience. There may be a time and place for aggressive marketing of your services, but a social situation is probably not it. If you are in any doubt, take the subtle approach.

6. Follow up all leads, and always thank those who have helped you. Depending on the degree of help given and the relationship you have with your contact, the "thanks" could be verbal, a note sent by e-mail or regular mail, or a small gift. For those who helped you in a major way and who you know wouldn't be offended or embarrassed by it, perhaps a bouquet of flowers, a box of chocolates, a bottle of wine, or dinner in a nice restaurant.

7. Mentor others, especially those who are new to your profession or group. Not only do you help them, but you also will learn a lot from them.

8. Remember others. If you see an article or something that might be of interest to a past client or a member of your network, forward it to them with a brief note. It shows that you are thinking of them. Working on the principle of reciprocation and keeping your name in front of them, it may mean that when they require some help, they will call on you.

9. Let others know you admire them or their work. If you admire someone, or the way they have gone about doing something, tell them! Everyone needs a boost to their ego every so often, and it promotes their self-confidence. It also means that they think favorably of you, which can have positive reciprocal effects. (Just make sure your praise is genuine. Most people can spot a phony, and if you're tagged as one, it can be difficult to change the perception.)

10. Trust your instincts. Trust is an essential part of networking –– you will be getting to know another person well enough to be able to find some common ground. But there will be people who you don't like on first meeting. If so, fine –– move on. Chances are, if you don't like them, then neither of you will be good for each other; the trust won't be there, and one or both of you will get burned by the relationship.



About the Author:

Rhonda Bracey owns her own technical writing company, CyberText Consulting Pty Ltd, based in Perth, Western Australia. She works as a contract technical writer for many companies, mostly doing software documentation and online help. Prior to getting into technical writing, Rhonda was a high school Deputy Principal and Head of Department: Library for many years. Contact: Rhonda.bracey@cybertext.com.au or http://www.cybertext.com.au


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

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Catherine's Kitchen

Catherine Manning

CATS, DOGS AND BIRDS AND TURTLES!

I'M FOREVER FIGHTING WITH THEM, all in the name of nature. The dogs want to chase the cats and the cats go for the birds and I feed and look after all of them. Not forgetting the turtles (tortoises) who just meander where they want to, when they want to and I have to make sure they don't turn over on their backs. If they do turn on their back and can't get back on their stomach, they will die of suffocation. It's usually the males that end up on their backs though!

Turtles are such cumbersome 'animals' and some think they are slow, but they are not, they are quite capable of getting on their legs and moving quite fast. Think there are about 60 of them now of all ages and sizes and just found two babies about an inch and a half in diameter. The biggest is about 35 years old and about 2' from the front of the shell to the tail. One of my dogs though blind, has a knack of sniffing out the eggs, which does keep the population down. She has it down to a T now, as she knows when they are laying and sits by them and as the eggs drop she gets it. Better that I suppose, than digging up and eating a baby turtle.

MUCH LATER and one of these days I'll miss the boat! I start the column at least two weeks before it's due and then get busy and don't finish it. I have been very busy though, which is good but it means I'm going 24/7, also I've been off e-mail for a few days as I downloaded a website to stop all the Spam and porn which I've been getting and it's given me a little trouble getting it set up, not being an expert, but thanks to the expert in the UK, I have been led through it and all seems well! My son-in-law would not have been happy with me! I just have to install my allowable addresses and hopefully that will be it, but it certainly seems to work well and dumped 20 non-acceptable without them even getting to my inbox.

This is going to be a short column as I really need to get it off, so my apologies.

Neysha's wedding went well, she looked lovely as usual. The wedding was held at Daphne's restaurant which is supposed to be very good, up market and expensive. It actually is where the Bamboo Beach Bar was, which was one of our favourite watering holes and we spent many a Sunday with the children having lunch there as it has a beautiful beach and sea. Daphne's took over, renovated and made it look a bit less like a beach bar and the prices skyrocketed!

For the wedding a massive deck was built on the beach almost to the water with a very pretty arch covered with flowers and the ceremony was held at sunset, which was beautiful. The deck had to be removed next day as it encroached on the beach which is against the law, but town planning allowed it for the occasion.

About 250 of us convened promptly by 5.30 pm and beverages were flowing, champagne, Bucks Fizz and anything else requested, but I was careful as I deliberately didn't eat anything during the day since I was looking forward to Daphne's food. By eight o'clock I was really hungry and since I had a long drive home, decided to slip away.

Following is a recipe for Pumpkin and Ginger Soup which someone asked me for some time ago.
 

PUMPKIN AND GINGER SOUP

  • 4 cups pumpkin
  • 1 cup carrots
  • 1/2 cup celery
  • 1/4 cup fresh ginger
  • 1 cup onions
  • 8 cups chicken stock
  • 1 bunch marjoram
  • salt and pepper
  • 11/2 cups cream
  • Garlic croutons
Place all ingredients, except cream, in pot. Bring to boil, lower heat and simmer for about 25 minutes, cool and blend. Reheat, season and add cream just before serving. Garnish with croutons and a sprinkle of chopped parsley.

STILTON AND PORT  

  • 10 oz roasted pecans chopped
  • 1lb of Stilton cheese
  • 3 fl. ozs. of good quality Port

Crumble the cheese in a glass bowl, add Port and mix together. Wrap the cheese in cling wrap and form a log, squeeze tightly. Place nuts on a sheet of grease proof paper and roll the log in them to cover. Tightly wrap again and refrigerate till needed. Slice and serve on French bread, biscuits or melba toast.


Bon Appetit
Cath



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Craft of Writing

Patricia A. Henisse

Keeping Descriptions Consistent

Have you ever been reading a novel –– a real page-turner –– and realized the author's description of a person, place, or thing changed somewhere along the way? You're reading along, caught in the pull of the story, and suddenly realize the discrepancy. You stop, search back through the preceding chapters and discover, yes, in Chapter Two the main character lived in a "manicured Tudor with brick walkways," and in Chapter Seven he is defending his "stylish Victorian home" from robbers. The flow of the story has been interrupted and you wonder if the novel received proper editing.

How embarrassing, you think. I'm glad I didn't write this one.

You can save your fiction from these discrepancies by using some visualization and graphic representation techniques. Apply these techniques throughout your writing process and your descriptions of characters, settings, and property (props) will remain consistent from beginning to end –– and your readers will focus on your story, not your errors.

Paint Pictures In Your Mind
Actively visualizing the characters, settings, and props in a story as you write the initial outline cements the images in your mind and allows you to make notes as to their description. When I first sketch my ideas for a story, I visualize the characters, settings, and significant props that fit the plot. Here is how I fix these visualizations in my mind.

When I create a character. I imagine what the character looks like and then describe him/her to myself. John is six feet tall and has brown hair, combed with a bang and parted on his left. If possible, I think of someone I know who looks like the character. John looks a lot like the young James Garner. I note these descriptions in the margins while I jot down my ideas.

As I describe a setting. I conjure up the picture and think, The house is in a remote location, no one around for miles, and looks like the house my brother rented when he was in the service. Again, I note these descriptions in the margins.

When adding a significant prop. I try to be as specific as possible, such as: Dee's car is an extension of her personality; not just a car, it tells us something about who she is. She drives a fire engine red Jeep Wrangler with a black hardtop, chrome bumpers, white lightning stripes, and a Class-2 Hitch with a four-bike foldaway rack. All these details are noted as above.

Create References That Work
Creating graphic representations of the characters, settings, and props in your work strengthens the picture of them in your mind and gives you a hard-copy reference. Writers who prefer visual or kinesthetic memory aids find the creation of these references particularly useful. Once I have the story outlined, I find or create pictures, drawings, or maps that show the features I have visualized. Then I label or highlight each feature I mention in my descriptions. It may seem like a lot of trouble to create these references, but they will help you write credible descriptions that add to, rather than detract from, your story.

Characters. To remind me of what my characters look like, I cut a picture out of a magazine or find a photograph that matches the picture in my mind. If the picture is close, but not exact, I draw in the difference. My character wears hoop earrings? Then I draw the earrings on the picture. The brother has a scar on his chin? I draw in the scar.

To keep the family relationships of the characters consistent, I draw a family tree starting with the earliest mentioned ancestors and ending with the last generation of characters. I make a box on the tree for each family member and include the year of his or her birth and death. I am careful to spell the names as I want them to appear in the final work and place nicknames in parentheses.

Settings. If the setting of my story is in an area I can visit, I go on a field trip with my digital camera. I find the setting I want to use for the story and take photographs from several angles. Back at my computer, I upload the photos and decide if they are what I want. Does a photo have a tree that is not in the story? Then I use my photo editing software to erase the tree from the picture. Will I use the house in the picture? Yes? Great! No? Then I erase the house. Once I get the photos I want, I print them on a single sheet of paper. If I want to add something to the photo, I add it in on the computer (if I have it in a file) or I draw it in after I print.

If I must construct the setting in my imagination, I use the following methods to recreate the pictures in my mind. To describe just the right house, I look at an architectural reference book, such as A Field Guide to American Houses, by Virginia and Lee McAlester (©1984, Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.) or Great American Houses and Their Architectural Styles, by Virginia McAlester et al (©1994) until I find a house close to the one in my mind. I check to be sure the house fits the time and location of my story (to maintain the credibility of the setting), and then I trace or draw it onto a clean sheet of paper, adding or subtracting details to fit my visual image. Did I say there was a stone fence? I draw it in. A potbelly stove? I draw in the chimney.

It helps to get a bird's eye view of larger settings such as rooms, houses, and landscapes. To depict a room, I draw a floor plan showing the location of pieces of furniture, doors, windows, and significant props. I also draw a floor plan of the house as a whole so I know the exact location of each room and the relationship of each room to the others. Then I know the bathroom is at the back of the house off the central hallway, between the kitchen and master bedroom, and I consistently describe it in the same location.

Sketching a map of every building, fence, driveway, walkway, change of terrain, tree, flower garden, or other significant feature in a landscape helps me prevent reader confusion. With this reference, I will be less likely to describe Ben turning left off the porch to go to the barn and later describe Sally turning right to get there (walking directly into the side of the hen house I described in Chapter Five).

Drawing an arrow pointing north, on all the drawings and maps of larger settings, helps me determine the direction from which sunlight streams, the wind blows, and weather fronts advance. This reference keeps my characters from sitting on the front porch watching the sunset after I have described the front of the house facing east.

Props. Creating a hard copy reference for significant props, particularly if a prop is symbolic, helps me to describe the prop accurately and highlight its symbolic nature. These references are usually easy to find or create. For example, a picture of the red Jeep Wrangler described earlier could be downloaded from the Jeep Web site or cut from a Jeep sales brochure. Once, when researching a setting for a story, I picked up a moss-covered piece of sandstone. Later, when I needed a bit of symbolism in the story, I used the stone.

Vigilance Makes The Difference
Once the references are created, I hang the pictures, drawings, and maps near my computer for easy reference. Each paper has its own place so I can glance up from the screen and check a detail without breaking the flow of my work. The vigilant checking of each detail as I repeatedly describe the characters, settings, and props assures me of consistency.

As the writing continues, the story can take on a life of its own and some of the details change. Perhaps the house grows a porch so there is a place for the dog to hide, or Aunt Sarah doesn't need her glasses because she became blind in an explosion in Chapter Three. When the story changes the details, I change the drawings to match and use the "Find" feature in my word processing program to search for and change references to these elements in the chapters I have finished.

The Whole Nine Yards
If these methods work for you, you can expand their use beyond descriptions of settings, characters, and props. For example, to maintain consistency in the days and dates used in a story, I find or create a calendar spanning the dates during which the story took place. Then, when I describe an event that happened on October 7, 1992, I know it was a Wednesday.

To maintain consistency with history, I check a historical reference book, such as The Timetables of History by Bernard Grun (Simon & Schuster, Inc.) for major events occurring at the time of the story. I list the most interesting events on a sticky note and post it to my computer monitor. This allows me to weave a historical event into the story, increasing credibility. It also can help me avoid an implausible occurrence such as a parade in Johnstown, Ohio in the days following the big flood.

These techniques will help you describe settings, characters, and props with clarity. They also will help you maintain consistency in your descriptions throughout a work of any length. In addition, these techniques will save you from the embarrassment of discovering inconsistencies in your descriptions after your baby has gone to press.



About the Author:

Patricia Henisse was born in Clarksburg, West Virginia, grew up just outside Detroit, Michigan, and now lives and writes in Longmont, Colorado. She has been an occupational therapist, health care administrator, freelance writer, geriatric case manager, cheese-maker, and employment consultant. Patricia has published several works of fiction and non-fiction in publications as varied as Rehabilitation Management, Common Lives, and the Mountain-Ear.


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Fiction Short Story

by Patricia Harrington

Cat Burglar, Beware

Detective Olson glanced around the community room. "Ma'am," he said, "I really don't think the cat burglar is one of your residents."

Clarabelle Gilly could tell that the detective had her pegged as a nosy old woman. She managed the Bingham Senior Apartments and had called the police about the neighborhood burglaries and her newest tenant Mr. Santini. The burglaries had started shortly after he moved into the Bingham and that fact was too much of a coincidence for her.

Clarabelle gave the detective her most withering stare, one that had made
even colonels cower when she was an army nurse. She said, "Are you saying older people aren't capable of being crooks?"

Detective Olson shuffled his feet. "No. But the cat burglar's climbing in second story windows, then stealing jewelry and money while the homeowners sleep. That takes someone who's pretty cool headed ... and you know ... agile."

Seeing Matilda with her walker, Clarabelle had to admit that the Bingham's residents showed their years. But she was darned if she'd let this detective lump them all as worn out and useless.

Detective Olson said, "I just can't question someone without cause."

Clarabelle answered tartly, "Well, I'm giving you one. Mr. Santini was a tightrope walker in the circus. He let that fact slip to one of the ladies here. And he's been pestering folks about the neighborhood, wanting to know who lives in the ritzy homes. There's something fishy about him, or I'm no judge of character."

Detective Olson shrugged. "Okay. I'll talk to your tenants, including this Santini. I'll make it casual--just ask if they've seen anything unusual."

An hour later, the detective strode into Clarabelle's office and said, "Why didn't you tell me this guy Santini was crippled with arthritis?"

She put down her pen. "Because one time I caught him walking just fine. I said, 'Well, aren't you doing well!' and he told me that he had been to the doctor that morning and had a cortisone shot. But he couldn't have because he rides the Para-Transit shuttle, and the drivers come into to my office to ask for their passengers that called for rides. I was there all morning on the phone checking out security systems for the apartments."

"Well, I still don't think the old guy's our burglar." Detective Olson put on his raincoat and handed Clarabelle his business card. "If you get a real lead, call me on my pager."

After he left, Clarabelle declared for her own benefit, "You haven't heard the last of me, Detective Olson. You want a lead, do you? I'll give you proof!"

She went to her room, fixed a pot of bracing Oolong tea and thought about how to make Mr. Santini show his hand. On the coffee table, she spotted the Bingham's Calendar of Activities, and an idea took hold. Clarabelle picked up the phone book and flipped through the yellow pages until she found the Spy Outlet Store's number. Then she smiled.

The following Saturday, the Bingham's tenants gathered for their monthly dinner party. Clarabelle wore her blue silk dress and diamond pendant with matching earrings that she had kept stored in a safe deposit box since Harry's death. When the tenants complimented Clarabelle, she said, "Oh, my late husband was so generous giving me this jewelry. It was very expensive." She made sure Mr. Santini overheard her.

How could he resist the temptation to steal jewelry that was right under his nose, so to speak?

Clarabelle thought that Mr. Santini might wait a couple of days before making his move. The police would suspect an inside job if the jewelry showed up missing the morning after the party. But after a day or two--given how the tenants liked to gossip--everybody within a mile of the Bingham would know about Clarabelle's diamonds. Then the police would have to broaden their search for the burglar.

Clarabelle didn't want to risk that she was wrong, however, and the day after the party, she opened the package that she had purchased at the Spy Outlet. She prepared the pendant, earrings and case, and then hid them under her fancy nightie in a dresser drawer. In the movies that was always where the burglar looked. It should be easy for Mr. Santini to climb onto her second floor balcony and pry open the sliding door. All the apartments were laid out the same, so he'd know exactly where her bedroom was. Maybe she'd sleep through his visit, though she doubted that. She was too excited.

That night Clarabelle woke up sensing that someone was in her room, but she breathed steadily as if still asleep. She lay on her side, her back to the dresser and heard a drawer open. She wasn't afraid; in fact, she could hardly wait for her intruder to leave because she wanted to get on with the next step in her plan. She had a crook to catch and a detective to prove wrong.

After the burglar left, Clarabelle rose, checked for the jewelry case and saw that it was missing. Now isn't that nice, she thought.

Next, she took out Detective Olson's card and dialed his pager number. He'd be grumpy at being awakened at three in the morning, but it served him right for not believing her.

When he returned her call, Clarabelle answered on the first ring. Sleepily, he asked, "Mrs. Gilly, what is the problem?"

"There's no problem, Detective Olson. "I have the goods on our burglar. Or rather, he has mine. He just stole my diamond necklace and earrings. I want you to come over right away and bring an ultraviolet light. I dusted the jewelry case with invisible theft tracking powder that I bought at a spy equipment store. With the light you should be able to pick up a nice, glowing set of purple handprints leading to Mr. Santini's apartment.


© Copyright 2003 Patricia Harrington
 

About the Author:

Patricia Harrington has an adult mystery series featuring amateur detective Bridget O'Hern. She debuted in Death Stalks the Khmer (America House, 2001). Harrington also started a kid’s mystery series titled "The Stanley Street Irregulars." The author's short mystery fiction and nonfiction have appeared in Orchard Press Mysteries, Mystery.Net, Woman's World, Mystery Time, Nefarious Tales of Mystery and Futures Mysterious Anthology Magazine. She can be contacted through her website at: www.patriciaharrington.com



T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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Fiction Short Story

by Laird Long

In Creeps the Dawn

His jug was empty. Bone dry. As dry as the super-heated, blast furnace air that crackled with the pent-up anxiety, frustration, and hatred of the thousands upon thousands of broken-down people who swarmed the crumbling stone tenements decomposing in the smoke-blackened, hope-dead neighborhood of Bleekertown.

Rag Top tilted the bottle upside down, again. And again. Its sticky-sweet mouth leaked not a drop. There was no mistake –– the jug was dry. He adjusted his ancient checkered bandanna, the article of clothing that gave him his name, and cursed. It was four in the morning, and still blazing hot. The sweat turned to mud as it ran down his dirt-caked face. He knew that as the heat kept building and building, something or someone would blow. Sky high.

Rag Top was a living, breathing shadow –– a darker dark spot in the dusty night, a blacker black patch in a shaded alley or doorway. Anything to avoid the scorching light of awareness. People got burnt out in the open, alone.

His home was the back alley and the empty lot. The places where garbage collected and rotted but went unnoticed because no one complained about the stench. His business was finding another jug.

He squeezed his head together with his grimy hands, trying to think. He felt like screaming, like tearing a hole in the blackness so the cold-shoulder world would stop and listen to him. Giving furious voice to the soul-busting, mind-numbing years of hard-scrabble living he had so far endured in graveyard silence. But, as usual, he held his tongue. Even if he had the words, he was short the guts. You yell, you tell –– where you are. Shadows don't talk. And they don't talk back; they slip in and out of decent people's lives every day, unseen and untouched. Besides, his throat was dry. Maybe when he glommed another jug and wet his whistle he'd have something to say to his tormentors. Just maybe.

He hurled the bottle against the pockmarked cement wall. It shattered with a deafening explosion. He froze. There, in the hundred-degree heat of his own private Hell, Rag Top froze in terror. Someone could've heard his anger. Someone, like everyone, who didn't want to hear it, and wasn't shy about shutting him up.

Sure enough, as the broken glass trickled down into the filthy concrete carpet of his living quarters, something moved at the end of the alley. The brick above Rag Top's head suddenly burst apart. Then came the sound: a gunshot! A second bullet bounced off the pavement in front of him. The message slowly leeched through his booze-sodden brain –– someone's shooting at me!

He scrambled to his feet. A dark mass was coming towards him from the back of the alley, firing as it moved forward, the gun's muzzle flashing like a warning beacon. Rag Top stumbled into the street. Fort Street. He lurched forward, running, falling, crawling, climbing back up, running, running, running. His dirty breath caught in his heaving chest and he spat it out in a chunk of phlegm. He slammed into a streetlight and grabbed hold. He threw a desperate glance backwards. The shadow with the gun was still coming. Fast! Rag Top grabbed a brief glimpse of a face in the limpid halo of a streetlight: Tomcat Thompson, biker goon. The shadows were alive and screaming now. To be seen was to be hated. A bullet banged into the light pole.

Thompson yelled at him, "Hey Rag Top, slow down, man! I just wanna talk to ya!"

Rag Top panted like a wounded animal. He rolled his courage into a ball and threw it back, "I heard what you had to say, and I ain't buyin' it!"

A bullet tore through Rag Top's bandanna and singed his greasy hair. Thompson was only fifty yards away and closing. Rag Top sprinted down the crooked mouth of an alley and the blackness swallowed him whole.

*

The following night, a hot wind blew a crumpled newspaper into the gritty face of a derelict. In the dim light of an abandoned, rat-infested warehouse, the cast-off read a story about a hooker who had found the battered and shattered body of little girl discarded in an alley off of Fort Street. He read and re-read until the scalding tears blocked out the words and churned up the memories –– the dark, twisted, dead and buried memories.

*

The cop glanced up as the bum stumbled into the station house and mopped his angry red face with a damp handkerchief.

"Drunk tank's full, buddy."

"I wanna talk to the Captain about the little girl," Rag Top responded. His voice was weary but sure. He stared firmly into the cop's surprised eyes.

The cop stood up and looked down. "You killed that poor little kid, you dirty son-of-a-"

"I know who killed her, you stupid asshole!" Rag Top yelled. He tried to look up at the cop, but the harsh, fluorescent light blinded the weak, inward-looking eyes so used to blankness. He toppled over onto the floor.

The police finished their interrogation of Rag Top at two in the morning. At three, Franklin 'Tomcat' Thompson was shot thirty-one times by a police tactical squad executing an arrest warrant. The first shot had killed him.

*

The red-faced cop watched Rag Top push through the front doors and wade out into the white-hot dawn. "He really spilled his guts, eh Captain?"

"Yeah." The grim-faced Captain looked at the small figure walking slowly and stiffly down the front steps. "He's out in the open now."

"Didn't want no protection, huh?"

"Nope. He was adamant about that."

The cop wagged his head back and forth as Rag Top disappeared into the noisy street teeming with humanity. "I wonder how a guy gets like that.
You know, lets himself go like that."

"He used to be a regular citizen like you and me," The Captain wiped sweat off his forehead with a gnarled hand, "Fifteen years ago –– when I booked him for raping and murdering a seven-year-old girl. He got off on a technicality."


© Copyright 2003 Laird Long
 

About the Author:

Laird Long pounds out fiction in all genres. Big guy; sense of humor. His writing credits include: Blue Murder Magazine, Handheldcrime, Heist, The Crime Factory, Orchard Press Mysteries, Futures Mysterious Anthology Magazine, Another Realm, Albedo One, and Dark Angel Rising.



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Fiction Short Story

by Stephen D. Rogers

An Ounce of Prevention

Gladys Wilson parked in front of the gas station, took her house key off the chain, and went into the office.

"My car is making a funny sound."

The young man behind the counter glanced out the window at her vehicle. "Can you leave it?" The name on his uniform was Bud.

Gladys handed him her car keys. "I'd rather wait if you don't mind."

Bud took the keys and laid a blank repair form in front of her. "No, that's fine. There's some magazines in the sitting area and I can put on a fresh pot of coffee."

"Sounds wonderful."

He pulled a pen from his pocket and pointed to sections on the form. "Just fill in your name, address, and telephone number. Sign here to approve the maintenance inspection."

Gladys took the pen and did as he asked. "Nothing will be done without my permission, right?"

"Right. You're just giving the mechanic approval to check it out."

"Okay."

Bud rotated the form as he took the pen from her. "And what exactly did you say was the problem?"

"The car is making a strange sound, sort of like a knock-knock-knock."

"Does it happen all the time or only when you accelerate?"

"I'm not sure. Is that important?"

Bud made a few notes on the form. "Don't worry. Our mechanic's a wizard."

Gladys walked over to the sitting area and examined the available magazines. There was a surprisingly large selection and all of them current.

She made herself comfortable and started reading.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched another uniformed employee start her car and drive it into the garage bay.

Everything so far was going according to plan.

Bud wandered over and started fussing with the coffee maker. "Would you prefer regular or decaf?"

"Decaf, thank you."

"Beautiful day."

"Yes. I called my boss and said I'd be late because of car trouble but I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't believe me."

Bud laughed. "After your car is fixed, maybe you can take the long way in."

"There's an idea."

He started the coffee maker. "This should be ready in just a few minutes. Milk or cream?"

"Just black, one sugar."

"Sugars are right next to the cups. Enjoy."

"I will." Gladys rewarded Bud with a smile before going back to the magazine.

When the coffee was finished brewing, Gladys poured herself a cup and found it excellent.

Twenty minutes later, the mechanic walked into the waiting room. "Excuse me."

Gladys lowered the magazine, "Yes?"

"I've had a chance to look at your car and can show you what I've found if you want to come out to the bay with me." The name on his uniform was Frank.

"Certainly." She stood and followed Frank around the counter, nodding at Bud. "Of course I really don't know much about cars."

"That's okay." He flashed her a friendly grin. "Watch your step."

The hood of her car was open and Gladys peered inside and shook her head.

Frank wiped his hands with a rag. "You were right about that noise you heard. You're in desperate need of a tune-up."

"Is it serious?"

"Well, you could drive the car but you won't get as good gas mileage and you might really damage the engine."

Gladys shivered. "Is a tune-up expensive?"

"This car, probably a hundred-and-fifty to two hundred, depending on what we find."

"Can you do it now?"

"As soon as you approve the work."

Gladys smiled. "There doesn't seem to be any point in waiting."

Frank led her back to the office so she could sign the paperwork. Then he motioned towards the waiting area. "I'll let you know as soon as it's done."

Gladys returned to her seat and picked up her cup of coffee. That wasn't difficult at all.

Retrieving her magazine, Gladys continued reading until she found an interesting recipe. She took a notebook out of her purse and started writing down the ingredients.

Bud called over from the counter, "You can take that with you if you like. There's no shortage of reading material here."

"Oh, thanks." Gladys made a mental note to include the niceties in her report. The people here really made an effort to make the customer feel comfortable.

Gladys finished the magazine and was reaching for another one when Frank returned.

"You're all set."

"Wow, that was fast."

"We like to get you back on your way as soon as possible."

Gladys stood and looked for somewhere to place her empty cup.

"Don't worry, we'll take care of it."

She followed Frank to the counter and noticed her car was already parked out front. "Did you run into any other problems?"

"No, everything's in tip-top shape." Frank made some notes on the form and asked her to sign her acceptance that the work was completed. "That will be ninety-four dollars even."

The repair coming in on the low side was a pleasant surprise. "I hope you take charge cards? I'd be lost without my plastic." She handed Frank her card. "I suppose I have to go into the office now."

"Take the rest of the day off. Tell them the repairs took longer than expected. They won't know the difference."

Gladys signed the credit card slip and traded his pen for her card. "I'm afraid they would."

"What do you mean?"

"I work for the Attorney General's Office. We're investigating fraud at service stations." Gladys placed the card and receipt in her purse.

Frank's mouth dropped open.

"The mechanic who checked my car before I came here will testify my only problem was an ounce of water in the gas tank. There's no way my boss would believe I waited all day long when all I needed was a dollar's worth of dry gas."

Gladys smiled at Frank's look of discomfort and waved her keys. "Thanks for the coffee. We'll be in touch."


© Copyright 2003 Stephen D. Rogers
 

About the Author:

Over two hundred of Stephen D. Rogers' stories and poems have appeared in a variety of publications. He is a stay-at-home dad who lives in southern New England. Stephen's website: www.stephendrogers.com




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Fiction Short Story

by Ana Belden

Waltz of the Red Silk Gown

Maggie was in the kitchen, lifting a loaf of bread from the oven when she heard the rustle of silk behind her. When she turned off the stove and greeted her employer her jaw dropped.

"Miz Serena! What on earth! You been up in that attic again?" Aghast, Maggie remembered her position and began once more. "Miz Roth, that's a right purty red dress. But how come you're wantin' to wear it now? You ain't goin' nowhere tonight, are you? There's a storm comin'."

Serena's face glowed with excitement. "I wore it the night I met him, Maggie. And on other occasions when it was just he and I, dancing alone in the ballroom. I thought he'd like to see me in it again." Serena held the voluminous yards of her dress out for inspection.

Maggie fought back despair and aggravation. It seemed the old lady slipped more each day. It was getting downright tiring to keep an eye on her. Then, looking closer, she realized there was a clear-headed energy in Serena she hadn't seen for a while, even though what she was saying was absurd. Knowing she shouldn't, she made her decision. If pretending to accept the woman's belief that the old Mister had returned from the beyond made Serena happy, tonight she would oblige.

"Well, turn around, missy. Let me do those buttons."

"He's been in the ballroom, Maggie, every night for a week now. At first I thought––" Serena's voiced faded. Maggie knew what she thought. On good days, Serena knew as well as anyone the cruelty age was imposing on her mind.

Maggie followed Serena to the ballroom. Although willing to indulge the fantasy, she would not leave her alone. "I'm chaperoning this dance, ma'am," she stated flatly when Serena gave her a questioning look.

In the great room, Serena swayed slightly, picked up her skirts, and moved eagerly to the center of the parquet floor. Lifting her hands as though offering them to another, she began a dance to unheard music. Her housekeeper sat on a brocaded bench and watched Serena's back arch slightly as though clasped by a partner. She could swear the years fell away as Serena moved to sounds Maggie could almost hear.

On and on, she watched Serena dance. Her skirts swirled to waltz time measured in moments from the past. Her silver hair took on a hue of gold in the glow of the half lit chandelier; the angular lines of her body shaded to youthful roundness and her laughter became a girlish sound reverberating to the corners of Maggie's mind. Spectral conversation began to resonate as her imagination began to eavesdrop.

"Just whom do I have the honor of dancing with this evening?" Maggie shivered as she actually heard a voice ask the words, echoing the same answer sought over 50 years before. The shadows' cast gathered an essence even a skeptic could not deny. The tall transparent figure of a man in uniform made Maggie blink and catch her breath.

"Miss Serena N O'Cent," Serena told him the name she had playfully taken when Cotton was King and antebellum etiquette was known as chivalry. In awe, Maggie remained silent as a story unfolded before her astonished eyes, the chill between her shoulder blades eased.

"Innocent of what, m'lady?" came the whisper. She smiled as Serena laughed and said nothing. Maggie knew well the story of how Serena and the Colonel had met. Refusing the fetters of polite society, and an actress for a while, Serena had been a daring young woman until the night she met Thomas Roth in New Orleans. Even in the café society of Vieux Carré, she shocked and raised eyebrows but she'd willingly left her restless days behind for Thomas.

Now the music was clearly heard, the gossamer presence of others long departed joined the scene. Transparent ladies hid behind decorative fans while dimly seen gentlemen in dashing waistcoats stood at their sides. No longer did Maggie feel a chill at what she did or did not see. Such loving memories are never a source of fear.

She sighed softly as Serena tilted her head to gaze into familiar eyes, felt the gentle grasp on Serena's silken waist and watched Colonel Roth lead his wife through one waltz after another. They were the center of attention for ghostly guests of yesterday. The housekeeper marveled as the line between this world and the next vanished in a moment of immortal
romance.

Despite having spent her life with both feet planted firmly in reality, Maggie swung a foot to the music and blissfully gave credence to the power of love. Tomorrow she would be logical and wise, but tonight belonged to these two and she was their fairy godmother. Removed from a life of plain and proper, she was a willing guest at a cotillion in the 1880's.

Outside, the air grew thicker, the night darker and from a distance, the sound of a storm gave warning. Maggie began to stir, her focus reluctantly drawn away from the moment. Time was beginning to spin again too quickly, and without pity. One by one, the phantom guests departed, and the music stilled. Finally, a crash of thunder and her illusions evaporated.

"Miz Roth? Ma'am? MIZ SERENA!

Serena flinched. Once again she stood alone, searching the ballroom. Her shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"M-Maggie?" Her voice was shaky.

"Miz Roth, the storm blowed the winders open. We need to get downstairs where it's safe." Maggie pleaded with her mistress, reality bringing a harsh return to her senses. Could she have dozed off while the missus was dancing? Surely so; what she'd seen could only be explained as a dream. She began to regret indulging the elderly woman her fantasies.

"No, Maggie, please. Thomas. Thomas will... Thomas is...

"Mister Thomas ain't here, Miz Roth," Maggie said dully, as she pulled the long windows shut. "Why don't you come on with me now and––" Maggie's heart broke at the expression on Serena's face. She continued, her eyes misting, her voice gentle. "And you and I will go on downstairs and wait for him there. He'd want that, now wouldn't he?"

"Do you think he'll return, Maggie?"

Maggie paused only a moment then brushed away all but the most honest of answers. "Why, Miz Serena, you know that man never would let nothin' stand between you and him."

Serena reached for Maggie's hand and gave it a squeeze as she walked through the ballroom door. To the eyes of the world, she was an elderly woman in a faded silk gown but to Maggie and the ghost of Thomas Roth, she was and always would be Serena N O'Cent, Belle of the Vieux Carré Ball.


© Copyright 2003 Ana Belden
 

About the Author:

Ana Belden lives in the bayou country of Louisiana. A Texas native by way of New Mexico, she's hoping her recent transplant to Cajun country will be a positive one. She is a second-year member of WVU and currently spends her time job hunting, writing, and prowling the halls of WVU.





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Healthy Horizons

Laurie Lupold


I have recently been forced to take a good look at myself. I've contemplated my values, my character and though I realize I have my share of imperfections I find myself to be someone with substantial qualities. With this in mind, I have been left confused as to the development of a child, now a man in retrospect, who has none of these initial qualities. I am frustrated to the point that a separation between the two was crucial. I could no longer subject myself to the kind of despicable behavior which this young man displays.

This individual will steal, lie and cheat to obtain what he wants. He has constantly been in trouble with the law because of this, which is not representative of me, but forcefully involved me in crimes committed in other states, as they did not hold the child obligated to the consequences, but the parent. As a result, I will not only be paying restitution for the rest of my life, but also have had to replace things that this child has taken from me.

Just this past week he got one over on me again. My daughter and I were out shopping for her upcoming baby. We were having such a nice time. My son managed to track me down at the store. When I went to the phone, he began to create this story of peril. His plot begins with a physical confrontation between himself and another individual who he says was making terrible comments about the family. He continues with this production by informing me that he spent five days in jail for this and will be returning to jail unless he has eighty dollars for a fine the following day. Me being a mother, his mother, I was feeling terrible because he has a baby due any day and it would be awful if he wasn't there for the birth. All history aside, this is an important event in his life. My reaction was to give him the money so I had him come to the store to get it.

I arrived home and my daughter's boyfriend mentioned that my son was going to go buy a new pair of expensive shoes. I became suspicious, especially with his past, so I made some calls only to find what I expected, he'd never been arrested. Of course I was upset and hurt but I took it all in stride and dealt with it but it got worse.

As I mentioned earlier, he was expecting a baby which was a large part of the reason for my decision to help him. The following day, my daughter was going through some mail on the shelf and dropped a letter that was opened. The contents falling out, she discovered a yellow slip of paper which she handed to me. The paper was a birth certificate. Yes, you guessed it, I already had a granddaughter. He had just got money from me yesterday. I couldn't believe this. So many emotions surfaced.

Naturally I wanted an explanation. I called him. He didn't deny that he lied to me about the money. He went on to tell me I wasn't allowed to see my grandbaby. He listed some petty excuses, none which I found to be substantial for this kind of treatment. Irregardless, he made his choice. Bitter and hurt, I told him to come and get his stuff and not come to me anymore when he has a problem or wants money because I'm finished. Maybe that sounds harsh, but how much more can I be expected to take?

I have replayed my parenting and my example over and over in my mind. For the life of me I can't explain where he became this person from the type of individual I represent. Who decided I had to accept this type of behavior? The answer is quite simple: I did. In realizing that, I made the choice not to have him as part of my life until when he can show respect.

I guess, in some respect, I am searching for some acceptance of my choice but more than that, my readers are such an important part of my life I felt a need to share such an important period of my life with you. Maybe in doing so I might reach out to someone with similar experiences that has also questioned who they are. All we can accept is that we influence to our best ability who our children become but we have no magic that assures us that they will choose to be the type of people which we modeled. We cannot ever hold ourselves responsible for who others become. We can only hope for the best. Love your parents, for their effort was out of love.




T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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Poetics Presents The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Poetics Presents

C. Leigh Young

As a Performance Artist, C. Leigh Young, has enjoyed a long distinguished love affair with language and writing. She has examined their relationship to theater, dance, poetry. As an artist in education, she actively seeks opportunities to infect every school-aged child with love for Language Arts in workshops that bring creative spoken words to life. T-Zero is please to be able to publish her first poem.
 

With You In Spirit

Knowing you will be in your moment

when you are there

Pulls me into space

and I am with you.

So stand in gilded grace

face to face with strangers

yearning for cultured phrases.

Step to the right

make room for ancient words --

words that make you vessel

Fill to brim the Past... Pour,

pour, no dowse the Present.

Splash minds, awaken Reason,

drench the Consciousness of Now

that each word shall utter to every heart

And I will drink the echoes.

Copyright © 2003 C. Leigh Young



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Recognitions

Joan Pulver

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

Sonya Weiss, better known as Magnolia, has been married 15 years to a wonderful man who encourages her writing endeavors. Once her kids were old enough to read, she wrote stories for them, everything from fantasy to romance. Her 12-year-old daughter gently nagged her into sending in her short story to T-Zero. Sonya said she felt a little foolish once she’d done so. Her story in T-Zero was the first writing piece she sold and she said, “For that reason, it will remain very special to me.”

Sonya had an essay accepted in a military anthology book titled Freedom isn't Free due out in June and a piece being published by Mother Earth News which may be out late this year or early next year.

Sonya entered a Writing Round Robin contest at eharlequin.com. Her entry for Chapter 5 of the Baseball Diamond won and is published at their site. Click on the "Learn to Write" tab to read her chapter or the whole book. “I was bouncing around the room like a ping-pong ball when I found out my entry had been chosen,” says Sonya.

Audrey Higgans, a friend living in Italy, told Sonya about WVU. After taking F2K (WVU’s free creative writing class), Sonya told us, “It was the best thing I have done for myself in a long time. I learned things about writing that I never knew, and also learned things about myself and made some lifelong friends.” A group of students from her F2K class formed a writing group and still keep in touch daily.

Today, she tries to write at least 1,500 words a day on a romance novel for Harlequin. While busy sending out queries and essays, Sonya still dreams of having a book published someday.

Michael S. Barrett’s story, “Song of Saigon,” will be published in the April 9th, 2003 edition of The Fiction Warehouse. When asked how he felt when he found out they accepted his piece for publication, he said, “I was elated when Fiction Warehouse’s Managing Editor, Wayne Gunn, contacted me and announced that not only had my story been accepted, it was to be the featured fiction of the week.” Although Fiction Warehouse currently does not compensate authors, Michael feels this will be a chance to showcase his work and to add another writing credit to his resume.

Michael took F2K in 2000 and then became a lifetime member of WVU. He currently participates in the Times Trading Nortonians Rule (TTNR) and The Fade Inn study groups. “I think that being a member of WVU helped me improve my writing from trite and mediocre to stories people want to read. The feedback I receive from my study groups has been outstanding and the groups are the backbone of WVU. It has to do with the rapport that is established between study group members.”

Michael recently told a relative about being published and about the novel he is working on. The relative replied, “By the time your novel is ready to publish, if it gets published, you will be 50 years old.” Michael’s answer: “I believe Tom Clancy didn’t achieve publishing success until he was in his forties, not that I’m comparing my talent to Mr. Clancy. You’re never too old to start writing or to improve your craft.”

Sharon L Connors joined Writers" Village University in February 2002 and became a member and co-founder of the study group Hemingway Hall. The F2K class, her first experience with WVU, resulted in Sharon taking her writing seriously. Sharon told me, “The whole class bonded so well, we decided to continue our writing together at WVU and formed the study group.”

Sharon’s article entitled "Crate Beginnings" will be published in Dog Fancy Magazine. “I was so excited. This was my first piece ever published! I was speechless, then screaming, then bouncing off the walls.”

She originally queried Dog Fancy Magazine about a memoir she wrote regarding her dog, Kazzy They found out he had lympho-sarcoma when he was 11 1/2 years old and lost him eventually. Sharon thought she could help other pet owners through a devastating time with Kazzy’s story. Since Dog Fancy Magazine doesn't print memorials or sad stories, she then wrote an article on crate training. Sharon said, "At first I was against
the use of crates and would never have used one in Kazzy's case." Her new dog, GypsyLee, was another story. "I found that crates are not abusive if used correctly. Gypsy is much better for my having used one."

“Mere words cannot express how I feel about WVU. If I had never stumbled upon the F2K classes and didn't join Writers" Village University, I would not be as happy and confident about my writing today. I owe wherever my writing career goes to Writers" Village University.” Sharon is currently working on a crime mystery novel called Dancing on the Edge. She also submitted several short stories to assorted publications.

Betsy Gallup signed a contract to write a non-fiction book about twins for Windstrom Creative. She said she was shocked when she received the contract. “The first idea I sent them, they turned down as being overdone. After a lengthy rejection, they closed with a comment on how they liked my writing style and recommended I query with a new idea. It sounded like a dare to me, so I did. Who knew they would take me seriously?” Betsy joined Writers’ Village University in the fall of 2001. She currently belongs to the Writer’s 911 study group. “The members of 911 provided me more support than I could ever imagine. Their skills as writers and in their critiquing ability have allowed me to grow more than any book or any class I have ever taken.” Betsy says she owes her success at procuring this contract to her five-month-old twins. “Without them, it would not have occurred to me to come up with the idea or to have enough background information to write the book. When I am not caring for the twins, my 11-year-old son, or my five animals, I am working on my website, Whimsplace. It is my ultimate goal to give talented writers another paying outlet for their work. We pride ourselves in providing feedback on every submission. Writers are tired of rejection without comment.”

Jim Hall’s poem, “A Tincture of Integrity,” will be published in the May issue of the Dana Literary Society Journal. Sabina Becker, poetry editor of E2K, bought "Geranium in the Window” which will be published in a future issue.

Jim enjoys writing lyric poetry, haiku and related forms. A lifetime WVU member, Jim's recent publishing successes appeared in the Renegade Writers, North America Review, Möbius, The Formalist, Touchstone (a now-defunct annual anthology), Footprints, The Eleventh Muse (a monthly publication of Poetry West, temporarily out of service) and Cicada.

Congratulations, Sonya, Michael, Sharon, Betsy and Jim. We wish you continued success in all your writing endeavors.

We look forward to reading about your writing accomplishments in this column. If you or someone you know 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

Run, Ralph, Run!

In a place like Mississippi, where it's warm and humid, insects are just a part of everyday life. Outdoors, there's the constant battle with red wasps and fire ants. Indoors, whatever happens to squeeze through a doorframe or under the eaves and survive the poison long enough to tromp or fly through the house until one of us manages to exterminate them.

Our youngest child has always surprised us when it comes to dealing with insects.

Once, when he was two years old, as Will sat playing on the floor in our den a large bug walked past our fearless toddler. He quickly grabbed a shoe and started whacking the bug. As he pummeled the doomed insect with surprisingly accurate aim, he shouted, "It's a bug, it's a bug, it's a bug!"

The rest of the family was in hysterics as I walked over to where William sat and lifted the shoe. "Well, no," I said, looking at the mangled mess, "It was a bug."

I was reminded of that incident the other day while I was folding laundry. I was sitting on the floor, reaching for a sock in my laundry pile when a black spider jumped out near my hand. I let out a small shriek and pulled my hand back . I'm not afraid of spiders but the way it leaped out at me caught me off guard.

Eleven-year-old William was standing behind me. "Oh, don't worry about him," Will said. "That's just Ralph."

"Ralph?" I repeated. "You've named a spider?"

"Yeah. He's our pet."

"Would you mind getting me a Kleenex or a paper towel so I can smush Ralph?" I asked.

William gasped and I had to wonder if he was serious, at this point. "You're not going to kill Ralph!"

"Ralph deserves to die because he's inside and he belongs outdoors," I answered. "Do you see this spider very often?"

"All the time," Will said. "And his children, too. Some of them hang out in my bedroom. He has lots of children." Okay, he was definitely toying with me.

"How do you know it's a he? It could be a Ralphine or Ralphette," I said. William chuckled. "Just get me a paper towel, please."

Will obligingly brought me a towel and I moved the socks aside to look for the spider, who was obviously in a mood for a game of chase. He ran like the dickens, across the floor and up the fireplace bricks.

"Oh, no! Not Ralph! Run, Ralph, run!" Will was bouncing up and down as I moved my small sock mountain out of the way. "Ohhh," he said as I caught the escapee. "Too bad."

I asked Will if he would throw the paper towel away. He held out his hands defensively.

"Ewwww!"

"Okay," I said, hauling myself off the carpet. "I'm the murderer, I suppose I should dispose of the body."

A few days later, I asked Will if he'd named any other bugs in the house.

"Not really," he said, "except for Phil the Flea."

"But we don't have any fleas," I said.

"What did you say?" Will said, scratching behind his ear like a dog and grinning.

"He's pulling your leg," my husband said.

Yep, he was definitely pulling my leg. But, I think Will has it right. If you're going to live in a place that's brimming with insect life, you might as well have a sense of humor about it.



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

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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