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 The Writer's E-Zine

 

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

Janet Smith Interviews Dorice Nelson

Dorice Nelson taught English in secondary schools for 17 years, never thinking she would write a novel. After an early retirement from teaching, she moved to the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York and discovered the world of novel writing.

Dorice received rave reviews for her first book, The Gunn of Killearnan, published in 2001. This historical romance is a quick-paced adventure of danger and love. Her second book, Unlawful, which made its debut in January 2002 to more rave reviews and brisk sales, is another historical romantic adventure set in Irish medieval times. Her third published novel to date, 1863 Saratoga Summer, is the beginning of a series about the Irish O'Malley brothers. Released earlier this year, the book centers on a horseman named Connor who leaves Ireland to arrive in America at the onset of the Civil War draft riots.

All three of Dorice's above-mentioned novels are available in print and electronic formats at: www.novelbooksinc.com.

Dorice is an active member of numerous writing organizations including, the Romance Writers of America, the World Romance Writers and the International Woman’s Writing Guild.

I have known Dorice for the past three years and had the privilege to witness her exceptional writing talents and accomplishments. Everyone at Writers’ Village University is justly proud of Dorice, who is a lifetime member.

It was my pleasure to interview Dorice for T-Zero readers.

T-Zero: What was it that motivated you to write after your move from Albany, NY to the Adirondacks?

Dorice: Living in Albany, NY, teaching, and caring for and showing my thoroughbred gelding didn’t allow much time for writing. I did a lot of research for a novel, which is still in a drawer waiting to be written––about an 1826 murder in Albany. My annoyance at another author’s take on the lives of women in those days was the thing that motivated me to write a novel. Once I got to the Adirondacks and had the time, writing fit the bill––and I’ve been doing it ever since.

T-Zero: When you start a new story, how much do you know about the characters in advance?

Dorice: I do extensive character work on the main characters: heroine, hero and villain. I follow a system started by Alice Orr, a wonderful teacher, author and agent. I do a fair amount of digging into minor characters as well, depending on their importance to the story.
T-Zero: Who or what do you base your heroes and heroines on?
Dorice: People I’ve met and ideals I have.
T-Zero: What inspires you to keep writing?
Dorice: I’m not sure what inspires me, but I do know I don’t want to stop. I try to write each and every day––on something.
T-Zero: What has been the best surprise about writing?
Dorice: The wonderful fan letters I received and the fact that so many folks are enjoying the books.
T-Zero: How helpful is it for you to be part of a writers’ study group at WVU?
Dorice: WVU was the catalyst that started me on my writing every single day. Every study group I’ve been in has helped me tremendously, and once I’ve moved into our new house in October of this year, I hope to have a course ready to present to the powers-that-be at WVU. I have found a wonderful new and exciting way to do my own critiquing.
T-Zero: What is the greatest challenge in writing a historical romance?
Dorice: Obviously, the research––fortunately, something I love to do. But, it can feed upon itself and keep you from writing. That’s where WVU helped me. It forced me to write continuously.
T-Zero: Can you describe an ideal writing day for you?
Dorice: Right now, my schedule is off, due to the move to a new area of the state. My usual writing starts in the morning, goes through the afternoon and I piddle around with it a bit in the evening. I always set up a schedule of how much writing needs to get done on a particular day, wrap it around the other things I must do, then work until I accomplish some goal in it. I find that if you’re not goal-oriented, it’s harder to do.
T-Zero: Your attorney husband is also an author. Is he your biggest supporter and mentor?
Dorice: His original book was a legal book on zoning. I started writing fiction and he has just recently joined the fiction-writing effort. I tend to do most of the mentoring––or should I say, sending his materials off to the publisher as he’s not too computer-savvy. We each work in our different areas and try desperately to stay out of each other’s head while writing.
T-Zero: During a live on-line WVU Author Chat you once said, “I’m still writing romance or some category in it…. but I’m ready to kick up my heels and try other things.” Can you tell us a little bit about your upcoming writing projects and what other things you aspire to write?
Dorice: Most of my books tend to be historical and adventurous with a bit of romance tossed in. I am not strictly what one would call a romance writer. I have several things waiting for the big move to another place. I have a suspense, which I’m hoping to turn into more of a thriller––‘cause that’s what I like to read. I have the sequel in the Saratoga series to complete. I have another idea for a paranormal and, possibly, an erotica.
T-Zero: When you are not writing, what do you like to do for fun?
Dorice: Enjoy my animals and read, read, read! I also like the outdoors.
T-Zero: Thank you, Dorice, for taking the time in your busy schedule to visit with us and allow us to get to know you better. Good luck in your new home and with all your future ventures!

Visit Dorice’s website at: http://www.doricenelson.com.




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

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Beyond the Textbook

Laurie Lupold


One of my most favorite forms of writing is poetry. The way it captures you and develops your thought in just a short time offers a gift we can treasure. It can caress our hearts with such a warmth of emotion that the world becomes an enlightened place. At times it can pull at our heartstrings and leave us with tears streaming down our faces.

In this column I would like to discuss poetry as therapy. Oftentimes our minds become boggled with emotion. With the activity of our world today it seems we don't have time to reflect, develop and welcome what our minds are going through. As writers it is important for us to be able to clear our minds and concentrate on a single task at hand.

Some of us are more poetic, others short story enthusiast, or some may be novelists. Whatever the particular form or style, we often find ourselves frustrated in our attempts to create.

Not only does poetic therapy offer us a resource for encouraging these tasks but it allows us to creatively vent those things which are troubling our minds. Many artists turn to poetry as a means of exploring issues which are painful and/or deeply buried. This type of developmental therapy unlocks the doors to creativity. It sustains the seasoned writer through rejection and disappointment and allows the serious writer not to lose touch with his/her innermost being.

Poetry puts us in touch with ourselves. Allows us to depress our minds while offering our hearts without forming a story of how we got there. Some of our best music began as poetry, inspired by some sort of impression on one's life. Though you may never share what you create in these therapeutic times, what you will gain from this resource will be valued infinitely.

Stormy Weather
by Laurie Lupold

Wind whirls,
causing confusion;
my heart disrupts,
in disillusion.

Pieces of debris,
fall all around;
my life gives way,
without a sound.

Thunder rocks,
invisible rage;
emotion builds,
filling the stage.

Lightning strikes,
threatening the night;
tension builds,
my will to fight.

Events combine,
the scene explodes;
defense screams out,
My pain unloads.

Showers fill,
the empty space;
tears baptize,
my incensed face.

The rains cleanse,
and refresh the earth;
teardrops restore,
my pride, my worth.



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

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The Business of Writing

Christina Sexton Wilcox

Present Yourself As A Pro

Whether you are a beginner or an experienced writer, professionalism is the key to selling your articles and securing future assignments. Part of your job as a writer is to make the editor's job easier. Not only are your words under scrutiny, your work ethic is, too. Show the editor that you're the right one for the assignment by being thorough, flexible, and courteous. Here are six tips for presenting yourself as a pro.

Follow The Rules
Make sure your manuscript follows the rules set forth in the Writer's Guidelines. Most magazines' Web sites have specific pages devoted to the details of manuscript/article submission. You also can request a copy of these guidelines by sending the magazine a note with a self-addressed stamped envelope (SASE). Most are very specific.

  • Should you query or send the entire manuscript?
  • Are e-mail queries accepted?
  • What about attaching documents to an e-mail?
  • Is there a different editor for fiction and non-fiction?

The guidelines will have the answers. Remember they aren't suggestions — they are rules. No matter how compelling your article on the indigenous people of Madagascar may be, if you don't follow the rules your story may end up in the slush pile.

Check The Basics
Once you've formatted your manuscript per the magazine's guidelines, double-check the basics. Proper grammar and correct spelling and punctuation tell the editor that you are a professional.

  • Check your facts and spelling of proper names.
  • Offer to provide a reference or source list (required on some technical pieces).
  • Provide details of artwork or photography that will accompany your piece.
Editors want to feel that you wrote the particular piece for their magazine. But don't direct your correspondence to Bob, if his name is Robert. Don't assume that because an editor has made contact with you, that you are now friends. Use Mr. or Ms. as appropriate. Check the word count and make sure your piece is within the appropriate range. Use a readable and universal font such as Times New Roman, 10 to 12 point. If mailing via postal mail, present clean and clear copies. Always enclose an SASE.

"Don't call us..."
Once you've sent off your query or manuscript, start work on another one. Don't call the magazine in a week to make sure it was received. This only annoys editors and is a sure-fire way to sound inexperienced (and desperate).

Check the editorial response time on the Writer's Guidelines and make a note on your calendar to e-mail (or write) for status. Once that time has lapsed, you can feel free to inquire. Documents do get lost in the (e-)mail, but not that often.

No Whiners
At some point, you may be asked to make changes to your manuscript. This request may come before your article is even accepted. The request itself usually means you're on the verge of being accepted. Make the changes. Don't write back to defend your use of the first person or argue that the last paragraph on page two is essential to the whole premise. Make the changes promptly and send them off.

As a writer, you need to divorce your ego from your manuscript. The sooner you can develop thick skin and accept criticism of your work, the better. If you think of criticism as a learning tool, you might just produce a better product.

Meet Your Deadlines
A deadline is a time limit as to when your article must be finished. There is no excuse for missing a deadline. If you do miss your deadline, chances are you will not be given a second opportunity. Kids, pets, day-job obligations are of no concern to editors who have deadlines of their own to meet. It won't even matter if you are the only one in the world to see the rare pygmy squirrels of Panama. The goal here is to endear yourself to an editor so that your article will be published, you'll be paid and (most importantly) you'll be asked to submit again.

When you agree to a completion date, your article better be in the editor's inbox no later than 8 a.m. that day. This way, you don't put the editor in the position of having to send you an e-mail at some point during the day to make sure the article is, indeed, still going to arrive that day. The easier you make the editor's job, the better your chances of getting more assignments.
Editor's Note: Sometimes, you can't finish an article by 8 a.m. the day the article is due. This invariably happens when you're at the mercy of a source who is looking over the completed article to verify, say, the accuracy of some technical information that you paraphrased from their comments in an interview. When this happens, there is nothing wrong with leaving them an e-mail (or voice mail) message for them to find instead of the article at 8 a.m. The message should be brief, such as: "I wanted to confirm with you that my article will be in today. You can expect to see it by or before 12:30." Then make sure you do everything to get the article in by or before that time; if you blow it, you can almost guarantee that you won't get work from them again.

If the editor you have been working with has been somewhat nervous about the details during your interactions, you might go so far as to add one sentence that states you had a source double-check some technical information for you and expect the comments first thing in the morning. But don't make a general practice of it; most editors only want to know when the article will be in.
Show Me The Money
If you've checked the Writer's Guidelines, you will at least know the range and time frame of your payment (upon acceptance or publication, etc.). Remain focused on getting your article in on time with any requested changes. If the editor is a professional, (s)he will bring up the terms of  payment. You'll either be sent forms to sign or, at the least, be asked to provide your Social Security number and mailing address for check processing.

Don't let the payment aspect of it all get in the way of your doing a good job on your article. However, if payment is never discussed and you've checked the guidelines, follow up courteously with the editor as to the process of payment.


You can't go wrong by being meticulous in your prose, compliant to requests, and punctual in your deadlines. The more professionalism you display, the more willing editors will be to accept your articles and even call you for assignments. Keep these tips in mind when sending out your next article and you will convince editors that you are the best writer for the job!


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Catherine's Kitchen

Catherine Manning

Well, another month has flown by too fast and I'm not surprised that Bliss is bugging me about the column as I only realized it was the 18th this morning when I went to write a cheque! Time is no sooner here than it's gone and not much to show for it. Suppose it's me as well though, so maybe it's time I retire and spend more time trying to write or remember things!

The rains have finally started and I spent yesterday stocking up on everything I needed for the market on Saturday morning so this morning when it was still raining, even though I had things to do at home, I was restless and decided I was getting out of the house. This is always a dangerous sign as that means I'm bored and looking to spend money and so I did, but it was usefully spent and I ended only going to one shopping center. The only reason I went to that one was because my cell phone had gone into some strange language and got locked for some reason (!) and since I couldn't find the manual, I thought I should pay a visit to the store where I bought it six months ago. I probably did something to it without using my glasses, as every now and then I'll get a wrong number at 4am and can't see what I'm doing and I really haven't bothered to investigate it, as to me all I want is to have an emergency phone. They're too darned expensive here to bother to use them all the time.

This I did, but it took the young lady in the store sitting at her computer, at least five minutes to acknowledge me and when she did after I banged on the counter, she said she didn't have a manual for that particular phone and didn't know how to correct the problem. She did make a few phone calls to no avail, so I got pretty sarcastic and left. After that I went to a furniture and appliance store and was wandering around when one of the sales girls offered help, so I gave her my cell and told her to fix it and she did, as she had one like it, so after that I told her to go to the cell phone store and teach the girl there how to do it! She thought it was funny but I was happy that it was sorted out as my house phone has been giving problems as well because of the rain, so everything is messed up including me getting on the Internet.

After that I wandered into a clothing store and didn't feel guilty about buying five blouses, as my daughter always complains about me not spending money on clothes and then the supermarket "called" as usual. I'm back home now and in the kitchen again, back to the grind as I have to do some freezer food for an older lady who is not well and even though she gets dinner three times a week from a top restaurant, part of which sits on her land, she wants some "normal" food, like Lamb Stew, Egg Custard, Bread & Butter Pudding etc. so I'm working on that for her. I like to make Lamb Stew ahead and let it sit in the fridge overnight as then the fat can be removed.
 

LAMB STEW

  • 3-4 lbs. lamb stew cut into cubes, boneless or with bones.
  • Bunch of fresh thyme, marjoram, rosemary and bay leaves.
  • Salt, pepper & lemon pepper to taste.
  • 2 large potatoes peeled and sliced
  • 3 cups chicken stock or water
  • 1 tsp. Worcester sauce
  • 2 large onions chopped coarsely
  • 4-6 large garlic cloves sliced.
  • 4 large potatoes scrubbed and quartered.
  • 4 large carrots cleaned and sliced.
  • Heavy cream (optional)
  • Dutch oven. Oven 325F. Slow cooker may be used.

Fry lamb in very hot frying pan (no added oil) till browned and place in Dutch oven. Add onions and garlic to frying pan and sauté, add to lamb and throw in the fresh herbs. Season with salt, pepper and lemon pepper. Mix in sliced potatoes, stock, Worcester sauce and add quartered potatoes. Cover tightly and bake one hour. Remove from heat and add carrots and cook further till meat is tender. Adjust seasoning and I like to add a touch of mint sauce as well.

After this process and because lamb is fatty, I remove the meat etc. from the gravy and refrigerate both to allow the fat to rise to the top of the gravy overnight and then I remove the fat and join the two again and re-heat. The sliced potatoes break up and thicken the sauce and the quartered potatoes stay whole and it's better left to mellow overnight as well. Cream can be added before serving if being used and gently heated.

BAKED EGG CUSTARD

  • 4 cups milk
  • 4 eggs beaten
  • Cinnamon stick
  • Piece of lime peel
  • Sugar to taste
  • Vanilla
Scald milk with lime peel and cinnamon stick. Beat eggs and add a little of the scalded milk to the egg mixture, stirring all the time. Gradually add the egg mixture to the remaining milk in the saucepan stirring all the time to prevent curdling. Cook for I minute and remove from heat. Add sugar to taste and vanilla and strain into ovenproof dish (casserole), removing the lime skin and cinnamon stick. Place dish in pan of water and bake in a low oven till set (250F). When custard is beginning to set, sprinkle with brown sugar to top. Custard is set when a knife inserted comes out clean. Don't allow to bubble as the custard will be watery.

Tip: A clear Pyrex dish will allow you to see when the custard starts to get little bubbles, so take it out quickly and it should be set and have a nice crust without being watery.

Got to go

Bon Appetit
Cath

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Craft of Writing

Rhonda Bracey

Elements Of Good Web Writing

To understand the elements of good writing for the Web, you need to consider what annoys you about Web sites that you do not like, and conversely, what makes some of your Web experiences pleasant. It's easy to list the things we don't like...perhaps not so easy to identify the factors that make for an unobtrusive experience.

NOTE: This article discusses factual writing for the Web, not creative writing.
Before you continue reading too far, I'd ask that you do an activity. All it requires is for you to visit a variety of Web sites (five is a good number), and jot down what you do and don't like about them. Use one sheet of paper for each Web site and divide it into three columns: Good, Bad, and Neutral.

As this article is about writing and not graphic design, try not to list design elements that annoy you, such as vivid colors, pop-up ads, flashing banners, and so on. Concentrate on the text and the layout of the textual elements. Consider such elements as:
  • the use of various fonts, font sizes, and colors for headings and body text
  • the use of columns, tables, and headings to lay out the text
  • how much scrolling (vertical and horizontal) is required to read the text
  • how hyperlinks are described ("Click here" versus "see About Us")
  • how many hyperlinks there are within the text, as versus the navigation areas
Next, look at the actual writing and content, and consider whether the author has:
  • written in a language suitable for their target audience (is the target audience for the Web site defined anywhere?)
  • written in a tone and style suitable for the content (prose will normally be written quite differently than instructional material)
  • been aware of the international nature of the potential audience, and thus has avoided culturally-specific terminology or terms that could be offensive to other cultures
If you do this activity, you will find out a lot about the specifics of what you do and don't like. While this is your opinion on each of the Web sites you visited, there's a strong chance it matches the opinion of many others. So, how do you make best use of the information you've gathered?

Easy! Follow the writing principles exhibited in the "Good" column, and avoid making the same mistakes listed in the "Bad" column. To help you along, here are some guidelines.

Clarity
Important information should be placed at the beginning of sentences and important sentences should be at the beginning of paragraphs. Try to include your conclusion in your introduction, allowing readers to skip the parts that led you to your conclusion. Use an active voice and address the reader personally (e.g., "You can benefit.").

Additionally, avoid jargon unless you expect the audience to already be familiar with the terms. Terminology, tone, and style should be consistent throughout the site; inconsistency can confuse and annoy readers.

Brevity
Thomas Jefferson once said that "The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do." So write tight, ruthlessly cutting unnecessary words. Use short, simple words and sentences. Only include one idea in each paragraph, and try not to have more than three sentences in each paragraph. However, never sacrifice clarity for brevity.

Chunking
Either divide long text into separate, linked pages (at logical breaks in the flow), or use headings, subheadings, and other visual elements (such as bullet lists and frequent paragraph breaks) to break up the text into manageable and readable chunks. Your aim is to create blocks of text that your readers can scan quickly. A secondary aim is to make the text short enough that readers do not have to scroll.

You also may want to include outlines or mini-Tables of Contents to assist readers in finding what they are looking for, and don't forget to provide hyperlinks to related information.

Relevance
Readers expect relevant content; if they don't find it, they'll leave. Don't just think of what you want to offer your readers — try and predict what they may expect of you.

Correctness
Grammatical mistakes, typos, and misspellings can spoil a reader's experience. Not everyone will notice, but plenty will. And error of fact can be disastrous to the credibility of the Web site. Have someone else — preferably a professional proofreader or editor — check your writing both before and after it has been coded for the Web.


Writing for the Web is different from writing for print publications; your reader hasn't spent money on purchasing the book (and, therefore, has a vested interest in reading it). The time you have to capture their attention is less than 10 seconds (some studies suggest it is less than five), so you need to tailor your writing so that you grab their attention and hold it. The guidelines covered here will help you do just that.


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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Drabble Corner The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Drabble Corner

Michelle Swisz


Hello, everyone. I’m thrilled to be back doing Drabbles. Thanks for the letters in the meantime –– they’ve meant a lot.

The one topic that isn’t letting me go, the topic for this month, is peace. Not so much how to achieve it, but –– to begin with at least — what IS it in the first place? Is it just the absence of visible or perceptible fighting? And what about unarmed confrontation — is that to be considered to be fighting? How about presenting one’s position in a way that bothers others — is that the same thing as quarreling, and is THAT the same as fighting? It seems to me that peace is a lot more subjective than I thought it was.

Sometimes we hear that nobody wants war, and that we merely have different ways of going about trying to achieve peace. Some that say peace is achieved in part and necessarily by not showing up for the war; others say that people like Saddam have to be taken out because we can’t have peace with people like him around.

In our state of interdependence, can we have a way of life in which we can choose to make a stand for anything at all, without risking and even inviting confrontation? Would a life in which we could tolerate and transcend if necessary any differences between us be a life we would find to be meaningful? If not, can we change such that we would find such a life to be meaningful? Our topic, should you decide to accept this challenge, is Peace.

Drabble guidelines in a nutshell: 100 words exactly, sent to Drabble@wvu.org in the body of an email, and sent by the 10th of the month prior to the month of its prospective publication. We also have Dribbles! A dribble is one sentence of any reasonable length written in response to the last Drabble that was published.

It’s so good to be back — please send any questions, comments, or other feedback to Drabble@wvu.org. Thanks, everyone.



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Fiction Short Story

by Patty G. Henderson

Cupid Hunting

I wait. Patiently. A shadow within the twilight. A dead woman. A victim of suicide, I remain shackled to this world, forever to re-live the mistakes I made while alive.

I shot myself because I loved Marcella. I placed the cold, grey steel of a 9 mm automatic into my mouth and pulled the trigger. I don't remember much after that.

It doesn't matter now that she laughed when I spilled my heart out to her. It doesn't matter that she lied and then flaunted the gifts I gave her while having an affair with my best friend. No, the only thing that matters now is that I find the reason why I am one of the walking dead and put an end to its unchecked attack on the human race. I have to stop the fiend that creeps into lives with promises of unbridled lust and undying love. It's driven poets insane and countless others like myself to death. Cupid has to be stopped.

And to that end, I crouch here; a part of the darkness you can't see and wait for it. Two lovers sit across from me on the park bench, oblivious to everything except their lustful needs. I expect my prey to arrive soon. I know it's going to come because it's Valentine's Day. A day for fools.

I hear the wings first. A light flutter in the night air. A soft, foggy image forms and hovers over the couple on the bench. Ironic that only the dead can see the nasty little beastie. The cherub-faced demon smiles and pulls out an arrow from the tiny quiver on its back. I never understood how those small wings could support that obese little body.

I have to stop it now. If it shoots the arrow and it strikes those poor, unsuspecting fools sucking face, they will be lost to the lethal poison that the little demon peddles as love.

I know I have to make my move now. Grabbing the same gun that took my life, I take careful aim and fire. Parts of Cupid splatter into the air and the little gargoyle falls with a heavy thud. One more hellish cherub down, how many more to go?

I know that those who are among the living are not gifted with the sight to see into the other worlds around them, but something must have spooked those two on the bench. The woman jumped out of the embrace and looked around like a frightened rabbit. He tightened his grip on her, trying to calm her down. Good thing they couldn't see the bloody little blob lying behind them.

I knew they would be okay now. I have to reload the gun and move on. The night is still young. Valentine's Day wasn't over yet.

© Copyright 2003 Patty G. Henderson


About the Author:
 
Patty G. Henderson was first published in the early 1970s in magazines such as Paragon and Dale Donaldson's, Moonbroth.  More currently, she has had fiction published in The Murder Hole and The Mystery Readers Journal. Her new book, The Burning of her Sin, is a supernatural murder mystery and the first in a series featuring Brenda Strange, private investigator of the weird. It's set in Tampa, Florida. Blood Scent, an erotic vampire romance, was Henderson's first published book. Between writing novels and flash fiction stories, Patty works a full time job at a photography studio. Patty is a Tampa, Florida native, born in Ybor City, and still lives in beautiful south Tampa.



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Fiction Short Story

by Virginia G. McMorrow

Mail Call

The sharp snap of bubble gum grabbed my attention as the chief went through the evening ritual of looking for his car keys. "Heading home?" I asked.

"About time, don't you think, Sally?" Nick Fraser, head of security for the college, nodded in time to his chewing. "Although knowing that my daughter and wife are going to be squabbling over the seating plans for the wedding is giving me the willies."

"Think about your retirement."

"Yeah." Nick's smile was uneasy. "If there's anything left after the wedding." 

I watched his broad shoulders disappear into the parking lot shadows and waited a while before starting up the golf cart type vehicle to make the security rounds of the two main dormitories and parking lot. I made a slow tour of the first lot and stopped at the far end. There was a ten-year-old Mustang parked outside the wrong dorm. The car belonged to Melanie Curtis, who worked in the college post office. I could see that she still hadn't replaced the broken tail light that both Nick and I had warned her about. Puzzled, I grabbed my flashlight and peered inside, then quickly jerked the door open.

"Melanie? Are you in there, girl?"

When she didn't respond I scanned the inside of the car with my flashlight and saw her slumped over in the back seat with an empty bottle of bourbon and prescription bottle of Valium by her side.

Within minutes, the ambulance arrived, along with Officer Paul Thomas of the village police.

"Damn it, she was just a kid," I exhaled deeply. "I saw her the day before yesterday and we talked about her plans for the weekend.  She was just fine."

"Not suicidal?" asked Officer Paul Thomas.

"Not that I ever heard."

"Any reason to suspect foul play?"

"I've no idea. But I do know this isn't her dorm."

"Was she strapped in?"

"No."

Paul pointed to an amber stain on the seat belt. I leaned closer and sniffed bourbon, on her clothes, too.

"You think someone forced the liquor down her throat?"

"Maybe." With gloves on, Paul showed me a ripped photo of Melanie and her boyfriend, Brady. "Lovers' quarrel?"

"They were pretty cozy the other day," I said.

***

Brady Forsyth blinked at the two uniforms at his door.

"We need to talk to you about Melanie Curtis."

Brady's green eyes darted anxiously my way. "Has something happened?"

Paul kept his eyes fixed on the teenager until the kid stepped aside to let us in. "Should something have happened?"

"I haven't seen Melanie since yesterday."

"Aren't you her boyfriend?"

Brady's freckled cheeks flushed scarlet. "Melanie said she didn't want to see me anymore."

"Did you have an argument? Did she want to date other guys?"

"No. We were tight."

"Then you must have argued about something, ticked her off-"

Brady slumped against the wall, looking pitifully like a cornered animal. "No."

"Where were you tonight?"

"Here. In the dorm."

"Alone?"

"For most of the night, yeah. But what about Melanie-"

"She's dead." At Paul's harsh words, Brady's face shifted from scarlet to white. I gently nudged him in the direction of his bed before he hit the floor.

Paul handed him a business card. "I'll be in touch."

***

Paul knocked lightly on Melanie's dormitory door, under which a light glowed softly. As a tear-stained face greeted us, he kept his expression empty. "Charlotte Deane?"

"Brady just called," the girl sobbed. "What happened?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," I reassured her. "I understand she and Brady were no longer dating."

"Yeah, but it still doesn't make sense." 

Paul carefully opened drawers and peered inside, pulling out a parking ticket.

Charlotte made a sour face. "The chief gave her a ticket for the broken tail light. She wasn't too happy with him."

The girl's eyes darted my way. "He tracked her down in the mail room, scolding her in front of her boss."

"When did you see her last?"

"About 6 o'clock tonight. How did she die?" I glanced at Paul, interpreted his nod as approval, and told the girl.

"It looks like she overdosed on pills and booze."

"No way. Melanie wouldn't even take an aspirin. She wouldn't get into drugs she was too straight."
 
"Maybe. Maybe not." Paul handed Charlotte a business card. "I'll be in touch."

***

I walked around Melanie's car, the yellow police tape fluttering in the breeze. Stepping onto the curb, my boot sank into moist earth, still damp from the heavy rains two days earlier. Extricating my foot, I felt a wad of something nasty beneath my heel. Disgusted, I grabbed a partially dry twig and started scraping what looked to be bubble gum from my heel, and thought about Nick. Why hadn't he recognized her car, with the broken tail light, in the wrong lot? Had he been here, looking around?

***

"That's too damn bad about the kid." Nick shook his head with regret when I came on duty the next evening. "I took a ride over, saw the Mustang last night, and was tempted to give her another ticket. Paul Thomas called and said a lot of the kids are on some drug or another."

"How come we never heard about it before?"

"Paul said it's recent. But Melanie had prescription drugs. Beats me. Guess I'd better head out." He grabbed the big plastic bag from under the miniature desk.

"Isn't it a little early to be playing Santa?"

"I had to stop in the drug store for my girls. Feminine products," he protested, "you know how foolish I feel?"

"That's an awfully big bag for feminine products."

"I needed to pick up my old lady's bronchitis prescription and a whole mess of other things. You know, ask Daddy to pick up this and that." He popped a fresh wad of bubble gum in his mouth. "Ok, Sal, see you tomorrow."

Not more than five minutes after the chief left, a student car pulled up. Charlie Selden peered out the window with sad blue eyes. "Just heard about Melanie. She was a really nice girl."

"Melanie didn't strike me as a kid that would bail out like that."

"She wouldn't. Brady didn't deserve her. He got the girl I wanted, you know? And another thing, Sally, he's a pretty lousy driver. The chief keeps dropping off tickets in his mail box."

As the kid drove off, I bent to pick up a piece of trash tucked beneath the desk. It was Nick's receipt. Laughing to myself, I read the list of feminine products, tissues, panty hose, aspirin, and- Where was the bronchitis medication?

***

"Hey Sal, all's quiet." Nick chewed contentedly on his wad of bubble gum.

"I hope you're not going to chew gum and blow bubbles when you walk your daughter down the aisle," I teased, watching his face, searching for something I wasn't able to identify. "How's the wife feeling?"

For one brief moment, he looked puzzled. "Oh, fine, thanks. The medication always helps."

"What's all that?" I pointed to a pile of parking tickets. "Are you harassing the kids?"

"I don't understand why they always behave when you're on duty."

"Maybe I overlook a lot of minor infractions."

"Maybe you shouldn't. If we don't discipline them, they'll get away with murder."

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that someone had, but I didn't. "Why don't you just leave those on the cars?"

"The kids will say they never got them. I'm going to put them in the mailboxes."

"I'll do it. It's getting late."

"Do you really think I'm in a hurry to go home and decide on wedding flowers?"

***

"You really have to stop thinking so hard," Paul teased, when he'd caught me, lost in thought, about an hour later.

"If you don't make nice, I won't let you on campus. Come with me over to the main building, will you?"

"What are you looking for?"

"Humor me."

Paul obeyed, watching in wary silence as I turned on the lights in the post office. I stepped behind the old-fashioned grill, facing the open, endless rows of cubbyholes and found Brady's cubbyhole. Inside was a ticket from Nick, along with a plain white envelope. I felt small lumps through the thin material and handed it to Paul.

"You think Melanie was delivering drugs through the mail?"

"No," I said slowly. "I think she saw who did." Searching at random, I found five more tickets with identical envelopes and a parking ticket.

"You think," Paul dropped his voice to a whisper, "she saw Nick deposit those envelopes, along with the tickets."

"No way. Nick's clean. There's got to be another explanation."

"Hey, ok, fine." Paul raised both hands in the air. "I know he's your friend and boss-" He sighed, couldn't find the right words. "But he's got an expensive wedding coming up-"

When I started to leave, he held me back. "Let's talk to Brady."

In uneasy silence, we knocked on Brady's door. Paul pounced on the boy the moment the door opened. "Do you take drugs?"

"Absolutely not. Hey, I wanted to, but Melanie persuaded me to stay away."

Paul produced the envelope from the boy's mailbox. Brady made a valiant effort to look unconcerned, but his fingers were shaking.

"Look, we can do this the easy way, or you can make things hard for yourself."

"Once," he stammered, "only once."

"Mind if I check around?"

"You need a warrant."

"Only guilty people ask for a warrant first. But ok. You just stay on campus until I come back with that warrant."

Paul pulled the door open, and I followed him outside. "How do you think Nick fits into all this?"

"I don't, and I'm going to prove you wrong."

***

I saw a shadow swiftly approach the darkened administration building. Tailing the figure to the mailroom, where he retreated behind the grill, my heart sank when I saw who it was.

Nick held a pile of tickets and small white, identical envelopes.

"I was wondering how long it would be before you caught on."

"Put the envelopes down, Nick."

"Do you know what I'm doing?"

"Delivering drugs."

"Delivering placebos. I'm replacing valium with placebos, because someone's dealing drugs on campus through the local pharmacist, who thinks I'm a dirty cop."

In the corridor, the wooden floor creaked, and we both fell silent. Footsteps moved stealthily toward the post office cubbyholes, and I was torn between keeping an eye on Nick and facing the next intruder. I didn't have time to decide when another set of footsteps approached, and a familiar voice yelled, "Police! Freeze!"

Paul Thomas, poised in a shooting stance, had his .38 aimed at Brady. "Mind taking those envelopes from his inside pocket, Chief? He decided to deliver them early instead of flushing them down the toilet. Just as we figured."

"Sorry it took so long, Paul, but I missed his deliveries twice and slipped in some envelopes to see if he'd bite. Good thing Sally was sharp."

It took a few seconds before events clicked into place. My jaw dropped, as I watched Paul fasten the cuffs on the sullen teenager.

"I didn't kill her. It was an accident. Melanie threatened to go to the cops. I thought," Brady murmured, "if I scared her, it would be enough to stop her. The pills-" Tears won the battle, trickling slowly down his cheek. "They were supposed to be fake, but they weren't. The guy at the drug store told me they were fake. I swear it."

"Don't be mad at Nick," Paul said quietly. "He wanted to clear up the trouble on campus before you took over as chief."

I stared from one man to the other, speechless, and headed out.

"Sally-"

Sighing from a jumble of emotions, I turned on my heel and stared Nick down. "You better invite me to that wedding, Chief, because I intend to string a length of wire across that white carpet and trip you."

"I promise you the best seat in the house."

© Copyright 2003 Virginia G. McMorrow 


About the Author:

Virginia G. McMorrow, a writer/editor for a consulting firm in New York City, also writes feature articles for local newspapers.




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Fiction Short Story

by Russell DeJarnette

The Millville Cemetery Incident

The Millville cemetery sits on a rolling plot of land covering 32 acres. It is not only large but old as well. According to a few of the old timers, some of the dates that are now no more than slightly raised irregular lines on the older stones go back to 1839. That was two years before Millville was incorporated.
 
The iron fence surrounding the cemetery was erected in the 1850s. It was made by the Millville Foundry for the princely sum of one hundred and thirty two dollars and encompassed the entire plot. Although only a small fraction contained graves at that time, the city fathers must have had considerable foresight. For today a few unfilled plots still remain.

The original double gates that opened into the cemetery have a story of their own. One of the foundry partners had returned from a recent trip to Italy. He had seen some fancy bronze doors. Really nice they were. Had lots of angels tooting long horns and chubby cherubs too. Inspired by this genius and being a benevolent sort he offered to design, make, and hang the gates at no cost.

It took the better part of a year. He must have been inhaling smelter fumes regularly during that time. When the molten iron cooled and the forms were knocked off it was a sight to behold. Seems like some of those long trumpet horns had gotten misplaced during the fabrication process. A cherub here and there was turned into a unicorn. And for the angels, well let's just say some of them looked sort of like lollipops. Few people attended the dedication. Fewer placed future orders for ornamental ironwork.

The gates had to be replaced in 1904. Someone stole the original ones right off the hinges. They were never found. Folks that hung around the pool hall thought whoever had done it should be awarded a medal. They were rumored to have been hid in twenty different places in the county. Every summer people would dive down into the depths of the abandoned Millville quarry thinking for sure they would discover those cherubs smiling up at them from the depths of the limestone colored water. Every time a farmer would bust a plow and bring it in to be repaired he would say  "Yep, broke the dang thing when I plowed into some cherubs."

The city fathers immediately set about soliciting donations to get a new set of gates made at the foundry in Wolfsburg. They were rather fiscally conservative especially since the recent loss of their largest taxpayer, which happened to be the local foundry.

In the meantime a clumsy set of temporary wooden doors were erected. They served the purpose until the awful rainstorm. Look it up in the Millville Register. April 1st of that year it was. Awful. Lots of rain and to the dismay of the cemetery caretaker, lightning too.

People all the way downtown heard it hit. A lightning bolt must have struck those gates dead on, no pun intended. In a split second they were turned into an inferno. Some people who passed by right after it hit said they thought it must look something like the gates to hell. Apparently it was seen by some as a warning shot, because the next day the city fathers had enough pledges to contract for a new set of gates. For some reason they were mighty plain. Just vertical spikes with two pieces of iron running across near the top and three running across near the bottom.

Between the time of the lightning strike and installation of the new gates Millville residents were put on the honor system to obey closing time. This meant that the caretaker assumed a temporary new duty of collecting empty beer and whiskey bottles in the back of the cemetery around the mound where the wilted flowers were heaped.

The main road winds in sort of an irregular circle around the cemetery. It is intersected by gravel-covered lanes that provide access to the rest of the cemetery and it isn't wide enough for two cars to pass. It was first built when horse drawn hearses and caissons carried the dearly departed to freshly dug graves. Mourners followed in carriages or on horseback.

Then plots were sold up close to the narrow road ensuring that two people meeting a century later in vehicles had no option but for one of them to back up into the nearest gravel lane, which led off the macadam. In 1950 that narrow road created a conflict of sorts.

It was over where Herbert Linely was buried. Seems that his wife went to pay respects. It happened to be at the same time that the cause of Herb's untimely heart attack Shelley the bank teller decided to pay homage.

Unfortunately during the nine months that Herb rested peacefully, and no doubt smiling, Mrs. Herb had heard rumors of the real cause of her hubby's death. It just seemed too juicy for the old biddies to keep quiet. In small towns loose lips may not sink ships but they can wreak havoc in other ways. And one of those ways happened to pop up at Herb's grave.

It could have ended peacefully enough. Shelley, out of respect for the real Mrs. Herb, could have backed up into a gravel lane no more than twenty feet behind her and let the widow pass. But at the moment she looked up and saw who was driving that big Packard toward her Shelly thought that she should have gotten something from Herb other than the reputation of being a man killer. Two dresses from the Bon Ton shop were small compensation for what she had been put through in the intervening months. So she calmly brought her Chevrolet coupe to a stop and slid it into park, pulled out her compact and started to powder her nose.

Mrs. Herb felt Shelley's presence was enough to confirm her suspicions and started to go for the horn. But then she thought better of it. After all it was a cemetery.  Staring at this impertinent hussy she knew retreat was out of the question. She and Herb had been talking about a trip to Hawaii the day before his demise. She had been doubly cheated, cheated on and cheated out of a trip. And the reason for both sat fifteen feet in front of her in that red and tan Chevy.

Mrs. Herb waited until Shelley glanced up and then summoned up her most withering stare. She must have tried to put too much into it. The look struck Shelley as one of those strained faces you make when you are sitting on the john trying to get the job done while wishing you had eaten more bran. She laughed. War was declared.

It happened quickly. The Packard came to life in an instant and roared full speed ahead, all of fifteen feet. The result was surely less than what Mrs. Herb wanted. Damage was confined to a slight dent in the front bumper of the Chevy and hardly a scratch on the Packard. Shaken, not from the collision but from the audacity of the other woman, Shelley put the car in reverse, slowly backed down the macadam road and up into the gravel lane and stopped.

Mrs. Herb leveled a stony gaze at Shelley then shifted the Packard into gear. She never took her eyes off Shelley as she drove up even with her. It seemed Mrs. Herb could swivel her head at an amazing angle because she continued to stare at Shelley even as she drove past.

Unbeknownst to the widow she started drifting off the narrow macadam road. At the full extension of her swivel, the front tires of the Packard found the edge of the hole dug that morning for poor old Mr. Driscoll. The car tilted downward at about 20 degrees and came to an abrupt halt. Unfortunately Mrs. Herb's neck continued its forward momentum and was stopped only by the Packard's large chrome steering wheel. Seems she blew the horn after all.

There was a sizeable crowd for the funeral; most of them there no doubt out of curiosity.

© Copyright 2003 Russell DeJarnette


About the Author:

Russell DeJarnette lives in North Carolina where he is in the process of restoring an ante-bellum house. A former native of Kentucky, he lives there with his cat, Mr. Puss, whose former residence was the local pound.




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Fiction Short Story

by Dolores Hayes

The Secret Yellow Stain

The first Saturday after moving into my new old house, the secret yellow stain hidden by the sellers under the shabby walk in carpet by the door, totally obsessed me. I got up at 5 a.m. and immediately started scrubbing it with ammonia.

I got on my knees with my trusty double-sided sponge; it was a green scrubber on one side and pink sponge on the other. It never fails me because what the sponge doesn't rub up, the green side scrubs up.

I envisioned my yellowed vinyl tiled floor all pink and white. The yellowed spot made it seem the kitchen door shadow had simply lain down on the floor and died there. No matter, it would soon be gone.

I poured straight ammonia, held my breath and rubbed. Nothing changed. I turned my head, gasped for more air and then used the green side of the sponge and scrubbed. Nothing. If anything it was a darker shade of yellow. Like a living stain, it glowed with my scrubbing.

Surrendering, I tried to stand and had to get into a crawl position. Now, I was gasping from the ammonia fumes. I placed one foot on the floor, pushed with my hands, and stood, but not quite erect.

It had been an act of faith alone that dared me to get down on the floor in the first place. Since I got into a hot tub in Jamaica and had to be pulled out, I never know if my joints are going to cooperate.

I put away the ammonia and got out the bleach. Once again I was down on hands and knees, my trusty blue rubber scrubber in my hand, and yes, I changed sponges, I know, never mix ammonia and bleach. I poured bleach out of the bottle, rubbed and scrubbed and sweated.

Again the yellow stain glowed. I knew it had a mouth and it was smiling.

This was now war: Woman against yellow perfect 6'x3' living yellow stain.

As I pushed myself from crawling to standing this time, I felt a power surge. Every ad I have ever seen on TV for removing stains rolled before my mind's eye and I knew somewhere there was a product that would clean the stubborn yellow shadow from my Armstrong vinyl floor.

It was too early for the store to be open so I ran those TV ads by my eyes as I searched under the kitchen sink and then through the bathroom cupboard.

Who needs an exercise program? I have a yellow stain daring me to get down and crawl once more with peroxide.

When I needed a rest but wanted to keep fighting, I used one of my husband's denture tablets. I bent over, placed it on yet another yellowed square, added water. As it foamed, I pictured my vinyl floor in that glass of water at night, foaming away the yellow between the squares. Well it gave me a much-needed rest and the yellow stain, brighter now, loved it.

The clock hands crawled toward store opening time. I pulled a sweatshirt over my bra-less top, opened the kitchen door, ran down the steps while pushing my remote control car starter, opened the door, jumped in, shifted into gear and raced over the speed limit to the nearest Rite-aid.

The Rite-aid's shelves were a television haven of cleaning products. I purchased one of everything. Easy Off oven cleaner, Cascade dishwashing liquid, Oxyden, C.L.R., Didi Seven Ultra New and Improved, Spic and Span, and Foaming Bubbles. For the money I spent, I could have purchased new vinyl flooring but this was war and I lost sight of any peaceful solution. I hurried home to do more battle.

Four hours later, I surrendered, exhausted. The stain beat every television-cleaning ad known to woman.

Seeing his chance to get to the closet door that keeps falling on us when we open it and was just beyond the yellow stain, my husband took on his challenge for the day. The folding louver door to the closet fought a vicious fight, kicking the ceiling and the paint on the kitchen walls. A grampy long legs spider just sat quietly in a corner of the closet watching. We left him there.

By 6 p.m., my husband won the closet door battle. It surrendered and slipped into the groove. He lay back on the yellow stained floor, exhausted but victorious. All I could see was the yellow stain.

By Sunday we were both so lame neither of us could walk normally. It was kind of a bent, hump, drag step to get food from the refrigerator and doing the stairs was agony. Yet, I was not ready to give up the war with the yellow stain.

The Internet, yes, that's it. I'll ask Jeeves. He knows everything. I click on Jeeves in my favorite places. I type in my question: "What will take a yellow stain out of vinyl flooring?"

His answer: "Nothing, It is living and breathing. It needs oxidation and sunshine. Anything rubber placed on it turns it yellow, including 6'x3' doorway rugs, rubber feet on scales, rubber backed bathroom mats, etc. Sun shining directly on the stain might fade it over time."

I click Jeeves off and go back to look at the yellow stain. It was still there in front of the door and it sneered at me. I deliberately stepped onto it, opened the kitchen door, got into my car and drove to the store for a sun lamp. I was happily singing, "Let the sun shine in" as I arrived back home. I opened the box, took out the sun lamp, plugged it in, turned it on and then shone its bright glare onto the yellow stain.

I made myself lunch and I laughed, giddy with happiness listening to the fading screams of the yellow stain. I knew then that given the right stain, all women are stain murderers in their hearts.

© Copyright 2003 Dolores Hayes


About the Author:

Dolores lives with her husband Ron in Augusta, Maine. They are newlyweds and both 61 years old. She works as a secretary during the day and as a potential author at night. He is a psychologist with an office in their home. She believes life is the weapon that wounds souls, laughter the bandage and God the healer. He believes that nothing means anything. The Secret Yellow Stain is an excerpt from the book she is writing, Out of Paradise Into the Storm. The story is about their choice to buy a new and challenging old house and move from the luxury of the Paradise Retirement Condominiums. Having lost the energizing gift of youth, they must reach their decisions, face their physical handicaps, and overcome the obstacles of the stubborn old house that was built forty-years before they were born.




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Poetics Presents

Stephen D. Rogers

Stephen D. Rogers is a stay-at-home who lives in southern New England and on the Web. Over two hundred of his stories and poems have been selected to appear in a variety of publications.
 

TOOLS OF MAGIC

Words are tools of magic
That bring the scene alive
Names become real people
Towns that truly thrive
Letters and punctuation
Create a world from naught
And like the faithful reader
The spell of this I've caught

Copyright © 2003 by Stephen D. Rogers


T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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Poetics Presents

AnnaBelle Schaaf

AnnaBelle Schaaf is a wife, mother, grandmother and great grandmother who lives in Florida. She worked as a technical writer. She likes to send her grandchildren birthday cards that are actually mini storybooks that she writes and prints herself.
 

THE WIND

I have seen the wind carry a kite into the clouds.
I have seen the wind ruffle the surface of a pond.
I have seen the wind scatter red and yellow leaves through the park and down the street.
I have seen the wind steal an old man's hat.
I have seen the wind propel a sailboat across the lake.
I have seen the wind bow the heads of a field of corn stalks.
I have seen the wind swirl snowflakes around my head,
But I have never seen the wind.

Copyright © 2003 by AnnaBelle Schaaf


T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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Poetics Presents

Teresa L. Trotter

Teresa L. Trotter has written poetry, short stories, screenplays, and psychothriller novels for twenty-three years. She has written a spy novella, a Christian horror novel, and a nonfiction book about fostering special needs children. Teresa lives with her adopted children, a three-year old boy and a four-year old girl, as a single, stay-at-home mom. They are the inspiration for most of her current poetry. Her poem "My Choice" was written for her children's baptism.
 

My Choice

(for my adopted children, Francesanne and James)

Tea parties, baptisms, "Beauty and the Beast"
Make up for money, fortune and fame.
This is the comfort zone I've made for myself.
I chose children.

You could borrow a cup of innocence,
But I have only a half cup to spare.
What's lost in me is found in them.
I chose children.

The power of television news is electric.
The information highway's a traffic jam.
I do not live in the despair of the rest of the world.
I chose children.

Worries in a night full of thunder.
I find no easy answers.
Sounds of peace in a night full of stars.
Pisces meets the Aquariuses
In the silence they are safely asleep
On the midnight sky ocean.
One daughter, one son.
I chose children.

Copyright © 2003 by Teresa L. Trotter


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Recognitions The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Recognitions

Joan McNulty Pulver

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

Billie A Williams's new mystery/suspense novel, Fire at Thunder Ridge, published by Wings ePress, Inc. will be out in February 2004. She is the author of several stories, novels, and articles. Her short story, Tung Umolomo, a South African adventure, will be published in Publish America's fall edition this year.

"I won several writing contests. My short stories were published in Sisters In Crime, a Mystery Times, Murder She Wrote, and She Did and a book review contest for Patricia Lewin, and a book review on two writing books written by Stephen King (Secret Windows, and On Writing)." Writing Wide, Exercises in Creative Writing, published by Filbert Publishing, will hit the shelves September 15, 2003. Billie is most thrilled with this publication. "Because it is about writing, it seems to validate that I am a writer, if I needed more than my name on the bottom line of a contract or the cover of a book to tell me that I am indeed a writer, and I seem to."

When Billie first found out she would be published she was shocked, ecstatic, scared. "I wasn't sure I deserved to be published. I was afraid no one would like it, my relatives would hate it, and everyone would laugh at me. It's an amazing thing. There is nothing quite like having a book published."

Billie joined Writers' Village University about three months ago. She has not had the time to join a study group yet because she has been busy editing and promoting her new releases. There are so many courses she wants to take. "I do know that feedback and networking are important parts of writing however, so I will make the effort to come to chats. I enjoy writing. I enjoy sharing whenever I can with others, and I am so glad to be taking classes at WVU.

"I live with my husband, Thomas, in a small northern Wisconsin community called Amberg, where the winters are long and cold but the people are warm and friendly." Between them they have three children and six grandchildren. "I have a website where you are welcome to drop by and read some of my ongoing works, sit a spell and then tell me what you think. I am open to suggestions, ideas and contributions."

Julie Jennings said she was pleased as sunshine to hear that a group of published authors had selected two of her stories, For the Sake of Love and The Giants View and two poems United in Despair—about September 11, and The Ocean to be in the anthology Dream Makers--Stories That Won't Put You To Sleep. Of course she had to call all her friends and relatives, too. Dream Makers is compiled by Val Drummond and written by authors of the Writers Roundtable at Muddy Puddle Press.

Starting out in F2K (WVU's free writing class) as a student six years ago, Julie was later asked to mentor the lessons. After three or four years of mentoring, she now facilitates the romance class at WVU. She belongs to a very active study group, Freestylers, a close family. Meet Mara, one of her characters, at http://villamanchezcharacterscrapbook.usclargo.com/custom2.html.

Julie said, "WVU is a warm and friendly place to be. I enjoy the people and have learned by leaps and bounds about critiquing in positive ways but still helping the writer do even better. I learned how to put together lessons so that others could benefit from my knowledge. I also facilitate a small group of writers who challenge each other in writing short stories. We call this little get-together Friday Specials."

Julie's current works in progress are Villa Manchez, a mystery romance, and Sirena, a romantic western mystery and a historical romance following the Oregon Trail. She is a NAWW member and a member of and the marketer of the Writers Roundtable. The Roundtable has also published The Sun Never Rises, A Rainthology in which she has a short story and several poems. "This experience added to my knowledge by attending readings and book signings for our book. We are making the rounds of book signings and author talks in Washington State."

Julie lives in Tacoma, Washington with her three children; her youngest, Peter, is also a writer. This is his first publication with his poem. "I love animals, and spend a lot of time with my granddaughter who is two," Julie says.

In high school Julie wrote short stories, poems, and started a novella. During her young married years Julie joined a writing group to enhance her writing. When members were given The Torn Blue Shirt assignment, (to write a short story about a torn blue shirt) most of the group, many much older than she, wrote about mending the shirt. Not Julie, she challenged the story with a mystery involving a bloody torn shirt swept down from the river.

"The one bit of advice I'd give writers is to keep learning the craft, and never ever give up on your hopes and dreams. They might be just around the corner. Writing is the pearl of creativity that lies inside our hearts waiting for the luster of our muse on paper. To dream is the climb of inspiration. To write is to have reached heaven. I'm glad that I'm part of the writing world."

Congratulations, Billie and Julie. 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 The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Signs of Life

Nancy L. Horner

An Evening With Us

We're having a laid-back Friday evening. Husband David and I have discussed vacations, the new Toyota we're considering, the diet David and I both need to go on, and why the Schwan's man is undoubtedly just as disappointed as we are that they discontinued broccoli and cheese soup, our favorite. One by one, we migrate to the living room. Eighteen-year-old Daniel's playing the guitar while I attempt to write an email when David comes along and asks for the guitar. I walk out of the room and return to see David standing by the piano with the guitar propped on his pot belly. "Hey, that's great!" I tell him. "You've got a shelf to hold the guitar, now!" It's not a good idea to make David laugh when he's holding the nice guitar, I realize, as the guitar has a close call with the nearby wall.

Daniel, who has a scholarship to the engineering/computer science school at the university he'll be attending, blurts out, "How upset will you get if I quit computer science, which I'm not going to do anyway, and join the Air Force to become a fighter pilot?" This leads to a semantic argument about the meaning of "which I'm not going to do anyway," a fragment Daniel claims is a reference to his intent to go on to law school, as well as the question, "Why on earth would you want to become a fighter pilot?" The answer, "'Cause I like planes." I tell him I like fire trucks but I'm not going to become a firefighter and point at the cute little tin shaped like a fire truck (yeah, okay, it's a bit goofy) on the small shelf under the computer table. David is spluttering, again, and I'm afraid the guitar is seriously going to be injured if he laughs any harder.

Daniel complains that his hair, which I've just chopped off, makes him look like Spock. "Actually," David says, "you don't look like Spock." Coincidentally, there happens to be a book by Leonard Nimoy on the floor, in the stack of books to donate to the library. David holds it up so that Daniel can see the photo of Spock. "If you want," he says, "Mom can cut your hair like Spock's. Otherwise, I wouldn't complain." A look of panic briefly flits across Daniel's face.

I'm now seated on the floor. I decide to do a quick test to determine whether or not I can pick up our orange tabby kitty, Sunshine—who is sprawled on her back and has an evil glint in her eyes—without getting slashed. Occasionally, I have to pick her up from this same position to move her off a bed that needs to be made or stripped, so I figure I can use the practice. "Think I can pick her up without getting attacked?" I ask the guys. "No way," they agree. I snatch her up off the floor, tuck her next to my chest and rub her head so that she knows I'm not disturbing her for the sake of cruelty. Success. No claw or bite marks, but just barely. "Well," says Daniel, "You did have the element of surprise on your side."

Minutes later, a dazed Sunshine straggles past Spooky, our black-and-white cat. Spooky is currently queen of the folding chair, the extra chair that William dragged out so he could sit near me while I was goofing online. Sunshine makes the mistake of walking a bit too close to the chair and Spooky swipes at her. Sunshine bats back. I say, "Hey! Don’t do that!" and both cats jump backwards, look innocent for about 30 seconds, then start leaping on top of each other, all claws and teeth. "Do you think it's true that cats take on the personalities of their owners?" David asks, as we watch the fur fly. "Weeeell," I answer, "They are a little bit bitchy."

Meanwhile, 11-year-old William is in the kitchen, practicing his handwriting. While David was away on business early in the week, I'd removed the satellite unit and hidden it because William has recently discovered that it's great fun to stay up till three in the morning watching cartoons without grumpy grownups and big brother interrupting. He has to do his handwriting page before I'll turn the satellite unit over for Saturday morning cartoons. He plops the finished page near me and proceeds to punch at his brother, who is six inches taller than he is but actually weighs twenty pounds less. It's like Cat Fight, the Sequel. We break up the fight but William follows Daniel out of the room and we have to call Daniel back to make sure he's safe.

Will gets bored and leaves, I start typing because Daniel has said something completely inane, although not worth repeating; I love it when he thinks I'm about to exploit him in a monthly column. Daniel says, "Oh, no," and heads for the shower. Eventually David disappears. The party's over. It has been a quiet evening in the Horner home, but it certainly hasn't been dull.



T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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Writer's Read The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Writer's Read

Wynelda-Ann Shelton

Zen in the Art of Writing

Zen in the Art of Writing
Expanded Edition
By: Ray Bradbury
Joshua Odell Editions
ISBN 1-877741-09-4
$12.95 USD

What would it be like to sit down to write and explode onto the page? To know that not only have you written true, but that it resonates with others? Ray Bradbury, in Zen in the Art of Writing, attempts to tell us exactly how to do such a thing. A collection of essays on writing, the entire book is extremely helpful. However, I want to concentrate on one of his suggestion: make lists. Lists of things you hate, things that scare the bejabbers out of you, things that you love. Simple nouns will do.

His list went something like this:

The Lake. The Night. The Crickets. The Ravine. The Attic. The Basement. The Trap-Door. The Baby. The Crowd. The Night Train. The Fog Horn. The Scythe. The Carnival. The Carousel. The Dwarf. The Mirror Maze. The Skeleton. (Page 17)

Of the lists, Bradbury says:

“These lists were the provocations, finally, that caused my better stuff to surface. I was feeling my way toward something honest, hidden under the trapdoor on the top of my skull,” (Page 17).
The lists that Bradbury made were the front runners of stories such as “R is for Rocket”, “Season of Disbelief”, and “Something Wicked This Way Comes.” Some became more than one story, others languished.

What would my list look like if I were brave enough to write it? What would yours? And what would we do with the list when it was time to start writing? According to Bradbury, we should write fast. Super fast. Because “In quickness is truth. The faster you blurt, the more swiftly you write, the more honest you are” (Page 13).

The lists start to plumb the depths of our own experience: a remembered fright from childhood, the sick fascination with the macabre, the love of melted ice cream. In blurting the truth out, we fool ourselves. Bradbury himself says that his first attempts started out as prose-poem-essays. About half way down, he would find himself in the middle of a really good story. He would forget where he was, what he was doing, and become immersed in the words that he was creating.

I hope to be able to blurt a story into being soon. I know, personally, that I’m much better off writing quickly than I am taking my time. I need that rush to get the true story out.

Until then, I’m making my list and checking it twice.


T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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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