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 The Writer's E-Zine

 

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

Kamala Thiagarajan

Breaking Into Health Writing, Part II

You’ve done it! You’ve sent in a picture-perfect query that has landed you a plum assignment in a prominent magazine. You have a right to pat yourself on the back, but don’t rest on your laurels yet. Although you’re already treading the path to fame and fortune, now comes the hard part—you must deliver.

So where do you begin?

As a health writer, you’ll find that the ideas for your work may come in plenty, but the real challenge lies in sorting them out and making sense of them. You’ll also need to rely heavily on the LR Factor—legitimate research. Research is the lifeblood of any health publication. It is your key to breaking into print and securing further assignments. It is also an indication of how successful you’ll be in this field.

Tools You Can Use
Don’t be misled into thinking that health writers must have a degree in a related field of health care. While that may be useful, it is not the only factor for success. A layman can contribute just as effectively. All you need are skills that speak of solid research, the painstaking ability to gather statistics and keep track of your sources and spot the rising trends in the international arena of health care, and be able to simplify this information so that it does not intimidate your reader.

Handling Information Explosion 
In this day and age, it isn’t difficult to get solid facts. However, most magazines do not accept secondhand research, which means you’ll have to verify everything right from the source. Data and statistics from research institutes and progressive studies worldwide are published frequently and are easily accessible on government-sponsored Web sites. Other good sources for information would be different encyclopaedias that offer body-related trivia, data gleaned from fillers in local newspapers, even other health journals and magazines. A quick Web search should throw up the basic information that could prove to be the bare bones of your article. But to make your piece unique, you need specialists who can give you the most current guidance.

Keep a small notebook on hand at all times during your research process. Enter names, dates, events, studies, the ISBN numbers of related books. Jot down possible contacts, leads that you could follow up, collect proof in the form of studies, and published matter that will support the statements you make.

Honing Your Researching Skills
When it comes to research, health magazines have their varying needs. Some prefer quotes only from celebrities and established doctors, while others veer towards startling data—facts and figures presented in an engaging way. Whatever be the case, be confident in your approach and be sure to obtain your facts only from primary sources like government institutions, credible Web sites, or authorized international bodies like the WHO. For instance, for an article on insomnia, you may want to look up statistics that are offered by legitimate and accredited institutions like the American Academy of Sleep Medicine or the Global Sleep Research Organization. If you are researching a piece on age-related macular degeneration of the eye (the leading cause of blindness for the elderly in the West), you may want to seek help from the International AMD alliance or its branch in your country.

There may be plenty of other Web sites that publish health news but not all of these are considered reliable sources. Be especially wary of those run by private individuals with no special qualifications. While they may hold a perfect record of all the facts, you cannot quote any statistics for the simple reason that the owners of the site cannot be held responsible for any errors.

Most health magazines, like Reader’s Digest and American Health and Fitness, have fully equipped and expert fact-checking teams who will easily be able to spot an inaccuracy and ensure that it is rectified. If an editor finds out that you are unsure of yourself or of where you gleaned your statistics from, it could spell doom to your career as a health writer. Even while interviewing  professionals, make sure that you have a transcript of the interview either on tape or in print.

Another valuable source for research could be your local library. While quoting from books or published studies, be sure to use the complete title and name the author. Do not change sentences within the quote (but if all you mean to do is further the reader’s understanding, then you can always introduce the alterations in brackets) and note down the ISBN number to facilitate fact checking at a later date.

It is true that most health magazines pay well—but not without reason. Remember: tread carefully if you want that backbreaking research to ripen into rich dividends.

Contacting The Specialists
The bad news about collecting data is that readers aren’t going to take your facts, no matter how well-researched they are, at face value. In addition to this, you’ll need to convince them with value-based quotations from specialists. The voice of a doctor, scientist, or specialized researcher will add that credibility factor to your work. The good news is that you don’t need to run from pillar to post to contact specialists anymore. With the Internet, it is fairly easy to reach them online.

You should study the many Web site resources that give public awareness and health-related information. Many famous doctors, skilled physicians, and professional health workers are often affiliated with these sites. Look up their personal Web addresses and either call to set up an appointment or send them an e-mail requesting an interview. You’ll find that the information gleaned from their experience and medical case studies can transform your approach to your subject.

Inviting Confidences
Personal interviewing is an important skill in health-related writing. The nature of the medium is such that you’ll have to talk to people about their most intimate problems. Infertility, PMS, and incontinence can indeed be touchy, even embarrassing, topics. Great sensitivity is called for in these situations because you’ll be asking patients to relive a very emotionally and physically painful time in their lives. Your attitude will make it easier for sources to share what they know with you freely.

Be an avid and open listener. Forget that you’re practically strangers and behave as you would to a close friend or a concerned acquaintance. Never analyze interviewees as though they were under a microscope. Pay attention when they first say something, and don’t ask them to repeat details of their trauma. If a particular question disturbs them, then rephrase it and introduce it at a later time during the discussion when they are more at ease.

Doing Away With Bombast
Unless your audience consists entirely of scientists, you don’t want to overload them with information that won’t make a lasting impression. Keep your language and tone simple, clear, and precise. Pare down the facts and figures to use only the ones that illustrate your point most effectively. Make sure your research is impeccable and that all statistics are accounted for. Be sure to cover your tracks by checking and re-checking your facts for accuracy. There can be nothing more embarrassing than a reader writing in to the editor, nitpicking an error in the data that you presented.

Is giving away “all rights” all right? Some health publications will insist on buying “all rights” to your work in order to keep it exclusive. This means that you cannot resell it anywhere else. Writers usually combat the problem by completely revamping or rewriting the piece and then selling it elsewhere, but in this case, even rewriting the article may prove to be difficult and tricky, since you cannot use the same research or quotes as in the original. Though this may seem unfair from a writer’s perspective, in this genre, most magazines see that exclusivity as an edge against stifling competition.

As a writer, this may not necessarily mean that you get a raw deal, but selling off all rights to your work (especially if you’ve spent a lot of your time and energy with the research) can be a difficult choice to make. Ensure the payment that magazine makes to you is worth the time you put into assembling the article. Negotiate as is required and never throw away all rights to your work for a trifle.

Geography Is Now History
Even if you’re freelancing for a magazine that is in another country, health writing will put you on an equal footing with the other writers of that nationality, as most health-related news is universal. So, your geographical status is no longer a matter of concern.

But there are a few pointers you must remember if you happen to be collecting data long-distance.
  • It is best not to interview local doctors if you are planning to submit your article to editors in a different country. A local doctor or health professional may not hold credibility in any other country other than his own. However, do search for international bodies or groups who may be working on an experiment or related to your field of interest.
  • Quoting from research experiments is highly valued due to the contemporary and immediate nature of the findings. You will find that these researchers, too, are eager to cooperate with the press as the publicity could generate a great deal of public interest, which can translate into more funds to further their cause.

The revelation that tends to dawn on you eventually is that as a health writer, your lot is very similar to that of a seasoned traveler. Both health writers and globe trotters understand and appreciate this one essential truth: In spite of conflicting customs and tastes worldwide, people are remarkably the same world over. Health is a part of that rare branch of writing that transcends place and time to present a universal tradition.


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Craft of Writing

Donna Sundblad

The Climb From The Chaos Of Clutter

After 16 years in the same house, the day arrived. Numbered boxes corresponded to the map of the floor plan. The truck backed into the driveway; in short order, the organized containers lined the walls of our new home. The milieu held a semblance of order, but the boxes waited in their designated rooms to be unpacked. Things needed to be put where they belonged.

Like my new home, a clean sheet of paper fills with paragraphs packed with information as my imagination unloads and takes printed form. The rough draft manifests a form of orderliness, but the task ahead requires things to be put in logical order.

Clearing The Clutter
Before the move, we gave away, threw away, and held a garage sale. Do the same with your manuscript. Search for and eliminate verbal clutter. Read your text out loud. Get rid of weak verbs and the unnecessary words that gather around them. Watch for redundancies and throw them out. Eliminate, change, rearrange, and tighten the focus. Let go of superfluous sentimental clutter. You may love a descriptive phrase or clever line of dialog, but if it does not move the story forward, it clutters.

For instance, in the novel I am currently editing, I wanted to hold onto the phrase, "like a snake shedding his skin." I tried to rework the paragraph. I liked the picture the clause painted, but I pitched it along with a couple of the sentences attached to it. Like it or not, they did not help to move the story along.

Organize
Now that you’ve cleaned out the obvious unneeded elements, it is time to organize. Imagine life in your new house. Focus on the kitchen. Picture your silverware scattered throughout the kitchen with knives in one drawer, spoons in another, and the forks on a shelf in the cupboard. Now, imagine these same utensils stacked in separate compartments of a tray stored in an easy-to-access drawer. The silverware did not change. The state of order or disorder makes the difference. The same reasoning applies to writing.

Logic dictates the need for a beginning, middle, and end. Read through your manuscript. Locate your hook. Whether you lead into your piece with a quote, pertinent statistic, or a short narrative, the purpose of the hook is to grab the readers' interest and give them a hint of what is to come. Tucked somewhere within your draft, your hook waits to be moved to a place of prominence—the beginning. You may find it buried in the second or third paragraph or lost somewhere on the third page. Be willing to rearrange.

Arrangement
When my son was about nine, he rearranged his bedroom. I never changed the room because the small size offered limited possibilities. The door thudded against the footboard of his bed. I squeezed my head through the opening to see the closet door similarly blocked by the second bed. We worked together and returned things to where they'd been for years, but in the process moved the dresser into the closet. Everything fit; the change offered more space. The room no longer looked cluttered. It made logical sense.

You don't want poor arrangement to cost you a reader. In fact, now that you’ve hooked the reader, the goal is to keep him interested. Make him care. Engage him. Your beginning scenes should introduce a character or two and the conflicts they face. These scenes operate as portals. The reader enters believing you will deliver the rest of the story.

The middle adds backstory, heightens conflict, heads toward resolution, and helps us to better know the characters. The paragraph originally marked for an opening scene may not fit where you first thought. It's no different than realizing the dresser fit in the closet. In fact, I’ve been known to eliminate my first paragraph entirely. Sometimes it serves as a springboard to activate my muse, but other than that it becomes as disposable as packing paper.

Watch for inconsistencies in your character’s development, the time of day, and placement of objects from one scene to another. This is where logic and unity work as partners. Everything should be connected.

When writing longer, involved stories, I recommend keeping a list of places your main characters visit, the objects they accrue along the way, and the people they meet. I also track their desires in an effort to maintain unity. If a character obtains a sword in Chapter 5 and it disappears by Chapter 8, your reader will wonder what happened to it. It hinders the forward movement you’ve worked to establish as the reader starts to wonder if he missed something.

Unity
I remember when I had to choose paint colors. It seemed easy enough. I planned to go with off-white. The painter pulled six cards within two color families. He explained that these colors would make the woodwork and walls complement the furniture and offer a sense of unity from one room to the next. He narrowed my choices to help pull it all together.

It is no different in our writing. The risk involved in eliminating large chunks of text is loss of unity. Unity, logic, and coherence work together to form a braid of consistency. Remove one and the braid unravels. Together they bring harmony and oneness. Think back to your hook. It identified your purpose. You are responsible to deliver what you offered. As writers, it is our duty to build a catwalk from sentence to sentence, paragraph to paragraph, and chapter to chapter. We not only provide the bridge, but signs along the way that point the reader to the conclusion. If a bridge is missing, you force the reader to make a leap. He lands dazed and confused within a disconnected thought. Look at your work from the reader's point of view. Read your writing as if for the first time. Watch for abrupt breaks between ideas.

Flashbacks provide ample opportunity for rough transitions. The writer builds a bridge to take the reader by the hand into the past and bring him back to the present. Be careful to provide the guardrails of unity and logic to prevent the reader from becoming lost or disoriented.

Point of view affords another pitfall when it comes to cohesion. The reader follows the bridges you provide to make the transition from sentence to sentence or scene to scene. One of the tools used to supply the details they see is point of view. It belongs to the main character, the author, or a third person omnipresent source. Keep your point of view consistent throughout each scene. An abrupt change in POV breaks the cohesive thread of unity and logic you’ve worked so hard to weave.

Final Touches
The end of your story offers the opportunity to tie up loose ends, resolve conflict, and lead to a logical conclusion. Think of it as the final decorating touches in your home—the throw pillows that pick up the color of your carpet, or the bathroom towels that match the wallpaper border. This segment must be connected to the rest of the story in every detail. Fine-tune your ending. It is the part of your story that leaves a lasting impression and is equal in importance to your hook. A satisfying end will lead people to recommend your story to others.

When you’ve eliminated verbal clutter, united your words in a logical sequence, and tied them together with smooth transitions, set your work aside for a couple of days. It’s like working in your kitchen after you’ve moved in. You find little things that need to change. Read through your text with a fresh perspective and ask yourself these questions.
  • Does my plot make sense? Or does it require the reader to make a leap into the uncertain? (Logic)
  • Are the beginning, middle, and end unified? (Unity)
  • Have I provided the bridges necessary to make the transition from scene to scene? Is there a gap that may leave the reader wondering what happened? (Coherence)
If you follow these steps to throw out clutter and repair inconsistencies, you have taken the steps to move from a cluttered manuscript fraught with potential to distract from your story to a neat, orderly piece ready for submission.


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Fiction Short Story

by Lisa Mason

Chicken and Rice

"Stay out of the chicken house," George said.  "I mean it, Billie Jean."

”I got plenty to do 'round here without doing your work too." Billie heaved a steaming pot from the stove and poured peas into a colander balanced in the sink. She pushed back a thick wave of gray hair that had loosed itself from the tight bun low on her neck, and then patted her face with a dishtowel that was slung over her shoulder.

"I know you don't want me going into Shreveport to get that tractor part, and I know you'll go in that chicken house and fix it just to spite me."

Billie took the colander of peas from the sink and poured them onto a towel she'd spread across the counter. "I don't know why you don't just let them mail the part to you. Save yourself a trip," she said with her back to him.

"Cause they'll charge me an arm and a leg for postage."

"Cheap old coot," she whispered, still fussing over the peas.

"Hard-headed old woman," he mumbled back.

Before the screen door slammed, George yelled, "Stay out of the chicken house, Billie!"

The old truck coughed to life and then the sound of its engine disappeared as she poured the next batch of peas to be blanched into the pot.

By noon, Billie finished most of her chores and sat in her rocking chair to watch the weather on the noon newscast. Her eyes wandered to the lopsided little house in the corner of the yard. "Probably just needs a nail or two," she muttered. "And we got all that brand new wood on the back porch . . ."

The dog at her feet looked up at her with liquid brown eyes. He stretched in the dappled sunlight that fell across the rug, and sighed, then rested his head on his paws.

"Don't be trying to talk me out of it now, Roy," she said to the dog. "You heard the weather report just like I did. What if that house blows down tonight with all my hens in there setting? What've I got then? A tractor part come special delivery from Shreveport, that's what."
 
The old hound scrambled to get out of her way as she marched to the bedroom to get into her working clothes. She took a pair of George's starched tan work pants from the closet. She rolled a cuff in them till they looked like knee pants and then tried them on. She took one of his work shirts, rolled up the sleeves and put that on too, and finished off her outfit with her floppy straw garden hat.

On the way out of the bedroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. Roy eased up beside her and stared at the reflection.

"Yes," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I do look like I’ve been swallowed whole. If you tell George, I'll have your hide."

She found George's hammer and filled her pockets with an assortment of nails. Roy shuffled behind her taking every opportunity to give her a worried hound dog look. Billie ignored him as she dragged one long two-by-four to the chicken yard, then carried out an armload of short ones.

Hens scattered, flapping their wings and stirring up a cloud of dust and feed as Billie marched through the yard. Inside the hen house, the air was thick and smelled of mildew.

She brushed the hay from the ledge and laid down the hammer and a handful of nails. It was dark and cramped in the corner, and she leaned back at a precarious angle over the nest box to see what needed to be repaired.

"I'm gonna make a little noise, ladies," Billie said. "But you'll all be dry tonight." She gave the rotted two-by-four a whack with the hammer. It didn't move. One more blow, then another, and still it didn't budge.

Billie braced herself and raised the hammer, landing a blow at the base of the wood where it met the ledge. With a splintering crack, the wood gave way and folded under the larger beam above it, trapping Billie's arm. Roy sprang to his feet and bolted from the chicken house, returning seconds later to eye her sheepishly from the doorway.

"Yes, I know," she said. "Now I've done it."

She wanted to scream for help, but it would do her no good. The farm was thirty-five miles from town and ten miles from the closest neighbor. There was a chance that an unexpected visitor could free her, but that wasn't likely. At two o'clock, Lester would bring the mail, but he would only come as far as the mailbox half a mile away unless there was a package to be delivered.

Billie rested her head against a nest box. Flies and gnats buzzed her face, and her forehead beaded with sweat as the afternoon wore on. She heard the squeal of Lester's brakes when he stopped at the mailbox.

Her stomach rumbled and her mind wandered. What if her arm was broken? Would she go into shock soon? Pass out from the heat? Would George come home to find her dead?

Ah, yes, when George got home. The humiliation was more than she'd be able to stand. Maybe there was a way to smooth it over, make him forget what she'd done. That was, if she survived.

"Chicken and rice," Billie said. "I'll make chicken and rice for supper. He'll be so happy he won't remember to be mad."

Chicken and rice was George's favorite dish, but she hadn't made it since they'd taken up irritating each other as a hobby. Fifty years ago, when they were newlyweds, she made it often. George would come in from the field and hang around like a hungry hound waiting to have his plate served. He'd stand behind her at the stove, wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her neck. A chicken and rice supper was good for at least a week of sweetness on George's part.

Tonight George would come home, find her out here, and set her free. He'd lecture her something terrible, and then he'd smell supper and it would all melt away. He'd smile and forget all about the mess she made in the hen house.

Chicken and rice would win him over. She might even turn the radio on like they used to. With the soft sunset light streaming through the windows, they'd get lost in the sounds of Henny Youngman and the shuffling of their feet across the hardwood floor.

After supper when they went out to the porch, George's belly full of chicken and rice; he might even tell her he loved her. Billie knew he still did love her. It had just been a while since she'd heard the words.

Through the open kitchen window, the phone rang. She'd turned up the ringer and the answering machine when she went to the garden earlier.

"Hey, Billie." It was George. "I'm gonna stay over in Shreveport. The part'll be in first thing. I'll be home sometime after noon tomorrow. And Billie—stay out of the chicken house."

Billie slumped against the wall. She'd been out here at least five hours and now she had another eighteen to go. "Dang it," she stomped the loose floorboards. "Why didn't he just have them mail that part?"

She was getting out of this hen house, and right now. Billie used her foot to nudge a piece of wood toward her. After several attempts to raise one end by stepping on the other, she succeeded and was able to grasp the wood. She shoved it between the boards close to her arm and leaned on it with all the strength left in her.

"C'mon, just a little," she urged. "Raise it up just a bit and I can slip my arm out. There!" Billie was free.

Her arm was bruised and stiff, but nothing seemed to be broken. She retrieved her tools and then hauled the wood back to the porch. Covering her tracks inside hen house with hay and swearing Roy and the chickens to secrecy, she latched the gate and left the chicken yard.

The next afternoon, she heard the rumble of George's truck coming down the road. She stood at the stove stirring dinner and smiling.

The screen door slammed and George called, "You fix that hen house?"

"No," she answered, her smile twisting into a crooked grin.

George stepped into the kitchen. He sniffed the air and stood behind her, peering over her shoulder at the pot on the stove. "That smells great. What are we having?"

Billie patted his hand lovingly as she turned from the stove, and said in the sweetest voice she could muster, "Pot roast."

Copyright © 2004 Lisa Mason


About the Author
Lisa Mason, originally from Louisiana, has resided in Texas for over thirty years. Her interest in writing began early. In high school she participated in many competitive writing events and won several state awards. She has won awards for both poetry and short fiction. Lisa has published poetry in college magazines and literary periodicals. Additionally, she has published short fiction in the literary genre. The charm of the southern traditions she was raised with is reflected in her writing. Lisa has been a member of WVU for over four years and was a finalist in the F2K competition. She is currently at work editing her second novel.


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Fiction Short Story The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Fiction Short Story

by Candace Elmore

Growing Pains

This was not going to be a good day. Shannon woke with her arms, her knees and her back aching. The mere attempt at rolling on her right side brought even more throbbing pain.

“Whoever said ‘No pain, no gain’ was a fool,” Shannon muttered, trying not to disturb Tim as she carefully inched herself into a vertical position.

Don’t disturb Tim, thought Shannon. There was only one word to describe Tim: strong. ‘Ripped and cut’ was how the teenagers described him. He was one of the most athletic people in town. Not only could he outrun most of the kids on the high school track team he coached, he also ran cross-country in the park every night, training for a marathon. It was Tim’s strength, and his obvious love for his wife, that had quietly nagged at Shannon to consider exercising. She knew she could do it; she just didn’t want to.

Tim rarely said a word to her about her lack of exercise. Oh, occasionally he’d invite her out to the park with him while he ran, but after Shannon refused several times, he stopped asking.

If the way she felt this morning was any indication, Shannon might give up her new-found exercise program, just as she had every other time she’d tried. Shannon’s idea of extreme exercise was carrying dozens of sacks of groceries in from the car. Or shopping at the mall for hours. She did lots of walking at both places. Surely that counted for something.

But Monday’s trip to the mall was the final straw that sent Shannon to the gym.

Shannon had needed a new outfit but always put off clothes shopping until the last minute. Buying size 18 clothes was getting more and more difficult. Shannon made sure she had her debit card and credit card. The phone rang as she opened the back door.

“Can you watch Haley for a couple of hours?” It was Kelly, Shannon’s younger sister. “I’ve got a dental appointment, and Haley’s regular sitter has the flu.”

“Sure, if you don’t think she’d mind going to the mall,” joked Shannon.

Shannon didn’t need to be asked twice to spend time with Haley. She adored her niece. Haley was a bright, sweet little girl—more like a daughter than a niece. At three years old, Haley was always fun to be with. You never knew what she'd say.

“Just promise me you won’t let her eat too much junk food. Last time you two went to the mall, Haley wouldn’t even touch her supper. She claimed the cinnamon rolls—not one roll, but two—had filled her up.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll both be perfect. I was just on my way out the door. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

When Shannon arrived at Kelly and Bill’s house, Haley streaked out of the house, her golden blonde hair flying in the breeze.

“Aunt Sannon. Go to mall!” squealed Haley.

“Ah, a niece after my own heart. Let’s go, Haley-Baley.” Shannon gave Haley a big hug, enjoying the freshly showered little girl smell. She wished that special scent would stay with Haley always. Shannon hoped that when she and Tim finally had children, they’d have a daughter. There was something special about a daughter.

The first thing Shannon and Haley did at the mall was make a beeline to the food court. It was their little secret, or so Shannon had thought.

“Hmmm… what shall we have today? Cinnamon rolls or soft pretzels?” asked Shannon.

“ ‘retzels, ‘retzels, ‘retzels,” chanted Haley.

Hand in hand, they made their way to the Aunt Sue’s Pretzel stand. Haley picked the cinnamon sugar pretzel, without the icing, while Shannon chose the same pretzel, with the icing. While they enjoyed every morsel of the pretzels, Haley filled Shannon in on the crucial details of a three-year-old’s day.

As they licked the last bits of cinnamon and icing off their fingers, they decided what to shop for first.

“I need some new clothes,” said Shannon. “How about we take turns buying clothes? We’ll pick out some things for you, then it will be my turn.”

“Okay,” said the ever-agreeable Haley.

Finding cute clothes for a three-year-old was not difficult. The hardest part was not buying everything in the store. Shannon helped Haley try on the clothes. After nearly filling the changing room, they settled on a skirt and two pairs of shorts, with tops to match.

“I hope you don’t outgrow these before summer. Maybe we should get one size bigger so you can grow into them,” said Shannon.

“No. Wear them now,” demanded Haley. Shannon had a brief flash of Kelly at five with her hands on her hips. Haley was a lot like her mom.

Shannon never could refuse Haley, just as she couldn’t refuse whatever Kelly asked for.

“Okay, you win. We get the clothes that fit right now.”

“Your turn,” said Haley as they left the brightly colored children’s store. Haley’s three outfits weighed almost nothing in the shopping bag.

Shannon and Haley cruised the mall, stopping and looking in the store windows, thoroughly enjoying each other’s company.

When Shannon could stall no more, they went into her favorite store. Shannon was not really excited about this part of their trip. Aunt and niece wove between the tightly packed clothing racks. Shannon dreaded trying on the clothes. Yet, if she didn’t try them on, she knew she’d just end up returning them. Without getting on the scale, Shannon was almost certain she’d added a few pounds. The last pair of jeans she’d bought had been almost too tight. With a few extra pounds, who knew what size she would need.

About two-thirds of the way into the store, Shannon saw the perfect outfit. It was a soft lavender v-neck shell, matched with a purple big-shirt, paired with white capris.

“Bootiful,” proclaimed Haley.

“I’d love it, but these pants are too big. I don’t see any that are close to my size. Oh, well, there’s sure to be something else,” sighed Shannon, hesitating just a moment longer, touching the soft fabric, imagining how comfortable this outfit would be.

“Aunt Sannon,” lisped Haley. “Why don’t you get those pants? Maybe you can grow into them by next year.”

***

Tim rolled over towards Shannon, propping himself on his elbow.

“Sore?”

“Unbelievable. Now I know why I don’t exercise,” grumbled Shannon.

“How about I go with you tomorrow, and we’ll start you off a little slower,” said Tim as he sat up and gently rubbed Shannon’s aching back.

“I don’t know. I must be meant to be fat,” Shannon whined.

“First, you’re not fat. But you do need exercise. We all do,” explained Tim. “I don’t expect you to keep up with me, but let’s work together and see what we can do, okay?”

Shannon rolled over, groaning as she settled on her back. She looked up into Tim’s dark, brown eyes. “Okay. But do you mind if I just lay here and moan for a while?”

Tim gently stroked Shannon’s hair and then tenderly kissed the base of her throat. Shannon reached out to touch Tim’s arm, groaning as she did so.

“Relax,” said Tim. “Let’s see if I can help you work out some of those kinks,” he said as he started gently kissing her neck.

Maybe it wasn’t going to be such a bad day after all.

Copyright © 2004 Candace Elmore


About the Author
Candace Elmore is relatively new to writing, but has been observing and eavesdropping for many years. She is currently supervising a computer lab at an elementary school in Marshall, IL. The wife of a former pastor and the mother of a 16-year-old, Candace has gone back to school to be a teacher. Growing Pains was inspired by a conversation at the local WalMart between a grandmother and granddaughter.


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Fiction Short Story

by Shirley McCann

Motive, Means and Opportunity

Stan bent over the body to check for a pulse.  Satisfied she was dead, he grabbed her arm and smashed her wristwatch against the hardwood floor, shattering the crystal into several pieces. He then set the time for eight o'clock.

"You'll pay for this!" Janice had screamed at him earlier. "You can't just toss me aside."

Stan knew he had to come up with something quick. Not only did he have a wife and kids to consider, but as prominent televangelist Stan Markel, he had a spotless reputation to uphold.

"Janice," he said. "Put yourself in my position. My wife knows about us. She's threatened to divorce me if you continue on as my secretary. You know what this kind of scandal will do to my ministry."

"Not nearly as much as learning that the reputable Stan Markel is a murderer," Janice retorted.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Janice's green eyes flashed like a cat ready to pounce. "I'm sure the police will be very interested to learn about Alma Norton's substantial bequest to the church upon her sudden, mysterious death."

"You're bluffing. You'd have to confess your own involvement."

Janice turned and started to exit the room, then changed her mind.  "Don't cross me, Preacher. You don't know what I'm capable of."

Stan's mind whirled with fear. "Wait!" he shouted. "Maybe we can work something out. I'll come by your house tonight after my session with Mrs. Starnes." He smiled sweetly. "Surely we can come up with a plan that will benefit us both."

Every Friday night, Stan paid a visit to Maggie Starnes, another of his ministry's wealthy, ailing parishioners. On this particular evening, Stan set the stage for his alibi.

As was customary, Maggie supplied an elegant tray of tea and cookies while they sat to read passages from the Bible. Only this time, Stan administered a few sleeping tablets to Maggie's drink. Within minutes, the woman was sound asleep.

Slipping out the back door, Stan raced to Janice's house a few blocks away, and killed her. Thirty minutes later he returned to Maggie's house and quietly slipped inside, setting her clock to display eight PM. Sucking in a deep breath, he combed his hand through his tousled hair and brushed his hands down his rumpled sweater before opening the Bible and resuming his seat next to Maggie.

"Maggie?" he said, gently shaking her awake. "Are you sure you're up to this tonight? You seem pretty tired."

Maggie rubbed her eyes. "Oh my," she answered groggily. An embarrassed flush crept across her face. "I guess I am tired." She squinted at the clock. "Why, it's only eight o'clock, and I'm already falling asleep on you."

Stan closed the Bible and patted her arm. "It's okay, Maggie. You obviously need your rest. Why don't you go on to bed? I'll lock up before I leave."

As soon as Maggie exited the room, Stan reset the clock to the correct time.

The following morning, a Detective Wilson was ushered into Stan's office. "I understand that Janice Barker was an employee of this church."

Stan spooned some sugar into a cup of coffee and tried to look surprised. "Yes, she was, Officer. Has something happened?"

"I'm afraid she's been murdered. Can you tell me where you were around eight o'clock last night?"

Stan raised an eyebrow. "Surely you don't suspect me."

"Just standard procedure."

Stan pursed his lips and pretended to study the question. "Eight o'clock, you say?"

"That's right. Miss Barker's watch was broken during an apparent struggle, stopping the time at eight o'clock. And that time seems to corroborate the medical examiner's time of death."

"Ah yes," Stan finally said. "I spent the evening reading Bible passages with Maggie Starnes. The dear woman is one of our elderly members who can't make it to regular church services."

"What time did you arrive?"

"Around seven thirty. But I didn't stay long. She was having trouble staying awake, so we cut the evening short. I'd say I left around eight fifteen, but you’ll have to verify that with Miss Starnes."

"We've already done that, Reverend."

"You did?"

Detective Wilson nodded. "She called us this morning when she heard the news of Miss Barker's death."

"Why would she call you?"

"She was upset over a message she received on her answering machine."

Stan's heart thumped a worrisome tune.

"Let me play it for you, Reverend." Removing a recorder from his jacket pocket, Detective Wilson pushed a button and set it on the desk.

"Stan, it's Janice. If you're there, pick up." A heavy sigh ensued before the message continued. "Don't bother coming by tonight. I'm taking the next flight to the Caribbean. I've mailed a letter to the police, detailing our involvement in Alma's death."

Stan's breathing quickened.

"The time of the call was listed as 7:50 PM, Reverend Markel. Which, by your own admission, was the time you were reading passages to Miss Starnes."

Stan refused to be ambushed. "So neither of us heard the call, Detective. What does that prove?"

"It casts doubt as to your whereabouts at the time of the murder, Reverend. And it definitely provides you with motive."

Stan produced a smug grin. "I suppose it would give me motive for murder if it were true, Detective. But the only thing it really proves is that neither Mrs. Starnes nor I heard the telephone ring. You still can't prove I was in Janice's house."

"You're wrong, Reverend. During our interview with Mrs. Starnes, she became concerned that her crystal glassware might have been chipped because of a small piece of glass she found on her sofa. As it turns out, the broken glass didn't come from her set at all. It matches the broken crystal we found from Janice's watch.

"There's no way the frail Mrs. Starnes had the means to sneak away and murder Janice, Reverend. You and I both know there's only one other way those watch crystals could have gotten into her sofa."

Detective Wilson produced a set of handcuffs. "I believe that's what we call opportunity."

Copyright © 2004 Shirley McCann


About the Author
Shirley McCann lives in Springfield, Missouri with her husband and two children. Her fiction has appeared in Woman's World, Nefarious, EWG Presents Without A Clue, Story House, and Orchard Press Mysteries.


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Fiction Short Story

by Melanie Ann Campbell

Papa’s Big Black Boots

Although this happened nigh onto sixty years ago, my memory of the event is fresh and sharp, a much better recall than what I had for breakfast today or where I’m supposed to be this afternoon. It’s a puzzle sometimes, this thing called senior citizenship. It’s like being someone I’m not, so it seems.

But, about the story. There were seven of us young’uns, and Maw and Papa on that eight-acre plot of dust and scrub grass we called our farm. Papa raised hogs and Maw raised kids. One morning Papa came to breakfast with an ugly scowl on his face and banged the plank table until our grits bounced out of the bowls.

"Someone stole my mud boots.” Papa’s face got brighter than Maw’s red apron. "On the back porch, of course, woman,” he said.

"Eat children. Eat.” Maw pointed to our bowls.

"They’ll do no such thing,” Papa said and jumped up to face her. “No one eats a lick in this house until I get my boots back.”

We had been taught well about not speaking until an adult gives us the nod, except for the youngest girl, Amelia, who at three had little knowledge about grown-up versus kids' rules of propriety. She banged her spoon on the bowl until Maw and Papa turned to look at her.

"I wanta eat right now.” She dipped her finger into the grits for a quick bite.

“The children have to eat before school. I’ll help you look for the boots,” Maw said.

After Maw followed Papa out the back door, we gobbled our grits and raced upstairs to get our school stuff. Amelia and Petey, the two youngest, didn’t go to school yet and they toddled outside to find Maw.

I didn’t hear about what happened until later that night because when I got home from school there were hog pens to clean and water to tote from the well and other farm chores for all of us older kids. When we sat down at the table, Maw brought over the gravy for our cornbread and Papa used the big ladle to fill our bowls with beans and hog leavings. Until Papa said something, the mealtime rule of silence kept us quiet.

“What did you learn at school today?” Papa asked, with a nod at me.

“Did you find your boots?” I asked, since I hated to talk about school and learning.

“I asked the first question,” he said, in a grumpy voice.

Maw gave him a look, smiled around the table at her kids and helped Petey aim his spoon toward his mouth instead of his ear for a minute or so. We watched, our mouths busy chewing, while our minds wondered why Papa wouldn’t look at Maw.

“Maw found Papa’s boots,” said Amelia.

“Not where I left them.” He said in the same grumpy way.

When Maw grinned and winked at me, I almost choked on my cornbread. Even though I’m the oldest, she never treated me like a co-conspirator in anything.

“I suppose they grew feet and walked themselves into the mudroom,” she said.

“Don’t talk nonsense, woman! Ask your kids, and then you’ll know how my boots got from the back porch into the mudroom. That’s how they did it. One of these young’un’s moved my boots.” He gave each of us a quick glance from his bright blue eyes.

Maw just shook her head and grinned, while she leaned over to wipe gravy off Amelia’s chin. I glanced toward the mudroom—a tiny square space a few feet from the kitchen entrance, where we’re all supposed to take off our outdoor shoes and coats.

“But if they were in the mudroom, why didn’t you see them when you went out to the back porch?” Seven-year-old Eustis Ann mimicked Paw’s scowl.

I wanted to pinch her for her indiscretion but didn’t because Maw had started to giggle, and I’d never heard my Maw giggle like that. Papa had his face down almost close enough to dip his nose into his bowl of beans, but I could see a red flush on his cheeks.

“We tramped around the farm and the barn and pig sties for almost an hour searching for them boots.” Maw made a tsk-tsk noise with her tongue.

“Papa said a coon or a bear might have got them.” Amelia glanced around the table with bean juice dripping from her chin.

“A big bear?” Eustis Anne shivered and hugged herself.

“Weren’t no bear. No siree. I sludged around in that mud with my house shoes on and had breakfast dishes to do up and laundry to start. I told your Papa we’d have to hold out some money and buy a new pair of boots, cause I didn’t have time enough to keep searching.” Maw grinned toward Papa.

“Shush, woman,” he growled.

“Seems these young’un’s ought to be told the truth of the matter. Your Papa just might be getting addled seeing as how he’s almost got forty years on him. Why I come up them steps with Petey in my arms and Amelia to the side of me, and went through the back door into the mudroom. There them boots sat, all side-by-side under the bench where your Papa sat to take them off.” Maw nodded with satisfaction.

“Humph,” said Papa.

Now this isn’t the end of the story, because Maw and Papa lived to be into their nineties, and throughout the remainder of their sixty-six years together, whenever Papa couldn’t find something, Maw would send him to the mudroom to look. One day, when he might have been eighty-five or thereabout, Papa couldn’t find his glasses. I could see them on top of his head, but Maw held a finger up to her lips to silence me.

“Did you look in the mudroom?” she asked.

“Silly woman, how would they get out there?” Papa asked, but after he searched in all the usual places, on top of the TV and the kitchen counter and the night stand in their bedroom, he did walk out to the mudroom.

I sat with Maw at the table and watched him search. When he got to the mudroom, he checked the pockets of his heavy coat and knocked another coat off the hook. When he bent down to pick it up, his glasses fell off his head. He walked over to the table and sat down with the glasses in his hand. We didn’t say anything. Papa looked at the glasses and raised his eyes to Maw.

“How did they get on the mudroom floor?” he asked.

We never did explain why we couldn’t stop laughing.

Copyright © 2004 Melanie Ann Campbell


About the Author
Melanie Ann Campbell graduated from the University of Virginia shortly after Thomas Jefferson built the school. Well, not quite that old, but there is gray on her thinking cap and 'crinkles' around her eyes. After forty-two years of marriage, she retired last year and began to spend long days with her husband. Eventually they ran out of things to talk about. He began a carpentry shop in the garage and Melanie Ann began to write about the things they had talked to pieces. She said, "Writing is more fun than doing a sink full of dirty dishes!"


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Poetics Presents

Allen McGill

Allen McGill lives, writes, acts and directs theatre in Mexico. His published fiction, non-fiction, poetry, plays, photos, etc., have appeared in print as well as online: NY Times, The Writer, Newsday, Literary, Potpourri, Flashquake, Poetry Midwest, Poetic Voices, Herons Nest, Frogpond, Modern Haiku, World Haiku Review, and many others. He is an editor for Simply Haiku.

FIVE HAIKU

frills and folds
of a white peony
scurrying ants


hilltop home
rain squalls swarm through
the valley

a tossed pebble
the moon and stars scatter
on the lake


full moon
my footprints mar
the shoreline


silhouette
of a chewing squirrel
sunny skylight

Copyright ©2004 by Allen McGill




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Poetics Presents

Sarah Sloat

Sarah Sloat was born in the 60s in New Jersey, where she attended university. She lives with her husband, daughter and son in Frankfurt, Germany, where she works for a news agency.

Grimm Middle Class Fable

I could start like this -
‘once upon a time
rustic characters at the edge of a forest....’
But if you like it straight up,
it wasn’t like that.

There were no creepy woods
or crotchety witches.
There were no talking ravens,
proud millers, or big-hearted huntsmen,
there were no woodcutters down on their luck.
None of my clan learned a moral lesson,
foul deeds went unpunished,
and hard work and innocence
didn’t pay off.

At our house there was food on the table,
and no black-footed wolf tapped at the door.
But like everyone I had to bundle my knapsack,
and go forth in the world
to prove my worth to my parents.

I tossed birds the crumbs stashed in my pockets,
and bit poison apples without thinking twice.
Still, I partook of an age-old tradition -
I appeared and disappeared
punctually at work
decently dressed
despite the potions imbibed
to drown disenchantment.

One can’t sleep forever.
When the spell broke I learned it didn’t matter
if I returned with an apron of jewels
or a handful of nothing,
I would inherit the hot iron shoes of my family
and dance in them until I die.

Copyright ©2004 by Sarah Sloat




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Drabble Corner The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Drabble Corner

Michelle Swisz

Our Drabble for this month, on the theme of Being Realistic, is Dinner Time, by Marlene Barth.

Dinner Time

She stopped typing and looked at the clock by her computer. Damn! Time to start dinner for Mom already! Her mother, age 93, lived with her and her husband. Her mother liked to eat early, and her husband liked to eat late. That meant two meals nightly.

"I'm going to start dinner for you now, Mother. Ready in thirty minutes."

"OK," came the reply.

She was glad there were leftovers tonight. Roast beef, mashed potatoes and asparagus.

Not to forget dessert! Even breakfast had to end with a donut.

"Dinner is ready, Mom."

"Oh, you want me to eat now?"

Over the last many years, he’s been with you whenever he could be. So you know that this time, as usual, he’ll walk in the front door, and kiss your socks off before he takes off his shoes. He’ll ask you how your day was today, and then reach for you during the night.

But now, suddenly, he tells you there might be a change in plans. What? MIGHT be? It would almost be easier for you just to know right now, but he himself doesn’t know yet either. And it would almost be easier to just pre-empt the decision with one of your own, but you can’t seem to withdraw so easily.

In reality, it was never really known how you’d be spending the next few minutes, never mind the next five years. So many things can happen over years—so many things can happen right now! So your heart is on the ground one minute, then beating in place again the next in the belief that one does, in the end, tend to live through bad romantic news. You build strength through the struggle to live through it, etc.

In the meantime, you see that you never really knew but only thought you did, during the day, the days, that he’d be back. And now you really DO know that you don’t know if he’ll be back—ever. Uncertainty—what is it for you? What is it, in general?

Our theme for July is Uncertainty. Here again are the Drabble Guidelines—in summary, a Drabble is exactly 100 words, excluding the title, and is due the 10th of the month prior to the month you’re submitting for. So the July Drabble submissions are due by June 10th. Send submissions to Drabble@wvu.org.

See you next month!


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Literary Lights The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Literary Lights

Priscilla Fagan

The Passion

Late this afternoon, I sat in my vet’s lobby in their new facility, which was quite impressive. I thought about all the money I had spent on my beloved Scotties, my Bearded Collie, and our cat that passed last year, and decided this place belonged to all of us. But I digress. I sat waiting to pick up my baby Scottie, Haddie, who had just been spayed, and looked up at the wall. A picture of my veterinarian holding a Golden Retriever caught my eye. The picture was framed and had once been the front page of our local newspaper. The headline read…Passion.

Two thoughts struck me at the same time. Is this what’s missing in me as far as my writing goes?  And I saw the next column for Literary Lights. I suppose facilitating this session of the Writer’s Way to Creativity course had me questioning again where I was going with my writing. Passion. I love to write, and always seem to come up with a subject, a conflict, and a story. But, as my veterinarian, Jean Pitcairn, shows daily her passion for the vocation she has chosen, I wonder if I have the same passion within me. Just writing isn’t enough; it’s what I do with the stories once they are written.
 
Only passions, great passions, can elevate the soul to great things. Denis Diderot

Movie stars have a passion for acting, musicians have a passion for music, doctors have a passion for healing, and police have a passion for upholding the law. Passion for a career calls for sacrifice…personal. Do all movie stars have passion? The successful ones do. Do all musicians have passion? The successful ones do. Do all doctors have passion? I would certainly hope so. Do all writers have passion? I’ll let you answer this one. I will offer my opinion. All writers have passion for the written word, but not all writers have the passion to do what it takes to become a published author.

Vanity plays lurid tricks with our memory, and the truth of every passion wants some pretence to make it live. Joseph Conrad

Passion for writing goes beyond writing for writing's sake. The passion I’m talking about goes beyond the written word, it goes beyond the need to put something on paper, and it goes beyond self publishing or e-publishing. The passion I’m speaking about is the ability to sacrifice our safe haven, our life, our family and take that leap which will lead to publishing success. LaBruyere speaks to the passion, To make a book is as much a trade as to make a clock, something more than intelligence is required to become an author.

Julia Cameron tells us not to ‘indulge or tolerate anyone who throws cold water in our direction'. She refers to it as our Escape Velocity. Escape velocity requires the sword of steely intention and the shield of self-determination . . . Set your sights and don’t let the ogre that looms on the horizon deflect your flight.

If you have the passion, nothing will get in your way.

Priscilla, the eternal optimist


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Recognitions

Joan McNulty Pulver

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

Cheryl Pereira’s two novels, A Recipe For Love and A Kiss So True, published by Wings ePress, are slated for publication next year. Coming to cyber space in April 2005 is her first contemporary romance, A Recipe For Love. Her paranormal romance novel, A Kiss So True, will be out in November of 2005.

“When I got the news that I was being published, I felt absolute disbelief! I could not believe my eyes. My first attempt at writing a romance novel—something I began to fill my time to see if I could actually write a complete novel—had been contracted. I jumped and hugged myself because I was alone in the office when I received the contract in the mail. I couldn't wait to tell my family and friends. Eventually, of course, I did, and for days later I felt like I ran a marathon. I didn't feel the ground I walked on—with my head firmly stuck inside in the clouds. The second contract was in many ways sweeter than the first, for two reasons. It gave me confidence and quieted down the voices inside me that made me wonder if the first book wasn't a fluke—beginner's luck—and because the romance was written in a different genre [Suspense – Paranormal].”

Cheryl hadn’t read a paranormal until recently, so she didn't have a point of reference as to what would work and what wouldn't. The suspense elements within the book allowed her to experiment since she’d never written suspense before. She was overjoyed that the end result was a contract.

Writing as a vocation was never a goal of Cheryl’s. As a child she loved to write, and her English teachers encouraged and helped her hone what they referred to as her talent. In 2000 she moved to England with her husband. When she started missing her friends and family, whom she loves dearly, her husband bought her An Idiot’s Guide to Writing Romance and encouraged her to write again while she was pregnant. When her baby turned about four months old, she started writing in earnest.

“My writing friends were sure that Wings ePress would contract it—but we writers are such an insecure bunch that it was difficult to for me to believe it till it actually happened. It motivated me to write and write and write some more. Rejection can plumb you to the depths of despair—believe me, I've received my share of form rejection letters and mails, but a contract lifts you just as quickly, and you feel invincible until the doubts come flooding back.”

“I read. It's the best way to learn how to write for me. Reading various genres teaches me pacing techniques and word usage. I read for pleasure, but the author and editor in me pick up the nuances within the scenes that hold my interest. I then analyze it to bits. For example, when I wrote the suspenseful parts in A Kiss So True, all the techniques to raise tension, and keep the pacing tight, wasn't too much of a struggle because I’d read tons of thrillers, crime stories, courtroom dramas and medical suspense novels. I had an idea how I could tweak the scenes to increase the tension but a lot of work went into actually writing it in. Like I mentioned before—I'm the sink or swim type. I just throw myself into things, and if I didn't, then I’d analyze it to death. I'd second-guess myself, and it would never be good enough for me.”

Cheryl reads a fairly wide range of authors, anything from chic lit, romance, thriller, medical suspense, courtroom dramas, suspense, etc. She adores Historical Romances—Stephanie Laurens and Kate MacAllister are the two she enjoys reading most.

About six months into writing A Recipe For Love, Cheryl joined WVU and became a member of the Romance Roundtable study group, which she says, “will always hold a fond place in my heart.”

“I found WVU on the Internet while trawling through trying to search for writing sites to improve my technique. It was the best thing I ever did. I took the Romance Writing course where I learned tons of useful things about writing a romance. For a brief time I belonged to the Hole In the Wall Gang, Writers Prose and Word Slingers study groups. WVU taught me the basics of writing a romance. It helped me polish my so-called talent and, more than anything, it introduced me to many people who traveled the same road I did. Two of my closest friends I met at WVU began as writing buddies and grew to be much more. Maria Desrosiers and Lori Libby stood by me, encouraged me and pushed me whenever doubts flew in and I thought I couldn't write a decent sentence.”

Cheryl met her husband at a movie, being set up by a friend. About a week later they accidentally met at a mutual friend’s birthday party. He asked her out and, presto, three months later, he proposed—the magic of love touched her life. She now has a two-and-a-half-year-old daughter.

“I've lived a great life and traveled quite a bit. Kenya and Bali are the two favorite places I ever lived in. I've seen the ups and downs of life from a fairly young age. I'm Indian and I'm married to a Britisher but we're amazingly connected and I wouldn't exchange him for the world. I work in the hectic environment of a news channel, try to be a mother and wife, and at the same time do justice to my writing.”

Shanna Lewis, a WVU member since 2001 and a member of the Middle Earth and Natural World study groups, started working as a reporter last summer for the Wet Mountain Tribune, a weekly newspaper in Westcliffe, CO. She earned the position of staff photographer later in the year.

“I stopped by to inquire about the possibility of work and met the editor and chatted about my writing background. He said, ‘There's nothing now but leave us a resume; we'll keep it on file.’ I brought them my resume and then I dropped by every week just to say hi. Finally they let me cover the school board meetings (which no one else wanted to do) and asked me to be the substitute photographer. It was the foot in the door I needed and now I'm on the masthead as both the staff photographer and one of the reporters.”

She didn’t plan to be a newspaper reporter, and becoming a photographer wasn’t something Shanna ever expected to do, but she loves it. She has learned how to distill out the important information from long meetings and interviews, as well as how to make an interesting story out of disjointed notes from boring meetings.

“I've also learned a lot about not editorializing. It’s given me experience in working on a deadline, and it’s incredibly gratifying to see my writing and photography in print every week.”

Shanna gives this advice to budding journalists: “Starting small by just having to write one or two stories a month was the best thing that could have happened for me. It allowed me to feel confident about my work before taking on more numerous and difficult assignments. Accepting the work no one else wanted to do was a good way to get started, and the folks at the school board love the fact that they have "their own reporter" now.

Shanna is especially proud of an interview she conducted with David McDonnall’s parents. David was one of the missionaries killed in Iraq on March 15. She felt honored that they shared their story with her.

”They chose to only tell their story to our newspaper because they appreciated the fact that we respected their privacy during the first two weeks after David's death.”

Along with her newspaper work, Shanna continues to pursue her freelance work in creative writing of all types fiction, non-fiction, poetry and plays as well as photography. She recently had two of her photographs published in other papers: the Denver Post in the travel section and on the front page of the National Post, a large Canadian newspaper.

Julia MacDonnell’s short story, Hand of Destiny, appears in the book, The Simple Touch of Fate, published by iUniverse. Her previous credits include a short story in Whim’s Place and a book review at WritelinkPro.

She started work on a novel originally in the WVU course, Mythic Structure, in 2002; the subject of the course was The Hero's Journey. She will always be grateful for that course as it helped her get started on her first published work.

“I posted the novel again in Historicals and received helpful suggestions from excellent group members. At this point, a kindly former tutor, Mr. D. R. Gordon, of the Long Ridge Writers Group, revised it for me, and I submitted it to an agent. Late last year I joined another delightful and lively group, Word Slingers. I've been too busy lately with a third "final" revision to contribute anything to that group but hope to get back to them soon, since my book, with a new chapter added, is now being revised by another kindly editor, whose name I shall withhold until the time comes. If I possess any virtue, it's persistence.”

When Julia received the news from Arlene Uslander that her story would be published in the collection edited by her and a partner, Brenda Warneka, she gave a whoop of joy.

Most writers are also readers. Julia says she read the King James Bible (standard version) before she turned 13, followed by all of Dickens, most of Shakespeare, her brothers' adventure books and, at l6, all of Bernard Shaw. She bought all she could of poetry collections. Julia love non-fiction and owns many non-fiction books: archaeology, dictionaries, quotations, alternative medicine, organic gardening, spiritual guidance, and poetry. She went through an Agatha Christie stage, a science fiction stage, followed by Tolkien, and at present, John Grisham, Ken Follett, and Susan Howatch. Being Brazilian born, and bilingual, Julia has also read a large number of Brazilian authors.

“I suppose I first wanted to be a writer before I even knew how to write, but went about the garden at age seven making up stories to repeat to a small brother, whose own stories were remarkable for a five-year-old. At 12 my greatest ambition was to edit a magazine. The business of earning a living and all the ups and downs of life claimed me at 20 and it was only much later, after retirement, when I thought about it again. Membership in WVU and the contacts made with younger and enthusiastic classmates and group members is one of the joys of my life.”

Congratulations, Cheryl, Shanna and Julia. We wish you continued success in all your writing endeavors and thank you for sharing your information with us.

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!


About the Author
Born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, Joan McNulty Pulver moved to Florida about 30 years ago and decided to stay. She has five children (two girls and three boys) and five grandchildren (four boys and one girl). An Administrative Secretary for the State of Florida, she plans to retire in about seven years and then start her real career, writing. Joan hopes to have at least one novel finished and published by that time. She does a little volunteer work here at WVU and enjoys this community of writers. "I have learned so much here and like helping others learn along with me."


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Signs of Life The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Signs of Life

Nancy L. Horner

Tack, Swing, And Duck

During the time my husband and I were living in the Tulsa area, we happened across a fantastic deal on a small, cabinless sailboat or “daysailer”. Sitting neglected in a grassy side yard and obviously unused for quite some time, the little red boat needed a bit of work but its owners were as eager to part with it as my husband was to tow his molding prize home.

I was more than a little skeptical of my husband’s enthusiasm, at first. We had recently purchased our first house, had a toddler we couldn’t possibly take with us in an open boat, and didn’t have a lot of expendable cash. And, I’d never sailed in my life.

“You’ll love sailing,” he told me. “I promise you will. It’s great fun.”

“I’m not getting in that thing without lessons,” I told him.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Not setting foot in a boat until I know how to handle it.”

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll see what we can find.”

There was only one sailboat store in Tulsa and its owner did offer sailing lessons. While we began taking classes, David parked the sailboat at his parents’ house to begin the repairs. My mother-in-law spread the sails across her driveway and scrubbed them with bleach, working her way across both mainsail and jib with a scrub brush on hands and knees. I was awestruck by her effort. Meanwhile, my equally amazing father-in-law worked at replacing fading wood pieces and checking the working parts.

After 8 weeks of lessons, including an afternoon of hands-on experience on a beautiful 24-foot sailboat, we pulled the boat to our home west of Sand Springs and finished it up with a bit of touch-up paint, some minor equipment replacements and a black-painted name scrawled on both sides.

Finally, the day of our first attempt at sailing together arrived. I was nervous and excited at the same time. Joe Becker, the owner of the sailing store, had warned that being in close proximity and trying to coordinate efforts on a small boat often led to interesting marital conflict. Having taken lessons and handled the rudder of a 24-foot Catalina Cruiser, though, I felt fairly confident that we’d at least be able to keep the boat upright. I could imagine the argument if we managed to tip over and ended up clinging to the bottom of a sailboat. It would not be pretty.

Our house was only a few miles from Keystone Lake, so we were at dockside within ten minutes. We pulled into an open spot and stepped the mast, an awkward process for the two of us as the mast was a bit heavy for a short wimp and her 6-foot spouse; however, we had practiced on the driveway and didn’t make total fools of ourselves. Backing down the boat ramp was another story because we were obviously new to the experience and came as close to sinking a car as we did to floating a boat. Eventually—after a few shouted words about bubbles from the exhaust pipe moving farther into the water and “Clutch! Don’t forget the clutch!”—the boat was in the lake where it belonged, the car in a parking space, and the two of us ready to raise the sails.

Like a used house or car, you get to know the quirks of a previously-owned sailboat once you’re in it. We quickly discovered the first of our boat’s idiosyncrasies—a daggerboard that had a tendency to stick. Since a daggerboard is the cheap-boat version of a keel, we sailed in circles until we managed to get the board lowered into the water.

I took over the rudder first, tacking the boat across the lake with decent success while we both cautiously eyed a small leak. We got a kick out of using sailing terms, such as “come about” and attempting new maneuvers like hiking out when the boat began to heel. Brisk Oklahoma wind made for an exciting sail as the hull slapped vigorously against whitecaps.

At some point, David took over the rudder and I made my way to the bow of the boat. We had reached land and needed to make a dramatic turn but neither of us anticipated the sudden swing of the boom.

“Duck!” David shouted as he saw the boom arc in my direction.

I was seated directly in the boom’s path, but I moved so quickly that it passed right over me with a whoosh of air.

“Whoa! Wasn’t expecting that,” I said, after recovering my senses.

David looked as stunned as I felt. “ I had no idea you could move so fast.”

“Neither did I.” I fingered my life jacket. “All of a sudden, I understand why they made such a big deal about wearing personal flotation devices.”

From that point on, I kept a respectful eye on the boom while David counted his blessings, certain he would have gotten a major tongue-lashing if he’d managed to knock me off the boat during his first turn at the rudder. After several wild swings, we learned how to determine which turns would cause the sails to swing to the opposite side of the boat. We also learned that I had excellent reflexes and our marriage could handle the close quarters of a 16-foot sailboat just fine. Not bad for a first attempt at sailing.


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

Wynelda-Ann Deaver

79 Paying Markets for Essays, Columns and Creative Non-Fiction
By: Cheryl Paquin
.PDF Format
Available only at: http://notes-to-self.com/orders.html
$7.95 Paypal Only (Master Card and Visa accepted)

I have never reviewed a book that was only available as an e-book. I guess I was just saving myself up to let you all in on a wonderful secret. I’m happy to announce that secret is 79 Paying Markets for Essays, Columns and Creative Non-Fiction by Cheryl Paquin.

As some of you may know, I dabble in non-fiction. Mostly essays, and of course my book reviews here. I’ve never quite known how to structure a personal essay, though. Somehow the topic sentence drilled into me during school didn’t quite seem appropriate. And even if I did manage to write one worth publishing, where would I send it?

I’ve seen the link for Cheryl Paquin’s 79 Paying Markets but never quite had the guts to buy it. That changed a week ago, and I do not regret it one bit. The article “How to Write Winning First-Person Stories” alone was worth the price of the e-book. It gives step-by-step directions how to write and structure a personal essay, and I have used it to start freshening up some of my essays. (There is another article on writing where you live included as well.)

The markets are broken down by category and are listed in alphabetical order. Information is given freely on each market, along with a web address for more information. The web addresses are clickable as well—if you have an open Internet connection, then they will take you directly to the page requested.

A few notes on the technical side of downloading the book. As it only comes in .PDF format, you must have Adobe Acrobat Reader (a free download from Adobe) in order to read it. As mentioned in the details above, the only place that 79 Paying Markets is available is at: http://notes-to-self.com/orders.html. The only payment option is via Paypal. Personally, I used my debit card as a Visa and paid for it that way at the Paypal site (linked via the order page). I found it fairly easy, but that is only my experience. Others have not had good experiences with Paypal. Once payment was received, I was emailed my copy of the e-book within a few hours. If you are not able to download large attachments (it was 300 KB), then you may want to reconsider buying the book. E-books cannot be returned.

Still, if you sold just one essay, you would easily recoup the price of the book several times over. For me, it was well worth it to have the resources available to learn how to write the personal essay and the markets that are looking for them.


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

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