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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

Mary Cook

It's Not What They Say

In fictional writing it's the dialogue that lifts your characters off the page. You must ensure your writing is strong enough for the task.

It's not what they say; it's the way they say it.

Speech has a natural rhythm—like music. Try reading aloud some dialogue from a novel or short story, tapping out the rhythm as you go. Some people will have a rapid delivery, using short, sharp words like rap music, while others will be slow and deliberate in their choice and delivery of language.

You can tell a lot about a character by his verbal mannerisms. One of my more successful short story characters mixed up traditional proverbs to comic effect. But she was a caricature—not everyone has such obvious peculiarities.

One person might use "you know" a great deal, while another opens nearly every sentence with "Well." And the majority of people will use contractions such as "don't" for "do not" or "he's" for "he is." But in fiction, the lack of contractions may be used to convey the idea of a pompous or pedantic nature. It can also characterize a person whose first language is not English or one who speaks clearly and distinctly to ensure every word is understood.

Punctuation is almost as important as the words.

  • Does your character use long or short sentences?
  • Does he pause often for breath?
  • Does he run his words together because he has much to say in a short time?
Punctuation is also important from a style point of view.
  • Does your targeted publication use single or double inverted commas for speech?
  • Does it precede speech with a comma or a colon?
  • Does the publication use indentations and/or a new line for each character?
Don't use the exclamation point too freely. The words themselves should have sufficient impact. Over-emphatic punctuation is overkill.

You can learn a lot about realistic dialogue by eavesdropping on other people's conversations. An entire plot can hinge on a snatch of overheard and unexplained chatter. Keep your ears pricked at the supermarket checkout, and stretch your neck in the bus queue. Writers have an unwritten charter exempting them from all charges of prying.

Don't be tempted to write with a regional accent by introducing strange spellings. It will make your spellchecker blow a fuse—likewise your reader.

Anyone who has read Somerset Maugham's Liza of Lambeth will know what I mean. He wrote in a working class London, England "accent" throughout, making for laborious reading.

For example, the following dialogue on the subject of childbirth could lead the reader to think Maugham couldn't spell or was writing in a foreign language:

"Well, I've got three, and I'm not goin' to 'ave no more, bli'me if I will, 'taint good enough - that's wot I says."

"You're abaht right there, ole gal," said Polly. "My word, 'Arry, if you 'ave any more I'll get a divorce, that I will."

But it's worth remembering that Maugham's 1897 novel pre-dates commercially developed radio and was written in an age when few people traveled widely. It's likely that not all his readers would have would have known what London residents sounded like.

It's not what they say; it's whom they say it to.

We all tend to behave differently in different company. Your characters should change their "voice," vocabulary and degree of formality for different members of society, unless they're particularly uncouth. In that case you have a convenient means of demonstrating just how uncouth or gauche they are, with the accused calling the judge "pal" or the maid calling her aristocratic employer "darling".

Read plenty of novels and short stories and watch television, particularly soaps. It's a wonderful excuse for being lazy—just call it research. Adopt an analytical approach to the dialogue. Ask yourself why a character says something. Would you have written it differently? If you find yourself arguing with the characters on the television, you'll know you're on the right track.

It's not what they say; it's what they don't say.

Cut out the superfluous words. Your neighbor may ramble incoherently, but if your character rambles right off the map, you'll lose your reader's attention. A long sentence can turn into a life sentence. You don't need to write every word—just the ones that have a purpose.

You may have to nod and smile politely when your neighbor tells you every detail of her morning at the shopping mall, not to mention the journey both ways, but the reader doesn't. He has absolute power over your characters because he can close the page on them. Even if a fictional character is meant to be boring, his dialogue mustn't lose the reader's attention.

In "show, don't tell" mode, make your characters "exchange greetings" rather than write a laborious dialogue of "good mornings." Let them "trade insults" by all means. But it's not always necessary to record every word of the exchange.

This is where you need to use your judgment. Greater detail may be necessary on occasions as a means of giving a character more substance or of underlining the relationship between protagonists. Seek someone else's opinion if you don't have sufficient confidence in your own prowess. Often an objective reviewer will let you know if the dialogue helps to move the plot forward or makes it grind to a halt.

As for "he said" and "she said"—those phrases have their place in a game of Consequences, but can often be cut out of a dialogue, allowing your characters' conversation to flow freely.

If you need to use "he said" to distinguish one character from another, that's fine. But tags like "snarled," "hissed," "barked" can sound faintly ridiculous, having their place mainly in the zoo.

On the other hand, they can be effective when used sparingly and with due reflection. For example, " he growled" can be safely used in a love scene to convey sexual desire without being inappropriately explicit. Equally, "snarled," "hissed," or "barked" can illustrate a personal characteristic or highlight an emotion that's essential to the plot.

It's not what they say; it's why they say it.

Dialogue is what gives your characters life. Its only purpose in a story, novel or script must be to move the plot along or to "flesh out" and make a statement about the character. Anything else must go under the knife.

Always remember the three Cs of fictional dialogue and engrave them in your heart or on your forehead:
  • Make it CLEAR.

  • Make it CONCISE.

  • Make it COUNT.

About the Author
Mary Cook is a UK-based freelance writer and former newspaper reporter. Her short stories, poems and articles have appeared in numerous publications, both in print and online. Her main writing interests are humor, horror, and the craft and business of writing.


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Craft of Writing

Bill Wettler

Tag, You're It!

There is a good rule that says, "Don't write with the word 'it'." Some think the word helps us to write what cannot be phrased any other way. But a close look at how and why the word "it" is used shows that we are not stuck with the dull sound bite.

Consider the difference between the following two versions of the same paragraph.
He told his well-trained pet to go see what was tossed by a passing motorcycle. I let it out the door and waited for it to trot back with the surprise. It took awhile and John asked what was taking so long. It was motivated by the sound of its master's voice and hurried back through the sprinklers that it was hoping to avoid. It stopped at my feet, all wet and muddy, and would not go in. It dropped it there. Apparently, it wanted me to complete the delivery. (91 words)

He told his well-trained pet to see what a passing motorcycle tossed. I let the dog out the door and waited for her to trot back with the surprise. She took awhile and John asked what was taking so long. Motivated by the sound of her master's voice, she hurried back rather than wait any longer for the passing sprinkler. She arrived; dripping wet, dropped the newspaper at my feet and beseeched me to complete the delivery. (77 words)
Other editing rules were at work to produce the better-written version with fewer words. But removing every occurrence of the word "it" is arguably the most significant. After all, the main reason we have pronouns is to avoid awkward repetitions, and here the repetitive use of the word "it" is ironic.

In the first paragraph, the word "it" occurred nine times. The substituted pronoun "she" may not seem like much of an improvement in the re-written example because the word works much the same way that the pronoun "it" does, i.e., both pronouns are variables for "the dog." But "she" (used 4 times) was alternately written as "her" (used twice), and that is better than nine occurrences of "it."

Furthermore, since the word "it" may stand for any kind of object whatsoever(i.), readers are far more likely to be lost off on some tangential search for the object that "it" stands for. By using the word "she" and "her," the gender of the subject is, at least, communicated. And something with a gender is more graphic and easier to follow than an "it."

Where the author's intent, as a matter of style, is to keep readers guessing about the exact nature of his subject and objects, there are still plenty of words and phrases that are more colorful than the word "it." A dog is also a furry beast, a fleabag, man's best friend, and so on. And in the case of the newspaper, we have: a package, the daily or simply a delivery.

The challenge of the "avoid-it" rule is not simply to avoid that word by repeating, in the above example, "The dog...," "the dog...," "the dog...," as a kind of reverse substitution principle. Better phrases with fewer words are to be found by re-writing the whole paragraph more creatively. Re-writes are almost always better if for no other reason but that more thought has been given to the task. But the presence of the word "it" is always a sign that more thought is needed.

Consider how a story about a man and a tree might be written. There might be a sentence like: "He walked up to it to enjoy the shade it cast and looked for a place that was dry enough that he could sit." Shorter sentences, with ironically more information about the context or environment, can easily be conceived.

Drawn by the beautiful blooms, he found a cool dry piece of ground to sit on beneath the canopy.

Crouching as he passed below a low hanging branch, he searched for a dry seat upon one of the huge spreading roots.

Good authors already know that their writing must supply the senses—eyes and ears and so on, to put the reader's imagination to work. But readers are deprived of so many sensations—sights and sounds and so on, when authors rely on the word "it." So to accomplish what is important: avoid the word "it."

One possible reason writers are hoodwinked into using the word "it" is because the word is usually simple, clear and useful in speech. In casual conversation, people have occasion to ask:

"What do you call it...uh...you know that thing...oh...there, look at this...this thing what do you call it?"

There is little reason, under typical circumstances, to censor that kind of speech and try to sound eloquent with some edited version. But in writing, a description is needed to do the work of a nod or pointing finger. If one were to ask this question of a friend or family member by leaving a note, that note would have to be re-written as:

What is the name of the new yellow hand tool Harry has been using lately? What do I ask for, at the hardware store, when I go to buy one?"(ii.)

The main reason for the difference between speaking and writing skills has to do with the challenge that writing, which requires some contemplation, poses to critical thinking and organizational skills. But the presence of the word "it" is a sign that the writer has not quite risen to the challenge.

And again, if in the interests of testing the avoid-it rule, one comes to face with some such phrase as "It's raining," don't attempt to find another phrase just for the sake of following the rule in speech. The point is that the "avoid-it" rule applies to written work within the context of a paragraph and not to speech. And where the person whose talking is a character, then the phrase doesn't need to be changed at all.(iii.)

Even in technical and business writing and in textbook writing, there are also peculiar uses of the word "it." Even in these contexts, where supplying the senses or using graphic language is not a goal, there is a problem with sentence length. Consider, for example, how one science text advises teachers and students to deal with animals "in an environmentally responsible manner.(iv.)"

Any animals that have been collected locally may be released. It is, however, best to consider the season and its effects on the animal before release. Most animals ordered from supply houses are not native species and must not be released into the environment. These animals may not be able to survive in your area and would needlessly suffer before they died. (62 words)(v.)

The first sign that these verbose phrases can be re-written with less words is none other than the presence of the word "it." With the goal in mind of saying the same thing without that word, one inevitably finds a more concise way of writing. Note the following example.

When releasing, consider the effects of the season on any animals collected either locally or ordered from supply houses. And be careful with non-native species. Do not release animals that will suffer and die in your area. (37)

The "avoid-it" rule, taken together with any number of other good editing rules, is a sure path to success. Though difficult to follow at times, the rule is very easy to understand in principle and always proven by the results. Each re-write, like a game, promises a win.

In fact, the "avoid-it" game is similar to a game that has been played by children everywhere since the beginning of time. The boy or girl who is "it" must chase after any one of the other kids. A child touched or tagged becomes "it." The goal of the game, called "Tag," is to avoid being "it." "Avoid-it" is the linguistic version of Tag. And thoughtful, creative re-writing is the path to a sure win.(vi.)

ENDNOTES
i. Sometimes "it" can even stand for a person as in the sentence: The phone kept ringing. But she didn't know who it was.
ii. The word "it" should be employed in scripts or stories where dialog is written because, to be realistic, writers have to write the way people talk. Also, other dull works, if quoted, have to be quoted the way they have been written.
iii.
iv. Pg T31 Harcourt Science Teacher's Edition, Units A and B Copyright Harcourt, Inc. 2000
v. IBID
vi. Phrases like "...the word 'it'..." have been used in the present text, but in that context, the word is a noun. Such grammar-speak or language used to talk about language does not use the term in the way readers are advised to avoid. The word "it" is never used, for example, as a pronoun. And quotes with the word "it" are forgivable because they do not represent our own writing.

About the Author
Bill is an expatriate American teaching college ESL (reading, writing and conversation) in Thailand—Bangkok University. His inspiration for writing came about after a discussion with his translator regarding his opinion, which led the translator to advise Bill to write an article.


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Craft of Writing

Suzan L. Wiener

Ten Secrets To Writing Fillers For Fun And Profit

Tired of writing short stories or articles only to get rejections? If that's the case, don't quit writing. Instead, try your hand at filler writing. You will be surprised at how much fun it is to write and how profitable they can be. The pay sometimes is even more than you might get for a longer piece. For instance, Reader's Digest, the cream of the crop for filler writers, pays $300 for an anecdote. If it doesn't get printed in their "Life in these United States" feature, it could still be used on another page, and they pay $30 a line. They also have other features, such as "Laughter, the Best Medicine," where the pay is $100.

I find most publications pay $25 for anecdotes, $15 for quips and $15 for jokes. If you get enough of them, the payments add up nicely. I got started writing fillers when my young niece said something cute, and I typed it up and sent it to a well-known publication. To my surprise a few months later, I received a check for $25. And, they asked me to send more. It was the easiest money I had made, and after that, I kept at it.

Other sources you should watch for are bumper stickers, church signs, and store signs. They are wonderful outlets for a filler writer's source of material.

Of course, I still write articles and short stories, but the fillers help keep me going should those rejections show up in my mailbox, which unfortunately they do from time to time. But when I get a rejection on a short anecdote, it doesn't seem quite as bad. When I get an acceptance, it's well worth the effort.

Even though fillers seem much easier to do, they still need to be polished and entertaining. Editors get thousands of anecdotes, jokes, etc., per week, so make yours shine.

It should work for you too. Also, don't be disappointed if yours isn't selected right away. Remember, it takes time for editors to go through them and select those that meet their needs. If you don't hear from an editor within six months, it is usually all right to send it to another publication.

l. Always gear your anecdotes toward what the magazine wants. For example, if it's a baby magazine, don't send in an anecdote pertaining to your 7-year-old daughter. No matter how cute it is, the editor won't be able to buy it.

2. An anecdote should always be true and written like a mini-story with a beginning, middle and end. Humor is always welcome, and if the editor laughs, it is most likely he/she will purchase it from you.

3. Listen to what your family, clerks, acquaintances and friends say. If they say something cute, write it down and ask their permission to use it.

4. Keep a list of markets (publications) that will take anecdotes. It makes sending them out much easier and quicker.

5. Try to remember their addresses as this will make sending out the anecdotes, jokes, etc., much easier and quicker for you.

6. Send in holiday anecdotes at least six months beforehand. Sometimes editors want them even before that. Check each guideline to find out just when you should send them in.

7. If you send your anecdotes online, it will save you lots of money on postage. I've done that, and it really makes a difference cost-wise.

8. Always keep enough fillers circulating, so if one gets returned, you won't dwell on it. I try to send out at least ten a week.

9. Sending out your material online will save you a lot of postage. Check http://www.google.com to see which publications take online fillers.

10. When doing your taxes, make sure to keep your rejections, check stubs, etc., to show whether you're doing the fillers as a hobby or as a full-time occupation. It's important to keep it in order. It is highly unlikely that you can quit your day job writing fillers, but if you get enough acceptances, anything is possible.

Here are several places to send fillers I found are quite eager to have them.

Grandparents' Brag Board
Mature Living
l27 9th Av North
Nashville TN 37234
--------
Kidspeak
Woman's Day
1633 Broadway
New York NY l00l9
-------
Last Laugh!
Woman's World
270 Sylvan Av
Englewood Cliffs NJ 07632

Following these ten tips, you'll most likely get an acceptance and be as happy as you would if it were for a short story. I know that to be the case for me.


About the Author
Suzan L. Wiener has had numerous poems, stories, writing articles and fillers published in national publications such as T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine, Canadian Writer's Journal, Riverrun, Impetus, Saturday Evening Post, Poetry Press, Verses, etc.


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Humor: Torment Behind the Art The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Humor: Torment Behind the Art

Edward L. Flaim

In last month's column I wrote of the conflict between humor and political correctness. This was intentionally misleading, as all genres of art undergo this conflict. Joyce's Ulysses encountered problems upon publication and still faces problems in many school districts. In Minnesota some districts removed it from their libraries, as well as such perverse literature as J. D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye and Grimm's Fairy Tales. The banning of such literary works of art led to a lawsuit demanding that, if the school boards removed the aforementioned books from the library shelves, the boards should remove the Bible as well. The named Plaintiff did not expect to prevail in this lawsuit. Nor did he wish to prevail. He considered the Bible a literary as well as a religious masterpiece. He was merely demonstrating that one person's definition of truth and excellence was another person's definition of lies and trash. The Bible remained on bookshelves, as it properly should. However, the school boards reinstated the books previously banned. Thus, this lawsuit prevented the modern equivalent of book burning

Writing humor is serious and tormenting business. P.G. Wodehouse's works made "Jeeves" the universal butler. His writing is so flawless that few people realize each of his novels required voluminous outlines that exceeded the pages of many novels. Wodehouse sweated over his works so that we, as readers, would see only a seamless masterpiece. We think that humorous fiction and often children's fiction must be easy to create. However, both require all the elements—point of view, character, plot, etc.—that is required of any work of fiction. It appears easy only because of the talent of its authors.

Humor is everywhere. As with any work of fiction, though, it demands that we find and write for the appropriate audience. I find humor, often unintentionally and poorly portrayed, in television advertisements. We all remember Burger King was responsible for Clara proclaiming "Where's the beef?" However, what corporation was behind the advertisement, "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" This advertisement became a universal joke with few remembering the name of the product it intended to sell. The humor, completely unintentional, transcended its purpose, that is, to purchase a product that no one can recall.

Lately I've become enthralled with the HoverRound powered wheelchair. I can ride it anywhere, including to the edge of the Grand Canyon! Amazing! I see this old couple at one of the many ledges of the Grand Canyon, smiling at their newfound mobility. I also see them pushing the wrong buttons and shooting over the ledge, speaking with each other as they plummet a few thousand feet or so, saying "Thanks a lot, you bastards! I didn't think mobility included flight plans!" The camera fades out, with a voice play over of "Hey Clara! There's the beef!"

Although this advertisement is ridiculous, it serves its purpose. My flights of fantasy do not intrude on its message and "HoverRound, HoverRound, HoverRound" spins round and round in my mind.

Is there a message here? I believe so. Know your audience. Humor addressed to the NAACP would not be effective if presented to the KKK. Why anyone would want to address the KKK is beyond me. However, if you find yourself in Mississippi—and to be fair to Mississippi, the Klan is everywhere—surrounded by white-hooded imbeciles, do not refer to the Grand Wizard and Kleegle as ridiculous titles that only the mentally defective would consider an honor. Unless, of course, you have a death wish that entails lynching and burning crosses.

So we now know the obvious. All writing is directed toward an audience. The next question is who is our intended audience? Is our humor directed toward the educated elite whom Dennis Miller enthralls? Or to the everyman? I'll reserve that for next month's column.

I'm always open to suggestions, thoughts and ideas. If you should wish to contact me on areas you wish to discuss, feel free to email me at Ed@wvu.org  Doesn't mean I'll do a thing about it, for despite my desire to be omniscient, I am not.

About the Author
Ed was born in 1950. He entered the world butt-first and has since viewed the world primarily through this vertical eye. As most of those who survived the turbulent sixties, he faced several choices: death, prison, insanity or law. He chose both law and insanity. He graduated from the University of Minnesota Law School in 1984 after touring the world's asylums.

He was a well-established and recognized practitioner when diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1993. He continued to actively practice law until 1998, when his physical and mental condition said, "Screw this," and he returned to Maryland. In Maryland he vegetated until he came upon WVU and attempted to write fiction.

Ed has published hundreds if not thousands of his writings. That's only because every document he has ever filed with the courts is considered published. Thus far, publishers have been kind and printed one of his 300 story submissions. He's waiting anxiously to see what will happen with number 301, hoping it might bring him wealth and fame like Stephen King. Or at the very least, a cookie.


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Literary Lights

Priscilla Fagan

Part II The Elements of Fiction - Character

People. That’s what it’s all about. We read to touch other people. To identify with other people. To compare ourselves with other people. To laugh at other people. To see, to hear, to feel other people. Gary Provost
 
A writer needs to know his or her characters. To know your characters means more than just knowing what they look like. Your main characters have to be credible. The reader must believe that your characters would and could act in a certain way.
 
Chris Keane tells us, Too many writers just don’t know their characters, and so they have characters acting in ways that are incredible to the reader.
 
F. Scott Fitzgerald said, Character is plot, plot is character. Confused? Perhaps less confusing is . . . credible plots emerge from credible characters having credible motivations. Gary Provost
 
Characters should be three dimensional. Your main characters should be complex and possess those all important conflicting traits. Flat characters are usually stereotypical, in other words, predictable with very few traits. These characters may show up in your story, as a walk-on might show up in a movie. But a flat main character will not be memorable, endearing, or someone you love to hate. Ernest Hemingway stated, When writing a novel a writer should create living people; people, not characters. A character is a caricature.
 
Try writing a biographical sketch of your main characters. Know your character inside and out. What makes him/her tick? Physical appearance, personality, motivation and conflicting traits all add up to a well-rounded character with a past, present, and future.
 
I’ll wrap this month's element of fiction up with a quote from W. Somerset Maugham, You can never know enough about your characters.
 
Priscilla, the eternal optimist


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

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Fiction Short Story

by Lisa Tate

Blip

Deep in the sub-zero nub of the coldest place on earth where glaciers stand like giants frozen in time, Winter lay in his bed studying the neat row of tiny, even lines scratched on the wall near his pillow. The days of his life measured out like this, exactly the same from end to end and not a blip on the horizon.

And yet as usual, he sat up, stretched and got out of bed. He made himself a cold bowl of oatmeal, then stood in front of the mirror and finger-combed his gold hair and rubbed the sleep out of his icy blue eyes. As usual. He pulled on his snowshoes, shrugged on his greatcoat, settled his hat on his head and stepped outside of his house, blowing and stamping.

The sun glittered off the ice, hard and bright as a laser, zeroing into his skull. As usual.

Hoping that a bit of fresh air would shake off his moodiness, he took off, riding a chill wind that bucked wildly and had a vicious bite. He rocked through the frozen landscape, etching windows with icy fingers, stopping engines, squeezing pipes until they burst. And amidst the minor chaos of his activities (those required by federal law), a small but disquieting thought crept into his mind.

It wasn’t satisfying anymore.

He hung icicles from the gutters, then broke them up and re-hung them in a jagged, natural line. He laid huge drifts of snow and ran the crazed wind over them at breakneck pace, leaving undulating sculptures in his wake. But somehow, it wasn’t as fun as it had been.

That bothered him.

He tossed handfuls of snow from the tip of the Eiger so they caught the wind and glittered in the sun. He roared through the mountain passes with a great howling bellow and then kicked off a couple of avalanches in the Himalayas. It was no use.

It wasn’t enough anymore. Everything had a gray tick-tock sameness to it, even making snowflakes, his specialty. He gave it up and just dumped loads of sleet. Hail appealed no longer.

The ping was gone.

When he was hungry, he sat down and drank a cold clear mountain stream and ate a quantity of clouds and frowned and wondered if he was sick, or losing his mind or both.

Gloom settled on his shoulders.

Then a pair of snow geese flew by, obviously together. Content. Their wings moved in tandem as they sailed through a breathlessly clear sky. Mightily fulfilled, those birds looked, though not in any way smug.

And Winter was broadsided by a revelation, ka-boom. What he needed was a wife.

His longing was so intense it nearly knocked him down.

With a fresh eager enthusiasm he worked his way through the afternoon on a big, showy project, bound to attract the eye of any lady. He used the whole sky. By nightfall it was ready. He put on a light show, and waited, a big happy grin on his face.

But nobody came. No one went out at night anymore. They had central heating.

Okay, he thought. Not to despair. If they don’t come to me, I will go to them. So, cheerful and determined once more, he headed for the city. Ladies, here I am. Winter, il est arrivé.

He imagined he’d be welcome.

He found a lady. She had a cell phone and a pair of stunningly expensive shoes and a serious brief case. He introduced himself very politely. But his cold hands made her shiver. And his crystal blue eyes made her scream. Loudly. And when the same thing happened again and again he realized he’d made a horrible mistake. He swirled off into the night feeling foolish. A few wistful snowflakes eddied behind him, remembering the good times.

Night turned into day and still he traveled the world, searching for what he so desperately needed. But most women shuddered at the mention of his name. “Ugh,” they said. “Winter.”

And just when it seemed that things could not get any worse, they did. Winter felt a sharp pain in his chest. He clutched his chest and staggered, feeling a layer of ice around his heart. Once it was totally frozen, he would feel nothing at all. An eternity of blandness lay before him.

Anything but that.

He searched harder, covering every hill and valley, going places he’d never been before.

He drove himself relentlessly, refusing to give up. But doubts crept in, along with the ice.

He was on the point of despair when he saw a woman building a snowman. Could this be her, at last? He roared in for a closer look. Something about the way she worked made his heart dance. She had bright hair and bright eyes and she was possessed with a delicious, open, brilliant face that made his cold knees buckle. He watched her build the figure. Her snowman had three round segments of just the right size and she used real coal for the eyes. It was clear she had a true appreciation of snow.

”Blow me down,” he said, “I think I’ve found her.”

By now he had no time to waste on polite chit-chat and so forth. He came at her like a storm. She went into her neat little log cabin and shut the windows.

Surprised but undeterred, he gusted down her chimney.

She put another log on the fire, and he retreated. Fast. He tumbled in the door with the drifting snow, majestic, ta-daaa!

She swept him out with her broom.

And Winter had a sudden inspiration. Subtlety, that’s what was needed here.

He froze the drops of dew on a spider’s web, individually. They glittered like diamonds; no cheap tat for this lady. But she walked by without seeing it.

He found some holly, and iced each berry until it shone, and then he laid the whole spray at her front door so it would please her eye, a bouquet of red and white, just so. But this time of year she only used the side door.

Frustrated, he took an apple and kissed it with snow and laid it in her path. She ran over it with a sit-down snowplow. The result was indescribable. At the sight of this, Winter’s chest felt uncomfortably tight. His heart was nearly covered with a thick crust of ice.

Time was running out.

But Winter had one final trick. He collected a series of icicles and made a wreath of such icy delicacy and skill that it made the birds gasp with delight. He hung it from her balcony, where it caught the light and sparkled and shone, the most beautiful thing in the world.

It fell when she opened the shutters, breaking into a thousand little shards on impact.

Winter sat among the shards in some despair, chin in his massive hand, brooding. He knew that this woman was the One, and yet, he could not win her love. He had given her everything he possessed.

Except.

His heart. The one thing he valued above all else. To give it away meant chancing a life of emptiness. Ignored by her, it would freeze on the spot, and be useless to him.

Forever.

He didn’t hesitate.

Winter left his heart on her doorstep, and went away to knock down some power lines on the interstate (a contractual obligation), and refused to think about what he’d risked until the job at hand was finished.

He returned expecting nothing, prepared to go on his way without troubling her, because although he had no heart (having given it to her) he had strength, dignity and the kind of steadfast honest fortitude not often found in these parts.

His heart was not where he’d left it. Winter wondered, had she put it out with the recycling?

He looked inside her cabin. On her table stood a silver bowl and in it lay his heart. She caught his eyes and instead of turning away, smiled and danced for him. She used her hips and shoulders and hands to tell him that she loved him like he loved her, and her skin took on a golden shimmering hue unlike anything he’d ever seen before, and he knew he wanted her more than anything in this galaxy.

He nearly melted on the spot. His hat flew off. Rational thought went out of his wintry head. They would be together. He huffed and chugged and he built up an almighty gale and he swooshed towards the cabin, the desire of his body and heart at one within his soul (for that is the very best kind of desire). And she, at one with her desires opened the door wide for him. Their love was true and passionate.

And Summer met Winter, and the energy given off by their union was greater than all the forces of the universe combined. The cabin exploded into a million pieces, scattering debris high into the atmosphere.

Somewhere a recording needle did a wobbly little jig across a roll of paper, startling a bearded seismologist, who spilled his coffee, astonished at the unexpected blip that signaled the lover’s demise. Alas.

Yet, having known the best of each other in that instant before annihilation Summer and Winter counted themselves lucky.


Postscript:

When the skies cleared, a baby lay in the snow.

Her name is Spring.

Copyright © 2004 Lisa Tate


About the Author
Lisa Tate has seen 20 short stories in print in the UK, Australia, Canada and the USA. A collection of her stories is available from Twilight Times Books. She currently lives in Houston, where she runs a home for stray snowflakes. More on her work can be found at http://www.lisatate.net.


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Fiction Short Story

by Jutta Jordans

Chess

It was a bishop who told the two new pawns not to speak to each other any longer. And only when they asked him why was it that they learned about their fate.

"We are all pieces in a game," he told them, "and one day the lid of this case will open and we will be marched into battle. You cannot tell, because it is dark in here, but some of us are white and some of us are black and there will come a day when we will fight each other because that is our destiny. It is better not to get to know each other too well. It makes things easier on all of us."

The two pawns listened in silence. It took a while before one of them dared to speak.

"But what do we fight for?" he asked.

The bishop answered with pride, "We fight so that the right side may win."

Now the other pawn asked shyly, "Which one is the right one?"

The voice of the bishop thundered through the wooden case, "Well, the white one, of course!"

Suddenly there was a great commotion around the two pawns. Pieces started moving and rolling hither and thither, punching and kicking their way towards the bishop or away from him, the whole case erupting in a screaming, moving and cursing chaos. The two pawns tried to hold on to each other, tried to avoid getting separated or moved about uncontrollably. Finally things settled down, the pieces drawn together on either side of the box. Only the two pawns lay in the middle numbly.

"What happened?" one of them asked.

"I don't quite know," the other one answered. "It seems to me that they have taken their sides."

"Well, what side do we belong to?" his friend inquired softly.

"I do not know. I'm not even sure that I want to belong to a side at all."

"Neither do I," was the whispered reply.

The lid opened. Light streamed into the wooden case, illuminating the green felt, the wooden inlays and two piles of chess pieces, neatly separated into black and white. In the middle between them lay two pawns, one black, one white, singled out. A hand started to take out pieces and set up a game on a wonderfully crafted board of ebony and ivory. It did not notice the struggle of the two pawns when it lifted and carried them to separate sides. It did not hear their silent screams of, "Put me down!" and "I don't want to fight my friend." Ignorantly it put the two pawns in their place on the checkered board, because the great game had to begin.

One of the white bishops looked at the white pawn that was set down in front of him.

"I told you it would come to this. We do not choose our sides ourselves. It is chosen for us from the beginning. There is nothing we can do about this, no alternative is given. There is no such thing as a gray pawn."

And then the battle began.

Copyright © 2004 Jutta Jordana


About the Author
Jutta Jordans is 33 years old (and tends to get older from time to time) and lives in Muenster, Germany. After studying various subjects like physics, history, English and computer science, she now works as a software developer. She writes poems, short fiction and children's stories, mostly in German, but sometimes also in English.


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Fiction Short Story

by Norman A. Rubin

Evidence in the Purse

It is said, my friends, that there was once a wise old Qadi called Sheikh el-Atibi, whose fair judgments were in their wisdom. Jurists from many lands, near and far, listened to his esteemed words and took them into account when rendering a verdict.

One such judgment rendered by Sheik el-Atibi, that was written in the books of the philosophy of law, was remarkable in its verdict. One that rendered a fair verdict to both the plaintiff and the accused over a charge of theft.

The trial and its fair judgment happened in the recent past. An Ibn Silas, a wealthy miser, had lost his purse whilst in his avid pursuit of collecting rents due; theft was suspected. The crabby creature, bent and thin in his miserliness, wailed and moaned at its loss. He then posted notices on the walls of the market of the town. It promised a generous reward to the honest gentleman that returned it to him.

It happened that Yussuf, a humble tailor, tripped upon the purse as he walked to his tiny shop. He was a believer in the holy words that told of a spiritual reward for the blessing of honesty in one's life. When he saw the notice pertaining to the loss of the purse, he didn't hesitate in going directly to its owner.

The avaricious miser rubbed his hands in glee when Yussuf handed him his lost purse. There were no words of thanks when he grabbed the moneybag. Instead, he opened it and started to count the coinage. When he finished his count, he exclaimed with feigned horror, "You have not returned all the money within the purse. It contained three hundred dinars and there are only two hundred dinars. Therefore I will report the theft."

It was definitely a foul ruse on the part of the miser to cheat the poor fellow out of his just reward. The shocked tailor left the house of the tightwad in abject sorrow. He wondered if honesty was a good edict for just men after all.

Yussuf's misery increased when he was handed a summons by the captain of the sultan's guard sided by two men at arms at the entrance to his shop. The words accused him of the theft of a hundred dinars from one Ibn Silas. Before he was able to utter a word he was clasped by the arms and taken to the palace dungeon.

The following morning, after a terrible sleepless night poor Yussuf was taken in chains to the divan of Sheikh el-Atibi; the thought of the loss of his hands, the punishment for theft of any sort, rumbled repeatedly through his mind.

The accused saw the wazir in his brown robes of law, the miserly tightwad in worn cloth and slippers, and the king's men at arms in readiness. He faced the throne of judgment and awaited the appearance of the good qadi.

After an anxious moment, a court official declared in ornate words for the divan to begin. Sheikh el-Atibi, accompanied by his faithful wazir and cupbearer, entered the court. He was arrayed in satin robes adorned with jewelled badges of honour; his turban, decorated with a large ruby, was set firmly on the white of his hair. He walked solemnly to the throne of judgment and with ceremony was seated with the attendance of his companions.

The sheikh's wazir called Yussuf the defendant, along with his plaintiff, the evil miser, to face the honourable qadi. Charges were read against the accused, which told of the theft of one hundred dinars from the lost purse that belonged to one Ibn Silas. Said purse was shown to the qadi by the wazir of the divan. Sheikh el-Atibi, paused for a moment after the charges were read. Then he faced the claimant to the charges and the chained defendant. He cleared his throat, fingered the white of his beard and then he commenced to question both parties.

The shiekh stared with understanding in the grey of his eyes at the accused. He wondered inwardly as to how such a good citizen could turn to the crime of theft.

"Did you find the purse of this worthy gentleman?"

"Yes, my honourable and worthy kadi!"

"Did you return said purse with its contents intact to the claimant?"

"My belief in the holy words of honesty saw to the return of the purse to the rightful owner," Yusuf uttered as he bowed to the sheikh.

Sheikh el-Atibi turned his sight to the plaintiff Ibn Silas.

"According to the accused, your purse was returned?"

"Yes, my honourable qadi!"

"How much did your purse contain?" demanded the sheikh in a stern voice.

"Three hundred dinars," replied the tightwad timidly, "this was according to my accounts written in my ledger."

"And how much money was in the purse that was found and handed to you?" queried the sheikh to the so-called defrauded miser.

"Two hundred dinars," he meekly responded."

Sheikh el-Atibi paused for reflection, and then solemnly gave his verdict.

"Then," the astute qadi declared, "the purse that was lost contained three hundred dinars. The purse the accused found only contained two hundred dinars. Thus the found purse is definitely not of the property of the plaintiff."

Sheikh el-Atibi turned to his wazir of the divan and gave his final judgment, "Remove the chains from the accused. Please return the purse and the two hundred dinars to the now guiltless citizen, namely Yussuf, the tailor. He shall keep it until the rightful owner appears. If said rightful owner does not appear and identify his purse within sixty days, then the purse shall be given to Yussuf as a just reward.

Copyright © 2004 Norman A. Rubin


About the Author:
Former correspondent (Israel), Norman A. Rubin, works for the Continental News Service, USA and has been a freelance writer for the past sixteen years writing articles on subjects that include Near East culture and crafts, archaeology, history and politics; religious history and rites, etc. He is featured in publications worldwide - Jerusalem Post, Israel - Coin News, Minerva, Oriental Arts, etc., England - Ararat, Letter Arts Review, Archaeology, etc. USA - Spotlight, Japan - International B, Hong Kong. Now retired, his writings have turned along with the informative articles to short story compositions in all genres, which have appeared in WritersHood.com, storymania.com, Good All Days magazine, and now The Writer's Ezine.


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Fiction Short Story

by Craig Wolf

Swallowing Sparks

One spring morning in 2002, I understood the method of my suicide. Understanding brought knowledge. I could stop it; I knew how to stop it. Would I?

You sit there, reading this, you say, “Well you must have, because I’m reading this first person narrative.”

Don’t be so smug. You think everything is that simple, that clear, that crisp? Frozen and etched out of time like a high res photograph? Then you’re an ass.

The wind was howling outside. No storms, no rain, just fierce Oklahoma wind. It’s what woke me, my eyes blinking in the darkness. I lay there, aware of the glowing alarm clock on the nightstand to one side, the uneven lump of my daughters beside me. The two of them had climbed into bed between my wife and me sometime in the night. Scared of the wind, no doubt. It was the kind of wind that could inspire fear, a probing and insistent thing, the invisible hand of some angry giant, fee fi fo hum, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your soul out.

I blinked in the dark, and a voice inside of me said, “Right on schedule.”

I froze.

What the hell did that mean?

Nothing. Nothing. Less than nothing. Go back to sleep.

I looked at the clock. 4:24.

Man. No chance of going back to sleep. Sleep and I hadn’t been on good terms lately anyway.

And what did that voice mean?

Right on schedule.

Schedule for what?

And I knew.

I was killing myself. Suicide is not always conscious.

I’d left the law firm the prior January, tired of running the administrative support. Working for lawyers is like singing for dogs. I left behind the world of wearing a tie, of kissing undeserving asses, of worshiping money above all gods, of swallowing pride and sense. I was 35, and I had the uneasy blessings of Virginia, my wife.

She’d said, “You need to do what makes you whole.”

I’d wanted to write science fiction stories since I was a kid. But the world doesn’t owe you your dreams, and there are a million tiny debts to pay. I knew I couldn’t make it just banging out stories. Writers starve. Believe that. We live in an age of overpaid athletes and televised banalities, a world shallow and wide and as inconsequential as worm farts. You think that’s a gross and stupid metaphor, don’t you? I stand by it. Turn on the television. Do you ever see anything of value? I don’t. I see nothing that shoots sparks, that displays the solid evidence of steel hitting rock.

But I needed something to replace my salary at the law firm. I didn’t make very much there (lawyers are a cheap bunch with everyone but themselves) but still my wife’s salary wouldn’t carry us. For a time, I’d been selling used CDs on eBay, earning a little extra cash from my hobby. I thought I could ramp that up, write some and work my way up to writing full time.

Right.

By the middle of May, we faced bankruptcy.

I don’t owe you the details.

I was paralyzed. A 35-year-old man with an uneven work history, a failed small business, with pride torn and scattered in shreds. With two daughters and a wife taking more crap than she deserved. Did you know that failure has a taste? It tastes of old, sour bread, and of wine left to go flat.

And I wasn’t writing. That was my suicide weapon. I wasn’t writing.

But the voice, that morning, wasn’t mine.

Shake your head if you must, but it’s the truth. And it scared the hell out of me. I climbed out of bed, threw on my robe, made for the coffeemaker. The pale, bone white light from a streetlight shone into our kitchen, and I made coffee there in the dark, my heart pounding.

“Okay,” I whispered, “Who was that?”

I was a mediocre Lutheran. My first thought was that I’d heard an angel. Never heard one before, but why not?

It sure wasn’t my muse. That sucker’d been quiet for a while.

Not true. It was a lie that morning, and it’s a lie now. The truth is my muse had been yammering away, firing sparks at me, and instead of fanning them into the flames of stories, I’d swallowed them whole, letting them burn tracks down to my gut. The stories I couldn’t bring myself to write smoldered in my belly. Killing me.

If I didn’t write, I’d die.

And I stepped into the kitchen.

It was me, not now, but somewhere down some ragged road, gaunt and older and abused. But me. Definitely me. I’d know myself anywhere. I leaned back against the counter, scared half to death. Was this some sort of pressure and despair induced hallucination? Had the sour failure of the last months pushed me to the brink of psychosis?

The wasted, blasted shell of me walked across the dark kitchen until he stood inches from me. I could smell him. He reeked of smashed dandelions and hot dust. Of machine oil stressed to the smoking point. This close, I looked into his eyes, and my bowels clenched. Those eyes, those empty, fatal eyes.

“Right on schedule,” that version of me said, and smiled. You don’t want to see a smile like that. Take my word.

I whispered denial. Lying to myself. Hah. In every sense of the phrase.

“Keep it up. You’re on the right road. You’ll be here in just a couple of years. And then we’ll both be free.”

He finished with a sigh, a sigh that sounded like the hiss of a gas jet and smelled like car exhaust.

“Free?”

“Free. Free at last, God almighty, free at last.” That grin again.

“I’m dreaming. This is a dream.” But the coffeemaker gurgled behind me, and something inside me, my own voice, long smothered, said, “Stop lying.”

“Sure,” said the other me, “That’s right. A dream. I’m dreaming, too, and I’m a dream having you. You keep thinking that.”

The truth doesn’t set you free, you know. That’s the big lie. Only courage does that. But the truth shows courage where to fight.

“Three years,” smiled that me that was yet to come, “You’ll keep saying this was a dream, and you’ll deny, and you’ll keep swallowing those sparks, and you won’t be living. And that’ll take you to me, that’ll bring you here, and then we can go. It won’t be this garage. Not this house. And Ginny and the girls won’t be around anymore to find us. We’ll take a weird comfort in that.”

Sometimes I think that all that has happened and all that will happen is going on simultaneously, that the future and the past are illusions that we teach ourselves. We’re good at that sort of thing, you know. Sometimes I think that we stand surrounded by all the history of the universe. Yet it’s still flexible. I think God allows us that.

“No,” I said, “You’re wrong. Not like that. It won’t happen. I’m sure of it.”

That possible version of me cocked his head in the way that I do, and he said, “Maybe. Maybe you won’t use the hose on the Volkswagen. But I’m there, and I’ll be there waiting for you.”

He held out a key. I hesitated, then took it.

And he was gone.

I looked at the key. It was a key for a Volkswagen. We didn’t own one. Virginia liked them, and wanted one, but we had never bought one.

In the glow from the streetlight, I looked at that key. I closed my fist around it, left the coffeemaker, and turned on the computer. It scared me. The blank glow of the empty page scared me. But I scared myself worse, and the time for swallowing sparks was done.

I wrote.

With that damned key lying on the desk beside the PC, I wrote.

I write.

And we still don’t own a damned Volkswagen.

Copyright © 2004 Craig Wolf


About the Author:
Craig Wolf has seen his work published in TRANSVERSIONS, Deadbolt Magazine, Flashshot, and AlienSkin, among others. His first collection of short fiction, PRESSURE POINTS, has just been released by Fine Tooth Press. He lives in Oklahoma with his wife and daughter and a small army of cats.


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Spotlight

by Charity Tahmaseb

Interview with Award-winning Author, Norah Wilson

Not many writers share space with a rat. But then, not many writers are three-time finalists for the prestigious Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award. Nor are they the winners of the 2003 Romantic Times/Dorchester New Voice in Romance Contest. Norah Wilson is all three.

Award-winning author Norah Wilson makes her home in New Brunswick, Canada, where she also shares space with her husband, two teenagers, and a geriatric dog.

Her mass market paperback debut, Lauren’s Eyes, is an August 2004 release from Dorchester Publishing. Romantic Times BOOKclub awarded Lauren’s Eyes four stars, calling it, “An exciting and thrilling debut with an inspired paranormal twist.”

I recently had the chance to chat with Norah about her writing journey. She generously shared tips on process, publication, and promotion with me.

Can you give us some background on your journey to mass market publication? How long have you been writing?

I embarked on my first attempt at a romance novel ten years ago, armed with nothing more than a reader's love of the genre and decent writing skills. Looking back, if I'd known then what a long learning curve I had ahead of me, I probably never would have begun the journey. Thankfully, I was shielded by my ignorance! My journey might have been faster had I not worked fulltime during that period, but who's to say?

Eventually, I started to enjoy some contest success, making the finals in the Romance Writers of America’s (RWA) Golden Heart contest in three consecutive years (2001, 2002, and 2003) with three different manuscripts. I also had a novel published by a small press/e-publisher in 2000 (Haunted by Dreams, Hard Shell Word Factory).

While these credits helped enormously to open doors with editors and agents, that sale eluded me until I entered and won, or rather co-won, the New Voice in Romance contest sponsored by Dorchester Publishing/Romantic Times BOOKclub. I actually tied for the win with Kathy Richards (writing as Kate Lyon). The prize was a contract from Dorchester to publish our winning novels.

What is your writing process like? Any favorite parts? Anything you dread?

I used to be a seat-of-the-pants writer, but after a few projects floundered, I decided to invest more heavily in planning. I'll never be one of those writers who charts out the whole book before I start, but these days, I do have a much more structured approach.

My first step is to complete GMC (goal, motivation, conflict) charts for both hero and heroine, after which I'm ready to write a loose synopsis sketching out the broad strokes of the story. This is the most painful part, because my talent seems to lie more in the execution than the planning. By the time I've finished this process, it’s a relief to start writing. Of course, the writing quickly becomes painful, too! I think the creative part is just destined to be dragged out of me, word by word. Once I have a first draft done, that's when the easy stuff comes. Editing, polishing, revising—it's all good!

How do you balance a fulltime job, a family along with writing? Any tips for other writers trying to "do it all"?

With great difficulty! My husband and kids are really terrific about the amount of time I devote to writing and writing-related activities. But just because they don't lay guilt trips on me doesn't mean I don't suffer guilt. Some days, I feel like I have way too many jobs and I'm not doing justice to any of them. It's a constant balancing act, assessing which element of my life needs my attention most urgently.

For a while, my priority might be fitness/health/nutrition (mine and my family's). Invariably, the things you put on the back burner have a way of displacing those priorities when they're neglected long enough. My advice is to try to be kind to yourself, don't sweat the small stuff, delegate what you can, and ask for help when you need it. And keep honing those juggling skills!

Tell us a little bit about Lauren’s Eyes. What inspired the story?

I describe Lauren's Eyes as a western-set romantic suspense with a paranormal edge. It's set on a guest ranch in Alberta, where a psychic veterinarian from the East Coast has come to prevent a murder she has foreseen. The hero, Cal Taggart, is a reluctant host, disdaining the necessity of running a dude ranch to subsidize his troubled cow-calf operation. Lauren quickly learns that the would-be murder victim is Cal's volatile ex-wife. She also finds no shortage of murder suspects, including the man to whom she's so powerfully attracted.

Here's where I have to confess that Lauren's Eyes was conceived quite cynically. At the time, the themes I was writing about were not hooking editors, so I decided to get on the "cowboys, babies, and brides" bandwagon. I couldn't see myself writing babies or brides, so cowboys it was. Looking back, I should have known I would be punished for my condescending attitude. Fittingly, I wound up falling in love with the cowboy archetype.

Is it true you essentially "shelved" Lauren’s Eyes before you entered it in Dorchester’s New Voice contest? What inspired you to enter?

Indeed, I had shelved it. It was a finalist for the Golden Heart in 2001. By 2003, I had no takers, and two more Golden Heart finalist manuscripts to market. The Dorchester contest was brought to my attention by a critique partner, who remembered the paranormal element in Lauren's Eyes. I didn't have terribly high hopes, because the paranormal element was so slight compared, say, to time travel or vampires. Thank goodness I didn’t let those doubts deter me!

New writers are often shy about contacting experts for information. I know you’ve used at least one expert reader in the past. Can you give us any hints for approaching experts?

The thing to remember is that everyone loves to talk about what they do. I have yet to encounter an expert who wasn't completely willing to share their special knowledge. Some, by virtue of the jobs they hold, might prefer not to be identified by name as your source, but they're usually happy to talk to you.

If you're a member of a writers' group, a good way to cultivate contacts is to invite them to speak to your group. They'll usually leave you with contact information if anyone has further questions. I've used this approach to make connections with a forensic anthropologist, a Crown prosecutor, a police detective, a police diver, a police K9 handler, and more. If I need their expertise down the road, I will feel comfortable calling on them.

Your first book was published by Hard Shell Word Factory. Can you speak to the differences between working with an e-publisher as opposed to a traditional publisher? In retrospect, would you choose e-publishing again?

The main difference between an e-publisher/small press and a mass market publisher is distribution and promotion. Hard Shell does a terrific job of getting their authors' titles listed in many venues, in multiple formats. In my case, I also contracted with Hard Shell to publish the same work in print version. The trade paperbacks they produce are beautiful, but they're print-on-demand, and are often listed as "out of stock" in that format, even though they can be stocked almost overnight. That tends to bewilder potential customers. And of course, the success of the e-published author is completely contingent on the intensity of their self-promotion. Not that traditional publishers are entirely without distribution issues, and not that traditionally-published authors don't also have to engage in promotion. But the playing field is quite different.

As for choosing e-publishing again, I would definitely do it in the right circumstances. Sometimes the stories we're compelled to tell don't quite fit the traditional market, but may go on to find an avid audience—and rave reviews—after being e-published. It's an opportunity to say, "See? This kind of story really resonates for readers!" I also think there's a lot to be said for having a title out there that will be on the virtual shelves for the long haul. And there are some exciting market opportunities opening up in e-publishing. I'll be watching with interest as this avenue continues to evolve.

You’ve navigated your career so far without the aid of an agent. What advice can you give other writers attempting the same thing?

I think it's critical for the author who finds herself acting as her own agent to educate herself. Alternatively, you can hire a literary contract attorney to read your contract and highlight any perceived deficiencies. You may even hire that attorney to negotiate for the changes you want. The one thing this approach won't get you is someone who is as invested in your career as you are, and who is uniquely positioned to help you make critical career decisions.

We’ve all heard that more and more, marketing falls on the author’s shoulders. What marketing techniques have you been using? Which seem to be paying off? Any "must do’s" for first-time novelists?

I had a lot of buzz going for me with this Dorchester debut, thanks to the contest win. Another bonus: I got my cover art and release date eight months in advance, which allowed me to get a head start on promotion.

The main thrust of my efforts was to try to reach romance readers via the Internet. I sent ARCs (advance reader copies) to many romance review houses. Because of the New Voice buzz, there was a lot of interest on the part of these sites to profile me.

I also ran a contest on my website which allowed me build a mailing list to notify when my book hit the shelves. I also did a targeted mailing to Canadian bookstores to try to encourage them to stock this title. One of the most cost effective things I did was to buy a listing in RWA's Romance $ells catalogue, which lists the new releases of participating authors, and which goes to thousands of bookstores and libraries across North America.

And lastly, I joined several group websites, including The Rising Stars of Romance, the Canadian Romance Author Network, and the very fun WetNoodlePosse.com (a joint effort with my fellow Golden Heart finalists from the Class of 2003). The absolute "must do,” in my opinion, is to build your own website and update it frequently.

There are plenty of other free things I could have done, but chose not to, including participating in author chats. I'm pathetic in chat situations, so I decided to stick with my strengths. Many authors buy banner ads on sites frequented by their reader base, but I conserved my limited promotional dollars for mailing ARCs and targeting booksellers.

What has surprised you most about your mass market paperback debut?

I guess I wasn't quite prepared for how disruptive the whole process was going to be to my actual writing schedule and my productivity. In this business, that first shot may be the only shot you'll get, so I felt a lot of pressure (self-imposed) to promote this book as vigorously as I could, within my budget.

Thus, promotional activity consumed a lot of my time (tip: build your website before you sell and start building a mailing list). Then there's the business of reviews. Even a rave review can present a distraction. Next time, I think I'll be better equipped to handle the distraction factor.

Anything else you’d like to add that I haven’t asked?

Nothing I can think of. You've done a great job covering the territory. But if anyone is left with questions they'd like to put to me, I'd be delighted to field them at norah@nbnet.nb.ca. In the meantime, thanks for having me!

Be sure to visit Norah’s web site: http://personal.nbnet.nb.ca/wilson


About the Author
Golden Heart Finalist and Pushcart Prize Award nominee, Charity Tahmaseb is a Minneapolis-based freelance writer. You can learn more about Charity at her web site: http://www.charitytahmaseb.com


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Drabble Corner

Michelle Swisz

This month's Drabble, on the topic of Going In, is written by Mang Thomte. For me, it captures both the doing and the spirit of going in.

What are Dreams Made of?

Never been in love. Never knew what it is to have money, and spend it. Achievement is always short. Friends are no more than mere companions. Give to them, they will take. But they will part quicker if you ask something from them—just a favour. But here again I am working hoping this will lead me somewhere. I dream again. Pictures that might stand the chance of being pulled out from some dark, cosmic black hole. Somewhere inside my brain, when the dream factory churns on, shows me the future; beckoning me to have it. Have I moved on?

It's been one of those months again. This time, I've had romance on my mind—I'm not thinking of love or passion just now, but of romance in particular. Somehow, I never realized or thought so much about just how different each word is from the other. For instance, love can move mountains to capture or recapture your attention, whereas passion already has your attention. But what is romance?

Maybe romance is the story part of a love story. Yet a love story can involve two grouchy, miserable individuals who come to find that they must be grouchy and miserable together—so, is that a romance? Can it be told so that it is romantic?

What is it, then, that makes something romantic? Does romance depend on a forever feeling, or is it strictly of-the-moment? Is it made of wearing matching mud-splattered flannel shirts in the back country, or sleek black evening wear at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel for dinner? Does it depend on the connection between the couple, or on whether he or she correctly pronounces the name of the wine?

More questions: Can it be love lost and then found, or is old stuff too messy to be romantic? Is it a time for illusion, or must real romance involve truth and sincerity? Must there be spontaneity, or must it fit some pattern?

Our theme for October Drabbles is Romance. If you choose to accept this assignment, this time write a 100-word romance (as opposed to a piece about romance), following the Guidelines as usual. The place to send it to is drabble@wvu.org, and it's due in by September 10. I loved reading the August submissions. See you next month!


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Recognitions

Joan McNulty Pulver

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

Jennifer Turner wrote Stark Knight, a romantic action adventure set in the hot Mexican desert. Published by Echelon Press, the book will be released September 2005.

“When I got the word that it was accepted for publication, I was overjoyed! After three editors became excited by my writing style and novels, only to end up leaving the publishers, I was certain that I was cursed. When this editor said she'd let me know after reading the last of the manuscript during a road trip that weekend, I was certain she'd encounter cannibals or man-eating sharks during her adventure. But she returned Monday, safe and sound, and offered me a contract! She's currently considering the sequel and plans to pitch the books to USA Network for a series. It took six years of dedicated study and practice to finally sell my manuscript. Overjoyed is the only word that comes close to how I feel now!”

Jennifer has always been a writer, but it wasn't until she inherited an ancient dinosaur of a computer that she realized how many years she’d spent pursuing a career in art when it wasn't her first true love. “Out of the blue, I announced to the world that I was going to quit my freelance work as a contract artist and begin pursuing my writing career. This fall will be the sixth anniversary of the day that changed the rest of my life.”

Jennifer joined WVU in 2000, is an active member in the Artistic License study group and credits Connie, Faye, June, Julie and Marilyn for helping her make this sale. “Without their honesty, support, and awesome insights, I would still be banging my head on the publishing door.”

She started out taking the Romance Writing course, facilitated by Julie Jennings, and learned about the craft through the book and class. From there, she sampled many other classes, but says it is the Artistic License group that really made the difference in her writing.

“There is one truth about writing that is inescapable: Know thyself. If you don't know who you are, if you don't understand your own human nature, if you balk at sharing intimate, personal vulnerabilities, how can you create believable characters and stories that test their strengths and force them to rise above their weaknesses? There is no path to publication that leads around the truth, only through the truth.”

Linda Grisolia received an assignment from her weekly local newspaper, The Elmhurst Independent. Starting July 28, 2004, her column, "A Veteran's Story," has appeared in print every other week. She sent a query, along with a sample piece, to the newspaper in April, and then, as most writers do, she tried not to think about it. “The newspaper contacted me on July 9, telling me they loved my idea. I've been on Cloud 9 ever since.”

When Linda was about 10 or 11, she read Little Women and was fascinated by Jo who was forever munching on apples, writing plays for her family and writing stories for magazines when she got older. She decided she wanted to be just like her.

Linda loves to read books of all genres, especially mysteries, doing crossword puzzles and walking. “Reading broadens my knowledge, which in turn helps me to write. Crossword puzzles increase my word power. I often get great ideas when I walk. In fact, the idea to interview and write about veterans popped into my head while walking.”

Linda became a member of WVU in January 2003 and says that the broad curriculum has allowed her to take both fiction and non-fiction classes. “Most importantly, I can take the classes when I want and even repeat them if I like. I love the sense of camaraderie that is shared in the classroom. WVU and my classmates have given me the encouragement and confidence to pursue my dream of writing and being published.”

Patricia Lange writes haiku and recently had five of her pieces selected to be in the September 2004 issue of Simply Haiku. “I behaved rather badly after finding out my pieces would be published. I acted quite full of myself for days. It made me feel like a ‘real’ poet.”

She is a member of the Canadian Poetry Association and the Canadian Federation of Poets. Patricia will be the 'featured poet' on its website in September and is the Ottawa, Ontario contact for the Federation. She also volunteers as the event calendar coordinator.

“I've been calling myself an author since my first grade school story assignment. The characters I created pulled me into their lives and entertained me greatly. I was hooked. I am also a watercolor artist and half jokingly say that if it takes more than a thousand words, I paint it.”

Patricia joined WVU in February of 2004 after taking the free writing course a number of times. At this time she is not a member of a study group.

“WVU has made all the difference! Without the support, feedback, and skill of the mentors, I would still be wondering if I should write at all. Participating in the classrooms gives one an audience, an idea of who you are writing for.”

She is working on her own website now with the vision of a combination art gallery and reading room. “Visitors will see and be able to purchase paintings and future books of mine. Until I have the books available I plan to feature different poems every month or so.

“Without the encouragement of WVU, T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine and its supporters, I wouldn't have had the push to submit elsewhere!”

Congratulations, Jennifer, Linda and Patricia. We wish you continued success in all of 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

Nancy L. Horner

Why I Froze My Ass To See a Whale Take a Breath

“It’s supposed to be cold out there?” I asked my husband, David.

“Down to the forties once we’re outside the harbor. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

As my family stood under noontime rays, waiting for a whale-watching tour boat to return from its latest cruise in the Atlantic, I found it difficult to imagine that we were going to get chilly enough for the piles of coats we had in tow, much less the extra fleece pullover that my eldest had talked me into buying because he was certain that he was going to turn into an icicle. We were in Maine and Maine is, in general, cold by comparison with our Mississippi home. But, it was an unseasonably warm day in Bar Harbor. Standing in direct sunlight with over a hundred other bodies crammed behind the fenced waiting area made the warmth feel even more intense.

“They said it’s a little choppy and we could expect five-foot swells,” he added, “maybe more.”

I tried, unsuccessfully, to imagine what a tour boat would feel like on a five-foot swell. All I could come up with was, “That could be interesting.”

David informed me that the whale-watching company guaranteed a sighting, so the tour boat would stay on the water for whatever length of time they required to locate a whale. Apparently, the tour ahead of us took extra time to find its whale. Around forty-five minutes after the boat was scheduled to leave with our batch of passengers on-board it lumbered into harbor, disgorging a weary-looking batch of tourists

“Oh, look how they’re dressed,” someone nearby observed. “It must be pretty cold out there.”

The vast majority of the passengers were either wearing hats and thick sweatshirts or coats. Some even had gloves on. Considering the fact that people had been stripping off layers nearby and rivulets of sweat were trickling down my back, it was especially difficult to imagine that we’d need to bundle up so thickly.

As soon as we left the protected harbor, I understood why the previous boatload of passengers looked exhausted and had been dressed for cold. Buffeted by wind coming off the frigid Atlantic Ocean, the cruiser was rocking so dramatically that we had to hold on tightly to our seats whilst looping camera-case handles around our ankles to keep them from sliding away. And, boy was it cold. For the first five minutes after passing the last stretch of land, we tried to tough out the icy air; but, then we quickly donned our layers of sweatshirts and coats, for all the good they accomplished. The stiff wind seemed to slice right through us, coats and all.

The location at which the captain intended to stop, in the hopes that whales would drop by to greet us, was a good thirty minutes away from the harbor. About twenty minutes into the trip, 19-year-old Daniel grabbed hold of the railings and wobbled down the staircase, returning shortly with a cup of hot chocolate and a cardboard bowl. I don’t know how he managed to stay upright. “Chili dog?” he shouted over wind, motor, and the slap of boat against waves, thrusting the carton toward us.

David looked askance at him. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he hollered back.

“It’s a line from One Crazy Summer,” Daniel yelled. “I just had to do it.”

Amazingly, this same teenager had told us his stomach was queasy before we even left the dock. We watched in awe as he wolfed down the hot dog. Weird.

The whales, as luck would have it, were not cooperating. We managed to see a few spouts of water or “blows,” a couple of seals, and the lumpy back of one finback whale. But, a nearby crew member informed us that visible whales were usually more numerous and sometimes even came up to the boat to scratch their backs against the hull.

Nobody in my family seemed to care just how much whale they managed to spot, whether a puff of condensed whale breath or a glimpse of backside. The kids were whooping with joy, loving every minute of being bucked around. Maybe a two-hour rollercoaster ride was what they really needed. David was placidly frozen, and I was simply determined to have fun. Surprisingly, I didn’t really mind tempting hypothermia in order to do so. How often, after all, do you manage even a glimpse of a creature as marvelous as a whale?


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Writer's Read

Wynelda-Ann Deaver

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
by Dave Eggers
Vintage Books, 2000
Trade Paperback, 437 pages
ISBN 0-375-72578-4
$14.00 USD

When I first bought A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers, I was unsure of what to expect. On the one hand, it is a Pulitzer Prize Finalist, as the cover proudly announces. On the other hand is the fact that any book that has one page with the phrase “THIS WAS UNCALLED FOR” before the title page even comes up was going to tickle my funny bone.

There are lots of things that can be seen as humorous in this novel. At the very core of the novel, however, is a tragedy. It is the story of how siblings gather together to try and raise their young brother when both parents die within a short time span. And yet, it is “Exhilarating… Profoundly moving, occasionally angry and often hilarious… A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius is finally, a finite book of jest, which is why it succeeds so brilliantly,” according to the New York Times Book Review.

As a writer, I want to know: what makes it brilliant? Is it the “Rules and Suggestions for Enjoyment of this Book” which starts with the fact that there’s no reason to read the preface? Perhaps it is the inclusion of deleted scenes in the beginning of the book, much as a DVD would have, which makes it so brilliant. Or the fact that the author shows the muse talking to him, admonishing him for using the pain of others, for using his pain, to make a good book. Don’t forget the flow chart of themes that is provided in the 20-page preface, or the drawing of a stapler. But these are just gimmicks, tricks of the trade that allow the memoir to slide into another genre.

Ultimately, even with all the exaggerations that the muse claims, what makes the book succeed is the truth that it portrays. The sincerity that flows through this book cannot be faked. The reader will know the difference. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius looks at a man in emotional turmoil—sometimes he hides from it, sometimes he faces it. But it is almost always honest, even when dealing with the exaggerations. When honesty is achieved in writing, when the writer is essentially bleeding on the page, the reader cannot help but respond.

Write now. Write something deeply, personally true for yourself. Do not allow yourself to hide, to mince words. That is when we achieve our own greatest work.


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Poetics

Jeanette Oestermyer

Will Metrics in Poetry be Reborn?
Try Creating a Personal Nonce Form

The twentieth century saw the inception of free verse as we know it (verse without meter). Yet, the idea that somewhere suspended in space is the perfect shape or form that will fit a particular subject matter. Then, the poet will be a hunter or scientist seeking the hidden form that will reveal a specific truth. As forms that have been used before would not be suitable, and meter, or (heaven forbid) rhyme would be a fake imposition by the poet on unrestricted truth.

So, enter the ‘nonce’ form, defined as a poetic form created for a specific poem, which may become widely used if it catches on and becomes a tool for other poets. Should one of these strange experimental forms gain popularity, it might be given a suitable name of its own and live on. Some of us have probably written a nonce form without realizing it. Some poets use a ‘nonce stanza’ in an otherwise known form. Will we, in the twenty-first century, return to a more metric poetry? I am not speaking of ‘nursery-rhyme’-type poetry, or poetry with a strict boring cadence, but an experimental metric scheme, probably called a nonce.

Poetry has developed on the one hand by using existing patterns, and on the other hand by adapting existing patterns into new patterns. One form that comes to mind is the sestina, a form that is traditionally unrhymed. The form also has a specified set of lines, and the end words of lines in the first stanza are used throughout but are arranged in a strict pattern. Within the last few years, the rhymed sestina has made its debut, and it is a true challenge to write. Some other forms such as the ode, which was originally rhymed, has come to be written in free verse also.

A poet who loves language will often experiment and create a form for a single idea that does not fit into any of the traditional forms. Finding your own form that does justice to your unique ideas and/or words can be quite satisfying. It can enhance the true meaning of your work.

Many readers consider formal metrics a foreboding issue and are hesitant to enter into its precincts. Yet, all poets whose work continues to attract readers, even those who write mainly in free verse, have a deep understanding of the rhythmical qualities of language. The study of meter and form, for its own sake, cannot make anyone into a poet, particularly when that study is mechanical and incompetent.

An insistence that poets conform to supposed rules of poetic composition can be as harmful to poetry as a determination to write with no pattern or purpose whatever. However, a spirit of rhythmic and structural examination might help our poetry flow more exquisitely.

Poet Peter Davison has published several collections of his poems. One such book, Pretending to Be Asleep, was the recipient of the 1972 National Institute of Arts and Letters Award. More recently, Davison has gathered a collection called "Breathing Room," a cycle of lyric poems in a tone of burnished meditation unlike anything that has come before.

Among the many artful qualities found in the book—its diverse incidents and keen wit—is the deft nonce form that nearly all the poems conform to: twenty-five lines cast in seven tercets and a closing quatrain. These lines are set in a flexible pattern reminiscent of the late poems of William Carlos Williams, although with a wistful medley all their own. One might think this form would be rather constraining, but in this event the effect is quite the opposite. The poems in "Breathing Room" do not sound forced—the analogy is predominant—as natural as breathing. Imagine a form that in its flexible alertness asks to be likened to "the lightfoot/lope of a rapt fox/a red and ragged vixen/absorbed in her intentions/catlike or rather foxlike/in concentration." These lines present fox and poet entirely in their element, and sustaining a kindred passion of purpose.

Davison begins and ends his book with the following quatrain, as if to relate the tangible action of respiration:

We attain fulfillment only if we carry
the breath of the world
without surrender
or escape.

So, will poets write with more experimentation as regards meter, and consider the nonce form? As I said earlier, your nonce may become a form that will live forever.


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Poetics Presents

James Hall

James Hall is a free-lance writer and editor. He teaches a 6-week poetry workshop twice a year online at Writers' Village University. Before turning to writing, his other careers included teaching in secondary schools, software development and military intelligence work in Korea. You may see his work on his personal web site: http://jhall.4mg.com/index1/htm

Observations On Oblivion

Oblivion is a hotel

          that has no room service.


Oblivion is a party

          at which no one speaks to you.


Oblivion is a dinner

          where all guests are served

          but you are not.


Oblivion is a contact sport

          in which there are neither rules

          nor referees.


Oblivion is a birthday card

          to Occupant

          at your address.


Oblivion is meeting a girl on the street,

          You say, “Hi, Patricia!”

          She glares and walks away.


Oh, to be in Oblivion now that April is there.

Because April is the time of remembering,

Leaving us remnants of dreams.

Insinuating much, but showing nothing.

Visions are potent dreams, but there are no visions

In oblivion. Dreams there are powerless,

Offering only diversion for the senses,

Never satisfaction.

Copyright ©2004 by James Hall




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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!


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