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 The Writer's E-Zine

 

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

Magdalena Ball

The Sharks are Circling: how to avoid the scams

It didn't take long. I thought I was a seasoned author who knew all about the pitfalls and dream merchants who preyed on authors desperate for publication. But my first novel was the culmination of three years' work, and I'd received quite a few rejections and was starting to become just a little too eager to get this book out in the world. When I saw a call for submissions from a publisher whose name was reasonably familiar to me in a writer's newsletter I trusted, I decided to send off a query. Yes, I know that good publishers don't generally advertise for submissions, but I also know that many writers' newsletters trawl the Internet for publishing opportunities. Besides, I had nothing to lose with an e-query. They might just ignore it like most other publishers have done.
 
They didn't ignore it. Instead, I received a very positive letter asking me to send the whole manuscript, which I promptly did, after checking all of the warning notices, looking up the publisher on the Internet, and finding only good things. The letter I received back said that my manuscript was "important and beautifully written," and that they would be happy to publish it if they could find a way to fund the costs. The costs, put together in a carefully laid out quote, turned out to be nearly $2,000 which included $900 for typesetting and manuscript layout. This did not include editing, a cover, or any other ancillary costs which I would no doubt find out later. For my money, I would get 50 books which I would have to sell myself. They would earn so much from the publishing deal that there would be no incentive to promote the book. In other words, this was a classic "Vanity" press and I'd been suckered in.
 
I wasn't really suckered in, since I politely declined their offer and was only out of pocket the hefty postage costs of sending out a hard copy of the manuscript, but I was pretty disappointed, as much with myself as with the Press. They called it "collaborative publishing," and insisted that it "empowered authors." They were also quite nasty when I declined and told me that it was a "scam—the idea, that artists can't fund their own work. Sort of like the notion that women should be secondary beings." Scam indeed. The very same week I received a letter from a notorious literary agent (this one was fortunately well documented as problematic on the Internet) requesting my book. So, authors, the sharks are circling. How do you avoid them? Here are six tips.
 
1. Don't let pride or disappointment cloud your judgment. The publishing world is cutthroat and commercially oriented and breaking in with a first novel is difficult. Try to distance your work from your sense of self, and treat it like a commercial product. Every rejection is a step closer to acceptance. Unless already very famous, a new novelist is going to get a welter of rejections. It goes with the territory. Try joining a club which encourages rejections. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/100rejections/ The idea is to both simulate an increase in queries and to help you view rejections in a positive rather than negative vein. If you aren't getting rejected, you probably won't get accepted.
 
2. Don't be fooled by nomenclature. "Real" publishers take on an author at their own risk, and therefore have an incentive to sell the book. This is one of the reasons it is so difficult to break in. Collaborative publishing, subsidy publishing, cooperative publishing are all terms which should get those warning bells going. Any publisher that asks you to pay needs careful investigation. Unlike self-published books, vanity books remain the property of the vanity press and you may not have much control (they also tend to cost much more than self-published books). Vanity books have difficulty selling, getting reviews, aren't taken by bookshops, are generally not taken seriously, and will cause you more pain than fame.
 
3. Familiarise yourself with what it really costs and takes to produce a book. Even if you don't self-publish, this is valuable information which will help you understand what is on offer. Probably the best online source of information on self-publishing is Dan Poynter at http://www.parapublishing.com/
 
You should know what it generally costs to print a book, to hire an editor, a proofreader, to do layouts, to procure ISBN numbers, and to promote your book. It will help you judge that contract.
 
4. If you are really having trouble getting published and you know your market or are really desperate to get your book into print, self-publishing is a much more respectable option than going with a vanity. It isn't easy though. See #3 and really do your homework.
 
5. Keep current on warnings of predators. Here are a few useful sites:
 
Writer Beware
http://www.sfwa.org/beware/
 
PublishAmerica Sting
http://critters.critique.org/sting/
 
The Society of Authors report on Vanity Publishers
http://www.societyofauthors.org/vanity.htm
 
And report the sharks. Others may not be as cluey as you. Two places you can go to report (and keep yourself current) include Writer Beware, and WritersWeekly Whispers and Warnings:
http://www.writersweekly.com/whispers_and_warnings.php
 
6. Don't discount the small presses. They aren't necessarily less selective than the big houses, but are often more focused and may be more willing to look at unagented submissions and work that is less commercially oriented such as poetry and experimental literary fiction. The best place to find legitimate small presses is within the current edition of the Writer's Handbook or Writer's Marketplace for your country. Read their books, and query appropriately. And if any of them asks you to pay heavily for the privilege of being published with them, think very carefully.


About the Author
Magdalena Ball runs The Compulsive Reader web site. Her publication credits include university journals like Imago and Drexel Online, popular fiction venues like Skive Magazine and Perigree, and review publications like Midwest Book Reviews and Relix Magazine. Her nonfiction book, The Art of Assessment: How to Review Anything, is available from http://www.compulsivereader.com/html/images/assessmentorderform.html, and her first novel, Sleep Before Evening, is currently under consideration.


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Craft of Writing

Jayda McTyson

Should You Go It Alone?

“At a glance…it is slightly text-bookish.”
“The fourth sentence is too convoluted.”
“It would lend more credence to the quote if it was accredited.”
“It doesn’t stir my blood…”

These are some of the comments I received after writing what I thought was a scintillating piece of work. At the time, I squirmed in discomfort, thinking about the rewrite that had to be done. At the same time, however, I was grateful that I decided to get those second opinions before I shot my ‘masterpiece’ off to an editor.

A long established writer may have little use for any kind of support system outside of his editor. However, a relatively new entrant to the writing arena will find that until his confidence is at a high level, he will need a second pair of eyes for several reasons.

Make Sure Your Ideas Make Sense To An ‘Average Joe’
Unless they cater to a specialized market, most publications are geared toward the average person. Anything that is directed at the ‘average Joe’ should be written in clear, concise form and the discussion should have a friendly tone.

In order to get your article just right, you may choose to consult with those closest to you, however, friends and family members tend not to make very good critics, sometimes hesitating to give their true opinion, for fear of hurting the writer’s feelings. To combat this hedging, it may be necessary to come up with a list of questions that stand the chance of eliciting some honest answers, such as: Did you understand the content of the article? Were the arguments convincing? Did you respect the viewpoint of the article, even if you didn’t agree?

If you are fortunate enough to have a reader who will give you some frank answers, this can be very helpful to the writing process.  Having the luxury of a second perspective makes it easier to see where you may be able to rewrite with the interest of the ordinary man in mind, as well as determine whether the material will prove interesting reading.

Double-Check For Typos
I’m sure it’s happened before that you’ve done some writing and read it for the umpteenth time, only to find after you’ve sent it off, that somehow you missed a typographical or grammatical error. ‘Yikes! How’d that happen?’ you ask yourself.

There are untold benefits to be had from pressing a respected friend or colleague into service for the purpose of editing your work. I particularly value the opinion of persons who have an excellent grasp of the English language and usually ask these individuals to edit my offerings.

This way, it is highly unlikely that any errors will slip through the cracks and will keep doors open that might otherwise remain closed. It isn’t a pleasant experience to have a foot in the proverbial door and have it slam shut through submitting a less than perfect manuscript. We never get a second chance to make a first impression. With a trusted ‘editor’, you will feel confident that you managed to catch every possible imperfection before you finally hit the send button in your email client.

Explore All The Angles
Have you ever thought that your story covered all the possible angles only to have a reader say, “Well, what about so-and-so?” You’ve probably thought, ‘Duh, why didn’t that occur to me?’

If your friendly editor is a quick study, there is always the benefit of covering several viewpoints, especially in the event that you’ve missed putting forward some interesting arguments. The old adage says two heads are better than one.

Not to say that you want to crowd your work with unnecessary details, but it is quite easy to miss adding in salient points when you view ideas from only your individual perspective.

Provide Needed Encouragement
Many of our successes come about because there are people in our lives who believe in us and so provide encouragement. Our families, for instance, have a vested interest in our success and can be counted on to provide support as and when it is needed.

It is when we think we can’t that we most need people to push us to do just that little bit extra to achieve our objectives, to do more than we thought we could possibly do.

I have gained confidence in what I am able to accomplish with words due to support shown by my spouse, friends and other writers. They sometimes see what I don’t and believe that I am capable of doing requested rewrites, no matter how difficult. It is that belief in our abilities by our cheerleading team that gives us the energy we need to go the extra mile and to produce excellent work.

It has been my experience that more seasoned writers do not necessarily want or need any kind of network of friends to edit their work. However, I have found that new writers learn and indeed thrive in a setting where they have other writers who are willing to play the role of critic.

Support may be provided informally by family and friends or more formally by writing groups or guilds. Writers seem to thrive in an environment where they exchange ideas. It is therefore important that writers, particularly new practitioners, find a way to garner feedback on their writing before submitting.

This can be done through friends, acquaintances and other writers. This contact ensures that the end product is easily understood, remains relatively error-free, ideas are thoroughly discussed and developed and there is support during those times when confidence might be at an ebb.

I have been fortunate in my writing life to have had several ways of proofing my work, which led to my being published just a few months after I decided I wanted to be a writer.


About the Author
Jayda McTyson writes both fiction and non-fiction and has special interest in the craft of writing, parenting and relationships. She lives in sunny Jamaica and is always on the lookout for the makings of her next story. Feel free to contact her at writesmith@fusemail.com.


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Craft of Writing

Joan McNulty Pulver

Take Full Advantage of MS Word's Editing Capabilities

As a Senior Editor for ePress-Online and a freelance editor, I needed to find a way to communicate with authors in a way they would understand and be able to make informed decisions. The most efficient way I’ve found is using MS Word Track Changes. During this process I need to communicate with the authors just how this works. For that reason I put together this little tutorial on using that feature as I edit and what the author has to do when I am done.

Track changes while you edit

In all versions of Word: Double-click the TRK text in the status bar at the bottom of the screen. If TRK is black, Word is tracking changes.

1. Open the document you want to revise.

2. On the Reviewing toolbar, click Track Changes.



If you don’t see the Reviewing toolbar, pick Toolbars on your View menu, then pick Reviewing. This will open your Reviewing toolbar. Then pick Track Changes as shown above.

3. Make the changes you want by inserting, deleting, or moving text or graphics. MS Word uses default revision marks. Insert will be underlined and deletions will be crossed out.

4. To change the way revision marks look and work in Microsoft Word click Options (Tools menu), click the Track Changes tab, and then select one or more of the following options.


 


TRACK CHANGES WINDOW

To change the color and other formatting that Word uses to identify changes, select the formatting options you want and make your changes.

5. Be sure you have Track Changes turned on. After you are finished you will notice that there are vertical lines in the left hand margin. These lines denote changes made.

This is an excellent tool for both the author and the editor. It enables us to check that all changes are accepted or declined by the author. Minute changes, such as an inserted period or comma are hard to see. Vertical lines in the left margin alert the author to an un-addressed change.
Type a comment
1. Select the text or item you want to comment on, or click at the end of the text.

2. On the Reviewing toolbar, click Insert Comment.   (See above to turn on this toolbar.)

3. A text window will open. Type your comments in this window. On the finished product highlighted text indicates comments have been made. When the cursor rests on the highlights, a small window pops up to display them. The author can then make an educated decision based on the editor’s comments.

Accept or reject changes suggested with change tracking

You can review tracked changes in two ways:

1. Use the Reviewing toolbar. If you don’t see the Reviewing toolbar pick Toolbars on your View menu, then pick Reviewing. This will open your Reviewing toolbar.

2. There are three ways to accept changes and reject changes.
A. Use the Accept or Reject Changes dialog box (Tools menu, Track Changes submenu, Accept or Reject Changes command).

B. Right click on the change and choose either Accept or Reject Change.

C. Use the Reviewing toolbar and pick either Accept or Reject Change.



3. Be sure you have Track Changes turned on. You will notice vertical lines in the left hand margin to alert you to each change. This vertical line marks all errors even something as small as a common or a deleted space, which can be missed at first glance.
This is an excellent tool for both the author and the editor. It is a way to check and be sure that all changes have been either accepted or rejected. If you see the vertical line you know there is a change there which has not been addressed.

Delete a comment

1. Display the comment you want to delete. How? Rest the pointer over shaded text to read.

2. Read the comment and take the chosen action.

3. When finished, click anywhere on the highlighted word. On the Reviewing toolbar, click Delete Comment.     Word automatically renumbers any remaining comments.

4. You can also right click on the shaded text and click Delete Comment.

Other editions of MS Word might have some differences but basically they are the same.

For Word 2002 and 2003, deleting is done a little differently:

To accept or reject a tracked change

To accept or reject a tracked change, click within the change and then on the Reviewing toolbar, click the either Accept or Reject Change button.

Or, right-click on the tracked change and choose Accept/Reject Insertion, Deletion or Format Change, etc.

Track changes works well with in most cases. Be aware that different editions of MS Word will show the track changes in different ways. Track Changes in Word XP uses balloons instead of strikethrough/underline and comments. If you prefer being able to see the strikethrough/underline on the page you can change it by going to Tools, Options pick the Track Changes tab and uncheck "use baloons." In Word 2000 through 2003, the comments will show up in a little box at the bottom of the screen. The additions and deletions will only show in the text. In both editions there will be a vertical line down the left side of the page. Regardless of which edition you use, Track Changes is an excellent tool to use when editing someone else's work.


About the Author
Joan McNulty Pulver works as an Administrative Secretary for the State of Florida but considers writing and editing to be her vocation. Her love of writing shows in her short stories and monthly column, 'Recognitions', in The Writer's Ezine. She is the Acquisitions Coordinator/Editor at ePress-Online and is currently working on a non-fiction book and a fantasy novel. In an effort to help pass on what they've learned working at ePress-Online and to help other writers reach for their dreams, Joan and Donna Sundblad will open the doors to their editing and critiquing business, Team Spirit Critique and Editing, LLC, in the near future.


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Birdie's Quill

Birdie

Writing With Style

Editors graze through piles of submissions with eyes trained to watch for stories that capture their attention and hold on to it. How? With a natural flowing rhythm that delivers a beginning that hooks, a middle that lures the imagination along with a hunger to know more, and an end that satisfies. Unsuspecting authors don’t realize that common mistakes in punctuation break up this forward momentum. Readers assimilate intended mood, tone and pace on a subconscious level. Punctuation works as a tool to deliver words with the passion with which they are penned.

Errors in punctuation cause confusion and may even make sentences mean something other than what the author had in mind. Overuse of exclamation marks, dashes and other punctuation reserved to make a point not only lose their effectiveness when overused but make layout for the editor challenging and time consuming.

As a new writer, punctuation intimidated me a bit. “Should I put a comma there? Or maybe it should be a semi-colon?” How do we know? Basic rules of style do exist. Books like, The Chicago Manual of Style or The Elements of Style by Strunk provide much of the help you need. However, there’s another source. Peer feedback.

I can’t emphasize enough the importance of sharing your work with other writers. Whether online or face-to-face, writer’s groups provide a valuable asset. People not only get to know each other, but become familiar with the voice and style of each individual’s writing. Reading about things like punctuation can be dry and uninteresting, but when someone makes a correction on my manuscript it becomes personal. I learn from it. It takes time, but eventually I do learn from it. Within the rich soil of a study group, my writing germinated, took root and blossomed along with my knowledge of style.

Making a Cheat Sheet
Over time, I collected useful bits of style information pertaining to my weak areas. Like I said, it takes a while for things to sink in. For instance, I may get to a point in a story where I question if I should use a dash, ellipsis or nothing at all. My notes remind me of rules that apply. I keep these memory boosters in one document and call the collection my “Cheat Sheet.”

Here are a few examples. Use these reminders as a starter to build your own style cheat sheet. Don’t burden yourself with collecting information you already know. Keep the pointers you need to help overcome common punctuation mistakes.

Dashes and Ellipses
Punctuation should be used to make pacing clear, not to cloud it. Use a dash rather than ellipses to show an interruption. An interruption cuts off the flow of information. It leads readers to wonder what else would have been said. They won’t know unless the writer reveals more details later in the story.

In fiction, ellipses show a gap in dialog such as one side of a phone conversation. This lull lets the reader know more information exists. Information continues to flow, but the reader only has access to part of it. It’s not an interruption, yet still leaves readers hungry to know more. What’s being said on the other end?

When writing non-fiction, placing an ellipsis in the middle of a quotation indicates the omission of material.

An ellipsis is composed of three periods with spaces or brackets before and after the ellipsis. If the ellipsis indicates the omission of material at the end of a sentence, use four points. Three of these compose the ellipsis and the fourth is the period. The ellipsis should follow a blank space. Do not place a space before the period if the ellipsis ends the sentence. Points in an ellipsis stay together; don’t allow a point to drift to the next line of text.

Quotation Marks
The use of punctuation within quotation marks tends to be but does not need to be confusing. Differences between British and American practice may be the source of most errors among American writers. In America, periods and commas go inside quotation marks. Colons and semicolons go outside the closing quotation marks.

If a quotation is interrupted and continues in the same sentence, don’t capitalize the second part of the quote.

Use single quotation marks to indicate a quote inside of a quote.

Commas
Commas capture the rhythm of speech. As a child, I learned to use a comma to indicate a pause but failed to remember other rules dictating correct usage. When I started writing, one thing often corrected was my overuse of commas. Once this flaw in my writing became evident, I guessed and tended not to use commas when they were needed. It really doesn’t have to be that complicated. Following are basic rules for comma usage:

  • When placing a noun or noun phrase with another noun or noun phrase as an explanatory equivalent, and both hold the same relation to the other words in the sentence.

    Example: Mary Brown, my neighbor, lost twenty pounds on a juice fast.

    • “My neighbor,” is the explanatory equivalent to Mary Brown.
  • Commas to separate a list of items:

    Example: She bought a hat, shoes, gloves and a matching purse.
  • Participial phrases commonly modify nouns and pronouns. Readers associate this phrase with the noun or pronoun adjacent to it. Use a comma before or after participle phrasing:

    Example: Thinner than she’d been in years, Mary walked into the reunion hall wearing her new dress.

  • To introduce dialog or quotes:

    Example: The man at the door asked, “Do I know you?”

  • Separate an expression or exclamation:

    Example: Oh my, I believe she’s going to faint.

  • Enclose parenthetical phrases and expressions with commas. A parenthetical phrase offers additional information that can be omitted from the sentence without changing the meaning.

    Example: Mary, although nervous, hadn’t felt this good in years.
Exclamation Marks, Emphasis Quotes and Italics
Use exclamation marks, emphasis quotes and italics sparingly.

Exclamation marks indicate strong emotion. Used to punctuate exclamations and commands, they show determination or astonishment. Overuse waters down their effectiveness.

Emphasis quotes draw attention to the accentuated word. I offer a word of caution. If you’ve explained what your readers need to know to understand the use of the word, don’t insult them by using emphasis quotes. They’ll pick up the intended meaning without them.

Italics is used to indicate titles of books, magazines, newspapers, television programs, films, long poems, and plays of three acts or more.

Use italics to highlight foreign words not commonly used in the English language and words you wish to emphasize.

Avoid italicizing large amounts of text as many publishers consider it difficult to read.

Semicolons
Semicolons indicate a longer pause than a comma.

Use a semicolon to replace a conjunction connecting two complete thoughts.

Quoting an Author
If you include the author's name, use only the page number in the reference. If not, include the name and page number in the reference:
  • Whitefield studied elephants for years (124).
  • One writer says elephants "possess an instinctive exploratory behavior" (Whitefield 124).
  • Whitefield says elephants "possess an instinctive exploratory behavior" (124).
  • Whitefield says, "Elephants are intelligent [. . .]" (187).
  • One opinion is that "Elephants are intelligent [. . .]" (Whitefield 187).
Set-off an introduction to a quotation using a comma or colon and a capital letter:
  • Donna Sundblad says, "Writers conferences are a great place to network with other writers."
  • Sundblad stated: "Important contacts are made when attending writer’s conferences."
A built-in introduction uses "that" with no comma or colon and no capital letter (unless a proper name is used). Informal introductions are good for quotations that begin in mid-sentence:
  • William Harrington says that the object "is a tree."
  • Janet Summers notes that he "can recognize a tree."


    • (Note that there is no correct mixture of the two styles—do not use "that" followed by a comma and capital letter of the first word, for example.)

    • WRONG: Ted Freen says that, "You should not imitate this example."
    • RIGHT: Brown says that "invention is the mother of necessity" (326).
To quote within a quotation, drop to single quotes:
  • Richard says, "This 'humdinger' drives like a dream."
Practice
Go to your files and pull out a story you’ve written. Take a look at your punctuation. With the aid of colored pencils (or crayons) go through and highlight punctuation.
  • Green for opening quotes and red for closing quotes. If you have an opening quote, be sure you close the quote. Don’t “leave the gate open.” It’s a source of confusion.

  • Circle commas. Check comma use to the rules above.

  • Blue for dashes and orange for ellipses. Ask yourself if it is an interruption or lull.

  • Yellow for exclamation marks and italicized words. (Yellow for caution. You don’t want to overuse or they lose impact).

  • Draw a square around semicolons. Does it pass the test? Can it be replaced by a conjunction?
The importance of punctuation is regularly overlooked. Writers get caught up with things like writing with an active voice, showing versus telling, checking for misspelled words and getting the words right. Don’t forget. Style is important. It’s one indicator of a writer’s level of ability. Be sure to take the time to write with style.


About the Author
Author and freelance writer, Donna Sundblad, resides in Florida with her husband, Rick. Her creative writing book, Pumping Your Muse, is available in paper or ebook format. Check her website for more information at www.theinkslinger.net. Donna also edits for and co-owns Team Spirit Critique and Editing, LLC.


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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

Vitriolic Humor: When May We Laugh?

Whether this qualifies as humor, I haven’t a clue. I believe it does. Just as a means of mass destructions was defined as The Peacekeeper, and the ability to incinerate the earth and orbiting interstellar visitors as Mutually Assured Destruction, a beneficial quality of expending trillions of dollars assuring that generals remained obese while Appalachians remained hungry and ignorant, we redefine words to comply with the social milieu we believe imperative at the time. Lies become disinformation, truth becomes the presently acceptable social doctrine, and break-ins into political offices a cost of doing business.

Okay. Let the self-absorbed political munchkins play their obtuse games and feel a bit better that people don’t die; they expire, pass on, cease breathing or miss three hundred plus years of heartbeats. I could give a damn, for I see through their deceptions. BUT WHEN THE SONS OF BITCHES TRY TO ELIMINATE MY MATES! This is legitimate war, you ignorant pustules, and you’re attacking an army that will not accept defeat! Die, you frigging weasels, die. Or at least go back into the vermin-infested nests you arose in.

The Australian Parliament, who bear an astonishing resemblance to the orange-stained urinals at Cecil’s Pub and Cheap Cigar Hostel, have decided that the word “Mate” degraded the Australian populace and should be eliminated from dictionaries, political oratory and common speech. God knows how they intend to enforce it and what penalties they intend to impose for such demonic language. Geez, this is a colony whose original colonists were the vilest of the Empire’s criminals. And their descendants have perfected crime to an art form.

Any Australian tourist knows they must carry at least ten wallets, reducing the possibility of the Aussies grabbing the correct one. American women tourists are relatively safe so long as they tattoo on their foreheads, “I have AIDS AND THE PLAGUE IN MY PURSES!” Even Aussies seek to protect themselves. Unfortunately, they also seek to protect other Aussies and may shoot such women dead, if not too pissed to shoot straight. Fortunately, they usually are.

The above description of the Aussie mentality is a pack of lies. They are some of the friendliest, most decent people you will ever meet, if fortunate enough to meet them. So why does Parliament seek to eliminate a word that helps make Australians unique?

Is this an effort to reduce all cultures to their least common denominator? To eliminate those qualities that make people unique?

I suspect—and I hope I’m correct—that this is another attempt at Aussie humor that flushed down the toilet. Sort of like, “Tie me kangaroo down, sport. Tie me kangaroo down.” Unfortunately, I think it’s the Prime Minister’s attempt to end the uniqueness of cultural differences. Sort of like traveling to Germany and discovering that all Germans speak English. Although at least we needn’t worry about Aussies ever learning to speak English. They can’t even spell “humor.”

You are probably wondering, as am I, is there a point to this article? The answer? It depends on what you mean by point and what you consider humor. Can humor be vitriolic? Yes, so long as the subjects and objects of such humor recognize it as a humorous, not a vitriolic, exchange.

The above “dispute” was an exchange between an Australian and me. What makes it different is, I was the Australian, and the Australian was I, the American. We appeared vicious, but laughed throughout the exchange. We were actors in a play.

As long as we remain so, and the audience eventually realizes this, we stand on safe grounds. But at some point, the audience must become aware of the façade. Otherwise, the joke loses its humor and becomes an attack. A modern question. When is the joke racist, defamatory, bigoted or otherwise offending? I wish I knew.

I no longer know, so I rely on the judgment of those who should know. If I err, at least I’ve tried to prevent the error by consulting others.


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.


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

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Drabble Corner

Michelle Swisz

This column is being written late, the direction of my life being up in the air with medical issues getting more intense for the moment. Who knows where I’ll be living in a couple of months, and etc.? But all that is swept aside in the last few days by the sight of people who have no clean water to drink, in heat and humidity near 100, watching children’s toys and bodies float by in toxic soup, perhaps those of a parent or child or husband or wife, and maybe reflecting their own near term future. Yesterday, there was an entire parish that hadn’t been heard from at all: that was the thing, if there was one single thing that made me look at the scale of this disaster.

Yet, as comes up every time we have tornadoes and hurricanes and earthquakes, we continue to live and build in areas of the earth prone to natural disaster. But I guess there is no safe physical place. So why let the risk get in the way of living and building? Maybe it’s mass madness to build again where it was all swept away last week, but we wouldn’t be alive otherwise.

I’m thinking of areas in our lives in which we live and build things that are as necessary as they are, necessarily, temporary. The life spans of our pets is usually less than our own, for instance, yet we adopt them and love them. Losing them can take a long, long time to get over. I still feel like crying when I drive by the spot my kitty, Gizzy, (short for Gizmo), was hit by a car over five years ago. Sometimes relationships have life spans less than our own, too. More often than not! Yet we are so engaged in them and fall apart so thoroughly when they do.

What in your life has been physically temporary, yet necessary? Tell it in a Drabble. Here are the guidelines again. Send it to: drabble@wvu.org. In short, a Drabble is 100 words exactly, not including the title, and is due within 10 days of the day the mailer for this ezine is emailed to subscribers.

See you next time.


About the Author
Hello, and welcome to Drabbles. I'm Michelle, your Drabbles editor. I live south of San Francisco, with four spoiled cats, near the sea where I love to walk every day. I've tutored English in workshops, classrooms, and individually at San Jose State University, and have worked on the Fiction Panel here at Writers' Village. Comments and questions are always welcome!


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Fiction Short Story

by Libby Orendorff

The Bus Ride

Same sound as always, a loud hiss and the bus comes to a stop, diesel fumes covering the passengers waiting to board. That poor elderly lady needs help getting on. How can she carry that heavy shopping bag? She's bent near double with arthritis. I wonder if the buffalo hump hurts. Not to be mean, but she looks like a character out of Harry Potter with her white wiry hair sticking out and the only tooth in her head protruding when she smiles, which is all the time. Nice to be happy. I bet she lives alone and has no one to take her for groceries or to the doctor, thus public transportation.

Ugh, this seat is sticky. And the window makes me sick. Kids have pressed their noses against it and left streaks of snot.

Bus rides are so interesting with all the different types of people. I check everyone out and imagine what each person's life is like. Why, one could be a serial killer, another a rich eccentric. Who knows?

The poor young Hispanic woman two seats down. Can't control her two boys, fighting and jumping up and down. The baby carried in a pouch in front pulls her head and shoulders in a painful bend. She looks worn to the bone with frazzled nerves. I believe a vacation, maybe a week at a spa, would fix her right up. But I bet her husband works at the chicken plant in Van Buren and they barely make rent and groceries.

I could go for that tall good-looking young man about mid-way down. His bright and sparkling blue eyes keep looking at me.  Maybe he's interested. I'd like to run my hands through his long dark curly hair; I can feel his full, sensual lips on my mouth, tickling my ear and running down my neck. Oh, chill bumps just thinking about it.

What would a date with him be like? I bet he'd take me to dinner in a romantic restaurant, candles and soft music, a violin playing at our table. He'd hold my hand and play with my fingers while nudging my leg with his knee. Afterwards we'd walk in the moonlight, maybe play in the only public fountain Fort Smith has.  He'd take me home and kiss me goodnight, with a promise to take me to breakfast.

I know we'd become inseparable, seeing each other daily.  He'd enjoy hiking and exploring new places with me. Within three months, he'd present me with an emerald ring and ask me to marry him and become the mother of his children.

Yes, we'd have a wonderful life together. I'll smile at him. Maybe he'll sit by me.

Shucks, here's my stop. I have to get off. Oh, boy, he's getting off, too. Now's my chance.

He's taking my arm. Yes, he is interested. Now if I play my cards right, maybe.

"Did you enjoy your ride?" he said.

"I did."

"How were your memories, the same or better?"

"I fell in love with you all over again, only this time I thought you'd give me an emerald ring."

"Let's go to the restaurant and see what you get for our first anniversary."


About the Author
Libby Orendorff is a nurse who lives in the country with her husband and two cats. She enjoys her grandchildren, gardening, camping and reading. Her publishing credits are with StoryTeller and her local newspaper. An article by Libby will be published in Ozarks Mountaineer next March.


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Fiction Short Story

by Leland Burkhart

Drive to Dodge

The rolling green plains of western Kansas spread to the horizon like an ocean. Under a bright blue sky dotted with white clouds, four hard case riders sat their horses staring at what appeared to be a boy. Billy McAllister sat staring back at the four riders deciding which one would be the first to die.

Billy was the foreman of a 2,500 head cattle drive coming up the trail from Texas. He recognized the ploy to steal cattle. His job was to tell them no.

At the age of 24, Billy had lived a lifetime. Born on the plains of Texas, his father died defending his family from a Comanche raid when he was 10. Five years later his mother succumbed to the fever. The next few years he drifted from ranch to ranch and riding job to riding job.

After Billy turned 20, he rode north to Ohio and joined the Union army to fight in the War Between the States. The next four years of his life filled with blood and gun smoke. Billy distinguished himself in battle and mustered out of the army as a sergeant when the war ended.

Returning to Texas, he found little of what he remembered. Strangers from the east and north had moved in and taken over land that had been held by some very old families. Broke and hungry, he rode into the yard of the Lazy J ranch.

An older gentleman with white hair and a moustache appeared on the front porch. "Hello, young man. How can I help you?"

"Name's Billy McAllister, sir. I'm looking for a riding job if you're hiring."

"My name's Samuel Johnson, son. I own this spread.” He nodded his head and looked into the distance. “We're always looking for good help but I don't do the hiring. I let my foreman do that.”

He fixed his eyes on Billy.

“When’s the last time you ate, boy? You look a bit gaunt."

"Been a couple of days ago, sir. I been living on coffee and jerked beef while on the trail."

"Well, light and set boy. Turn your horse into the corral for the night. I won't send any man away hungry. You can bed down in the bunkhouse. It will give you a chance to meet Tom. He's the foreman. If he wants to keep you on, it's all right with me. If he says you leave, then you leave. Fair enough?"

"Yes, sir. Sounds fair to me."

Billy found a home that day. He ate like he hadn't eaten in ages and after two weeks he started to fill out to a man's weight. Billy hit it off with everyone on the ranch. He did his work without complaint and proved to be a top hand. His experience and knowledge of cattle and range conditions proved invaluable. Tom Hankins, the foreman, particularly liked Billy.

Tom looked at Billy like the son he never had. Billy looked up to Tom like the father he lost so many years before.

About a month after Billy came to work on the ranch, his fellow ranch hands discovered something about Billy they never suspected. On the eve of a cattle drive to Dodge City, Kansas, Tom Hankins and Billy rode into town to pick up a few extra supplies at the general store and take care of other last minute errands. Reports of what happened were sketchy.

Some say Tom bumped a man on the boardwalk and others say the two drifters picked a fight. Tom never had a chance. His arms were full when one of the drifters pulled his gun and shot Tom.

Billy stood at the counter of the gunsmith's shop picking up his .45 caliber Army Colt revolver when he heard shots. Running up the boardwalk he saw his friend, Tom, lying face down in the muddy street with blood pooling beside him. The acrid smell of gun smoke lingered in the damp air. The two drifters laughed as Billy arrived.

"This country is mighty rough on cow nurses," one of the men sneered.

"Are you the two dogs that shot my friend?" Billy asked.

The grin quickly disappeared from the man's face.

"Who are you calling a dog, boy?"

"Mister, if you shot my friend, I'm calling you a dog. If not, I'm calling the hombre that shot my friend a dog. Which one are you?"

Billy deliberately waited for the men to draw. The two as one went for their guns. In the split second it took to clear their holsters, Billy McAllister’s Colt fired four shots that rolled like thunder.

Each drifter took two bullets through the breast pocket and never got off a shot. The news spread like a prairie fire. Billy McAllister is hell on wheels with a pistol.

Tom didn't die that day but he lost a lot of blood and was in no shape for a cattle drive. After much arguing and prodding, Billy agreed to take on the job of foreman for the drive to Dodge. March of 1866, Billy McAllister led his first drive from Texas bound for Dodge City. Two months later they crossed out of the Indian nations territory into Kansas.

Billy scouted ahead of the herd. From a distance he saw the riders. He reined his horse and waited. After a few minutes the four riders approached the hilltop where Billy sat.

"Sonny, you better go get your foreman. We need to talk to him," the leader of the four ordered.

"I am the foreman.” Billy’s voice held a cold edge. “What do you want?"

"Boy, you can't be the foreman. You ain't dry behind the ears, yet!"

The man’s tone turned ugly. "We're cutting your herd. You got some of our cows in there."

Billy knew this moment would come. If it were Tom, they might not be as confident and bold dealing with an older man. They only saw a boy before them and now tried to press what they perceived as their advantage.

Billy knew that on the frontier a man had only himself and his horse to depend on. The law was for society and the civilized people that wanted to live within its bounds. Out here, on the frontier, each man was his own law.

"No. You're not cutting this herd. We don't have any of your cows. If you get in our way or try to stop us, I'll kill every man jack of you."

He threw it right back in their teeth. What were they going to do now?

The rolling green plains of western Kansas spread to the horizon like an ocean. Under a bright blue sky, dotted with white clouds, four hard case riders sat their horses staring at what appeared to be a boy. Billy McAllister sat—staring back at the four riders deciding which one would be the first to die.


About the Author
Leland is an avid reader and decided to put his love of storytelling into print. Writing has become his passion and western his favorite genre in the tradition of Louis L'Amour. This is his second story published by T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine. Leland currently manages a jewelry store though his dream is to write professionally and live in the mountains. You may contact Leland at lsburk@sbcglobal.com.

I have learned, that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.   ~Henry David Thoreau


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Fiction Short Story

by Susanne Shaphren

The Girl Who Loved Animals

You didn't keep many secrets in the tiny town where Jill Raymond grew up. Everybody knew Jill could save the baby bird who fell from the nest. Stray puppies and kittens always found a home with Jill.

It didn't take a front page story in The Herald for the whole town to know the girl who loved animals made the mistake of her life by trusting the handsome stranger who'd passed through town last spring. He promised to triple the money she'd saved for college, pledged to love her forever. He lied.
   
Though her letters insisted she was doing just fine in the unfamiliar big city hustle and bustle, deep down Jill couldn't help feeling just like a turtle hiding in a protective shell.

Sometimes Jill worked straight through lunch, lingered hours after the office closed. There was always one more chart to file, one last postcard notification to mail. One more perfectly good excuse to postpone going back to the lonely apartment.

Unlocking the office door bright and early each morning was just like coming home again. Working for Dr. Abbott was wonderful except for one tiny detail. Jill Raymond's embarrassing problem couldn't possibly be anything but job-related. If she sold shoes or typed boring business reports all day, her landlady's brightly dyed hair and off-key singing couldn't possibly prompt her to say, "Good evening, Mrs. Canary," instead of,  "Mrs. Kennedy."

Looking in the mirror, Jill often saw an Irish setter instead of the  attractive redhead her mother visited every month. The people who brought their pets to Dr. Abbott seemed to take on animal identities too.

Doug Shepherd, with that single strand of straight brown hair that refused to stay out of his eyes, looked exactly like the mongrel he spent a fortune trying to keep healthy—hardly movie star attractive, but who could possibly resist those warm chocolate eyes?

Mrs. Perkins' fluffy permanent made her look just like her poodle. The pharmaceutical salesman, who always wore a vivid feather hat and talked constantly, could have passed for a parrot.

Jerome Alexander Katz reminded Jill of a sleek tomcat who'd rather be curled up in an armchair preening himself than waiting impatiently to see the vet.

While they struggled to hold his Persian still, both being very careful to stay out of the way of the hypodermic Dr. Abbott wielded, Jerome Alexander Katzgazed deeply into Jill's emerald eyes and actually seemed to purr.

"Dinner?"

Dr. Abbott accepted the invitation for Jill, assuring her later that Jerome Alexander Katz was a fine young attorney. Gently chiding her for spending far too many nights working late at the clinic, Dr. Abbott suddenly reminded Jill of a wise old owl. "Who will keep you warm on long winter nights? Who will make your dreams of gold rings and loving promises come true? Who? WHO? Jerome Alexander Katz, that's who!"

After double-checking on the poodle coming out of anesthesia and spending a few minutes with the lonely fox terrier whose master was out of town for the weekend, Jill hurried home. A quick shampoo left time for a nice long soak in lilac scented bubbles.

No Irish setter in the mirror when Jill previewed what Jerome Alexander Katz would see. Her long red hair sparkled almost as brightly as the yard sale treasure clips that secured the delicate swirls. Soft emerald fabric matched her eyes and highlighted the curves her lab smock usually camouflaged.

Jerome Alexander Katz rang the doorbell precisely as Jill's antique clock chimed the hour. His sleek black sports car reminded her of Cinderella's coach.

Walking into The Starlight Room brought Jill's every childhood fantasy into reality. Tiny lights in the midnight blue ceiling glowed like stars. No fairy tale castle could possibly compete with the elegant decor.

There was a single red rosebud tucked elegantly into Jill's napkin. Each velvet petal was perfect to the smallest detail.

The way other people stared told Jill that she and Jerome Alexander Katz made an attractive couple, but there was something wrong with the picture. Like the tomcat he resembled, her dinner companion seemed interested only in himself. All his sentences began with "I" and never strayed far from his favorite theme.

So easy to let her mind and her eyes wander. The blonde at the next  table was tall and sleek, regal as an Afghan. Nothing at all like her companion, that sweet mongrel named Shepherd.

It was wonderful to see him smiling again. Jill had been so very  worried about him ever since that awful day when Dr. Abbott had been unable to save Ginger.

Comforted by Jill's gentle hugs and the promise of a new puppy, Doug Shepherd's young sons had taken the news remarkably well. Their father's sad eyes betrayed the secret his face tried so hard to keep. The loss of their long-time pet had brought back every painful detail of his wife's illness and death.

Obviously too busy trying to concentrate on the blonde's constant monologue, Doug Shepherd didn't even see Jill.  The tables were so close together that Jill couldn't possibly avoid overhearing how similar the blonde's favorite topic was to Jerome Alexander Katz's.

Jill was more than glad to let Jerome Alexander show off his French and order for both of them. All of Mrs. Kent's high school lessons had somehow evaporated into thin air. Nothing on the leather-bound menu even looked familiar.

There was a beautiful garden just outside the window. As her dinner companion catalogued his accomplishments, Jill couldn't help stealing glances at the flowers. Jerome Alexander contentedly rambled on and on, never seeming to notice if Jill missed an 'ooh' or 'ah' now and again.

Suddenly, Doug Shepherd appeared right in the middle of the biggest flowerbed. On his hands and knees, he seemed to be reaching for something. Was he gathering a bouquet for his princess?

When Doug returned with a tiny ball of gray fur and tried to tempt it with morsels from his plate, the blonde couldn't begin to hide her disgusted embarrassment.

Jill didn't think twice before springing into action. She was a girl who loved animals, a girl who knew exactly what the scared little kitten needed. She'd be  more than happy to  provide the warm secure hug during the drive to a quiet safe place. Doug could decide if that place should be his house or her apartment.

Somehow sure that the sleek tomcat and the regal Afghan wouldn't miss them, Jill suddenly sensed she didn't need a turtle's protective shell anymore. Her heart sang about building a happily ever after future with the special man named Shepherd.


About the Author
Susanne Shaphren's articles and fiction have been published in a wide variety of print and online venues including: ABSOLUTEWRITE, DANA LITERARY SOCIETY ONLINE JOURNAL, E-CLIPS, ESPRESSO FICTION, and SPRING HILL REVIEW. Her short story, "Arrangements," is included in the Mystery Writers of America anthology, SHOW BUSINESS IS MURDER.


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Fiction Short Story

by Charles Hinckley

A Saturday In October

I stand in the waiting room and gaze at the framed artwork on the walls. Lines of cool green and blue streak across a mass of what looks like earth and grass. Skies stretch for miles in a flat, lined canvas. My thoughts travel to a place far away from here. I fidget and look at my watch. She's been in there for a while now. The sound of her name being called bounces off the walls of my chest and a cold chill shivers down my spine. Her name called, then another, and another, in a series of endless, faceless names.

I look at them, one by one, as they slink toward the pale recess beyond the light green waiting area. I search to see some emotion: shame, guilt, or remorse flecked off averted eyes. I can't make out anything in the face of the middle-aged woman unable to manage her two crying children. She says she just can't afford another. The skinny young blonde girl, alone, weeps as she fumbles through her purse. A big girl, escorted by her big girlfriend, waddles to the desk. Their too-tight jeans form fat ripples, which roll down thick thighs and smooth out at inflated calves. They talk low, and let out an occasional giggle.

I am here for support, I guess. My knees feel wobbly and my shoulders slump as I stare at the art. I see framed death, splatters of tragedy in oil as my mind builds a coffin around each canvas. A tiny voice scratches my ears. I can't bring myself to repeat the words I hear. My heart pounds and my stomach churns. "It'll be okay," I tell myself. "All over soon." I seek comfort in the paintings.

She comes out of the back room. Her head hangs low and her hands tremble. We go outside to the stairwell and she lights up a Marlboro.

"They say it's further along. Say they don't know if they can do it."

We drag on cigarettes, our eyes shift as we stare at each other, and our mouths alternate between half-smiles and frowns. She appears soft now, vulnerable, I guess. Still sharp, however. Still making decisions. Plotting something I have no part in. I try to read her eyes, but she stares down at the asphalt.

A voice in my head says, "We can still stop this."

Can I go through with it? Am I man enough? All I have to do is sit back and do nothing and it will soon be over. I don't know if I love her. I don't really know her. She is so different from me. Things don't mean the same to us. Our values are different. She is so money- and status-oriented, cold in many ways. She doesn't like my family. Holidays are spent at her house. She doesn't get along with her father. What chance do we have?

She takes a deep drag of her cigarette. Our silence is measured by the beating of three hearts. Talking is over. I can't bring myself to say it anyway, can't form the words: "Marry me. We'll get an apartment. Be happy." I can't say it. I can't lie out loud, or to myself. I light another cigarette, blow smoke and watch it curl in the wind and disappear.

The receptionist calls her name again. She goes inside and I gaze back at the people in the waiting room. We know why we are here. We have our stories. Shame and sadness reign in this room. It'll be all right. Right as rain. The day will end soon.

The Van Gogh in the corner of the waiting room unsettles me. Crows flying above a sea of wheat appear as empty as I feel. I pick up a six-month-old Good Housekeeping and flip through the pages. I see cheery bright blobs of smiling faces dressed in warm sweaters and eating chocolates by firelight. I wish to feel warm and cheery.

The nurse summons me. I can go in now. I trudge into the cold, sterile white room. Tubes and suction machines surround me. She's laid out on a gurney with a sheet pulled up to her neck. She looks tired, stale, limp. Her face is pale and she's lost some blood. She smiles and I hold her hand. It's cold and sweaty. She looks out the window at the afternoon light. Twigs and leaves clatter as they race in the breeze and land on the windshields of the parked cars. The day looks warm from in here. Her green eyes fill with tears and she wipes them with the side of her palm. I smile but feel helpless and inept.

Back at the apartment, she lies down on the bed. The pain worsens. She says it won't stop for a while. I sit by her side and place my head on her aching tummy. I rub her sides and feel her ribs. My finger finds the empty space and glides across her torso. She feels so human now. Hurt. I ask if there is anything I can do. I am a boy playing a man's game. She looks away, wants to rest.

I remember that night in the hotel. I opened the champagne as we stood on the balcony and watched the twinkling city lights. Her perfume, lipstick, and kisses covered my face, and her scent penetrated me as I spread her out on the bed. I loved her, owned her. She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen.

The champagne ignited our passion. Our extreme moment culminated with me wishing, at the moment of climax, for a child, the ultimate fulfillment. I completed my primal task, connected on a discarnate plane, lost in a swirl of passion. In a flash, what I wished for I forgot about. A fleeting notion, dissolved, flattened, like the champagne in our glasses the next morning.

I go for a long walk while she rests. I weep my way to the park.

My life has changed forever and I can't go back. She will never love me now. She will always blame me—something else to blame on me. I picture the recriminations in her eyes. I want to run away, but I can't leave. I'm stuck. I'm stuck to her like honey on a comb.

I think about starting over, like it never happened. Start over, like it's new and everything she says is coated with her bright smile and creamy smell in her hair. I want it to be fresh, like our first date, before the machine raped her insides, before guilt consumed my conscious, when we really did love each other and this day did not exist.

I walk back into the room. She lays in shadows, silent. Cool night sky blackens the windows. I slide in next to her, see her nostrils flare open and close with her sweet breath. I run a finger down her cheek and gently kiss her eyelids. She doesn't stir, just lies there, lost in a dream. A happy dream, perhaps, in a place that's warm and kind and kids never have to grow up. A place where we never have to question ourselves or know who we are, where courage and cowardice are just words, never tested or used. We're new as toys on Christmas morning, not yet taken out of the box.


About the Author
Charles Hinckley is a playwright/screenwriter as well as an author. His short screenplay, "You Want Chili Cheese Fries With That?" based on his stage play of the same title, has been optioned as a short film. Charles has written scripts for video gamers as well as published short stories in T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine and News America Syndicate. He is currently editing his mystery/suspense novel.

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F2K Story

by Michelle Roberts

If I could give you one thing…

I’ve always known I would go blind. As soon as I was old enough to understand, I was told that my vision was temporary and one day it would just fade out..

My parents were both artists, of the carefree, tie-dyed clothes and dope plants on the patio kind. My condition soon changed that. My father left. To hear mother tell it he was a gutless coward and a kid like me was just too much for him. I’m sure there was more to it, but it didn’t matter, he was gone. Mother stayed and gave up her paints and dope and focused on preparing me for blindness.

‘If I could give you one thing,’ she said, ‘I’d give you the ability to look at things, the way I do, the way artists do.’

‘But I can’t, so you will have to learn the hard way and you’d do it fast or you will have no proper memories to rely on when you are blind.

‘You must look clearly. A white rose is not white but a thousand shades of violet, green, pink and yellow. Notice the shape of each petal and the way they fold and turn. A tree is not green and brown but blue, ochre, red and purple. When I have finished teaching you to look you will never see a grey pigeon or a green frog again. Looking lessons, as she called them, began the next day.

Mother took me to the country-side or a big city or an art gallery, anywhere where there was a lot to see. I had to look at a scene until I felt I had seen everything, then close my eyes and describe it to her. If I missed anything she would make me look again and, with terrible patience, would make me describe it to her all over again. After a while my powers of observation would have shamed Sherlock Holmes.

An artist, really looking at something, will enter an altered state. They may lose time and the ability to speak. Many of the worlds’ greatest artists have been thought eccentric or even mad and their painting often considered evidence of their lunacy. This is not true. Artists have transcended normalcy and achieved an enlightened state because they see the world as it truly is.

So said mother, over and over again. She was a real artist before I came along and she had given it up, for me, so that I could learn to see as she did. I was not allowed to paint or draw for what would be the point once I was blind. Words were the medium with which I described the contours, textures and colours of things I looked at, recalling everything minute detail until I could close my eyes and still see it in my mind, almost as if I was looking right through my closed lids.

My escape from looking lessons was reading super-hero comics. Spiderman was my favourite. I read somewhere that, if one sense was impaired, all the other senses became sharper to compensate. I was convinced that I would become some super hero after I went blind. I drew a design for a super suit with a big eye on the front and my name was to be Eye-ESPye. I happily told mother about this one day, getting more and more excited, only trailing off when I realised she wasn’t listening to me.

‘What I was thinking,’ she said, ‘what use is reading to you? You need Braille lessons of course, no more comics or books.’

I was really upset.

‘But mom, what about what about Spider-man? What about my super suit?’

‘My dear’ she said,’ you must grow up and stop playing around. What’s happening to you is a big deal. You will go blind and never see again, there is nothing super about that, it’s terrible and you must be prepared. You should have started Braille lessons years ago.’

She paused, then smiled.

‘Well no matter, we’ll start tomorrow.

Melinda-May became my Braille teacher and with her help I quickly picked up reading with my fingers instead of my eyes. She was my friend and we had the kind of wonderful conversations that meander along, touching on many different subjects at random, like a butterfly browsing a summer garden. One day the talk turned to super heroes and I started to cry. I explained through sobs and hiccups and she went very quiet, her lips so thin they looked like a scar. I though she was angry with me, but the next day she handed me a couple of comics and a T-shirt with an eye appliquéd on the front of it.

‘From now on you will wear this t-shirt for our lessons and we will study the comics to get tips on being a good super-hero’.

The next week Melinda-May didn’t come and mother told me that we no longer needed her. I searched for the comics and t-shirt but they were gone and I realised I hated mother.

Looking lessons filled my days. When I saw the other world for the first time I thought it was eyestrain. I was staring at a magnificent willow tree and as I watched it shimmered, then warped and changed into a misshapen, misbegotten thing in colours that bruised my eyes. I shut them tight and it took a while for the darkness to overlay the awful picture. When I finally plucked up the courage to open my eyes, the willow was back, dangling graceful green leaves into a small, clear pool.

Mother was alarmed thinking this meant my sight was starting to go and for a while she was kind but soon the nagging started up again.

It wasn’t mothers’ badgering but a rose that made me look again. Mother handed it to me still wrapped in a sheet of white tissue paper and I stared, it was glorious. It was such a deep crimson that it bordered on black. My fingers tingled as they explored the sensual curves of the warm velvet petals. I put it to my nose and breathed in its’ fresh, rich scent and an elusive hint of pomegranate and strawberry filled my mouth. The rose seemed to hum, reassuringly, like a lullaby and I felt as if I could curl it’s petals around me and sleep in its’ beauty forever.

Then it squirmed in my hand like a worm and its’ colour became ghastly. The texture under my fingertips was slimy and clinging and I shuddered. It smelled of decomposition with a sickeningly sweet overlay of roses and bile filled in my throat.. A discordant wail began as the petals drew back revealing a wet yellow globe with a slitted pupil that focused on me. I flung it away from me and crawled shrieking towards the door. Mother tried to grab me and I kicked at her before scrambling to my feet and running into the garden.. Everything was monstrously, horribly wrong. I was in a nightmare world and no matter where I ran or how hard I rubbed my eyes it wouldn’t go away. I sank my fingers into my eyes, pushing deep into the sockets against the terrible pain, scratching and tearing at my eyes until they were slimy jelly in my hands and still I could see those things everywhere, looking at me, hurting my head and stomach with their textures and colours.

Mother lied, artists go crazy because, even half glimpsed, this world drives needles of madness into your soul. If I still had my eyesight I know the blackness inside my lids would block the dreadful things, if I could shut my eyes tight enough. But now I am blind, eyeless in fact, there is nothing I can do. Closing my lids makes no difference—I see them all the time. These things from hell talk to me, prod me and force terrible things into my body. They tell me in sibilant, sly voices that I am in an institution, in a padded cell and on medication to control a psychosis brought on by losing my sight. They are lying. I see the oozing, putrid cave I’m in very clearly. I see the modified tentacles on my wrists that stop me tearing out my throat. I’ve tried to shatter my skull by throwing myself against the walls and floors but they are soft and cushiony and the foul ooze they feed me must be drugged because I get tired very quickly. But I have a secret plan. My super powers are increasing and one day I will burst out of this nightmare and go back to my world. I will find mother and say to her, ‘If I could give you one thing, I would give you the ability to see the world as I do’. Then I will throw her into this world she gave me with her looking lessons.


F2K: an Introduction to Creative Writing teaches the basics of fiction writing. Since 1995, R.J. Hembree's free six-week course has helped thousands of writers from around the world. Writer’s Digest has selected F2K as one of the best sites for writers.

F2K has three objectives:

  • To help beginning writers learn the basic terminology of fiction writing (a good refresher for experienced writers too). Writers will also find the elements of fiction useful in non-fiction or poetry.
  • To encourage writers to habitually write without fear.
  • To give writers a chance to meet and develop friendships with writers from around the world.

At the end of each session, F2K sponsors a short story contest. Students who post all six assignments are eligible to enter. Each mentor chooses a finalist from his/her room. The finalists' poll is open to the general public for voting.

Read the past finalist stories at: http://fiction.4-writers.com/past-f2k-contest-stories.shtml




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Poetics The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Poetics

Jeanette Oestermyer

Popular Traditional Forms – Some Modernized

When we think of traditional poetry forms, the sestina, villanelle, kyrielle, ballade, pantoum, rondeau and many others come to mind. These are some of the older forms that are still being written. Some of these forms are being updated, revised, modernized, or whatever term is used—but they are being ‘changed’—it’s as simple as that. So, are they still the traditional forms they were before this contemporary trend? In his book, Patterns of Poetry, An Encyclopedia of Forms, Miller Williams says the sestina is the most popular of the traditional poems that are written today, probably followed by the villanelle.

The sestina in its original state was not rhymed—a strict rule. In the last several years, the rhymed sestina has appeared, especially in contests. I have found that often there is a category for this new version of the sestina.

This form was developed by a Provencal troubador, Arnaut Daniel, and employed by medieval French and Italian poets. This one consisted of six stanzas of blank verse, each of six lines, followed by a three-line stanza. The final words of each of the six lines of the first stanza were written in a prescribed, but varied order in the next five stanzas. In the final stanza, or envoi, key words are repeated in the middle and at the end of the lines, summarizing the poem, or dedicating it to a specific individual. In the pattern shown below, each end word is represented by a number; the words shift in order through the sestets in the sequence indicated.

Stanza 1 - End-word numbers: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Stanza 2 - End-word numbers: 6, 1, 5, 2, 4, 3
Stanza 3 - End-word numbers: 3, 6, 4, 1, 2, 5
Stanza 4 - End-word numbers: 5, 3, 2, 6, 1, 4
Stanza 5 - End-word numbers: 4, 5, 1, 3, 6, 2
Stanza 6 - End-word numbers: 2, 4, 6, 5, 3, 1

This is the way I learned to write a sestina.

Most poets still conform to the original sequence of end words. But what would the developer of the form, Arnaut Daniel, think if he could read the way the sestina has been changed? Perhaps the rhymed version should be given a different name. Today, it is usually called simply, ‘a rhymed sestina.’

The villanelle has also come under some varied changes. Instead of true, or perfect rhyme, it is being written in slant rhyme or a combination of both. There are some recent poets who write the form without any rhyme—a kind of free-verse villanelle. The slant and true rhymes are favored by most poets. Slant rhyme is not new—if we read Emily Dickinson’s work, we find she often used this poetic device—it was one of her favorites. She was once quoted as saying; ‘write in rhyme, but rhyme it slant.’

The ballade is another well-known verse form created in France during the 14th and 15th centuries. The form was brought to England by Geoffrey Chaucer. The English version contains three stanzas of eight lines each and a four-line envoy (a short concluding stanza). Only three rhymes are used throughout. The rhyme scheme for the longer stanzas is a, b, a, b, b, c, b, C, with ‘C’ indicating a refrain. The envoy rhymes b, c, b, C. All lines use the same meter and length (usually iambic or anapestic tetrameter), and the refrain occurs in each stanza. The envoy is a summary or dedication addressed to a person.

The ballade Supreme is one of several variations of the form. It employs three stanzas of ten lines each, rhyming a, b, a, b, b, c, c, d, c, D. A five-line envoy rhymes c, c, d, c, D. This is noted as a variation of the ballade, and not a contemporary change.

Then there is the haiku, which formerly followed the Japanese tradition of a syllable count of five syllables in the first line, seven syllables in the second line and five in the third line. After it was decided that the English language and the Japanese language syllables were not the same in length, haiku in English was changed to a poem of no more than seventeen syllables, distributed to the poets liking. The English language version still adheres to other rules such as: it must capture a moment in time and should have a slight twist or turn at the end that reverts to the first line.

The ode is one form that tends to have many different forms. The ode is described as a longer, perhaps more elaborate poem of the lyric form—a general kind. The word derives from the Greek meaning—to sing. It describes a ceremonious lyric poem on an occasion of public or private celebration. It is noted to have exaltation of feeling and style. The best-known Greek composer of odes is almost certainly Pindar.

The sonnet is one poetic form that has stood the test of time and will still win raves for many more centuries to come. They are still written by many contemporary poets, and the line count of fourteen is the most consistent feature of all.

In poet Ann Gasser’s book, Awakening the Poet Within, there are fifteen different sonnets listed—from the Shakespearian to the Terza Rima sonnets. Ann also invites her readers to create their own sonnet and to give it a name, preferably their own individual name. So, why not be ingenious and try inventing your own sonnet—your brain child—and give it your name.


T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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Poetics Presents

Tony Chieco

T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine is pleased to present Tony Chieco. Tony is a New York-based writer. This is his first appearance in T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine.

Clouds and Truth

Toes splash in the cool green
River, Maria raises the club
Of forgiveness then laughs
When the tide turns the
Water red. Emerged in the
Moment enlightenment flashes
Touch speaks the only truth we
Will ever fully comprehend.

Move to the next task, stir
The coffee and try to
Forget, but a prayer is
Answered and I remember
There will always be clouds.

Every moment honors the
Chance to be itself and
Every cell in my body howls
For the haven of her smile.

Copyright 2005 © by Tony Chieco




T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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Submissions Guidelines (Updated)

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

What We Pay For

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What We Publish

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

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

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

What We Won't Publish

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

Simultaneous submissions.

Material that has appeared elsewhere (reprints).

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

Length Recommendations

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

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

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

Rights

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

Formats We Will Accept

Plain text in the body of an email.

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

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

Editing

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

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

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

Getting to Know You

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

How and Where to Submit

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

Fiction should be sent to fiction@thewritersezine.com.

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

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

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

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

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

Good luck!


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

 

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