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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

Audrey Higgans

Beyond The First Draft
(Revising Without Suffocating)

Love can make roses grow and too much water can kill them. I have two rose plants, one with red roses, one with pink. Lately some of the leaves have been losing their vividness, their color muted to a pale, insipid green. I'm one of those people who leave plants to fend for themselves during their hibernation period, but when spring is in the air, I get the urge to check if my green finger's still working. Sometimes, I can get overzealous.

It occurred to me that I do the same thing when I revise my writing. Rewriting a novel is a long, tough process. Like most writers, I go from getting so caught up in the story I forget to revise to thinking the whole thing isn't up to standard. What to do?

I’ve never been a fan of math or scientific subjects in general. When I was dealing with a particularly difficult problem at school, I'd reach a point where I wanted to hurl my textbook against the wall. My ever-patient mother would smile and tell me to let the problem be. I would try again tomorrow.

A hundred percent of the time, her advice worked.

I put some distance between the problem and me, let it simmer on the backburner, and lo and behold, the next morning it didn't seem quite so difficult. Why hadn't I realized it before? The solution had been staring me in the face all along.

This is also true of writing. Often, while revising the first draft of my novel, I get stuck on a point because I’m too tired to think straight. I still try to solve it because I have writing goals to reach, but sometimes, my brain needs to shut down and rest. To think about something else, like what I am going to cook today or to while away some time shopping for a new pair of shoes. A good dose of tranquil reality helps my subconscious mind mull over the problem even as the conscious part carries out mundane tasks.

Some time later, a couple of days at the most, I am back at my writing desk. When I start revising a new chapter, the first thing I do is copy and paste it in a new Word document. I tend to be long-winded, so I cut, cut, cut until I have the length down to size (and yes, it hurts to cut). Twenty pages is my average length, but I can add or take out a few pages according to the best place for a chapter break. At this point, I give it a read through from start to finish, agonizing over each word. Then it's editing time and my list of trouble words. Herein lies the problem. I discovered a new one today. I seem to have an inordinate affection for the word 'only'.

There are numerous references I could make to words that how-to books and articles warn must be used as little as possible. For practicality's sake, I'll talk about one. Take the word “was,” for example. In the last chapter I edited, I got stuck because I've often read you have to weed it out to avoid flat writing. Sound advice, yet, try as I might, I couldn’t take them all out of the conversations my characters were having without making the dialogue sound contrived.

At first, I panicked. If I wanted an agent/editor to accept me, I had to make each sentence of dialogue perfect. That’s when I turned to the online writing lists I’m on for help. Thank God for wise, understanding fellow writers. The answers I got all confirmed what my instinct had been telling me: to leave those “was” words alone if they still sounded good to me after I’d revised the blessed chapter to death.

Like a good girl, I printed out the chapter and read it out loud. That's when I reinstated some of the words I had taken out in the edit. Because they sounded right. There was no need to remove them no matter what any writing rule out said. Think too much water. Think overzealous.

I've noticed the writing gets clearer the further I go. Writing this novel was a learning process and my writing style improved as I went along. Hence the first chapters took more fixing. That's not to say I'm in love with the middle, but there's gold there if I dig hard enough.

Yep, putting a little distance between my writing and me works every time. I’ve internalized another important revision maxim along with those gained from all the how-to books and articles I consume. Nurturing my writing voice is as important as weeding out unnecessary words. One doesn't preclude the other.

We walk a fine line between editing the life out of our novels and making them shine. Too much editing can kill our writing voice. We owe it to ourselves and to the characters we love not to let that happen. Moderation is the key.


About the Author
Audrey Higgans is a professional freelance translator residing in Sicily with her husband. She is Maltese by birth and her passion is writing novel-length fiction and poetry in English. Credits include publication in True Poet Magazine, All Info About Poetry and T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine. She's currently working on her second novel and finds her inspiration in everyday life.


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Craft of Writing

Ahmed A. Khan

Lateral Thinking For Writers

When Edward de Bono first propounded the principles of lateral thinking, it is quite possible that he never dreamed of the various fields in which these principles could be and would be applied. Creative writing, and particularly fiction writing, is one offbeat field where some techniques of lateral thinking can be usefully applied.
 
From my personal experience, there are three most useful lateral thinking techniques from the point of view of a writer. I have named them the hyper jump, the random stimulation, and the reversal.
 
Of these three techniques, the reversal method is the easiest to use. Take an accepted fact, turn it on its head, then justify the reversed fact.
 
For example, it is an accepted fact that man descended from apes. Now reverse it. You have the premise that apes descended from man. At this point, there are two ways to develop the story. Either you begin with the above stated premise and use your story to prove its truth, or you forget about proving anything and simply construct your story in such a way that the events in the story lead to the conclusion that apes did descend from man. I used this idea in a short-story called "Ancestor". The story has been published in GateWay S-F.
 
Let me now come to my "hyper jump" technique.
 
Ask yourself a question: Why did we stop manned rocket flights to moon? Jump to a wild conclusion: Because the moon, in actual fact, turned into green cheese. Too wild? Well, John Brunner did write a science fiction story wherein the moon turned into green cheese.
 
At this point it is fairly obvious that both these techniques are more useful in generation of story ideas than as plot development devices. More suited for use in plot development is the technique of random stimulation.
 
The idea is to take a topic or theme. Then randomly pick a couple of other words or concepts and strain your imaginative powers in trying to relate these random words or concepts to your theme.
 
This technique can be used to generate story ideas as well to develop the plot of an on-going story.
 
Choose a key word from the story idea or the plot that you want to develop. Take a dictionary, open it at random and make note of the first word that you spot on the page. Repeat the procedure to get a second random word. Now rack your brains to come up with some common plot threads or backgrounds that could link the two random words with your key word. You would be surprised at the number of innovative ideas that you can generate this way if you dig in.
 
As an illustration of story idea generation using random stimulation, take "success" as your key word, i.e., you plan to write a story that deals with some aspect of success. Let your random words be "butterfly" and "library." See what scheme you can come up with that could link these words with your key word. Try word associations: library - knowledge; butterfly - metamorphosis. There is a girl who works in the library. She is drab and homely and laid back. She decides to change herself but doesn't know how. She thinks of the library where she works. Here is a reservoir of knowledge, an easily accessible resource. She turns to books on self-improvement topics, reads them, follows the instructions and starts to change for the better. Here is your basic story idea, generated out of a theme and two random words.
 
Let us now move to plot development. Go for random stimulation again. Open the dictionary at random and the first word you see is "elephant." Now what does elephant have to do with a girl who is working in a library? Let us try word associations: elephant - elephantiasis - disease. Yes, it may be possible to relate disease to your heroine. Does she fall ill? Let us say she fakes illness. Now why would she do that?

Maybe to test someone. Who? With her improved personality, she was able to make friends with a few people. Two of them—boys—have become quite close to her. Both have proposed to her and she cannot decide between them. Why not test their mettle, the truth of their feelings for her, by faking some nerve-wracking sickness and waiting to see who provided her with support and solace in such a condition?

Thus progresses the plot.
 
Three cheers for lateral thinking.
 
 
About the Author
Ahmed A. Khan is a Canadian writer. He has sold fiction and non-fiction to HP Lovecraft's Magazine of Horror, Strange Horizons, Ideomancer, Open Space anthology, Anotherealm, etc. Links to some of his published works can be found at www.angelfire.com/zine2/fictiononline. He also maintains a blog at www.ahmedakhan.journalspace.com.


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Craft of Writing

Lon Prater

The Stowaway in Your Story
(How to Make a Lazy Setting Earn Its Keep)

Does your fiction have a stowaway? Is there a character who hides in every scene, getting a free ride without having to earn its place in the story you're creating? If you aren't making good use of setting, there may as well be.

Many books on writing and even some workshops urge writers to think of setting as a backdrop for the action. The setting you choose should be interesting and realistic, they tell you, but also appropriate to the story. This is good advice, as far as it goes, but the theatrical mindset about setting suffers from the same weakness as a painted stage backdrop: a lack of depth and a static quality that constantly reminds the audience they are merely pretending a story is happening rather than becoming lost in the experience.

Writers who want to get the most out of their settings would do well to think of them as invisible characters, agents of the author who move unnoticed through the story, subtly manipulating the reader's attention to produce the desired effect. What kinds of tasks can a writer assign to his otherwise flat and lazy settings? Things like:

Helping Suspend Disbelief
The sensory details of a setting are a key element in making the story feel grounded in a concrete reality. But don't settle for a by-the-book description of the sights and sounds of a place. Smell, taste and touch are often the most underused senses in a writer's arsenal, which is surprising given how much more evocative they can be: The smell of a freshly mown lawn and the feel of a cold wet glass of lemonade held against a sunburnt forehead do just as much (and sometimes more) to capture the feeling of a suburban summer day than any number of descriptions of mowers left abandoned by shade trees or the sound of bees droning circles around the honeysuckle bush.

Building Mood and Atmosphere
Everyone who hasn't been living under a rock for the last thirty years has become familiar with the trope of thunderstorms and creepy old unlit mansions as tension builders. But what about other moods? Do the sights and smells of a barbershop on Sunday afternoon evoke menace, nostalgia or something else entirely? In the hands of a skilled writer, the answer can be "all of the above." Menace in a barbershop? Talk about the gleam of a straight razor along Deacon Jeb's wrinkled throat and the squeaky old ceiling fan that everyone swears is going to fall down and kill somebody one of these days. Nostalgia? Let your reader hear the deep and friendly conversation of old men who've been coming here for decades; let them feel the spongy seat give beneath them as the barber jacks up the chair. Virtually any setting can be adapted to convey whatever mood you desire. The trick is deciding what mood the scene calls for and then selecting and slanting the details to bring it out.

Setting the Pace
The setting can also be used to move the action along as briskly or as slowly as the author needs it to. Want to make your reader experience the thrill of being chased? Let them feel the mountain path growing steeper beneath your hero's boots and the scrabble of loose rocks falling behind them; remind them how good the half-eaten stew would taste right now, if only there had been time to finish it before the outlaws had come crashing into the pass. Slowing down to ruminate after a particularly intense action scene? Mention the coarseness of fresh hospital sheets, the dull regularity of meals, pills and the beeping machines attached to someone your character cares about, the smell of antiseptic that reminds her of. . . Well, you get the idea. The more active a setting is, the faster the pace will feel, and vice versa.

Acting as Adversary/Obstacle
In some stories, the environment, or setting is the source of greatest conflict. Avalanches, hurricanes, and other natural disasters are always useful to challenge your protagonist with, but if you only think of the weather and big picture environment as an obstacle, you'll be missing out on some of the most helpful roadblocks you can throw in your hero or heroine's way. She left so fast she forgot to bring her purse. How will she pay to cross the toll bridge so she can keep following the man who stole her daughter? Or when she gets to the other side and finds herself lost in a maze of unfamiliar city streets: How will she ever find one white pickup truck among so many vehicles? Using a well chosen setting to complicate your character's life adds a layer of depth often found missing in more straightforward person vs. person plots.

Symbolism/Development of Theme
This is one of the easiest ways to use setting, and also the most prone to overuse. So tread lightly here; a little symbolism goes a long way. The most overused technique of all is having the sunset or first bloom of spring or some other natural event occur just at the moment your character has come to an epiphany, or finishes up meditating on the big lessons she's learned over the course of the story. While it does work most of the time, the motif has been used so often that it smacks of a lack of inventiveness, or—at best—lackluster craftsmanship. If you plan to use some element of the setting as an ongoing note of your theme, take care to use it sparingly, and in a way that makes sense. Far better though would be finding something unique about the setting and letting it express its own theme (or even counter-theme) such as the smell of gunpowder that hangs in the air following both a murder and the shooting off of New Year's Eve fireworks, or the crunch and bitterness of an unripe apple when perhaps the character has bitten off more than he can chew.

Making the setting pull its own weight in a story isn't always easy, but it's effort well spent. An author must be like the stern captain of a sailing ship. It's not enough to root out the stowaway, you have to put it to work earning its meals and passage. Once adequately directed, you'll find the setting can come to be a capable and efficient member of your story's crew. Before you know it, your fiction will be that much closer to "shipshape."


About the Author
Lon Prater's life is currently set on the Florida gulf coast.  His fiction has appeared in Writers of the Future XXI, Borderlands 5 and many other venues. To find out more about him and his writing, click to http://www.neverary.com/notes.htm.


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Birdie's Quill

Birdie

Inspirational Story Writing

A few years ago I joined an inspirational study group for writers. Everyone walked in the door with a different set of expectations in their back pocket. Some people thought God or some mention of a belief system equaled inspirational writing, while others didn’t think a divine ingredient necessary and even considered the God element intrusive.

While belief in God inspires many writers, not every inspirational story mentions spiritual things. Dictionary.com defines inspiration as: “Stimulation of the mind or emotions to a high level of feeling or activity, an agency, such as a person or work of art, that moves the intellect or emotions or prompts action or invention, divine guidance or influence exerted directly on the mind and soul of humankind.”

Something to Share
Life overflows with inspiration. As writers, we develop skills that capture poignant, motivating insights on paper in a way that evokes a range of emotions. We strive to rouse the intellect, and stir passions while offering an underlying solution or principle of life. Sounds great, but exactly how do we write works that inspire?

It’s a process. Once you encapsulate the idea, a new modus operandi kicks in as layers to the story unfold. I’m in the final stages of a class based on the theme Hero’s Journey for Parents.

When I signed up, I knew it wouldn’t be an easy class because the course syllabus warned I would be required to write five short stories. I decided to roll up my sleeves and put my pen to the test. I’m a parent. Surely, I could conjure up five short stories.

I walked down memory lane with the aid of a text, instructors, peer support and creative consultant, Shauna Smith-Duty.

Parent encompasses one aspect of my life. Within this one role, a multitude of stories exist. It’s the same no matter what life role or experience you choose to write about. Sit down and make a list of the various “hats” you wear. Within each category, you’ll find fodder for inspirational stories. I’ve listed a few categories to get you started.

  • Parent
  • Writer
  • Sibling
  • Daughter/Son
  • Friend
  • Pet Owner
Pen, textbook, and assignments in hand, I jotted down a few ideas ready to write. Ideas surfaced, but I clutched personal details and guarded them at the threshold of my heart. If I hoped to put together a true, emotionally engaging inspirational story, I had to lower the shield guarding intimate particulars. Stories must penetrate that shield from the writer’s heart to the reader’s imagination.

Once you’ve broken through the ambiguous shield and pour out details near to your heart, look for something to leave with the reader. Search for the part of the story that prompts them to action, or leaves them changed. The inspiration.

Lock In the Real Story
For the sake of this article, let’s consider the role of writer.

The first step to writing an inspirational short story: focus on one incident. If I tried to condense my years of writing into a short inspirational story, too many details would clutter the page and detract from any one story.

Pick one story within your larger range of experiences.

For example, if I start out letting the reader know that the story will detail the experience of having my first story published, that’s what they expect. Fine points, even interesting points, outside this central theme are not pertinent. It’s okay to let the reader know I’ve written for years, but they don’t need the details. No matter how fascinating they may be, that’s not the story I’m telling. They’ll want to zero in on the phone call, the excitement, and the lesson learned.

In fact, as you write an inspirational story, the process of narrowing the focus helps gather other possible ideas. Keep a file of the story kernels that fall by the wayside as you lock in on the central story. Ripe with inspirational possibilities, this file awaits cultivation. Don’t let it go to waste.

Tell It In Your Own Voice
Creative Consultant Shauna Smith-Duty says, “Inspirational writing should flow, be conversational, set a mood or a tone for the reader to settle in with. Write what you would say, then go back and edit.” The way you say it with your pen involves each of these elements. This constitutes your voice.

Voice sets mood and stimulates insight. When writing an inspirational story, this conversational tone invites readers to pan the stream of life experience in search of a nugget to cherish or ponder.

Practice develops your voice. Writers create inspirational stories based on true experiences, fiction with the necessary elements, or a blend—fiction based on a true story. Experiment and exercise your voice. Take a piece written in third person and rewrite it in first person or visa versa.

At times the creative flow dries up and leaves us stranded with an unfinished story. One tool to aid writers beyond this stymie is a creative consultant.

“As a creative consultant,” Shauna Smith-Duty explains, “my passion is to support the author’s imagination, strengthen his skill, and free his thoughts. In writing, as in life, we stumble, and sometimes freeze in painful unfinished prose. When a story stops flowing, when punctuation and grammar stall, when an idea needs inspiration to take flight, the writer is not alone. A creative consultant will experience your work, digest the thoughts, the purpose, the technical issues, and offer support and direction. Today’s writers create tomorrow’s literature, eternal and inspiring.”

Focus on Your Protagonist
Inspirational short stories revolve around the protagonist dealing with a difficulty and changing because of it. Tell the story from the POV of the protagonist in a way that the reader not only relates to the experience on an emotional level, but also walks away with the same valuable life lessons the protagonist learned.

If you’d like to learn more how to drive the protagonist’s life lesson home, I recommend looking into Voyages Writing Programs. This course not only provides helpful tips for organizing thoughts, but also offers ideas to draw readers into an I-can’t-put-it-down, life affecting tale.

The Solution
American poet Maya Angelou believes, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

When writing an inspirational story, seek a universal problem that readers around the globe relate to. Once you establish the problem, take readers by the hand. Lead them through a personal maze of emotional choices and consequences that leaves them feeling satisfied and inspired.


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

As most of you probably know, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1993. I’ll never forget my then girlfriend, What’s-Her-Name, who suggested that since I had scheduled a doctor’s appointment for my annual physical, I should ask him why I was walking into walls, tripping over lamps and ottomans, and sounding drunk when I had consumed nothing stronger than coffee. So I asked, and a year later, after several neurologist consults, the diagnosis arrived. Multiple sclerosis. If my then former girlfriend had not suggested I ask the doctor about my coordination and speech problems, I would not have multiple sclerosis. If a tree falls in the forest and no one is near to hear it, does it still make a sound? Hell no! I could have stumbled through life tripping on grass blades and never have known of my disease. Damn her.

At Writers' Village, I know I’m not alone. Quite a few people who frequent this site are afflicted by the same or other neurological diseases. Yet they survive, as I survive, knowing our diseases do not define us. We are so much more.

However, we do confront difficulties. Here I’ll switch from “we” to “I,” for everyone’s manifestations of their illnesses differ. So I now write only about my difficulties, hoping that others can see portions of themselves in me. And no, I haven’t forgotten this is a humor column, or so I hope, and the humor will follow, I also hope. Just be patient.

I have extreme problems with balance. I have visited many bushes, trees, a gully or three, stair bottoms and creeks. It’s an odd sensation, drifting from the sunlight into a creek bottom, feeling minnows nibble my nose. This I can endure. I merely dwell on the days I spent good money to get in this condition. What I find most disturbing is the near complete absence of short term memory and the inability to determine whether a person is truthful or not, an ability essential and innate in trial attorneys, one I never lacked until The Big D arrived.

Big D? Multiple sclerosis, plus a few others The Prime Mover threw in for luck. Poor, poor pitiful me. To my surprise, I’ve met quite a few writers at WVU who suffer from the same or similar neurological deficits and weren’t complaining. What the hell was wrong with them?

I reversed the question. What the hell was wrong with me? The light bulb flashed over my head and I knew. They had persevered and overcome these deficits. If they could, so could I.

I bought two audio books. One dealt with memory loss and overcoming it. The other dealt with how to tell if someone was lying in five seconds or less. Right on, thought innocent me. I now held the keys to the kingdom.

I placed the disc on memory loss and techniques to overcome it into my car CD player. Interesting stuff, I thought, until it got to the point of the alpha numeric alphabet and asked me to close my eyes and breathe deeply through my diaphragm. I glance at the speedometer. 90 miles per hour and climbing. I slowed down to 70, turned on the cruise control, closed my eyes and heard horns blowing everywhere. I opened my eyes and found I was in the lanes for oncoming traffic. Swerving back into the proper lanes, I realized this tape was not suitable for driving. The cop who pulled me over and put me through a field sobriety test confirmed this thought. He gave me a ticket for blatant stupidity and consummate jackass on the road, confiscated the CD and permitted me to drive on. Guess it was near the end of his shift and he wasn’t in the mood for paperwork.

I drove on, listened to the Incredible String Band for an hour or so, before I felt calm enough to face the how to detect a liar in 5 seconds audio book. After all, every person has spent his or her life attempting to learn this skill, and I had devoted the last 20 years focused on perfecting it. Should be easy.

“I’m what is affectionately known as a hired gun.” Huh? What? LIAR! The only person who affectionately refers to such a person as a hired gun is his client. Of course, others in that profession will affectionately refer to that person as a hired gun. “He’s a gun. If you’re ever finally busted for all that coke you snort while awaiting a jury verdict, he’s your man. Like Paladin. Have Gun, Will Travel.” What was this guy trying to sell?

“If you suspect that your boyfriend is cheating on you, ask ‘Did you get home before 3 last night?” You’ve got to be kidding.

If he answers yes, dump him because he’s a fool. If he answers no, follow up with, “Oh. I always thought you were a fun-loving, free-spirited man. It’s disappointing to discover otherwise.” Sorry, Hon, I was home all evening.”

To this response, respond, “I’m sorry you can’t tell me the truth.”

To which he responds, “I suspected you were a delusional, paranoid woman with whom I never should have become involved. Go back to Happy Haven and stay out of my life.” Click. Cheer up. You now know the truth. Happy?

Perhaps I’m too cynical—perhaps? No doubt about it—but the only scene more hilarious than this expert on psychology is the person who listens to him and believes it! Humor is often found when the public believes a person’s credentials, the alphabet soup following her name, raises her above those lacking the soup and should thus be accepted as correct. Not so.

When depressed and feeling that a smile will never again grace your face and a laugh is the impossible dream, turn to the experts. The Orgone Box and Piltdown Man should cheer you up in no time. If not, turn to statistics and numbers.

Now! Our burgers are 50% larger! Do you find the concept of a 3 ounce burger more appealing than a 2 ounce burger? If so, buy the audio book on how to tell if someone is lying in 5 seconds.


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

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

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Fiction Short Story

by Bill Larson

Cruise Control

“If that guy were any closer, I’d be towing him. Why doesn’t he back off? Can’t he see that I can’t get over? I’ll tell you, it doesn’t matter how fast you go, some jerk has to go faster. Well, I’m staying in the passing lane. If he doesn’t like it, that’s tough.”

“Jim, why do you get so upset? You know how it is out here on I-75. It’s like a big racetrack. What’s so bad about getting over and following the trucks? We’re not in any hurry. It wouldn’t hurt to go the speed limit.”

“You know I always set the cruise at seventy-eight miles per hour, Kimberly. It’s the perfect speed—just enough to make good time and not quite enough to get stopped by the Highway Patrol. I’m not getting over and let this guy intimidate me. If he wants to go around me, he’s free to do it. That’s his problem.”

“All I’m trying to say is, why do you let it bother you so much? Why can’t you just relax and forget about it? What is it the kids say? Just chill?”

“I am chilled! I’m just not going to get over. Look at that guy. He’s so close to me I can’t see the front end of his van. Well, you know what? He can go chase himself. I’m in this lane, and I’m going fast enough. Why doesn’t he just go around me? What’s his problem?”

“Jim, you have a problem. You always have to be right. There’s no bending with you. You just keep plodding on regardless of anybody or anything else. You’re not getting over, so to hell with my feelings. I’m scared that you might get us into an accident, but you’re not getting over, so to hell with that. Who’s going to take care of the kids if something happens to us? But you’re not getting over, so to hell with that. Don’t you care about anything but yourself and your stubborn ego?”

“Look, I’m just going up the road. I’m not the one who’s causing the problem. I can’t help it if this guy wants to pretend that he owns the interstate. All he has to do is go around me. If he can’t grasp that concept, too bad.”

“Then you don’t care that I’ve got to put up with this all the way to Gainesville? It’s okay with you that I have a tension headache because of this when all you’d have to do is pull over into the next lane and let him go? What are you trying to prove? Would it matter if I told you that I would think you the better man if you pulled out of the way? Does what I think even deserve your consideration?”

“Don’t give me that crap, Kimberly. You know I’m right. I’m not doing anything wrong, I’m just trying to drive up to Gainesville so we can see your mother. It isn’t my fault that the roads are cluttered with idiots. Don’t lay that guilt on me.”

“So that’s it! You’re mad at me because you have to give up your precious Sunday pro football games to take me up to Gainesville to see my mother. Good Lord, Jim, you watch football every Sunday, every Monday and even on Sunday night. Would it hurt you to just once think of me…of what I might enjoy doing? I don’t ask much, and when I do make one small request, you act like this. Well, you can just turn around if this is how it’s going to be.”

“Now, that would be smart. I’m not going to waste all this gas when we’re already halfway there. I don’t understand why you want to make me the bad guy. I didn’t say anything about not wanting to take you to see your mother. Why must you always twist things so that it’s my fault? Is it my fault that some guy gets right on my tail and acts like driving on the interstate is just a game? I don’t get to do much, you know. I don’t go hunting or fishing with the guys. I don’t go out and play poker every Friday like Hank does. Don’t you appreciate that? My only vice seems to be that I like to watch pro football on television. Is that so bad?”

“Just forget it, Jim. You don’t get it, and my head hurts too bad to argue any longer. Just keep on doing everything your way. To hell with what I think.”
 
“I’ve had it with this guy. Watch this. I’m just going to touch my brake. When my brake lights come on, that’ll get his attention. That’ll teach him to tailgate.”

Jim hit his brake a glancing blow, just enough to light his brake lights. In his rear view mirror, he could see the van swerve off the pavement to the left and out of his line of vision. He checked his side view mirror. The van flipped end over end in the median, ejecting the occupant before it settled on its top in a cloud of debris. The body landed in the southbound lanes of the interstate. Jim turned his eyes away as an eighteen-wheeler hit its brakes and jack-knifed.

“Jim, what’s that horrible sound?”

Jim pulled onto the shoulder and jammed on the brakes as much as he dared. By the time he had stopped, tears obscured his vision. He turned and threw his arms around Kimberly and as his head lay on her dampened shoulder, he choked out between sobs, “What have I done, Kimberly. Why didn’t I listen to you?”


About the Author
Bill Larson does his writing on the southwest coast of Florida. When he's not writing, Bill sells real estate. He has been published in Palm Beach County Magazine in 1988 and in a local magazine, Images, on two occasions in 1992. After a self-imposed sabbatical, he began writing seriously again and had two pieces published in an online magazine in 2003 and another online in 2004. He makes his home with his wife, Janice and son, Jeffrey, in Cape Haze, Florida.


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Fiction Short Story

by Laurie Little

Eleven More Miles

Wanda flipped the open sign at Zack’s Diner to read closed. She sanitized and reset the tables, swept and mopped the floor, and grumbled as she counted her tips.

“Goodnight, Zack.” She collected her coat and purse, opened the smudge-marked glass door and shivered as she stepped into the brisk evening air.

“Get plenty of rest. Tomorrow’s Sunday,” Zack hollered as he waved and locked the door. Wanda waddled to the bus stop and plunked her weary butt on the concrete bench.

“Aaaah,” she sighed. Tension evaporated and her feet tingled. She reached down, massaged her left calf and moved to rub her right leg too. “I can’t wait to get home and take off these shoes.”

Regulars of the gathering crowd checked their watches and paced in front of the bench. Wanda stared down the street, looked at her watch and exhaled. “Eight twenty-five. Why is the last bus always late on Saturday?” she complained out loud. “If I was late to work as often as that darn bus, I’d a been fired long ago.”

A few people chuckled and an urgent impulse to urinate stressed her bladder. She pried herself from the seat, squeezed her thighs together and tightened her pubic muscles. “Don’t let Sam drive off without me. I’ve been waitin’ for him for twenty-two years. He can give me a few extra minutes.” She smiled and bustled down the block in search of a public bathroom.

At exactly 8:30 the bus pulled to the stop. The doors opened and seventeen people departed as new riders boarded. Sam did not sit behind the wheel. Several passengers asked the unfamiliar coachman to wait for Wanda.

“I’m already fifteen minutes behind schedule,” he explained, and pulled away from the curb.

Wanda returned from a gas station bathroom to a vacant bus stop. “Oh no!” She flung her hands to her forehead and wailed. “That bastard! Why didn’t he wait for me? Now I have to walk home. And tomorrow is the busiest day of the week.” She shook her fist in the air as she spoke. “Boy, am I gonna let Sam have it!” She inhaled and looked down at her swollen ankles. “Come on legs, eleven more miles.”

The church clock on the corner of her street struck midnight as Wanda wobbled up the steps to her apartment. She stood in the dark, fumbled through her purse, but didn’t feel any keys. “Shit! Where are my keys?” She dumped her purse upside down. No keys fell out. “Damn. I gotta get in. I want to sit down. My feet are killing me.”

Wanda trudged to the back bathroom window and removed the screen. Her hands pressed hard against the pane and shattered the glass.

"Oooowwww!” she cried.

Blood seeped and pain pulsated from her forearms. She broke the remaining glass away from the frame, placed her hands on the ledge and hoisted her ample torso into the apartment’s new entrance. Her pantyhose snagged as her legs scraped along the stucco wall. “Shit,” she mumbled. “My last good pair.”

Wanda wiggled her shoulders and chest through the narrow window, but her lower body bumped against the building and stopped. She took a deep breath. “One more heave.” She inhaled again, held her breath and pushed with all her might. Her body did not budge.

A flashlight seeped around the wall and focused on Wanda's projected presence. A masculine voice shouted, “Don’t move! I’m a police officer. Do you have a weapon?”

“No!” Wanda screamed. “ Don’t shoot me! I live here.”

“What are you doing, ma’am?” The deep voice softened.

“I lost my keys. I tried to climb through the window. It broke and now I’m stuck.”

The officer slid his gun in the holster and retrieved a police radio. “Unit 472, C as in Charles, D as in David, S as in Sam, do you read? Over.”

A female dispatcher responded. “Affirmative unit 472, C as in Charles, D as in David, S as in Sam, I read. How can I help you? Over.”

“Officer needs assistance at 981 Spruce St. That’s S as in Sam, P as in Paul, R as in Robert, U as in union, C as in Charles, E as in Edward. Over.”

“That’s 981 Spruce St. S as in Sam, P as in Paul, R as in Robert, U as in union, C as in Charles, E as in Edward. Is that correct? Over.”

“Affirmative. Over. “I have a …” He stepped towards the building and focused the bright light on Wanda’s wedged buttocks. “Excuse me, ma’am, what is your ethnicity?”

“What?” Wanda shouted.

“Your ethnicity, ma’am. What is your ethnic background?”

Wanda grimaced and mentally counted to three. “My mother was Irish and my father came from Holland. They met in France during the war and came to this country after Ike was elected president. What does that have to do with getting me out of this window?”

“Nothing, ma’am.” The officer spoke into the radio again. “…A large, Caucasian female, approximately…” he turned to Wanda. “How old are you, ma’am?”

“I was 59 when I got stuck in here,” Wanda answered, “ but I’m afraid I’ll be 92 when I get out.”

“Don’t’ worry, ma’am. We’ll get you out of here soon.” He returned to his radio. “…59 years old. Send an ambulance, and …” he looked at Wanda’s wide rear end and held back a chuckle, “… a fire engine with a sledge hammer. Over.”

Wanda screeched. “Sledge hammer!”

“An ambulance is on the way, ma’am,” he reassured. “You’ll be out of there shortly. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I just want to get inside my apartment and get some sleep.”

“Have you been drinking, ma’am?”

“No sir. I missed the bus and had to walk home after work.”

“Did you use any illegal drugs today, ma’am?”

“No sir, I don’t use drugs! I told you I just wanted to get inside my apartment, and go to bed!

“Do you take any prescribed medications, ma’am?”

“No!” Wanda shouted. “But I’m gonna need something soon if I don’t get out of here!”

“Calm down, ma’am. I’m just doing my…”

A siren’s scream smothered the police officer’s words and woke most of the building’s tenants. Neighbor's lights switched on, people rushed outdoors and gasped at the sight of Wanda’s round butt protruding from the apartment window.

Two rescuers sprung from the ambulance and ran to the victim. They kneaded and twisted Wanda’s soft curves, tugged at her legs and pulled her from the window. The audience applauded. One paramedic checked her vital signs while another cleaned and bandaged her wounds. A fire engine rolled onto the scene. The crew grabbed several tools, raced up the stairs and unlocked Wanda’s apartment door. The police officer escorted her inside and jotted some notes. She graciously thanked all the heroes, closed the door, and looked at the wall clock. 2:15 AM.

She gathered a hammer and a box of nails from a kitchen drawer and grabbed a piece of plywood from the coat closet. The flashing red and blue lights faded from her view as she nailed the board over the hole in the bathroom wall.

Wanda finished the repair job and flopped in a beige overstuffed chair in front of the television. “What a day. I just want to take my shoes off and relax.” She leaned her head back, stretched her arms and legs and yawned twice. Her eyelids drooped, and she fell fast asleep.

At 6:00 AM, the church clock chimed and startled her awake. “I’m late!” she roared, and leapt to her feet. Debris crunched under her shoes as she entered the bathroom and shrieked at the image in the mirror. Stale make-up filled in wrinkles and smeared across blood-streaked cheeks. Tousled gray hair shone with glass highlights. The once crisp white shirt lay torn and bloodied against her skin. Tattered panty hose scantily covered skinned knees and scraped shins. She washed her hands and face, applied fresh make-up and tidied her hair. She splashed cologne over her torso, changed her shirt, and rushed to catch the bus.

Wanda exited the bus one block short of her usual destination, dashed into a convenience store and purchased two pair of nylon stockings. She raced to the diner, barreled through the back door, headed straight to the employee bathroom and plopped herself on the toilet. She removed her shoes, peeled off yesterday’s pantyhose and wrinkled her nose as the stench of sweaty over-worked feet filled the stall.

"Peeewwy!" she exclaimed, and let out a long sigh as she stretched her moist toes. "At last."

Zack's fist banged on the bathroom door and his gruff voice yelled. “Yo! Wanda! Let’s go! We got customers.”


About the Author
Laurie Little is a middle-aged crazy freelance writer who discovered her voice after turning 40. She lives in a citrus grove near Palm Springs, CA with a sexy Fire Captain, her Tae Kwon Do kicking teen-aged son, a few cats, dogs, fish, birds, and raccoons. Most of her writing focuses on the children’s literature and article market. She is an active member of The Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators and Writers' Village University. Previously published in print form, "Eleven More Miles" is Laurie's first e-zine publication.


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Fiction Short Story

by Lisa Roderick

Honey

It's a warm November day and I'm standing outside the church in Lindenow, my hometown. The light reflected from the white weatherboards makes me blink. I shade my eyes and try to identify the figure standing on the church steps. The man walks toward me and I realise it's Michael Tanner, my childhood friend. I must be dreaming because Mick died nearly three years ago. Mick smiles, his lips move, but I can't make out the words. The chapel door slams shut and startles me awake.

It's almost dawn and the morning shift arrives. I hear the fat nurse, Trina, laughing at the nurse's station outside my door. "Please God, not her today." My nerves are not in the mood for her rough hands and raucous laugh. I let out a sigh as Louise, my favourite, swings the door open and enters my room.

"Morning, Frank, how was your night?"

I wrinkle my forehead and glare at her rosy-cheeked smile.

"Nightshift banging doors again, eh?" She chuckles, checks my vitals, fluffs my pillow, and closes the door quietly when she leaves.

The constant hum of the oxygen supplier fills the room and my thoughts drift to the bees. I spotted the hive on the roof of the hospital's other wing the day they wheeled me in here. One has to look hard to see it, and it helps to know what you're looking for. It's not a problem for me, however. I'm a honey man from way back. My uncle, God rest his soul, was an apiarist, and he ran the family business. When I was a kid he'd suit me up and we'd go check the hives together. I never got stung, not one time.

My eyelids felt heavy and I dozed off again. My dreamy thoughts wandered back to the church. This time Maggie Ferguson, the first girl I ever kissed, stands before me. She takes my hand and leads me to the church steps. Mick is still there and appears to be talking, but no sound comes out of his mouth. I stare at him for a moment and try to figure out what he says. It dawns on me that Maggie has been dead for over a decade. I wonder if I died in my sleep. Maybe that's what Mick babbles about. The church door slams, my eyes open, and my wife, Shirley, greets me.

Shirley carries her grief around like a handbag. It's hard for her to see me like this, I know, but the sight of her mournful face gives me the shits. I want to scream at her, "I'm not dead yet!" but I haven't the breath to waste.

"Hello, darling, did I wake you?" She doesn't wait for an answer and prattles on. "I know it's early and I can't stay long. Janie's waiting for me downstairs. I just wanted to bring you some fresh pyjamas. It's my sewing day today. Lizzie will be by this afternoon. I'm sorry, darling, but the girls are expecting me. I'll be back tonight."

"Bees?" I whisper and her brow furrows as she stares at me.

"Oh, you want to know if they're still there? I'll check." She fumbles with the well-worn blind for a minute. The morning sun streams through the slats. Shirley pretends to concentrate and exclaims, "There they are!" After thirty years of marriage I know when she's faking. I don't think she's ever seen them. She probably thinks they're a figment of my imagination. She folds my pyjamas, collects the dirty laundry, and looks at me as little as possible. "Time to go." She bends and kisses me on the lips. As she draws closer I smell her familiar scent. Our eyes lock and for the briefest moment we are lovers again. I smile, raise my hand and attempt to wave. I'm too hard on her really. Like me, she copes the best she can.

Hours linger until the distinctive jangle of my daughter's bangles alerts me that she is near. Lizzie eases the door open, sits by me, but doesn't utter a word. She digs into her cavernous handbag and pulls out a pair of tiny binoculars. She presses the lenses against her face and walks to the window. "The bees are working, Dad. I'll leave these for you, so you can see for yourself." She returns to the seat, holds my hand, and says nothing. A short time passes and I close my eyes. I'm not asleep. Lizzie speaks again and I don't know if she means me to hear or not. I keep my eyes closed. "Dad, I know you're trying to be brave. You promised you would fight and you have. There's no shame in letting go you know. Sometimes it takes just as much courage not to fight."

I hear her blow her nose and realise she is crying. I want to comfort my girl, but I am unable to lift my body. She kisses my forehead and I hear the bracelets jangle out the door. With the little strength I can muster I clasp the binoculars and pitch them across the room.

Maggie appears again. She takes my hand and leads me up the steps of my old church.

"Hello, Frank," Mick says.

"Mick, I can hear you!"

"Welcome home," he says.

I look at Maggie. She smiles at Mick, nods, and turns her gaze back to me. She holds out her hands and offers me a jar of honey.


About the Author
Recently Lisa Roderick left her teaching career to be a stay-at-home mum. In her spare time she writes short stories, attends writing classes and dreams of finishing her novel. Lisa lives with her husband and her three young sons in Melbourne, Australia. She can be contacted at lroderick@optusnet.com.au.


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Recognitions

Joan McNulty Pulver

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

Nadene R. Carter’s mystery/suspense novel, A Cobweb on the Soul, published by ePress-online, became available at Lulu in July 2005. Nadene said she was thrilled to see this, her second novel, published. “I didn't think anything could top the thrill of that first book, but each one is like one of my children. I'm delighted to see each one grow up and go out into the world.” Nadene’s first novel, The Price of Silence, is available at her website at www.nadenecarter.com.

A Cobweb on the Soul is the story of Architect Abigal Carlson, who rescues an old mansion from being demolished. She unleashes a chain of events that ripples forward to jeopardize her life and the lives of those she loves, as well as backward, giving closure to the disappearance of her sister many years ago.

Nadene's love of reading started when she first discovered words in the two-room schoolhouse in the small town where she lived. Her mother always knew where to find her, holed up with a book. “I grew up reading the escapades of The Boxcar Children. I loved Girl of the Limberlost so much that a few years ago I started looking in used book shops and found an old copy. I added it to my collection. I read Little Women and Jo became my hero. I still have a 1929 copy of that book. It was while reading Little Women, I knew that someday I would write a novel. To Kill a Mockingbird is my all-time favorite novel.”

Nadene spins wool into yarn and weaves various things: coverlets, placemats, and wall hangings, etc. “Something about the repetitive motions and working with fibers stimulates my creativity. The fiber arts play an important role in A Cobweb on the Soul.”

She joined Writers' Village University in 1999, entering through the F2K class. In fact, Abby, her protagonist in A Cobweb on the Soul, was born in that class, and she used the short story she wrote in there as a springboard to writing this novel.

“After F2K, I joined the Colin R. Onstad group who helped me so much with my first novel. When Writing the Mystery Novel class was offered, I worked through that class and went on to the Completing the Mystery Novel class. Afterward a special room was set up for those of us who want to keep working and polishing our novels. Any success I have enjoyed wouldn't have happened without WVU and the great people who are so willing to help fellow writers."

Nadene has six children, 23 grandchildren, and one great grandchild. She lost her mother in May of 2003. “Two months later I met the love of my life after being single for many years. We were married the following November. He has the patience of Job! It's not easy living with someone who has a writing obsession.”

Donna Sundblad’s, Pumping Your Muse, published by ePress-online, came out in trade paperback in July 2005. It will be out in various electronic formats later this fall. Donna is a freelance writer of short stories and articles, an editor, researcher, and columnist for The Writer's E-Zine.

I asked Donna about the day her first copy of the book arrived at her house. “The doorbell rang. By the time my husband got to the door, the delivery truck pulled away. He walked into the house with a small package. ‘Your book is here!’ I pushed away from the computer and hurried toward him. He grabbed the scissors and cautiously slit the padded envelope and handed it to me. I slipped the book into view. Wow! Pumping Your Muse by Donna Sundblad; I held my first published book in my hands.

“How’s it feel?” my husband asked.

“Like a dream.” In fact, it was a dream come true. I flipped through the pages. My words stared at me from each page. Not only did it give me a feeling of satisfaction but validation. It’s a good book. One I’d buy.”

Pumping Your Muse has already opened opportunities for Donna to grow beyond the scope of the book. She led an innovative workshop at the Peace River Center for Writers in Punta Gorda, Florida in August and will hold another one for the Florida Writers Association on October 8, 2005 at the Bloomingdale Library located in Brandon, FL. She recently appeared as the guest author in the Writers Chatroom moderated by Glenn Walker and hosted by Audrey Shaffer. Giving these workshops and appearing in guest chat helps Donna to stretch her creativity and urges her to reach beyond her usually introverted comfort zone.

“From my standpoint, Pumping Your Muse triggers memories of the creative process. During the writing of this book, I completed the rough draft of a novel and ideas for a second one that I plan to develop. Life inspires my writing, and you’ll find personal anecdotes from almost thirty years ago and as current as the cycle of hurricanes blowing through Florida the summer of 2004.”

Donna loves to write and enjoys passing on the passion to others reaching for their dreams as writers. “I’m considering putting together an online workshop to help guide others through the creative process outlined in Pumping Your Muse. It’s easy to use, and self-motivated writers will find it inspiring and productive. Following the exercises from start to finish generates the rough draft of a novel written uniquely in the author’s voice and style. I realize that some people desire feedback, guidance and encouragement through the creative process. A workshop would meet these needs.”

She lives in Florida with her husband, Rick, son-in-law, Kraig, daughter, Heather, and two wonderful grandchildren, Taylor and Jeramiah, and her birds. Donna also has a son, Chris, who lives nearby. She works on the tropical island of Bocca Grande, holding down a full-time job while she writes.

Rayne E. Golay was a runner-up in the Pacific Northwest Writers' Association, 2004, for her novel, Life Is A Foreign Language, published in June 2005 by Trafford Publishing. The novel tells the story of Nina, who after thirty-seven years of her husband's infidelities, has had enough. Wounded, she files for divorce, leaves family and native France. She meets Michael with whom she experiences fantastic joy that turns to agonizing sorrow when he is brutally torn from her. Alone and bereft, she must continue the legacy Michael has left; trust, the awareness that she is strong enough to survive on her own, against all odds. "Since the day I learned to read, I wanted to be an author. It wasn't enough just to write; I wanted to be published. I'm an avid reader. I love traveling. Swimming and gardening allow me to contemplate, 'go within', which helps to focus me when I write.

"Reading helps develop my own voice. While writing a novel I tend to read biographies, not to copy others' writing by mistake. Learning about people gives me insights and ideas to character development. Traveling broadens my horizon, a wider view on life in general; it's taught me tolerance and acceptance of others. I've discovered that there are more similarities among people than there are differences, no matter our walks in life, backgrounds and goals."

Rayne joined Writers' Village University in 2000. She posted in Fiction 200, Misfits and is now a member of the Colin R. Onstadt (CRO) study group. "WVU has been wonderful for me. I've taken courses in creative writing, which has helped make the switch from non-fiction to fiction. Most importantly, giving and receiving feedback in the different study groups and classes continues to be a great learning experience. Some members in CRO have taught me to show, not tell, which was very difficult after writing two non-fiction books."

Rayne is a psychologist, certified as an addictions counselor. She has a grown daughter and son, and one granddaughter. "My husband of 26 years passed away last year. The emptiness and silence after he left is heavy, but the publication of Life Is A Foreign Language has helped me fill the emptiness in a small measure." To learn more about Rayne, visit her website at www.raynegolay.com. There are some reader comments (Hilary Hemingway among them). You will also find the first chapter of her second novel, The Wooden Chair.

Congratulations, Nadene, Donna and Rayne. 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
Joan McNulty Pulver, mother of five and grandmother of five, works as an Administrative Secretary for the State of Florida but considers her writing and editing to be her vocation. She is a columnist for T-Zero: The Writer’s E-Zine, a course developer and facilitator at Writers’ Village University and the Personnel Coordinator/Editor for ePress-online. Joan has had two short stories published and is currently working on a non-fiction book and a fantasy novel.


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Poetics Presents

Valerie Noir

Valerie Noir feels that words are power, transmuting into an indelible form emotions and moments that could otherwise escape if not given form. For her, writing is as natural as being, serving as a conduit through which she captures, for future reflection and present contemplation, intangibles that are experienced, but often times less intellectual than emotive. She is currently working with her co-author on their third novel while simultaneously searching for venues to share her other forms of written expression.

Apple Blossom End

Like showers of rain
comes the cold, autumnal shades of pain.
Bleeding out my dying days
I am watching fading shadows and light play.

They gather up the red,
another tear I shed.
Under a yellow amber sky
they watch me cry.
All my leaves die
and I will wither in this cold
finding I'm much too old
to really care.

Winter ice freezes around me;
is it a shield or a cage I see?
Will this life I leave
be before I unsheathe
this last fruit dormant so long,
my final apple blossom song, petals
finding a place to belong.
Or will I meet the hand ax metal
and fuel one last fire;

Well at least then
I might be admired.

Copyright ©2005 by Valerie Noir




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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.

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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