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 T-zero Xpandizine
 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

Donna Sundblad

Artistically Concise and Balanced

How do you hone skills needed to paint three-dimensional images with fewer words? As a writer, you don't want characters walking around in a vacuum or swallowed by descriptive details. Learning to add authentic realism to your writing without bogging down the flow with unnecessary description can be a bit of a balancing act. I’ve included two exercises I initiated in my endeavor to find that equilibrium.

The One-Sentence Rule
One morning I stepped outside to go for an early walk. The breathtaking sunrise captured my attention. Fiery orange embers smoldered across the horizon silhouetting the battalion of pines across the street.

Note the two previous sentences. One tells and one shows. That morning's walk changed my thinking. I asked myself how I would “show” that sky in one sentence. While I walked, I considered the possibilities. I wanted to create a veritable snapshot my readers could see. When I walked in the door, I scribbled the first draft of my sentence on paper and challenged myself to follow the one-sentence rule for a week. Each day for a week, I drew in a dose of reality and condensed it to one sentence.

This technique birthed a new habit. It changed my thinking and transformed my writing. Bite-size real world elements added savor and life to my scenes without overloading them with excess or telling description.

Keep a journal. Log your sentences to practice and sharpen this technique. Experiment with different elements in the world. Another basic to add to your lists of One Sentence Rule exercises is to explore body language. Instead of telling your readership your character looked amused, stand in front of the mirror and practice “the look” to help capture the physiological detail necessary to convey the facial response you want to convey.

Avoid Dumping Content
Writing is like paving a road while offering directions to follow it. It should be designed to take the readers where you want them to go while gathering necessary information along the way to make the trip interesting. Mix scenic description with dialog and action. It’s the natural way to collect information.

Avoid writing paragraphs of description to set the scene. Readers are known for flipping through pages to find something that snags their interest. Think of it like this. A dump truck carrying a load of information stops along the road you’ve paved into the reader's imagination and stops to dump the entire load in one spot. If the pile is big, the reader veers to avoid it. If you’ve slipped an important detail amid that load of otherwise uninteresting or irrelevant content, your reader may miss a vital detail that later helps the storyline and plot to make sense.

Another no-no is using dialog to dump information. Instead, dialog should reflect a natural exchange between characters. If you want to use conversation to offer the reader specific information, make sure it sounds natural and not contrived for the sole purpose of adding detail necessary to move the plot forward.

Adding Your Two Sense
This "Attention to Detail" exercise can be found in chapter 3 of my writing book, Pumping Your Muse.

Saunter down the street or go sit on a park bench, but I suggest at least part of this exercise take place in an outdoor setting. Pay special attention to what you hear and smell. Take fifteen minutes to listen and catalog your findings. Don't worry about describing them right now; just get them down on paper. Do it all at once or five minutes at a time, but write down your observations. I chose to do two five-minute segments outdoors and one at home.
Following this practice produces a unique collection of sounds and smells, but it offers a deeper lesson. As you complete this exercise, make two lists, one for the various noises you noted and the other for scents, aromas, or the stench wafting from the garbage truck down the street. After fifteen minutes of observation, consider your findings. What is the ratio between the two? Did you hear or smell more?

With your new information in hand, choose a previously written scene and put it to the test. Circle every smell within the scene and underline the things readers hear. Now, look at the list generated from the above exercise. Is the ratio of sound to smell in your scene comparable to what you've gleaned from real life? Equalize your fictional world with the world your readers relate to by adding enough sensory information to bring authenticity to your setting.


About the Author
Author, columnist and freelance writer, Donna Sundblad, resides in Georgia with her husband, Rick. Her creative writing book, Pumping Your Muse, is available in paper or ebook format at www.epress-online.com. Donna also co-owns Team Spirit Critique and Editing, LLC and offers services as a writing coach. For more information e-mail her at donna@teamspiritediting.com.


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Craft of Writing

Lon Prater

Get Your Music for Nothing
(But the Lyrics Ain't Free)

By now everyone should be fairly well versed in the Three Terrible Truths about using song lyrics in their fiction:

TRUTH #1: It is against the law to use copyrighted lyrics in your story without the express written permission of the copyright holder.

TRUTH #2: It is the author's responsibility to obtain permission, and the author will be held liable if any legal action is taken by the copyright holder.

TRUTH #3: Obtaining permission to use song lyrics is rarely cost-effective for writers.

Unlike web designers who have a surplus of usable public domain sounds readily available to liven up their sites, writers who want to bring the sound of music to their work do not have as much to choose from. And let's face it, music is a part of who we are as human beings: we ritualize it for birthdays and church services, romanticize certain songs with our significant others. The right song at the right time becomes a touchstone for our memories, moods and milestones. Ignoring the cultural significance of song is like ignoring the fine points of clothing or etiquette: the lack can become quickly and embarrassingly apparent in your fiction.

Furthermore, music—whether it's drumbeats in the jungle, a harpsichord playing in a sunlit Parisian salon or a death metal screaming fit in some back alley dive bar—can lend a helping hand with the mechanics of making your story ring true. The most obvious way music affects your story is that it adds another layer of sensory input for the reader. Music can be heard, and when it's loud enough, felt. Evoking all the senses regularly helps keep the reader immersed in the experience of your story.

Verisimilitude is not the only tune music can play in your fiction, though. Musical preferences, associations and reactions can be valuable markers of the type of people you are writing about. Characters become more real to us when they dance in their pajamas to a favorite song, or when we learn that they hate hearing the fiddle and harmonica backed Man of Constant Sorrow because it reminds them of their rural roots. Perhaps most obvious, using music in your fiction sets a mood. It can do this directly, as in the case of Queen's We Are The Champions blaring across a crowded stadium one second after the clock ticks down, or ironically as in the case of a happy dinosaur ditty turned up loud enough to drown out a parental "discussion".

Much of today's fiction takes place from 1900 on, a period where popular music is still likely to be copyrighted. Given the Three Terrible Truths above, this makes it tricky for a writer to have a character burst into song, or even listen very hard to the words on her favorite break-up album. So what can you do to bring the power of song to your stories? Try a riff on one of these little numbers:

Write Your Own Lyrics - Sometimes the best way is to create your own songs and attribute them to a band of your invention. Worried about not writing workable lyrics? Use a real song as your model for structure—the tune in your head probably won’t carry over to your manuscript, but the beat will come across as believable for the few lines you include.

Be a Name-dropper - Songs with enough popularity and with titles that match a memorable chorus are easy to insert into your fiction. As Frank O'Brien snuck up on Ray's mud-spattered truck, the radio crackled to life. Charlie Daniels was singing The Devil Went Down to Georgia, loud and without any bass to speak of.  See that? Didn't even come within shouting distance of infringement, but any readers familiar with the song probably heard it loud and clear in their heads. It's just as easy to bring the brassy big band sound of Glenn Miller's In the Mood to your reader's inner ear, or name-drop Aretha Franklin's Respect. Just like that, your story has a soundtrack!

Make the song a part of the narrative - Take some evocative element of the lyrics and adapt it to your viewpoint character's situation and perception. Continuing with the previous example:

Frank peered into the darkness, but he couldn't make out who was in the cab with Ray. Then he heard Becky singing along with Charlie Daniels, and Frank felt his own band of demons joining in. He slid the skinning knife from its sheath.  Do I have to tell you what sound it made?


About the Author
Lon Prater can't carry a tune to save his life, but in his speculative fiction, the music is always pitch-perfect. His stories have appeared in such venues as Writers of the Future XXI, the Stoker-winning anthology Borderlands 5 and Shadow Regions. Find out more at www.lonprater.com.


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Birdie's Quill The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Birdie's Quill

Birdie

Bypassing Writer’s Block

I shared my latest news. Another article accepted. “One of my writing goals this year is to submit at least one article, query or story every month,” I said. My writer friend asked if these submissions were newly written or rewrites of previous works. “Most are new, although I do watch for markets that accept reprints.”

“I don’t have that many ideas,” my friend said.

“The ideas are there, but you have to look for them.” As the words left my lips, I snatched the idea for this month’s column, "Bypassing Writer’s Block."

Let’s briefly reflect on the definition of writer’s block. “A usually temporary psychological inability to begin or continue work on a piece of writing.” Note the key word temporary. Training your muse to hunt for ideas helps bypass this temporary condition.

Interests
Consider your interests? For the sake of this article, we’ll look at one of mine. I enjoy animals. I’ve owned a cat, guinea pigs, hamsters, dogs, even raised a raccoon from an infant, and today am the proud owner of seven birds. This one interest overflows with possible ideas for stories and articles. It’s a popular topic many people relate to and a market wide open with opportunities.

For example, I once thought of birds like fish, pretty things without personality that sat out of reach inside a cage. What changed my mind?

Experience
Ben Franklin said, “If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write things worth reading or do things worth the writing.”

Life experiences color who you are. Fourteen years ago, my daughter and her husband moved cross-country from California to Florida and lived with us for a year. They brought along a little Pug named Badger and their Red Lord Amazon, Scooter. At that time, we had recently put our 13½-year-old dog down and owned one guinea pig.

Scooter, a green parrot with red on his face, laughed, talked and found his way over to the guinea pig’s aquarium. He climbed onto the edge peering into the cage, studying the longhaired critter with curiosity. One evening I heard an unusual ruckus from that corner of the room and found Scooter chasing the guinea pig around in circles until he caught a mouthful of Angora guinea pig hair. Mission accomplished; the parrot stopped and laughed. Seeing Scooter stare up from inside the cage with a hairs dangling from his beak made me laugh too. The two animals became friends.

Living with Scooter wooed my heart to consider owning a bird. He’d ask what I was doing, and along with his vocabulary, used gymnastic abilities to draw me over to his tree to pay attention to him. Birds do have personality! Sometimes, when the mood strikes, they even cuddle. The experience of living with Scooter changed my mindset.

Your unique interests open doors to all kinds of ideas. The trick is to write about them. Willingness to be transparent enough to open a window into your life is a necessary ingredient. People read interesting, “real” articles and stories. When you open the window into your life and write from experience, keep it real.

Conversations
Conversations impart a flood of possibilities offering detours around writer’s block. Talking with others moves from your realm of interests and experiences and takes you onto new, fertile creative soil.

After sharing the news of my most recent acceptance letter, my friend and I continued our conversation. Her excitement about steps she had learned to save time when editing bled through the phone line. The new information she shared would save me valuable time as a writer. After about five minutes of listening to her detailed explanation I said, “You should write an article about it.” She loved the idea, and when I spoke to her the following day she had a good start on her article. From that one conversation, I walked away with an idea for this month’s Birdie’s Quill and she with an article idea to help other writers.

Talking with people also enriches fictional writing. Many interesting fictional characters are a composite of real life people. If you find someone fascinating, jot down the reasons why. Keep an idea file.

I worked on an island off the Southwest cost of Florida for years. As a transplanted Midwesterner, I absorbed all kinds of new information. The sleepy little fishing village gradually transformed into a home for millionaires and multi-millionaires, yet amid the luxury and opulence, the people I enjoyed most were fishing folk that lived there for generations.

Instead of the fresh water fishing I knew from Illinois, I learned about salt-water fishing. I enjoyed fishing the flats, but deep-sea fishing is really popular. I’d never heard of a Tarpon (also known as a Silverking), and charters to snag these silvery-scaled prizes was big business. Listening to the fascinating history of how people Tarpon fished at the end of the 19th century captured my imagination. A steamboat dragged a daisy chain of rowboats into the pass. Once out there, they scattered across the deep waters of Charlotte Harbor. When they hooked one of these giant fish, the captain struggled to row to shore so the fish could be landed. These entertaining facts inspired my fictional story Dance of the Silverking.

Classes
Take a class. Even non-writing classes inspire new ideas. A friend of mine signed up for a class teaching Native American pottery techniques. It included a field trip to dig up the clay that would be used. Now there’s an idea for an article. It also provides fodder from which to draw when writing fiction. New knowledge fertilizes the imagination as it combines with experience.

After being out of school for twenty years, I took a sociology course at the local college. Learning about city life hundreds of years ago not only fascinated me then, but historical information I learned can be used to add realism to my fictional writing. Take a historical fact and build a story around it.

For example, back then travelers did not have the luxury of driving along the city streets to find a choice hotel. Strangers could knock on your door and expect a meal and perhaps a place to spend the night. When they sat down at the dinner table, the knife resting beside the plate offered subtle information making the intimate interchange with an outsider less awkward. If the knife blade faced the dinner plate, the traveler knew they were welcome to spend the night, but if it turned away from the plate they knew without a verbal exchange that they were not welcomed to stay. They’d finish the meal and leave. An entire story can develop around one fact.

Writer’s Groups
Interacting with other writers strengthens your abilities as a writer, and cultivates new ideas. Listening to the works of other writers, the process they follow when writing, and sometimes even the inspiration behind the story or article opens avenues worth exploration within your muse while critiques and feedback help hone your text and skills.

What If?
In my book Pumping Your Muse you’ll find what I call flip side exercises. They prod thoughts and imagination along paths not naturally followed in the reasoning process. For example, if your scene takes place in a primitive city around the dinner table with the knife facing the plate, flip that detail and ask what would happen if the knife blade tells the stranger they must leave. Within any scene, flipping details opens the path to a new story.

Study Markets
Regularly study writer’s markets. This practice keeps your finger on the pulse of what is happening in the publishing world. If you take time to look over guidelines and specific needs of various publications, you may uncover a story you hadn’t considered writing.

For instance, I came across a bird watching magazine that has a section where you can ask an expert a question. Although I hadn’t considered writing for the magazine, I’ve been looking for an expert regarding one of our local birds after it bonked me in the head a couple of times. I wanted to write an article, but had come to a dead end when looking for an expert to add credibility to my experience. Studying markets opened the door to pursue the article I had decided to shelf.

Various newsletters and ezines for writers present markets on a regular basis. Funds For Writers is a great place to start if you’re looking for markets (as well as other helpful information specific to writers and writing). You’ll find this site listed among Writer's Digest’s 101 Best Web Sites for Writers for the last six years. They offer four newsletters that reach about 18,000 readers. The main newsletter FundsforWriters reaches 11,000. “We're considered the grant specialist of the writing resources online,” founder Hope Clark says, “And we have a grand ebook library.” Her book, The Shy Writer, can be found at www.epress-online.com.

Conclusion
If you find yourself sitting at the computer staring at a blank screen, stop forcing the issue. Change to another project for a half an hour or so. If you don’t have another project, consider your interests, experience, make a phone call or go out to lunch with a friend to engage in conversation. Life is full of things to write about. The trick is to tune in to the possibilities and bypass writer’s block.


About the Author
Author and freelance writer, Donna Sundblad, resides in Georgia 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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Poetics Presents The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Poetics Presents

Lane Adamson

Lane Adamson is a Texas writer who graduated from high school in 1979 (at the age of 16) and decided that he'd had quite enough of academia, much to his parents' dismay. He lives in the Dallas area with his lovely (and patient) wife and daughter, as well as assorted pets, guitars, and neuroses. He maintains a website at: http://home.comcast.net/~randompoetics/.

Visitation

the aged gather
in nursing homes
and hospitals
or quaint frame houses
with roomfuls of
lightly cobwebbed bric-a-brac
the aged gather
around railed bedsides and
discreetly beeping
softly soughing devices
or in tiny chapels
with pine pews
and inspirational Muzak
the aged gather
like mannerly crows
bearing dishes
of covered comfort
discussing
with mundane passion
the weather report
of recent passings
who took a fall
or who had the cancer
who threw a clot
and who just faded away
on the wispy withered wings
of an eternal
interminable moment
it may be the ultimate
mark of maturity:
the old do not fear death
the reaper is a frequent
familiar visitor
slightly unwelcome
but part of the extended family
like the alcoholic brother-in-law
an annoying
but expected presence
at every gathering
often the first to arrive
and sometimes
the last to leave

Copyright © 2006 by Lane Adamson


The Cancer

I had this thing, this tumor
this punishment from God
wild cells raging within me
a malignant demon
grown fat and swollen
with all my sins

why me, oh Lord, why me?
was I so wicked, so inadequate
so fallen from Thy grace
that You set this plague upon me

to restore my faith in prayer?
to remind me Who's in charge?

well, it worked

the doctors got It out of me
and I keep It in a pastel room
down the hall, out of sight
out of my mind
tonight I will send It back to You

I will bash Its head with stones
smother It with pillows
drown It in holy water
and cut It into bite-size pieces
to feed to my obsession

then I will ask for Your forgiveness
because that's what mothers do

Copyright © 2006 by Lane Adamson




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Fiction Short Story

by Helen Courtney-Lewis

Harry Come Home

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen … is that sixteen roses?  It looks so smudged where Smudge pees. Let's try it again from the top. I love this wallpaper, but wish Smudge would do 'is business in the tray. Smells a bit, too.

'alf an hour to go before the milkman's 'ere. 'e's punctual like a clock that feller, nice too. Always got a cheery word. I look forward to 'is comin'.  Shall I 'ave cocoa or tea? Tea I s'pose, less fag. Good idea them tea bags? 'arry don't like bags though, nothing like a good cuppa with real tealeaves," 'e says.

Get me pension today, don't I? An extra two pounds don't go far though; got to buy a new light bulb and some bog paper. Wish I could afford a new mattress. That old thing upstairs ain't half lumpy. 'arry don't like a lumpy bed.

When he gets back, I'll ask the Social if they'll let us 'ave a new one.

'ere Smudge, come and drink yer milk, there's a lovely feller, that's it, lap it up.

The Social  keeps saying they're going to put me in a home, but I tell 'em I can't leave, not until 'arry gets 'ome. Won't be long now. War 'll soon be over and done.

"Yoo-hoo Madge, what's it to be today? The usual? Half a pint with a little pot of cream? A little bit of what you fancy does you good."

"I'll have a pint. 'arry will be coming home today, so you can leave two pints from now on; likes his milky drink before bed does 'arry.

" 'arry — your 'usband you mean? 'im what was lost in the war?" "Watcher mean lost? No, 'e and is mate Alf from the chop shop 'ave gawn off to 'ave a bash at 'itler."

"Going back a bit ain't you, luv? Still, let's keep cheerful, no 'arm in 'oping. I read in the paper where a bloke come 'ome from Malaysia where 'e'd been 'iding in the jungle for fifty years."

“Ta ta Madge, see yer to-morrow."

Talks daft that feller … I don't seem to remember, well, exactly when they left, but I seen 'em walking down the road arm in arm, bright as a new penny in their new uniforms - Sappers they call them. They was singin' "Run Rabbit Run" and " 'itler, 'e's Only Got One Ball."

'arry and Alf waved when they got to the corner, near the chip shop. Give me the V sign they did and 'arry blew me a great big kiss. 'E's a great lad is 'arry; romantic too.

Luvly weddin' we 'ad. 'arry's Mum saved 'er food coopongs to bake us a cake and a smashing spread of chicken and chips.  She got those from Alf's shop though, didn't want to stink the 'ouse she said. 'arry's dad give a good speech and said 'e 'oped all our troubles would be little ones. Real old card is 'arry's Dad.

We was twenty people all crammed into this lounge. Gawd knows 'ow we managed it. These two ups and two downs ain't exactly the Ritz. Wonder when the Council is goin' to build us an inside bog, like wot they're always sayin' they're goin' to do.

'aven't seen Mum and Dad fer a while; wonder wot they're up to nowadays. Dad'll be in 'is allotment diggin' for victory sure enough. Wish 'e'd bring me some sprouts and taters for 'arry's comin 'ome party. Come to think of it, I ain’t seen them barridge b'loons lately, was all over the place they was.  Don't seem to see 'em today. Wonder where they've gawn.

Better do a bit of cleanin' now. 'arry likes me to keep the place nice. 'ope he don’t see the patch on the wall paper. Never mind, e'll put up some fresh when 'e gets 'ere.

Come on Smudge don't get under me feet when I'm busy. 'Ere girl, I got some fish for yer today. Nice girl she is wot the social sent me to do my shopping. I'm a bit trembly on me feet, don't know why. Must be that TB they said I 'ad. Rationing is ever so strict though. They give me a bit of extra butter, bacon, milk and I get two eggs a week on account of me lungs being bad. Shouldn't 'ave joined the ATS when 'arry went I suppose. But if I 'adn't they'd 'ave called me up anyway. We all 'ad to go if we were older than 18, and 'adn't got kids.  "Arry didn't like the idea, ever so protective is 'arry — a bit jealous too, if the truth's known.

Any way, I'm 'ome now after they told me I couldn't still sit on an ack ack gun firing at them Jerrys no more. Don't miss the noise and the cold neither.

It was a bit of fun though, took our minds off what our blokes were up to and all.

We had to meet on Victoria station and go to the training camp in Guildford. Never seen so many girls all together.  We all looked a bit scared.  Saw a girl I went to Council school with, an’ all.

We was in great big huts with forty beds. We got two blankets, a pillow and not like the blokes we got sheets. They was ever so thick and scratched. In the morning we 'ad to fold the blankets, sheets and pillow in wot we called a 'bisket' and pile them on the end of  the mattress.

Some of the girls 'ad their 'air hidden under a cotton turban. I thought they was cooks, but no, they'd had bug inspection and  'ad 'ead lice. Ugh.

'ow I go on — must get this place spick and span for 'arry. Wonder if 'e'll be 'ungry when 'e gets 'ere or if the Army 'as given 'im a last meal. I'm told they get a bit more to eat than we do. Well I suppose they need it if they're going to wallop that 'itler bloke.

Think I'll just 'ave a little rest now, don't want to look like a washed out dishrag.

There—that's better—nice and comfortable.

Let's see … ' ow many roses are there going down on the wall paper; let's count again. Me eyes seem to be a bit tired today.

What a lovely photo of me and 'arry on our wedding day this is. 'e's ever so 'andsome my 'arry. I ain’t too bad neither. ''ope he still thinks I'm 'is girl. Never know what these fellers get up to when they're away from 'ome. Never mind that now. I'll just have a little read of 'is last letter. That's 'ow I know 'e'll be 'ome today.

Don’t seem to see too well today. The social gave me some specs last time she was 'ere.

"You're a bit young to wear specs," she said. I don't know why she laughed when she said it. Corse I know that, but I suppose it's the T.B wots done funny things to me. Got a bit of a pain in me knees, too.

Where's me specs gawn? 'Ere Smudge you're ruddy well sittin’ on them. Get awf. Blooming cat.

Almost know 'is letter by 'eart.

Dear Madge,

Hope this letter finds you as it leaves me at present. Well, I mean.

Army life ain’t quite what it is at home with you.  I really miss you gal every day and can't wait to be home wiv you soon.  I keep remembering the first day we met. It was in Alf's chip shop and you was there buying a bit of cod and chips for your dad's tea.

You winked at me and smiled with that smile of yours that's so full of fun.

I thought my hart wood stop, but you winked at 'Alf, too. I thought you fancied him more than me.

We all went to the Palais de Dance down Streatham way. I kept on cutting in when they had an “excuse me.” I remember we danced to "I've Got You Under My Skin." That's when I new you was the girl for me. I think 'Alf thought the same thing. 'E fancied you something rotten too.

Everything's ever so 'ush 'ush here, and we can’t rite nothing about what's going on, but whispers say there's going to be the invasion soon.

Don't worry about me. You know, I'm like a bad penny—always turn up. Least that's what your dad says.

Keep your pecker up old girl, I'll be 'ome before you know it and singin’ down the street to let you know me and Alf are 'ome.

Yor ever luvving husband,

Harry xxxxxxxx


Can you  'ear 'im Smudge? I can 'ear them singing; it's getting louder and louder now. 'ere 'e comes, 'andsome as ever, a real warrior. Smudge - the last rose on the paper ain't smudged no more.

Extract from the Parish magazine dated February 2nd 2002

Sadly we report the death of faithful parishioner Madge Dalton  aged 85 of 17, Watcombe Rd. Croydon.

She was the widow of Sapper Harry George Dalton aged 27, who was felled within a few minutes of landing at Normandy.

The milkman, who forced open the door when he received no response to his ring, said he found her in an armchair. She seemed to be asleep. He said she was smiling and had a photo and a letter on her lap.


About the Author
Helen Courtney-Lewis lives in the Balearic Islands, Spain and has just celebrated her 80th birthday. She is multi-cultured and widely travelled, speaks five languages and is an artist, writer, photographer and actress; her first appearance on the London stage was at the age of five. As a writer, Helen has worked for many years as a journalist and columnist, specializing mainly in comedy. At the present she’s working on an anthology of her humorous tales, many of them inspired by personal experience. "I'd better self-publish them if I'm to get there in time," she quips. "I have never tackled a book, except on cookery. I prefer the short and sweet and, in any case, I can't sit still long enough."


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Fiction Short Story

by Maureen Green

It’s Great to Be Me

When Grandma comes to stay my heart grows so big in my chest I think it is going to pop out. I like being spoilt. I know it’s not supposed to be good for you, Mum and Dad say it isn’t but it's such a wonderful feeling, being the centre of attention and so important.

After my nightly story, (more than one if I keep on at her), Grandma tucks me into bed and plants a big sloppy kiss on my forehead. "Night night, sleep tight. Don't get up until it’s light."

She’s been saying that since I can remember. I can hardly bear to wait for morning so I can crawl into her bed, snuggle up and have her tell one of her stories.

When I wake, the room is dark, so I cuddle Benji my bear and fidget and toss and turn. My heart skips a beat, I sit up and lift the corner of the curtain, but all I see is dark. With growing impatience, I call into the dark, "Come up, sun, hurry up, sun, rise," then, on tiptoes I creep down the hallway and quietly slip beneath Grandma's blankets and wait and wait for what seems forever.

Sometimes I fall asleep, but most times the wait is too much for me, so I wriggle my feet against Grandma's back. Then I put my face up close against her forehead, tickle her nose and watch to see if her eyes flicker while I whisper, "Grandma, Grandma, tell me a story."

"The sun's not up," she mumbles, so I keep still and quiet for as long as I can while listening for the first sounds of the birds. At their first chirp, I lean over and call excitedly, "I heard a bird, Grandma, G-r-a-nd-ma, I heard a bird."

She opens one eye, looks around and burrows lower under the blankets. "It's not light yet."

"But the rooster's crowing and the birds are calling. Can you hear them?" I pull the blankets away from her ears and lift the lid of her eye. "G-r-a-n-d-m-a, tell me a story."

"Still dark," she says in a muffled voice.

I shuffle on my bottom across the big bed and lift the corner of the curtain hoping the sun's rays are chasing away the dark. "Grandma, look, the sun is in the sky."

Grandma sort of mumbles and stretches her arms. "What story do you want?" she asks, her eyes half closing.

"The Three Little Pigs, Three Little Pigs," I shout bouncing on my knee on the mattress.

"Not again," Grandma groans. "I've told you pig stories over and over."

"But I like the ones you tell. Come on, Grandma, tell me one of your pig stories. I like your stories more than. . ." I search my brain to find the things I like the best in the world; “banana sandwiches."

Grandma laughs a happy chucky laugh, the kind that makes people want to laugh with her. In the half-light she raises her eyebrows. She always raises her eyebrows before asking a question, "Banana sandwiches?"

"I love those best in the whole world, but not more than you or mum."

“Oh dear," she sighs, "a pig story, I'll have to think," and lies quiet and still again. The sounds of birds calling to one another drifts into the room and the roosters begin crowing excitedly as the sun rises higher into the sky. Just when I think she is going off to sleep again, and I start to say, “G-r-a-n-d . . .,” she opens one eye.

"How about the English pig?"

"Yes," I shout, as I slip beneath the blankets and nuzzle up close.

Grandma props herself on a pillow, screws her eyes up as if she is turning on her brain and the story begins.

"Once upon a time, long ago when animals roamed free," she recites, "a sow had three young pigs."

"Was one black, one white and one brown?"

"Almost," she says with a smile, "White, black and brindle."

"What's brindle?"

"A brownie blotchy mottle color, the same as your tabby cat."

I do so love it when Grandma comes to stay.


About the Author
A recently retired school principal, Maureen’s family coaxed her to record stories she’s spun to grandsons aged, seven, six and two. Her forty years in the education sector afforded opportunities to produce monthly columns for local newspapers, design newsletters and publish community reports. For the past eighteen months she has engaged in weekly writing workshops where Jane Beckenham, a published New Zealand Romance writer, critiques her work. The first of her children’s manuscripts, Magic in the Air resulted in a contract from an American Children’s Literacy Agency. Four Dragons, her second children’s manuscript, was included in a compilation of works, and Maureen’s upcoming novel, Consequences, has been offered a publishing contract.


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Fiction Short Story

by Gail Johnson

Like a Thief

Doom descended like a curtain of darkness. Gloomy horizontal lines loomed longer. White between the lines dwindled into dust. Kate's hands shook as coldness crept into her bones. Clinking sounds invaded the foreign room. Scribbled walls crowded her into a space fit for no earthly soul. No rainbow of colors. Only a bright orange. The stench hindered her thoughts. Shadow lines blocked her vision.

They hadn't even let her grab a sweater. Kate could fool herself no longer. The jail bars were hard, cold steel. Breaking into a cold sweat, fear and confusion melted into a puzzle. How could she have gotten herself into this rat hole? What mattered most was that Eleanor was willing to get her out of this quagmire. After Kate made her one phone call, Eleanor had promised to help. After all, it was Eleanor's fault that she now sat in hell.

Kate’s thoughts drifted to the conversation that started this mess. Her editor Eleanor had said, "You write skillfully, and your point of view character is well defined, but your premise doesn't work." Eleanor attempted a weak smile. "Why don't you write what you know? Your articles on funny things that happened with Melville Dewey have been a delight for all our readers. Why change now?"

"I've got a wonderful idea for a story on shoplifting," Kate replied.

"Shoplifting? What would you know about that?"

The statement challenged Kate. “More than you think.”

Kate Tyler had been a librarian for thirty years and writing her column for four years. Her destiny held more. The drive to create something far away from The Dewey Decimal System overwhelmed her. Even her safety net for extra income from the column didn't matter. She wanted away from Dewey. No matter that she knew so many numbers by heart, like 629 was auto repair, or that 911 was American poetry. Even the 395.22 for wedding planning had never been any use to her. She stood alone in this caper.

She had plotted a shoplifting spree scene, but when she added her viewpoint character they seemed as lost as she was as to how to attempt the feat. Lying on her bed one night, she hatched the perfect plan. In case anything went wrong, she would get a notary to sign that she was only a writer trying to show how stealing hurt everyone. She needed verification that she intended to return the merchandise.

Her usual notary was vacationing in sunny Hawaii, probably on the beach sipping a Mai tai. On her commute to see Eleanor, she noticed a yard sign posting notary services. She stopped at the log home and hit the horn. A small fellow peeked through the window and strutted onto his porch.

"Hey, lady. What's your problem?” He removed his glasses and gave her a once over when she stepped from the car. "You need something?"

The fellow had no manners coming out in his sleeveless undershirt, but Kate didn't want to back down. "I see your notary sign. Could you sign a paper for me?"

The guy put his glasses back on and read the paper Kate handed him. "This is fairly unusual, but I don't see any reason I can't notarize, provided you have proper identification. Come on in the house and I'll get my stamp."

Ever-careful Kate said, "How about we do it on your lovely porch?"

"Fine by me. You sit on the two-seater swing, and I'll be back in a minute.” True to his word, he was back in a minute—still in his undershirt—and notarized the paper. Kate paid him his fee of five dollars and left clutching the sealed document.

With her plan underway, she carefully prepared her tote bag and added a few books to the bag to conceal her theft. As she entered Video Mania, she strolled down the aisles looking at all the merchandise. Row after row she ambled past sauntering customers, and some of her favorite music. Frank Sinatra's blue eyes beckoned her. Patti Page's "Tennessee Waltz" made her think of her teen years. But she didn't want to take something she might cherish. She wanted the hippest thing around. She selected Hilary Duff's "Most Wanted" album and "Monkey Business" by Black Eyed Peas. Stashing the disks between her personal books, she surveyed the area and casually strolled out the door. No alarms sounded. She rushed to her car, heart pounding into her chest. She’d done it. Now she could write that story

Kate went home and tapped her title, “Like a Thief” on her laptop. She stared at the blinking screen, glanced away to see a mockingbird protecting his territory, and thought maybe a cup of decaf would get her going. The adrenalin rush of shoplifting had evaporated like smoke in the wind. She tugged the CD’s out for inspiration, but she didn't really care about the music and didn't want to unwrap the disks. Kate dropped her tote bag trying to stuff the contraband back between the books. One went in straight, but the awkward plastic packaging of the other clung to the sides. She shoved until both were concealed. Maybe she should try stealing once more before she went to the owner and returned the albums. Surely the muse would hit her with a second spree. Maybe a different store? No, she’d tackle the same store to make returning the merchandise easier.

She clicked on the file menu, saved her title, shut down her computer and retraced her steps to Video Mania. This time, she might as well pick some of her favorites since she knew where they were. Two more disks hidden among the books in her bag, and she walked to the door. As she exited, the alarm sounded. Kate looked around for the problem.

A uniformed officer rushed to her side. He pulled a gun and she froze to her spot. She raised her stubby hands embarrassed, knowing others watching would think her a thief. He had handcuffs. "Okay Lady," he said, "Gotcha you this time. I watched you leave with stolen goods before, but since the alarm didn't sound I thought I'd made a mistake.” He told her to put her hands behind her back. With her arthritic shoulders she finally managed to maneuver her hands into position. Cold steel clamped around each wrist. "I can't figure out how you got out the first time, but we've got you now. Don't understand why the alarms didn't sound.”

Kate couldn't understand why they did. As the officer pulled the items out, Kate saw the problem. Her carefully prepared shopping bag interior had been punctured, probably when she struggled to get the albums back inside. The aluminum tape she had so carefully lined her bag with had a tear in it. The small space not covered with aluminum had set off the alarm.

Officer Flack wouldn't listen to her story. In his stern police voice he said, "We'll take it downtown. You tell the chief.”

Kate knew the chief from his days as a library user. He'd listen and all would be settled. When she got to police headquarters, the adrenalin rush to write shot into high gear. She needed to get home and start her story. The chief remembered her. Good.

"Now Ms. Tyler. What are you doing here? My officer tells me you were shoplifting.” He scratched his balding scalp. "Says he'd been watching you and that you stole twice in three hours. Tsk, tsk. I can't believe that. Tell me he's mistaken."

"Technically, I suppose he's right.” The chief removed the handcuffs, and Kate saw Officer Flack frown. "But I can prove no harm. You see I'm writing this story on how shoplifting affects all of us."

"Writing. Well, why didn't you say so? But still you did actually take something and never put it back."

"But the intent was to return it."

"How do we know that?"

"I can prove it.” Carefully, Kate took her notarized paper from her chest. It was soggy, but the seal and signature were visible. "Here, look at this."

The chief squinted through every letter of the short document. "It does look like you're writing on shoplifting and this notary says you planned to return merchandise. Pretty fancy way to plan a robbery.” He poked his clef chin and told his officer. "How about you go see this notary and see what he has to say."

An hour later, the officer returned with the small fellow in handcuffs, the sleeveless undershirt still an eye sore. But she wondered why he was in handcuffs.

"Chief, remember that guy who robbed First Bank over in Hartsville 'bout three years ago? 'Member the picture taken by the security camera?” He turned the handcuffed man to the side. "Look at his profile. This guy's a dead ringer.” He peered at Kate. "Seems I remember his accomplice was an old woman with streaks of gray running through her black hair."

They turned to look at Kate. She ran her fingers through her black hair hoping the gray hadn't returned since her last color rinse.

Fingerprints taken, the police had their bank robber. They held Kate on charges of shoplifting and accessory to armed robbery. She protested her innocence all the way to her cell after her one phone call. Eleanor had agreed to come. She was meeting with her best-selling author right now, but she promised soon.

The doom descended again. In the haze, she remembered Eleanor's assurances of "straightening out the mess.” Murkiness surrounded her thoughts. She couldn't explain how she ended up in prison for armed bank robbery. Shortly Eleanor would be more than a blurry voice on the phone. Soon.

Kate, in her surrounding darkness, felt the trickling of tears and blinked. She felt like a thief tumbling into a tattered safety net.


About the Author
After retiring as Dean of the Learning Resource Center at a local community college, Gail Johnson lunged into writing with purpose. Before realizing how thrilling success would be or how unpleasant the disappointments, she forged ahead meeting with “instant” success in four years. More years passed before other acceptances came her way with publication in Weeds Corner, Reflections, Brady Magazine, and several others.


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Drabble Corner

Michelle Swisz

Here are the two Drabbles for this month—the first one that got things started, and the second one that came out after the first one was written. The author wishes to remain anonymous:

Drabble #1

Saying Goodbye
 
How do you say goodbye to someone who saved your life? To someone you thought knew you better than anyone ever did or could, who made you feel, when you couldn't feel that way by yourself, that your life mattered as much as theirs did?
 
How can something who hurts this much be right . . . how can you hear your own voice in the midst of your own screams?
 
How do you walk away from someone your life depended on? And how do you know for sure that it doesn't still?
 
How do you know there is somewhere to walk to?
 
Drabble #2
 
What Really Matters?
 
Is it what goes on day to day, what it is that gets you through? If it's not that, then what—because if you don't get through . . .
 
Or is it freedom? Let it fly, let it rip. Take along a companion. If you feel obligated, must the love not be real?
 
What if all you can hear, all you can tell yourself, is smoke and mirrors? And the mirrors only reflect other mirrors.
 
Do all genuine responses matter? We do our best to know it when we see it. If it's here it matters, here in the eyes of love.

This month, today, I became a cat. Maybe I didn't want to be me today. I felt my angels around me, but you can see why. My oldest kitty, he's 17 plus, had so much trouble breathing two nights ago that I slept in old sweats in case I had to rush him to the vet hospital. And my income is once again in danger—I may have to leave my place where the climate is tolerable for my health and move to where it isn't. And there's more.
 
But life goes on, doesn't it, so I returned the phone calls of two friends, one who needed a phone number from a notebook I had on the bottom shelf. I sat on the floor for the rest of the conversation, and after I hung up, wistfully contemplated getting together again with them tomorrow. I looked at me, and I looked at the four cats on the floor around me—we were all stretched out, sighing, checking out our toes. I had crossed the species barrier.
 
For next time, our Drabble topic is crossing a barrier. Was there ever a time you saw yourself suddenly in a very different light? Tell it in a Drabble, exactly 100 words excluding title, and submit to drabble@wvu.org by the tenth day after this column reaches your mailbox. Check complete guidelines for details. 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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Recognitions

Joan McNulty Pulver

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

Shanna Lewis appeared on the National Public Radio (NPR) Weekend Edition on Saturday, May 13, 2006, with host Scott Simon. Interacting with the Future Farmers of America in Westcliffe, Colorado, Shanna's non-fiction piece, Raising Funds Rocky Mountain Oysters, spoke to their cause. Listen to Shanna at http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5402884

“It wasn’t until I finally heard my story on national radio that I really believed it was happening. Having a piece on NPR had always been one of those little dreams that I never really thought could come true. Now it has. I’m thrilled, amazed and excited about the future."

Shanna participates in other activities which include yoga, tai chi, belly dancing, walking and skiing. She said all of these enhance her writing because as she does them she becomes more engaged in both the world around her and the world within her.

“I am also a photographer which makes me look at the world and the people I meet with an eye for the inherent beauty that I know is there. Plus I can take pictures to go with my writing. I’ve loved books, reading, and words from the time I was a small child. I always thought about being a writer but really never knew how to get started until I joined WVU."

Shanna is a staff photographer, staff writer, and a page designer for the Wet Mountain Tribune, a small weekly newspaper. For the last year she has also been producing radio news features for Western Skies, a regional radio newsmagazine broadcast from KRCC in Colorado Springs. “My freelance writing and photography has appeared in the Denver Post, the Canadian National Post, the Daily Record, and other publications.

“I also write fiction. Several of my short stories have won contests and been published online in KidVisions, Whim’s Place and the Peacock Chronicle.”

Shanna joined WVU in the spring of 2001 and is currently a member of Middle Earth, Natural World and the Non-Fiction study groups. “WVU gave me both the skills and the confidence to call myself a writer."

Nancy Conner embarked on a twenty-city radio "tour" last summer after Career Press published her book, 20 Questions to Ask Before Selling Your Home with Steven Holzner. Claiming that it is less glamorous than it sounds, Nancy said, “I sat at home and waited for the phone to ring so I could talk to a radio host in Albany or Los Angeles or Miami or wherever." Nancy's writing successes continued to be realized that summer when O'Reilly published her book, eBay: The Missing Manual.

“I knew before I wrote them that these books would be published. That's one of the nice things about nonfiction—you can sell a book on a proposal and get paid to write it, rather than writing the entire book in advance and then hoping to interest someone in publishing it. Of course, when the contract arrived with my name on it, I was thrilled. And it's fun getting checks via my agent that are marked ‘Author Royalty Account.’

“I'm one of those people who's wanted to be a writer since childhood. I took a few detours along the way—I've been a university professor, a high school teacher, and an editor, among other jobs—but I always knew I wanted to write. I'm a lifelong avid reader, and wanting to write is an extension of that, I think. My main hobby is directly related to writing.”

In addition to nonfiction, Nancy writes novels. She recently finished a humorous mystery set in a college town a lot like the one where she lives, and she just started working on a manuscript with two storylines: one modern and one set in the Middle Ages. Both touch upon the life and writings of Marguerite Porete, who was burned at the stake for heresy in Paris in 1310.

Nancy joined WVU in 2001 and is a long-time member of the Persist & Publish study group. “It is an amazing, inspiring group of fellow writers and friends. Many of us have known each other for years, so we've supported each other, cheered each other on, and witnessed each other's development as writers. I've watched, from start to finish, as several fine novels have been produced by members of this group."

Nancy has at least one more popular reference book coming out in 2006: The Savvy Guide to eBay Motors, which will be published by Sam's.

Dee Walmsley loves the outdoors and its wildlife; she also enjoys writing about it. She has been published a number of times over the years in on-line mags [mostly free] Sapphire, Inditer which are now in Canadian Archives, Clevermag, Critter Chronicle, Raccoon News and the Barnacle.

“I've won two contests, awarded a writer's collector's plate and an original oil painting. I rarely enter contests as most of them are American and can't be bothered with all the exchange with monies, stamps, etc.”

Dee has been working on two manuscripts for years, Wizard of the Woods, a non-fiction about raccoons and a fictional account of a hunter and a wildlife rehabilitator, a storyline something along the lines of On Golden Pond. Dee said that she has always written. She loved essays in school and published a monthly newsletter "News & Views" while in the Royal Canadian Air Force, ran an oil spill society for 10 years and published a monthly newsletter "Spill Busters" and also contributed on "The Ocean Parker" a local magazine.

“I joined Writers’ Village University close to the time when it first started. The study group started as Nature Lovers - Natural World. I wrote the original Nature course and facilitated it and then re-wrote it with Yvonne Garcia. I learned a lot about writing from helping others learn. I like WVU and all the members I've been in contact with. We inspire each other to keep writing.
 
“I am 69, married to Jack, have two grown children, Sheri and Craig, and two cats, Jade and Simba. I love animals and nature. I like to garden, golf, and do volunteer work. My latest project is volunteering at a community TV station where I am a producer and have a monthly show called "Seniors' Moments." I interview local seniors, usually over 80, so their families can tape the show and have those moments in their memories. I've worked for this station as a volunteer producer for 20 years and have produced a number of programs."

Congratulations Shanna, Nancy and Dee. 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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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

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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).
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  • Text formatting such as bold, italic, centering, bullet list, etc., should be noted in the text by using all caps in parentheses. For example, if you wanted to italicize the word submission, you would type: (ITALICS) submission (END ITALICS).

Editing

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

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

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

Getting to Know You

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

How and Where to Submit

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

Fiction should be sent to fiction@thewritersezine.com.

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

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

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

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

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

Good luck!


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