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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

Carter Jefferson

Eschew Participles

The first time I got a critique on a short story I learned a lot. But not what the critter had in mind.

I'd been writing about every kind of non-fiction there is for many years, and was used to newspaper editors changing my copy. When I became an editor, I revised other people's, hundreds of times. Nobody in the business seemed to give the matter much thought.

Then, about nine years ago, I took up writing stories and passing them around by e-mail to various friends, including a few writers. Publishing never entered my mind—writing fiction was just a hobby. People said they liked my work. When my fourth piece went out, though, one of my better-known writer acquaintances took it on himself to send me an e-mail telling me how bad it was. It seemed that it started off all wrong—all "tell," no "show."

Well, that was news to me. I'd never read any how-to books, never been in a critique group, never heard that particular shibboleth, didn't even know what POV meant. I mean I was ignorant, in spades. I just wrote stories. I didn't know there was a way you were supposed to write them. I was horrified; the guy who sent the letter passed for a great writer—he published often, and he did seem to be pretty good.

In those days I churned them out as often as once a week. But that letter stopped me cold. I'd liked the story, but what did I know? Without understanding why, I just quit writing fiction for a while. Finally, I started messing around with that "bad" story, changed the beginning, rewrote the whole thing, fiddled with it for about a month. But heck, I simply didn't like the revisions. I still thought the old one was good.

Then a couple of other people read the first version, and wrote to say how much they'd enjoyed it. Huh? They enjoyed it, when it was all wrong? A glimmer of hope dawned. I wrote to another good writer I knew, and asked what "tell" and "show" meant. He clued me in, and explained about all those rules: eschew participles, never write "was" or "had," avoid adverbs, use only active voice—you know, there are about a million of them.

He also said they amounted to a huge, smelly pile of crap. If people liked my stuff, I should write as I pleased. And under no circumstances should I get one of those books that told me how to do it.

I felt like a fair maiden rescued by a knight in shining armor.

My attitude did change, though. I started worrying more about making the things "good," though I didn't really know how to do any better. I wrote another story. Several people liked it, and the Red Baron didn't bother to shoot it down. 

After a while I got more ambitious and decided to ship off a few, just to see what would happen. A couple of submissions got nothing but "no, thanks," but one editor, obviously a gifted critic, actually paid me $20 for a story. That check, framed, hangs by my desk right now—I was so pleased I couldn't bear to cash it.

I finally decided I actually might need to learn some things, so I joined an online critique group, something I hadn't known existed. Some of the members liked my stuff. A few made good suggestions, and I did learn. Lots of them, however, told me I was breaking one rule or another, and couldn't possibly do it that way. I heard all the rules so often I couldn't help learning them.

But I'd already adopted the most important "rule" of all. I did what I liked, not what somebody told me I should do. I'd had my shock and survived. I went blithely on, doing things in whatever way appealed to me at the time. Some critters howled, but not all of them; some put up with my wicked ways and made suggestions that helped me get better. I got rejections, of course—still do—but the acceptances began to come in regularly.

I have not gotten rich. I am not famous. But I sure have had a lot of fun. And I've made a couple of hundred bucks, too.


About the Author
Carter Jefferson, once a naval officer, journalist, history professor, and psychotherapist, now teaches writing in U. Mass./Boston's Osher Lifelong Learning Institute. His stories and essays have appeared in T-Zero, The Hiss Quarterly, flashquake, and other e-zines, and his book reviews in the Washington Post and the Chicago Tribune.  He even sold one tale, hand-bound and illustrated, in an art gallery. Incidentally, he belongs to the Internet Writing Workshop, a venerable online critique group. His website: http://carterj.homestead.com/.


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Craft of Writing

Rhonda Eudaly

Getting Off the But

If you're a writer, someone usually has to tell you they also want to be a writer and asks about the rules. Invariably the answer is: "Apply butt to chair." That's the general rule of thumb for writing. Nike may have the trademark on the "Just do it" slogan, but it applies to so much more than shoes, sports, and fitness. It applies to everything in life, but most importantly, it applies to writing. Nothing ever gets written without someone actually sitting down and doing it.

What the most amazing thing, though, is that one of the smaller words in the English language is one of the biggest obstacle to the writing process, career, and lifestyle. It's the word, "but." Yes, with the one 't'. One of the most difficult things in the world standing in the way of applying butt to chair is getting around the but to the chair.

I'm admit I can be the Queen of Procrastination when I'm writing. Like many people, I do best with a deadline, but I also procrastinate more when I have a deadline. That's when the buts come into play. We've all had the following phrase go through our heads: "I should be writing 'X', but..."

For me the end of the above phrase is usually followed by something related to housekeeping. My house is never cleaner than when I have a serious deadline. Any other time, housekeeping is a lot lower on my priority list. Now I'm not a horrible slob, but I have my clutter. My shoes are usually in a pile and the bed isn't always made. The dishes tend to pile up and don't get me started on the dust bunnies.

However, despite the call of household chores, random pet needs, or errands that have to be run, we all have to make the conscious choice to put them aside and focus. Now, don't get me wrong, there are things that have to do be done that can't be put aside indefinitely—the dog does have to go out before it piddles on the carpet, kids and spouses do have to eat and go to various classes, etc.—but there are a lot of things we can and maybe should put aside to get the job done. And if you're really serious as a writer, you have to and will learn when the 'buts' get in the way of the chair and when they have to be ignored.

If you're one of the lucky ones, you have loved ones who understand and pick up the slack. If you're not, you really know the challenges of not letting the 'buts' get in the way. You also know when deadlines loom—whether self-imposed (which for writing material on spec is necessary) or for a submission closure—when to finally put aside the 'buts' and apply the butt to the chair to get the job done.

If there was a magical solution to avoiding the 'buts', I would be a very rich woman, but there aren't any magical solutions except "Just do it." It's like many of the become a millionaire schemes. It starts out with a "Decide to be and then do" or "It takes money to make money" (my personal favorite annoying trite comment). Well, guess what, it's true for writing. It takes writing to make a writer, and you have to decide to do it and then just do it.

Time management skills are different for everyone—whether it's a chart, or simply locking the door and putting on some headphones so you cut off from the world, or something in between. You have to find what works for you. For me, it's either getting the Plot Bunny idea that won't let go—usually when I should be working on something else—or the "threat" of a looming deadline scaring and spurring me into action. I'm at my best with a cut off date—for me it's a challenge to get it done early. However, if there's no pressing need to accomplish a piece by a certain time, then there's no pressure to finish and many things languish for that lack and never get done.

If you were hoping for a quick fix, I'm sorry, I wish I had one. But there is hope. There is help. Decide today that it's okay to tell the 'buts' to take a hike. You know, unless you're off to a job interview, a funeral, or some other special occasion requiring specific clothes, the laundry can wait for a couple hours or—gasp—even days until you get your piece written or in progress. The same for the dishes and dust bunnies. If there's another person in the house, maybe they can take out the trash or drive the kids to soccer practice.

It all comes down to Nike and "Just do it." You really can. And if you're serious about being a writer, you really have to. It's not an option. It's a requirement. If you're going to write, you have to dump the 'buts' and dump 'butts' in chairs.


About the Author
Rhonda Eudaly lives in Fort Worth, Texas where she's worked in offices, banking, radio, live sound production, and education, to support her writing habit and her cat, Dixon. She has a varied publication history in both fiction and non fiction.


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Birdie's Quill

Birdie

Tips to Activate Your Writing

Show don't tell. Writers hear this mantra from every direction. But what does it mean? It suggests the action has been watered down. It's no longer an image-producing, engaging story, but rather a passive telling of activities in your characters' lives. How does this happen? When non-specific, vague words slip into sentences supported by passive verbs, it manifests telling language.

Example: Many of the prisoners felt cheated which seemed absurd.

Identify Vague Words
In this example the word many doesn't paint an image. It's an indistinct word. Other such vague (and often used words) include: some, all, most, many, more, enough, several, fewest, fewer, few, very, really, good, a lot, and still. You can replace the word many with quite a number of these words and still not SEE a thing. Exchange many for a specific image-generating choice, and a picture flickers into focus: Thirty of the prisoners felt cheated.... Once you slip this sentence into context, thirty means something to the reader.

Unnecessary Words
The next word choice to note in the example sentence are the words of the. These unnecessary words do nothing to move the story along. A friend who helped me along in the early stages of my writing career referred to them as "wordy words." Of the doesn't show anything. The same is true for the word combinations of his and of her. Wordy words weaken the action. Eliminate them from the sentence and the action becomes stronger.

Example: Thirty prisoners felt cheated...

See the difference? The mental image generates thirty prisoners. Try putting "of the" into your find and replace tool and see how often it is hidden in your manuscript, sucking life from your prose.

Passive Verbs
Most writers fighting the show don't tell battle are quite familiar with the taboo use of the passive verb was and its weak cohorts is, was, are, had been, and have been. Those who visit this column regularly read repeated warnings to steer clear of these mines that stagnate action. But notice, we didn't use the verb was in our example. Instead the verb felt tries to camouflage passivity by pretending to be an active verb. But it's not. Consider the word felt equal with the verb was. Avoid it.

The word felt robs the action from the character and puts the story in the hands of a narrator who tells how the character feels. When you rewrite a sentence without the word felt, most often it requires more information. Why does the character feel the way they do? Why did the prisoners feel cheated? And, what do they do about how they feel? Actions show feeling.

Example: Thirty prisoners cheated of their recreation time started a food fight.

Eliminating the word felt changes the flavor of this sentence. It's no longer telling us what the prisoners feel. Instead, the new verbiage paints a picture. You might even slip in an adjective—not always, but sometimes to produce a clearer image.

Example: Thirty angry prisoners cheated of their recreation time started a food fight.

Once the passive language is removed the rest of the original sentence no longer applies. "...which seemed absurd." Who did it seem absurd to? When making changes, watch for POV switches like this one.

While we're here, let's take a look at the word seem. This is another word that dries up the action. If a character seems to be happy—it tells the reader information. Instead, show them smiling, dancing, laughing, joking, skipping—choose active words.

A Glitch in the Action
Now back to our example: Thirty angry prisoners cheated of their recreation time started a food fight.

That's better. But the word started is another user-beware word. It reminds me of a glitch in a DVD when the action pauses. Do you see started? Instead of telling the reader someone started to walk away. Show the character walk away. Instead of a character starting to cry—show tears pooling, or brimming—something visual. The word began is no different. If the "character began to laugh," it's not the same as the "character threw his head back and laughed." One tells and the other shows.

Example: Thirty angry prisoners cheated of their recreation time planned a distraction—a food fight. Mash potatoes hurtled above the black and white clad prisoners and slapped the guard on the side of his face.

Oh, now that's much better—except the of his slipped in there. What's another way to say "on the side of his face"? A more specific word choice?

Example: Mash potatoes hurtled above the black and white clad prisoners, slapped the guard's cheek and dropped onto his blue uniform shirt like a large bird dropping.

Sensory Verbs
When writing to show and not tell, include the five senses. In my book Pumping Your Muse exercises train writers to pay attention to the world around them to learn how to add a realistic balance of sensory information in their writing. How often do you take notice of an aroma, scent or odor? How about small background noises? What backdrop do noises create in the scene?

Example: Thirty angry prisoners cheated of their recreation time planned a distraction—a food fight. A little something to let the guards know, one way or another, they'd have their fun. The mess hall filled with black and white clad, un-showered men sitting shoulder to shoulder on benches bolted to the floor. Mash potatoes hurtled through the air, slapped the guard's cheek and dropped onto his blue uniform shirt like a large bird dropping. The men stuffed food into hidden smiles, not missing a beat. The guard smeared potatoes across his shirt and flung the paste to the floor.

Every eye cast downward left the guard at a loss as he eyed the feeding inmates. Forks scraped across plastic dinner trays. The guard walked the rows deliberately, right hand on the club in his belt. The repeated clacking and scraping of silverware mingled with his footfalls.

Eliminate Redundancy
Before we go any further, let me remind you to avoid the distraction of redundancy. It breaks the flow; pace stumbles to regain momentum. In the example above, "Every eye cast downward" and "at a loss as he eyed" brings up the fact that sometimes a noun and a verb form redundancy. Even though I liked the verb eyed—I needed to change it. Tools such as a thesaurus or One Look Reverse Dictionary aid in finding specific, active verbs. I typed in the word "eyed" and One Look offered 213 choices. Not all the alternatives were appropriate, but I settled on the word scrutinized.

Scraped and scraping presented another redundancy. One Look didn't offer an easy solution, so I turned to Thesaurus.com and chose the active verb "grating" from the selections offered.

One last redundancy that needs addressing is the use of the article "the" at the start of two sentences in a row. In this case, rearranging the information takes care of the problem. In the process, I also eliminate the "of."

Example: Forks scraped plastic dinner trays. The guard walked the rows deliberately, right hand resting on the club in his belt. His footfalls mingled with the silverware's repeated clacking and grating.

Choose Active Verbs
In closing, remember—choose active verbs. Watch for signs leading to passive pitfalls. Words like could, noticed, can, will, or heard redirect the action and lose it. For example, "He could hear the footsteps echoing in the hall." This tells that the character could hear. That's not the desired focus.

Instead of "could hear" slice the sentence to the action. What does he hear? Footsteps echoing in the hall. That's the crux. Footsteps echoed in the hall. This is the POV character's experience. He could hear is implied—readers don't need to be told. "Echoed" is a specific verb. It shades the experience with dimension. The verb not only shows someone approaching, but offers other information like the fact that the hall is not carpeted

Editors don't want you to just tell the story; instead they challenge writers to step up to today's standards—to create action with verbs that depict images. Even the best narration doesn't hold a reader's attention for long. Who would go to a movie with no picture—just an interesting voice over. That's the difference? Active verbs show the story like a projector.

Finding the right verb is probably number one in ridding your writing of passive telling language. Discover a specific verb and by its nature it eradicates passive language lingering nearby.


About the Author
Author and freelance writer, Donna Sundblad, resides in Georgia with her husband, Rick. Together, they are working on a budgeting book that will be out in electronic format by early 2007. Donna serves as the Fantasy Topic Editor at Inspired Author, and her books, Pumping Your Muse and Windwalker are available in paper or ebook formats at epress-online.com. Check her website for more information at www.theinkslinger.net.


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Book Review

by Donna Sundblad

Todd A. Stone
Novelist's Boot Camp (Hardcover)
101 Ways to Take Your Book From Boring to Bestseller
ISBN: 978-1-58297-360-9
Page Count: 309

Ready to take on the challenge of writing a novel? Don't think you have the time? Novelist's Boot Camp may be just the book to help you over the hurdle. It equips aspiring novelists with unique, step-by-step drills that apply novel writing techniques. Within his boot camp theme, Stone trains writers (who he refers to as recruits) how to define and also show character and story objectives. When comparing fiction writing to a battle plan, Stone says, "Objectives play [...] an important role in fiction; without them, there would be no story."

Exercises found in this book challenge recruits to be better writers. Stone's stated purpose in writing this how-to manual is for his readers to produce a quality first draft. His book lets writers start from scratch, takes them through development and marches them into the drafting phase. He breaks down each drill into smaller steps, such as his five steps to establish character relationships. In this process he demonstrates how to start conflict keep it going and how to end it.

Military drill sergeants tell trainees to forget what they knew before they came into the service, and Stone does the same. Reading this book changes a writer. If you lean toward procrastination, you'll find no mercy here. Goal-oriented elements thread throughout these exercises. Drills require commitment and offer the mental discipline needed to complete a novel. His no excuse stance also addresses learning how to schedule deadlines to fit life's other responsibilities.

Once the writer completes a draft, Stone's exercises show how to cut, rework and improve for a finished manuscript. If you're ready to make writing a novel a reality in your life, it's time to sign up for Novelist's Boot Camp.


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Fiction Short Story

by Maureen Green

Clean as a Whistle

"J-i-m-my, the dunny's overflowing!" Aunt Nell shrilled.

Eleven of us, flounder-spears poised as we waded in the low tide at the mouth of the estuary, looked to one another and raised our eyebrows. The recipient on many occasions of that tone of voice, I knew Aunt Nell had lost her cool.

"Trouble!" I shouted. "Come on!"

My cousins and I cast our spears aside, grabbed the toddler's hands and charged towards the cliff face.

My feet working like pistons and toes curled to gain purchase I scrambled up the bank towards the bach perched on a headland separating the Pacific Ocean from the tidal estuary. Eyes glowing with anticipation I flattened onto the bank, nestled my head on my hands and watched.

Arms akimbo, Aunt Nell tilted her head skyward and yelled, "J-i-m-m-yyyy! Where are you?"

Moments later, his trilby perched on his bald head and his pipe drooping from his lips, Uncle Jim sauntered around the corner of the bach. He was a short wiry man in his late fifties, placid and good humoured. His trousers, secured around his waist with a piece of rope, hung on him like a sack. His bush shirt, unbuttoned and tail out, hung to his knees. Aunt gasped and her eyes stood out on stalks. "G-o-d," she blurted stepping back several paces, "J-i-m-m-m-yyy! You look like a ... a bum!"

Ignoring her insult Uncle cocked his head to one side and raised his brow in questioning pose. "You called?"

Pointing at the wooden shed housing the long-drop, the only one in the entire area, Aunt’s nose wrinkled as if in disgust. Her voice rose higher and higher up the chromatic scale and louder and louder as she emphasising each word she announced, "Full to the brim.”

"That so," replied Uncle, tilting his sweat stained hat back on his head and scratching his bald pate.

"Well, Jimmy, what ya gonna do?"

Uncle stroked around his chin and mouth in a circular motion with the palm of his hand for some moments before speaking. "Long-drops aren't supposed to fill. The stuff's supposed to decompose," he said in an unhurried, unflustered manner which I admired.

Aunt just glared at him. After moments of silence Uncle Jim hefted an old beer crate onto his shoulders. He opened the shed door—swung it wide to let in the light—entered the toilet, stood on the box and looked down into the hole.

"Mostly paper," he commented as he emerged from the shed.

"I told you we wouldn't cope with this crowd," Aunt Nell said, her voice filled with truculence and waving her arms in the direction of the tents huddled around the bach. The McKinlay bach around which the families in the remote seaside resort had gathered to celebrate Great-Gran's hundredth, boasted the only long-drop in the area.

"Worry wart," Uncle chortled as he tampered tobacco into his pipe and fished an antique match-holder from his pocket. Selecting a redhead, he scratched it along the sole of his boot, cradled the pipe bowl in his cupped hands, placed the flame to the tobacco and sucked and sucked until it glowed.

I sucked in and out with him and counted how many drawn in breaths it took for the tobacco to glow. ... Seven, eight, nine ... bingo! I said half-out loud.

"J-i-m-my, what you gonna do about that?" Aunt railed as she pointed a finger in the direction of the long-drop.

"Shush woman, I'm thinking," Uncle drawled between puffs as he up-ended the crate lying on the ground, planted his behind on it and sat smoking his pipe.

Aunt Nell stood with her hands on her hips and tapped her foot on the cobblestones. She glowered and towered over Uncle. "Haven't got all day; something has to be done before the others arrive," she snarled.

Uncle Jim sucked hard on his old pipe, blew smoke rings into the air, winked in my direction and watched the smoke float until it dissipated. "No need to fuss, woman; clear it in no time," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"How?" Aunt demanded.

"Leave it to me, woman," Uncle Jim responded.

Aunt turned and stamped off. "Can't hang about all day waiting for you; I've work to do," she flung over her shoulder.

What's he going to do? I thought. Whananaki is accessible only by driving along the beach at low tide. There is no night-cart collection and pump-trucks can't reach the southern headland.

Uncle straightened. He lit a match and watched it burn down to his fingers. Then, he lit another and smiled.

"You decided yet?" Aunt Nell called from the porch of the bach—the adult's haven from all the kids.

"Burn the stuff," Uncle replied as he fashioned a taper. "I read that the Italians incinerate their waste."

"Oh God! ... No!" Little Jim, my older cousin, of fourteen, gasped.

"What?" I asked.

"Methane!”

"What about methane?"

"It's a flammable gas." Little Jim always used posh words.

"Yeah?" I said, thinking, methane's the smell in the toilet like compost and a cow's belch from front and back. "So?"

"Boom!" he said biting his knuckles. "The bloody stuff ignites around flame."

He heaved himself over the lip of the bank and started forward. I sucked in hard. Eyes bugging in my head, I watched as Uncle knocked the ash from his pipe-bowl, and, lighted taper in hand, entered the toilet.

"No! Dad! Stop!" Little Jim shouted as he raced towards the building.

Suddenly a mighty explosion rent the air. The ground rippled under my body and I was showered with sand. The little ones whimpered and began to cry. My eyes widened in horror as Little Jim catapulted into the air—flew like a bird—over the bank and landed with a mighty thud on the sandy beach below. Then a gurgling whoosh drew my attention back to the toilet. A geyser of liquid surged through the roof balancing the tin atop as it gushed skyward. The walls folded out in slow motion and flattened on the ground.

Oh God! I thought as I bit back a cry that turned to a chortle at the sight before me.

Uncle, his hat rammed down to his ears, the crown, popped open like a tin-can lid stood all but naked. Only his underpants remained on his body. A brownish liquid formed little rivulet's as it trickled down his body to pool at his feet. Uncle just stood there, a grin plastered from ear to ear on his face.

"Are you alright, Uncle?" I shouted from the safety of the bank.

"Yeah," he drawled, his eyes glowing from his blackened face.

He bent, splayed his hands on the still intact wooden bench and stared down the long-drop hole. "Marvellous—clean as a whistle," he called triumphantly. "Those Italians know something—burning works like a charm!"


About the Author
Maureen Green lives in Auckland, New Zealand's largest city, but commutes regularly to the far North where she was born. Several of her short stories have been published in America and England. She is currently working on an anthology of works a teen novel based on an Arthurian legend. Consequences, her first novel is about to be launched on the literary road site.


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Fiction Short Story

by Clare Kirwan

Eye Contact

'I want a full description,' he insists.

'You mean what I look like? How will you know?'

'I wasn't always blind.'

It taxes my powers of description. I'm losing my words lately, my vocabulary falling away like the withered October leaves outside. My life is on a downward spiral now - falling apart slowly. Forty years of thinking you are indestructible, forty more of lingering destruction. That's how it seems from here on the cusp.

But who am I to complain? Adam makes me feel ashamed of my grumbling, the way he just gets on with it even though he has to squint at something from a distance of about a millimetre to see it at all. I sit across the desk and so he's never seen me—we're not that close. Except that I've just come round to his side for more paper, and somehow we got onto the subject.

'I'm not a pretty sight,' I say.

He laughs and looks in my vague direction, and even though I know we're not making eye contact really, it feels as though we are and I probably blush a little but he's not to know that. I'm glad the others are out to lunch.

We were all scared when Adam got the job, not knowing if he would cope, or if we would. But he had arrived with unexpected energy and confidence, turning the office around on itself, challenging and chatting, a big man with the open face of a child. He's the kind of person that lifts a room when he walks into it, and you with it.

He drums his fingers impatiently against each other the way he always does; big firm hands, nails bitten to the quick. He hasn't been with us very long, but already his habits are familiar. He's waiting for a real answer.

'Well, my face is longer than it's round, not a classical shape.'

I'm supposed to be better than this. I can come up with a good line in thirty seconds on a good day—queen of the witty riposte. That's what he likes about me. What else is to like?

'Come on, Ms Taylor.' He always calls me that. He used to have a girlfriend called Anne. He never calls me Anne.

'Why does it matter so much, Mr Shaw?' I respond in kind, but he's always Adam in my head. It feels very intimate suddenly, to be alone in the office with him.

'I just want to get an idea, that's all.'

'Well I'm not sure I'm ready to divulge this information.'

'You're discriminating against me!' Damn. I knew he'd do that. He's fiercely independent and likes to joke about other people's political correctness, but he isn't averse to resorting to it himself sometimes. He told me once that people always offer him seats on buses, as though there was something wrong with his legs.

'And I always accept!' he'd said. 'It'd be churlish not to!'

It had conjured up a picture of little old ladies with varicose veins clinging to the hand rail while he sits there, the picture of health and manliness, folding his white stick away and beaming up in the general direction of his embarrassed co-passengers.

But I refuse to be embarrassed. I know it's just a game for him.

'I could tell you anything,' I say to him slyly.

'Why would you do that?'

He's got me here. Why would I?

'Okay, just teasing,' I come back at him, a bit too quickly—because it's on the tip of my tongue to tell him exactly why, but I'm holding that back the same way I'm holding back the invitation to just have a feel for himself. 'And I'm spotty, even though that's supposed to stop after your teens.'

'Too many cakes!' he interrupts with great authority.

'If you're going to keep butting in …'

He holds up his hands, smiling that smile again, the one that gets me somewhere at the base of my stomach. I tell myself I don't want it to feel like that, but if that were true, why am I always trying to make him smile? It doesn't mean anything. It isn't important. That's the good thing about getting older—nothing is quite so desperate any more. You can like someone from a distance without it taking over your life, without having to do anything about it. You can flirt and know exactly how far to go and when to stop. You know that no-one can ever really get under your skin any more and no-one is going to hurt you. You're more in control.

'I'm hairier than I ought to be, but I can't be bothered to do anything about it.' I'm rabbitting on now, uncomfortably aware there's something a bit dangerous about the word 'hairy'. I bite my lip. 'and there are monkey lines.'

'Monkey lines?'

'You know, around the mouth, sort of circling it. But the teeth aren't monkey—they're more horse. And the nose is just a blob, really. And that's it. Happy?'

I walk away, half-wanting him to reach out and touch my hand and tell me none of it matters. But he doesn't. I go back round the desk and get on with the next invoice and he puts his headphones back on so he can hear what he's writing. And sometimes I think he's looking across at me but really it's just the way he's holding his head and the direction he's facing that give that impression.

We're both old enough to know not to start anything here. Not at work. Not when anyone you've ever been with has become part of the accruing damage and part of what makes you so fragile. It's better not to get involved, to go home to your own flat, stuff your spotty, monkey face and curl up with some romantic movie—too far removed from real life to make you cry for long.

'Are you on the phone?' he asks, suddenly. He always asks that. We forget sometimes, and it's only questions like that that make us remember.

'No.'

'I forgot to ask. What about your eyes?'

'What about them?'

My eyes are my best feature. Everyone says that. The windows to the soul. I feel the adjectives returning. My eyes are the part of me that I feel best about. They can be warm and laughing and sexy, they can be sorrowful, compassionate. Open those windows and everything else comes rushing out—intelligence, comprehension, passion even. And all the time lately, they're fixed in one direction and he probably doesn't even know it.

'Tell me about your eyes.'

'They're brown.' I say.


About the Author
Clare Kirwan is a writer and performance poet based in Merseyside in the UK. She is active in Liverpool's Dead Good Poets Society and has won various prizes including Liverpool's Slam Contest in 2005. She has worked in many places, amongst which are a bank, a glue factory, an eco centre, and a newspaper, but insists this was all just 'research.' Her website is: www.clarekirwan.com.


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

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Poetics Presents

P. J. Bromfield

P. J. Bromfield lives in Oakland, California with her wise and inspirational father. She's finishing her first novel The Goddess and the Poet.

Untitled

The wave, the tide,
the convergence
of sound and will,
a medium tainted
by memory,
the span of time
is a whispering,
ageless sea.

This creature
called Life
floats upon it
and battered by wind,
meteor and desire,
slides in and out
of every wave,
and plays with all molecules
to find no answers,
only being.

Watching, waiting,
wondering, being.

Copyright ©2006 by P. J. Bromfield




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

The Writer's E-Zine Home

Writers' Village University - F2K: Free Fiction Writing Course - ePress-online
Writers' Village University Membership Information

Poetics Presents

Kristine Ong Muslim

Kristine Ong Muslim has more than three hundred stories and poems published/forthcoming in mostly genre professional and small press magazines and anthologies. Some of her mainstream publication credits include poetry in The Pedestal Magazine, Free Verse, Jones Av, The Journal, Bleeding Quill, and many other publications.

Carve

Once soft, the nails you hammer
to keep the windowpanes in place
must, at least, resemble eyes to
make up for the years you have spent
trying to be more blind than usual.

Dust makes
everything lifelike.

On the window glass, it is always
obvious where dirt gravitates.
You simply love round windows,
believing that the only purpose of
strange geometries is to distract you

Copyright ©2006 by Kristine Ong Muslim




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

The Writer's E-Zine Home

Writers' Village University - F2K: Free Fiction Writing Course - ePress-online
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Submissions Guidelines (Updated)

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

What We Pay For

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What We Publish

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

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

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

What We Won't Publish

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

Simultaneous submissions.

Material that has appeared elsewhere (reprints).

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

Length Recommendations

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

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

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

Rights

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

Formats We Will Accept

Plain text in the body of an email.

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

  • Underlining is used exclusively for links in HTML. Please do not underline in your manuscript. It you are including a link to a webpage for reference, please mark the link the following way: (WEB LINK) http://thewritersezine.com (END WEB LINK).
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  • 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