T-zero Xpandizine
The Writer's E-Zine

 

Produced and published by the members of Writers' Village University since 1998    ISSN 1521-2639       
17 May 2012
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ePress Update

Margaret I. Carr

Coming this month at ePress (ePress Annex)

  • Microsoft Reader (®) version of Tom Spencer's Word Castles. Now you have a choice of formats in which to read Tom's wonderful poetry.

  • Additional purchasing methods. We are adding PayPal and a printable Order Form for snail mail orders.

The Annex!

Every so often I run across a book that makes me wish we'd published it. Lida E. Quillen's Practical Tips for Online Authors (see Review in this issue) is my latest discovery. This time, however, the author suggested we might like to distribute it. This was an offer we couldn't refuse!

The Annex will include books published by other publishers that follow our guidelines of writers helping writers. We are proud to begin this venture with Practical Tips for Online Authors.

Next Month at ePress

Nancy Hendrickson's How To Make Money Writing for Niche Markets, second edition, will begin our own line of practical books about writing, by writers for writers.

In the Works at ePress

suz Farmer's Samantha the Duck, written and illustrated by suz, will be our next Showcase book. Samantha the Duck is a delightful children's story. We are working on adding a Read To Me component to this book.

We are exploring the possibility of providing some of our books for pda's.

eBooklets on specific writing topics should be available before the year is out. The first topic being considered is Manuscript Preparation.

Watch this column for future updates on ePress.

ePress Annex
ePress, Publishing BY writers FOR writers


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Craft Book Review

Margaret I. Carr

Practical Tips for Online Authors by Lida E. Quillen
Published by Twilight Times Books
http://www.twilighttimesbooks.com/practical_tips.html

Now available from ePress-Online.com ANNEX
http://www.epress-online.com/annex/annex.htm

My hard drive is a disorganized mess. I try to separate files into appropriate folders but somehow it gets away from me. Even worse are my Favorites/Bookmarks. Oh, I have lots and lots of folders and I try to put new entries in appropriate folders, when I'm not in too much of a hurry. I even try, sporadically, to go through and do some organizing. Ugh! Organizing! I don't want to spend hours and hours sorting, checking and moving marks around.

What I really want is someone to do it for me!

Someone has, at least for the writing, publishing, promotion and related topics. In Lida E. Quillen's Practical Tips for Online Authors includes over a thousand links to topics irresistible to any writer. She's verified all the links and also provides updates twice a year. Purchasers are entitled to any updates that are published within one year of purchase date.

It isn't just lists of urls. Each section includes the practical tips referred to in the title but they could just as well have been in a print book. The beautifully organized collection of urls could not! With the speed the Internet changes half would be outdated before going to press and, even worse, you'd have to type each one in online instead of click and go as you can do with an e-book. The author recommends the Word97(®) version for easiest clicking. I'm adding comments to my copy as I go. Now that's Interactive publishing!

Take a look at the Table of Contents. Whatever your question is you should find some good leads. Meanwhile, excuse me, I have some serious clicking to do.

Practical Tips for Online Authors

Table of Contents
Chapter One: Get your story published in an ezine
    Markets, Research
Chapter Two: Web design
    Section A: Create an online magazine
    Promo, Resources

Section B: Build an author web page
    Free Author Web Pages, Resources, Web Site Promo
Chapter Three: Create an email newsletter
    Promo, Resources
Chapter Four: Market your novels online
    Guide to Query Letters, Ebook Publishers, Promo, Publicity, Resources
Chapter Five: Promo tips from published authors
    Promo sites, Publicity, Resources
Chapter Six: E-authors talk about e-publishing
    Links, Promo, Resources
Chapter Seven: Self-publish your books
    Promo, Publicity, Research, Resources, Web sites that will list your books
Chapter Eight: Find paying jobs online
    Resources
Chapter Nine: Research on the net
    General Research, Research Topics
Chapter Ten: Locate writers' resources
    Email lists, General, Genre, Markets, Online Communities, Poetry, Professional Organizations

Appendix A: Readers
Appendix B: Mostly for Women
Appendix C: Recommended Reading for Writers
Appendix D: Definition of Terms

For availability see ePress Announcements in this issue.


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Drabble Corner The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Drabble Corner

Michelle Swisz

This month's Drabble epitomizes our August theme, "Ready or Not," such that it's in a class by itself. I think you'll see exactly what I mean. Here is, by Frank Bales:

Do You Know What It's Like To Be So Afraid You Can't Close Your Eyes?
by Frank Bales

So afraid that your body is constantly tense; in a cold sweat you notice most on your ass because you've never felt it there before? Your mouth becomes dry as powder, and hands seek something to grasp even if it's just the other hand. Your mind is racing, knowing death is near, yet unable to comprehend that you really will die; trying to figure out a way of escape when you know there isn't one. Smelling death as it approaches; hearing that nothingness beyond the violence that will end your life. Feeling death's presence as it reaches out for you.

Thanks for all the great input this month! I'm still confused ("Confusion" is our theme for September). My life as a person in the midst of a divorce, in new surroundings and circumstances, is a deck of cards thrown aloft but not landed anywhere (that I recognize, anyway). Shall we do another Confusion month? No, we'd better move on; I may be this way for some time yet.

But if one has to accept this state, as a universal human state and as a necessary precursor to the new, maybe there is a way to look at it that can make it feel less anxiety-generating. It sounds crazy, but . . . gratitude, maybe? And gratitude for what, exactly? Our annoyances seem to keep tapping us on the shoulder until we acknowledge and address them. If the tapping doesn't work, the process goes on until something does work; we're felled and forced to pay attention if we want to continue. The baby cries until fed, the back hurts until cared for. Whatever annoys us, maybe there's something to listen to there. A message, telling us what we need, exclusively for us. Instead of ignoring the message until we're forced to listen to it, what if we tried to stop covering our ears in our overwhelmed state, to slow down and receptively listen to it? That message works for our benefit, and so it naturally elicits gratitude, when we can and do finally listen receptively to it and hear it. We'd be dead many times over if it weren't for some of those shoulder taps! But what if we can appreciate that message at one of those first taps on the shoulder, instead of sometimes covering our ears until it's too loud and rough to ignore; confusion turned to anxiety, then to misfortune? Maybe gratitude for that message, in advance of knowing what it contains, might help the process of opening up to it and hearing it more clearly.

So here is a theme for October: Gratitude, single or double (200 words) Drabble. See you next month.

Michelle


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Fiction Corner

Alison Hawke

Quality Control

I studied Total Quality Management (TQM) at university. The idea was that you tested your quality at all stages of the manufacturing process. Defects were weeded out early, resulting in a higher yield of flawless widgets. I like the idea a lot and I think it applies to writing too.

I like rewriting. I don't like people to see my work unless I've been over it thoroughly with a red pen to catch the defects. This article will probably go through three drafts before it gets to you. The reason I'm saying this is because I've been reading a lot of less-than-perfect fiction online, and with a few tweaks, a little quality control, it could have been pretty good fiction.

Spelling

Spell-checking software is a gift from God. Unfortunately, it's not infallible. I have a long list of words I've added to my dictionary. Many words I use regularly just weren't there. The suggestions it offers are usually useful, except when you're writing about an alien species called Magog and the program insists on renaming them Maggot or Mango. There is no substitute for printing the story out and going over it by hand. It is harder for our eyes to read off the screen, I've found glaring errors on paper that I missed several times reading through on the monitor.

"Stop!!!!" she exclaimed!

I believe multiple exclamation marks are unnecessary, and that a tidy desk is the sign of a diseased mind. If you have to use multiple exclamation marks, perhaps the dialogue needs changing to reinforce the need for them. If you used an exclamation mark, you don't have to hit your reader over the head with another one, or point out that you used one by saying "he exclaimed." Every word, every punctuation mark, every paragraph should contribute to the story. If you have something there just to take up space and increase the word count, take it out.

His purple and yellow striped shoelaces trailed behind him...

You need to give some description of your characters, and that description should tell you something about the person. Don't describe everything they're wearing, or every facial feature, just give enough for the reader to get a glimpse of the character. If your character is a neat freak, you could mention that every paper on her desk is perfectly aligned at right angles to the edge of the desk, pens are segregated by colour and size, and that the waste bin is always empty. If your character is a computer geek, you could mention the stack of Mountain Dew cans arranged in a pyramid above the desk, the headphones permanently connected to the computer, and the piles of paper with scrawled pieces of code all over them. What would it say about a character if he had a pair of inline skates leaning against his desk? Does she have a picture on the wall painted by her four-year-old son? People customise their environment and you can make use of this.

Lots of repetition, repeated several times.

It is perfectly fine to use "said" a lot. We read it so much it is almost invisible to us. This is the only word I can think of that you can safely repeat in a story. Stephen King, Isaac Asimov and Sue Grafton use the word "said" a lot.

However, reading the same thing over several times is boring. If you always mention a character's shoes every time we see him, we'll get bored very quickly. If someone always says the same thing, we won't want to see her at all. I try not to use the same word twice in a paragraph, for example, "appeared" can be replaced with "arrived," or "emerged." There are an awful lot of words in the English language, thesauruses are very useful books.

So before you send something out of the door, do a little quality control.


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Fiction Short Story

Phillipa Medley lives in South Africa and is currently taking fiction-writing courses over the Internet with Writers' Village University. She first started experimenting with the craft of writing in June 2000.

To date, she has received one published credit, a poem titled "Stale Popcorn," appearing in the January 2001 issue of the magazine publication called Beginnings.

Arms Wide Open

By Phillipa Medley

I did not find it unusual waking up next to a stranger. From time to time, mother put her strays in the spare bed next to mine. Their faces were seldom visible. Sometimes only groans would emerge from beneath the shelter of the blankets, especially after one of mother’s notorious parties. Returning from the farmlands at the end of my day, I would find no trace of the needy overnight guest in my room apart from a faint clue of perfume.

"Who was she?" I asked mother.

"Someone in pain," she replied, which could mean a visitor suffering from a night of debauchery, or some other kind of agony; the symptoms varied. Seldom were the details of the fleeting fugitives revealed, or those of mother's other cases, unless an emergency cropped up and my assistance was necessary.

"Rocco," she called, "Mrs Bligh has taken an overdose and I need strong arms." We would hurtle off and deliver the patient to the Nervous Disorders Hospital.

"Why don’t you just ring an ambulance?" I said. "She does this so frequently."

"If you were about to take your last breath on this earth, would you want to look into the eyes of a stranger?" she said. I found no reply.

When Mrs Pierce felt depressed, mother expected me to recite poetry to the aged elocution teacher. "Stay away from Sylvia Plath and Emily Dickinson. A sonnet or two will suffice," warned mother. Mrs Pierce teased her hair into startled wisps and wore orange lipstick that sometimes missed its mark. After my rendition, she would shout "Magnificent!" and gasp, clasping to her mouth a handkerchief that had seen better days. Mrs Pierce then returned to contemplating the golden moments from her heyday in the theatre.

Regular visitors came to the farm. Mrs Welfit arrived on Tuesdays clutching a bottle of gin in a brown paper bag. I sighed, anticipating a long night and prepared myself for the lyrics of Leonard Cohen, which I could sing in my sleep. Mother rang her silver bell, a signal for me to deliver fresh ice.

Mrs Welfit would enthuse in a throaty voice, her vocal cords the victims of too many cigarettes, "Thank you darling, such a sweet boy," and cup my chin and wink at me. At 25, I was no longer a boy. Mother would nod, a cue for me to exit, allowing them to continue their departure from reality.

Mrs Bryan was easier. She was fond of wearing capes decorated with exotic patterns that I found fascinating. Sometimes she would weave unsteadily along the rough path from the house to the stables and question me about my horses.

"Are those breeding mares?" She once asked, waving in the direction of one of the paddocks.

"Yes." I replied.

"Don’t let the stallion be too hard on them, Rocco." She said and handed me a large packet of sugar cubes. "This should make them feel better."

She and mother would sit on the veranda and focus their mental energy on staring fixedly at the sky, as if attempting to disperse clouds. Mrs Bryan had an interest in Eastern religions and felt her meditation efforts were given a boost if she stripped down to her underwear, in which case I was expected to stay out of sight. Occasionally I would hear her wail, indicating a sharp decline in the contents of her bottle of whisky.

One morning I awoke to find a new fugitive and I could see her face. Her hair was the colour of champagne. I would like to kiss that mouth, I thought, shocked by my desire. Quickly, I suppressed my lust. Our home was supposedly a haven for emotionally wounded women, free of predatory men.

She spoke. "Don’t be shy. My name is Fleur and I know you are not asleep."

"What are you writing?" I asked.

"I’m sending a postcard to my dog, I miss her. You get up first, I promise not to look."

I fled to find mother. She anticipated my protest. "Sorry darling, last night was hectic and I had nowhere else to put her. She is closer to your age than I thought and I’ll move her to the front room."

"How long will she be staying?" I said.

"Her husband is a mean swine, and she needs time to think. I have said enough. Rocco, I know you will be a perfect gentleman while she is here."

I tried. My hours training horses at the stables grew longer. I schooled my favourite horse, Farah, asking more of her than was fair. Thoughts of Fleur visited unannounced and languished like a song unbidden looping persistently in my mind. I wondered about her mean husband, concluding that although my stolen glimpses of her body indicated no marks there are many other ways in this world to be mean. When he telephoned, Fleur would request an urgent conference with mother behind closed doors. I was not in the habit of eavesdropping, but the sound of her sadness drew me to the door leaving me frustrated that we could not offer more than just the shield of comfort.

Despite my evasion, Fleur sought my company. "Run with me," she asked. Perhaps she imagined she could run away from her pain. To avoid the sight of her beautiful legs, I jogged in front, worried, for an enemy may choose to strike from behind, and I could not protect her, but then I reasoned that she could already see her foe.

She liked to groom Farah's chestnut coat into a shine until it flirted with the sun.

"You’re special." I heard her whisper to the horse. Her glances of green sparkled as she persuaded me to laughter. When her fingers chose to toy with my hair or banish sweat from my face, I swallowed my torture, like the stomach of a boxer absorbing repeated blows. Her questions were direct and simple.

"Why are the swallows flying so high today?"

"A sign that it may rain."

"Do you want to be anywhere else but here?"

"No," I said "it is better here than out there."

Fleur’s husband was wearing her down. I knew the signs, having seen resolve falter many times in the eyes of other damaged foundlings. She took to staring at the sky beside Mrs Bryan, looking for answers in the clouds. In an effort to cheer her up, Mrs Welfit plied Fleur with copious amounts of gin and taught her how to puff on imported cigars.

My horse Farah became ill, diverting my attention from the tormented Fleur. Two nights passed before her voice called me to the entrance of the stables.

"Rocco, will Farah live or die?" she said.

"She will live."

"Then I would like to see her." We walked toward Farah's stable, but her right hand blocked my thigh from completing its stride. I was surprised by her strength and unprepared for the precise intuition of her body. Her mouth smoothed the inexperience of my clumsy responses and her voice was my coach.

Of course, she was gone in the morning. Mother was tight-lipped about her farewell.

"Tell me where," I pleaded.

"One can only surmise, sometimes they do let me know. What is important, Rocco, is to keep our arms wide open."

Then I did the right thing, I thought, but with more than my arms. We continued with our work, offering respite to weary travellers ambushed by sorrow. After a time I received a postcard from Fleur, addressed to my horse, Farah, bearing a brief message.

"I hope you and your master are well."

Copyright © 2001 Phillipa Medley


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Fiction Short Story

Billy Bob Comes to Dinner

By Grady Kirbo

What a day. The sun burned off the fog early and was shining bright. There was a soft breeze blowing that made the heat bearable long as you had a glass of iced tea in your hands.

Grandmother Kate had invited Billy Bob Thorton over to supper on account of all of the hard work he did around the place for next to nothing. It was the least she could do. She started to cook about two in the afternoon for the occasion.

The supper was suppose to be no big thing but Kate saw it different. Billy Bob was to be treated like the preacher come over for Sunday dinner. Although Archie Lee frowned at all the preparations he kept his mouth shut. He knew when he was outgunned and this was one of those times. There was no way to dampen Grandmother's spirits when she was fixin' for company.

Supper took on the looks of itself about six o'clock. There was fatback, black-eyed peas, cornbread, greens boiled with bacon bits, roast beef and biscuits with honey and gravy. There was also a generous helping of fried okra and a stack of fresh corn to be buttered up. To top it all off there was coffee and a large blueberry pie that went with a helping of homemade ice cream that us younguns had cranked up in the ice cream maker that afternoon and put into the ice box for safekeeping away from the hungry folks who had been smelling the fixin's all day long. Granddaddy Archie Lee also bought a little white lightning that he hid in his hollowed-out waking cane. Wouldn't do to have company and not be able to offer them a snort of Uncle Joe's shine.

Billy Bob showed up at six-thirty like he was told. He and Archie Lee sat rocking on the front porch dippin' into the shine while Kate got the table set and the good silver out of the box. Then at long last it was time to eat. We was all so damn hungry by then we would have eaten anything, much less a sumptuous meal like the one that was laid before our eyes on company-come-for-supper occasions. Billy Bob was dressed in his Sunday clothes. He wanted to honor Grandmother Kate as best he could for having him over. He was hill folk though and he put his napkin in his shirt collar to protect his shirt and tie from drippings. First though was the blessing. Then after a good showing of reverence for the Lord, we went after the food that sat there in glory.

There is nothing like the sense of contentment in a meal well put on. We all stuffed ourselves with the fixin's till we were about to bust open. Then after pie we all settled back to hear Billy Bob tell us a story of his life on the road as a hobo. He told a good one too.

Billy Bob told us the story of the Scottsboro Boys. Seems like he was on the train bumming with several Negroes. He knew them all from riding around the south. They were like family to Billy. Seems though they made acquaintances with a white girl who was riding the trains on a lark to make her parents mad and to get their goat. When they got to Scottsboro she got off the train and told the police that the colored boys had raped her.

Well you never seen the likes of the uproar this caused. The sheriff and deputies came out to the hobo yard and found the boys that had been accused and hauled them off to jail to stand trial. Billy Bob knew they hadn't done it, and said so, but to no avail. Every one of them boys, all six of them, were tried and convicted and got sentences from a low of twelve years to twenty years for most of them. Never you mind that they were innocent. Just a white girl sayin' they had done the deed was enough for the sheriff and the jury back in those days. Proof enough.

Years later a writer fellow from up north came down and found the proof they were innocent and presented the case to the circuit court in Atlanta. Even so, it took over two years for the authorities to release those boys. Once you're in the hooch house it takes a powerful lot of convincing to get them to let you out and say it was all a mistake. The white girl who had lied about the deed finally 'fessed up and they were all released after serving almost ten years in jail. Nothing happened to her or anybody else who had railroaded them into the penitentiary.

The sun had gone down and the crickets were singing by the time Billy Bob had finished his yarn. Us younguns were getting sleepy as we always did after a company-come-to-eat meal. We were climbing into bed as Billy Bob drove off into the night hollering that he loved us and thank you very much. I never rode the rails but I always dreamed of such foolishness when I was young and the stories we heard were oh, so grand.

Copyright © 2001 Grady Kirbo


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Healthy Horizons

Laurie Lupold

Withdrawn

To think I have a one o'clock appointment today sends intense fear through my body. Most of you don't know this but I am agoraphobic, which means I have a real difficult time out in the real world. I love people, I truly do, but I am scared to death of them.

I wasn't always this way. It's something I've developed over the past few years. Sadly, it hasn't improved as much as I'd like. I can, however, manage to get to the doctor and force myself to go to the store. Occasionally I might even be able to calm my stomach enough to enjoy it but much time is spent talking myself through it all.

I don't know what I expect these people are going to do to me. I guess it's the fear of how they will look at me. What will their opinion be? Ever since I can remember people have always had negative things to say about me and a lot of that hasn't changed. I guess the point is, does it really matter?

It's easy to be big and say no, it doesn't matter what other people think about me. If they don't accept me, then they aren't worth my attention but when it comes down to the truth, it does matter to me.

I know I need to find a way to change this and I guess in part I could change it by viewing myself differently. Many people think I'm confident and sure of myself and I am so far from it but I would like to learn to be.

I think the attitude I have in myself also affects the way my characters come out in my stories. Many times they are the type of characters who are very unsure of themselves. They aren't your achievers as such. They are more like those who want to achieve and if they have by chance unforeseen success they don't see it as something they earned rather they see it as a gift or blessing.

I also tend not to get too close to my characters because a lot of them are reflections of myself and digging deep within them would be admitting my vulnerabilities. Those who don't reflect me I keep at arms' length as I do real-life people for fear that at some point there might be an amount of disappointment.

I don't understand that I have the control. Not only can I shape and mold my characters into whomever I want them to be, I can learn to recognize the truth about who I really am and accept that person in her beauty and worth. I need to grow in the knowledge of self and expand in the knowledge of my characters.

Perhaps this is some help to others who seem to have lost sight of who they are. Allow yourself to come alive. In doing so I believe your characters will find new life as well. Just a thought. 'Til next time keep reaching for those healthy horizons.


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Insights

Lori Morgan

Needtochangeitis

Have you ever encountered that tugging, nagging feeling of needing to do something different with your life? The feeling that surely there is something more, something meaningful and wonderful waiting to be discovered and you are on the shore watching the boat drift out of sight. What is that feeling that leaves you discontented with your past and present life? Is it what one considers a mid-life crisis? Or are we, as humans, destined to always seek the things we do not presently have, forever unsatisfied with our accomplishments? Lately, I have been experiencing this perplexing and tiring feeling almost every day of the week.

I would not say I was unsatisfied with my accomplishments in life. Oh, I have made many decisions that were not only questionable, they were downright stupid. However, those decisions have brought me to the place in life I stand today and there happen to be areas of my life of which I am proud.

Still I seek those things I do not have. I have a good job with a solid company and yet, I am not satisfied. I have a roof over my head, my bills are paid, I have food in the refrigerator and yet, I am not satisfied. I want more. I want more money. I want a house with hardwood floors and a porch that wraps all the way around. I want to be able to walk into a store, see something I want and never think about whether I can afford the reckless purchase. Please do not misunderstand this "greedy" side. I fully appreciate those things I have and I do not begrudge those who happen to be more fortunate than I. It is my nature to want to better myself and provide more for my family. Therefore, maybe what I am experiencing is the "mid-life crisis" theory.

I have used the phrase "mid-life crisis" many times in describing a person's sudden change in behavior or taste. When I use that vague phrase, I am usually referring to people much older than myself who do things out-of-character or older people than myself who take on attributes of a much younger person. I would like to think that I am too young to experience this "mid-life crisis" explanation that holds a negative connotation related to fear of the unknown future and regrets of past decisions. Yet, when I am experiencing this feeling of discord, it is directly related to the fact that I feel half my life is over and I will run out of time to do something meaningful, fear that I will run out of time to experience things in life that interest me.

Recently, I did make some major changes in my life. These changes were the direct result of the same tugging, nagging feeling of needing to do something different with my life that I am experiencing now. I accepted a new job reducing the miles on my daily commute, which gave me an additional three hours per day. The additional hours I am able to spend doing things near and dear to my heart, such as spending quality time with my son and writing.

It was nine months ago I made those significant changes and that desperate feeling has returned. Some days the intensity is unbearable. Maybe I am destined to be forever unsatisfied with myself. Maybe I am experiencing "mid-life crisis" at thirty-two years of age. After much contemplation that has resulted in a headache, I think that I will succumb to the feeling and make more changes. I will start out small. Maybe I will begin that novel I have always wanted to write. Taking the initiative could save me from this uneasiness and discomfort for at least another year.

Lori Morgan is a single mother and resides in the small town of Wills Point, Texas. She works as an Administrative Assistant for a company that manufactures architectural products. Lori joined WVU in October of 2000. Lori has always loved writing and reading for personal enjoyment. She finds peace and much satisfaction pouring her soul onto paper.


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Nonfiction

John Dodds

The Storymaker’s Cottage

As a child you probably made up stories, on your own or with friends. In my own case this is where the magic began, around the fireplace with my grandparents and parents on the Scottish island of Lewis. An oral story, begun by my mother or grandmother, woven and expanded upon by my brother and myself. These stories could be funny or frightening, sad or happy, or all these things at once. Fairy tale, myth, gossip and real life experience became part of the tapestry that was the family tale.

But when we grow into adults our mental policemen block much of this capacity for uninhibited creative expression, especially in a group setting. And yet it is in the group, the community, the family, where the art of storymaking begins. The oral tradition is the source of all written fiction that we know today, and re-engaging with this art can be a rewarding and liberating experience.

One way I was able to recapture this magic was when my wife, Carole, took me along to a day of "storymaking" run by her friend, Alice Mitchell, a poet, counsellor and lecturer with an encylopaedic knowledge of mythology.

When we arrived at her cottage in the Scottish Borders with our contribution of food and wine for the communal lunch, Alice welcomed us and introduced us to a group of a dozen people from all backgrounds, in employment or not, young and middle-aged, from all over the country.

After sharing tea and informal chat, Alice began by announcing the most important instruction of the day (vital for aspiring authors, storymakers or indeed anyone communicating with others): "Listen well." This instruction can mean different things for everyone, and is as much about listening to yourself as listening to the group.

She then introduced the theme for the day. This is usually related to the month in the Celtic Tree Calendar and a piece of mythology or lore may be interwoven. In this case, it was the season of Hazel (Coll), Spring. Hazel, we were told, was considered a tree of immortality and all the wisdom of the tree was held in the nuts it produced.

Storymaking then broke out in all directions: group work, individual writing, a round-robin oral story, drawing and painting, walking in Alice’s magical garden to take inspiration from the surroundings.

Part of the morning was taken up with writing fragments of words and phrases on giant sheets of paper, with children’s crayons. Breaking into smaller groups, we devised stories built on random fragments of torn-up bits of the master sheet (William Burroughs and David Bowie have both used this "cut up" technique, interestingly enough).

Then each small group read out their individual stories. My wife’s group produced the most unique story, composed entirely from sound produced with everything from tabla drums to kitchen utensils!

A walk around Alice’s garden was next, collecting anything which took our interest to feed into the storymaking process, from twigs to stones and feathers and grasses. What each of us took we spoke about, forcing ourselves to voice any thoughts which entered our heads, either inspirational or mundane in relation to the object.

Finally, the group chose to create a "literal" story, in the garden. By a literal story I mean that we created a physical object, using twine, leaves, branches, bits of broken fencing, anything we could find. And what we created was a huge boat, which we decided by its skeletal cup shape, was a coracle, a small craft in use in the British Isles from pre-Roman times for transport and fishing. It was also, of course, the shape of a hazelnut split in half (even on the wilder shores of our imaginings the day’s theme kept cropping up).

The communal lunch which followed, around the huge table in Alice’s kitchen, was the time for informal conversation, and lots of wonderful food, which was as much a part of storymaking as the more structured parts of the day.

Lunch over, we gathered in the lounge to create a round-robin oral story, harking back to my childhood on Lewis, which anyone could begin and any one of us could declare ended. Once the first brave soul launched the opening sentence everyone else eventually felt comfortable enough to pitch in with their improvisations. The verbal jazz which emerged was an inspired, sustained flight of imagination "off the top of the head," an intricate fairy story which was by turns surreal, dark, magical, funny and silly.

Alice’s warmth, generosity and creativity was tempered with the disciplined approach of a natural teacher. I have joked with her that she would make an excellent schoolmarm, since she is good at giving instructions. In reality, the moderate instructions gave structure and cohesion to the day, so when the next directive came that we must now just write, we set to without argument.

Creative batteries fully charged, we all made ourselves comfortable and scribbled furiously for an hour or so. Each of us in turn read aloud to the group what we had written. Poetry, prose, fiction, autobiography, or a mixture of these in some cases, flowed freely, and I was incredibly impressed by the skill and facility everyone had in their writing, even those who claimed not to have done much writing before. Aspiring authors or not, we found it impossible to have writer’s block under these circumstances. Indeed, I had not written much for months, but after the storymaking day, I wrote intensely for weeks.

I go to storymaking partly to recharge my spiritual batteries, partly to recharge my creative ones. Some go simply for the joy of participating in a community, meeting new friends and re-meeting old ones. Some go to release their creativity, to inspire their writing.

For my own part storymaking resulted in my first commercial short story sale. A 50-word writing exercise during a storymaking evening class run by Alice in Edinburgh, was developed into a 3,000 word crime story, "Crossing The Border," which sold to the online magazine, Blue Murder. The story has been nominated for an Edgar Award. I am now working on a 100,000 word novel, which storymaking in Alice’s cottage helped in no small way with my drive and courage to tackle.

If you wish to know more, you can contact Alice Mitchell at alice.storymaking@virgin.net


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Poetics Presents The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Poetics Presents

Damion Bailey

Damion Bailey is a 24 years old residing in Asheville, NC. He writes poetry as an outlet and response to his life.

Writers' Village members look forward to reading more of Damion's work.

Ignorance

Ignorance is a comma
pausing progression
but there is no sentence detection
only reflections
of misconception.

Dialog gets clogged
in its populous smog.
I never advanced to independence,
I got to comfortable when I crawled.

If ignorance were a sentence
it would be a fragment
Of mental stagnancy.
Proclaiming a role of protagonist.
The advocate
of less than average.

Copyright © 2001 Damion Bailey


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

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

Poetics Presents

Phyllis Jean Green

Phyllis says that she is old enough that her writer's bio is l-o-n-g. Her most recent poetry credits include The Blue Fifth, Floating Holiday, Three Candles, Sensations and The Book Lover's Haven. She has also written a book on behalf of a NC mother called Spinning Straw. She maintains an educational web site Created Equal.

Writers' Village members look forward to reading more of Phyllis' work.

ZOO-LOGIC

A heron stands on one foot
waiting to be memorialized by a dead Rodin
It is a posture with which I'm familiar.
The pride of lions is a relief
yawning brown on brown
but I sense something familiar
in their lazy watchfulness
and move on. --Monkeys-!
How they enjoy our antics.
Someone give that mother a camera!
But their eager, unselfish grooming
reminds me of something missing
and I push around a twin stroller
only reminds me of more.
Luckily, giraffes are stilting ahead.
Gnawing leafless trees or struggling to sit.
Is anything more awkward?
Do I have to answer?
Want to be this tiger--!!
Multicolored and ruthless.
Uncaged I will gracefully plunge
from a tree to my catch.
Later, lie by a stream
Licking blood from my gorgeous, armed paws.
Zoo's closing, someone says.
"Always come back."
A hyena laughs; a viper hisses;
I get lost on the way to my car.
Guess what? I'm still game.

Copyright © 2001 Phyllis Jean Green


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

The Writer's E-Zine Home

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

Poetics Presents

Julie Kettman Sanders

Julie is 44 yrs. old, has been married for 19 years, and has two sons. She enjoys writing when she has the time. For the last nine years she has been working at a learning Bible oriented program for 2-5 yr. old children and has written a lot of children's poems for this program.

Writers' Village members look forward to reading more of Julie's work.

DOUGH-NATION

A dough-nation to elect
A dough-nation kind of guy
To keep dough-nations coming
The dough-nations piled high.

A dough-nation to the party
A dough-nation for the cause
A dough-nation to strongly pass
Dough-nation kind of laws.

Dough-nations to help the poor
Others caught up in temptation
Dough-nations create criminals
In our overly exhausted dough-nation.

Dough-nations from a kindly heart
Directly donated to those that need
The dough-nation kind of society we are
Is a dough-nation to our creed.

Copyright © 2001 Julie Kettman Sanders


T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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Submissions Guidelines The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Submissions Guidelines (Updated)

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

What We Pay For

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What We Publish

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

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

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

What We Won't Publish

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

Simultaneous submissions.

Material that has appeared elsewhere (reprints).

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

Length Recommendations

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

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

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

Rights

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

Formats We Will Accept

Plain text in the body of an email.

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

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

Editing

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

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

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

Getting to Know You

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

How and Where to Submit

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

Fiction should be sent to fiction@thewritersezine.com.

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

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

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

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

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

Good luck!


T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
http://TheWritersEzine.com

Copyright 1998 - 2007, Writopia Inc. All Rights Reserved

 

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