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 Produced and published by the members of Writers' Village University since 1998    ISSN 1521-2639       
05 February 2012
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Craft of Writing

Sandra Ferguson

Exploring the Basics of the Common Comma

According to the Liberty Edition, English Grammar and Composition, “The comma—the most frequently used mark of punctuation—is used mainly to group words that belong together and to separate those that do not.”

Uh-oh, did you think the comma was some mystical, magical creation that defied explanation? If you peruse the twenty-something pages in the Chicago Manual of Style, then you certainly might believe that no mere mortal is ever meant to truly delve the sneaky little comma.

Hold on. Help is on the way. Broken down in bite sizes, the comma can be understood and effectively utilized.

Based on the above definition, the comma’s nutshell purpose is to separate or to group. Think of that old bra commercial — to lift and separate. Okay, so I’m older than most of you, but that phrase sticks with me. If words can be lifted, or removed, from a sentence without upsetting the meaning, taking them out completely, then a comma is used to offset those very words. NOTE the previous sentence.

More common examples of lifting out are:

John, the preacher’s son, was always in trouble at school. Being the preacher’s son might be important to John and his father, but the phrase “the preacher’s son” can be removed from this sentence. The casual reader will still understand who’s in hot water with the school.

On the night in question, June 18th, 2001, the preacher’s son ran away from home. The specific date might be important in a court of law proceeding, yet it can be completely lifted from this sentence without disturbing the basic meaning. So the date can be set off with commas.

Also, if words need to be listed separately, then employ a comma. We ate red beans and rice, spicy blackened grouper, and cream pudding. NOTE the previous sentence.

There are two things to note when separating a listing:

First, there is the common journalism thought that the last comma is not needed when separating the list. For example: Sally ate red, yellow and blue jelly beans. As opposed to Sally ate red, yellow, and blue jelly beans. The dilemma is one of clarity. Did Sally eat jelly beans that were a combined color of yellow and blue? Or did Sally eat yellow jelly beans and blue jelly beans? As all aspiring writers know, getting the words RIGHT for the reader can be tough. If utilizing a comma adds clarity to the sentence, then make sure to place the last comma in your list.

Second, words that are commonly thought of together are listed together and separated only by the conjunction “and.” The above example is red beans and rice. As red beans and rice go together the way bread and butter, Bonnie and Clyde, oil and vinegar . . . well, you get the point, then they are grouped together. Two items that are intimately related in our thought process should be listed together and not separated with a comma.

The comma certainly holds other intrinsic, and oftentimes, complicated purposes in our writing. After all, if the Chicago Manual of Style devotes twenty pages to comma usage, then there are additional needs for this ubiquitous form of punctuation. But if you will stick to the rules concerning “lifting and separating,” then your work will be on more solid comma ground.


About the Author
Sandra Ferguson, a free-lance writer, calls Texas home. Her love of family and the Lone Star state influence her writing of romantic suspense, non-fiction articles and fillers, and anything else she can pen to paper that will pay the bills.


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Craft of Writing

Magdalena Ball

How to Get Your Poetry Out of the Closet and Into a Book

Poetry is an esoteric art, isn't it? There's no point in getting caught up in base things like publishing or pandering to an audience—it's only the work that matters, right? Wrong. Writing superbly crafted works of art full of gorgeous rhythms and intense insights is a magnificent thing to do for oneself, but if these works aren't shared with others, they will disappear into the vacuum of our certain death without trace. Of course there is always the chance that, like Emily Dickinson, your masterpieces will be found in the desk drawer post-mortem, but the chance is higher that if and when they are found, they won't be that good, since you won't have gone through the wonderfully stringent process of refining, grouping, and structuring that publication involves, not to mention the opportunity of working with a professional editor. The poet has a responsibility not only to his or her art, but to the world, to publish, and to have publication as an end goal for the work.

That's easy to say, but how do you get your poetry published as a collection? Getting a chapbook or full-length poetry book published isn't easy, but it isn't that hard either. Because small collections like chapbooks are cheap to produce and often have a small price tag, it isn't all that difficult to sell them either. There are a few tricks though.

Group your work into a common theme. In his great guide to publishing poetry, Poet Power Thomas A. Williams (Sentient Publications, 2002) says that poems "should treat a subject for which there is a market." On a worldwide basis, there is likely to be a market for almost anything as long as it is thematic. One of the key ways to get a collection published is to work within an overall unifying theme. This doesn't necessarily mean you have to write to a theme at first. But you might find yourself attracted to a specific area which will ultimately form your framework. For me, I found myself increasingly making use of Quantum Physics and Astronomy, and a number of my poems seem to pivot around that. For example, one of my poems, "Betelgeuse," used the impending (in star terms) and dramatic explosion into a Supernova of our closest star after the Sun for an impending nervous breakdown in a loved one. Once I had decided to produce a full collection, I began to read journals like New Scientist and whenever something caught my eye (and many things did), I would use that as the basis for a poem. I set myself a goal of two poems a week and before long I had enough poems for a collection.

Find a publisher who is looking for work on a theme and write to it. If you don't seem to be naturally gravitating towards a theme, look for one. What hobbies do you have? Since getting a pool, I've become so "smitten" with swimming that I bought a wetsuit to keep going through the winter. When I saw a publisher calling for sports poetry, I wrote a couple of swim poems, and then sent them a query with those poems, asking if they would be interested in a book which involved me interviewing professional sportspeople and then writing an original poem for each sport to go with the interview. I haven't heard back from them as yet, but it's a concept that could work for any publisher, on any topic. Just find a call for submissions on a specific concept and build a query or series of poems around that. Another publisher-friendly theme is to write about where you live, and submit the work to a local publisher. There are probably a lot of poems about Paris or New York, but what about Morebath, or Poughkeepsie? You're sure to find something historically interesting, and the local council and libraries will probably buy up your first print. Periods in history are also good. I read a wonderful book of poetry based on Walt Whitman's Civil War Years—Karen Knight's Under the One Granite Roof. Pick a period in your own history and write a series of poems around that topic. The possibilities are limitless, and its so much easier to let your creative flow rip when you've got a theme to work to. Finding a publisher is also much easier, as the market for your work will be ready made.

Get out there. Or get your work out there. Go to poetry slams; read your work, talk about your work, network. One of the nice things about publishing poetry is that pre-published poems are much more likely to be accepted in a collection than poems that haven't been published, so you can submit each poem immediately when you finish writing it, even as you are pulling poems together into a collection. Publishers of collections prefer poetry that has already been published. You get double benefits for your work, and increase your odds of getting a collection published every time you publish a poem. Publishers are much more likely to take on your book if they recognise your name, so make sure your name is being bandied about.

Create a market database. Research the different poetry publishers and create a little database of those that are likely to be right for your work. Build your manuscript to their requirements and once it's ready, following their guidelines to the letter and submit your queries. Does this sound basic? It is! Local Writer's Market yearbooks are excellent sources of publishers and guidelines as is the Internet—just do a Google search on poetry publishers (and watch out for the many sharks—never pay to have your work read, or published and be especially careful about anthologies!). Just remember that most legitimate poetry publishers are small and won't be offering advances, or big margins on your work. Nor are they likely to have a big publicity budget—you'll have to do all that yourself, which is where your experience at reading will come in handy. One of the many upsides of being with a small house is that you get a lot more attention editorially (and the whole process of having your poetry edited is well worth the trouble of being published—it will make you a better writer). There also isn't the dramatic time pressure that you get with a large house. You can expect to continue selling your book for years, rather than months, and since most small publishers use POD (print on demand) technology, you don't have to fear the dreaded pulping machine.

If all else fails (and even if it doesn't), you can always self-publish. Get a good book, like Peter Bowerman's The Well Fed Self-Publisher, and do your own thing. Again, chapbooks are inexpensive to produce (most are around 32 pages) and can be done primarily with a good computer and colour printer, and if you keep your costs down and use an easy payment system like PayPal, you might even make some decent money along with your good name. Two key points with self-publishing—don't sacrifice the editing step—good editing can make or break a collection, and a badly edited collection won't do your name any good at all. Hire someone to knock your good poems into great poems and help with the ordering, structuring and linguistic power. The learning curve is a bonus, since a good editor will most certainly improve your writing for future collections. Don't sacrifice quality either—get good paper, good staplers, a beautiful cover, or use a good printer to get a nice looking collection. You will certainly be judged by the look, and feel of the collection, so the output is something you shouldn't skimp on.

That's it. Don't let a fear of failure stop you. The only way to publish a collection of poetry is to set a goal and work towards it, at whatever pace your schedule allows. Poetry is particularly suited to this method, as it doesn't take that long to write a single poem and the satisfaction of completion comes regularly as you're building the collection. Good luck!


About the Author
Magdalena Ball runs The Compulsive Reader. Her stories, editorials, poetry, reviews and articles have appeared in a wide number of printed anthologies and journals, and have won many awards. She is the author of The Art of Assessment, and Quark Soup (available from http://www.compulsivereader.com/html/images/quarkindex.htm) Her novel Sleep Before Evening will be available from BeWrite Books early in 2007.


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Birdie's Quill

Birdie

The End

While perusing writers' markets, one offered a tip to writers attempting to break into that market. "The most frequent flaws [...] are stories that don't have a proper ending." 1

Many times writers focus on perfecting the hook or lead in their story but think nothing of rushing the end. Without an effective hook the readers will lose interest, but no matter how well you hook them, if the conclusion doesn't deliver, the manuscript will most likely land in the rejection pile.

An effective end wraps up each emotional and logical thread spun throughout significant events and character activities in the plot. The conclusion needs to satisfy the readers. By satisfying, I mean it resolves every shred of conflict and tension without being predictable. Instead of leaving the readers confused, a well-written end allows the readers to ponder how cleverly the author knit significant plot threads together, leaving them amazed they didn't see it until the end.

The End Must Be Visual
Writers work to sharpen skills to create their entire story using active language that brings the story to life with the use of strong verbs. The end is no different. The writer's goal should be to create a lasting impression that provokes further contemplation. Use active language that leaves a vivid impression. Don't tell the end; show it. A visual impact lasts because it burns an image into the readers' memory.

Where The End Starts
The end starts with a calamity or disaster. The Writer's Journey by Christopher Vogler breaks the writing process into three acts. I highly recommend this book as a guide to include all the elements in the Hero's Journey model. Steps outlined in Vogler's book help bring the story to a clear resolution. The crisis leading to the conclusion starts within the second half of the second act, builds to a climax in the third act and leads to the end.

Knowing when to end the story becomes a matter of instinct. As a writer, you've given birth to characters and settings. You know every detail encountered in the process. Drawing them to a conclusion will provide a feeling of completion. It will feel right.

The length of the story will be dictated by the storyline. At times, what starts out as a short story may develop into a novella or even a novel once characters take on lives of their own. The trick is to write until the story is finished. Editing and rewriting can bring it into line with word-count guidelines after completion of the first draft.

Ends With a Twist
Many readers enjoy ends with a twist as writers skillfully bend the readers' imagination one direction only to trick them with an unforeseen conclusion. However, even an end with a twist must make logical sense. A cleverly crafted finish with a twist will mentally send readers back through the storyline to see if the end really works. One good example of an expertly crafted conclusion can be found in The Sixth Sense written by M. Night Shyamalan. He keeps viewers distracted by the young boy that can see dead people. It's not until the end that viewers realize the main character is dead. That's why the boy sees him. The end hits with impact, but sends the mind racing back over even minute detail to see if it really works. It's then that viewers realized no one could see the main character. How could we miss that? Good writing.

Fantasy and sci-fi often present mystical or magical elements that add a surprise factor useful in fashioning a good end. In the first Planet of the Apes movie, viewers enjoyed the magical end as the lead character rides down the beach with the girl he's rescued. They made it and are ready to start a new life. The sense of accomplishment and freedom is short-lived when they come upon the remains of the Statue of Liberty reaching like a mountaintop tossed beside the shoreline. This detail at the end added a thought-provoking twist that left viewers thinking long after the theater emptied.

Let It Rest
After you finish the story, don't look at it for a couple of days or more. By that time, a writer disconnects enough to read the text as a reader rather than the author. This is the time to read the manuscript out loud. Take a red pen or highlighter and mark areas that cause you to falter. Don't stop to fix things, just read and mark rough areas (anything that needs work). Keep notes in the margins. If you note a detail lacking at the end, you'll want to work through the manuscript marking plot threads that need to change to make the end work.

As you read the last sentence, you'll know if the end works or not. Does it satisfy? Or, does it seem like something is missing? Did it generate questions or make you realize you dropped a detail? Go back and fix the highlighted areas, put it aside again and go through the process again in a few days or more.

Tune the Beginning and Middle
Once you know you've nailed the end, double-check the beginning. Where does the conflict start? What engages the reader—that's the hook, the real beginning. Follow it to the climax. Don't rush it. Let readers savor minor resolutions as you weave details that lure them along in a way that makes them hunger for more and engages them through a blend of heightening conflict and tension. Each detail should be relevant and lead to your perfect ending where every plot thread finds an answer. Your story is ready to submit.

1The Writer Magazine August 2006


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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Fiction Short Story

by Margaret B. Davidson

Assassin

Unable to concentrate on grading mid-terms, Neville sighed and threw his marker down. So much still to do, and the department chair had made it clear that if his grades were late again it would not be appreciated. Neville knew the only thing saving him from being fired was that he had tenure. He got up, shrugged into his tweed jacket, exited the building and strode across campus.

It was close to noon and the Cap and Gown was crowded. Barely acknowledging greetings from colleagues and students, Neville shoved his way through the throng and plunked down on a stool at the end of the bar. A double Dewars, neat, was placed before him, and after a healthy swallow he stared into the amber liquid and mulled over the events of the previous night.

He’d had a glass or two of Scotch while waiting for his wife to come home. Perhaps it was more than two; Hannah was late, and he’d lost track. When she finally came in, the scathing glance she cast toward his empty glass made him cringe.

“You’re late, and I was worried,” he’d said, trying not to sound too accusatory.

“I have class Monday nights.”

“Yes, but …”

“Some of us hung around to talk.”

“You’re never home any more, Hannah.” He tried to steady his voice, but succeeded only in sounding tremulous. “You’re involved with somebody, aren’t you?”

She ignored his question, instead glanced meaningfully again at his empty glass. “I’m going to bed.”

Hannah stalked out of the room. Neville heard her climb the stairs, and then the inevitable sharp click that told him she’d locked the bedroom door.

When he’d awoken on the couch this morning, Hannah had already left for her morning jog. There was a terse note on the kitchen table informing him she’d decided to spend a few days in Chicago with her sister, Jane. She was leaving on a late afternoon flight.

Neville’s thoughts returned to the present. Taking another sip from his glass, he held the liquor in his mouth for a moment, then swallowed, appreciating the spread of warmth as the liquid reached his gut. He knew he should cut down on his drinking, but right now it was the only thing that brought him solace. He didn’t think for a moment that Hannah was going to visit her sister, but there was no point in calling to check because he knew her sister would cover for her. Neville finished the remainder of the Scotch in one gulp, and signaled the bartender for a refill.

It was an hour later when Neville glanced in the mirror that ran along the back of the bar. What he saw as the crowd parted for a moment was a woman, sitting at a table in a corner of the room, in deep conversation with a man. He could see only the back of her head, but he knew it was Hannah.

Wobbling slightly, Neville slid from the stool and threaded his way to the back of the room. There was a table with a vacant chair directly behind Hannah, and Neville sat down, his back to her, but close enough to hear some of her conversation.

“A gun would be the quick …” Laughter erupted from a group at the next table, and the rest of Hannah’s sentence was lost.

“I’d opt for strangulation. Less messy.” The stranger’s voice was resonant and easier to hear.

“I’m not sure, Matt, strangling means you have to …. It sort of turns my …”

“It’s not as if you’re doing it yourself.”

“True.” Hannah laughed.

There was a buzzing in Neville’s ears as he came to his feet, and the room seemed to swirl around him in a scarlet haze. He stumbled to the door, not caring who he shoved out the way in the process. He staggered outside, swaying on his feet as he took a gulp of fresh air.

Somebody took his arm. Neville tried to free himself. Unsuccessful, he took a swing at his assailant.

“Okay, okay, it’s just me — Peter. You’ve overdone it again, haven’t you, Neville? Come on, I’ll get you home.”

The next thing Neville remembered was somebody standing behind him as he retched over a toilet. He groaned.

“Take it easy, old chap. Can you manage on your own for a bit?”

A few minutes later, Neville shuffled from the bathroom to find his friend Peter in the kitchen scooping coffee into the pot.

“Ah, here you are. Feeling better?”

Neville dropped onto a chair as the horror of his situation came flooding back.

“Peter, I need to call the police.”

“What on earth for? Your getting drunk again was downright stupid, but it’s hardly a police matter, although if you keep it up you might not be so lucky next—”

“Hannah is trying to kill me.”

“Now why would she want to do that?”

“I’ve been trying to convince myself otherwise for years, but now I think she only married me for the money.”

“Money?”

Neville sighed. “My mother left me quite well off, you know. If I were to die Hannah would be a rich woman.”

“But she’s already spending your money, isn’t she?”

“Peter, I heard them talking. She’s hired somebody to kill me. Don’t you see, she’s involved with somebody else, but if she divorces me she loses everything.”

“Here, take a swig of this.” Peter handed him a mug of coffee. “You’ve really gone overboard this time, old chap. This has to stop, you know.”

“I’m telling you, I’m going to be shot or strangled—”

“Don’t be an ass, Neville. Come on, drink up and then go lie down. You’ll feel better in an hour or so.”

Neville lay on the couch, but was afraid to sleep. What could he do? The police wouldn’t believe him anymore than Peter had. His reputation as a drunkard was well-known, the sergeant himself having escorted him home a time or two. In spite of himself, he fell asleep.

Neville awoke with a start, jerked upright on the couch. “Oh, my God. That’s it!” Hannah was taking a writing class, right? She had a writing partner, right? It was a story the two were writing. A story! He couldn’t believe what a colossal fool he’d almost made of himself. Neville lay back again, overwhelmed with relief. He was on the verge of dosing off again when he was aroused by the ringing of the doorbell.

Peter was waiting on the doorstep. “Thought I’d better check on you again,” he said.

“Listen, I’m sorry about what happened—”

“You gonna leave me standing here, old chap?”

“No, no, come in.” Neville closed the door behind his friend and turned to face him. “I’ve made the most colossal fool of myself, Peter.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word. Mind if I pour us a hair of the dog, old chap? Want to talk something over with you.”

“College business?”

“In a way. I’m retiring from academic life.” He poured two Scotches and handed one to Neville who’d sank back onto the couch in surprise.

Once settled in the chair opposite, Peter smiled. “Drink up, old chap.”

Neville took a swig, closing his eyes in enjoyment. When he opened them he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Awfully sorry about this old chap. But you gave me the idea yourself, you know.”

“But—You— I thought—“

“We’ve been friends a long time, Neville. But then I began to fancy Hannah.”

“You’re going to kill me because you’re having an affair with my wife?”

“Well, it’s really more because of the money, old chap. In any event, the way I’ve got it planned is she’ll come home day after tomorrow to find you dead, but by then I’ll be safely abroad where nobody is likely to find me. After a suitable length of time Hannah will join me, after your estate is settled of course.”

“Peter, I’ll give you the mon—”

There was a small popping sound, and Neville slumped forward, the smoky flavor of Scotch still on his tongue.


About the Author
Born and raised in England, Margaret B.Davidson now resides in upstate New York. She has about 300 stories published in print and online magazines. Margaret's husband provides moral support for her writing, but has long since given up expecting that her endeavors will help pay the mortgage. Margaret may be reached at MargaretDa@aol.com.


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Fiction Short Story

by Tracie McBride

Pyro

The numbers on Julie’s bedside clock clicked over as she stared at the ceiling, watching a blowfly explore a patch of light. 2:56 a.m. She had been awake since her boyfriend Ralph had come around after the pub had closed, banging on her door and loudly slurring her name. When she had let him in, he’d tripped over the door sill, smashed a plant pot in the hallway, and vomited on impact with the floor, thus destroying any slim chance he might have had of getting laid that night. He snored next to her now in the subterranean sleep of the profoundly drunk. His breath smelled of cigarette smoke, stomach acid, Jim Beam and salt and vinegar chips. She inhaled shallowly and studied his near-perfect profile. A rivulet of drool slithered from his parted lips. Prick, she thought. Wanker. Bastard. Sweetheart.

Now for the second time that evening, someone was hammering on her front door. It was a firm, rhythmic, authoritative knock. She’d bet her left tit the visitor was stone cold sober. She sighed. Sober people knocking on doors in the middle of the night did so either because they wanted more help than you were prepared to give, or because they bore seriously bad news. She waited for it to become more insistent before heaving herself out of bed and putting on her dressing gown and slippers, feigning sleepiness as she opened the door. A policeman stood on her doorstep. Was madam aware that there was a car on fire outside her property?

Julie leaned past him to look. Ralph’s aging Holden station wagon (at least, what was left of it) was parked at an erratic angle on the grass verge next to her front fence. A bevy of firemen swarmed around it. A few flames persisted in rebellious existence, reflecting off the yellow coats of the firemen as they hosed the car down. The scene was cordoned off with road cones, alternating orange and grey in the police car’s flashing lights. A second cop was deep in conversation with one of the neighbours. The neighbour was a forty-something woman with adult acne and an arse that must have been five feet across. They’d never spoken to each other, but had exchanged unpleasantries via Noise Control in a dispute over a raucous party (Julie’s) and via CYPS regarding an assault on a child with a shoe (the neighbour’s, both the child and the shoe). Fat-arse noticed Julie’s scrutiny and turned her back, bending over the cop’s book like a nerd shielding her test paper from cheats. Julie suppressed an urge to laugh.

- Uh, no, she said, avoiding the cop’s eyes.

- Is that your car?

- No, it belongs to my…friend.

- Is your friend here at the moment?

Julie hesitated. If the cop spoke to Ralph in his present state, it would raise all sorts of awkward questions.

- No, he’s out with his mates.

The cop glanced at his watch and flashed Julie a tight, perfunctory “you-poor-bitch” smile. He seemed out of place, standing on her doorstep at three o’clock in the morning. Craning around him again, she took note of who else in the neighbourhood was nosy enough to come out at this hour for a rubberneck. The onlookers were all dressed haphazardly, in pyjamas, dressing gowns, track pants, one bloke braving the autumn air by wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. They were messy-haired and confused, the chemical smoke stench slapping bleariness from their eyes. The firemen, swaddled in their safety gear, moved about the street like oversized plastic-wrapped toddlers. And here was this cop in his pristine uniform, so young and tall and blond and smelling of freshly applied aftershave. She wondered if he kept a bottle in the squad car’s glove box, to reapply before each callout. She fidgeted with her dressing gown, pulling the belt tight, tugging at the collar, pushing one knee forward through the folds, unsure whether false modesty or seductiveness would have more of a positive influence on him. Deciding that she could achieve neither effect successfully wearing pink fake fur slides and what amounted to an oversized towel, she stilled her hands by gripping her elbows across her chest, forming a pale-skinned barricade.

The cop asked her a battery of questions, jotting the answers down neatly in a notebook that was ludicrously small in his big, capable cop hands. What was her full name, her address (again, laughter threatened—he was standing outside her house, and he didn’t know what her address was?), her phone number, her date of birth. He’ll want to know the colour of my underwear next, she thought, and this time a nervous giggle escaped her as she realised she wasn’t wearing any.

He requested the same information on Ralph. Rather than admit to not knowing Ralph’s birthday, Julie made it up. Then he asked –

- Did you hear any suspicious noises outside tonight?

- No, but I’m a pretty heavy sleeper.

- Have you any reason to think this fire might have been deliberately lit?

Julie pondered on this for a few seconds.

- You know, I wouldn’t put it past my ex-husband Bruce to do something like this.

The cop paused in mid-jot. He tensed like a racehorse at the starting gate as he flipped to a fresh page in his notebook. What made her think Bruce might commit arson? Did he have a criminal record? Had he made any threats towards Julie or Ralph recently? Had either of them reported Bruce’s behaviour to the police? What was Bruce’s full name? Address? Preferred colour of underwear? Julie wished he hadn’t started this line of questioning, as it kept her shivering on her deck for a further thirty minutes, and it was a strain on her creativity under these circumstances. Then it was, thank you for your assistance, call us if you think of anything else, we’ll be in touch, and he was gone. She fetched a cigarette and returned to her doorstep, watching the firemen finish up and the neighbours drift back to their beds, until she was left alone and shivering in the pre-dawn.

She waited until morning to tell Ralph about the fire. He stood blinking back bewildered tears as he stared at his car’s burnt-out husk. She told him the fire had most likely started from a cigarette butt he might have unwittingly dropped, or possibly from the shonky wiring job he’d done installing that stereo a couple of days back. He kicked through the grey sodden debris that had been the car’s upholstery as if searching for something. A miasma of burnt foam rubber and melted plastic lifted from the ground, mingling with the cloud of Julie’s exhaled breath and making her cough. Ash settled on Ralph’s dreadlocks like confetti. Julie closed her eyes for a moment, almost overcome with vertigo at the thought of tying the knot with Ralph.

- All my tools were in the back, he said. So what, she thought. It’s not as if you ever got off a bar stool long enough to use any of them.

- Got insurance? she asked, already knowing the answer.

- Nope.

- Got enough dosh to buy another car?

Ralph glared at her with red-rimmed eyes.

- What do YOU think? I can’t even afford to buy a new skill saw, let alone a whole fucking car.

Julie reached out a hand, intending to stroke his hair, then pulled back at the last minute and punched him lightly in the shoulder instead.

- C’mon, she said. I’ll give you a ride to work.

A couple of weeks down the track, Julie’s life was on the up-and-up, thanks to the fire. Now that Ralph had to save up for new wheels and had neither the money nor the means to go to the pub, he was virtually living at Julie’s place, as placid and housebound as a neutered dog. The police had paid a visit to her ex, Bruce. Although they found no evidence that he had set Ralph’s car on fire, they did find enough marijuana plants growing under lights in his spare room to land him in court and lose him his job. Julie thought it hilariously ironic that the conviction also lost him his girlfriend, Skye, to whom the plants really belonged and who couldn’t dump him fast enough in case the cops cottoned on to her involvement.

Julie chanted a Prodigy song under her breath as she squatted in front of her wood burner, bobbing her head in time to the imaginary rhythm. I’m a fire starter, twisted fire starter. There was something else ironic. She had never got the knack of lighting a fire in a fireplace; she usually had to go through two or three newspapers and several fire starters before she could get the wood to grudgingly catch alight. Yet with the aid of little lighter fluid and a search on the Internet, she’d made Ralph’s car go up in seconds.


About the Author
Tracie McBride is a mother of three from New Zealand. She has a diploma in creative writing and is a member of the Wellington-based Phoenix Science Fiction Writers’ Group. Her work has appeared (or will soon be appearing) in various electronic, print and podcast publications, including Alien Skin, Flash Me, Bravado, Gambara, Bound Off and Dark Jesters.


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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Writers' Village University - F2K: Free Fiction Writing Course - ePress-online
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Poetics Presents

Charlotte Pound

Charlotte Pound has been a writer from her youth, but only began submitting for publication in the last five years. She is a non-fiction writer, on the editorial staff of IBC Perspectives Magazine (Indiana Bible College). She also is a dramatist and has three volumes of Drama scripts in print. She has written and published one Christian novel, and has just completed her second. She is currently working on a book of inspirational thoughts.

As God Unfolds the Rose

It was so small and tightly curled, this rosebud in my hand
And in my haste to see it bloom, I pulled on silken strand

Each satin pink rose petal, I stripped away to find
Another yet more firmly curled, to the next it seemed to bind

In grim resolve I tried to force the bud to blossom out
I thought if I kept on peeling—it would surely come about.

No soft petal resisted my rude fingers, each came away in shreds,
'Til only an ugly stem remained—all its beauty dead.

It struck me then how I am like a rose so tightly curled
Impatient—I sit in the garden of life, just waiting to unfurl

I don't like the stress of living, the heartache, pain or grief
I twist and turn and thrash about—beg God to send relief

But the master Gardener knows how much of each that it will take
To change this bud into a masterpiece that only He can make

And tho' sometimes in vain attempt to make life turn out right
With my clumsy gestures—tangles just become more tight

But if I cease my struggling and submit to Him I know
My life will become what it's meant to be, as God unfolds the Rose.

Copyright ©2006 by Charlotte L. Pound




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

William Blake Vogel III

From the dark heart of Missouri, William Blake Vogel III writes a unique brand of Classic Horror that bleeds with a poetic edge. Influenced by the likes of Poe and Lovecraft, Vogel's work reflects a deep love for the Gothic/Horror genre. His work has also appeared in various anthologies including "Open Graves" (2004), "Potter's Field" (2005), etc. His first E-book, "No Man's Land," was published by TWILIGHT TIMES BOOKS.

Fireworm

The night sky immured;
Starless abyss foretold
The fate of flesh
Scattered by nemesis

Old days terror, hunger
Beyond the beast--
Of ancient race
And primordial desire

From the fall of Babylon
To the shadowed last times,
Doom stalks the haunts
Of fear and blood.

Copyright ©2006 by William Blake Vogel III




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

The Writer's E-Zine Home

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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