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The Writer's E-Zine

 

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

Wayne Scheer

On Writing and Writhing

The best advice for writing I know comes from George Orwell. After listing solid, common sense rules for good writing, he adds: "Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous."
 
Of course we writers try to follow such wisdom. Don't we? What writer would knowingly offer his readers "barbarous" prose in order to stay true to even the best rules for good writing?
 
Me, and, I fear, most of us.
 
For example, the rules for writing in complete sentences make good sense. But fragments work, too. Sometimes better. Yet how often have we extended a perfectly good fragment into a full sentence in order to please that old English teacher stuck in our heads? And in the process created a dull, wordy, ordinary, but complete, sentence.
 
It's a good thing William Faulkner paid more attention to the sound of his words than to the voice of that hag in his head. Listen to how well the following fragments from "A Rose for Emily" capture the spirit of place and time: "And so she died. Fell ill in the house filled with dust and shadows, with only a doddering Negro man to wait on her." Of course, he could have reworded the first sentence so it didn't start with a dreaded conjunction and he certainly could have added a subject to the second one. But why? They communicate clearly. And more, they sound right.
 
How often have we avoided beginning a sentence with a conjunction like "And" or "But" or "So" because we remember that same old teacher scolding us in the third grade for committing this grievous sin? And we know better, right?
 
Yeah, right.
 
Like being rejected at a high school dance, there are some things we never get over, no matter how wise or wizened we might be. We write, or more likely writhe, within the narrow confines our teachers and our consciences allow. Rarely do we follow our imagination. Instead, we rein it in with rules we half recall. Why? Because we're afraid of our creativity. We don't know where it might lead us, what grammatical back alley we might find ourselves in. We could end up out of control, babbling incoherently, with our prepositions dangling.
 
Do one-size-fits-all rules really fit all? Of course not. We know that, yet we still make up rules for ourselves. "Always start with a smashing opening." Good advice? Sure. But a quick glance though the books on your shelves will find scores of less than graceful sentences beginning great stories.
 
At random, I just picked up a standard collection of short stories in an anthology used widely at colleges in the United States. I opened the book to Herman Melville's classic, "Bartleby the Scrivener." See how it begins:
 
"I am a rather elderly man. The nature of my avocation, for the last thirty years, has brought me into more than ordinary contact with what would seem an interesting and somewhat singular set of men, of whom, as yet, nothing that I know of, has ever been written—I mean, the law-copyists, or scriveners." Although the short first sentence gets right to the condition of the narrator, the second one would surely try the tolerance of Orwell. All those commas and dashes, the wordiness—"more than ordinary," "would seem." Why, an editor could make a career of hacking away at Melville, and yet, the sentence captures the spirit of the narrator and sets the tone of the story perfectly. The reader knows exactly what to expect—sit back, relax, don't be in a hurry.
 
"A sentence should never be more than twenty-six words long." I know someone for whom this is her mantra. Keep it short is good advice. Orwell, himself, said, "If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out." But Melville's sentence is forty-six words long. Horrors! It's a good thing my friend never edited Henry James.
 
Or Orwell, for that matter. He begins "Shooting an Elephant" with a thirty-two word sentence.
 
What about the importance of keeping a consistent point of view? What's that about "consistency being the hobgoblin of little minds?"
 
So what am I advocating? That we liberate our writing and let our words dance naked in the sun? That we free ourselves of the bondage of grammar and expose our participles? Hardly. I'm a retired English teacher who knows what happens when young writers, filled with hormones and exuberance, experiment without protection. We need the rules, just as we need to break free from them. It's the conflict between freedom and control, the tension between meeting the readers' needs and challenging their expectations that makes writing interesting. And spirited. And alive.


About the Author
After teaching writing and literature in college for twenty-five years, Wayne Scheer retired to follow his own advice and write. He's been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a Best of the Net. Some of his work has appeared in The Christian Science Monitor, The Pedestal, flashquake, Apple Valley Review, Hamilton Stone Review, Blood Orange Review, The Potomac and Triplopia. Wayne lives in Atlanta with his wife and can be contacted at wvscheer@aol.com.


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Craft of Writing

Gary Presley

Accent History

Long ago and far away, I argued myself down from a B to a C grade in an English class by disputing the teacher's criticism of my use of the word oblivion. I'd read a story about the Beat Generation and noticed a photograph picturing one Kerouac-wannabe with "Blessed, Blessed Oblivion" tattooed on his bicep.

"One day we will have the blessed oblivion of peace," I wrote in an essay on US-USSR relations.

"No, no," the teacher said. "This is wrong. Our nation must always be prepared to defend itself against godless Communist aggression." She worried about Sputnik.

Words were playthings to me then, and I often tripped over my toys. I'd hop-scotched from Dick and Jane readers to Superman comic books and then jumped headfirst into the Hemingway and Faulkner on our family's bookshelf.

In my rush, I neglected the dictionary, which meant there would be big trouble when I wanted to convince people with my words. Like oblivion. You might say I was oblivious to grammar and syntax even though my vocabulary was expanding rapidly. But it was by sight rather than sound.

For example, even though I was still too young to drink and had no reason to complain, I said wine as "whine."

Even now, I still have an intermittent short-circuit between eye and brain. I see ancient. My mental ear hears accent. I chalk it up to gaps in my education. I've never met an archaeologist, and I'm the guy who mixed up blessed oblivion and atheist Commies.

My tin ear for homonyms—not that there's anything wrong with that—regularly got me into trouble. I once hurried into the school office with a letter to a scholastic organization. "Could you mail this for me?" I asked. Luckily the principal asked if I was sure I wanted to "except" the prize.

Obviously, my language universe was expanding but chaotic. Ask me to explain the situation, and I would've said it was "chow-autic," even if there hadn't been a big crowd at lunch.

I'm old enough now that I seldom embarrass myself. That's because I've worked hard on grammar and syntax as I've grown more accent. And I never order whine.

But I still have one bugaboo when I write. I stumble over affect and effect. Yes, I know there's a simple rule. Affect is influence, a verb. Effect is result, a noun.

Good enough, until I met my ration of crazy people. I began to read psychology in self-defense. I learned "affect" is a noun designating mood, which is generally good once you've got that PhD.

And I've never understood how affect became affection, a state of love. After all, there is no effection. Winning the affection of a woman would appear to be a perfect effection. It isn't. It's an effectuation.

To be accurate, it's actually an infatuation, and often something that'll give you a lot to wine about.

My confusion between the two words has reached the point that it was affecting, or effecting, my writing. I don't know which.

I tried searching word roots, looking for the elementary difference between the two, something to grasp so that the aftereffect would be effective use of both words. What I did learn is the two words are so slippery that even smart people have trouble with them.

I asked my wife, who is one of those people, how she decided which one was appropriate. "Oh," she said, "I just play it by nose."

Long after the teacher retired, Sputnik fell and broke up the USSR, I grew smart enough to approach the point in a sentence where I would be forced to choose between "affect" and "effect," stop, take a deep breath, and look up a synonym.

Words like accomplish, move, involve, consequence, cause, or symptom work fine.

I decided that was the smartest thing to do. Oh, I could have begun to lobby politicians to eliminate the words from the English language.

But I came to my senses. How's a little guy like me going to effect the government? Or is it affect?

The only thing I know for certain is that is "influence," and I don't have enough money to buy it.

Besides, I remember what happened to George Bernard Shaw, the English writer who obsessed about the oddities of English spelling. He proved fish could be spelled ghoti. I don't know if he was under the influence, but the effect—affect?—illustrated he had evolved into some sort of a linguistic lunatic.

He ended up leaving part of his estate to a project to revamp the English alphabet. The effort failed. You could look it up. It's accent history.

Wasted money. Now that's something to wine about.


About the Author
Presley has written for Salon.com, Notre Dame Magazine, and other venues. He is wait impatiently for the third edit of his memoir to return from the hands of a university press editor. Check his site at http://www.garypresley.net where he consistently avoids the words affect and effect.


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Birdie's Quill

Birdie

Five Senses in Your Writing

In recent columns we’ve taken an in-depth look at passive language and how to eliminate it in our writing. But what do you do when you’ve scratched the passive and still feel your writing lacks the action to really drive the story forward within the reader’s imagination?

Five Senses
In my book Pumping Your Muse, I challenge writers with exercises that reach deep into the imagination’s recesses where these creative exercises carry the muse on a journey designed to force ideas in resourceful new directions of development. The goal is to pull together bits and pieces or reality and learn to blend them within the fiction-creating process. Adding subtle sensory details works like sensual brush strokes that craft multi-levels of dimension by engaging the reader’s senses.

In real life, details flood our senses on a subconscious level. A hint of smoke presented within the context of your story may warn the character of an electrical fire, or allow them to reminisce about a romantic interlude basking in the firelight, or could even remind them of the invigorating smell of burning of leaves on a crisp fall day.

Good writers furnish this minutia with three-dimensional realism. The trick is to learn to include this information without overpowering the story with overly descriptive passages which bog the story’s pace and sometimes lose the reader. Your goal as a writer is to make the world you portray a real experience. As your reader walks through the pages of your story, engaging the senses allows them to experience the veracity of the world you create.

Moving the Story Along
Sensory information plays an important part in moving your story along. A sound, a scent—such detail provides subtle clues for the reader to follow. Engaging the senses makes a fictional world more real by adding dimension and realism. Stop and take note of your current setting. What do you see, hear, smell, taste and feel? Our brains take in this information subconsciously most times and that’s how you need to present it in your writing. A natural but delicate flow of information.

Pay attention to sounds around you, but not just that—ask yourself what they make you think or feel. Reactions are based on input—sensory input. One goal as a writer is to engage readers so they feel the character’s reaction as if they live in the character’s skin.

If your character hides in the woods and hears the crackling of twigs, the reader should feel fear or at least apprehension. A musky scent draws the character’s attention to a wild pig rooting in the moist earth and lets out a breath—the reader will relax—until gruff snorts and bristling hair on the back of the animal’s neck, and a flash of tusks sends the character rushing blindly through dense foliage. Readers see through the characters eyes when writers provide the right sensory information. It not only makes the story come alive, but it eliminates the need to tell the reader what’s going on or how a character is feeling. Instead, sensory input pulls them into the story to experience it first hand.

In real life, our thoughts wander, but even as they seem to meander from topic to topic, they do follow logic. Writers can create natural segues with the use of sensory details. If your character hears someone laugh and it reminds them of someone they once knew, it provides a natural transition to include backstory without dumping the information in an awkward or obtrusive way. In the same way, if your character smells a hint of electrical smoke it makes sense that they will look for the source. If they come to the laundry room door and it feels hot, many readers will know the character should not open the door—if they do, the reader will brace for the explosion of flame.

The Five Senses
Incorporating all the senses provides familiarity and understanding for the reader. It helps them connect. This sensory information can be used to:

  • Transition between the present and important backstory
Example: The fresh scent of rain combined with a moist earthy aroma. I stared out at the wilted fields. A curtain of humidity wrapped around me. The rain had come too late.

In this case the sense of smell opens the door to the scene and allows a transition that could take the reader back to the struggle to keep the crops alive and the introduction to the lives of those who depended on those crops. On the other hand, these particular details could also propel the story forward. What will the character do now?
  • Tie the beginning of the story to the end
Since you’ll want to weave this sensory information throughout your story, it is an effective way to tie the beginning of the story to the end.

Example: I couldn’t bear the sorrowful faces filling grandmother’s house. I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air and headed to the garden where we had talked so many years before. The light floral scent of lilacs drifted lazily on the summer breeze. I breathed deep and closed my eyes. Grandma stood with me just as she promised. I could feel her.

In this case, we could follow the character through life as an adolescent to adulthood and tie it back to the beginning when they had a life-changing conversation in that same garden. Who knows, maybe even another niece or nephew could walk out to join the character—the thing is that the scent is the trigger to tie the past to the present.
  • Evoke emotional responses to create suspense, happiness, fear and more.

Humans are emotional creatures by our very nature. The world around us offers stimuli and we react to it.

Example: The lights blinked and darkness swallowed the room. A surreal coldness fell upon her like a shroud. A slight scent of garlic reminded her of something. A faint memory that tickled her mind like wind brushing leaves of a tree on a summer’s day. She rubbed her arms and stepped blindly forward, her foot tapping in front of her like a blind man’s cane.

This short example can evoke an uneasiness when the lights go out. The coldness kicks up the tension. A hint of garlic would add a bit of curiosity—how does it fit in—what is it? She seems to know, but for some reason has blocked it out. Now she moves forward and we are in her skin. How do you feel?

Nerve Network
Our bodies are designed with a network of nerves. This network sends information to our brains with no effort on our part. As a writer, you create that network from the story to the reader. If panic makes the hairs on the back of your protagonist's neck prickle, the reader should feel it. If they experience a touch of numbness in their index finger, it needs to be part of the information collected by the reader's brain—but the information must serve a purpose. If the reader knows of the numbness, they’ll know later on that the character can withstand an abnormal amount of pain using that finger. Sensory information needs to matter to the plot. The trick is to find the balance.

As writers, we need enough sensatory detail to make our fictional world real, but not so much that it bogs down the action. Think of it more like a trail of breadcrumbs, leading your reader down the path you want them to take. At times, it may even be a misleading trail. Such techniques can be used to create an unforeseen twist in the plot or action.


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 in 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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Recognitions

Vivian Reed

Welcome to Recognitions, where the writing successes of Writers’ Village University members are celebrated. Many of the writers profiled in the May issue have new successes to report. Sylvia Dickey Smith’s book Dance on My Grave is now available through Barnes and Noble and Amazon. Donna Sundblad participated in a Moveable Feast with five other writers, where she circulated among tables of diners and talked about her books and writing. Lisa Finch had two more articles published, “The View from Here” and Grandma Always Told Me, in the May/June issue of Daytripping in Southern Ontario.
 
Now for a picnic basket full of inspiration, and the achievement of these dedicated writers are soul-nourishing. Enjoy!
.
SONJA HERBERT
“Ever since I knew about my mother’s life, I have wanted to write about it,” says Sonja Herbert. Tightrope!, the account of her mother’s struggle to elude capture and death at the hands of the Nazis as she traveled with a circus caravan in the German countryside, won a prize for $2,500 last September and subsequently attracted an agent’s interest. Chapters from the book also won first place in two separate writing contests sponsored by Joyous Publishing and appear in the publisher’s anthology.

Sonja started writing the manuscript when she first joined WVU in 1998. “At that time, I didn’t know much about writing, except that I needed to write my mother’s story,” Sonja recalls. “The help of the fine writers at WVU was instrumental in getting the manuscript to where it is now. I don’t think I could have done it without WVU and every body who was so willing to give me their input.” Sonja’s website germanwriter.com includes excerpts from Tightrope! as well as links to other pieces she’s written, many of them prize-winners.

After submitting the biographical novel manuscript to the Eaton Literary Agency in the spring, Sonja says she forgot about it. “When I received the letter in the mail in September, I assumed it was another rejection,” she says. “At first, I didn’t understand what I was reading, but then it sank in.” Her story won the Best Unpublished Manuscript of the Year Award and earned her $2,500. “I thought maybe it was a scam, so I checked out the Eaton Literary Agency and found that they mainly do editing,” Sonja remembers. “I contacted another writer, and he assured me their contest was legitimate and had no strings attached.”

The check arrived with a letter of congratulation, and Sonja decided to buy a state-of-the-art laptop. “So I can do my writing wherever I go,” she says. “I think a lot of good will come from winning this contest, besides the nice chunk of money that went with it.” The writer she consulted about Eaton Literary Agency’s reputation referred her to his agent, who is now waiting for the final rewrite of her manuscript.

“I have belonged to many study groups. Many of them don’t exist anymore,” Sonja says of her membership at WVU, which spans almost ten years. She currently belongs to Hemingway Hall and Timeless Tales. “Let me tell you,” she says, “the input I have been getting from the study groups for my work over the years is absolutely priceless.” She advises beginning writers to consider everyone’s advice and to listen to comments without taking offense.

Her writing day begins with breakfast and revisions. “I’m a morning person,” Sonja says. “After going to the gym, I do my copywriting.” Later, she searches for markets, almost exclusively through the Internet, and sends out pieces. “I prefer to submit electronically,” she says. “It’s so much easier and cheaper, but I’m willing to send things by snail mail if I feel good about the market.”

First drafts challenge Sonja. She saves that work for the evening. “When I sit down for a first draft, I have to tell myself it’s okay to write garbage,” she says, “or the inner critic will seduce me into playing a computer game instead of writing.” She uses a clever method to help her begin a piece. “I found it helps a lot if I have something similar already written, even if it needs extensive changes,” Sonja says. “It doesn’t make it as daunting as sitting in front of an empty page.”

Much of Sonja’s writing is drawn from her life experience. In Germany as a child, she moved from town to town in a caravan with her large family as part of a traveling carnival. She received about eight years of education and attended many different schools. Excerpts from her memoir called Cross and Carnival have been published online and in print anthologies. The prologue won first prize in the December 2005 Joyous Publishing Writing Contest and appears in the anthology Internationally Yours: Prize Winning Stories. Other sections are published in the anthology His Forever: Real People Coming to Christ.

At 23, Sonja immigrated to Utah. “I begged my way into the local community college,” she says. As her English improved, she wrote for the local newspaper and completed a science fiction novel. “Then life interfered,” Sonja says. “I got divorced, took my six children and moved to Cedar City, Utah.” She earned a BA in English, German and Spanish together with a teaching certificate and an MA in Language Acquisition as well as teaching school for several years. Sonja adds, “Needless to say, I had little time for writing in those years.” A piece describing the first time Sonja bought a vehicle after her divorce is featured in the Alabama Writers online literary magazine, Alalit.

Right after she received the Eaton Literary Award, Sonja’s essay “A Peaceful Valley,” won first place from the Preservation Foundation and appears on its website. “It is the story about my three years teaching high school on the Navaho reservation after my divorce with four of my children,” she says. “The constant peace of the desert immersed me and slowed my churning mind.” Sonja plans to write a memoir about this transformative time in the Monument Valley as soon as the final revision of Tightrope! is complete.

Now remarried, Sonja says, “I just sent my last baby to college.” She lives in Oregon and works as a freelance content page copy writer as well as writing fiction and creative non-fiction. Recent publications include an essay about her mother, published this year in Letters to My Mother: Tributes to the Women Who Gave Us Life and Love, and one about her son, published in A Cup of Comfort for Grandparents in September 2006.

Sonja’s current fiction project is a Christian suspense romance with the working title “Steamboat Falls.” She says about her work in progress, “The initial idea came from something I read years ago in Germany. It has stayed with me all this time and has finally found its way into my writing.” After being rejected by the man of her dreams, the main character, a college girl, is kidnapped by a man who’s been stalking her. Held captive in a ghost town, she struggles to escape as well as to deal with her heartbreak. “I don’t think it will have a sequel,” Sonja says, “but it’s altogether possible that I will write another story along the same lines.”

In closing, Sonja had one last recommendation for starting writers: “The input you get at WVU is priceless in teaching you to become the best writer you can be.”

S. K. HAMILTON
“There is no other feeling in the world like holding your proof copy in your hands and reading your story ONE more time in print,” says Sylvia Hamilton of her first “hands-on experience” with her recently published novel, The Kahills of Willow Walk. Sylvia uses the pen name S. K. Hamilton, but she’s known as Pee Wee at WVU, where she’s been a member since 2002. She credits joining Writers' Village University as the beginning of her success. “The courses, the groups, the interaction with other writers have been a crucial factor in my writing,” she says. “It works to work with others. WVU is mentioned on my acknowledgment page.”

Originally titled “Kiss the Kat for Me,” the novel is now available as an ebook through Lulu.com and in paperback through Sylvia’s website. “I’ve been in several study groups,” she says, “but I’m back in Word Slingers where I’ve received a lot of good feedback for this book. Most of my classmates will remember my story by its original title.”

Sylvia’s cherished memories of Wheeling, West Virginia, where she grew up, as well as a trip to Mexico served as inspirations for her novel. “Nothing is closer to my heart than the green hills and valleys of my hometown,” Sylvia writes in her website, and she set Willow Walk, the ancestral home built by the Kahills, in those beloved hills. Dawson and his sister Katarina struggle to preserve the stately mansion and fulfill their grandfather’s dreams, but Katarina’s impulsive entanglement and Dawson’s wife’s insane jealousy threaten all they hold dear. “The story proves the enduring quality of family and its hope for the future,” Sylvia says, “even when the unexpected and the unthinkable change the dynamics in ways never dreamed possible.”

When she learned her novel was accepted for publication, Sylvia says, “I cried happy tears. Hubby and I celebrated at the Lobster House for dinner and cocktails.” She is currently working on a sequel with the working title “For the Love of Willow Walk.” Of the hometown setting, Sylvia says, “Those are the things I know about.”

Her father and grandfather, both poets, inspired Sylvia in her writing. “The love of writing runs in the family,” she says. “My father taught me to respect the written word and never deface a book by turning the corners of pages down nor make notes in the margin.” She fondly recalls being read to as a child and learning penmanship in elementary school. “It made me love to write, anything and everything,” Sylvia says. “It was sort of an art to me.” Sylvia used her eye for design when creating her novel’s cover illustration.

Drawing from her happy childhood, Sylvia has also written a series of stories. “I call them ‘Long Ago Stories’ and each one has its own title,” she says. “I hope to have them published one day.”

While Sylvia has concentrated on novel writing in the last two or three years, she says, “My interest began with poetry from as far back as I can remember.” Her favorite writer is Rod McKuen, and she plans to compile her poems into a book. “Maybe even dig out my old work, dust it off and see if any is worthy.” She reads books about self-improvement and writing and enjoys Danielle Steele, Frank Yerby and Georgette Heyer.

Sylvia now lives in Florida with her husband and her cat Marble. She has one daughter and four grandchildren. “I feel as though I’m on perpetual vacation as I live in a Fifth Wheel (a type of travel trailer) in an RV park.” Before Sylvia began writing her novel, she and her husband did decorating, wallpaper installation and painting. “I have no writing routine mainly because I’m retired and don’t need one,” she says, “but for those who do have busy lives, a routine would probably be mandatory.”

Following publishers’ guidelines carefully is one routine Sylvia does follow. “I also try to keep query letters and synopses short and to the point,” she says, “no flowery stuff.” She also believes in writing regularly. “Never let a day go by that you don’t write a little something,” Sylvia advises. “Make writing a habit, like brushing your teeth and give it priority.”

Seeking new perspectives has helped Sylvia in her writing. “The most important thing any writer can do, in my opinion, is having a good editor,” she says. “Even editors need editors. It may cost a little extra money, but it will help get your book published.” Sylvia also knows the value of joining writers’ groups. “Studying the craft of writing whether you’re published or not, is never ending and WVU has many excellent courses,” she says. “Don’t be offended by critics and feedback. Weigh and balance the possibilities and then do as you like accordingly.

“Every day is my ideal writing day,” Sylvia continues. “Any time of day or night, I’m not locked into a special time. I’m at it even on Christmas day.” She sees retirement as an advantage. “Life doesn’t get so much in the way,” she says. “Good for me because I’m a slow writer.”

JOSEPH ARECHAVALA
“My poems come from a place I really don’t understand,” says Joseph Arechavala. “I usually get an idea for a line or two and go from there.” Two of his poems, “death by poetry” and “My Moon at the end,” were recently accepted to be published in the Summer 2007 issue of Skyline Magazine, which has already sold out.

A member of WVU for almost four years, Joseph coordinates the Flash Fiction study group. He invites anyone interested to stop by and check it out. “The group’s been too quiet for the last few months,” he says. “I think it’s a good group for beginners because there’s no pressure to write anything long. I’ve noticed novice writers seem to start with shorter works. To be able to write a story under 1,000 words is less pressure.”

Joseph describes his non-writing life as “boring actually.” Married with two boys, aged seventeen and six, he was born in New Jersey and has lived there all his life. “Home is hectic as both my sons have issues with disabilities (mild, thank goodness),” he says, “and my wife suffers from several chronic illnesses.” Joseph works as a buyer at a major aerospace company and attends school part-time working toward an undergraduate degree in English. “As for spare time,” he says, “I sleep.”

These poems are not Joseph’s first publications, but he says he was still excited to learn he was going to be published. “I just sat at my desk in shock. For me, it validated that I do actually have some talent.” He just kept going with his writing in lieu of celebrations. “I write when I can squeeze it in or as soon as I get an idea,” he says. “Otherwise, it will be gone ten minutes later.”

After enduring a serious breakdown from chronic depression in 1998, Joseph turned to writing. “I still suffer from it,” he says, “but it’s generally under control. The funny thing is I think I write better material when I’m down.” When asked for further explanation, he continues. “I don’t recommend this for anyone. Depression isn’t a fun condition, but that’s what I see in my own work. My emotions come through more clearly, mainly because there are less obstacles in the way of my expressing my true feelings.”

Most of Joseph’s writing has a serious edge, but he has written some humorous poems. Of his poem “death by poetry,” he says, “It’s how I feel about poetry and my work.” He sometimes omits capitalization of words. “It’s primarily an instinct with me,” he says, “and also the fact that Microsoft Word capitalizes the first line for you and I’m occasionally lazy.

“Inspiration can come from anywhere,” Joseph continues,” and I encourage writers to look for it at every opportunity. Because poetry is so condensed, words are very important but if you don’t generate an emotional response in the reader, you’ve failed. So both words and emotion are equally important to me.”

Fiction was actually Joseph’s first interest. “As I grew as a writer, I became more and more interested in poetry and got better at it,” he says. “I don’t view poetry and fiction as two separate entities, but for me, they don’t interact.” He’s completed a vampire novel and plans to submit it for publication and would also like to compile a book of his poems.

Tim O’Brien, author of The Things They Carried, tops Joseph’s list of favorite authors followed by Wallace Stevens and William Carlos Williams. “I wish I had a great writing name like that,” he says, adding that the late Jane Kenyon is a contemporary poet whose work he admires, particularly Let Evening Come.

“Read and write!” Joseph advises new writers and veterans alike. “The more you practice the more you’ll hone your skills.” He also has words of warning about submitting work. “Get used to rejection, lots and lots of rejection,” he says. “I’ve had to submit a lot of work to many publications to get something published, so I encourage anyone submitting their work not to give up.” Joseph acknowledges WVU as an important part of his writing life. “The other writers I’ve interacted with here have helped me grow immensely as a writer,” he says, “and I’m grateful to them all.”

Congratulations Sonja, Sylvia and Joseph. Your successes renew all of our writing aspirations. Many more writers at WVU have achieved writing success recently and will be featured in upcoming columns. Please contact me at recognitions@wvu.org about your acceptances, publications, e-launches or awards so your achievements will also be included. Be sure to use “T-Zero Recognitions” as part of the subject line.


About the Authors
Vivian Reed lives and writes in Long Beach, California. With the patient support of her husband and two sons, she is currently “transitioning” into a full-time writing career. Several of her poems have appeared in literary magazines, and before she became a mother, two of her plays were produced in the Los Angeles area. She is proud to write the Recognitions column for T-Zero: the Writers' E-zine as well as the recent acceptance of one of her essays for publication by the Serenity Prayer Project.




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Fiction Short Story

by Renee Holland Davidson

Cuttings

It was not until the first ray of sunlight beamed into her face that Beth unkinked herself from the corner of her bedroom. She blinked, rubbing the small of her back where it had been wedged against the plastered wall. Her entire body ached and her head throbbed, making her feel like a decrepit old lady instead of the teenager she was. She gazed at her bed, at the stained linens, crumpled and torn. Sometime during the night, she had wrenched herself from the twisted sheets and crawled into her safe, dark space.

The nightmares had begun again.

She is running through the forest, a burlap bag slung over her shoulder. From within the bag, she hears the screeching of cats, the squawking of geese, and an unrecognizable cacophony of guttural roars. Through the burlap, the cats claw her back and the geese peck her shoulders. And worst of all, hissing in her ears, is her mother's voice shrieking her name over and over again.

Beth shook her head, forcing the nightmare from her mind. Her feather comforter still draped around her shoulders, she listened to the house waking: the creak of floorboards, and the crackle of warming windows. Eventually the house grew quiet. She padded barefoot to the door and cupped her ear against it. For a few glorious moments, she heard nothing but the hushed rush of the sea invading dead air.

Beth unclenched her fingers from the comforter, letting it fall into a pile at her feet. A few feathers escaped a torn seam, and glided across the dusty pinewood floor. She captured an ash gray plume between her toes, and wondered how many geese had been sacrificed to keep her warm.

On tiptoes, she inched to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She ran bathwater, then stood in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the door. The sight of her blood-drenched nightgown told her that last night had been more than a nightmare. She pulled the gown over her head, felt the pull of cotton tugging dried blood. Inspecting her nude body, her fingers ran over the splotched canvas of her skin from neck to ankle, lingering on each bruise, tracing each welt and scab, reading the history of her fifteen years in a macabre Braille. Her mother's voice rang in her ears, intoning filthy, hateful words. Then the screams—her mother's, her own. Again and again, she ran her hands over her body, staring in the mirror until her reflection was hidden by the rising steam.

She slowly lowered herself into the tub. Her arms were last to enter; tears slid down her cheeks as the hot water invaded each razor cut—a ladder of unsupported rungs—that climbed from wrist to elbow. Soon, the water turned the gauzy crimson of a sailor's warning dawn.

She lay in the tub, tracking each cut with the tip of a finger, remembering when the cutting had begun.

* * *

It had been late spring when Beth found the kitten prowling amongst the garbage cans. When her mother demanded she banish the tiny animal to the woods, Beth hid her in the gardening shed, and fed her bits of chicken fat and prepared powdered milk. She'd named her Sasha, and for three days, had kept her safe. On the fourth morning, Sasha slipped out of the shed, proudly carrying a mouse clenched between her jaws, and deposited her prize on the kitchen linoleum.

Before Beth could reach the kitten, her mother had stomped across the kitchen. "Filthy creature!"

Sasha hissed, paws flailing.

Her mother bent down, reached for Sasha, then screamed as tiny daggers hit their mark. Three thin red lines appeared on the top of her hand. She jumped back and cursed, then brought her foot back.

"No!" Beth screamed. It did no good.

The toe of her mother's scuffed brown boot connected with the kitten's stomach. Sasha yowled in mid-air, yowled again as she slammed against the closed oven door, then fell to the floor, silent. Blood oozed from her ears.

Beth cowered in the corner, whimpering, hands tight against her middle, preparing for the blow she knew was coming.

"Didn't I tell you to get rid of it? Didn't I tell you?" Once again, the brown boot rushed through the air, this time catching Beth in the ribs.

Beth bit her lip, tried hard to be silent, but a mewl escaped from between her clenched teeth.

Her mother crouched down before Beth, eyes bright with demented glee. She brushed the hair from Beth's eyes. "What's the matter? Is my big girl crying? Is my big girl scared?" A laugh, then a bitter scowl broke her face. She yanked Beth's hair, pulled her to her feet, then shoved her down next to Sasha's broken body. Reaching into the pantry, she grabbed a handful of rags and a burlap bag, dropping them in Beth's lap. Now clean up that mess."

* * *

Beth opened her eyes, shaking the horrid memories from her mind. She did not know how long she had been soaking in the tub, but the water had turned cold. Her eyes fell on the single razor blade that glinted on the bathtub rim. She picked up the blade, and threw it in the trashcan. She'd never again cut herself. Not anymore.

Beth slipped into a worn pair of jeans, topped with an old sweatshirt and jacket. She smirked as she laced up the scuffed pair of dark brown boots. Slowly she made her way to the gardening shed, autumn leaves crunching beneath her feet.

Two hours later, she left the shed, her mother's muffled shrieks still resounding in her head. In one hand, Beth carried a shovel, in the other, a burlap bag. There were more bags in the shed, but they would have to wait.

Beth hurried through the forest, oblivious to the brilliant reds and yellows of the trees' dying leaves. A mile or so, and she would bury her burden—far away from the clover field where Sasha rested in her stone-covered grave. Soon, she thought, soon, she would no longer hear the sound of her mother's voice. With each step, the voice grew increasingly faint. Beth jostled the bag, imagining the burlap scraping the evil, twisted lips from her mother's face.

She heard the rumble of thunder in the distance, and smiled as thick raindrops began to fall. Before long, she would be dancing on her mother's grave, reveling in the cleansing rain.


About the Author
Renee Holland Davidson lives in Southern California with her husband, Mark, and their two mischievous mutts, Josie and Kinsey. Her fiction has appeared in T-Zero, flashquake, Espresso Fiction, and various other online and print publications. Renee's flash memoir, Nothing At All, was published in Chicken Soup for the Shopper's Soul.


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Fiction Short Story

by Nita DeWeese

Georgia

Temperatures climbed to 80 degrees and it wasn't even noon. The high humidity spawned beads of perspiration along her short, gray hairline. The walk to the gift shop took only ten minutes, and they would be open until four, so what was the rush?

Sixty-eight-year-old Tina Mester struggled to slow her stride, but she might just as well have tried to be fifty. Brushing at the wetness at the nape of her neck, she scurried along the concrete path.

I can't believe I forgot, Tina thought. How could I forget? I've sent her a birthday card, on time, for twenty-two years! Her hands balled into tight fists and her gait remained furiously fast. Anyone but Georgia! Georgia Tetly. Tina's idol, her mentor, her very best, best friend. If it hadn't been for Georgia, Tina would have probably committed suicide. It was Georgia who took her in after Paul died, Georgia who held her through the nights Tina literally doubled over in the agony of her loss. Georgia forced her to work through the pain, to see that life could still be worth living. It was Georgia who introduced Tina to Journaling to rid herself of all the negatives, all the raw, ugly feelings that threatened to smother her.

Tina passed the Activity Center, the Sunflower Dining Room and the Social Center. Sweat ran freely down her face and neck as she entered the blissful coolness of the air-conditioned gift shop.

Her mind still on Georgia, Tina barely acknowledged the clerk's greeting. She rushed to the card counter and began searching through the stacks. Two full stacks had been perused before it dawned on Tina that she couldn't send just a birthday card. No! Due to her negligence, she would have to send a belated birthday card. Belated! Whatever would Georgia think?

Georgia was responsible not only for saving Tina's life, but for encouraging her to write a book based on her Journals. A book that became a best seller, because it helped so many grieving widows to get on with their lives. She owed Georgia everything. They hadn't been able to get together often these last few years, but they called each other once a month or so, and spoke as though they had never been apart. And now, she'd forgotten to send her a birthday card.

Tina picked up a belated birthday card that didn't sound too mushy. She paid the clerk and started back home. If she hurried, she could get it addressed and stamped before postman Curt came to deliver the mail. Then, she'd call Georgia and apologize that the card would be late.

"Happy Birthday, Georgia! I'm so sorry your card will be late, but I swear I'm getting senile!"

"When you're ninety-eight, who cares? I'm just delighted to hear from you! You've made my day!" Georgia laughed heartily, but ended coughing. The cough sounded deep in her chest and went on for more than a minute.

"Georgia! You still have that awful hack. I swear I'm gonna have to come up there and get you straightened out!" They both knew that Tina couldn't afford to fly to Ohio. And, Georgia didn't feel well enough to fly to Florida.

"Come on ahead! I'll get your bed ready," Georgia replied as she always did when they spoke of getting together. It'd been five years since they'd seen each other, eighteen since Georgia had traveled.

There was an awkward silence. Finally, Tina said, "Oh, Georgia. We'll never see each other again. That makes me so very sad." Tears trickled down Tina's cheeks. She tried to keep the waver out of her voice, grateful that Georgia couldn't see her right now. "Since I messed up on your card this year, I've decided to just call you once a day and wish you a happy unbirthday. What do you think of that?"

"I think that's pretty dumb, pretty expensive and awful darn nice."

"Okay, then, I’ll call tomorrow. Have a great rest of today. Happy Birthday. I love you!" Tina waited just long enough to hear the echo of Georgia's sentiment and hung up before her voice betrayed her tears. What would she do when Georgia was gone? What would she ever do?

The next morning, Tina hurried through her few chores, and gathered some magazine articles she wanted to share with Georgia. She could hardly wait for one o'clock to place the call and hear Georgia's deep cheerful voice. A man answered the phone.

"Who is this?" Tina demanded. "What are you doing in Georgia's house?" Tina knew there were no children, no brothers, no relatives. Georgia had outlived them all. A cold knot formed in Tina's stomach.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, who are you?" His voice was strong, full of authority, young.

"Why, I'm her best friend, Tina, calling from Florida. Let me speak with her now, please." The knot grew colder and larger and seemed to work toward her chest.

"I am sorry, ma'am, but Mrs. Tetly passed away sometime during the night. When her porch light wasn't turned off by noon, a neighbor decided to check on her. I'm the EMS driver."

"Oh, no. I just spoke with her yesterday. She was ninety-eight yesterday. I forgot to mail her birthday card so I called her yesterday. We just talked yester. . ."

"Ma'am? Are you all right? Is there someone you can call to stay with you awhile?"

"No. No. I don't need to call anyone. I just wanted to call Georgia. We've been friends ever since . . . I'm sorry young man. I'm babbling. It's just that I didn't expect her to pass–well, thank you. Thank you very much."

Tina carefully replaced the receiver in its cradle. The knot filled her throat so she couldn't swallow. She sat quietly, her hand still on the phone until she heard Curt at her mailbox.

When Tina retrieved her mail, she found a small, plain white envelope with no return address. Her pulse quickened. Why, that's Georgia's handwriting. I'd know it anywhere. Her hand shook as she slit open the envelope. She'd been right. It was from Georgia, and in it, she thanked Tina for her friendship over the years and asked her not to grieve when Georgia was gone because she had had a wonderful long life and promised she would see Tina again in heaven where they both would have new bodies and have an eternity to share. How did she know she'd be dead when I got this? She had to have mailed it at least three days ago! Tina turned the envelope over and verified the postmark was indeed three days earlier. How did she know?

Tina surprised herself by not bursting into tears. The knot in her throat disappeared and as she thought of all Georgia had done for her, and what she had meant to her, Tina decided the best thing she could do in Georgia's memory was to mentor another newly grieving widow. Tina thought of Jesse Turner, whose husband had died just last week. Yes, that's what she would do; pass on to another what Georgia had so freely given her.

A tiny smile played at Tina's mouth. Georgia wouldn't have to see a belated birthday card after all.


About the Author
Anita DeWeese has been an aspiring author since the mid-sixties, when she had a short story published in Sunshine and an article in a camping magazine. Interruptions of career and children kept writing at a minimum. Now a retired widow, the writer gene still pulsates. A former Buckeye, Nita  lives in an active retirement community in Florida. In her working life corporate financial matters occupied her time; today volunteer service competes with writing. Perhaps someday writing will get the upper hand.


T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine
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Poetics Presents The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Poetics Presents

A. C. Hardy

A. C. Hardy was born in 1962 and grew up in LaGrange, North Carolina. He attended North Carolina State University and graduated from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill [B.S. Pharmacy, 1985]. Mr. Hardy was named an "Editor's Choice" winner in the 18th annual Robert Penn Warren Free Verse Contest and his poems have appeared in ByLine Magazine and The Anthology of New England Writers.

Winter

Outside the rain was slowly turning to snow,
Covering by degrees the sodden and lifeless earth.
The last embers of the fire had died and fallen away
Leaving ash for memory...

And the man saw,
Through the shattered window of his soul,
The countless follies of a meaningless existence.
And wanted to cry.

For the world was awfully cold that night.

Copyright ©2007 by A. C. Hardy




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

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Poetics Presents

Christina Hile

Christina Hile was born in Olympia, Washington. She has won awards for her poetry and her drama.

TEA WITH HAMLET

In the delicate days since his disappearance,
I've noticed you have my friend's hands:
White flowers.
Your eyes, too, are his:
Stones, ink, the color of pine trees lining a December horizon,
With great, grey clouds behind.
Rain falls down,
Luring the soil up to herself,
Crickets huddle along the hillside,
Your breathing drifts
Into restless breezes.

I whispered undercover words into your ear--
A strange new impulse,
It might have happened then,
Except you closed your eyes.
I lost hold of you,
Dispersing wings of many colors:
Soiled linen, hoary white, blush of flesh.
All night the raindrops tumble.
I sip the tea, our tea, from this delicate porcelain,
a gift in my clumsy hands.
Beyond the gates,
a young shrub shifts soundlessly
into white flower.

Copyright ©2007 by Christina Hile




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

Poetics Presents The Writers' Ezine - T-Zero Xpandizine

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Poetics Presents

Aurelio Rico Lopez III

Aurelio Rico Lopez III is a self-diagnosed scribble junkie from Iloilo City, Philippines. His poetry has been featured in numerous print magazines and online e-zines such as Mythic Delirium, Dark Animus, Illumen, Black Petals, Goblin Fruit, Kaleidotrop, Sybil’s Garage, Aoife’s Kiss, Brew City Magazine, The Shantytown Anomaly, and The Horror Express. He has also co-authored two chapbooks JOLTS and ODDITIES with Kristine Ong Muslim.

Above Howling Winds

In a dusty attic
Above howling winds,
Grandma’s rocker creaks.
I shield my ears
With my palms,
Pressing tightly til it feels
Like my head is caught
In a vise.
Yet I hear her chair
Grinding age-old dust
Against the wooden floor,
The infernal sound
Raking unseen jagged fingernails
Across my brain.
In a dusty attic
Above howling winds,
Grandma’s rocker creaks.
I fear that not even murder
Will rid me of her.

Copyright ©2007 by Aurelio Rico Lopez III




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