By Fred Fields
Experience is the best teacher. It doesn't have to be your own, and anybody's experience can qualify. That's why we study history. If we can find out how a particular problem was solved in 1350, AD, we may be able to solve the same problem the same way in 2012, AD.
The first important lesson I learned about writing and being able to sell what I wrote was that "how to" books sell a lot better than fiction. Anyone can write how to and sell it. But few ever become Louis L'Amour or Agatha Christie. I learned this at the SC Book Festival, the same day and the same place I learned about SCWW.
So I put aside my great American novel and wrote a book about how to play golf.
Being totally unknown, and having to compete with famous golf pros and authors, I really had no hope of finding a traditional publisher who would print and merchandise my book. So I took it to Kinko's for an estimate on the price of printing. It was about $6.00 a book, actually more reasonable than I expected.
My son-in-law recommended that I contact Amazon. They have a printing subsidiary called CreateSpace, which has a three page pamphlet online describing their service. It looked interesting, so I contacted them, liked their program even better as I got to know it, and subscribed to their service.
This is not a commercial for Createspace. Being a total ADD Type, I stopped looking when I found them. But there are several others who provide the same service, probably as well, maybe better. I just picked the first good deal I found.
I was able to have my book published and on the market within two weeks of completion. I set the price. I was a published author. I was very happy with the result.
Next problem, how to market the book.
Back to the SC Book Festival, where there was a seminar on merchandising. I spoke to the lady who gave the seminar, Shari Stauch, and later bought her internet marketing course. She taught me that there are sites on the internet that put people with inventory (my books) together with people who sell online and are looking for inventory. Her price was reasonable. I bought her service, used her advice, and this month, my royalties are triple her fee. I’m sure there are others who provide the same information, but she was the one I chose. (Still having ADD, I took the first choice.) And I hit it lucky again.
In closing, I am a very satisfied customer of self-publishing and internet marketing. My book is selling. You can find me at Amazon.com and on Google. In my own little way, I am a successful, published author. (Even a little bit famous.)
Showing posts with label Member Work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Member Work. Show all posts
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Werewolves, Cinnamon Bun Pirates, and Other Ghosts of My Writing Past
By Amanda Simays
My parents are moving out of the house they’ve lived in for twenty years. Which of my belongings do I discard, and which do I make them lug to their new house and store for me until God knows when? My attempts to weed out parts of my childhood bedroom over Christmas taught me a lot about my priorities. Stuffed animals, summer camp t-shirts, graduation paraphernalia? Toss without a backward glance. But my packrat tendencies kicked in when it came to really valuable stuff like old American Girl magazines, my collection of 1967 World Book encyclopedias…and anything I’ve written.
I hang onto almost all of my writing, whether it’s in a notebook or a computer file. Partly because it represents a lot of hard work, but mostly because (to use a cliché), I’m scared to throw out the baby with the bathwater. What if, buried deep in the piles of writing rubbish, there’s a character, a line of dialogue, or even a phrase I might want to use someday?
During the creation of a 150-page novel I wrote when I was about fourteen, I also ended up with an 80-page rival document of deleted scenes. Most of the writing there I can’t see using in the future at all. There is, for instance, a long, digressive subplot about a pirate who’s so obsessed with eating cinnamon buns that even his name, Nubni Mannic, is “cinnamon bun” spelled backwards…and incorrectly. But the description of a character who has “greasy hair the color of a banana bruise?" Hmmm…worth hanging onto…just in case.
Even earlier in my past, my brother approached me with a request to write him a werewolf story, and his instructions were to “make it as scary as possible.” So I did, and it was very scary. You can tell how scary this story is right from the subtle opening:
But I didn’t, and years later, I’m glad I kept it. At the very least, hanging onto very bad writing gives me reassurance of how far I’ve come in the course of my writing life…or lets me have a good laugh at myself.
My parents are moving out of the house they’ve lived in for twenty years. Which of my belongings do I discard, and which do I make them lug to their new house and store for me until God knows when? My attempts to weed out parts of my childhood bedroom over Christmas taught me a lot about my priorities. Stuffed animals, summer camp t-shirts, graduation paraphernalia? Toss without a backward glance. But my packrat tendencies kicked in when it came to really valuable stuff like old American Girl magazines, my collection of 1967 World Book encyclopedias…and anything I’ve written.
I hang onto almost all of my writing, whether it’s in a notebook or a computer file. Partly because it represents a lot of hard work, but mostly because (to use a cliché), I’m scared to throw out the baby with the bathwater. What if, buried deep in the piles of writing rubbish, there’s a character, a line of dialogue, or even a phrase I might want to use someday?
During the creation of a 150-page novel I wrote when I was about fourteen, I also ended up with an 80-page rival document of deleted scenes. Most of the writing there I can’t see using in the future at all. There is, for instance, a long, digressive subplot about a pirate who’s so obsessed with eating cinnamon buns that even his name, Nubni Mannic, is “cinnamon bun” spelled backwards…and incorrectly. But the description of a character who has “greasy hair the color of a banana bruise?" Hmmm…worth hanging onto…just in case.
Even earlier in my past, my brother approached me with a request to write him a werewolf story, and his instructions were to “make it as scary as possible.” So I did, and it was very scary. You can tell how scary this story is right from the subtle opening:
Hi! My name is Billy. I’d like to tell you something. It all began four years ago when I was eight. One day I was packing for my camping trip with my mom and dad in the mountains. My family just got a new van and station wagon.The story just goes downhill from there, degenerating into a thousand-word gore fest. My brother and I read the story out loud to our dad, expecting him to shiver with fright and proclaim it a masterpiece of suspense. Instead, he was completely disgusted and gave me strict instructions to delete that story and never show anybody.
We were done packing and we were ready to hit the road. On our way we saw some blood on the road and some dead peoples heads. We saw some signs that said “DANGER."
But I didn’t, and years later, I’m glad I kept it. At the very least, hanging onto very bad writing gives me reassurance of how far I’ve come in the course of my writing life…or lets me have a good laugh at myself.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Vanquishing the Gila Monsters of Writing: Reflections on Staying in the Moment as I Walk My Dog
By Chris Mathews
What advice on writing can I add to the nebulas already out there. I am just now beginning my own journey as a writer (although I have published a one-act play Gargoyles) and continue on the more important quest to become a better person. What is a writer but a person who has trained himself to be more aware of the world? By learning to live more in the moment, I hope to make my two journeys as a writer and a person coalesce. Maybe my words will help you in some way vanquish that writer’s fear of fears, that Gila Monster of self-doubt-- the blank page.
Staying in the moment, a concept so crucial to theatre is also a technique that any writer must practice. I believe all human beings should learn to live in the moment. For me walking my rat-terrier Little Bro allows me to do this. In fact, I have begun to practice this concept by writing what I call Broems, poems about my moment-to-moment journey with Bro.
I believe all of us in this increasingly complex, technological whirl of a world need to soak up the moment—not allow all our free time to be taken up with thoughts of work. Electronic devices and multi-tasking have only left us with tunnel vision—the inability to see what is really all around us. Tunnel vision is the enemy of good writing and good living because we are locking out our senses—the vital organs of all good writing. I am not proposing that writers don’t need focus, just that they need to be able to take in the present with their senses so that they can keep the reader alive in the moment and not sidetracked outside the world they are creating. Writers and all people should spend time living in the moment.
I manage to do this with varying degrees of success when I take Little Bro for walks. These little jaunts have become for me a time of great discovery and pleasure. In a real sense, I am practicing a skill that I can apply to my writing, which I want to resonate with readers. First, however, I must relearn those ways of perceiving we all had as children.
Here is a “Broem” where I have tried to practice staying in the moment.
What advice on writing can I add to the nebulas already out there. I am just now beginning my own journey as a writer (although I have published a one-act play Gargoyles) and continue on the more important quest to become a better person. What is a writer but a person who has trained himself to be more aware of the world? By learning to live more in the moment, I hope to make my two journeys as a writer and a person coalesce. Maybe my words will help you in some way vanquish that writer’s fear of fears, that Gila Monster of self-doubt-- the blank page.
Staying in the moment, a concept so crucial to theatre is also a technique that any writer must practice. I believe all human beings should learn to live in the moment. For me walking my rat-terrier Little Bro allows me to do this. In fact, I have begun to practice this concept by writing what I call Broems, poems about my moment-to-moment journey with Bro.
I believe all of us in this increasingly complex, technological whirl of a world need to soak up the moment—not allow all our free time to be taken up with thoughts of work. Electronic devices and multi-tasking have only left us with tunnel vision—the inability to see what is really all around us. Tunnel vision is the enemy of good writing and good living because we are locking out our senses—the vital organs of all good writing. I am not proposing that writers don’t need focus, just that they need to be able to take in the present with their senses so that they can keep the reader alive in the moment and not sidetracked outside the world they are creating. Writers and all people should spend time living in the moment.
I manage to do this with varying degrees of success when I take Little Bro for walks. These little jaunts have become for me a time of great discovery and pleasure. In a real sense, I am practicing a skill that I can apply to my writing, which I want to resonate with readers. First, however, I must relearn those ways of perceiving we all had as children.
Here is a “Broem” where I have tried to practice staying in the moment.
Night Clouds
Night clouds envelop the moon
Its swift passing upwards
Dizzying--
Not to my dog
Little Bro.
He doesn’t know,
As he tests the blades of grass
Each one
For forgotten whiffs.
This one smells like chickweed.
This one sassafras
No, maybe not.
He doesn’t know those words
Only the smells which
Circulate through
Celestial chambers
Layers piled upon layers
Of ripeness and rightness.
He pees.
The moon rises
Time goes on.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Memoir Treasure Trove
By Laura P. Valtorta
As I write my memoir, I find there is no lack of subject matter, especially when I want to make things comical. I study the people around me and ask, “Who’s funny?” The answer: everybody.
My husband, Marco – we call him “Ocram” when he’s flapping his arms in disgust over some picayune problem. My son’s band director, who thinks that Mount Everest is the tallest mountain in the United States. My friend, Cathy, who is in-your-face competitive and -- surprise –- an attorney. Not to mention the priest who calls Polish people “PO-loks” during a homily, the “Christians” who hate Obama because he’s African-American, and my son who brushes his teeth obsessively because of some apparent competition among 11th-graders over who has the whitest teeth.
Hilarious. All of them. And this isn’t even including my legal clients. They keep me rolling in the aisles. The hip-hop clothes. The “we hate all federal benefits” toothlessness. The colloquial expressions. The inability to pronounce my last name. When someone’s first name is “Kwajelyn,” she should be able to pronounce “Valtorta.” Is this some kind of an onomastic face-off? I am not “Ms. Victoria,” not “Mrs. Ventura.” I’ve never been the Queen of England nor married to a wrestling politiican. It’s Val-TOR-ta. All phonetic. It means “twisted valley,” just like the landscape of my life.
I don’t know where to begin with the “comedy jokes.” I do know that when I begin writing about my wonderful, beloved Writers’ Group – the funniest ones of all -- I’ll have to figure out whether to read the stuff aloud and how to change the names.
As I write my memoir, I find there is no lack of subject matter, especially when I want to make things comical. I study the people around me and ask, “Who’s funny?” The answer: everybody.
My husband, Marco – we call him “Ocram” when he’s flapping his arms in disgust over some picayune problem. My son’s band director, who thinks that Mount Everest is the tallest mountain in the United States. My friend, Cathy, who is in-your-face competitive and -- surprise –- an attorney. Not to mention the priest who calls Polish people “PO-loks” during a homily, the “Christians” who hate Obama because he’s African-American, and my son who brushes his teeth obsessively because of some apparent competition among 11th-graders over who has the whitest teeth.
Hilarious. All of them. And this isn’t even including my legal clients. They keep me rolling in the aisles. The hip-hop clothes. The “we hate all federal benefits” toothlessness. The colloquial expressions. The inability to pronounce my last name. When someone’s first name is “Kwajelyn,” she should be able to pronounce “Valtorta.” Is this some kind of an onomastic face-off? I am not “Ms. Victoria,” not “Mrs. Ventura.” I’ve never been the Queen of England nor married to a wrestling politiican. It’s Val-TOR-ta. All phonetic. It means “twisted valley,” just like the landscape of my life.
I don’t know where to begin with the “comedy jokes.” I do know that when I begin writing about my wonderful, beloved Writers’ Group – the funniest ones of all -- I’ll have to figure out whether to read the stuff aloud and how to change the names.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
At Intersections with Point of View
By Lisa Lopez Snyder
I’d like to revisit Alex’s June 26 post about point of view (POV), which I read with great interest because I, too, have been questioning POV with the two protagonists in my novel. (Background note: At the beginning of the novel, neither person knows the other, and each character is from a completely different socioeconomic background. Yet, in each chapter, they are physically situated in close approximation, and individually they struggle with identity issues and a haunted past. It’s not until later in the novel when their paths cross, that their friendship leads to powerful and dangerous complications. At least, I hope it comes across that way!)
The story is told with alternating POV chapters—the male, then the female character. When I began the chapters, I used third person close narrative for both characters, which felt rather natural for the male character, but awkward for the female. I had been struggling for months with her voice. I know what she thinks, believes and how she acts, but why wasn’t it coming across on the page?
I thought I knew her. I drew up what I felt was a fairly good character description as background to help get me inside her head. But on the page, her voice, her actions―her very being―seemed measured and pedantic. Then I experimented: I put her in first person, and suddenly, everything about her and around her seemed to come alive. I could see her struggles, her doubts, and her flaws so much more clearly. There was an immediacy and an urgency about her. I found her voice!
Does it matter whether I have alternating chapters with alternating POV? I think not, at least not right now. I’m also not concerned with transitions between the chapters, since the locations are common reference points for the characters. The other connective thread is that each chapter begins with a very short backstory, thus creating a type of second story that unveils the characters’ troubled past. Basically, I’m going with my gut instinct on what feels right for the character and then worry about how it reads once I revise and then workshop.
That said, I’m constantly trying to keep in mind Alex’s superb take away from Tom Franklin’s Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter―to “make each chapter do its part to tell the story and make each chapter interesting by itself.” Well said!
I’d like to revisit Alex’s June 26 post about point of view (POV), which I read with great interest because I, too, have been questioning POV with the two protagonists in my novel. (Background note: At the beginning of the novel, neither person knows the other, and each character is from a completely different socioeconomic background. Yet, in each chapter, they are physically situated in close approximation, and individually they struggle with identity issues and a haunted past. It’s not until later in the novel when their paths cross, that their friendship leads to powerful and dangerous complications. At least, I hope it comes across that way!)
The story is told with alternating POV chapters—the male, then the female character. When I began the chapters, I used third person close narrative for both characters, which felt rather natural for the male character, but awkward for the female. I had been struggling for months with her voice. I know what she thinks, believes and how she acts, but why wasn’t it coming across on the page?
I thought I knew her. I drew up what I felt was a fairly good character description as background to help get me inside her head. But on the page, her voice, her actions―her very being―seemed measured and pedantic. Then I experimented: I put her in first person, and suddenly, everything about her and around her seemed to come alive. I could see her struggles, her doubts, and her flaws so much more clearly. There was an immediacy and an urgency about her. I found her voice!
Does it matter whether I have alternating chapters with alternating POV? I think not, at least not right now. I’m also not concerned with transitions between the chapters, since the locations are common reference points for the characters. The other connective thread is that each chapter begins with a very short backstory, thus creating a type of second story that unveils the characters’ troubled past. Basically, I’m going with my gut instinct on what feels right for the character and then worry about how it reads once I revise and then workshop.
That said, I’m constantly trying to keep in mind Alex’s superb take away from Tom Franklin’s Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter―to “make each chapter do its part to tell the story and make each chapter interesting by itself.” Well said!
Sunday, April 3, 2011
When the Publisher Comes to You
By David Sennema
I had no concept of the significance of the day the publishers came to me. Well, they didn’t exactly come to me….but they came to a postcard show at which my wife and I were dealers. We bought and sold antique postcards as a retirement business for many years after retiring in 1996.
We had a booth at the show along with many other postcard dealers, but we were the only ones from South Carolina, which turned out to be advantageous. There were representatives of Arcadia Publishing, with their own booth just down the row from us, displaying a sign inviting any and all who might be interested to talk with them about writing local histories illustrated with postcards.
Arcadia grew up in England and had just opened an office in Charleston, South Carolina, after having some success with an office in the New England states. The company was moving into the South and was eager to sign authors for its local history series.
Having recently retired, Marty and I had the time, and we also had what we modestly claimed was the world’s best and most extensive collection of Columbia, South Carolina view postcards. After the Arcadia reps explained what they needed and what the arrangements would be we signed a contract that very day and went to work on our book, Columbia, South Carolina – A Postcard History.
As Marty loves to tell people, the book pretty well occupied our dining room table for the next year as we went about selecting 220 postcards from our collection, researching and writing labels, acknowledgements, an introduction, an explanation of old postcards and an index.
The book hit the market in 1997, and we love to note that it made the local best seller list of The State newspaper on October 12, 1997. Since then we’ve done two revisions of the book, and Arcadia has updated the cover on two occasions. It can usually be found in the local Barnes and Noble stores and is available from them and others via the internet.
Until I started writing fiction and discovered how difficult it is to be published, I never appreciated the ease with which that postcard book came into being.
I had no concept of the significance of the day the publishers came to me. Well, they didn’t exactly come to me….but they came to a postcard show at which my wife and I were dealers. We bought and sold antique postcards as a retirement business for many years after retiring in 1996.
We had a booth at the show along with many other postcard dealers, but we were the only ones from South Carolina, which turned out to be advantageous. There were representatives of Arcadia Publishing, with their own booth just down the row from us, displaying a sign inviting any and all who might be interested to talk with them about writing local histories illustrated with postcards.
Arcadia grew up in England and had just opened an office in Charleston, South Carolina, after having some success with an office in the New England states. The company was moving into the South and was eager to sign authors for its local history series.
Having recently retired, Marty and I had the time, and we also had what we modestly claimed was the world’s best and most extensive collection of Columbia, South Carolina view postcards. After the Arcadia reps explained what they needed and what the arrangements would be we signed a contract that very day and went to work on our book, Columbia, South Carolina – A Postcard History.
As Marty loves to tell people, the book pretty well occupied our dining room table for the next year as we went about selecting 220 postcards from our collection, researching and writing labels, acknowledgements, an introduction, an explanation of old postcards and an index.
The book hit the market in 1997, and we love to note that it made the local best seller list of The State newspaper on October 12, 1997. Since then we’ve done two revisions of the book, and Arcadia has updated the cover on two occasions. It can usually be found in the local Barnes and Noble stores and is available from them and others via the internet.
Until I started writing fiction and discovered how difficult it is to be published, I never appreciated the ease with which that postcard book came into being.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
How Memories Can Provide Writing Material
By Suzanne Roberts
When you are searching for writing material, think about your childhood. Memories of your youth can supply a myriad of events to be used as topics. What uplifting experiences did you have when you were a child, and what are some of the sad events? List the happenings and think about which ones are the most important in your development as an adult. If you kept a journal or photos, these might help jog your memory.
If you plan to use your memories in a novel consider your goals. Do you want to describe a life that will inspire your reader or, perhaps, illustrate the effects of abuse and neglect?
I try to picture the happening completely, the sights, smells, sounds, my feelings, the unusual qualities of the event. I want to capture the moment and the essence of the people or animals. For example, after my cat, Squeaker, died, I thought about what an unusual but wonderful animal she had been. I wrote the following poem.
ENIGMA
Is her vision a hallucination?
Daringly bold or unbalanced?
Images of the unknowable
Waging war on her enemies,
Using her sixth sense to disclose danger,
A courageous crusader.
Her view of life
Fighting fearlessly against the norm,
Resisting the rational,
A regular Joan of Arc
Yet she exists
Cleverly as a cat.
Perhaps it seems strange to compare your cat to Joan of Arc, but to me, the poem captured Squeaker, a cat who showed affection for me but was so opposed to strangers that she frantically hissed at them, viewing them as enemies. To many of my friends, she was an unbalanced scary animal.
Consider the people you loved as a child and how they might inspire the reader. Make a list of their attributes. What made them special to you? How can you convey their essence to the reader?
I have a wealth of memories from my Uncle John and Aunt Bess’s farm, which thrilled me as a child. The farm had acres of land and a pond. Some of my memories include riding a large farm horse when I was eight-years-old; taking a bath in a bucket in the back yard with water pumped from a well; and getting chased by a bull.
Think about the years of your young adulthood. When I was in my early twenties, I was a social worker in the rural Georgia mountains, a job which enabled me to meet men and women who made illegal whiskey, people who seemed to be right out of the pages of James Dickey’s Deliverance, and some very wonderful individuals.
So, when you’re looking for topics, you can find so many happenings from your childhood. Think about your younger years and write!
When you are searching for writing material, think about your childhood. Memories of your youth can supply a myriad of events to be used as topics. What uplifting experiences did you have when you were a child, and what are some of the sad events? List the happenings and think about which ones are the most important in your development as an adult. If you kept a journal or photos, these might help jog your memory.
If you plan to use your memories in a novel consider your goals. Do you want to describe a life that will inspire your reader or, perhaps, illustrate the effects of abuse and neglect?
I try to picture the happening completely, the sights, smells, sounds, my feelings, the unusual qualities of the event. I want to capture the moment and the essence of the people or animals. For example, after my cat, Squeaker, died, I thought about what an unusual but wonderful animal she had been. I wrote the following poem.
ENIGMA
Is her vision a hallucination?
Daringly bold or unbalanced?
Images of the unknowable
Waging war on her enemies,
Using her sixth sense to disclose danger,
A courageous crusader.
Her view of life
Fighting fearlessly against the norm,
Resisting the rational,
A regular Joan of Arc
Yet she exists
Cleverly as a cat.
Perhaps it seems strange to compare your cat to Joan of Arc, but to me, the poem captured Squeaker, a cat who showed affection for me but was so opposed to strangers that she frantically hissed at them, viewing them as enemies. To many of my friends, she was an unbalanced scary animal.
Consider the people you loved as a child and how they might inspire the reader. Make a list of their attributes. What made them special to you? How can you convey their essence to the reader?
I have a wealth of memories from my Uncle John and Aunt Bess’s farm, which thrilled me as a child. The farm had acres of land and a pond. Some of my memories include riding a large farm horse when I was eight-years-old; taking a bath in a bucket in the back yard with water pumped from a well; and getting chased by a bull.
Think about the years of your young adulthood. When I was in my early twenties, I was a social worker in the rural Georgia mountains, a job which enabled me to meet men and women who made illegal whiskey, people who seemed to be right out of the pages of James Dickey’s Deliverance, and some very wonderful individuals.
So, when you’re looking for topics, you can find so many happenings from your childhood. Think about your younger years and write!
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Tools of the Trade
By David Sennema
What do you have within arms’ reach besides your computer keyboard as you sit down to start working on a short story, novel or essay? Rather than using the on-line version, I keep my Webster’s New World Dictionary, Second College Edition (copyright 1972), within easy reach. My college days were well before 1972, so I suppose I picked it up at a garage sale. Next to it, and probably my most-used tool is a copy of Roget’s Thesaurus. Again, it’s available on line, but while I’m writing I prefer to use the “real book” version rather than bouncing in and out of Windows.
Next in line is a book I picked up recently at yet another garage sale entitled The Writer’s Harbrace Handbook. It’s packed full of good stuff about writing, but I use it mostly for grammar and punctuation help. What can I tell you…when I should have been studying English in college I was out serenading the girls’ dorms with the Sigma Nu Quartet.
Then there’s a tiny book called Webster’s Instant Word Guide which is organized like a dictionary but without definitions. It’s really for spelling but does give helpful hints about such things as whether to use pare, pair, or pear.
Most of my stories seem to need names for characters and so I have a paperback at hand entitled 35,000+ Baby Names, which I use mostly for first names. For last names I tend to use the Columbia city telephone directory, although I don’t always use the names exactly as they appear. I also keep a notebook in which I jot down names with special flare that I pick up in the local obituary listings.
The last of my “easy reach” tools is the latest version of the paperback, Novel and Short Story Writer’s Market published by Writer’s Digest Books. Because of the way it’s organized it takes a lot reading to find just the right publisher or contest for my submissions, but it is 650 pages of good information all in one concise book ($27.99).
If I were writing poetry or verse I would keep a rhyming dictionary close at hand (I own two of them), but it’s not that often that I take a stab at something like the limerick with which I close...
Here in Columbia we
Are in love with the Palmetto Tree,
But if you expect
To find one erect,
You’ll have to drive down to the sea.
What do you have within arms’ reach besides your computer keyboard as you sit down to start working on a short story, novel or essay? Rather than using the on-line version, I keep my Webster’s New World Dictionary, Second College Edition (copyright 1972), within easy reach. My college days were well before 1972, so I suppose I picked it up at a garage sale. Next to it, and probably my most-used tool is a copy of Roget’s Thesaurus. Again, it’s available on line, but while I’m writing I prefer to use the “real book” version rather than bouncing in and out of Windows.
Next in line is a book I picked up recently at yet another garage sale entitled The Writer’s Harbrace Handbook. It’s packed full of good stuff about writing, but I use it mostly for grammar and punctuation help. What can I tell you…when I should have been studying English in college I was out serenading the girls’ dorms with the Sigma Nu Quartet.
Then there’s a tiny book called Webster’s Instant Word Guide which is organized like a dictionary but without definitions. It’s really for spelling but does give helpful hints about such things as whether to use pare, pair, or pear.
Most of my stories seem to need names for characters and so I have a paperback at hand entitled 35,000+ Baby Names, which I use mostly for first names. For last names I tend to use the Columbia city telephone directory, although I don’t always use the names exactly as they appear. I also keep a notebook in which I jot down names with special flare that I pick up in the local obituary listings.
The last of my “easy reach” tools is the latest version of the paperback, Novel and Short Story Writer’s Market published by Writer’s Digest Books. Because of the way it’s organized it takes a lot reading to find just the right publisher or contest for my submissions, but it is 650 pages of good information all in one concise book ($27.99).
If I were writing poetry or verse I would keep a rhyming dictionary close at hand (I own two of them), but it’s not that often that I take a stab at something like the limerick with which I close...
Here in Columbia we
Are in love with the Palmetto Tree,
But if you expect
To find one erect,
You’ll have to drive down to the sea.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
A Final Look at the 2009 SCWW Conference with a Treat
By Ilmars Birznieks
On the whole the conference was a resounding success. The Keynote Speaker, Mr. Berry was excellent, just the right balm for struggling writers. For me, two workshops were especially interesting and, I hope, rewarding.
Sessions with good pointers and advice:
• Rochelle Bailey - “I’m Done! Or Am I? (What Happens After You Finish The Novel: Rewrites and Revisions)”
• Karen Syed - “Editing Essentials”
A couple of suggestions for future conferences:
• More directions on site for workshops.
• Improvement of food would help - the high cost of meals just did not match their quality or taste.
To finish our month-long series on the annual SCWW Conference, we are pleased to present Bonnie's poem which took second place in the Carrie McCray Memorial Literary Award Competition. This was a highlight of the conference for all of us at Cola II. Congratulations, Bonnie.
BORN AGAIN
By Bonnie Stanard
When I was a kid
we believers,
baptized in moccasin plagued river waters
and the glory of our own passion,
entered the second gate of heaven
in late August at homecoming,
a reunion attended by far-flung relatives
local disbelievers, nonbelievers
and even freeloaders.
The virtuous act of fasting
gnawed at our stomachs
which rumbled in concert
with the preacher’s booming voice.
We lusted after salvation,
everlasting life, and the patience
to wait for the amen
that would end our sacrifice
and free us to pursue the divine purpose
of picnic baskets, specifically, those packed in cars
parked outside in the shade.
The goodly preacher
did his best to separate us from our sin
and ended with a “Come to Jesus” song.
We streamed outside
to the sanctity of the yard
and tables of exaltation,
bowls of potato salad, butter beans,
okra and tomatoes, fried chicken and pickles.
In a state of grace we piled our plates
to vast and groaning heights.
In a fit of glory, we went back for seconds.
Hallelujah! Went back for coconut cake.
Yes, Brother! Cream puffs and banana pudding!
Praise the Lord! We been saved.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
The Games We Play
By Ginny Padgett
When our writer’s group gathers every few months for a social evening, three standards mark the meeting: 1) good food; 2) camaraderie; 3) a writing exercise.
At our most recent soiree we were asked to write an opening for a story. The prompt to that exercise follows in bold face; my paragraphs ensue.
This activity really massaged my creative muscle, so I challenge you to use the prompt and, as our host Alex Raley said to us, “…see where it leads.”
“Mr. Witherspoon, a Susan Matthews is on line one for you.”
“Okay, thank you.”
Bill closed the office door and pressed the line one button. “Susan, I told you never to call me at the office.”
“Bill, we have to talk. Can you meet me for lunch?”
Bill hesitated for a moment before responding, “I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes beside the dry cleaners on the corner two blocks from your office. We still need to be discreet.”
After returning the handset to the phone, Bill took a key from his briefcase and unlocked the bottom desk drawer. Retrieving a Sig-Sauer P232, he tucked it into the waistband at the back of his gray flannel pants. He donned the single-breasted jacket and went into his private bathroom.
The full-length mirror assured him his weapon didn’t disturb the svelte lines of his $2,000 suit. He leaned forward to study his face and then concentrated on relaxing the tense muscles that showed the stress from the last two weeks. Taking a cleansing breath, he tried on several smiles until he found one that would convey trustworthiness and compassion to Susan.
Locking his office door behind him and then turning toward his assistant’s desk, he said, “Elaine, please cancel all my appointments for the rest of the day. The assisted living facility where my mother lives just called. She’s suffered another stroke and I need to go to her right away.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Witherspoon. I’m so sorry. If I can do anything, just ask. Don’t worry about anything here.”
“Thanks, Elaine. I appreciate your concern,” he said as he strode toward the reception area and the elevators beyond.
When our writer’s group gathers every few months for a social evening, three standards mark the meeting: 1) good food; 2) camaraderie; 3) a writing exercise.
At our most recent soiree we were asked to write an opening for a story. The prompt to that exercise follows in bold face; my paragraphs ensue.
This activity really massaged my creative muscle, so I challenge you to use the prompt and, as our host Alex Raley said to us, “…see where it leads.”
“Mr. Witherspoon, a Susan Matthews is on line one for you.”
“Okay, thank you.”
Bill closed the office door and pressed the line one button. “Susan, I told you never to call me at the office.”
“Bill, we have to talk. Can you meet me for lunch?”
Bill hesitated for a moment before responding, “I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes beside the dry cleaners on the corner two blocks from your office. We still need to be discreet.”
After returning the handset to the phone, Bill took a key from his briefcase and unlocked the bottom desk drawer. Retrieving a Sig-Sauer P232, he tucked it into the waistband at the back of his gray flannel pants. He donned the single-breasted jacket and went into his private bathroom.
The full-length mirror assured him his weapon didn’t disturb the svelte lines of his $2,000 suit. He leaned forward to study his face and then concentrated on relaxing the tense muscles that showed the stress from the last two weeks. Taking a cleansing breath, he tried on several smiles until he found one that would convey trustworthiness and compassion to Susan.
Locking his office door behind him and then turning toward his assistant’s desk, he said, “Elaine, please cancel all my appointments for the rest of the day. The assisted living facility where my mother lives just called. She’s suffered another stroke and I need to go to her right away.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Witherspoon. I’m so sorry. If I can do anything, just ask. Don’t worry about anything here.”
“Thanks, Elaine. I appreciate your concern,” he said as he strode toward the reception area and the elevators beyond.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
A Cautionary Tale
By Deborah W. Yoho
“Someone must have seen this happen,” I said out loud, staring at the tiny pellets of automobile glass scattered everywhere. As I opened the car door, more glass fell out of the window frame onto the front seat. That’s when I realized I had been robbed as well as vandalized; my laptop and briefcase were gone.
In broad daylight, in this neighborhood? I ran back into the Cracker Barrel and found the manager. No, no one had reported anything, she said. In sympathy, she dropped everything and waited with me by my violated Saturn SUV until the police arrived.
“We haven’t had a smash-and-grab for six months,” she told the officer.
“How often does this happen?” I shouted at her.
“A lot. But not lately.”
Is that supposed to make me feel better? I know, I know. I shouldn’t have left anything in the car, even though it was locked. “But I was only in there a half hour! And the car is within sight of the front door! At high noon! And look at all the people coming in and out!”
I spent the rest of the day getting the shattered window fixed. Eventually the laptop was replaced. But a week went by before I noticed my most serious loss. The first four chapters of my manuscript, carefully polished after hours of help from my writers’ group were, of course, backed up onto a flash drive.
But the flash drive was in the briefcase.
“Someone must have seen this happen,” I said out loud, staring at the tiny pellets of automobile glass scattered everywhere. As I opened the car door, more glass fell out of the window frame onto the front seat. That’s when I realized I had been robbed as well as vandalized; my laptop and briefcase were gone.
In broad daylight, in this neighborhood? I ran back into the Cracker Barrel and found the manager. No, no one had reported anything, she said. In sympathy, she dropped everything and waited with me by my violated Saturn SUV until the police arrived.
“We haven’t had a smash-and-grab for six months,” she told the officer.
“How often does this happen?” I shouted at her.
“A lot. But not lately.”
Is that supposed to make me feel better? I know, I know. I shouldn’t have left anything in the car, even though it was locked. “But I was only in there a half hour! And the car is within sight of the front door! At high noon! And look at all the people coming in and out!”
I spent the rest of the day getting the shattered window fixed. Eventually the laptop was replaced. But a week went by before I noticed my most serious loss. The first four chapters of my manuscript, carefully polished after hours of help from my writers’ group were, of course, backed up onto a flash drive.
But the flash drive was in the briefcase.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
T.I.N.A The Challengers
By Bryce H. Smith
Taurus Research Systems, Inc., a specialty aero mapping company that is just getting by is owned by two brothers, ‘Safari’ and Jack Smith. For years while in college, these two sought the ‘Holy Grail’ of computing, a truly uncrackable computer encryption code. Safari receives a degree in computer science, just as they make their breakthrough, and heads to Japan for active duty as an officer in the United States Air Force where he works alongside National Security Administration (NSA) employees.
Meanwhile, Jack marries Sue, who graduated at the same time as Safari having earned a business degree. Together with Jack, she makes the mapping business thrive. With Jack’s somewhat suspect death in an automobile, Sue becomes president.
Alerted by his contacts in the FBI, NSA, CIA, KGB, and others of the uncrackable communications between Taurus and Japan, Roland Dees suddenly starts giving Taurus Research more mapping contracts than they can handle, to get his foot in their door.
Mr. Dees, a well known international arms dealer, wants a fool proof system to communicate business transactions between all his friendly contacts, buyers, and of course terrorists.
When Safari returns with his active service time complete, he is faced with the dilemma of having his sister-in-law, Sue, as CEO of the company he was the driving force in founding. Before the pending showdown between these two over control of Taurus, Roland Dees summons both of them to his Rocky Mountain retreat, a secret presidential cavern complex under construction.
In true gangster style he makes the two an offer they cannot refuse, and introduces them to the Wizard, his enforcer. He is sure Sue is lying to him when she claims no knowledge of a secret code. Safari however smiles and says, “Let’s talk about it.” Sue sees the company she had spent so much time building with her deceased husband slipping like sand through her fingers.
Roland Dees ends up marketing the resulting T.I.N.A. system to his best customers; politicians, heads of state, CEOs and stock manipulators eager to own these notebook computers. Little does he know that one group Americans he sold 50 T.I.N.A. computers to is planning the “Mother of All Terrorist Attacks.”
If not stopped, their assault on the core of American political and business leadership will result in the death of 3 million Americans and the splitting of the United States into three separate countries. The only thing standing between them and success is a deeply embedded undercover agent of the NSA, Safari Smith.
Taurus Research Systems, Inc., a specialty aero mapping company that is just getting by is owned by two brothers, ‘Safari’ and Jack Smith. For years while in college, these two sought the ‘Holy Grail’ of computing, a truly uncrackable computer encryption code. Safari receives a degree in computer science, just as they make their breakthrough, and heads to Japan for active duty as an officer in the United States Air Force where he works alongside National Security Administration (NSA) employees.
Meanwhile, Jack marries Sue, who graduated at the same time as Safari having earned a business degree. Together with Jack, she makes the mapping business thrive. With Jack’s somewhat suspect death in an automobile, Sue becomes president.
Alerted by his contacts in the FBI, NSA, CIA, KGB, and others of the uncrackable communications between Taurus and Japan, Roland Dees suddenly starts giving Taurus Research more mapping contracts than they can handle, to get his foot in their door.
Mr. Dees, a well known international arms dealer, wants a fool proof system to communicate business transactions between all his friendly contacts, buyers, and of course terrorists.
When Safari returns with his active service time complete, he is faced with the dilemma of having his sister-in-law, Sue, as CEO of the company he was the driving force in founding. Before the pending showdown between these two over control of Taurus, Roland Dees summons both of them to his Rocky Mountain retreat, a secret presidential cavern complex under construction.
In true gangster style he makes the two an offer they cannot refuse, and introduces them to the Wizard, his enforcer. He is sure Sue is lying to him when she claims no knowledge of a secret code. Safari however smiles and says, “Let’s talk about it.” Sue sees the company she had spent so much time building with her deceased husband slipping like sand through her fingers.
Roland Dees ends up marketing the resulting T.I.N.A. system to his best customers; politicians, heads of state, CEOs and stock manipulators eager to own these notebook computers. Little does he know that one group Americans he sold 50 T.I.N.A. computers to is planning the “Mother of All Terrorist Attacks.”
If not stopped, their assault on the core of American political and business leadership will result in the death of 3 million Americans and the splitting of the United States into three separate countries. The only thing standing between them and success is a deeply embedded undercover agent of the NSA, Safari Smith.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)