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Hello Friends--

I've posted some of my poetry here. Critiques welcome. I am still working on getting a publisher for my first novel FROM PHARAOH'S HAND, and I have a current work in progress, FROM THE DUST OF ROSE HILL.

Just thought you might be interested in what I've been up to while I've been away. I have also started a youth novel, yet untitled, to fulfill my need to write about horses and the Southern way of life.

I recently had a nonfiction essay, "Burkett Street Revisted" published at Dew on the Kudzu for which I am very grateful. I am slowly building a web presence and can be visited a number of places including on Myspace , Shoutlife, and Faithwriters.

Hope all is well in your writer's world and that you are accomplishing much today. I'd like to leave you with one of my poems:

When Sometimes Shattered

When sometimes shattered, we seek to save ourselves as best we can.
Preferring to suffer in silence and to cry alone--
Than have pity place us in a lower rank, we writhe
In darkened corners crumbling at the edges of sanity--
Almost, but not yet too far gone to feel the pain.
Bemoaning lost chances, lost words that dissipated
Like dew in the mid-morning sun, we grieve,
And our darkened world keeps spinning, spinning, spinning--
Into the early morning hours as we toil
To put the tiny pieces back in place...
And hope against all hope that when the glue is dry,
We will at least resemble something of our former selves,
So that none will be the wiser.

--Cynthia H. Green @2007

Rejections, Rejections.

"Thank you for your submission for the End Piece department. While I enjoyed your piece, "My Necessary Strugles..." While I enjoyed the piece it is too long fo rhte redesigned magazine. Our maximum word count limit is 550."

Thank you for considering XXX

XYZ

Editor/Co-Publisher

No, this is not a rejection letter from an X-rated magazine. Nevertheless, it is a rejection letter from a magazine. And no, that is not my typo; it was disclosed in this manner.

How did I react? At first, I didn't. I couldn't. My daughter was sreaming for a cookie.

Once I provided for my cub, it was time to ponder. The first thing that popped into this thing they call a brain, I sent this submission waaayyy back in November of 2006. It may as well have been 1986 it was so long ago. Second, I'm too busy with other projects to be preoccupied with self-pity. Third, um, well there is no third. Let's just say I've grown violently irritated with moral victories. I'm ready, like any good crusader, for blood and sweat glory.

I've been "lucky" enough, I am further told, to have had editors take the time to personally write me a note telling me how much "they enjoyed my work but they do not fit the needs of the magazine at this time." Or "very interesting but we're not sure how we can use this." Aw, golly gee. Punch me in the jaw. Anyway, back to this particular rejection letter. This is the first time I've been turned down because of word count. What's next? I used the wrong font? At the time of my submission the guidelines stipulated 700 words and that's what I gave them. In the interim, they reinvented themselves and ta-da! 550.

Here's what I don't get: If an editor likes a particular piece of work (as they claim) aren't they the ones who make the final decisions?

I'm too much of a pragmatist and realist to wallow. It is what it is and the reality is that I simply did not get the job done - though I must profess how some writers are lucky enough to get paid for the trivial drivel they spew. The bottom line is if editors liked this scrawny little scribe's midlding thoughts so much they could have found a way to fit me in. A more genuine response would have been "we liked your piece however it does not meet our new word count guidelines. If you can cut it back please feel free to resubmit and we'd be glad to give it a second reading."

Right?

Right.

The unfortunate thing about all this is that I may no longer have the luxury of time to further refine my craft. Writing takes so much time and energy. You can't plan your day around writing. You write when the spirit moves you.

I don't want to go into "what coulda been" bin but it's becoming increasingly hard to fight these battles. Though I am happy with the potential I have been accorded with my new businesses, God gave me a talent and it would be nice to explore it more; to have the chance to mature and grow. For example, I write/contribute for a magazine called 'Exceptional Family". The editor, God bless her soul for giving me a shot, feels I have "the goods" as she put it. However, in order to reach the next level I need to professionalize my work. And getting to that next stage takes massive effort. I can't do it with the limited time on my hands. We'll see moving forward.

If you want to read the actual article please feel free to ask me. I don't know how to link a word file on blogger.

My Encouraging Note From Australia

After a seemingly long wait, I received my response from Penguin Boks in Australia today. Although they passed on my book, their suggestions and comments were both welcome. Here is their response in its entirety:

****
This is a well written story with a strong plot and lots of appeal. There is some vivid description and observation and it brings alive an important part of America's history. It is plot-driven, rather than character-driven, and sometimes the story could benefit from more variation in pace and tone. The resolution feels a little rushed and convenient. Patrick's father's treatment of him is so callous that at times it is hard to believe. He has lost his family why does he risk losing the only son he has left? Some more context to the characters' motivations may be helpful. The treatment of the slaves is a very sensitive subject and it is handled with care and thought here, although at times it could have been more emotionally charged. The author of this work shows promise, and although this particular story is a little too specific for Penguin Australia to take on, I would encourage the author to rework and submit to American publishers.
****

Not to shabby for a first rejection, eh? The thing that is most encouraging about this for me is that the version they read was my first revision. I am going to take their suggestions to heart and encorporate them into my current revision. I am about 1/3 of the way through.

Can I get a WOO HOO for the Cheez?

Discussion on Inspiration

Where do your ideas come from? What is your fount of inspiration? How do your flashes of brilliance wind up? What motivates you to take a fleeting thought and make it into a story, or a book?

I have discussed things like this with my local writing group, and it is interesting what brings a short story, a poem, or a novel into being. Many people struggle with these questions within themselves, especially when they want to write something, but the inspiration is not there.

Do you have any tricks to spark an idea? Do the ideas just pop into your head?

When it came to my writing course assignments, I was taught several tricks to inspire a story. These are handy when you are flat out of ideas and need a little boost.

My books are a different story (no pun intended) altogether. I don't sit down to write a novel with no direction. For me, an idea has always presented itself out of the blue, and I take it from there. For example, my book that is currently being considered by Penguin Books began as a simple thought about a slave owner's son befriending a slave boy. That was it. I had no idea where it was going to go, but I thought it would be a good premise for a story.

My book "The Mobius Rift" was inspired by the trailer to the movie "Secret Window". As I watched the trailer, I misunderstood what was happening, and thought What a cool idea! When I found out that I had misinterpreted the trailer, I got excited, because they didn't have the idea, I DID! So this book which is now my primary focus, has grown into something that I think is a unique concept. At least I thought that until the dern Will Farrell movie came out with a part of my idea. They missed the best part though.

My latest idea for a book came out of the clear blue sky. My idea wasn't a story situation, it was simply a title: "Serial, I". This sparked a flood gate of ideas some of which have been written out in the beginnings of my new manuscript. The book will be about a serial killer, with a view into his own mind.

Tell us how your ideas come. Harry Potter "walked right into" J. K. Rowlings mind as she sat on the train at Kings Cross Station. Who knows what might become of the ideas that walk into your mind?

Vote for Your Favorite Contest Entry!

The entry from Linda:

MY SCARIEST DAY!

It was a beautiful day. The kind of day that makes you want to be outdoors. I was enjoying the sun dappled shade of a towering oak when I noticed a young girl setting a picnic for one. She was lovely, with golden hair that fell in natural tendrils around her face. Her eyes were a deep shade of blue that rivaled the sky on this warm summer’s day. She wore faded blue jeans and a blouse the color of a lime. She was barefoot, having taken off her sandals, and I noticed her toenails were painted pink with little white flowers on them.

As I was also alone that day, I decided to venture a little closer and introduce myself. Perhaps we could picnic together. I enjoy making new friends and the park is usually a great place to find them.

As I was getting closer I could see the items she was setting out for her picnic. She had lain out a red and white checkered blanket on which she had her opened picnic basket and a small stool to sit upon. She pulled out her utensils, a cloth napkin and finally her meal. An odd meal, I thought, it looked like cottage cheese.

I had gotten close enough to introduce myself and quietly cleared my throat. That is when we made eye contact for the first time. Then all hell broke loose. She let out the most horrific scream I have ever heard. I covered my ears, in vain, trying to block out the noise. She started waiving her arms in the air, swinging at me, and yelling “get away, get away from me”!

I didn’t know what to do, my heart was beating so fast and I didn’t know what had set her off. I tried waiving my hands back at her to tell her to calm down. That set off another wave of screams. This time she picked up her napkin and started swinging it at me. She knocked me off balance and I fell to the ground. Before I could get up she picked up one of her sandals and started swatting at me. I was so terrified the only thing I could do was quickly crawl back up my line, into the safety of my web, in the sun dappled shade of the towering oak.

Copyright 11/2006
Linda Voss


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ALESSANDRO'S ENTRY:

RED FURY:
It was a beautiful day. The kind of day that makes you want to be outdoors. I was enjoying the sun dappled shade of a towering oak when I noticed a young girl setting a picnic for one. She was lovely, with golden hair that fell in natural tendrils around her face. Her eyes were a deep shade of blue that rivaled the sky on this warm summer’s day. She wore faded blue jeans and a blouse the color of a lime. She was barefoot, having taken off her sandals, and I noticed her toenails were painted pink with little white flowers on them.

As I was also alone that day, I decided to venture a little closer and introduce myself. Perhaps we could picnic together. I enjoy making new friends and the park is usually a great place to find them.

As I was getting closer I could see the items she was setting out for her picnic. She had lain out a red and white checkered blanket on which she had her opened picnic basket and a small stool to sit upon. She pulled out her utensils, a cloth napkin and finally her meal. An odd meal, I thought, it looked like cottage cheese.

I had gotten close enough to introduce myself and quietly cleared my throat. That is when we made eye contact for the first time. Then all hell broke loose. She let out the most horrific scream I have ever heard. I covered my ears, in vain, trying to block out the noise. She started waiving her arms in the air, swinging at me, and yelling “get away, get away from me”!

I didn’t know what to do, my heart was beating so fast and I didn’t know what had set her off. I tried waiving my hands back at her to tell her to calm down. That set off another wave of screams. This time she picked up her napkin and started swinging it at me. She knocked me off balance and I fell to the ground. Before I could get up she picked up one of her sandals and started swatting at me. I was so terrified the only thing I could do was quickly crawl back up my line, into the safety of my web, in the sun dappled shade of the towering oak.
Copyright 11/2006
Linda VossIt has been ordained upon me to convey a story of grand importance to you all. It is a shocking story. A stupid story indeed, but one that needs to be told lest we all make the same mistake. It is a fable about a man, his stuffed peppers and one mean red pepper.

Mitch had been happily perusing the produce section in a local grocery store. He had just been promoted at work and felt like making his favorite meal - stuffed peppers. He was examining and considering a pack of peppers: one orange, one red and two yellow.

Peppers at the time were very expensive. Only the green ones seemed to go on special. But never the other colours. In the pack he saw value and decided to buy them.

"Congratulations, sir! You picked the secret family pack! Smile!"

It was a promotional scam but Mitch didn't care.

"Here's your picture."

He looked at himself holding the peppers and he liked it.

"Your name will go into a grand prize draw at the end of the month!"

He remained oblivious.

He could not keep his eyes off the peppers while they sat in the carriage. The perfect smooth contours and their bright colours excited him. The family of peppers stared back at him.

"Ooo, I could just eat them up now!"

On the way home, he watched the peppers in his rearview mirror. It was a difficult ride for him.

It is obvious at this point during my story that Mitch had an unhealthy obsession with peppers. Who are we to judge?

Carefully, he placed his peppers on the counter. With the precision of a tailor he began to weave and cut the top of the peppers. He smelled them with glee.

Normally Mitch cooks four peppers but for some reason on this day he decided on three. He figured he could use the fourth in a salad the next day. He glanced over to the sky, which was orange, and continued to prepare his meal.

Soon he was eating in ecstasy. Later that night he went to bed. He forgot to put the last pepper in the refrigerator. Let this be a lesson to you all. Never leave a pepper to roam free.

The next morning he noticed the pepper was still on the table. He did not realize it had moved three steps to the right from its original position! He was about to wrap it up but the phone rang and distracted him.

"I'll be right over."

He grabbed his coat and hat and left in a hurry.

There sat the pepper.

Suddenly and strangely the pepper spoke. "He murdered my family. I shall exact my revenge."

His tone was fiendishly evil. This pepper was scorned. It looked around the kitchen and noticed an eggbeater. He also spotted some knives, a wooden spoon and a marble rolling pin.

"Any of these will do," he chuckled.

The pepper moved but fell awkwardly to his side and was angered by what he saw. That is, the half-eaten corpse of his yellow brother. He could barely contain his emotions. He recalled the time when they were picked as a family by the farmer to be packaged off. They thought it was to be the start of something beautiful together. Instead, it ended in debauchery.

"Revenge is a dish best served cold. Not micro-waved," he said.

Mitch came back home one hour later. Once again, not being attentive, he had not noticed the pepper had moved again. Let this be another lesson. Be alert. Society and nature punishes the dimwitted.

Mitch went to bed that night with an uncomfortable sense of foreboding. He brushed his teeth and removed his pink slippers. He stared into the mirror and wondered. He did not notice the angry red fury of the pepper in the background.

"Damn, those peppers were delicious," he reminded himself as he jumped into bed.

Minutes past. The pepper waited for his moment.

"Rapid eye movement. REM. When he's there I will take his life."

With Mitch in deep sleep, the red pepper quietly and disturbingly began his ascent. He moved up to Mitch's chin like a rolling kamikaze.

"Hello!" he shouted.

Mitch opened his eyes and was soon engulfed with fear. He began to scream. Like this, "Arghh. Arghhh."

"W-who are y-you? Wh-what d-d you want?"

The little red pepper mimicked Mitch's nervous stutter. "S-s-shhh," he answered with a giggle.

Then, nothing. Blood splattered everywhere as the red pepper furiously cut Mitchell up. The blood could not be distinguished from the red pepper as the two meshed. It was a warped Dali scene.

The little red pepper held Mitch's heart in his hands. Holding the organ seemed hilarious to him.

The cold knife lay peacefully between Mitch's eyes. Minced meat and rice was scattered all over the body. The little red pepper looked back at Mitch's corpse with a smile and a tear as he quietly left the room.

He headed for the kitchen. "I got nothing," he uttered to himself.

He sat up on the counter and looked straight into the trash compartment in the sink. He looked up for a moment and jumped.

The picture taken at the grocery store lay crumpled on the table.

Copyright 1/2007
Alessandro
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And just for kicks, here's mine:

THE GREATEST DAY
by Dave Hanks

Today was Steve's greatest day, his girlfriend said yes, he got a promotion and a fat raise, three of his stocks split, he won the lottery, the weather was ideal, and his favorite team won. It was the most perfect of days until he got hit by the Greyhound bus.

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Now take a moment and cast your votes!

An Update of Sorts...

Hello everyone,

I first off wanted to let you know that I want to get this site rolling again. We have had a lot of fun, and several friendships have been forged here.

We have a new member: Ginger, who is a member of the writer's group I attend here in Mesa. She has published numerous articles in Christian magazines, has written stage plays for children's theatre, and is currently editor of the Red Mountain High School Band-Boosters Monthly. I will being taking over that position later this year.

Other news:

Jill is in the process of querying her novel The McFaegen-Doughty Chronicles: Netherpoint and has received some rejections, but with very encouraging comments. She has already begun the second book in the series, as yet untitled.

My novel Black, White and Shades of Gray is currently in the hands of Penguin Books being considered. I have received a couple preliminary emails with encouraging statements in them. I also have my novel The Mobius Rift about 2/3 completed in rough draft, and I recently started another one I am calling Serial, I.

Cindy is querying her Christian Novel From Pharaoh’s Hand. I haven't heard from her whether she as had any responses yet.

If I recall properly, Jennifer is also working on a novel.

Todd's (aka Gus) book The Cure for Heart Disease, that he Co-Authored with Heart Surgeon Dr. Dwight Lundell is currently being printed. They are still waiting on cover designs to approve them, but the official release will be March 2nd.

If there is any other submission/rejection/publishing news, please post it here so we can all celebrate, or offer words of encouragement.

Happy Writing!

Good things are afoot