[stylist] Help with the Kinks
Bridgit Pollpeter
bpollpeter at hotmail.com
Wed Apr 28 17:54:46 UTC 2010
List,
For those who are curious, the piece I posted for suggestions is creative non-fiction. It is a personal essay I would like to polish. Thanks.
Bridgit
> From: stylist-request at nfbnet.org
> Subject: stylist Digest, Vol 72, Issue 25
> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> Date: Wed, 28 Apr 2010 12:00:14 -0500
>
> Send stylist mailing list submissions to
> stylist at nfbnet.org
>
> To subscribe or unsubscribe via the World Wide Web, visit
> http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> or, via email, send a message with subject or body 'help' to
> stylist-request at nfbnet.org
>
> You can reach the person managing the list at
> stylist-owner at nfbnet.org
>
> When replying, please edit your Subject line so it is more specific
> than "Re: Contents of stylist digest..."
>
>
> Today's Topics:
>
> 1. Re: stylist Digest, Vol 72, Issue 24 (Bridgit Pollpeter)
> 2. please help with kinks (Bridgit Pollpeter)
> 3. Re: Chapter 0 (Joe Orozco)
> 4. Re: please help with kinks (Donna Hill)
> 5. Re: stylist Digest, Vol 72, Issue 22 (Kerry Thompson)
> 6. Folk music fans, my latest interview with singer-songwriter
> Steve Gillette (Donna Hill)
>
>
> ----------------------------------------------------------------------
>
> Message: 1
> Date: Tue, 27 Apr 2010 12:29:28 -0500
> From: Bridgit Pollpeter <bpollpeter at hotmail.com>
> To: <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] stylist Digest, Vol 72, Issue 24
> Message-ID: <SNT136-w41E11642912E2F2DADC1E7C4030 at phx.gbl>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
>
>
> Joe,
>
>
>
> this is a good start. I just have a couple of general suggestions to make.
>
>
>
> Dialogue can be tricky because you don't want it to just be a filler. Dialogue should always move the plot forward. We need to learn new info and/or character development with each line of dialogue. Check and make sure you don't need to cut any dialogue to make things more concise.
>
>
>
> Keep the action moving. Especially with long sections of dialogue you wwant to place some action. Try rewriting the narration into action. Create scenes to keep the pacing especially with a mystery story.
>
>
>
> Really good job. This is interesting. Use specifics where ever you can, but I like the intrigue! *smile*
>
>
>
> Bridgit Pollpeter
>
> > From: stylist-request at nfbnet.org
> > Subject: stylist Digest, Vol 72, Issue 24
> > To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> > Date: Tue, 27 Apr 2010 12:00:08 -0500
> >
> > Send stylist mailing list submissions to
> > stylist at nfbnet.org
> >
> > To subscribe or unsubscribe via the World Wide Web, visit
> > http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> > or, via email, send a message with subject or body 'help' to
> > stylist-request at nfbnet.org
> >
> > You can reach the person managing the list at
> > stylist-owner at nfbnet.org
> >
> > When replying, please edit your Subject line so it is more specific
> > than "Re: Contents of stylist digest..."
> >
> >
> > Today's Topics:
> >
> > 1. Re: Chapter 0 (Neil Butters)
> >
> >
> > ----------------------------------------------------------------------
> >
> > Message: 1
> > Date: Mon, 26 Apr 2010 13:54:06 -0400
> > From: "Neil Butters" <neil.butters at sympatico.ca>
> > To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> > Subject: Re: [stylist] Chapter 0
> > Message-ID: <BLU0-SMTP8128FB7B587017399D4262E2040 at phx.gbl>
> > Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed; charset="iso-8859-1";
> > reply-type=original
> >
> > Hi Joe,
> >
> > I agree with all the comments thus far; I think it's good. I think the
> > dialogue is fine, but see below. I have a fewe quibbles:
> >
> > First paragraph: ".sure how they would make contact. Perhaps a mysterious
> > letter would one day appear in their mailbox." - Whose mailbox? Christian's?
> > "They" in the paragraph is referring to the people after Christian, but it
> > isn't their mailbox.
> >
> > Same paragraph: "simply appear at the front door bearing news of the type
> > Christian and his family could do without." - I think "Could do without" is
> > fairly vague and often used as a punchline: "My mother-in-law is visiting.
> > That's something I could do without!" It doesn't seem sinister enough to me.
> >
> > I agree with the previous comment about the answering machine; I think you
> > should state that the dialogue is coming from the answering machine on the
> > same line as the dialogue itself. It is a bit confusing as you have it
> > written. It almost seems at first glance that Christian typed the message on
> > his laptop.
> >
> > I think you will need to add some dialogue tags. It is unclear who is
> > speaking the first line of dialogue when it follows a paragraph, e.g., ".the
> > blow that was no doubt coming.
> > "One of your brothers has met with an unfortunate...accident."
> > I know in this case it is pretty obvious who is speaking, but it won't
> > always be clear to the reader.
> >
> > I look forward to reading more.
> >
> > Neil
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > --------------------------------------------------
> > From: "Joe Orozco" <jsorozco at gmail.com>
> > Sent: Sunday, April 25, 2010 5:11 PM
> > To: "'Writer's Division Mailing List'" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> > Subject: [stylist] Chapter 0
> >
> > > Dear all,
> > >
> > > I wrote the material below in the span of an hour. Therefore, do not
> > > expect
> > > anything great. It still needs a lot of development. In fact, it is
> > > Chapter 0 because I feel this may be a better beginning to my novel after
> > > the suspense of the prologue, but for the moment I am especially
> > > interested
> > > in your assistance with dialogue. All suggestions are welcomed, and for
> > > this chapter you needn't worry about offensive content. Cindy's website
> > > recommendation looks like a great one. I'll reserve my sensitive content
> > > for that venue if it would make people happy.
> > >
> > > ***
> > >
> > > Christian always knew they would come calling one day. He wasn't
> > > sure how they would make contact. Perhaps a mysterious letter would one
> > > day
> > > appear in their mailbox. Maybe one morning he would open his e-mail inbox
> > > to discover a message from an unidentified sender, but given their
> > > obsession
> > > with secrecy, it was more likely that someone from the old fraternity
> > > would
> > > simply appear at the front door bearing news of the type Christian and his
> > > family could do without.
> > > They chose the telephone. Christian would have never guessed the
> > > fraternity would gamble with an unsecure line, but he had always been
> > > right
> > > to assume that when they did reconnect with him, it would come as a total
> > > surprise no matter how much he thought he'd prepared for the inevitable
> > > encounter. On the morning the call came through he was deeply immersed in
> > > the first chapter of his latest novel. The idea had come to him, as so
> > > many
> > > of them often did, without forethought, and by the time he'd seen his
> > > family
> > > out the door, the kernel of an idea had swelled into the makings of a
> > > promising plot.
> > > He snapped a glance at the caller ID, saw that it was an
> > > unidentified caller and dismissed it as a telemarketer. In his feverish
> > > state of mind he only wanted to be left alone to fully concentrate on the
> > > story unfurling under his fingers.
> > > "Mr. Adams, this is Don speaking.
> > > Christian froze, fingers hovering over the laptop keyboard, eyes
> > > slowly moving to the answering machine that was now conveying a clipped
> > > British accent from his past.
> > > "I trust you are well. It has been a while since we've spoken, and
> > > I am sure there is much catching up for us to do."
> > > The energy left Christian in a stomach-turning lurch. He slumped in
> > > his seat, eyes riveted to the machine.
> > > "Mr. Adams, it is important that we speak at your earliest
> > > opportunity. If you are listening to me now, it would be preferable that
> > > you pick up the phone so that we may discuss the matter. This is most
> > > urgent."
> > > Christian pondered it for a moment. He could ignore the call,
> > > pretend he was not home. Then a memory of the man's ice blue glare
> > > surfaced. That penetrating stare had always troubled Christian. Now it
> > > was
> > > almost as though the man were in the room, daring him to be foolish. He
> > > slowly reached out for the receiver, willing his voice to sound calm and
> > > collected. This was a fine morning after all, and there was no need to be
> > > afraid of a mere voice at the other end of the line.
> > > "Hello," he croaked.
> > > "Ah, good. I see you are home after all."
> > > "Wha, what do you want?"
> > > "Come now, Mr. Adams that is no way to greet an old friend."
> > > "We are not friends."
> > > "So you are still a bit sore about that old business. I dare say it
> > > has been far too long for you to hold a grudge."
> > > "You're unbelievable."
> > > "Alas, it would appear time may not heel all wounds after all. So,
> > > let me get to the purpose of my call."
> > > Christian's hand tightened around the receiver. He had never cared
> > > for the man's false joviality, but he was sure it would be far preferable
> > > to
> > > the blow that was no doubt coming.
> > > "One of your brothers has met with an unfortunate...accident."
> > > "I have no brothers."
> > > "I'm sorry. I thought we were through being coy. Biologically,
> > > yes, you are correct, but of course you know full well I was referring to
> > > the brotherhood in the fraternity."
> > > "I left the fraternity."
> > > "You never left the fraternity," the man sighed as though exercising
> > > immense patience with a stubborn child. "You may never leave the
> > > fraternity. You were well aware of this at your induction."
> > > "I was told I could--"
> > > "You were told you could what," the man interrupted, no longer
> > > bothering with pleasantries, "just leave and pretend your membership and
> > > allegiance never existed?"
> > > Christian's eyes strayed to the family photo hanging over the
> > > fireplace. In the picture his son Kevin was a newborn cradled in the arms
> > > of a smiling Carolyn. Posing for the photo, he had felt that his life had
> > > truly taken a turn for the better, that his past would fade into distant
> > > memory. Now, despite the fear still raking his stomach, he almost grinned
> > > at his own stupidity. Had he truly believed he could just get away?
> > > "One of the brothers and his wife have met with an untimely death.
> > > They had a son, Theodore, who has been left behind with no suitable
> > > guardians. The High Council has met and decided your family would be best
> > > suited to assume responsibility for the young man."
> > > "I beg your pardon?"
> > > Christian was torn. On the one hand he could not have felt more
> > > relieved. He had been certain the request would be far more despicable.
> > > Exactly what he thought they might ask of him he could not imagine, but on
> > > the other hand, what was this business about taking care of a boy?
> > > "What part of it did you not comprehend, Mr. Adams?"
> > > Christian sat forward. "You want me to just take in a boy I've
> > > never met? From a group of people I haven't even spoken to in more than
> > > eighteen years?"
> > > "In a word, yes. Do you foresee a problem with that?"
> > > "Do I foresee a problem with that?" Christian was appalled.
> > > "You're damn right I foresee a problem with that. I think you're crazy to
> > > just call me up this way."
> > > "I'm sorry." The man's sarcasm told Christian he was anything but.
> > > "Should we have rolled out the announcement in a red carpet for you? You
> > > have an obligation to the fraternity. For years now you have been allowed
> > > to go about your business despite the concerns of several of the brothers.
> > > Your respite is over. Taking care of the son of one of your brethren
> > > should
> > > be an honor to you, especially since worthier members would have been all
> > > too glad for the privilege."
> > > "I am sorry for the boy's loss," Christian hissed. "But you just
> > > can't call me and expect me to be overjoyed at the thought of being
> > > coerced
> > > into taking in a child from a family I never even met."
> > > "Coercion," the man mused, savoring the word. "That is not quite
> > > how I view it, but you are right to assume that you do not really have a
> > > choice in the matter. The boy will be coming to your home in
> > > approximately
> > > three months. This should give you ample time to prepare for his
> > > arrival."
> > > "And if I refuse?"
> > > "Let us hope you will never need to find out."
> > >
> > > ***
> > >
> > > Joe Orozco
> > >
> > > "Hard work spotlights the character of people: some turn up their sleeves,
> > > some turn up their noses, and some don't turn up at all."--Sam Ewing
> > >
> > >
> > > __________ Information from ESET NOD32 Antivirus, version of virus
> > > signature
> > > database 5059 (20100425) __________
> > >
> > > The message was checked by ESET NOD32 Antivirus.
> > >
> > > http://www.eset.com
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > > _______________________________________________
> > > Writers Division web site:
> > > http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> > >
> > > stylist mailing list
> > > stylist at nfbnet.org
> > > http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> > > To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for
> > > stylist:
> > > http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/neil.butters%40sympatico.ca
> > >
> >
> >
> >
> > ------------------------------
> >
> > _______________________________________________
> > stylist mailing list
> > stylist at nfbnet.org
> > http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> >
> >
> > End of stylist Digest, Vol 72, Issue 24
> > ***************************************
>
> _________________________________________________________________
> The New Busy is not the old busy. Search, chat and e-mail from your inbox.
> http://www.windowslive.com/campaign/thenewbusy?ocid=PID28326::T:WLMTAGL:ON:WL:en-US:WM_HMP:042010_3
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 2
> Date: Tue, 27 Apr 2010 12:35:29 -0500
> From: Bridgit Pollpeter <bpollpeter at hotmail.com>
> To: <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: [stylist] please help with kinks
> Message-ID: <SNT136-w11ED5DB054976C919E3DEDC4030 at phx.gbl>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="Windows-1252"
>
>
> Hello list,
>
>
>
> This is like a second draft, but it needs so much polishing. I feel like the end trails off and I am having the proverbial writer's block. Let me know what you think.
>
>
>
> Bridgit
>
>
>
> The parking lot of Crossroads Christian Center is desolate. The only sound I hear as I walk towards the entrance is the nearby cars whizzing down the highway, and the crunch of snow under foot. I pause before opening the heavy metal door. The primal thump of music vibrates along the cinder block walls of the building. The once familiar environment places heaviness on my spirit.
> For ten years my family gave their life to this church. For ten years my family was trampled on and eventually spit out. I stand here now wishing to burn this abomination to the ground. I swing the door wide and the thumping grows into a raucous musical tirade. My ears ring from the volume. The only audio cue I can make out is the surround-sound music that blares like a rock concert. Worship loses its meaning. Some how a dolled-up woman belting center-stage as she is illuminated by theatrical spotlights make it difficult to focus on Christ.
> I was raised Christian. I never thought to step too far outside what I was taught. I was determined to keep the faith despite the dysfunction of my family and my own bouts of depression. Growing up Christian does not mean I escaped witnessing my mother?s lust for the material and my work-a-holic father to busy to watch his children grow. Feeling isolated from the rest of mankind for some quirk (referred to as depression I had the misfortune of being born with) left me alone except for the God who claimed to love me unconditionally. Doubts crossed my mind, but ultimately my faith was bigger than any misgivings. The wiggle of questions finally wormed their way to the surface though. Homosexuality, pre-marital sex, burning in hell for believing in a deity not named Christ; I no longer can ignore my doubts in the name of faith. I do not believe (I never truly did) these are mortal sins damning us to hell. I won?t go through the motions.
> A man steps to the podium as the crescendo of the music begins its descent. He sputters a guttural cacophony of some long-lost ancient language while the small congregation hoops and hollers. The worship leader belts her agreement. A pagan tribe swirls and leaps around a roaring fire in my mind as I cringe and fight my instinct to dash towards the microphone and begin my own tirade. ?What the hell is wrong with you people? Hypocrites and self-righteous, pig-headed bigots.?
> My family moved to Council Bluffs towards the end of my senior year of high school. My dad was hired as the Head of Maintenance with his Bachelor?s in business and MBA. He had left the world of business to pursue the ministry though. Ministry became a family affair. Mom and my three siblings were involved in some capacity, but it was Dad?s passion. Sunday school, worship team, nursery, children?s church, we all had our hand in some area. Crossroads Christian Center was an Assembly-of-God church pastored by a long-time friend of the family. The Friend, a self-proclaimed former drug addict who viewed higher education as a tool of the devil, felt my dad was suited to the life of cleaning up after others. Dad, who was in the process of receiving his seminary training, was not trusted to ?Shepard? people. In a short period of time, though, the congregation would turn to my dad for advice and counseling, and eventually he was asked to perform weddings and funerals. My dad is well-respected in the community. The Friend, well he has grown jealous and spiteful. When Dad attempted to apply for a pastor position in another city, the Pastor-friend said, ?You really don?t belong in the ministry. You are being tempted and should resist. Your place is here, keeping the church beautiful for the Lord.?
> The compound-like church sits on the western end of town. I always hated the building. It is dark and no light enters. My dad finally stepped out on the infamous faith I was always told about. ?All things are possible with Christ.? The frenzied Sunday morning sermons and concert-like worship hour did nothing for the soul. ?Rejoice in the Lord always,? spread in a jovial arch above the choir loft as the Pastor raved about sin on Sunday mornings. ?This world is going to hell. Maybe a few Lutherans and Catholics will be in heaven, but it is up to us to keep the faith. All you who listened to secular music or watched television last night must repent and become holy for the Lord.? The Pastor paced the stage like a tiger looking for his next prey.
> Yet, I kept my faith in tact. I recognized this place for what it was, but the fibers of my being still knew and trusted the core of this religion called Christianity. I saw the hypocrisy and was disgusted with the politics, but I thought God was bigger than human intrigue and ambition. How do I come to mistrust it all now? Mornings spent sitting at the well-manicured feet of my mother while she reads from the story-book full of Bible tales plays through my mind. The book is white and a Caucasian Jesus garbed in blue and white sits among a group of contemporary-dressed children. I loved the stories of bravery and heroism and romance. All pointed back to the salvation of this wonderful savior. I felt comfort in knowing I was loved and accepted even if home life was rocky. I read every night in bed with my red flash-light trying to ignore the muffled shouting seeping from my parent?s bedroom. I would hunker down among my blankets with the pink Cheerbear Carebear and brown stuffed cocker-spaniel to keep me company. We read the story of Ester, the beautiful young Hebrew girl chosen to marry the pagan king. Her trust in God saved not only her life, but the lives of her fellow Hebrews. God?s love was greater than any evil and those who trust Him are showered with this love. As I shot into a teen I clung to this idea of unconditional love. Knocks upside my head delivered in frustration by my parents were no match for the love of Christ. Sitting, crying silently, unable to breathe, I knew I was held in loving hands somewhere.
> That assurance is gone now. I believe in a higher power, but who they are, I can?t answer that. My parents hang from the ropes of their faith even though they are constantly knocked down. Whether it is over-due bills or rejections after interviews or constant life-threatening illnesses, my parents find their comfort in Christ. This differs from the parents of my childhood. I see the change and want to believe it is all due to the grace of God, but I question. The transformation of my money-hungry, designer suit wearing, quick to anger father has done a one-eighty. The remnants of my childhood father no longer remain. I remember the abuse, but that man left. This gentle man spends hours watching his grandchildren play on the Moonwalk instead of enjoying the baseball game in the stadium. When sheets of rain keep me from attempting a dash to the bus stop, Dad is on speed dial ready to drop me off where I need to go. This is the man I love, and this is the man I wish to protect from a slanderous, spiteful Pastor who did nothing but give grief to those who opposed him. Dad knew the truth and confronted the Pastor. Dad spoke in his usual soft tones while the Pastor shifted his eyes around and gripped the edge of his desk.
> ?You're out of line brother,? Dad said.
> ?I?m out of line? You don?t know who you are dealing with,? the Pastor said. His nostrils flared as he stared Dad down.
> ?You?re ostracizing people who want to help. No one is trying to replace you.? Dad folded his hands and smiled into the red, angry face of the Pastor.
> ?You all want to take me down. Satan is speaking through you. I know your secrets.?
> ?Brother, I have no secrets. I?m not proud of my past, but God?s forgiveness has granted me mercy.?
> ?Your lies and deceit are what keep you from providing for your family.? The Pastor smirked.
> Dad?s eyes looked down for a moment, and he met the Pastor?s glare with remorse. ?I?ve made mistakes, and my family has had to pay for them, but I?m trying to make up for it.?
> ?Look what your education got you. You clean up after others.? He stood, grabbing his black leather jacket purchased at Wilson?s.
> Dad sat and turned in his chair. Zipping up his faded sweat-shirt he said, ?The least of you shall be first, and the first shall be last.? Dad passed through the door before the Pastor said anything.
> My dad never loses sight of his faith. For years he has struggled to support his family, and at fifty-one he still scrambles to pay the bills. Never once does his belief in god waver. Prayer and meditation bring him peace. I was taught that without the peace of God people are empty and have no purpose. I have not experienced this emptiness without God. I wonder where my faith went, but I am at peace with who I am. Perhaps it is all about perception and preference. If I find contentment, is it necessary to know where it comes from? I admire those who stick to their guns no matter what life throws at them, but my spirit is not in turmoil. Maybe one day I will find the right light switch and the beliefs I held for so long will return. For now I find new ways of experiencing God. In the love I have for my husband and his love in me. The joy of nephew and nieces who have become my surrogate children. The fleeting anger I feel towards Crossroads Christian Center and the Pastor only solidifies my new belief that no one person or group has all the answers.
> While the Pastor continues his message of darkness and fear, I find a religion based on love. The gentle hand sweeping hair from my face to kiss me good-bye every morning as I sleep. The 15-month-old Curly Sue who wraps her chubby arms around my neck every time I see her. Even the high-strung puppy that seems starved for attention as she jumps into my lap. Most importantly is my dad who would give his life for any of his children. Isn?t this what Jesus taught? To love one another. I have an abundance of love in my life, and this allows me to touch God everyday.
>
>
>
>
> _________________________________________________________________
> Hotmail is redefining busy with tools for the New Busy. Get more from your inbox.
> http://www.windowslive.com/campaign/thenewbusy?ocid=PID28326::T:WLMTAGL:ON:WL:en-US:WM_HMP:042010_2
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 3
> Date: Tue, 27 Apr 2010 14:14:10 -0400
> From: "Joe Orozco" <jsorozco at gmail.com>
> To: "'Writer's Division Mailing List'" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Chapter 0
> Message-ID: <12F1D897EAB74A8C80977B8546BD4C3B at Rufus>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="US-ASCII"
>
> Forgive the delay in getting this out, but I just wanted to thank everyone
> for their candid critiques. I'm going to try to work in people's
> suggestions where possible and send a revised draft later with an
> accompanying prologue. Thanks so much again for the feedback!
>
> Joe
>
> "Hard work spotlights the character of people: some turn up their sleeves,
> some turn up their noses, and some don't turn up at all."--Sam Ewing
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org
> [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Neil Butters
> Sent: Monday, April 26, 2010 1:54 PM
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Chapter 0
>
> Hi Joe,
>
> I agree with all the comments thus far; I think it's good. I think the
> dialogue is fine, but see below. I have a fewe quibbles:
>
> First paragraph: ".sure how they would make contact. Perhaps a
> mysterious
> letter would one day appear in their mailbox." - Whose mailbox?
> Christian's?
> "They" in the paragraph is referring to the people after
> Christian, but it
> isn't their mailbox.
>
> Same paragraph: "simply appear at the front door bearing news
> of the type
> Christian and his family could do without." - I think "Could do
> without" is
> fairly vague and often used as a punchline: "My mother-in-law
> is visiting.
> That's something I could do without!" It doesn't seem sinister
> enough to me.
>
> I agree with the previous comment about the answering machine;
> I think you
> should state that the dialogue is coming from the answering
> machine on the
> same line as the dialogue itself. It is a bit confusing as you have it
> written. It almost seems at first glance that Christian typed
> the message on
> his laptop.
>
> I think you will need to add some dialogue tags. It is unclear who is
> speaking the first line of dialogue when it follows a
> paragraph, e.g., ".the
> blow that was no doubt coming.
> "One of your brothers has met with an unfortunate...accident."
> I know in this case it is pretty obvious who is speaking, but it won't
> always be clear to the reader.
>
> I look forward to reading more.
>
> Neil
>
>
>
>
>
>
> --------------------------------------------------
> From: "Joe Orozco" <jsorozco at gmail.com>
> Sent: Sunday, April 25, 2010 5:11 PM
> To: "'Writer's Division Mailing List'" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: [stylist] Chapter 0
>
> > Dear all,
> >
> > I wrote the material below in the span of an hour. Therefore, do not
> > expect
> > anything great. It still needs a lot of development. In fact, it is
> > Chapter 0 because I feel this may be a better beginning to my
> novel after
> > the suspense of the prologue, but for the moment I am especially
> > interested
> > in your assistance with dialogue. All suggestions are
> welcomed, and for
> > this chapter you needn't worry about offensive content.
> Cindy's website
> > recommendation looks like a great one. I'll reserve my
> sensitive content
> > for that venue if it would make people happy.
> >
> > ***
> >
> > Christian always knew they would come calling one day. He wasn't
> > sure how they would make contact. Perhaps a mysterious
> letter would one
> > day
> > appear in their mailbox. Maybe one morning he would open his
> e-mail inbox
> > to discover a message from an unidentified sender, but given their
> > obsession
> > with secrecy, it was more likely that someone from the old fraternity
> > would
> > simply appear at the front door bearing news of the type
> Christian and his
> > family could do without.
> > They chose the telephone. Christian would have never guessed the
> > fraternity would gamble with an unsecure line, but he had always been
> > right
> > to assume that when they did reconnect with him, it would
> come as a total
> > surprise no matter how much he thought he'd prepared for the
> inevitable
> > encounter. On the morning the call came through he was
> deeply immersed in
> > the first chapter of his latest novel. The idea had come to
> him, as so
> > many
> > of them often did, without forethought, and by the time he'd seen his
> > family
> > out the door, the kernel of an idea had swelled into the makings of a
> > promising plot.
> > He snapped a glance at the caller ID, saw that it was an
> > unidentified caller and dismissed it as a telemarketer. In
> his feverish
> > state of mind he only wanted to be left alone to fully
> concentrate on the
> > story unfurling under his fingers.
> > "Mr. Adams, this is Don speaking.
> > Christian froze, fingers hovering over the laptop keyboard, eyes
> > slowly moving to the answering machine that was now conveying
> a clipped
> > British accent from his past.
> > "I trust you are well. It has been a while since we've spoken, and
> > I am sure there is much catching up for us to do."
> > The energy left Christian in a stomach-turning lurch. He slumped in
> > his seat, eyes riveted to the machine.
> > "Mr. Adams, it is important that we speak at your earliest
> > opportunity. If you are listening to me now, it would be
> preferable that
> > you pick up the phone so that we may discuss the matter. This is most
> > urgent."
> > Christian pondered it for a moment. He could ignore the call,
> > pretend he was not home. Then a memory of the man's ice blue glare
> > surfaced. That penetrating stare had always troubled
> Christian. Now it
> > was
> > almost as though the man were in the room, daring him to be
> foolish. He
> > slowly reached out for the receiver, willing his voice to
> sound calm and
> > collected. This was a fine morning after all, and there was
> no need to be
> > afraid of a mere voice at the other end of the line.
> > "Hello," he croaked.
> > "Ah, good. I see you are home after all."
> > "Wha, what do you want?"
> > "Come now, Mr. Adams that is no way to greet an old friend."
> > "We are not friends."
> > "So you are still a bit sore about that old business. I dare say it
> > has been far too long for you to hold a grudge."
> > "You're unbelievable."
> > "Alas, it would appear time may not heel all wounds after all. So,
> > let me get to the purpose of my call."
> > Christian's hand tightened around the receiver. He had never cared
> > for the man's false joviality, but he was sure it would be
> far preferable
> > to
> > the blow that was no doubt coming.
> > "One of your brothers has met with an unfortunate...accident."
> > "I have no brothers."
> > "I'm sorry. I thought we were through being coy. Biologically,
> > yes, you are correct, but of course you know full well I was
> referring to
> > the brotherhood in the fraternity."
> > "I left the fraternity."
> > "You never left the fraternity," the man sighed as though exercising
> > immense patience with a stubborn child. "You may never leave the
> > fraternity. You were well aware of this at your induction."
> > "I was told I could--"
> > "You were told you could what," the man interrupted, no longer
> > bothering with pleasantries, "just leave and pretend your
> membership and
> > allegiance never existed?"
> > Christian's eyes strayed to the family photo hanging over the
> > fireplace. In the picture his son Kevin was a newborn
> cradled in the arms
> > of a smiling Carolyn. Posing for the photo, he had felt that
> his life had
> > truly taken a turn for the better, that his past would fade
> into distant
> > memory. Now, despite the fear still raking his stomach, he
> almost grinned
> > at his own stupidity. Had he truly believed he could just get away?
> > "One of the brothers and his wife have met with an untimely death.
> > They had a son, Theodore, who has been left behind with no suitable
> > guardians. The High Council has met and decided your family
> would be best
> > suited to assume responsibility for the young man."
> > "I beg your pardon?"
> > Christian was torn. On the one hand he could not have felt more
> > relieved. He had been certain the request would be far more
> despicable.
> > Exactly what he thought they might ask of him he could not
> imagine, but on
> > the other hand, what was this business about taking care of a boy?
> > "What part of it did you not comprehend, Mr. Adams?"
> > Christian sat forward. "You want me to just take in a boy I've
> > never met? From a group of people I haven't even spoken to
> in more than
> > eighteen years?"
> > "In a word, yes. Do you foresee a problem with that?"
> > "Do I foresee a problem with that?" Christian was appalled.
> > "You're damn right I foresee a problem with that. I think
> you're crazy to
> > just call me up this way."
> > "I'm sorry." The man's sarcasm told Christian he was anything but.
> > "Should we have rolled out the announcement in a red carpet
> for you? You
> > have an obligation to the fraternity. For years now you have
> been allowed
> > to go about your business despite the concerns of several of
> the brothers.
> > Your respite is over. Taking care of the son of one of your brethren
> > should
> > be an honor to you, especially since worthier members would
> have been all
> > too glad for the privilege."
> > "I am sorry for the boy's loss," Christian hissed. "But you just
> > can't call me and expect me to be overjoyed at the thought of being
> > coerced
> > into taking in a child from a family I never even met."
> > "Coercion," the man mused, savoring the word. "That is not quite
> > how I view it, but you are right to assume that you do not
> really have a
> > choice in the matter. The boy will be coming to your home in
> > approximately
> > three months. This should give you ample time to prepare for his
> > arrival."
> > "And if I refuse?"
> > "Let us hope you will never need to find out."
> >
> > ***
> >
> > Joe Orozco
> >
> > "Hard work spotlights the character of people: some turn up
> their sleeves,
> > some turn up their noses, and some don't turn up at all."--Sam Ewing
> >
> >
> > __________ Information from ESET NOD32 Antivirus, version of virus
> > signature
> > database 5059 (20100425) __________
> >
> > The message was checked by ESET NOD32 Antivirus.
> >
> > http://www.eset.com
> >
> >
> >
> > _______________________________________________
> > Writers Division web site:
> > http://www.nfb-writers-division.org
> <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >
> > stylist mailing list
> > stylist at nfbnet.org
> > http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> > To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for
> > stylist:
> >
> http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/neil.bu
> tters%40sympatico.ca
> >
>
> _______________________________________________
> Writers Division web site:
> http://www.nfb-writers-division.org
> <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
>
> stylist mailing list
> stylist at nfbnet.org
> http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account
> info for stylist:
> http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/jsorozc
> o%40gmail.com
>
>
> __________ Information from ESET NOD32 Antivirus, version of
> virus signature database 5062 (20100426) __________
>
> The message was checked by ESET NOD32 Antivirus.
>
> http://www.eset.com
>
>
> __________ Information from ESET NOD32 Antivirus, version of
> virus signature database 5066 (20100427) __________
>
> The message was checked by ESET NOD32 Antivirus.
>
> http://www.eset.com
>
>
>
> __________ Information from ESET NOD32 Antivirus, version of virus signature
> database 5066 (20100427) __________
>
> The message was checked by ESET NOD32 Antivirus.
>
> http://www.eset.com
>
>
>
>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 4
> Date: Tue, 27 Apr 2010 15:21:05 -0400
> From: Donna Hill <penatwork at epix.net>
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] please help with kinks
> Message-ID: <4BD73921.4000000 at epix.net>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=windows-1252; format=flowed
>
> Bridget,
> Is this a story or an autobiographical memoir? Maybe you posted before
> and I didn't catch it, but I like to know if I'm reading a short story,
> the first chapter of a novel or creative nonfiction. It makes a
> difference in terms of critique.
> Donna
>
> Donna's articles on Suite 101:
> http://www.suite101.com/profile.cfm/donna_hill
>
> Free Download: "Love of My Life"
> http://www.passionsandpossibilities.com/guest-blogger-donna-hill-advocate-for-the-blind/
>
> Read my articles on American Chronicle:
> http://www.americanchronicle.com/authors/view/3885
>
> Follow me on Twitter:
> www.twitter.com/dewhill
>
> Join Me on LinkedIn:
> http://www.linkedin.com/in/dwh99
>
> Or, FaceBook:
> http://www.facebook.com/donna.w.hill.
>
> Hear clips from "The Last Straw" at:
> http://cdbaby.com/cd/donnahill
>
> Apple I-Tunes
>
> phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewAlbum?playListId=259244374
>
> Performing Arts Division of the National Federation of the Blind
> www.padnfb.org
>
>
>
> Bridgit Pollpeter wrote:
> > Hello list,
> >
> >
> >
> > This is like a second draft, but it needs so much polishing. I feel like the end trails off and I am having the proverbial writer's block. Let me know what you think.
> >
> >
> >
> > Bridgit
> >
> >
> >
> > The parking lot of Crossroads Christian Center is desolate. The only sound I hear as I walk towards the entrance is the nearby cars whizzing down the highway, and the crunch of snow under foot. I pause before opening the heavy metal door. The primal thump of music vibrates along the cinder block walls of the building. The once familiar environment places heaviness on my spirit.
> > For ten years my family gave their life to this church. For ten years my family was trampled on and eventually spit out. I stand here now wishing to burn this abomination to the ground. I swing the door wide and the thumping grows into a raucous musical tirade. My ears ring from the volume. The only audio cue I can make out is the surround-sound music that blares like a rock concert. Worship loses its meaning. Some how a dolled-up woman belting center-stage as she is illuminated by theatrical spotlights make it difficult to focus on Christ.
> > I was raised Christian. I never thought to step too far outside what I was taught. I was determined to keep the faith despite the dysfunction of my family and my own bouts of depression. Growing up Christian does not mean I escaped witnessing my mother?s lust for the material and my work-a-holic father to busy to watch his children grow. Feeling isolated from the rest of mankind for some quirk (referred to as depression I had the misfortune of being born with) left me alone except for the God who claimed to love me unconditionally. Doubts crossed my mind, but ultimately my faith was bigger than any misgivings. The wiggle of questions finally wormed their way to the surface though. Homosexuality, pre-marital sex, burning in hell for believing in a deity not named Christ; I no longer can ignore my doubts in the name of faith. I do not believe (I never truly did) these are mortal sins damning us to hell. I won?t go through the motions.
> > A man steps to the podium as the crescendo of the music begins its descent. He sputters a guttural cacophony of some long-lost ancient language while the small congregation hoops and hollers. The worship leader belts her agreement. A pagan tribe swirls and leaps around a roaring fire in my mind as I cringe and fight my instinct to dash towards the microphone and begin my own tirade. ?What the hell is wrong with you people? Hypocrites and self-righteous, pig-headed bigots.?
> > My family moved to Council Bluffs towards the end of my senior year of high school. My dad was hired as the Head of Maintenance with his Bachelor?s in business and MBA. He had left the world of business to pursue the ministry though. Ministry became a family affair. Mom and my three siblings were involved in some capacity, but it was Dad?s passion. Sunday school, worship team, nursery, children?s church, we all had our hand in some area. Crossroads Christian Center was an Assembly-of-God church pastored by a long-time friend of the family. The Friend, a self-proclaimed former drug addict who viewed higher education as a tool of the devil, felt my dad was suited to the life of cleaning up after others. Dad, who was in the process of receiving his seminary training, was not trusted to ?Shepard? people. In a short period of time, though, the congregation would turn to my dad for advice and counseling, and eventually he was asked to perform weddings and funerals. My dad is well-respected in the community. The Friend, well he has grown jealous and spiteful. When Dad attempted to apply for a pastor position in another city, the Pastor-friend said, ?You really don?t belong in the ministry. You are being tempted and should resist. Your place is here, keeping the church beautiful for the Lord.?
> > The compound-like church sits on the western end of town. I always hated the building. It is dark and no light enters. My dad finally stepped out on the infamous faith I was always told about. ?All things are possible with Christ.? The frenzied Sunday morning sermons and concert-like worship hour did nothing for the soul. ?Rejoice in the Lord always,? spread in a jovial arch above the choir loft as the Pastor raved about sin on Sunday mornings. ?This world is going to hell. Maybe a few Lutherans and Catholics will be in heaven, but it is up to us to keep the faith. All you who listened to secular music or watched television last night must repent and become holy for the Lord.? The Pastor paced the stage like a tiger looking for his next prey.
> > Yet, I kept my faith in tact. I recognized this place for what it was, but the fibers of my being still knew and trusted the core of this religion called Christianity. I saw the hypocrisy and was disgusted with the politics, but I thought God was bigger than human intrigue and ambition. How do I come to mistrust it all now? Mornings spent sitting at the well-manicured feet of my mother while she reads from the story-book full of Bible tales plays through my mind. The book is white and a Caucasian Jesus garbed in blue and white sits among a group of contemporary-dressed children. I loved the stories of bravery and heroism and romance. All pointed back to the salvation of this wonderful savior. I felt comfort in knowing I was loved and accepted even if home life was rocky. I read every night in bed with my red flash-light trying to ignore the muffled shouting seeping from my parent?s bedroom. I would hunker down among my blankets with the pink Cheerbear Carebear and brown stuffed cocker-spaniel to keep me company. We read the story of Ester, the beautiful young Hebrew girl chosen to marry the pagan king. Her trust in God saved not only her life, but the lives of her fellow Hebrews. God?s love was greater than any evil and those who trust Him are showered with this love. As I shot into a teen I clung to this idea of unconditional love. Knocks upside my head delivered in frustration by my parents were no match for the love of Christ. Sitting, crying silently, unable to breathe, I knew I was held in loving hands somewhere.
> > That assurance is gone now. I believe in a higher power, but who they are, I can?t answer that. My parents hang from the ropes of their faith even though they are constantly knocked down. Whether it is over-due bills or rejections after interviews or constant life-threatening illnesses, my parents find their comfort in Christ. This differs from the parents of my childhood. I see the change and want to believe it is all due to the grace of God, but I question. The transformation of my money-hungry, designer suit wearing, quick to anger father has done a one-eighty. The remnants of my childhood father no longer remain. I remember the abuse, but that man left. This gentle man spends hours watching his grandchildren play on the Moonwalk instead of enjoying the baseball game in the stadium. When sheets of rain keep me from attempting a dash to the bus stop, Dad is on speed dial ready to drop me off where I need to go. This is the man I love, and this is the man I wish to protect from a slanderous, spiteful Pastor who did nothing but give grief to those who opposed him. Dad knew the truth and confronted the Pastor. Dad spoke in his usual soft tones while the Pastor shifted his eyes around and gripped the edge of his desk.
> > ?You're out of line brother,? Dad said.
> > ?I?m out of line? You don?t know who you are dealing with,? the Pastor said. His nostrils flared as he stared Dad down.
> > ?You?re ostracizing people who want to help. No one is trying to replace you.? Dad folded his hands and smiled into the red, angry face of the Pastor.
> > ?You all want to take me down. Satan is speaking through you. I know your secrets.?
> > ?Brother, I have no secrets. I?m not proud of my past, but God?s forgiveness has granted me mercy.?
> > ?Your lies and deceit are what keep you from providing for your family.? The Pastor smirked.
> > Dad?s eyes looked down for a moment, and he met the Pastor?s glare with remorse. ?I?ve made mistakes, and my family has had to pay for them, but I?m trying to make up for it.?
> > ?Look what your education got you. You clean up after others.? He stood, grabbing his black leather jacket purchased at Wilson?s.
> > Dad sat and turned in his chair. Zipping up his faded sweat-shirt he said, ?The least of you shall be first, and the first shall be last.? Dad passed through the door before the Pastor said anything.
> > My dad never loses sight of his faith. For years he has struggled to support his family, and at fifty-one he still scrambles to pay the bills. Never once does his belief in god waver. Prayer and meditation bring him peace. I was taught that without the peace of God people are empty and have no purpose. I have not experienced this emptiness without God. I wonder where my faith went, but I am at peace with who I am. Perhaps it is all about perception and preference. If I find contentment, is it necessary to know where it comes from? I admire those who stick to their guns no matter what life throws at them, but my spirit is not in turmoil. Maybe one day I will find the right light switch and the beliefs I held for so long will return.. For now I find new ways of experiencing God. In the love I have for my husband and his love in me. The joy of nephew and nieces who have become my surrogate children. The fleeting anger I feel towards Crossroads Christian Center and the Pastor only solidifies my new belief that no one person or group has all the answers.
> > While the Pastor continues his message of darkness and fear, I find a religion based on love. The gentle hand sweeping hair from my face to kiss me good-bye every morning as I sleep. The 15-month-old Curly Sue who wraps her chubby arms around my neck every time I see her. Even the high-strung puppy that seems starved for attention as she jumps into my lap. Most importantly is my dad who would give his life for any of his children. Isn?t this what Jesus taught? To love one another. I have an abundance of love in my life, and this allows me to touch God everyday.
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > _________________________________________________________________
> > Hotmail is redefining busy with tools for the New Busy. Get more from your inbox.
> > http://www.windowslive.com/campaign/thenewbusy?ocid=PID28326::T:WLMTAGL:ON:WL:en-US:WM_HMP:042010_2
> > _______________________________________________
> > Writers Division web site:
> > http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >
> > stylist mailing list
> > stylist at nfbnet.org
> > http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
> > To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for stylist:
> > http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/penatwork%40epix.net
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > E-mail message checked by Spyware Doctor (7.0.0.514)
> > Database version: 6.14870
> > http://www.pctools.com/en/spyware-doctor-antivirus/
> >
> >
>
>
>
>
>
> E-mail message checked by Spyware Doctor (7.0.0.514)
> Database version: 6.14870
> http://www.pctools.com/en/spyware-doctor-antivirus/
>
>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 5
> Date: Tue, 27 Apr 2010 21:54:02 -0400 (EDT)
> From: Kerry Thompson <uinen at earthlink.net>
> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> Subject: Re: [stylist] stylist Digest, Vol 72, Issue 22
> Message-ID:
> <15024538.1272419642240.JavaMail.root at wamui-june.atl.sa.earthlink.net>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=UTF-8
>
> Joe, RE: Chapter 0
>
> I've done some editing. See what you think. I agree with those who have commented that you need more dialogue tags.
>
> ***
>
> Christian always knew the fraternity would come calling one day. He wasn't sure how they would make contact. Perhaps a mysterious letter would appear in the mailbox. Maybe he would open his e-mail inbox to discover a message from an unidentified sender. But given their obsession with secrecy, it was more likely that someone would simply appear at the front door. However it came, the contact would mean trouble.
> They chose the telephone. Christian never would have guessed the fraternity would gamble with a non-secure line, but he had been right to assume that when they did reconnect with him, it would come as a total surprise no matter how much he thought he'd prepared for the inevitable encounter. On the morning the call came through he was deeply immersed in the first chapter of his latest novel. The idea had come to him, as so many of them did, without forethought, and by the time he'd seen his family out the door, the kernel of an idea had swelled into the makings of a promising plot.
> He snapped a glance at the caller ID, saw that it was an unidentified caller and dismissed it as a telemarketer. In his feverish state of mind he only wanted to be left alone to concentrate on the story unfurling under his fingers.
> "Mr. Adams,? the voice said from the answering machine?s speaker, ?this is Don speaking.
> Christian froze, fingers hovering over the laptop keyboard, eyes slowly moving to the machine. He knew that clipped British accent.
> "I trust you are well. It has been some time since we've spoken, and I am sure there is much catching up for us to do."
> The energy left Christian in a stomach-turning lurch. He slumped in his seat, eyes riveted to the machine.
> "Mr. Adams, it is important that we speak at your earliest convenience. If you are listening to me now, it would be preferable that you pick up the phone so that we may discuss the matter. This is most urgent."
> Christian pondered for a moment. He could ignore the call, pretend he was not home. Then a memory of the man's ice blue glare surfaced. That penetrating stare had always troubled Christian. Now it was almost as though the man were in the room, daring him to be foolish. He slowly reached out for the receiver, willing his voice to sound calm and collected. This was a fine morning after all, and there was no need to be afraid of a mere voice at the other end of the line.
> "Hello," he croaked.
> "Ah, good. I see you are home after all."
> "Wha, what do you want?"
> "Come now, Mr. Adams that is no way to greet an old friend."
> "We are not friends."
> "So you are still a bit sore about that old business. I dare say it has been far too long for you to hold a grudge."
> "You're unbelievable."
> "Alas, it would appear time may not heel all wounds after all. So, let me get to the purpose of my call."
> Christian's hand tightened around the receiver. He had never cared for the man's false joviality, but he was sure it would be far preferable to the blow that was no doubt coming.
> "One of your brothers has met with an unfortunate...accident."
> "I have no brothers."
> "I'm sorry. I thought we were through being coy. Biologically, yes, you are correct, but of course you know full well I was referring to the brotherhood in the fraternity."
> "I left the fraternity."
> "You never left the fraternity," the man sighed as though exercising immense patience with a stubborn child. "You may never leave the fraternity. You were well aware of this at your induction."
> "I was told I could--"
> "You were told you could what," the man interrupted, no longer bothering with pleasantries, "just leave and pretend your membership and allegiance never existed?"
> Christian's eyes strayed to the family photo hanging over the fireplace. In the picture his son Kevin was a newborn cradled in the arms of a smiling Carolyn. Posing for the photo, he had felt that his life had truly taken a turn for the better, that his past would fade into distant memory. Now, despite the fear still raking his stomach, he almost grinned at his own stupidity. Had he truly believed he could just get away?
> "One of the brothers and his wife have met with an untimely death. They had a son, Theodore, who has been left behind with no suitable guardians. The High Council has met and decided your family would be best suited to assume responsibility for the young man."
> "I beg your pardon?"
> Christian was torn. On the one hand he could not have felt more relieved. He had been certain the request would be far more despicable. Exactly what he thought they might ask of him he could not imagine, but on the other hand, what was this business about taking care of a boy?
> "What part of it did you not comprehend, Mr. Adams?"
> Christian sat forward. "You want me just to take in a boy I've never met? From a group of people I haven't even spoken to in more than eighteen years?"
> "In a word, yes. Do you foresee a problem with that?"
> "Do I foresee a problem with that?" Christian was appalled. "You're damn right I foresee a problem with that. I think you're crazy to call me up this way."
> "I'm sorry." The man's sarcasm told Christian he was anything but. "Should we have rolled out the announcement in a red carpet for you? You have an obligation to the fraternity. For years now you have been allowed to go about your business despite the concerns of several of the brothers. Your respite is over. Taking care of the son of one of your brethren should be an honor to you, especially since worthier members would have been all too glad for the privilege."
> "I am sorry for the boy's loss," Christian hissed. "But you can't just call me and expect me to be overjoyed at the thought of being coerced into taking in a child from a family I never even met."
> "Coercion," the man mused, savoring the word. "That is not quite how I view it, but you are right to assume that you do not really have a choice in the matter. The boy will be coming to your home in approximately three months. This should give you ample time to prepare for his arrival."
> "And if I refuse?"
> "Let us hope you will never need to find out."
>
> ***
>
> Joe, you should be aware - everyone should be aware - that putting your work on a public web site constitutes publication. Since it has been "published," no editor will touch it except those few who accept reprints.
>
> This is not nitpicking or splitting hairs; it is what professional writers have told me.
>
> There are ways of putting work on the Internet and yet not having that work on publicly accessible sites. For instance, you can create a private blog which only selected, invited people can read. Perhaps you should look into something of the kind.
>
> As to labels and warnings, I myself find them helpful. Some people might not want to read a piece containing violence or might appreciate being forewarned about the content. Similarly, some people might not be interested in reading a Mystery, a Romance or a Western. Accurate and considerate labeling in such a case would help save everyone time and frustration. It seems to me that this is not a matter of censorship or totalitarian tactics, but rather consideration of others.
>
> Naturally, there is a sense in which this whole discussion is moot. As several people have pointed out, we as a group must conform to the overall NFBNET rules if we want to continue using an NFBNET listserv. But, regardless of what the rules may be, common courtesy ought to guide us all. It is only courteous when posting a piece of work to give a general discription. Is it fiction, nonfiction or poetry? What genre, Science Fiction, Adventure, True Crime etc., does it belong to? Does it contain violence or graphic sex or large amounts of gratuitous obscenity? Does it draw on specialized knowledge, such as understanding of sailing and nautical matters or computer programming? The reader has a right to know what she/he is in for.
>
> And on the subject of consideration: When replying to messages on the listserv, please occasionally edit. I get the daily digest, and I need to scroll through screen after screen of e-mail chains and screen after screen of end of Stylist notices. The digest that I'm replying to right now was so long that it crashed both my browsers...several times. So please occasionally shorten the e-mail chains. Thanks.
>
> Solidarity and Peace,
> Kerry
>
>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 6
> Date: Wed, 28 Apr 2010 11:47:15 -0400
> From: Donna Hill <penatwork at epix.net>
> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> Subject: [stylist] Folk music fans, my latest interview with
> singer-songwriter Steve Gillette
> Message-ID: <4BD85883.1090709 at epix.net>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1; format=flowed
>
> Hi Friends,
> Even if you don't think you know Steve Gillette, you should know that
> he's written songs covered by Garth Brooks, Anne Murray, John Denver,
> the Knitty Gritty Dirt Band and many others. When I was in high school,
> in 1967 I was crazy about a song called "Back on the Street Again" by
> the Sunshine Company -- didn't figure out it was Steve's for many years.
> Anyway, the link and blurb are below my name.
> Enjoy
>
> Sing Out! & Steve Gillette: a Journey into Social Consciousness
>
> April 18, 2010
>
> http://folkmusic.suite101.com/article.cfm/sing-out-and-steve-gillette-a-journey-into-social-consciousness
>
> Singer-songwriter Steve Gillette shares his memories of folk music's
> Sing Out! magazine on the eve of its 60th anniversary and his hopes for
> its future.
>
>
>
> --
> Donna's articles on Suite 101:
> http://www.suite101.com/profile.cfm/donna_hill
>
> Free Download: "Love of My Life"
> http://www.passionsandpossibilities.com/guest-blogger-donna-hill-advocate-for-the-blind/
>
> Read my articles on American Chronicle:
> http://www.americanchronicle.com/authors/view/3885
>
> Follow me on Twitter:
> www.twitter.com/dewhill
>
> Join Me on LinkedIn:
> http://www.linkedin.com/in/dwh99
>
> Or, FaceBook:
> http://www.facebook.com/donna.w.hill.
>
> Hear clips from "The Last Straw" at:
> http://cdbaby.com/cd/donnahill
>
> Apple I-Tunes
>
> phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewAlbum?playListId=259244374
>
> Performing Arts Division of the National Federation of the Blind
> www.padnfb.org
>
>
>
>
>
> E-mail message checked by Spyware Doctor (7.0.0.514)
> Database version: 6.14880
> http://www.pctools.com/en/spyware-doctor-antivirus/
>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> _______________________________________________
> stylist mailing list
> stylist at nfbnet.org
> http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
>
>
> End of stylist Digest, Vol 72, Issue 25
> ***************************************
_________________________________________________________________
The New Busy think 9 to 5 is a cute idea. Combine multiple calendars with Hotmail.
http://www.windowslive.com/campaign/thenewbusy?tile=multicalendar&ocid=PID28326::T:WLMTAGL:ON:WL:en-US:WM_HMP:042010_5
More information about the Stylist
mailing list