[stylist] introduction+bonus grammar request

Wed Jan 5 18:27:07 UTC 2011

Heya all!

I joined a bit ago and have been reading when I can.  I see lots of familiar 
people on this list.*waves*

anyhow, I'm Julie. I live in eastern NE with my farmer husband, teenage son 
and two dogs.  I joined because I'm currently working on a book.   In the 
beginning it was fun and I loved to work on it.  Now I'm in the 
editing/rewriting/fixing phase.  It's not so fun.  I was hoping that someone 
would have a recommendation of a book or website that would help me with 
grammar.  Some of my sentences just don't flow well and others come up in 
the spell/grammar check with no recommendations of a fix.  If it makes a 
difference my writing style is very informal and the book is nonfiction.

TIA
Julie

  ----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Donna Hill" <penatwork at epix.net>
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Wednesday, January 05, 2011 12:12 PM
Subject: Re: [stylist] Hoody bit

Brad, Good job. You are a very creative man.
Donna

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On 1/5/2011 9:14 AM, Brad Dunse wrote:
> for a little self-amusement this morning :)
>
> The store manager was new so I suppose you really couldn't blame him. I 
> don't think he had much experience in this sort of thing before, but after 
> an incident such as this, I'm sure he's learned a thing or two. A few of 
> us tried to tell him early on but it was as if he didn't even hear us, or 
> as if he couldn't understand us at all. It was almost like he didn't speak 
> our language. Well, anyway… we didn't push too hard because we had heard 
> he was a bit hot under the collar, though you really would not have 
> thought that by just looking at him. I mean his white pressed short 
> sleeved shirt and bright tan slacks were… hmmm alright. I mean the slacks 
> weren't that dark so they were OK. I mean he couldn't wear white slacks 
> too or he'd look like a doctor or something, you know, too clean and 
> proper. No, the light tan slacks were OK, too dark and well, you know, 
> *spoken in a whisper* the darky slacks… no matter how you try to contrast 
> them… because of their color they just send the wrong message you know.
>
> I on the other hand, with my official medium sky blue long sleeves, neatly 
> pressed chest pockets, stiff unwrinkled collar standing proud atop the 
> wide shoulders, sharply contrasted dark blue slacks creased commanding 
> municipal respect being tied off at the waist by a shiny black leather 
> belt, knew this sort of thing happens from time to time. I might have 
> expected it too from the murmuring I thought I heard earlier on in the 
> evening.
>
> I'd say it happened somewhere around 11:00PM, shortly after closing time 
> and all the store personnel had gone home for the night. The place was 
> dark and only the security lights lit certain areas of the store. The 
> dress shirt section was well lit and out in the open, as was the tank tops 
> and plane sweat shirts. Even the wild carefree T-shirts with their brazen 
> multi-colored logos slapped on them like cheap chest tattoos were out in 
> the open. There were others though that were hidden in the shadows of the 
> security lights. If anyone should have been hidden from the light it 
> should really have been the negligees and unmentionables but no, it wasn't 
> that way, not like other stores with… well you see, this is where the 
> store manager… well I'm sure he knows now, but it always has to come to 
> something like this before anything is done about it.
>
> As I said I think it had to be a little after 11:00PM, shortly after 
> closing time, maybe 11:30PM I'm not really sure. I was standing there 
> quiet-like, the store was all still. And out of the buzzing noise of the 
> scantly illuminating fluorescents, I thought I heard this whispering. At 
> first I wasn't sure but then it seemed to get louder. Sure enough I began 
> to hear these voices and right away I knew what was happening. Their 
> accent and dialect gave them away even in the darkness. As the murmuring 
> grew louder I began to pick out what was being said.
>
> "Look at you mon weeth your foncy stripes and pressed coalars... get a 
> load ofe deece guy mon... oh... tsk tsk tsk. Aw. Jew popped a coople 
> boatens. Aw Chus like deece one here, dos a shame mon".
>
> I knew right then we had trouble and it wasn't going to be pretty. But 
> what was I to do. The manager had me clipped up on the display wall with 
> arms stretched out like I was being crucified. I'm telling you, I mean I'm 
> not saying? I'm just saying. You know, I think the manager had a lot of 
> missed responsibility here. New or not, well anyway, I could hear things 
> were heating up from another section ...
>
> "Hey man look at this feller. he's a thinkin' he's purdy smart wit dat 
> Rayon tag he's a sportin' there. Well I'll just..."
>
> And then I heard this horrible tearing sound. I mean he made off like he 
> was going to rip off just the tag but it sounded like he tore the whole 
> arm off the guy. All this was happening just around the corner where I 
> couldn't quite get a good look at who the trouble makers were, but I knew. 
> Oh, I knew alright. It was easy for the cops to tell too when they finally 
> came in the next morning.
>
> But anyway pinned helpless there I heard another scream, I looked and 
> finally I could see something of what was going on just outside of the 
> shadows. It was coming from the negligee section.
>
> "Get your hands off me you, you... you... piece of white... help! Help!"
>
> I looked over and it confirmed my suspicion. The upper part of his garment 
> was the tell tale thing but with Lederhosen? I mean that's an odd 
> combination but these trouble makers, they'll wear anything for an 
> identity that draws attention to them.
>
> All of a sudden the voices got louder. The trouble makers with there 
> accents and dialects were pushing shoving and ripping everyone off their 
> hangers. You could hear shirts drop to the floor, some in just a 
> protective fetal position, and others because they were yanked off the 
> rack, thrown down and stomped. Screams and torrents of obscenities rang 
> out along with fabric names. Cotton, Rayon, Wool, Polyester Blend, you 
> name it and it was yelled out just before they were beaten or tore to 
> shreds. If attacking them for their textile ethnicity wasn't good enough, 
> the troublemakers began spewing out styles. V-necks, tank tops, button 
> down, short sleeve, long sleeve, no sleeve, it didn't matter they were out 
> to make their mark in the clothing section of the store. cries for help 
> rang out one after another and like I say, there I was pinned against the 
> wall in "nail me to the cross" mode, unable to do anything.
>
> Well, by the time the store manager got there in the morning every stitch 
> of clothing was tossed on the floor. Buttons lay randomly in the isles 
> along with ripped off collars, pockets and sleeves. Hangers littered the 
> main isle next to crumpled broken plastic displays and metal tubular 
> hanging racks tipped over. I was lucky enough to have landed face down 
> with the top of my display wall propped up against the feet of the denim 
> shirt's round rack that was in front of me before all this started, so I 
> wasn't crushed. Yes, every stitch of clothing was either tore, had its 
> buttons popped, its buckles wrenched off, or otherwise destroyed. When the 
> humans walked in only one set of garments was left sitting untouched and 
> only slightly misarranged according to size as if they scampered to return 
> to the rack before someone saw.
>
> That's when they knew who caused all this trouble. Those troublemakers the 
> hoodys. Its always the hoodys, you can't trust a one of them I tel ya. And 
> it doesn't matter if they have draw straps, are pull overs or zip, have 
> tattoos on their chest like the T-shirts or not. No matter what color, 
> solid or multi-colored, they all were there hanging presuming innocence 
> while the rest of us lay in a shambles on the store manager's pretty 
> little floor.
>
>
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