[stylist] Matilda Ziegler Magazine
vejas
brlsurfer at gmail.com
Sat May 19 16:11:12 UTC 2012
Hi,
First I wanted to know, what is Matilda Ziegler magazine?
If you want it in Braille, maybe somebody like John who's read it
for a long time can write an e-mail to the editor.
Also, maybe there's a way that somebody can volunteer to produce
the Braille versions. I know that for Slate and Style, a certain
person does the Braille, print and e-mail.
I myself was disappointed when two magazines for the blind were
closed, Expectations and Brailleways. I'm not sure if you'd
heard of them, but they used to have lots of stories in them. At
the flea market during convention, I would be happy to find look
for back issues of the magazines, I think my earliest edition is
1972. And then they sent a letter that the magazines were made
when people had less Braille material, and wouldn't be around
anymore because people had books to read. However, there's not
even an online version of it.
Good luck,
Vejas
----- Original Message -----
From: "Ashley Bramlett" <bookwormahb at earthlink.net
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org
Date sent: Fri, 18 May 2012 21:42:17 -0400
Subject: Re: [stylist] Matilda Ziegler Magazine
Cheryl,
Thanks. Email is easier than reading online. I wish they did
braille though!
Maybe the website will say if they produce it in other formats
such as audio
or braille.
-----Original Message-----
From: cheryl echevarria
Sent: Friday, May 18, 2012 4:30 PM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: Re: [stylist] Matilda Ziegler Magazine
it comes in e-mail format, I know I get it, in fact, they
recently did an
interview on me back in April.
http://www.matildaziegler.com/
Cheryl Echevarria
Leading the Way in Independent Travel!
Cheryl Echevarria
http://www.echevarriatravel.com
631-456-5394
reservations at echevarriatravel.com
For daily updates read our blog at
http://www.echevarriatravel.wordpress.com
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
From: loristay at aol.com
Date: Fri, 18 May 2012 16:18:12 -0400
Subject: Re: [stylist] Matilda Ziegler Magazine
Matilda Ziegler magazine can be gotten online now, I think. It
used to
come out in Braille, but the costs got them.
You can check out their website: www.matildaziegler.com
David says the address we found for them might be old, but it is
80 Eighth
Avenue, New York NY 10011
and the phone: 212-242-0263, email blind at verizon.net
Hope some of that is helpful.
Lori
-----Original Message-----
From: Ashley Bramlett <bookwormahb at earthlink.net
To: Writer's Division Mailing List <stylist at nfbnet.org
Sent: Wed, May 16, 2012 7:06 pm
Subject: Re: [stylist] There be Members in this online Mag!
How do you get Matilda Ziegler magazine?
What sort of writing is in it?
-----Original Message-----
From: Robert Leslie Newman
Sent: Tuesday, May 01, 2012 8:51 AM
To: writers nfb
Subject: [stylist] There be Members in this online Mag!
(Look for Nancy and Marilyn)
This is the Matilda Ziegler Magazine for the Blind
2012 Poetry Issue
Table of Contents
Editor's Note
Nancy Scott - Advantages of Not Knowing Mirrors William Shake 'N
Bake
- An Epicurean's Epigram Sally Rosenthal - Solace Bunny
Maginnis - I
Saw a Sunset Ann Chiappetta - Appearances Cathy Brotz -
Growing Old
and The Golden Door Valerie Moreno - Wake Up Call Marilyn
Brandt Smith
- The Walk Home Floris Brown - You dressed me in purple Lori
Castner -
Window-shopping Claudia Del Real - Another Day Carol
Fleischman -
Braille Rosetta Brown - A Poem Is Carole Rose - Swinging Rex
Leslie
Howard, Jr. - Force Unseen Abbie Taylor - I Walk Alone Ray
Holland -
The skies I remember Ed Neiman - Meditation on the Memorial
Wall Karen
Crowder - Country Folks James Boswell - Oh Kapten My Kapten
Ruth E.
Coleman - The Promise Keeper Norma A. Boge - Longing Bonnie
Rennie -
Okay I Can't See Kalu Ndukwe - A Third String Gratitude
For your convenience, each poem is separated by the ## symbol.
Editors Note: Poetry is literary art, and forces the artist
into a
habit of intricate deliberation as they carefully place words
into a
confined space--like a watchmaker gently laying the gears and
springs
into the body of their work. Every element is meaningful and
has a
defined purpose as they build rhythm and meld to fulfill the
function
of the artist. But where time is static, poetry is like a
cloud--constantly changing and experienced differently by each
observer.
I would like to thank everyone who submitted material for this
year's
poetry issue. You have all done a fantastic job.
Enjoy!
##
Nancy Scott - Advantages of Not Knowing Mirrors
I've forgotten again
what color
my clouded eyes are.
People have said grey,
but someone said blue once
and I like the sound of that.
I want to hear my face's
laugh lines and heart shape
and wishful forty-five-year-old skin
but I don't ask,
not wanting the sound of truth
unknowable by touch.
I can feel
my Irish-bent nose
and the breathlessness
of twenty pounds I should lose.
But the sound
of my still-thick hair
is silver.
Now isn't that more fun than seeing?
##
William Shake 'N Bake - An Epicurean's Epigram
Eat what you love, and love be what you eat O you who snack on
care's
perfidious crimes.
A fool's content lies more with white than wheat, and diet is a
symbol
of the times.
Love is a dish of gusto-garnished veal, and steak is not
outwitted by
the rest of Cupid's saucy arrows, for his meal contents love's
least
sad labour with the best.
If low-fat yogurt adds but little spice to salad dressings
creamy and
divine, it is the diet's demons dour device.
Love and be loved with fat and flavour fine.
If counting calories you do despise,
then grab a chocolate milkshake and be wise!
##
Sally Rosenthal - Solace
I brought my mother a dog
to polish the dullness
of a nursing home routine and
make it sparkle
with Labrador enthusiasm.
I brought my mother a dog
to remind her she was the same person
whose ninety-one years had been graced with canine devotion,
from the
wire-haired terrier of her native England who, being averse to
grooming, buried his brush in a neighbor's garden, from the
mastiffs
bred and shown by her late sister at Crufts, from the Boston
terrier,
assorted brown mutts, and retired hunting spaniels who had
Christmas
presents under our family tree to the yellow Labrador who,
with my
hand on her harness, deftly guided me through the
institutional halls
on her missions of comfort.
I brought my mother a dog
to salve my conscience for
the care I could not provide
and to assuage my guilt for
the luxuries I had at home of
meals of my own choosing,
hot cups of tea,
and quiet privacy.
I brought my mother a dog
a few hours before she died.
As I held her waif-like hand,
listening to her changing breath and
bidding her safe travel, I prayed
the woman in the nursing home bed
that held no hint of home realized
I had brought us both a dog.
##
Bunny Maginnis - I Saw a Sunset
I awoke in darkness, the hour seemed quite late.
How long had I been sleeping, I tried to concentrate.
I must have closed the curtains, that's it, without a doubt.
Or perhaps, a storm came through and then electricity went out.
I felt my way across the room and when I found the door, I
opened it
and stood there, bewildered and unsure.
The birds were sweetly singing and folks were walking by.
At first I felt fear and anger, and then I began to cry.
For it was my eyes, I lost my sight I knew it had to be.
But I felt so alone and frightened, how could this happen to me.
I cried my God, where have you gone,
Why have you left me all alone?
You know on you I will rely,
But must I be blind until I die?
And then, in my mind's eye there did appear, A vision bright,
and very
clear.
A blue sky, puffy clouds, lovely to behold, Surrounded a
suspended
ball of crimson, orange and gold.
My mind's eye filled with wonder, I shed not one single tear
drop.
For you see, I viewed this lovely scene standing high on a
mountain top.
It was this that made me realize,
That I could live without my eyes. Though physically they are
quite
blind, I'm not sightless in my mind.
Whenever a thing I wish to see,
I activate my memory.
Yes, that's a day I'll not forget.
I lost my sight, but, I saw a sunset.
##
Ann Chiappetta - Appearances
Once, not long ago
the details of life consumed me
Images of wild flowers, riotous colors in a blanket of green
were
picked, not left untouched.
Dependence on Televised Greek tragedies Indelible Portraits,
live
feeds and last breaths Possessed me.
Now a sound or smell overrides the lost optical cues Memories
ribbon
the air with Familiar scents Warm, pungent earth after it
rains
Reminders of ripening tomatoes The brace and sting of crisp
winter
wind Recollections of hikes in the snow tipped pines
The soft, clear tinkle of ice on a windowpane And my husband's
breathing deep in the night Comforts the troubles Lulls me
back to
sleep ## Cathy Brotz - Growing Old and The Golden Door
Author's Note: The first poem was written by my grandmother,
Katherine
Gilbert Cullerton, who was blind from Retinitis Pigmentosa.
She wrote
the poem in January 1985. She passed on in January 1988, just
shy of
her 98th birthday.
The second poem was written by my father, John H. Cullerton,
on
January 16, 1988, the day that his mother passed. He is
legally blind
from Retinitis Pigmentosa and will turn 87 on May 20, 2012.
Growing Old
Katherine Gilbert Cullerton
You'll never know how sad it is,
What growing old can be like,
Until you're near the Golden Door.
My eyes are dim, my hearings's poor;
The arthritis in my back
Gets worse with every twist and bend.
So enjoy yourself while you are young.
Get the things you can afford.
My greatest pleasure was helping others And lending a helping
hand.
I have a wonderful family
And kind friends by the score,
But I hope it won't be very long
Before I reach the Golden Door.
The Golden Door
by John H. Cullerton
She sees it now... the Golden Door.
Slowly, nearer, nearer, nearer,
Even nearer, nearer more.
She is there now...
Then turns to take a final bow,
And returns to former state,
Of passing through that Golden Gate.
We do not know what lies ahead,
But see her smile as she does tread,
Along the beauty flower bed.
She slowly disappears from view,
As the Golden Door askew
Gently closes.
She is gone.
##
Valerie Moreno - Wake Up Call
Brooding too long
in bare branches
absent vitality
A touch stirs
sleeping resolve energy
time to imagine
untangle
unravel stiff boredom and respond-
universal wake-up call
##
Marilyn Brandt Smith - The Walk Home
I seldom walk this way, but since it's late, The highway
tempts me,
offers smoother tread.
Approaching from the woods, my traps all set, I see that rain
has left
a silver sheen;
Lights from a passing car direct my gaze; Am I the first to
come upon
distress?
Tendrils flutter, motion draws me near.
A child, a wounded dog, what have we here?
Hurry home and call for help from town?
Lift this bundle, see what I can do?
I touch the unfamiliar, pull away,
My God! It's only broken bales of hay!
I murmur thanks, and soon go on my way.
##
Floris Brown - You dressed me in purple
In my grim loneliness
I also want to love
touch you
feeling with passion
the curves of your face
until I have my picture
of how I think you
might look
your voice, your warm
presence
your smell, your footstep
your laughter, is all I have
to hold on to
to know
you are mine
your explosions of fury
your intolerable manner
of screaming at me
no patience venom
the purple dress you always
clothed me with
as doctors told
dimmed my light yesterday
like the branches of a willow tree
your dark side
hovered over me
clothed me enfolded me
and I wanted to elope
away from the dark side in you
then you give me your shoulder .
##
Lori Castner - Window-shopping
I spent those weeks
Before each childhood
Christmas
Yearning to possess
The store display.
I stood in crowds
And peered through glass
Unable to afford
The porcelain doll
That begged for
Unconditional love.
I longed to caress
Sumptuous blonde curls
Knowing they would feel
Soft as down.
My fingers ached
To stroke supple skin
Certain it would prove
Lifelike and warm.
Eyes that shut in sleep
And opened wide in pleasure
Tantalized and beckoned.
Each day I stood adoring,
And anticipated Christmas
Sure she would be there
Beneath our tree.
The year I turned thirteen
I ceased to hope,
Too old for dolls,
Anyway.
Instead I received
A synthetic coat
My parents scrimped
All year to buy
And wore it six Decembers
Against Chicago chill.
Loving you is like
Those childhood times.
I return day after day
To bask in your smile
While your eyes look beyond me
To the nearby crowd
Or watch your own
Reflection in the glass.
Faithfully I wait
In reverence.
Eagerly you seek your own.
I long to relive
That yuletide season
When I put aside
Childish things.
And gratefully accepted
A gabardine cloak
That warmed me in seasons of cold.
##
Claudia Del Real - Another Day
Another day
Has come and gone.
Yet every day's
like a new dawn.
So full of promise,
So full of life,
So full of hope
And sometimes strife.
Another day
Has come and gone.
Yet every day's
Like a new dawn.
Love with your heart,
Live with your soul,
You'll shed your tears
And sometimes lose control.
Another day
Has come and gone,
Yet every day's
Like a new dawn.
Enjoy your life,
Conquer your fears,
And always know,
These are your best years!
##
Carol Fleischman - Braille
Fog hides the loops and lines of print.
A hand sails over a sea of dots,
Letters, words, and sentences flow past.
Fingers, like a silent ship, read forward.
A pattern of six dots plots a course.
The treasure is mine; I know the code.
Steady fingers ride the waves of dots, Taking me as far as my
mind can
travel.
##
Rosetta Brown - A Poem Is
A poem is a bequest to leave behind
It is a treasure the poet bestows upon mankind The poem is part
of the
creator that can be read and recited many years later
It is a brief moment in time
I dedicate it to the reader for it's no longer mine The poem may
give
them some insight Or lessen burdens for some plight ## Carole
Rose -
Swinging
The swing sits quietly in the early spring sunshine, Waiting
for me.
It has been months since our last voyage together.
I climb onto the swing
and grip its warm, strong chains.
The familiar sense of anticipation returns.
I swing gently at first
listening to birdsong
savoring the cool breeze,
and then:
I begin to push harder and swing higher.
I stand in the seat, my muscles straining, willing myself to
soar even
higher.
I am oblivious to the other children on the playground.
I am wild with joy.
The wind speaks to me.
My heart is singing
my smile is radiant.
The swing is even with the bars.
I am free!
I am reaching for the sky!
I want to kiss the sun, to capture a fleecy cloud!
Suddenly I realize I can go no higher.
The swing slows.
I am spent, yet exhilarated.
I tumble onto a grassy carpet
and bury my face in its greenness.
A swing is just a swing and I am just a child.
One can only swing so high.
And yet
Imagination offers endless possibilities.
My swing and I will soar again.,
ever higher until we touch the sky.
I will kiss the sun,
I will capture my fleecy cloud.
##
Rex Leslie Howard, Jr. - Force Unseen
I come from places far and near.
I'm a moaning, whispering voice of force.
I'm not transparent though I am clear, and nature guides my
course.
I bring the world refreshing reprieve, on the hottest days of
spring,
In the Fall I prune away last year's leaves.
while southbound birds take wing.
I bring the flurries of whitest snow,
with the chill of winter days.
I wonder aimlessly to and fro,
and sing in ghostly haunting ways.
I amplify scent when the days grow long; I give waves to the
heat and
shimmer to the light.
I bring the tune of returning birdsong.
I'm the sweetness of remembered summer nights.
I'm an endless cycle not to be undone, always beyond the hands
that
grasp.
Angry, I can be stopped by no one.
Even the oceans yield to my task.
I comfort, enrich, bless and curse
and spread life around the globe.
I suck vast waters up when I suffer thirst.
yielding only to God's control.
I bring down cities and entire nations, with only a whispering
sigh.
Never tiring and constantly patient,
I live on though I frequently die.
I am the one thing physical eyes will never see, And against
which
Mortal man is helpless to defend.
I am the thing I've been and will always be, I am the awesome
force of
wind.
##
Abbie Taylor - I Walk Alone
In favorable weather, I take the sidewalk to the bank,
pharmacy, post
office, jewelry store, card shop, senior center, library.
My white cane sweeps from side to side in front of me.
Alone except for the cars that whizz by.
I find peace of mind.
##
Ray Holland - The skies I remember
Beautiful was the deep blue of a clear morning sky Fluffy
white clouds
that floated in every imaginable shape A large white whale
followed by
fluffy cannon balls in the wake A sitting dog begging for
scraps of
food, than falling on his backside A bowling ball disappearing
into a
floating ship Oh those unlimited, wonderful cloud pictures in
the
beautiful blue sky Jet streams that criss-cross the sky on
clear
cloudless days Each day gave off new dramatic scenes as my
head turned
upward to observe them
Dark stormy clouds in a grey sky that blot out the sun and
warn of
impending bad weather Bright streaks of lightning followed by
rolling
booms of thunder usually followed The bright sun breaking
through any
break in the clouds was and is a never forgotten warmth of
nature
The night sky is a wonder to behold on a clear dark night
Stars that
twinkle and shine as pinpoints of white light are uncountable
Each
night the moon changes its size and brightness Was that a
man's face
that is on the full moon?
Birds fly, bugs skim and flutter about the sky
Now without sight all the memories of that greatness above
live on in
my memory
However, are they still all there?
There is warmth that flows from above to cover my face and arms
Clouds
and shadows blot out that sunny warmth from my body Today is
that
great sky looking just as I remember?
Or is it just a nebula,
Nothing that I now seem to perceive?
##
Ed Neiman - Meditation on the Memorial Wall
Author's Note: A perspective, in reverie, upon a visit to The
Vietnam
Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington D.C., and Remembering my
brother,
Gary Preston Neiman: (1951-1969).
Diaphanous, incorporeal, wrought of reverie, A soldier's image
looms
in fantasy Over the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in D.C.
His arms, (as The Wall), extend in earnest plea; And thus
perceived,
the colossal eidolon speaks to me:
"Serving America, I perished in far-off Vietnam, Bereft of
blithesome
youth's due aspiration.
Dauntless, facing adversary's pestilential gun, Was I forfeited
to
vicious strife's abomination.
My arms entreat: Come, see what this war has done!
As now they stretch inert in resignation."
These arms are a wall of burnished granite, (black for
mourning):
Poignant is the somber metaphor.
These arms are a ledger unfolded:
Grim chronicle of commitment's tariff.
Names of this war's casualties mortally wounded, (so many
treasured
thousands), Here, with profound tribute, are enduringly told.
Not all the rain that bathes these gargantuan arms Could fade
the
taint of blood surged from Kinsmen dispatched; Nor could all
the
sunshine that warms their graven panels Disperse the torrent
of tears
shed by those who loved ones here ennobled.
These arms, downward cant, seem heavy laden, As ponderously
burdened
with eons of precious years unspent.
These arms are spread like a tormented V, --For venture? . Or
for
Vietnam?
A V, devoid of conviction, shallow, inverted, signing
distress, Like
flagging wings of a valiant Eagle aggrieved, Or like a shaken
Nation's
countenance woeful shown.
But yet, A V that strengthens structure, Bulwark 'gainst the
surge of
time and tide's obliteration, Forefending inhumation.
Oh, this palpable commemoration!
Its majestic simplicity!
It's enthralling democracy!
Its fervent solemnity!
Pledge of perpetual veneration!
Meditate upon this stately, humble, Wall.
Apprehend its pleading call.
Mute, it speaks with myriad tongues in silence, Despite the
stifling
hand of violence.
Listen to the eloquence of hush:
A whisper midst quotidian rush.
Gaze into deepness 'neath its lustrous sheen, Mirrored in glaze,
perceived, unseen.
Touch the singled symbol of address,
As once was dealt the fond caress.
Each name here scribed: a history hewn by tragic conflict,
--Abridged
amidst a battle breaking.
Each cherished soul bethought: a private echo in the heart of
its
beloved, --A throbbing, wistful, aching.
Each past: some future's fabric weft of sacrifice, --Demand of
calamitous leave-taking.
Honor those absent.
Recall them present.
Wonder: what if...?
GRIEVE.
But these arms, alas, cannot embrace to grant surcease Of
sorrow's
pang, or abate the timeless anguished breath; Nor ever can
they,
tranquil, folded be in pose of peace:
THESE ARMS, INSENSATE, ARE INELUCTABLY FROZEN by DEATH.
##
Karen Crowder - Country Folks
We awaken not to the sound of honking horns, We are not
disturbed by
the constant sound of roaring traffic, The melody of chirping
birds
wakes us from sound slumber The quiet whisper of breezes
coming
through our open windows,
Early mornings are not nerve jostling with jarring sound of
rush hour
traffic People always rushing down streets to subways and
busses In
the country the smell of growing things fills the air,
Unhurried
people arrive at work content with the gentle chatter of
rustling
leaves and barking dogs.
Late afternoon horns blare in the mayhem of oncoming traffic
People
wishing to escape the cacophony of city noise, Cars glide home
with
already planted gardens The melody of robins and chickadees
greeting
them as they arrive
Nighttime falls with city sound of boom boxes and slamming car
doors,
Serenity and rest are hard to find with loud music and sirens
The
peepers chirp, birds serenade us through the evening Sitting
on
porches, we love the tranquility of the country.
##
James Boswell - Oh Kapten My Kapten
Oh Kapten my Kapten, I broke down and cried, Becausse I was
bewildered
by your study guide.
Oh Kapten my Kapten, directing toward success With MP3 player,
FM, and
GPS.
Oh Kapten my Kapten, global navigation Your system will point
the way
to my destination.
Oh Kapten my Kapten, global navigation, Announcing streets in my
town
and across our nation.
Oh Kapten my Kapten, I need to be aware Of where I am, where
I'll go,
and how I will get there.
Oh Kapten my Kapten, when I choose to roam, Your voice will
declare to
me How I will get home.
##
Ruth E. Coleman - The Promise Keeper
In all the things that have happened to me, God's given me
ability to
see.
How to make it to the other side,
Whether I walk, jump, slip or slide.
He's given me ways to conquer my foes, By sniffing their
deception,
with my keen keen nose.
So far as attacks,
I ignore the whacks.
Like Ziggy and his dog,
I am victorious in smog.
Never knowing which way is up,
My way is made sure by my faithful pup.
Who is lead by the Powerful unseen Hand, The Lord and Redeemer
of
mortal man; The same who once walked on water, Who healed the
sick and
raised Jairus' daughter.
Who spit on clay and made the blind to see, Who told His
Disciples.
"Even though they Crucify Me., I'll shake off death on Day
Three."
and His Promise to you and to me,
"I'm coming again, and ALL WILL SEE!"
Can we trust Him? Sure we can,
Even better than sighted man,
Because we know who leads us, not our dog, He's the One who
created
and sees clearly in the smog.
He knows where we're going, and our end.
He's the One Who made us. Jesus, Our Best Friend.
##
Norma A. Boge - Longing
When days are dark and the world's so cold And memories are
all I have
to look forward to I think about you, so sweet and so playful
And how
I loved to see the boy inside the man I know you loved me for
your own
reasons And my heart holds a special place for you Time and
space
conspired to keep us apart And I'm sorry fate dealt the hand
it did I
will carry on, as will you, down separate paths And I'll meet
you
where the stars collide ## Bonnie Rennie - Okay I Can't See
Some say "So sad that you can't see!"
But that simply seems so silly to me.
The sights in sounds, in symphony
So sensational, not to be scrapped or scorned, sincerely!
I savor the songs, and seriously!
No room to perceive them, if I could see.
The shouting sea, the sandy shore,
The sheltering sunset, who could seek for more.
The other senses see how to celebrate life.
Were I to see now, it would surely bring strife.
So please don't say "sorry" that I can't see.
Glad to set aside the shallowness
Love what my heart can see.
##
Kalu Ndukwe - A Third String Gratitude
Though not a 1st or 2nd string,
Which the world may call east or west, But my heart truly sing:
Thanks, thanks for your best,
Life's battles fiercely fought,
That the blind everywhere:
Their joy and independence no more hurt, And peace to all found
so
dear!
##
END OF POETRY ISSUE 2012
This email was sent to rgardner4 at gmail.com.
If you are no longer interested you can unsubscribe instantly:
http://swisher.cmail4.com/t/r-u-dkhkkid-fldlthya-r/
Robert Leslie Newman
Personal Website-
Adjustment To Blindness And Visual impairment
http//www.thoughtprovoker.info
NFB Writers' Division, president
http://www.nfb-writers-division.net
Chair of the NFB Communications Committee
_______________________________________________
Writers Division web site:
http://www.nfb-writers-division.net
<http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/
stylist mailing list
stylist at nfbnet.org
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account
info for
stylist:
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/bookwormahb%
40earthlink.net
_______________________________________________
Writers Division web site:
http://www.nfb-writers-division.net
<http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/
stylist mailing list
stylist at nfbnet.org
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account
info for
stylist:
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/loristay%40a
ol.com
_______________________________________________
Writers Division web site:
http://www.nfb-writers-division.net
<http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/
stylist mailing list
stylist at nfbnet.org
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account
info for
stylist:
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/cherylandmax
x%40hotmail.com
_______________________________________________
Writers Division web site:
http://www.nfb-writers-division.net
<http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/
stylist mailing list
stylist at nfbnet.org
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info
for
stylist:
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/bookwormahb%
40earthlink.net
_______________________________________________
Writers Division web site:
http://www.nfb-writers-division.net
<http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/
stylist mailing list
stylist at nfbnet.org
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info
for stylist:
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/brlsurfer%40
gmail.com
More information about the Stylist
mailing list