EROS & RUST Vol. 1, No. 6 15 September, 2004  A Newsletter/Ezine of Good Fiction and Writing Resources

www.firegravity.com (STILL under construction - still having that same old problem - time to get it done and finding out how to set up instant downloading in techno-dufus speak)

M. Kenyon Charboneaux, Editor ( nomadagain2000@yahoo.com)

Susan Snively, Assistant Editor

This ezine is distributed by subscription only. To unsubscribe, check the details at the end of this email. If you were sent this ezine by a friend and wish to subscribe just send me an email at nomadagain2000@yahoo.com I do this all by hand - no autoresponder, no mailing lists, so shoot me over an email and I??™ll add you to the list.

IN THIS ISSUE

* Editorial - Apres l??™deluge ..

* Original Fiction & Poetry

The Poetry of Akintiunde

Need - a Short Story by Kevin Anderson

* Eros & Rust??™s September Contest Winner

When the Road Came to the Village by Glenise Lee

* Calls for Submission & Market Listings

* Agents & Contests

* Articles & Columns

A Software Review by Kenyon Charboneaux

Writing Column - Questions to Ask Yourself by Kenyon Charboneaux

* Info re Articles

* Writer??™s Jokes and Other Miscellanies

Why Write? What Men & Women Say

* Prompts for September for use in Journaling or Free Fall Writing Exercises

* Classes & Services

* Advertisements

* Info for Advertisers

* The Legal Stuff

* About Me

* Subscribe/Unsubscribe information

**********************************************************************************

Editorial - Apres l??™deluge ... Greetings again ....

Welcome to all of my old friends and to all of the new subscribers. Again, as after every issue, we got a BUNCH of new subscribers, as well as an offer of sponsorship, which unfortunately, I had to turn down. And I had to turn it down because despite all the help Susan Snively has been and the help Michelle Buckman and Deana Hoover were willing to give to make this newsletter bigger and better, I am going to have to close down Eros & Rust after all. The December issue, an Author Showcase featuring The Poetry of Akintiunde will be our last issue.

As some of you know, I had a minor heart attack last Saturday morning at 3 AM - in fact, I??™ve only been home and out of the hospital for the past two days (I got early release because the attack was minor and I??™m a what??™s known as a difficult patient - after they transferred me to a regular room on the cardiac ward, I tried to convince the nurse to let me use the nurse??™s station computer, for instance, to answer email; I got up and wandered the halls looking for someone with a laptop I could borrow; I refused to eat the horrible food they called a low fat, low sodium diet; I begged to be released every day whenever I saw a doctor or nurse - well, you get the idea. Besides, my HMO apparently gets to decide how long a person can be in a hospital for a specified disease, not the doctors, so ....

Now the heart attack would be reason enough to shut down Eros (since I am now willing to take seriously the many people who tell me I work too hard, including my HMO doctor and my husband) but the fact is that I had taken the decision to shut Eros down while I was actually putting the August issue together. It is simply too time consuming even with the extra help and I need to work on my writing first and foremost, always.

Nevertheless, the heart attack did make something very clear to me on the gut level. You know how it is - you know something intellectually, but not in your gut until one day the world falls in on you and then your gut gets the message. What??™s most amazing about this process is that you would think it was the intellectual knowledge that would push you to action, but it??™s not. It??™s not until you know something in your gut that it becomes really real. I didn??™t realize until after the heart attack, after the groggy first days in the cardiac care intensive unit, that writing is my life. It is more important to me than anything else. It is my passion, my vocation, my love. I want to spend as much time as I can - have to make a living, though, eh? - doing that writing. So I am withdrawing even deeper into my shell than I was before with the closing of Eros and stopping all the pro bono work last July. I??™ll still teach and I??™ll still try to help new writer??™s as much as I can for the oldest reason there is among writers - because when I was starting out, no one was there to help me - but other than that, you won??™t be seeing much of me on the Web anymore. I??™ve cancelled all the forums I belong to except Inkies, for instance.

Still it??™s sad to be pulling back so much of myself from the Net. I??™ve made a lot of friends here - I didn??™t realizer how many until my husband came to visit me each day with his laptop (wouldn??™t even let me touch it, the bugger!). He??™d read me the emails he thought I should hear (cursed censors!) and tell me who had written in response to his notice that I was in the hospital. I want to thank each one of you personally for that kindness and I will - I have already started sending personal emails of thanks - but I also want to say it here - Thank you. I appreciate every email you sent and I thank you for the great amount of caring you all expressed in those emails. I am always happy to hear from friends and my withdrawal more into the shell of solitude is not a withdrawal from you. I always have time for my friends.

So that??™s it. I just wanted everyone to know that Eros is going to die after all, but don??™t forget - Zinester.com is archiving Eros & Rust and all of you who have published here will still be reaching readers long after Eros is gone. So for the final issue in December, send me poems and short stories and every one of them will be published in that final issue (as long as they are meet the standards the judges set, of course, for Eros submissions). We??™ll have the biggest Fiction Edition blowout ever! I might even publish one of my own

stories. Hmmmmm, well, we??™ll see about that!

And now, without further ado - the September issue of Eros & Rust.

Cheers - Kenyon

**********************************************************************************

ORIGINAL FICTION & POETRY

Short Story

Web

BY

Kevin Anderson

Clive now knew what it was like to be a spider -- to have prey come to you and linger on the edge of the web. Patience and cunning were all the situation required to bring the moth in past the point of escape.

He leered at the young boy that had willingly walked onto Clive's porch and rang the bell. Perhaps only a year past ten, the boy wore the traditional Cub Scout uniform, a garb that heightened Clive's unnatural longing.

"And what are you collecting for?" Clive asked as he quickly glanced at the boy's tin can. He could see there were very few offerings in the container and knew this was a good sign. The boy had probably just started and had few witnesses to his presence in the neighborhood.

"The homeless," replied the spider's prey.

"Well, good for you, son. Most boy's your age are playing video games." Clive scanned the street. The sun had set but the street lamps chased away enough of the darkness to reveal if there were any other insects about.

There was no one.

Possibilities spun in Clive's head as he wove a plan to entangle the little moth. "Well, come on in and I'll get my

wallet." Clive turned and started to walk deep into the house leaving the door wide open.

The boy lingered on the edge of the web.

Clive looked over his shoulder and saw the moth hesitate. "Its all right. Come on in. No sense in you standing out there in the dark." He shot the boy a silky grin, then continued to pretend to be hunting for his wallet. It was an award caliber performance. "And shut the door

behind you. I got the air on," Clive added, knowing that instructions delivered in just such a tone from an adult were often obeyed by children without question. Prey were very trusting.

As he heard the door close behind him, Clive felt a rush of sensual warmth, as if he was embracing himself with eight hairy legs.

"Haven't seen you around here. Are you collecting all by yourself? Any fellow scouts with you?" As a successful predator, Clive knew very well what matters to get out of the way before proceeding. Spiders are carnivorous, but not reckless.

"I'm by myself," the boy asserted in a courageous tone. "And I don't live around here."

Brave little bee has strayed far from the hive, thought the spider. "Oh, here it is." Acting surprised, Clive pulled the wallet from his back pocket. He started to go through it then stopped. "Hey I was just about to have a coke. Would you like one?"

"Uhm..."

Clive saw hesitation frame the boy's face again. "Oh, come on. One coke never hurt anybody."

"All right."

Scurrying off to the kitchen, which was a dark little burrow of a room, Clive opened the refrigerator. Soft light from the appliance glistened on the silk wallpaper that suffocated the walls. "I'll be there in a minute."

Some spiders like to stun their victims with paralyzing poison, preferring to take what they need from living prey.

Clive deposited two cans of coke and a full hypodermic needle on the counter. Moving quickly as to not give the moth too much time to consider its situation, he flipped the cans open and poured the contents into two cocktail glasses. He then pushed the drug from the syringe into one of the glasses. Murky liquid dripped off the needle like venom from fangs.

"Here you go," said the spider as he emerged from the burrow. Clive knew that his pupils, dark like the back shells of beetles, sometimes unnerved people. He tried not to look directly at the boy as he handed him the glass, but in the full light of the living room the child's classic beauty was unleashed and Clive could not force himself to look away.

Never before had he seen such porcelain china doll features. Such smoothness. Such perfection. With somewhat of a scholarly knowledge of and prurient interest in the Kouros, statues of boys in ancient Greece, he wondered how this one would have compared, in a time when his desires were not only tolerated, but nurtured.

"Hey, are you a model? I bet you are." Clive grew an unsavory grin on his carnivorous face.

Through the ribbed lines in the cocktail glass, Clive could see the boy's cheeks grow flush with embarrassment.

"I bet I could make you a model. Maybe even a movie star. Do you know what I do for a living?"

The boy shook his head.

"I'm a celebrity photographer. I take pictures of models and movie stars for magazines. Would you like to be in a magazine?"

Some spiders use bait to lure their prey.

"I have my own photography studio right here. Hey, how about I take some pictures of you. I could pay you more than you could collect even if you stayed out all night."

The boy took a step back and Clive wondered if he had said too much. If he moved too fast and pushed too hard, his little moth might try to flutter away. But what did it matter now. The front door was closed and the prey was already entangled. Clive just preferred a bit more ease and cooperation before the struggling and unpleasantness began.

With mild relief, Clive realized that the boy had just shifted his posture and was not preparing to flee. The child seemed relaxed and the spider was delighted that the duel between predator and prey was not yet at an end.

"You could give some of the money to the homeless and keep some for yourself. Heck, keep it all if you like. I won't tell. I'm good at keeping secrets."

"Okay," the boy replied then took a big gulp of venom. "Can I see your studio?"

"Right this way," Clive gestured and put a big hairy tarantula-like arm around the boy as he approached. They walked together down a faintly lit hallway to the house's rear bedroom. Clive pushed the door open and it creaked as the entryway to the deepest chamber in the web was revealed.

Bright studio lights came to life with a flick of a switch as Clive looked down at the boy. He enjoyed their wondrous and mesmerized eyes as the children glimpsed the studio for the first time.

It was a large room -- a master bedroom converted to suit Clive's needs. At one end was an array of digital photography equipment. Some were mounted on tripods; others rested on shelves waiting to be employed. At the other end was a mattress up against a wall. The wall was covered with a blue screen backdrop ??“- making it possible to digitally manipulate the photo's background. Clive had

everything on file, from sunny meadows to medieval dungeons.

Decorating the other walls were photos of children of a variety of ages. Some wore party attire and others just bathing suits.

"Do you see? That could be you in a real magazine."

Clive pointed to one of the nearest pictures on the wall. He was purposely diverting the boy's attention away from the mattress. Clive couldn't remember if he had put on a fresh sheet to cover the bloodstains.

The spider grinned. He had remembered.

"Why don't you go sit under the lights and we'll get started." Clive pointed to the mattress then picked up a camera off the shelf. He popped off the lens cap and turned the power on.

As he waited for the camera to power up he watched the boy stroll over to the other side of the room. The back of his legs were smooth and untouched. Clive felt himself stir and he fought the craving. Photos first, then fun time, he told himself. He had done things in the reverse order before and found the results much harder to market. Those like him preferred images of untouched prey.

The boy situated himself on the mattress with his knees up, touching his chest. Clive manually adjusted the aperture and peered into the camera. He could see the mattress and the blue screen through the lens but the boy was not in frame. Pulling the camera away from his face he checked the boy??™s position. Just off center, he noted.

As he brought the camera back up to his eye and aimed the lens, he felt that the room had become too quiet.

He needed to keep the moth calm and still. "Do your parents know where you are?"

"I don't talk to them anymore."

Odd answer, Clive thought, as he focused his camera. Perhaps I have captured a real live orphan, or better yet a foster home refugee.

"Don't like your parents?" Clive asked while trying to find the boy in the camera frame. He could see the mattress. He could see the blue wall, but no boy.

"No, that??™s not it."

Perhaps he changed positions, Clive thought. He brought the camera away from his eye. The boy was sitting in the middle of the mattress; knees still pulled to his chest.

Clive quickly looked back into the camera.

"Well, what then?" Clive asked.

The camera could still not find its subject. He rubbed his eyes, then brought the camera back up for another go.

"Because they died centuries ago," answered the boy.

Clive was still searching for his prey in the camera when the boy's words hit him. "What did you say?"

Letting the camera fall from his eye, Clive caught sight of something leaping like a mantis through the air.

The boy landed on Clive's chest with clawed hands gripping either side of his head. Clive felt the crushing weight of a statue upon him, as if the child was made of stone.

The boy threw his head back and opened his mouth. Clive gazed up in horror as the child's canine teeth evolved into two-inch fangs.

"What are you?" Clive managed.

The boy peered down like a vulture. "Predator. Just like you." Then the child, with the china doll skin, tore Clive's throat out and nursed on the gapping wound.

Some spiders feed on other spiders.

&&&&&

Kevin Anderson has written award winning copy for TV and radio. He began writing short stories at the end of 2002 and has been published in a number of online and print publications. He also has stories in the following anthologies; Black Spiral, Fantasy and Science Fiction, Hauntings and Monsters INK. Kevin's story Third Shift was a winner in John B. Ford's Top International Horror

2003 contest and appears in an anthology, of the same name, published by RainFall Books in the UK.

*************************

Poetry

This month, I am immeasurably proud to bring you the poetry of Akintiunde, who has invented a new form of poetry, the African version of Haiku. Here is what he has to say about his work in this area, which will be showcased in our December issue :

"The structure of the form, as stated hereinabove, encompasses African American culture and historic philosophy. The term Eintou is West African for ???pearl??™ as in pearls of wisdom, and often the Eintou imparts these pearls in heightened language."

We??™ll hear even more from him about this form of poetry in his interview and have more of that poetry to read in December??™s issue, so don??™t go anywhere!

For September, though, I have chosen a poem about a poet, Langston Hughes, one of my favorites, and apparently also one of Akintiunde??™s favorites.

The Brother Speaks of Langston

Langston

for the falling

of your lines like raindrops

syncopating across the blues

of my rhythms, I was

replenished. and

because

I dove

the depths of your

diving the sonorous

Mississippi, the unyielding

Nile, the lulling Congo

my soul strengthened

Oh! for

wading

the currents of

your verse and baptizing

myself within unremitting

wisdoms, I know our blood('s)

courses like those

rivers

Breathless

i am

the -ness within

your breasts??™ breathless risefall

rhythmed by a poetry that

will be love; imploring

desire dancing

sighly

c 2004

 

***********************************************************************************

ABOUT THE EROS & RUST CONTEST:

Every month we hold a contest here at Eros & Rust. Submissions are taken between the 15th of the current month and the 15th of the following month. The winner is announced in the next month??™s issue and his or her story also appears in that issue. All stories must be original by the author submitting them and unpublished prior to the date of publication in Eros & Rust, to win the contest. Three outside judges will be doing the judging so that there can??™t be any appearance or allegations of nepotism or favoritism. Virginia Woolf took a lot of heat for reviewing her friend??™s books and for situations like this one - I don??™t want to have to take the same heat. There is NO FEE for the contest and the PRIZE is $10.

All stories should be 3000 to 5000 words and unless a topic is announced for the month, your subject can be anything you like EXCEPT PORNOGRAPHY or HATE LITERATURE OF ANY KIND 

THE SUBJECT FOR OCTOBER??™S CONTEST is, of course, HORROR!! 

Give our judge's something to really creep them out, please!!  They love it! 

Send all contest submissions to nomadagain2000@yahoo.com and GOOD LUCK!!

****************************************************************************************

SEPTEMBER??™S CONTEST WINNER

Well, folks, if you??™ll recall, last month we actually chose three of the stories submitted for the contest since so many had been sent in with the idea perhaps of being the writer with the bragging rights of being the last one to win an Eros contest. This month we go back to only one winner and this month it is - AGAIN - Glenise Lee, our Brit housewife with that son who looks like Elvis!

Remember - December will be the absolutely LAST issue of Eros and will be an Author Showcase, Fiction Edition, so if any of you are serious about the idea of being the one who can brag, "I was the last one to win an Eros contest", then please, don??™t hesitate to send in as many stories as you feel like sending. We??™re hoping to make December a real bash of a going out issue!

And now to Glenise??™s morality tale of wonderful proportion ... (one of the judge??™s called it "literary" - at last! Yes!) ... When the Road Came to the Village.

**************************************************************

WHEN THE ROAD CAME TO THE VILLAGE

by

Glenise Lee

He stood at the edge of the terrace. Leaning with the palms off his hands flat on the warm, rough concrete wall, he looked down the valley. Se?±or T??mas Marrero, El Alcalde, the village mayor, was lost in thought. Around him, tall rocky cliffs tumbled and split to form a U-shaped valley. The land dropped two thousand metres from the terrace to the sea, eight kilometres away. El Alcalde could see the sea from his vantage point, but at this distance could not judge its mood. Across the sea, wreathed in misty cloud, he could see the neighbouring island of La Gomera.

The valley was a broad green slash against the darker grey-green mountainsides. The village perched tenaciously halfway down the valley, each home clinging to an individual hillock. The small houses clustered around the white church that sat in a corner of the terraced plaza. Rain ran from the slopes of Mount Teide into deep aquifers, greening the valley and feeding orange, lemon and almond trees in terraced gardens. Fruit trees were dotted about the valley, reminders of domestic gardens returned to nature. The village was smaller now. Much smaller than it had been in its prime nearly three hundred years ago. The present village was little more than a hamlet, of only eighty souls, but like its bigger neighbours, miles away over the jagged mountain or along the rocky coast, it had kept the traditional ways. It had its own priest, Se?±or Alphonso Delgardo and village council. El Alcalde had been to university in Spain. He had not liked Spain. He came back to his home in Tenerife many years ago and had been the village mayor for most of that time.

In profile, El Alcalde was a Spanish Conquistador. He was not a big man, scarcely of average height. His forehead was high. His nose was long and hooked. A dark fringe of black beard classically framed his gaunt cheeks, grilled deep brown. His upper lip was clean-shaven and his face in repose was haughty. He wore his hair longer than most men of the village, pulled into a ponytail. The villagers liked this touch of gypsy. The corners of his eyes were deeply etched by his habit of spending long hours looking down the valley, dreaming of days gone before he was born. El Alcalde was a practical man but in a different age, he might have been a philosopher or a poet. Caught between two thruths, he was a strong traditionalist, but was aware that his people could not live in the past. For his village to survive, it had to embrace the future.

As he watched, a string of three burros plodded uphill, heads nodding wearily, round the last bend of the long path up from the beach. They were loaded with bundles, the villagers' shopping. He smiled. Good. His cigars were here. Behind the burros appeared Javier Valenc?­a who owned the donkeys and Javier Fernando, who owned the small wooden boat that was the village's only realistic link to the outside world. El Burro and El Barco they were called affectionately.

The whole village held these two hardy men in high esteem. The burros plodded on, their stable in easy reach. El Burro climbed upwards, smiling. No doubt his thoughts were of Widow Garc?­a.

"Palometa for dinner tonight?" El Alcalde called out.

"Si," replied El Barco. He grinned and waved a bundle of mackerel-like fish in the air.

El Alcalde would wait for the two men before making his announcement. Already every other man of the village had assembled in the plaza. He turned to face them, leaning slim hips against the wall. He decided to smoke his last cigar. He bit off the end. Half turning he spat it out; over his shoulder, over the terrace, over the valley. He lit the cigar and inhaled deeply. Cool smoke filled his lungs. He quickly generated a blue haze. In front of him, sharply defined against a clear sky, loomed dark craggy cliffs, hung with tears of lava. It was these cliffs which effectively cut the village off from the rest of the island. There was a path of sorts, up and over the top, but it was a two-day trek to the nearest village. Or it had been. Times were changing. The government was building a road. This village and two others, equally as isolated, would be linked like pearls on a necklace around the neck of Mount Teide, Tenerife's volcanic parent. The church on the far side of the plaza was open. Through the windows El Alcalde could see the village women, fanning themselves against the day's heat, which had been trapped within the thick walls. While their men were busy with politics, the women were gossiping and making garlands for next week's fiesta.

The coming of the road threatened the old ways. Its impact would be so great that the women had become involved in politics. Some, to the despair of their menfolk, had developed a taste for it. No longer was it enough to have their say in the privacy of their own homes, influencing husbands and sons. Some of the village women had stood up in council to speak their minds. They had refused to be shouted down. It was apparent, despite the fanning and the gossiping and the busy fingers, every word uttered on the terrace would fly through the church's open windows, where the women were listening without seeming to be doing so.

Across the terrace, El Alcalde could see the chubby Se?±or Delgardo. The priest sat with his back to the warm wall of his church, facing the setting sun, facing El Alcalde. The priest's bald head was protected from the still fierce rays of the evening sun by a battered straw hat, grey with age. He was surrounded by many of the older men. El Alcalde knew how the conversation was going on the opposite side of the plaza. The same arguments for and against the road had been batted back and forth for the last six years, since the government said there was money for a road. Did the village want it? Se?±or Delgardo was firmly in the anti-road camp.

"It's not just the road," he was saying. "It's everything that will come with it."

"Electricity," said one old man nodding wisely.

"Exactly, and what evils will electricity bring?"

"Television," said a second old man, nodding even more vigorously, not to be outdone in his priest's eyes.

"Television. And what will television do?" The priest answered his own question. "It will corrupt. That's what television will do. It will bring all the world's evils into our homes for us to pick over in private. Our young people will be vulnerable. They will see things, learn things, that we would blush even to whisper about."

There was a nodding chorus of assent.

"And the women. They are as vulnerable. We have good women in the village. Hard working women. Women who knew their place before the road was talked about."

The priest glared at Miguel Ravelo, whose wife Carmen, and daughter Jessica were amongst the most vociferous in support of the road. Miguel glared back. If the priest couldn't control them at confession, what chance did he have?

"Our women want washing machines. They want refrigerators. They want all the fancy nick-nacks they see in those abominable glossy magazines."

Se?±ora Garc?­a's glossy magazines were the bane of the priest's life. El Barco brought them back from his trips down the coast. The priest considered then sinful and tried to ban them. Many sermons had he wasted on this cause. Se?±ora Garc?­a saw no sin and refused to confess. The magazines were passed round amongst the village women when the village men weren't looking.

The priest, already of a ruddy complexion, which owed nothing to the heat, grew even redder with agitation as he continued. "And what will be the outcome of having all these fancy?," he paused, then spat out "?gadgets?"

He looked around the group. None dared spoil his punch line.

"We'll have lazy sluts in our homes, who'll spend all day painting their faces and wearing flimsy clothes. That's what will happen." The priest nodded brisk agreement to his own words. He composed his hands in his corpulent lap as though nothing more needed saying.

"Flesh pots," prompted Miguel mischievously. He looked round at the assembly. "After six years' of waiting, the road will arrive on Monday." From the plaza, there were assorted boos and cheers. The cheer from inside the church, however, drowned the male response. Disgusted, the priest rose to his feet and stomped off. The young men punched the air in jubilation.

"I gather the news pleases the ladies," El Alcalde smiled broadly. The news pleased him too. He had fought a bitter battle on the council with Se?±or Delgardo. The priest knew that his authority would be eroded at the touch of the outside world. El Alcalde knew the village would die without it.

El Alcalde raised his hands for quiet. Eventually he got it. "And the news will certainly please Miguel," he said.

The whole village erupted with delighted laughter. Friends thumped Miguel on the back, but it wasn't hard enough to knock the broad grin off his face. Two years ago, when the road topped the mountain and began its tortuous, winding way downhill, Miguel had bought the village's first taxi. Every month thereafter, he and El Barco made the long journey down the valley. By boat they went to the nearest port. While El Barco did the shopping, including a glossy magazine for Se?±ora Garc?­a, Miguel drove his taxi up the mountain from the port. He drove over the mountaintop and followed the new road down to where it ended in piles of sand, stone and No Through Road signs. At this point, he turned his taxi round and drove up, then down the mountain, back to the port where El Barco waited to take him home. The last point at which Miguel turned round his taxi was just half a kilometre from the village.

And so the road came to the village. Early on the day following the road's arrival, Miguel drove his taxi into the village, to applause that reverberated around the valley like joyous thunder. Only the priest refused to see the taxi's arrival. He locked himself into the church in a fit of pique and refused to come out, even for his evening meal.

"I am praying," he growled through a hatch in the door, "for the souls of our young people and for our women."

His prayers were needed. That first night, the priest heard the taxi leave the village and grind its way uphill. Through the same hatch he watched as Miguel drove four of the young men off to the flesh pots in the south of the island. Miguel had been young once. He knew the flesh pots, though in his youth, there had been a lot less flesh and the pots had been smaller, but wild oats don't change. He took some beers and waited, snoozing, for the young men. All night he waited. It was 6 am when the last one staggered back to the taxi. They had spent every peseta they had. They would owe Miguel the fare for the next six months, but it had been worth it. The priest was wrong. The flesh pots were even better than he had described them.

Dawn was flushing the sides of Mount Teide as Miguel drove his fares home, fast asleep and snoring. Miguel smiled. He remembered his first time in the south of the island.

With the road came the electricity. The government laid one cable, to the plaza. A single light swayed and danced in the breeze in the centre. El Alcalde had been elected mayor because he had a little knowledge about many things. His vast experience of the outside world included a year on a building site in the south. Before the power was switched on, he had already run three lines from the government's cable. He offered to light the church. The council agreed the church should be lit. The priest stood in the doorway. His bulky frame blocked it entirely. With his arms folded across his broad chest, he refused to allow admittance to a single wire.

"Foul electricity will not defile sacred land", he shouted at El Alcalde.

Se?±orita Gomez sighed. It was her duty to clean up the sticky mess made by the candles used for lighting. She had looked forward to losing this duty but she'd said nothing to the priest for fear he'd call her a lazy slut and drive her from the church that she had lovingly cleaned and polished for most of the seventy years of her unmarried life.

El Burro sold his donkeys over the mountain. With this dowry he married the widow, Se?±ora Bel?©n Garc?­a.

Steep paths connected every home to the plaza, the centre of village life. The new road dropped down from the mountain, skirted the plaza on its uphill side, and dashed off to the next village.

Very soon after the wedding, the washing machine of Bel?©n Valenc?­a n?©e Garc?­a arrived on the back of a pickup truck. It was unloaded at the rear of the church, under the priest's disapproving nose. He coughed at the smell of engine oil and exhaust fumes. He stood scowling as four men unloaded the very large, very heavy box. Bel?©n was as excited as a small girl. She instructed them, "Go this way?No, no?that way. Don't drop it. Javier, for heaven's sake. No?not like that."

The men ignored her. Sweating, they carried her precious box uphill to the Valenc?­a home. The alleys were narrow. The box was annoyingly wide. It obstinately caught its corners on every overhang. Miguel stepped on a pebble. A very small pebble, but it rolled beneath his foot. He slipped. Had El Alcalde not had a firm hold on the back end, the fall would have been disastrous. Bel?©n's tongue, which had been going nineteen to the dozen, shot up two octaves and fifty decibels. The priest stood in the church doorway and tutted loudly at this fiasco. No one heeded him. The entertainment on Camino del Teide was too good to miss.

The new machine was installed. It shared a room with the Valenc?­a chickens. Bel?©n was desperate to show off her new machine to her friends. She chivvied El Alcalde and Miguel till it was plumbed in and wired up, then sent them off.

"This is women's work," she told them. "Go."

Bel?©n carefully loaded the machine with soap powder. She opened the door, put in the dirty washing and pushed the door to. She turned knobs and dials according to the instruction booklet. Her finger hovered over the 'On' button. She stabbed the button. A red light appeared on the machine. She heard the whoosh of water rushing through pipes. She danced a little jig in glee and dashed off to summon her friends.

Her friends were not far away. They stood on the corner of Camino del Teide and Calle Blanco. They saw El Alcalde and Miguel leave. They waited. Bel?©n hurried from her home.

"Come and see it. Come and see my washing machine". Bel?©n gestured to them. "Hurry. Hurry." The three friends, Maria, Gloria and Carmen were jealous. They would describe their sin at confession, but for the moment they enjoyed hating their friend, Bel?©n. Gabbling, at the head of the group, Bel?©n led the way quickly back to her home. A trickle of water ran under the door to meet them. With the money from the sale of the burros, she and Javier had bought new tiles for their house, inside and out. Bel?©n forgot that Spanish tiles were slippery at the best of times, dangerous when damp with condensation and lethal when really wet. This was not the best of times. Bel?©n ran up the tiled slope. Halfway up, the trickle of water turned to a tide of soapsuds. She slipped. Her ample boson fortunately saved her from harm. She slid, back the way she had come, arms and legs stuck out like a huge startled turtle. Her friends saw her next week's washing. All of it. The men on the terrace roared with laughter as she squealed to a stop. The priest was horrified. He was scandalised. Bel?©n had shown less flesh on the day that he'd baptised her.

Bel?©n started to struggle to her feet. The weight of water behind it caused the door to burst open. Three chickens floated out on top of the flood tide. The tsunami and the chickens hit Bel?©n as she drew breath to scream her fury at incompetent men. She was bowled over in a flurry of petticoats, soap suds and chicken feathers. She swallowed her scream of anger. It came out as a squawk, indistinguishable from those of the chickens. Her friends tried to appear distraught. They tried to save her dignity at least. It was not possible. Carmen started to giggle. It was infectious. She reached into the bundle that was Bel?©n. Bel?©n was slippery. She was thrashing about. Bel?©n caught Carmen's hand and pulled her down. In no time, a heap of hysterical women writhed in the road, gasping for breath, shrieking and wailing. Bel?©n was the first to recover. Spitting froth she howled for Javier. He ran down from the terrace. Already he could feel their first quarrel coming on.

It surprised Miguel that his daughter Jessica waited a whole week.

"Papa," she wheedled one night. Miguel sat in his favourite chair. Jessica perched on the arm. "Papa." She cuddled him and kissed the top of his greying head.

He was putty. He knew he was putty in her hands. He had been prepared for this.

"Papa. Teach me to drive. Please, Papa."

"Sweetheart, you're too young."

"I'm eighteen, Papa. That is not too young. Please Papa. Let me be the first of my friends to learn to drive."

The last thing Miguel wanted was for his youngest, his baby, to learn to drive. It was one thing for the boys to go to the priest's flesh pots, but Jessica was his little girl. He wanted her safe at home. He didn't want her tempted away, maybe never to return to the village. Besides, there was Cristob??l. Cristob??l Vi?±a. Twenty-two years old. Miguel planned to open a garage. Cristob??l was a good boy. He had shown a lot of interest in what went on under the taxi's hood over the last week. He had the makings of a good mechanic. What's more, he showed no desire to leave the village. Jessica liked Cristob??l. Cristob??l liked Jessica. They needed but a little push in the right direction.

Jessica continued to plead. Miguel continued to argue, but slowly he weakened and gave in.

"Sunday after Mass," he sighed, resigned. "I will give you a driving lesson."

Jessica hugged her father. He had just promised her a passport to the outside world. She was thrilled.

The white taxi was parked in the shade of a flame tree. Its filigree emerald-green leaves quivered in a slight breeze. Jessica quivered with excitement.

Miguel sat Jessica on his right, in the passenger seat and instructed her on the use of all the knobs, the pedals and the levers. He kept nothing back. He even showed her how the radio and the air-conditioning worked. At the end of an hour she was sodden with facts and they hadn't moved at all. Miguel spent the next hour showing Jessica, in great detail, how the foot pedals and gear lever worked. They crept along a little, then braked. They left the shade of the tree. Over and over again Miguel showed Jessica how to start and stop the car. Jessica was screaming inside with impatience. They were both sweating copiously.

"Papa. Can we have the air-conditioning on? It's so hot," Jessica complained.

"No. You must just bear it. The air-conditioning uses too much fuel." Miguel was adamant.

At the beginning of the third hour, Miguel and Jessica changed places. She sat in the driving seat at least.

"Start the engine," Miguel instructed.

Jessica turned the key. The car leapt forward.

"Lesson number one," said Miguel calmly. "Always check first that the car is not in gear. You could have killed a pedestrian just then."

"Or a goat," he thoughtfully added without looking at his daughter's horror-stricken face.

"Now. Start again. Is the car in gear? Waggle the gear lever to see."

Jessica waggled the gear lever.

"Is it in gear?"

"No, Papa."

"Start the engine." She started the engine.

"Push down the clutch pedal with your left foot. No. Don't look at your feet."

She looked up. She pushed down a pedal.

"No. Try again." Miguel was patient. "That is the brake. Remember what I told you? The clutch pedal is the one nearest your door."

Jessica sorted through her mind, through the encyclopaedia of facts she had received. She pushed down hard on the clutch pedal. Already her hands ached. She clung to the steering wheel as though it was alive and trying to escape.

"Put your hand on the gear lever."

It was difficult to unclench her fingers, but she did as she was told.

"Put the car into first gear. No. That's third gear. You cannot pull away in third gear. Good. That's better."

Her right hand flew back to the steering wheel.

"Put your right foot on the brake. No. Don't look at your feet."

Miguel waited while Jessica sorted out her left from her right.

"Good. Now, release the hand brake."

Jessica fumbled.

"It's there. Next to your right hand."

Jessica moved her right hand and her right foot in harmony.

"Put your foot back on the brake," shouted Miguel. "There's a brick wall behind you. Se?±or Delgardo does not want a taxi in his church."

Jessica slammed her foot back on the brake pedal. The engine continued to tick over.

"Now the hand brake."

Jessica released the hand brake with difficulty. Miguel had pulled it on as tightly as he could.

"Gently," he said, "very gently release the clutch. You will feel it bite. Then, release the brake, very gently, very slowly and you will pull away."

With a hundred and one instructions to follow simultaneously, Jessica stalled the engine. Then again. And again. And again, until she nearly wept with frustration. Jessica never had a chance. In the village, there was no flat road. Every start was a hill start, a steep hill start. With the image of an angry priest in her mind should the car roll backwards, stall followed stall. Finally, the battery was flat. She could not coax another tick over from the engine. Jessica had driven two metres, in kangaroo hops.

Miguel sighed deeply. Jessica knew he was angry. Miguel got out the car. He slammed the door.

"Stay here," he ordered her. "I'm going for my dinner. I'll send Cristob??l to change the battery. I'll tell your mother you'll be late."

He walked away leaving Jessica crying. Miguel was content. It was worth flattening an old battery if it kept Jessica at home. It was fortunate that he had shown Cristob??l how to change a battery yesterday.

In time, Miguel earned enough money with his taxi to open a small garage in the village. His son-in-law, Cristob??l was an excellent mechanic and garage manager. Miguel drove his taxi all over the island. Tourists wanted to see the 'Hidden Village'. Miguel was kept very busy. His wife, Carmen, opened a small souvenir shop in the plaza. Embroidered tablecloths, T-shirts and brightly-coloured pottery were very popular. Jessica did the paperwork for the shop and the garage. She never learnt to drive and never wondered how Cristob??l managed to learn in such a short time. It didn't matter. Her ambition was to be the first woman to serve on the village council. El Alcalde was godfather to her eldest son. That was a first step. Politics she understood, even if the mysteries of the internal combustion engine were forever closed to her.

The plaza was always busy during the day with the comings and goings of the tourists. El Alcalde opened a restaurant in his favourite corner, overlooking the valley. The people had work catering to the needs of the tourists. El Alcalde paid well. Young people no longer had to leave to find work and the village was growing. Everyone prospered, thanks to the tourists.

Se?±or Delgardo was the last bastion of the old ways. Electricity had not found its way into his church. Perhaps it never would, after Jessica wrote an article on the village for the Tourist Office. 'The Church that Time Forgot in the Hidden Village' quickly became a tourist attraction.

El Burro and El Barco continued to work together as guides to the many tourists who found the long walk to the sea challenging. When the walk ended, on the beach, the two carried the weary walkers to the nearest port in their new boat. At the end of the day, the boat was moored off the beach and the two friends walked back up to the village together.

He stood at the edge of the terrace. Leaning with the palms of his hands flat on the warm rough concrete wall, he looked down the valley. Se?±or T??mas Marrero, El Alcalde, the village mayor, was lost in thought. The corners of his eyes were deeply etched by his habit of spending long hours looking down the valley, dreaming of days gone before he was born. Dreaming of days when his village had been a well-sited base for pirates made prosperous by preying on innocent voyagers passing through the narrow channel between Tenerife and La Gomera.

As he watched, round the last bend of the path up from the beach, appeared Javier Valenc?­a, El Burro and Javier Fernando, El Barco.

"Palometa for dinner tonight?" El Alcalde called out.

"Si," replied El Barco. He grinned and waved a bundle of mackerel-like fish in the air.

**********************************************************************************

Agents, Contests & Markets

Each month this newsletter and the website page (IF the website ever gets up and finished - ARG!) will list 2 markets or submission calls for your work and will state if the market is a paying one or not. We??™ll also have at least 2 agent listings. And it??™s here you??™ll find contests and writing competitions run by others besides A Fire At Zero Gravity. There will be at least 2 of these listed and they will be listed according to deadline date for your entry and run 2 months in advance of that date whenever possible.

Remember! These are obtained from various places on the Web and although I try to check (especially in the case of POD publishers) that the contest and the publishers and markets and agents are reputable, I can??™t be held responsible if any of them turn out to be bad dudes or scams. ALWAYS check with Whispers and Warnings or Writer??™s Beware! and if, after you contact them, ANYTHING about any of these people sounds off to you, don't have a thing to do with them! Even if there's nothing against them in W&W or Writer's Beware! don't pay any money to anyone who doesn't feel right to you!

If you are a publisher or agent or have a market, submission call or contest, you??™d like to see listed here, just send it to me at nomadagain2000@yahoo.com.

This Month??™s Listings :

1) MARKETS, SUBMISSIONS, PUBLISHERS

Since the class I am currently teaching is on writing mysteries (you can still sign up - it??™s not too late! ??” Similar courses to this one go for around $350 on the Net but you can take the whole 8 week adventure for an absolute steal at just $37!!! This link takes you directly to the registration page via clickbank: http://clickbank.net/sell.cgi?navin2/07/mystery_novel_ecourse) I thought this month??™s markets should be several who represent mystery writers.

These are all courtesy of The Write Market - http://www.writemarket.com/index.php - a wonderful site which has listings for all the genres you can think of and then maybe one or two more besides!

Cozy Detective Mystery Magazine, The

Description: An amateur sleuth journal.

Guidelines: Computer disc submissions preferred. All disc submissions in ASCII or Text format. Regular manuscript format accepted. SASE. Query when writing about true crime. Stories must have a mystery connection. No over-explicit language, cardboard characters, without a plot, sex stories, handwritten stories. Keep violence minimal.

Submission Needs: Stories heavy on character and mystery. Serious or comical. Hard-boiled private-eye OK, if used in a fresh way. We want mood, setting, beginning, middle, end, smell, sounds, feelings, surprises, cartoons, poems, reviews.

Word Length: 6,000 words max.

Payment: We pay in copies per story. More copies at a writer's discount of $1.50.

Address: PaperCapers Printing/Meager, Ink Publications; The Cozy Detective(tm) Mystery Magazine/Amateur Sleuth Journal, 686 Jakes Ct., McMinnville, OR. 97128-2546

Added on: 03-Sep-2003 Hits: 43

 

Strand Magazine, The

Description: We were founded in 1891. For the next sixty years, we published works by Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers, W. Somerset Maugham, Graham Greene, P.G. Wodehouse, H.G. Wells, Aldous Huxley and many others. We closed in 1950 and opened almost 50 years later with a new editor and publisher.

Guidelines: All manuscripts must be typed, double-spaced, one side of page, SASE. Average response time is 4-10 weeks. We suggest you purchase a copy first for $10 or visit the website.

Submission Needs: We are interested in mysteries, detective stories, tales of terror, supernatural, short stories in any time or place, plot is interesting and well thought out.

Word Length: Preferably 2,000-6,000 words. We may publish short shorts of 1,000 words and sometimes even a novella.

Payment: $25-$150 for stories.

Rights: FNSAR

Postal Address: P.O. Box 1418, Birmingham, MI 48012-1418

Added on: 15-May-2003 Hits: 70

 

Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine

Description: A wonderful mystery magazine that accepts nearly every kind of mystery.

Guidelines: Not previously published.Must be fiction. Manuscripts typed on plain white paper, double-spaced, name & address at top of first page. Title of story and byline on first page also. Don't justify the right margin. Number every page in upper right-hand corner. No italic, large-size, or bold characters. Underline to indicate italics. Indent each paragraph instead of leaving 1-line space. Stories mailed flat, pages bound with paper clip. No cover letter. SASE. Revised versions of a story submitted only on request. No simultaneous submissions.

Submission Needs: Any kind of mystery almost: detection, police procedurals, private eye, suspense, courtroom dramas, espionage. Must be about crime, threat or fear of one.

Word Length: 14,000 words max.

Address: Dell Magazines, Themysteryplace.com, 475 Park Ave. South, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10016.

Added on: 04-Sep-2003 Hits: 42

 

Champagne Shivers

Description: The classiest little horror magazine in cyberspace.

Guidelines: No previously published work. Each submission must be in body of separate e-mail. No attachments. E-mail submissions only. Write in third person.

Submission Needs: I want scary stuff. Horror poems and short demented nursery rhymes, horror stories about the Old West, psychological horror fiction, insane asylums, crime stories, bizarre, vignettes, flash fiction.

Word Length: Word count must be on your material or no chance. Flash fiction and stories: 2000 words max. Poems: 30 lines max. Small collections of short, demented nursery rhymes submit under one title. One submission at a time for artwork as a JPG. less than 50 k in body of e-mail. Submit in color or black/white.

Payment: $5.00 US and one contributor in each issue gets Editors First Choice Award (honorarium with prizes).

Rights: First Rights.

Added on: 31-Aug-2003 Hits: 41

 

Crime Scene, The

Description: The best kind of evidence - only at the Crime Scene.

Guidelines: A cover letter before main text. Name, title, word count, previous sales, if you're an expert on subject matter you're writing about. Submit in plain text in body of e-mail, put Crime Scene Submission in header. Formatting: don't paste bolds and italics. Surround with double brackets ((in italics)), if you want bold: <>. E-mail us if your story was or is accepted elsewhere. If doing a multiple submission, tell us.

Submission Needs: short stories, articles, essays, opinions on all aspects of crime. Cross genre OK: crime/sci-fi or crime/horror.

Word Length: Articles: 3,000 words. Short stories: 4,500 words max. If longer, query it.

Payment: None.

Rights: If we accept, we want exclusivity for one month. After that, you can submit your story/article anywhere. All old stories go in our files, but we can replace this with links to the site it is published on next.

Added on: 04-Sep-2003 Hits: 37

 

Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine

Description: EQMM publishes an extensive range of stories in the mystery genre. Almost any story that involves crime or the threat of crime comes within our purview.

Guidelines: Not necessary to query regarding subject matter or for permission to submit a story. Type manuscripts on one side of paper and double-space. SASE for return of manuscript. No stories previously published in US.

Submission Needs: We need hard-boiled stories as well as "cozies" but no explicit sex, violence, true detective or crime stories. We only publish fiction except a book review and a crossword.

Word Length: 2,500-8,000 is the preferred range. We sometimes use stories of up to 12,000 words. We feature one or two short novels (up to 20,000 words) each year. We also accept minute mysteries of 250 words.

Payment: Our rates for original stories are from 5 to 8 ?? a word, occasionally higher for established authors.

Rights: FNSAR

Postal Address: Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, 475 Park Avenue South, 11th Floor, New York NY 10016

Added on: 15-May-2003 Hits: 54

 

HandHeldCrime

Description: We publish short crime fiction, articles, reviews for handheld and desktop computer users that can be read on your handheld with a doc reader or AvantGo, or on your desktop via PDF (Adobe Acrobat) or the web.

Guidelines: No italic or bold typefaces. No reprints or submissions for joint publication.

Submission Needs: Short crime fiction, articles, reviews.

Word Length: 1200 words min. We might need to serialize very long stories. The simpler the story, the better (no graphics).

Payment: We are now a paying market.

Rights: The author keeps copyright on work. We get first world electronic rights, archiving on our site, right to use your name and story title in publicity; you keep all other rights.

Added on: 30-Aug-2003 Hits: 40

 

Malone's White Fedora

Description: Malone's White Fedora is an e-zine that showcases the talents of the short story mystery writer.

Guidelines: Stories may be sent by post or e-mail. Stories may be included in body of e-mail or sent as an attachment in any format.

Submission Needs: Hard-Boiled genre, all crime, murder, mayhem, political corruption.

Word Length: 5,000 words max. Stories of greater length will be considered for serialization. Flash mysteries to novels welcome.

Payment: Until advertising or sponsorship can be obtained, we can't provide remuneration for published works.

Rights: All original copyrights remain with the author with the exception of one time only web publishing rights granted to us.

Address: John Hathaway,409 East 34th, #C, Tacoma, WA. 98404.

Added on: 30-Aug-2003 Hits: 43

 

Moonwort Review, The

Description: We like to think we are a literary zine journal, nonetheless, we accept genre work in areas like mystery and science-fiction.

Guidelines: Submit via e-mail. Attachments OK. Explain about attachment in message area of e-mail. Artwork and photographs sent as a .jpeg in e-mail attachment or regular mail. Include a short bio, your published work, info about where and how you work.

Submission Needs: Fiction, poetry, artwork, photographs, contemporary book reviews.

Word Length: Fiction: 500-5,000 words. Poetry: 3-5 pieces per submission.

Payment: None.

Rights: We reserve on-line electronic rights. Your work remains your property at all times.

Address: The Moonwort Review, 422 S. Greensboro St., Carrboro, NC 27510.

Added on: 31-Aug-2003 Hits: 38

 

Murderous Intent Mystery Magazine

Description: A quarterly magazine for readers and writers to be entertained and challenged.

Guidelines: Cover letter, publishing bio, hard copy, computer disc 3 1/2", double-spaced text, one side of page, white bond paper, one inch margins, readable type in 12 pt. Courier. One story and/or article per submission. May query by e-mail but not with manuscripts.

Submission Needs: Fiction may be short-shorts, flash fiction, cross-genre mystery (i.e. horror, sci-fi, romantic) if strong emphasis on mystery/suspense. Give a hint of mystery on first page and keep up the suspense throughout. Nonfiction: forensics, police practices, district attorneys and how their offices operate, weaponry, crime scenes, medical examiners, private investigators, criminal defense lawyers, DNA testing. Articles should be authentic and include sources. No true crime. Fillers: mystery related cartoons, poetry (humorous mystery/suspense), jokes, limericks, short mystery related nonfiction articles. No cannibal stories. We love humor, exotic settings and puzzles.

Word Length: Fiction: 2,000-4,000 words. Short-shorts: 200-400 words. Nonfiction: 4,000 words max. Poetry: 4-8 lines.

Payment: Fiction and nonfiction: $10 plus 2 free copies per story/article. Fillers: $2.

Rights: First North American Serial Rights. The author signs a contract stating work is original, he or she is the author. Reprints seldom accepted.

Address: Murderous Intent, Madison Publishing Company, PO Box 5947, Vancouver, WA 98668-5947.

Added on: 04-Sep-2003 Hits: 57

 

Mysterical-e

Description: The editors at Mysterical-e are dedicated to the promotion of short mystery fiction and the development of emerging writers.

Guidelines: Send story/article in body of e-mail, no attachments, query letters or bio. Include e-mail address and name. Stories will be published under real or pen names but not e-mail IDs. Send one story at a time. Don't send another one until you get a response about the first.

Submission Needs: We are looking for stories from cozy to hard-boiled, and stories that combine mystery with other genres such as fantasy, sci-fi, supernatural and western. Story must include a crime element.

Word Length: fiction up to 3,000 words; mystery-writing related nonfiction up to 5,000 words. Rights: Accepted authors grant us permission to publish their work in ezine format on our site. All other rights are retained by author.

Added on: 28-Aug-2003 Hits: 36

 

Over My Dead Body

Description: We are a mystery magazine that publishes a wide variety of mystery related manuscripts.

Guidelines: Query first and include title, word count, type of story, SASE or e-mail address. Simultaneous submissions must be clearly labeled.

Submission Needs: Nonfiction: mystery related author interview/profiles, articles, and travel pieces. Fiction: taut, absorbing, original without ignoring facts to facilitate the plot. We seldom buy photos without accompanying manuscript. SASE.

Word Length: Nonfiction: 500+ words, Fiction: 750-4,000 words.

Payment:$.01/word for fiction; $10-$25 total fo unsolicited nonfiction, within 30 days of acceptance, and two contributor copies.

Rights: FNSAR, all rights revert to author upon publication.

Postal Address: P.O. Box 1778, Auburn, Washington 98071-1778.

Added on: 15-May-2003 Hits: 18

 

 

Plots With Guns

Description: A pulp mag for the 21st Century. Cheap, fast, and dirty.

Guidelines: Previously unpublished. Send submissions as an html or plain text e-mail. Specify "Plots With Guns submission" in the subject box.

Submission Needs: Fiction, poetry, essays, graphic stories (comic style) in hardboiled noir tradition (tweaked and twisted). Stories have to have a gun in it and can exhibit any stance on guns. Original artwork or photography for cover (JPGs only).

Word Length: Under 5,000 words.

Payment: We give you ten bucks a story. For articles, poems, artwork, interviews we'll negotiate. Reviews get our sympathy, and a free book if it's one we sent you.

Rights: One Time Electronic Rights. Copyright reverts to author on publication.

Added on: 31-Aug-2003 Hits: 6

 

 

Shotsmag

Description: Shots is a British produced crime fiction magazine.

Guidelines: E-mail short stories to Shots Fiction Dep't at: f.shoop@virgin.net using Word or a rich text document. No photos. E-mail must have a subject line. Don't give away ending in cover letter. Include date, phone, e-mail, published before or awards. Number pages. No simultaneous submissions. Accepts submissions on spec.

Submission Needs: Interviews, articles, commentaries, book reviews, author profiles, contemporary short stories with crime/mysteries as the focus.

Word Length: Interviews, articles, commentary: 2,000-10,000 words. Book Reviews: up to 300 words. Stories: 1,500-3,500 words.

Payment: Book reviewers are not paid but receive free books.

Address: Shots, Editorial Dep't, 189 Snakes Lane East, Woodford Green, Essex IG8 7JH England.

Added on: 03-Sep-2003 Hits: 7

 

 

The Baker Street Journal

Description: A quarterly publication of the 'Baker Street Irregulars' for those who follow Sherlock Holmes.

Guidelines: typed, double-spaced, no electronic submissions.

Address: The Baker Street Journal, 220 W. Rittenhouse Square, #15-D, Philadelphia, PA 19103 USA.

Added on: 25-Aug-2003 Hits: 4

 

The Edge

Description: A leading British mystery magazine.

Guidelines: Typed, double-spaced. Number of pages, name, address, number of words, paperclip or staple on work. No poetry, simultaneous submissions, submissions by e-mail or disc, previously published, complete novels, sequels to work published elsewhere, cliched stories, book or film reviews. Send disposable work with clips and SASE.

Submission Needs: Interested in fiction, features, interviews, book, film, video, soundtrack and graphic novel reviews, comment columns. Urban themes, modern and borderline gothic, horror, fantasy, sci-fi, slipstream, crime fiction. No illustrations, cover art or cartoons. Comic strip submissions maybe.

Word Length: Short stories: 2,000 words max. Features and interviews: 2-20,000 words.

Payment: up to L50 per 1,000 words.

Rights: First Publication Rights in any media, anywhere in world. Six months after we publish it, it's yours.

Address: The Edge, 65 Guinness Buildings, Hammersmith, London W6 8BD UK.

Added on: 28-Aug-2003 Hits: 14

 

The Transylvania Times

Description: The Transylvania Times is a regular feature in Champagne Shivers Magazine that welcomes fictional newspaper headlines and stories about the strange goings-on in Dracula's hometown.

Guidelines: E-mail submissions only. Write in third person, including bio. Type TT submission in subject line. Send in body of e-mail, no attachments. Send photograph (jpg under 30k).

Submission Needs: Hysterical classified ad, fictional news story with hilarious headline, demented obituary, creepy column, horror cartoon/joke., art/graphics.

Word Length: 500 words.

Payment: Pay will be given in extreme gratitude, free ad space in Expressions, free ad space and links on my Champagne on Ice website, and comfort in the knowledge that you gave readers a few minutes of hysterical horror entertainment.

Rights: First Rights.

Added on: 31-Aug-2003 Hits: 4

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

CONTESTS

1) AuthorMania.com Writing Contest

One Prize: $1,000

Contest Begins: April 12, 2004

Postmark Deadline: March 31, 2005

Winner will be announced by May 31, 2005

Entry Fee: $20

Short story, any topic (no adult, hate, or racist), no more than 5,000 words. No previously published works. Include title, author's name, full address, phone, and email address.

Manuscripts must be in English, and typed. No handwritten submissions or email submissions will be accepted.

Manuscripts without the proper entry fee will not be accepted. Please do not mail original manuscripts!

Manuscripts will not be returned. Contest is open to US residents only.

You may enter as many times as you like, but each entry must each be accompanied by a $20 fee, and mailed separately.

Send manuscript entries and entry fee to:

Cindy Thomas

C/O AuthorMania.com Writing Contest

1210 Co Rd 707

Buna, Tx 77612

*Please make checks and money orders payable to Cindy Thomas.*

*The contest must draw at least 50 paid entries in order to award the $1000 prize. In the event that the contest does not draw enough entries to award the $1000 prize, the amount it does draw will be awarded to the winner. Once enough entries are received to award the $1000 prize, this notice will be removed.*

 

2) AuthorMania.com Poetry Contest

One Prize: $400

Contest Begins: April 12, 2004

Postmark Deadline: March 31, 2005

Winner will be announced by May 31, 2005

Entry Fee: $20

Poems and poetry, any length, any topic (no adult, hate, or racist), no word limit.

No previously published works. Include title, author's name, full address, phone, and email address.

Manuscripts must be in English, and typed. No handwritten submissions or email submissions will be accepted.

Manuscripts without the proper entry fee will not be accepted. Please do not mail original manuscripts!

Manuscripts will not be returned. Contest is open to US residents only.

You may enter as many times as you like, but each entry must each be accompanied by a $20 fee, and mailed separately.

Send manuscript entries and entry fee to:

Cindy Thomas

C/O AuthorMania.com Poetry Contest

1210 Co Rd 707

Buna, Tx 77612

*Please make checks and money orders payable to Cindy Thomas.*

*The contest must draw at least 20 paid entries in order to award the $400 prize. In the event that the contest does not draw enough entries to award the $400 prize, the amount it does draw will be awarded to the winner. Once enough entries are received to award the $400 prize, this notice will be removed. If we get enough entries over the $400 prize amount, we will award a second place prize. A second place prize will only be awarded if enough paid entries are received to cover another prize amount, and we have no idea what, if any, amount that will be until we receive or do not receive said entries. *

**********************************************************************************

AGENTS

As above with the Markets - since the class I am currently teaching is on writing mysteries (you can still sign up - it??™s not too late! ??” Similar courses to this one go for around $350 on the Net but you can take the whole 8 week adventure for an absolute steal at just $37!!! This link takes you directly to the registration page via clickbank: http://clickbank.net/sell.cgi?navin2/07/mystery_novel_ecourse) I thought this month??™s agents should be a couple who represent mystery writers.

Again, although I have checked these listings as carefully as I can, you must be sure in your own mind that they??™re right for you or not one of the, sadly, far too many agents who are out to make themselves money at your expense. So always check out any agent (OR market) before entrusting your work to them.

1) QCorp Agency(qcorp@qcorplit.com)

Agency: QCorp Literary and Screen Agency

P.O. Box 8

Hillsboro, Oregon, United States

Home page: http://www.qcorplit.com

We represent all types of fiction and nonfiction, as well as screenplays for film and television. Check our website for more details and a list of current and past clients. Please do not send unsolicited manuscripts; contact us for submission guidelines first.

Memberships: Writer's Guild of America West Agent Signatory

Listed in Jeff Herman's directory of agents: No

Reading fee: No

 

2) Lee Andrews(episodepublishing@hotmail.com)

Agency: EPISODEpublishing Ltd

55 Dixon Street, Old Town

Swindon. Wiltshire. UK, United Kingdom

Home page: http://www.episodepublishing.com

: EPISODEpublishing Ltd

We specialise in writers willing to bastardize the English language.We are looking for writers who have aspirations to write the next 'cult' novel. Something that is alternative and independent from the norm. The ability to write a novel that will arouse controversy & confront taboo are key ingredients for a successive partnership with our agency. more sordid details to follow...

We are looking for writers who have aspirations to write the next 'cult' novel. Something that is alternative and independent from the norm. We are currently pushing into the Oriental market especially the Chinese and Japanese book markets. Writers from such origins are especially invited to submit their work.

Apologise for the delay in getting our website back on-line-it is being upgraded. But it will be online very soon.

Memberships: The agency is affiliated with the Pro-American-Century literary school for Independant American authors-an organization set up in 1992 to nuture young

Listed in Jeff Herman's directory of agents: No

Reading fee: No

**********************************************************************************

ARTICLES & COLUMNS

ARTICLE

MORE Software?? Kenyon, What??™s Happened to the Luddite In You? : A Software Review

by Kenyon Charboneaux

Ah, the Luddite in me is still alive and well, thank you, but I have an addictive personality and lately I??™ve become addicted to searching out writer??™s software and test driving them, or maybe I should say testWRITING them. You all know how I feel about Writer??™s Deskbook, well - I??™ve found another piece of software that is the BOMB! and yes, I think I like it as much as Writer??™s Deskbook. Writer??™s Cafe with the included module Storylines from Anthemion (www.writerscafe.co.uk. )

Oh, you have to see this and play with it to really comprehend how wonderful this software is and as they have a great demo you can testwrite, there??™s no excuse to miss out on The Writer??™s Cafe.

Granted it??™s not freeware, but it??™s not that highly priced at $45 00USD considering what you get. There are actually two programs here - The Writer??™s Cafe Desk and Storylines. The Cafe has a number of tools and fun thingies (a cute little song to get you in the writing mood, for instance, or the card game, Patience, which author Georgette Heyer used to play while she thought about her works in progress) to aid, inspire and just tickle your fun bones. The tools consist of several things you??™d usually have to have at least two other programs to get them all - the Aiksaurus (a thesaurus) and the Journal and Notebook, both with customizable fonts, a scrapbook (the best I??™ve seen yet) and writing prompts and cookies ??” a collection of quotes about writing which, just like a cookie, you can pull one (or many) out of the jar anytime you feel the need or the desire just to bolster your courage by reading another writer??™s take on writing. You know what I mean ??” some days those doubts and insecurities seem overwhelming and I??™ve always found that getting out a book about writing, like Henry Miller on Writing, will chase off those indigo clouds quickly and with a few chuckles along the way. It??™s always encouraging to me - and I guess the folks at Anthemion found that it was encouraging for other writers, too - to read what writers have to say about writing in general and their own struggles with it in particular. There??™s a heck of a lot more in the Cafe, too. Links to the Writer??™s Cafe forums, a slideshow and .... well, why give away all the secrets at one time? You got to try this one out to see just how much you get for that $45.00 and how useful, as well as fun, this piece of software really is!

If you buy it, you get even more, and part of that more includes Harriat Smart??™s book on writing, Fiction : The Facts, which can be accessed from the Bookshelf as well.

Now included in Writer??™s Cafe, is Storylines, which used to be sold as a separate module. While the Cafe is tools, Storylines is a plotting and structuring software featuring drag and drop cards (think about that ol??™ 4x6 Planner I use - this is a computer version of a card file). instant reports, file import and export, tree structure outlining and even character profile and story locations tools. There are even "pockets" to store the cards you??™ve made but which seem to belong nowhere (yet) and the story Detail cards where you record all the important aspects of the book you??™re writing, like its concept and themes.

Try it, you??™ll like it, as some awful commercial used to blare from the TV tube years ago. I??™m serious about this, guys and gals. Here??™s how serious. After last month??™s issue where I enthused over my Writer??™s Deskbook and Writer??™s Organizer, neither one being freeware and both being programs I actually bought (me! Ain??™t that sumpthin?), I got an email from one of Eros??™ subscribers. The young lady asked which softwares I would recommend that a newbie go out and buy other than the Deskbook and the Organizer. At the time I didn??™t have an answer for her.

This evening I do.

Lalia, besides Writer??™s Deskbook and Writer??™s Organizer, go get yourself a copy of The Writer??™s Cafe. It makes writing what it should be - fun even if it remains work.

As I stress in my classes and to those who write to me because they??™ve read my work or whatever, writing is hard work. Very hard work. You might spend 14 years on one novel, as Steven Sills did with his Gabrielle ??” that??™s how hard writing can be, especially if you??™re the kind of writer who wants every word to be as perfect as it can be, like Steven and yours truly are - but tools like The Writer??™s Cafe, the Writer??™s Deskbook, the Writer??™s Organizer, Text Arranger (a freeware note-taking software) and Axon (a shareware mindmapping program) make the work easier and more enjoyable.

Gotta go. I want to go listen to Untie My Tongue one more time before I begin working on my novel for the rest of tonight.

c 2004

 

WRITING COLUMN

Ask Yourself These Questions ...by Kenyon Charboneaux

About a month or so ago, there was a thread on one of the forums I frequent (Inkies) about literary vs. genre, that seemed to me rather messy - there was even a descent into the dreaded ad hominum attack abyss at one point. The real problem, I think, was that neither side was clear about what the other side meant. For one thing, literary is now becoming a genre in its own right, so there really isn??™t any argument to be had over who is the better writer, the genre or the literary. Better writers come in all genres, just like horrible writers do. Just because you write genre doesn??™t mean you??™re a hack. Just because you write literary doesn??™t mean you??™re trying to be God (an actual accusation from the thread).

But it brought back to mind a similar crisis I went through for almost 18 months and only recently settled in my own mind for my own writing ??” did I want to write genre or did I want to write literary? (At the time I was still making the mistake of thinking literary was not a genre.) After months and months of struggling with myself, who too often these days acts like it??™s something apart from me - a my Self, instead of myself as it??™s supposed to be, the answer came to me one day when I was writing in my journal.

Now journal writing is a must, I think, for any writer of any genre. I truly believe in journals as writer??™s tools, as much as I believe in them as tools for working through problems, finding your true Self, and making a memory for your children and grandchildren and their children to read down through the generations about what you were like and what life was like when you were alive. I??™ve recommended them to people in crisis - new widows, for instance - and in no case has someone come back and said to me, "That diary thing didn??™t help at all!"

Stephen King said that we don??™t know what we really think about something until we??™ve written it down. Well, that??™s what I was doing all through this little crisis I was having over the type of literary legacy I want to leave behind me. Now that sounds pompous and it probably is, but if you??™re publishing, then you??™re leaving a legacy behind. How long-lived it is and how people will view it in the future when we??™re all dead, depends on the worth of your work, so to speak. And this was what I was thinking about when several questions popped into my little mind, as if suddenly sprung there by Instant Messenger when I was busy doing something else. I thought the questions so helpful to me, that I used them in the Making A Novel class I taught not long ago. And I??™m putting them here for you to answer in the silence of your own journal (if you keep one) or the silence of your own mind. Maybe it will clarify for you (and anyone you care to pass them on to) what kind of writer you want to be, what kind of work you want to be known for now and remembered for later.Ask Yourself ...

Do you want to write books or do you want to write novels of lasting value?

Do you want to be just a writer or a distinguished novelist?

Why do you write? Is it your vocation or avocation? Is art your goal or money?

How hard are you willing to work to achieve your goals as a writer?

Finally, what are your goals for yourself and your work, posthumously? Do you want to be remembered, if you are remembered, as a genre writer or do you want your books to still be read 100 years from now?

Whichever you are - successful genre writer or distinguished novelist and artist, the price is the same : a great deal, a very great deal, of hard work over many years, so why not try for the gold ring, instead of being satisfied with the brass one? The tools are the same, whether you??™re writing a horror novel or a literary gem, so why not try for, at the very least, a gem of a horror novel?

Georges Simenon, the French writer, spent his entire career writing two kinds of novels at the same time. His Maigret novels, which he called "entertainment" novels (we call them classic mystery stories) and his "serious" novels. The serious novels were always based on the same theme - take an ordinary person and put him in an extraordinary position and then see how far he can be pushed before he breaks under the pressure of the situation. This theme fascinated Simenon.

William Faulkner wrote novels about an imaginary county in his home state of Mississippi. Through his most important and best known novels, the same families of characters reappear again and again. His work was known for a long time as American Southern Gothic. No one writes that now. Now it??™s simply called regional literature. Someday, someone will come along and write American Southern Gothic literature again, novels that transcend mere regional stories and are a literary genre of their own. Will that person be you? Faulkner??™s books always dealt with the conflicts of the human heart with itself. This theme so fascinated him that he even eluded to it in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech. What fascinates you?

Erica Jong wrote : "A writer is born at the moment when his true voice of authority merges at a white heat with the subject he was born to chronicle. Literature falls away and what remains is life - raw, pulsating, life." While I do not agree with her that this is the moment when we become writers - it is my strongly held opinion that we become writers when first we put pencil, pen or fingers to the keyboard and write a story, a poem, a novel, something, anything, but the grocery list or our personal diaries - I do agree that the beginning of one??™s true writing life begins at the moment that true voice of authority merges with whatever it is we were born to write. What were you born to write? What fascinates you? You may know the answer now. It may take you years to find it.

Henry Miller took years to find his true subject, the one he was born to chronicle and it turned out to be himself. He invented an entirely new way of writing first person singular literature because the existing form couldn??™t do what he wanted to do with it. Henry Miller, like all the great writers whose work is still being read 50 years, 100 years, 200 years, after it was written, did not write inside the box, as we say now. They all wrote outside the box. Way outside the box. They took risks and they took chances and some of them didn??™t make it big in their lifetimes - it took death and a passage of years for their work to be seen for the genius that it was and is. Are you willing to take risks that may mean you are never recognized in your lifetime? Are you willing to write outside the box or at least around the outside of its lid?

Virginia Woolf wrote one standard novel by the, well, standards, of her day. It was published by a traditional publisher. Her mental health was not strong. She had what we now know as bipolar disease and in her day the treatment was to pull her teeth. Now we have Prozac and Zoloft and Wellbutrin. It??™s ironic to think that so great a talent killed herself for the lack of a small pill. The point about her mental stability though was that her husband feared that if her books were rejected by traditional publishers, she would have another breakdown. She was suicidal in her breakdowns and she was violent toward others. She heard voices and the birds sang to her in Greek. Because he feared rejection might bring on such breakdowns and because he also knew that if she didn??™t write, she would surely have a breakdown and end a suicide (which she did, later during WWII at the age of 59), he bought a printing press and they self-published her books. They self-published his books. Soon they were publishing artists, unknown at the time but now very well known, like TS Eliot, Katherine Mansfield and Stephen Spender and they published one of the first editions of Freud??™s works in English. They also translated, and published in English, Dostoevsky. Their small self-publishing imprint is now a valuable collectors item.

Again there is a point to this bit of literary history - once she was free of the strictures of traditional publishing, Woolf began to experiment with the form of the novel. She made of it something new. She became famous in her lifetime both in Britain and in America. Her books were translated into many languages - during her lifetime. And during her lifetime, she had biographies and critical studies done of her work. Because she self-published.

In our time, we, too, can self-publish. Or we can go through a subsidy press, like EWTW??™s Magellan press. Print on Demand technology allows us all to publish what we write and that leaves us free to experiment with the form of the novel, with subjects not commonly thought acceptable for traditional publishers, with the structure of the novel.

In essence, we can now make a novel whatever we want it to be and publish it without going the traditional publishing route of rejection after rejection until finally, if you??™re lucky, some far-sighted publisher sees your work and recognizes it for what it is .... GREAT work.

But there is a price for this and it??™s aggressive self-marketing. Are you willing to do the work of writing, publishing and marketing your work to be the writer you want to be and write the novels you want to write?

And finally, I must repeat, because this really is the heart of the matter ---- Whichever you are - successful genre writer or distinguished novelist and artist - the price is the same : a great deal, a very great deal of hard work over many years, so why not try for the gold ring, instead of being satisfied with the brass one? The tools are the same, whether you??™re writing a horror novel or a literary gem, so why not try for, at the very least, a gem of a horror novel?

c 2004

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

INFO RE : Articles & Columns

Every month we??™ll have articles pertaining to writing, the writing life, marketing your work and dealing with the frustrations of marketing and rejections. Some of these will be written by myself, some by guest writers, some perhaps by you! This is not a paying gig, I??™m afraid, but if you??™ve got an article you want published, pay or not, this is the place to send it. The article will not only appear here in the newsletter, it will also appear on the Articles page of A Fire At Zero Gravity (once the website is up and functioning correctly), for the month it is submitted. ALL RIGHTS ON ARTICLES ARE ONE TIME USE ONLY - after they have appeared for the month in the newsletter and on the website, all rights revert to you, the author.

Contact me at : nomadagain2000@yahoo.com if you??™ve an article you??™d like to submit for publication with either the website (when finished) or the website and newsletter.

**********************************************************************************

Writer??™s Jokes and Other Miscellanies

Why Write?

The MEN say:

"Words are a writer??™s tears."  Arthur Plotnik

"If a writer is honest, if what is at stake for him can seem to matter to his readers, then his work may be read. But a writer will work anyway, as I do, and as I have, in part to explore this terra incognita, this dangerous ground I seem to need to risk."  Frederick Busch

"Why do I write? Well, let??™s see. . . that??™s a tough one. Oh, okay, I know. Money. If I were not getting paid, I would never write ??“ except perhaps when answering personal ads from hot, lonely co-eds. Aside from the money, there are very few advantages to being a writer. Only the stupidest of actresses sleeps with the writer. The WGA awards rank in prestige somewhere between the Clios and Animal Actor of the Year."  Lee Aronsohn

"If you did not write every day, the poisons would accumulate and you would begin to die, or act crazy, or both."  Ray Bradbury

The WOMEN say:

"Writing actually empties us and gives us the capacity to love in a completely different way."  Julia Cameron

"You go really deep and connect really large when you write, no matter what you??™re writing about."  Natalie Goldberg

"Because writing is so often a way for me to sort out my world, I gave my novel??™s protagonist, who shares my name, my most neurotic self and all of her concerns." Shannon Olson

"If you would shut your door against the children for an hour a day and say: ???Mother is working on her five-act tragedy in blank verse!??™ you would be surprised how they would respect you. They would probably all become playwrights."  Brenda Ueland

"Writing something down often works as a magnet for other thoughts."  Marcia Golub

**********************************************************************************

PROMPTS

Prompts from Writer??™s Digest - One for each day of the monthSeptember

Dabble in children??™s fiction by writing a story for a children??™s picture book. Remember to keep the language simple and short but develop an overall plot and theme.

Reread your favorite book. Then try to mimic the author??™s voice, tone and style in an original plot of your own.

Let the pen lead you??”literally. Create a story in which an author is led on a strange and comical quest by his or her trusty pen that comes to life one day.

Select five words. Changing only one letter in each word, create new words and define them.

Take some time to think about the things you love, then list them. Hang this list up in your writing area.

If you had a guardian angel, what form would your angel take (human or not)? On what dilemma in your life right now would you most like guidance?

Practice point of view by challenging yourself to tell the same tale from the good guy??™s and bad guy??™s perspectives.

Start a journal in the voice of your character. What are her thoughts? Why does she keep a journal?

Create an idea basket. Write down plot or article ideas on strips of paper. Fill your idea basket with future projects.

Choose seven words. Create a poem that uses all of them.

Write about the family dynamics during holiday dinners or picnics. Capture the subtle and more obvious traditions your family upholds.

If you were operating at your peak creative level every moment of the day, write about how you??™d feel.

Describe your childhood home. Write down as many details as you can remember. Compare it to the location you call home now.

Write a scary story that could be told around a campfire to children.

Take a story you??™ve already written and rewrite it from another character??™s viewpoint.

Spend a day in your character??™s shoes. Speak, dress and act like him. Take notes.

Write a short story that takes place on another planet in another time. What scenario will unfold for your alien characters?

You have $50 to spend for the month. Outline your budget, explaining why you??™d spend money on certain items.

Challenge yourself to write a riveting tale that takes place within the confines of one hour.

Write an article that shares the writing technique tips you??™ve found beneficial. This exercise will make you think about how your writing process works.

If you could have any magical power for only one hour, what would it be?

You??™re inside an elevator and the doors won??™t open. What??™s worse, you??™re claustrophobic. Write this story.

Take this scenario: cooking dinner. Write a comical scene where everything that can go wrong does.

Try writing a short mystery story. Create a detective as your main character and relay the story from her point of view.

Have you ever experienced something you couldn??™t explain? Write down your brushes with the mysterious.

Have you ever sat through a boring acceptance speech at a banquet? Pretend you??™ve just won an award. Write a speech that??™ll bring down the house.

How would you change your life? Use words to detail what your dream life would be. Perhaps writing it down will bring you a step closer to living it.

Write a journal entry about your most memorable birthday. Why is it so vivid to you?

Write a poem that uses an animal as a metaphor for an emotion. Example: A tiger could be anger.

If you were the President of the United States and had to address the nation, what would you say? Draft a speech.

**********************************************************************************

CLASSES & SERVICES

All the classes at the present time are offered through and in partnership with Rob Parnell of The Easy Way To Write website (www.easywaytowrite.com). The class in progress now is The Easy Way To Write - Introduction to Writing The Mystery, an 8 week interactive course on writing mystery novels. This is a class for serious writers only. You can still enroll simply by clicking on this link : . http://clickbank.net/sell.cgi?navin2/07/mystery_novel_ecourse

Other services available through A Fire At Zero Gravity are :

Editing of your manuscript

Proofreading of your manuscript (we use the Chicago Manual)

Ghost Writing

Reviews of products or books

A price list is available on request - just email me at nomadagain2000@yahoo.com - but I guarantee our prices are the lowest, or equal to the lowest, on the web!

**********************************************************************************

Advertisements :

"Writer to Writer" ??“ a FRE*E monthly ezine for writers of fiction and non-fiction. Featuring tips on writing, marketing, techniques, finding ideas, submitting, selling and more. To subscribe, send a blank email to writertowriter-subscribe@yahoogroups.com.au 

** Check out our new website: www.writer2writer.com ??“ Regular contests for writers ??“ No entry fees

*********

Collections -

Leave your contact info at accelerateyourcashflow@hotmail.com

***********

The Sensuous Alien newsletter subscriptions can be obtained through Yahoo Groups at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TheSensuousAlien/

 

**********************************************************************************

INFO For Advertisers

If you would like to advertise in this ezine, please visit our website at www.firegravity.com and leave an email for nomadagain2000@yahoo.com.

Promo spots for Authors will be listed on the site and in the newsletter for a mere $10 per 6 months.

Classified ads are also available at $5 per spot per month

Again - email me at nomadagain2000@yahoo.com to order either of these paid advertising spots or if you have any questions concerning them.

**********************************************************************************

The Legal Stuff :

You are receiving this newsletter because you subscribed - it is never sent unsolicited. I WILL NEVER - UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES - give-away, sell or divulge your details. All portions of this newsletter are copyrighted, but should you wish to reproduce any article/s, please contact the appropriate authors through M. Kenyon Charboneaux at nomadagain2000@yahoo.com .

About Me :

Contact details: The owner/publisher of this newsletter is M. Kenyon Charboneaux, fiction writer and teacher of online classes in writing through The Easy Way To Write website. If you are interested in finding out about these classes you may contact Rob Parnell, owner of EWTW, at rob@easywaytowrite.com

Kenyon??™s books are for sale on her site, www.firegravity.com . She can be contacted at  address - nomadagain2000@yahoo.com. PLEASE NOTE : All of Kenyon??™s current books were pirated in July of last year - there are no legal, non-pirate outlet for her work other than her website or (for Cri only - Amazon.com), DigitalbooksEtc.com & Payloadz.com. If you buy them from anyone else, you??™re putting money in the pockets of pirates, not in the pocket of the writer.

*******************************************************

Subscribe/Unsubscribe :

If you would like to subscribe to this newsletter/ezine, just drop me a line at nomadagain2000@yahoo.com and I'll add you to the list. If you wish to unsubscribe, all you have to do is drop me another line and you??™re unsubscribed! Easy, yes?

Subscriptions to this ezine are free. Eros & Rust is published monthly.