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The December 2000
Season's Greetings
ALSO... We have our guidelines available for your convenience and have posted our planned monthly themes so you can submit your writing to us.
THE
HORRIDAY SEASON THE PUBLISHING GAME, WRITE'EM EARLY, SELL'EM
OFTEN SNOW THE SAFE HOUSE
Make plans now to attend Web Marketing for Writers Workshop 2001 You will be treated to a day packed with information about using the Internet to promote your writing career. Topics will include web promotion, Internet tactics for writers, and electronic publishing. In this new cyber-world, you can't afford to miss it. Your future awaits - April 7, 2001. For more information, please contact Pat Haley at haley@flash.net.
Writer's Quote for the Month "It's like dating -- You have to date before you settle on a husband. It's the same with agents. I did a lot of "dating" but now I feel I found the agent that will benefit me the most." --Rebecca Forster Her books include Keeping Counsel, Character Witness, The Mentor and Beyond Malice
Want to DO something different for the holidays? How about decorating your yard to please the wintering birds? Terrie Murray is a nonfiction nature writer from Portland, Oregon who is a regionally-known expert in backyard birdwatching. Her website, "Aviella's Inkwell: Writings From the Pacific Northwest" (http://www.teleport.com/~timurray/index.htm) contains a monthly backyard birdwatching column. The December, 2000 column has suggestions for decorating your yard for birds and wildlife, including a recipe for making birdseed bells to hang from your trees."
The Horriday
Season It's that time of season, again. Everyone is filled with love and joy in an absolute mockery of the facts. Yes, beneath this facade lurks a villainous truth; a truth that none are willing to accept. Horror. During the holiday season we seem to be able to candy coat the darker side of human nature in a gleeful, happy window dressing. We are nurtured in this from childhood. How? Easy. There are dozens of cartoons based on old stories that demonstrate the love and oozing peace that comes from within the human heart during the holiday season. But did you see the subtle horror woven into the story? Need some examples? Frosty the Snowman has to melt, leave the children and make the most of the cold. Bottom line, we're talking about Death at the door, the trials and tribulations of separation and being happy about freezing your buns off. Look at the familiar in a new perspective, a dark side. Most people have seen "A Nightmare Before Christmas" and enjoyed it. Isn't it strange that a dark look at the holiday was a major box office hit? Even Jack got caught in the "up" holiday spirit. When was the last time you were grinched? Did you recognize that cute variation of "A Christmas Story" where at the end the heart is warmed and all is forgiven? Bah, humbug. You don't melt that many years of hard meanness with one soft, willowy-eyed smile. Just another marketing ploy to make money. Remember, horror doesn't have to be violence and gore. You can have just as many using the psychological angles of the season. The original "A Christmas Story" had some very strong horror elements. Ebenezer had to deal with three ghosts, relive a hurtful youth, face reality of the current situation and the knowledge of what could be. The movie is riddled with horror elements, but for some reason, the public is willing to accept the film as a holiday classic. Just remember, it was a book first. There's a whole new market out there just ripe for the picking. Don't you just love big, juicy strawberries--especially out of season? Then my horriday season is for you. Look carefully at the cute cartoons and stories being told during the season, see the underlaying horror that is used as its basis. Look beyond the tastefully and colorfully wrapped gifts to what transpired in its giving. There's a lot of horror in the purchasing of the perfect gift. Dig deep into your memory and regurgitate those emotions that you've held back regarding the holiday season shopping. There can't be good without bad. There can't be light without dark. The horror is there, trimmed in the season's red and green (profit!). Happy Horridays. * * * * * Robert Nailor is the Poetry Editor and Production Manager for The Emporium Gazette. He is the author of the soon to be published, "Three Steps to an Irish Dream."
This issue of the Emporium
Gazette's graphics This simple border web page set is called Free graphics, web page sets, backgrounds at
The Publishing Game, The streets of our cities swarm with agents willing to "represent" you for a "tiny" annual fee. Most people don't realize how many parasites make a living off the sweat of writers. All we have to do is watch the trade magazines to read about another rip-off publisher being forced out of business. Often unscrupulous publishers work with underhanded agents for a fee for each new writer signed. Many try to represent themselves as traditional publishers when they are little more than a vanity press. Reality is sometimes a bitter pill, folks, assuming you haven't already learned the hard way. Despite all the implied promises of success from the publishers and agents, experts agree that it is better to represent yourself than to settle for a disreputable agent. All this makes finding an honest agent even more necessary. Few of us can follow the trails of these disreputable publishers that go belly-up and vanish in one state only to appear again like a dead carp, somewhere on the other side of the country. It seems impossible to drive a stake into some of these scams. Nevertheless, it is in an agent's best interest to keep track of these underhanded publishers and avoid them at all costs. When your book doesn't sell, they don't get their commissions, and they are out both time and money. That is not to say that all small houses are disreputable nor is that saying that all small agencies are on the take. There are thousands of small publishers springing up across the country who are actively soliciting quality novels. Unfortunately, the volume of new publishing houses makes it even more difficult to keep up with sifting the good from the bad. There are also numerous honest agents setting up business each year. The trick is to find one who can develop your name as a writer. The reality of publishing is that publicity and name recognition sell books. As a beginning writer, you can expect little of either. There was a time when, like movie studios, major publishers developed their writers, increasing their name recognition and thus increasing their sales potential. Now it is a matter of computerized sales projections based on the latest sales trends. Unless you've got the hot new product or name, you're out. When the tax laws changed in the United States, making it illegal to write off anything more than the cash basis of a book's losses, the publishing industry in this country was transformed. However, our laws didn't apply to foreign publishers who continued to market their "tax losses" to the highest bidder. As a result, all the biggest houses in our country are now subsidies of foreign corporations. The question is how a writer can optimize his or her chances to be published. Finding a good agent seems to be the logical answer. Even if your author's representative actually submits sample chapters or she goes that extra mile and sends the whole manuscript, this means nothing. The agent must develop and maintain enough contacts and influence to get your work out of the slush pile and onto the right editor's "to-read" list. Agents must not only be on a first name basis with editors, but also know their tastes in literature. There are two reasons for hiring an agent. First is their talent for reading and understanding a contract's many confusing clauses. The second is that you are buying this person's reputation with the publishing houses. You should never overlook this aspect of the business, unless you have your own contacts with New York's biggest publishers. An editor must have a degree of trust in the agent's opinion, knowing that this person will only submit the best product for his consideration. The best agent/editor relationship is both symbiotic and confrontational. The agent must represent your best interest while providing the publishing house with the best quality product. No one makes money if both sides aren't satisfied. The sad truth is that there are agents that editors avoid like the plague. The professional editors are well aware of the games played with beginning writers. If this wasn't common practice there wouldn't be twenty or more standard contracts at a single publishing house, but I'll only touch on this subject here. Still, an editor can ill afford to do business with an agent that is less than honest. His reputation and the reputation of his house hang in the balance, not to mention possible lawsuits if this activity borders on the illegal. The editors must respect the agent's editorial taste if he or she is to read more than a page or two. Don't give up, because such agents do exist. Can you find a big-name New York agent to represent your new book? Unfortunately, the answer is probably no. By the time an agent has made a reputation, he or she can pick and choose his or her clients. Why waste their valuable time developing a novice when they have established talent taking them to lunch in the hope of getting them to represent them? It doesn't make financial sense, but it happens. When it does, it is usually a writer referenced by one of the established talents they already represent. Agents love literature or they wouldn't have suffered through the lean years to make it to where they are. Writing isn't the best paying job in the world. Take that from an engineer who gave up the profession to write. My best advice would be to look for a new agent who has time to spend shopping your book, but that isn't the only criteria. Also look for someone who has ties with the publishing industry and knows people at the major houses. Maybe he was with a publishing firm previously, or a major agency before tiring of life in New York. Remitting the agent for expenses is routine, but a small fee isn't out of the question either. I'd look for one that didn't charge a fixed annual fee. Remember that some firms charge a fee but accept almost anything recognizable as English, making money off volume. Some even charge reading fees, something that should send a writer running in the opposite direction. It would also be wise to avoid firms that have so many customers that the agent can't answer her own phone. Another give-away that the firm isn't for you is to look at the length of their contract. Each clause likely represents a problem that this firm has had in the past. The longer the contract the less likely the firm is reputable. Writers' contracts aren't written to protect you. They're written to protect the agent or publisher. Some agents don't even require that you sign a contract, preferring to do business with a handshake. Yes, those kind of people still exist, although they are the exception rather than the rule. It has been my experience that writers are kindhearted folks. Yes, we are sometimes gullible, but that comes from our trusting hearts. Still, before signing any contract, make sure you know what you're doing. Check a few references, because everyone isn't as generous and loving as writers. * * * * * Ronald Wayne Jones is the Managing Editor for The Emporium Gazette and author of "Black Breath of the Lutron" and "The Dwarf and the Demon Tongue" which are available through 23 House.
It's here!! Denise Vitola's chilling novel of terror. Available as a first edition e-book from Cool Well Publishing. Go to: http://www.CoolWell.org/winterman/index.html to read a chapter excerpt of this best selling story.
Write 'Em Early, Sell 'Em Often The winter holiday season is upon us. Visions of sugarplums or chocolates of choice dance in our heads, along with lists for holiday shopping, and ideas for parties. But as writers we know we're supposed to be thinking of lilies and bunnies and pastel spring things. Magazines like to get holiday articles lined up six months in advance. This requires writers to think pink (and yellow and blue) when the stores are full of red and green. But of course, our best ideas for winter holiday articles come to us while the season is upon us. So what are writers to do? Go ahead and write the winter holiday articles while you've got the notion. How's that? Listen up scribe, there's method in this madness. What is the one thing everyone wants during the holiday season? Time! So, articles on how to save time during the busy holidays will be "must buys" for editors. Look for unique and cost-effective ways to get through the season without crashing your wallet or your wits. For instance, holiday decorating adds an extra couple of hours to anyone's preparation time. An article on how florist shops can help would be a great "holiday helper" article. Many floral shops have decorating services. Sometimes these shops pair with landscapers to offer an "inside & out" holiday decorating package. An article that spotlights local shops can be sold to area newspapers, shoppers, and magazines. If you continue to think "holiday helper," then stories on local catering services, home cleaning services, and personal shoppers will also work. All your articles will contain three major points: time-saving, budget-friendly, stress-free holiday preparation. With a bit of Internet research, these articles can be pitched to editors all over the country just by substituting the names of the "local" shops and services. Ok, you say, but that means I've done a lot of work that can't be sent out for six months. Where's the money? Follow me on this. The winter holiday season is not the only time of year folks find themselves in need of gifts, party planning and decorating help. Stretch your thinking into spring. Families gather for Easter, Passover, Mother's Day, graduations in May, and weddings in June. Got the picture? Rewrite your winter holiday article with these spring holidays as the focus. Again, the three major points of the article are time-saving, budget-friendly, stress-free holiday/special occasion preparation. And, this spring centered article can be rewritten for other areas of the country just by featuring local shops and services. Bingo! You've used the inspiration of the current season to jump-start your article writing for the next one. A few hours of your time now can bring you some regular paychecks. All you have to do is write 'em early, then you can sell 'em all year long. * * * * * Lucile Davis BLURB NEEDED!!
Stop By Cool Well's Writing Emporium http://www.CoolWell.org/emporium/index.html You'll find new articles on writing: "Dead Men Have No POV" " Bad Guys You Love to Hate."
Snow I In the old scrolls Soga's landscape The supports of a curved bridge The edges of trees and branches, Continued... This excellent poem is continued in its entirety at SNOW. We regret, due to its length, not being able to print the full poem. * * * * * Marilyn Hardy is a poet and non-fiction writer who lives in Seattle, WA. She holds a Ph.D. in English from the University of Washington, where she formerly taught writing and literature classes. She has published poetry in Cimarron Review, Hiram Poetry Review, and other journals
The Safe House "Gloria, do you want to die? Get up already! We have to go!" The maniac screeched at me again. I swear, I heard that nasally, high pitched squeal in my dreams. In fact, just last night, it had to be about 3:00 in the morning, I heard the whiny little hiss. "Gloria," it called. "We gotta get out of here as soon as possible. The government can't help us anymore. Only we can save ourselves from destruction!" I opened my eyes to see the little weasel hunched over the computer, furiously tapping away to the mysterious little green men who filled his brain with the madness of the future. To those who haven't figured it out, that demented little man was my husband, Ralph. Ralph, king of the net, savior of mankind. Seems the techno geek linked up to something on the web that he swore was going to be our salvation. To be honest, I didn't place a lot of value in that. Then again, I didn't place a lot of value in anything Ralph said. "For the love of God, Woman! Get up already! We're getting out of here, right now!" I watched as he grabbed our pre-packed suitcases and shoveled the last of his printed e-mail transactions into the side pocket. Then he snatched his laptop and propelled himself out of the room. I knew he'd be back. My mother warned me, his kind always came back. I had to find some way to summon the energy to deal with his insanity. Things couldn't be as bleak as he made them out to be. I pulled the covers aside and sat up, calling to him. He didn't hear me, absorbed in his frantic search in the bathroom for anything that he might have missed. Finally, he sprinted out and glared at me with his beady little eyes. I tried to speak to him, but he stopped me with his hand. "Woman, you best be taking me seriously lest you be out in the cold. We got only twenty four hours before our world ends. Now, come on, we have to get to the Safety House. It's the only place left on Earth that will be spared!" He sprinted out of the room again and I heard him throwing things around in the garage. What had my life become? We used to be a normal couple. Two middle-aged people, married for twenty five years; bowling on Wednesdays, barbecues and beer on Sunday's with friends, Bridge on Monday nights. It wasn't a terribly exciting life, but we were happy. Now, this. It didn't happen last year, when the threat to the world was legitimate, but now, a year later. Ralph finally got sucked into the Y2K millennium madness that the world was going to end at exactly 12:00 am, 2001. Somehow my husband, who adamantly refused to even take a class with me or read a book for fun, found himself spending hours upon hours researching, scouring the net, delving into archives and locating anything remotely linked to this meltdown. Unfortunately, there were thousands of other people out there with the same ridiculous notion in their heads, filling my husband with hysterical information that could only lead to no good. It was by pure luck that I noticed the withdrawals out of our bank account, money that Ralph was sending over to the "Savior's Fund." The fund, run by a group of cybo-technic nerds he found in a chat room, who were building a computer utopia in an abandoned underground mining facility. Only a lucky few believers were allowed to gain admittance into this exclusive club. Let's be realistic. The way I figured it, anyone with enough cash could buy their way in. Want to know what else I thought? It stank of the Heaven's Gate cult. I wasn't expecting any mother ship to come save me, or give me sneakers, and I was damned if I was going to let my loose cannon of a husband hand over all our money to a group of people he had never met. Unfortunately, enough had been given over and we were granted admission, much to my chagrin. Ralph skitted back into the room, his eyes darting, probing to see if anything was left behind. This was my final stand. "Ralph, we've got to talk. The world is not going to end tonight. The President was just on television this evening telling us how the government fixed all the problems last year. That if we all just remained calm and didn't do anything rash, nothing would happen. It's usually the people who panic who instigate their own downfalls. Honey, look at yourself. This doesn't make any sense." Ralph shook his head, vehemently. "It makes all the sense in the world. The President's lying. Everyone knows that. The year two thousand never was the real threat. That was all a ruse, leading up to tonight! You don't think the President and his staff have a place to go this evening? Trust me, they're not celebrating in the middle of the Mall in Washington DC, that's for sure. He'll spend his last month in office, holed up in a secured underground facility with his family and secret service regime, and anyone else he wants to keep safe, and screw the rest of us little people who pay his salary and make up this great country! "Well, I won't let that happen to us. We're going to go where we'll be safe and we'll be one of the only people left who will bring this planet back to life after it all goes to pot. Gloria, I told you what's going to happen. Once midnight hits, it's not the lack of electricity or the closings of the banks that will be our downfall; not even the nuclear sites, airplanes or even the internet." He rushed over and grabbed both my arms, crushing them in his passion. "Gloria, it's the biochemical facilities we're talking about! Once midnight hits, they'll all close down, leaks will occur, the vengeance of our own creations will be leashed upon the world. No one will survive! Now come on, get the hell out of bed and get into the car!" He released me and fled from the room. What could I do? Stay behind? My luck, Ralph would finally be right about something and I wouldn't be there to actually see it. I heard the car engine purr to life and the garage door lift. The horn blared throughout the house. Well, I guess that was it. I threw on some clothes, took one last look at my home, and trudged to the car. We drove for over ten hours to get to the Safe House location in North Carolina. I wasn't at all surprised at the kind of people we encountered. On the outside they seemed normal, but once they opened their mouths, it was as if a spirit demon decided to set up house and spit out insane thoughts through their lips. The leader of this group was a skinny guy named Paul, but he asked all of us to call him "Angel." How appropriate. The man who would save us from destruction. What Angel had put together would have given pause to the best computer experts and locksmiths in Washington. He had fully electronicized the mine, running cables throughout, installing top of the line doors, security systems and locks to seal us off from the rest of the world, while we waited out the end of humanity. I was surprised Ralph even noticed my dejected looks as I stared down at the threadbare rugs on the dirt floor and the bare light bulbs strewn across the exposed wooden beams. He hugged me. "Honey, I know it doesn't look like much, but most of the money was spent on sealing this place up. That was the most important thing. We have at least a mile underground to live our lives until the air above is free for us to move around. There's plenty of food and water for all of us and I promise you we'll be comfortable. Trust me, Angel knows what he's doing." We spent the evening singing songs about the end of the world and watching television. Angel was adamant that we were linked to the rest of society so we could see the destruction that would occur and the stupidity of those who didn't seek shelter from the horrors to come. At ten minutes to 12:00 the doors to the mine were sealed shut. A chill ran up my spine as I heard the locks click into place, set to open automatically one year from then. It was programmed so that no one from the inside or outside could reverse that command. Angel said that it was done for our protection so that none of those non-believers from above could seek shelter after they'd been exposed. I thought that was a little harsh, but I was starting to get sucked into the delusional mentality of those I was going to share the next year of my life with. We were an exuberant group as we watched the final countdown, safe and secure in our new home. 60 seconds till the end of the world.... 30 seconds to the end of the world.... 10, 9.. 3,2,1. I watched the second set of millennium streamers flow around Times Square, watched the people in Disney World blow on their horns and run about in their shorts and T-Shirts, watched the people in Los Angeles toast the New Year for the first time that evening. Where was the agony? Where was the horror? "In time," Angel kept saying. "It'll take only a few minutes." He was smiling at us, the shepherd taking care of his meek, little sheep. He was right, it didn't take long. "What's that smell?" someone asked suddenly. I glanced down the long corridor of the mine, noticing the tendrils of smoke rising from its depths. I whirled to Ralph and called to him, but his eyes were fixated on the television screen, oblivious to what was happening. I ran over and grabbed his arm. "Ralph, there's a fire in here!" The smoke was coming up fast, quicker than a normal fire. Its odor was more caustic, more acidic in nature. I grabbed my sleeve and coughed into my arm. My God, it smelled like poison! Angel stood and addressed us, raising his hands high above his head. "Not to worry my little lambs. We are being delivered to those from above who will save our souls. True to my word, your world as you know it is over. It is time for all of us to cross over into the unknown." It was then that I noticed the sores stretching across his abdomen, the sallowness of his skin. Realization hit me. This man was a walking death sentence and he was taking us with him. I had to escape. I barreled down the passage to the mine entrance. The other sheep were with me, sanity now replacing the madness that had governed their minds, but the door was sealed shut. There was no way out. I glanced down the mine's passageway, watching Angel amble towards the direction of the smoke, laughing maniacally. Without another word, he disappeared into its midst. A strange calm settled over me as I floated amidst the panic and screams of my new brothers and sisters. The television was still on and I sat myself down in front of it, watching the celebrations continuing around the globe, waiting for the end of my world to come. At least Ralph had been right about that. * * * * * Elyse Salpeter NEED BLURB
Ron Jones-- Managing Editor Bob Nailor--Poetry Editor and Production Manager Elyse Salpeter--Fiction Editor Mitchel Whitington--Non-Fiction Editor James Rogers--Business Editor Terrie Murray--Travel Writing Editor Sue Long Turner--The Writing Answer Lady & Denise Vitola--Editor-in-Chief
© Copyright 2000 by the Emporium Gazette No portion of any article or other writing in this electronic publication may be copied, used or otherwise taken by any person or organization for any purpose or reason whatsoever without the express written permission of the Emporium Gazette.
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