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1. Beware of switching viewpoints in midstream, such as from omniscience to first person. This is called the “helicopter shot” starting with the omniscience and zooming into the character’s VP.

2. Using the omniscience VP reports to the reader instead of involving the reader in the story line.

3. Let your explanation unfold as the story progresses, instead of having a running narrative.

4. Label characters instead of just giving names.

5. Keep track of how many times words are used.

6. Characters must have dialogue.

7. Get into dialogue and action quicker.

8. Use the name for actions, such as “akimbo” versus “ hands on hips.”

9. The use of “to be” words denies the chance of using a better word.

10. Create concern and sympathy for the characters.

11. Beware of unnecessary prepositional phrases.

12. Don’t lead with an adverb.

13. Abstract writing should have an emotional appeal.

14. Find an audience for your writing.

15. Ask yourself, “What is the purpose for your writing?”—“Who are you writing for?”—“What do you want the reader to take away?”

16. Keep in mind where the story is going.

17. Let the reader get to know the character gradually.

18. Be sure historical facts are true.

19. Use correct language for the time period.

20. What’s the obstacle the character has to overcome during the story?

21. Check double and triple adjectives.

22. The first line sells the book and the last line sells the next book.

Photo by Bryan Freeman

David Allen reads at critique workshop

! ! ! ! !

OCTOBER MEETING MINUTES

President Ted Rankin opened the monthly meeting October 11, at 6:40 p.m. Seventeen members and two guests were present.

The Treasurer read the financial report and it was unanimously approved.

There were no minutes for the September meeting.

Ted Rankin announced the book signing on Saturday, October 27^th, at the Pittsburg Public Library from 10:00 a.m. – 12:00 noon.

Ted spoke on the critique session held on Saturday, October 6^th. Those in attendance at the Pizza Inn applauded the critique session. The members of the DFW Writers’

Workshop gave us a great educational day. They were motivational with the methods they use to critique writers. Jackie Brown noted how they took notes as a reader read, and maybe we should do this to improve.

Skip Hughes requested the floor. He is interested in organizing a poetry workshop. He does not want the club to underwrite, but needs

the support of NETWO. Hands were raised in support of Skip having a workshop. Suggestions were made for having it possibly in January or February. Motion was made by Jim Callan to have the workshop, and to have

Skip organize and work out the details. Galand

Nuchols seconded, and by show of hands the

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motion was approved for January 2008. Skip expressed his appreciation for the support.

Jim announced that Floy could not attend tonight and needed someone to write on the DFWWW session. Michele said she had notes on this and would write it up for the newsletter.

Jim Callan stated that we have three bank accounts with the addition of the Capital One in Pittsburg for the Credit Card Merchant account. He said the Treasurer feels that we need to close the Winnsboro account. We will have the Guaranty Bond Bank in Pittsburg account open and available. Jim made the motion to close the Winnsboro account, seconded by Scott. The motion was approved, none opposed.

Jim brought up the need for someone to chair the short story contest. He will not be able to do that this year. He said he could carefully guide anyone who accepted this job. Skip made the motion to accept the anthology competition in place of the short story this year. He stated that we have a lot to do, and little time. Jackie Brown seconded the motion. After discussion of the effects of not having the contest, David and Nita Allen volunteered to co-chair the short story contest with Jim Callan providing guidance. Skip withdrew his motion. The president acknowledged and accepted the withdrawal.

President Ted Rankin asked for any new business. Galand spoke about the schools that need new books for their libraries. This was reported in the October newsletter.

Jackie stated that it would be nice to have extra newsletters at the monthly meetings for those who have not received theirs, and for guests. Scott Fitzwater volunteered to print 10 extra newsletters each month.

Michele Chitsey spoke on determining the interest of others who may be writing children’s books in forming a group to meet and share their ideas. Jim suggested having this printed in the newsletter.

There being no further business, the meeting adjourned at 7:43 p.m., and the critiquing session began.

Readers were Galand Nuchols, Ted Rankin, Matt Edwards, Michele Chitsey, Scott Fitzwater, and Bill Carl.

Respectfully submitted, Nickie Carlile

BITS AND PIECES

Congratulations, Jim Ainsworth! He has been advised that his book, Rivers Ebb, in the Mainstream/Literary Fiction, has been chosen as an Honorable Mention in the Writer’s Digest 15^th Annual International Self-Published Book Awards.

Congratulations, also, to Gay Ingram. Her article “Good Writing” appears in the Nov/Dec issue of Writers’ Journal.

SCOTT FITZWATER

A Profile

By Jackie Brown

Scott had never written anything much until he got the idea for his novel, Saving Moose, which he is busy polishing for the 10^th and final time. Like most writers, he has

always been an omnivorous reader. When

asked about his favorite hobby, he says, “Reading. Fiction – good fiction.”

Scott went on the web and looked up a variety of writers’ clubs and other author’s help opportunities, and decided to visit NETWO. He joined this past year, and has received much of the information and help he needed, he says.

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Scott lives in Powderly, Texas, and is Director of Food and Nutrition at the nearby Paris Regional Medical Center. Currently, Scott and his wife of 26 years, Mary, have just sent all three of their children (two boys and a girl) off to college. Mary is an RN at Paris Regional Medical Center, and is Coordinator of Infection Control.

Scott has already cut his book from 240,000 words to about 110,000 words. By cutting so much material, he now has material for another book, or more.

Scott was born in Missouri, but raised on an Iowa farm. He lived in Ames and Des Moines, Iowa; later in Albuquerque, New Mexico, then moved to Temple, Texas. He’s lived in the Paris, Texas area for the last 18 years. He received a B.S. from Iowa State University, as an Economics major.

His favorite book is A Confederacy of Dunces, By John Kennedy Toole.

His writing reflects much of his various preferences in reading, as the books he lists that he found impressive are, in addition to being well written and often famous, also heavily imbued with the philosophy and ideas of the writers.

He enjoys fiction, memoirs, southern stories, western spice, and other ground-breaking prose. For example, he likes Frank McCourt’s memoir Angela’s Ashes, and Augustus Burroughs’ Running With Scissors. For Southern fiction, he enjoyed McCullers’ The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, and Erskine Caldwell’s Tobacco Road. He liked the books Lonesome Dove and All the Pretty Horses, as Western epics.

For Philosophy, he says, “or maybe just an excuse/rationale for doing as you damn well please,” there’s The Stranger, by Camus. Scott considers it a “back door justification of existentialism.” Another favorite, that probably shocked many (for its time), is the audio book Lolita, by Nabokov, read by Jeremy Irons, who had a perfect voice for all that naughty prose.

Other books that have impressed him were The Shipping News, by Proulx, Huckleberry Finn, by Twain, The Old Man and the Sea, by Hemingway, andThe Bridge of San Luis Rey, by Thornton Wilder.

Some other favorites: Newsweek magazine, football, World War II history and the movies One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Blazing Saddles, Sophie’s Choice, and The Big Lebowski. On public radio and television, he prefers Ken Burns and Garrison Keillor. He also likes old recordings by Winston Churchill and Franklin Delano Roosevelt as they rally their nations during World War II.

He remembers his favorite subjects in school were History and FFA. He and his other Future Farmers enjoyed showing their animals at livestock shows and fairs. Scott had steers and hogs, and collected more than a few Grand Champion awards.

Recent books that impressed him were Graceland by Chris Abani, A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini, State of Denial by Bob Woodward, and I Heard You Paint Houses by Charles Brandt.

His biggest writing ambition is to get pub-lished and have readers say, “That was good. I can’t get it out of my mind.” While writing, he prefers total silence and a lack of distraction. He says he is inspired by writing that tugs at him, moves him, that involved him emotionally and sticks with him after he puts it down.

Scott’s advice to people who want to become writers is: “Write what comes. Follow your instincts and your passion. Get it onto paper and don’t worry what others may think of it. Hopefully, it will have a theme.”

I’ve found it interesting listening to Scott read excerpts from his book. He has a knack for bringing the classic morality plays and writing to modern life, with current idiom and personalities. His writing is rich in plot detail and variety of characters. He amuses and occasionally shocks one as he shows the gritty and improbable side of redemption in modern times.

I asked him what his wife thought of all his writing. After thinking it over, he said, “She says I have a unique voice.”

Not a bad thing for an author to have. ?

BOOK REVIEW by Jean Pamplin

Reading a non-fiction book in one sitting is not a particular goal for me, but when I cracked open Wayne Bethard’s book to inspect the middle, I didn’t look up. Bethard’s Lotions, Potions, and Deadly Elixirs or Frontier Medicine in America reads just as entertaining from the front as from the back. Even before getting to the real numbered pages, I cracked up. The first line in Acknowledgements, “Between every golden egg, there is bound to be a little mass and gas.” Silent reading? No way.

Bethard’s writing is a cross between the profound and the humorous. This Northeast Texas, Hughes Springs born, now Longview, Texas pharmacist is “by definition the truest of drugstore cowboys.” In a day and age when plastic medicine is at its zenith, it was refreshing to see a registered druggist drag out the worth --- or waste --- if past natural practices that included everything from doctoring with dung to mercury laced blue pills. The latter of which was possibly the reason for Abraham Lincoln’s violent outburst at the 1858 Lincoln---Douglas debate.

This expose on “deadly elixirs” includes an introduction to Clark Stanley, a snake oil entrepreneur. Supposedly, Clark made his liniment with juice harvested from the rattle-snakes in the wilds around Abilene, Texas. A good story, but in 1917, the federal government pulled an inspection. The liniment was declared to be free of snake juice, except perhaps, for that which dripped from the forked tongue of the snake oil salesman himself. Swamp Root Kidney Liver and Bladder Cure, however, passed the test of time and Dr. Sylvester Andral Kilmer’s invigorating Swamp Root remedy can still be purchased nationwide off the shelf today.

Even the Frontier Dosage forms section has its moments, such as when Bethard refers to powdered medicines as “The Drys” which, “like old cowboys,” were “ground up, desic- cated, dried out, parched, and dehydrated.” Then there were the “tars, paints, swabs, and other disgusting taints.” Not only are words dissected and meanings provided, stories as to the use and misuse of remedies are sprinkled within the text like fine seasoning on a gourmet meal.

While old labels and colorful ads stimulate the visual reader, information overload never quite materializes as the text can be likened to a well-received sugar pill when coated with Bethard’s entertaining stories. Not only listed are the contents of Lewis and Clark’s medicine chest, but, if you ever wanted to know how to cauterize a bullet hole, this is the book to read. Even “diathermy,” high frequency electricity treatments, are discussed including Benjamin Franklin’s foray into treating patients with electricity.

Registered Pharmacist Wayne Bethard is quick to delineate the difference between a “professor,” an expert who knows it all, and himself, a “professional” who knows where to look it up or whom to ask. He warns the reader

to be his or her own conscious guide and then proceeds with a trip down remedy lane that any

reader, with an ounce of curiosity or a need

to know, will find totally absorbing and quite entertaining.

Normally, books like Wayne Bethard’s Lotions, Potions and Deadly Elixirs are subject to random and spasmodic reading on my part, but this work far surpasses the normal. Crack this book open and you will find a gem. J

THE SAMBICI GAMBIT

By Jim Callan

He stood facing Mr. Sambici. Rico never sat in this office. He came in, got his orders, and left. Usually, he said little more than “Yes, sir,” or, “No, Mr. Sambici.” Once he said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Sambici. It won’t happen again.” Just thinking about that visit sent a chill crawling down his back bone. Like now. Rico didn’t know what this was about, and he had been standing here for a long time, maybe two minutes, and Mr. Sambici had not even looked up. He started to clear his throat, make sure the man knew he was here. But of course he knew.

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He knew everything. Never seemed to look or listen. Yet, he always knew what was going on, who did what, who messed up.

A drop of sweat rolled from Rico’s forehead down his nose and hung on the end. It caused his nose to itch and he wanted to wipe it off. But he didn’t want to move, distract the man. Rico wrinkled his nose, but the drop stayed there, continuing to irritate. As the seconds crept by, the aggravation grew, until Rico had to grit his teeth not to reach up and wipe it off. He had killed people with his bare hands, but he couldn’t stand that drop, clinging to his nose. Slowly, he reached up to brush it off.

At that instant, Mr. Sambici looked up, stared at Rico with those flat glasses. Wherever he saw him, the light always reflected off those glasses so Rico could never see his eyes.

“I’ve got a problem. Can you help me with it, Rico?”

“Yes sir.”

“I want you to kill Edo. Can you do that?”

Lines appeared across Rico’s forehead, and his pronounced brows hunched down over his

eyes. “Edo? Our Edo? I mean, the one who works for you?”

“Yes, Rico. That Edo.” He paused, pinning his minion with his intense stare. “Can you do that?”

The lines on Rico’s forehead deepened and he looked down at the desk He swallowed and slowly raised his eyes to look at his boss. “Ah, yes sir. But I thought---“

“Don’t.” Mr. Sambici picked up some papers and started studying them. “Take care of it today, Rico.”

The tall muscular man turned without a word and left his boss’s office.

Rico headed for the TV room, then abruptly turned and hurried outside, climbed in his jeep and drove around to the back of the horse stables. He didn’t want to run into Edo just yet. Out of sight from the main house, Rico turned off the engine and slouched down in the seat.

He’d killed men before. He and Edo had offed a bunch a guys the boss wanted dead. But Edo worked for Mr. Sambici. He’d been here---Rico tried to think back---maybe three years, about half as long as Rico. He liked Edo, counted him a friend. And he got the job done. He was a good guy to work with. Now, Rico had to kill him.

It never bothered him to pop some bum Mr. Sambici wanted out of the way. Never thought twice about it. This was different. He knew Edo. They watched the Cowboys games together, drinking beer, laughing at the refs. Edo had showed him that bar out on 6740, the one with the sexy waitresses. They got drunk there last week, and had to lean on each other to get to the truck.

Rico wanted to ask Mr. Sambici why. Why kill Edo? But no one asked Mr. Sambici

why. He gave the orders. Nobody questioned

them. Once he asked Edo to kill one of his own cousins. Edo didn’t ask about that. He just did it. Now, Rico had to kill Edo. No questions. Just do it.

He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out his 9 millimeter. Checked it. Flicked the safety off, then back on. Damn. He didn’t want to kill Edo. He started the Jeep and pulled back around the barn and parked near the house.

The idea crept into his mind that he could go in and check with Mr. Sambici. Maybe… . No. He had not misunderstood. The Boss said very clearly---kill Edo, and do it today.

“Hey, Edo, we got a job.”

Edo was seated in the TV room, drinking a Coke, watching a football game. “What’s he want now?” Edo’s attention remained on the game.

“You know out on the ranch? Where we planted those two guys what was stealing from him?”

“Yeah.”

“He thinks---“

“Hot damn!” Edo slammed his Coke down, spraying brown liquid all over the coffee table.

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“Did you see that? He grabbed that ball with one hand and two Jets hit him and he still held onto it.” He let out a yell.

“Mr. Sambici thinks some animal’s been digging around. Said you could see a foot, or something.” Rico shifted his weight, worried Edo might go ask Mr. Sambici about it. But, he needed to get Edo out there without causing him to be suspicious.

“What a play!” Edo hit the back button on the remote and watched the play again. “I ain’t never seen a better catch. Oughta give the sucker a bonus.” He took another pull on the Coke. “What was you saying? Some animal digging. Let’s go see what we gotta do.”

They threw two shovels in the back of the Jeep and started for the ranch.

“Don’t know what the big deal is,” said Edo. “They’re in the middle of a thousand acre ranch. Ain’t nobody gonna see’em, ‘cept you and me.”

“Just following orders.” Rico glanced at Edo, then looked back at the road. Following orders was the truth. He didn’t want to kill Edo. But you didn’t argue with the Boss. “Mr. Sambici takes guys out there to hunt some- times. Took the mayor and the sheriff out there last year. He don’t want none of’em to see nothing like that. Guy drops a buck and trips over a dead foot going after it.”

“Yeah. I git it.”

Rico kept his eyes on the road. Edo was talking about the football game, but Rico wasn’t listening. Why did he have to go and kill him? Couldn’t the boss just fire Edo if he didn’t want him around any more?

Twenty minutes later, they pulled through the electric gate and into Sambici Ranch. The fly ash road wound through pine trees, across open area, and back into a forested area. After about a mile, Rico stopped the jeep.

“Grab the shovels. Let’s see what we gotta do.”

Rico slid out of the car and glanced around to see Edo opening the back of the Jeep and pulling out the shovels. Rico slipped the 9 millimeter out of his pocket, thumbed the safety off, then eased the gun back out of sight. They’d walk over in the direction of the old graves. He’d let Edo get a few steps ahead. Rico would call him and when he turned around, he’d shoot him. Rico wouldn’t shoot his friend in the back.

Friend. He is my friend. Maybe my only friend. And I’m gonna cap him. He shook his head. Why was he doing this? ‘Cause you ain’t got no other choice.

He shuffled around the front of the Jeep. Edo tossed a shovel and Rico reached to catch it. He was looking at the shovel, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edo’s hand come up. A gun was aimed squarely at Rico. Instinc-

tively, he turned and ducked, but the bullet caught him in the side, slicing through his chest, puncturing both lungs, before ripping a large hole in his other side. The force of the bullet knocked him back. He stumbled once and fell.

Edo walked over to look down at the wounded man.

Rico’s voice came out a wheeze. “Wh—why’d you…do that?”

“Orders. Mr. Sambici said to drop you. I was going for a heart shot. You know, quick. But you moved.”

Rico’s brows furrowed and he groaned from the searing pain in his side. He tried to get his breath, but the pain was too much.

“He---.”

“Said to kill you. Hey, I‘m sorry, man. You never did nothing to me. But …” He shrugged.

Rico’s eyes closed. He struggled to open them. “He told me to kill you.”

“Figures. Guess he didn’t need two of us no more. Maybe a game to him, see who’s left standing.”

Each movement slashed Rico with pain, but he managed to get his hand in his pocket. He couldn’t get any air, couldn’t breathe. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. He’d show Mr. Sambici. He forced his fingers onto his gun. I ain’t never failed to …

The End