Volume 22, Issue 8
Next NETWO Meeting is Thursday, August 14, 6:30 p.m. Western Sizzlin, Mt. Pleasant This is the first in a proposed series of
articles in which NETWO members who have self-published share their experiences. SELF-PUBLISHING, THE
CHEAPEST WAY By Jackie Brown I’ve just finished publishing two books of
short stories and poems, all done locally and mostly by myself. I don’t recommend this for trying to do in
large quantities, or by yourself, but it is an ideal way to make a trial run of
how your books would look and how people respond to them. First, you must do ALL the typing,
planning and preparation by yourself, and as well, you must be able to make any necessary
corrections to spelling, errors, etc. If
you aren’t a very good speller, be sure to have your friends thoroughly
proof-read your book, several times! I ran off just a few copies of the pages
on my own printer, and also ran off some covers. I had decided to do a color cover of one of
my favorite snapshots taken while on a cruise.
I used two for the covers of the books, and included a few of the others
to create interest in one of the books (the one titled Life is a Cruise). The
photographic paper is thick enough for a rather frail cover; 
The first book I did, Myths & Dreams, is about 128 pages long, including preface and
title page and table of contents. Since I liked the looks of my book, I had ten
copies run off at Office Depot. For ten
copies, they charged me about $60.00, or $6.00 per book. Also, at their rate, that amounts to about
twice what I thought it should. That was
actually only 32+ large, 2-sided pages, which would be folded or cut into four
small pages, each 5-1/2 x 8-1/2 inches in size.
They also furnished very nice 32 lb. paper, of course, and made sure it
was in order. When I was through putting
it together, my first ten books had cost me about $6.50 each, plus a lot of
work. Not bad for a very small sample,
however. Later, I had them do 20 copies
of the same pages, plus I also had them do 25 nice covers for me. That total was about the same as I had paid
for 10 before, so for a quantity of 20, plus covers, I only paid them about
$3.20 per book, including tax! I still
had to cut them (or fold
them),
punch holes, and put them together. Then punch
holes in the covers and paper, and bind with metal rings or large brass clasps. They told me that if I ran off 100 or more
books, at a certain point, it would only cost about $1.49 per book. At that low price, you can afford to have
them cut, or folded for you, etc. They
said if they did the whole thing for a small run, they would charge about $5 or
$6 per book. Mel Rinehart, in their
Design & Print Department there is eager to work with us. Call at (903)223-8233. This is a good way to start, as the
finished book looks pretty good, and
you’ve only invested about one or two hundred dollars in it. If nobody likes it and it won’t sell, even to
your friends (!), then you’ve saved the $1,000 or $1,500 you might spend to
order them from someone else, and have to pay a minimum. They usually want you to order at least 200
books. If you are lucky and have a friend with a
bookstore who will carry your books, you need to get an ISBN number. This is
automatically done by a regular book publisher, but not by someone like Office
Depot or Staples. To order an ISBN number, you must contact
R.R. Bowker Company, 121 Chanlon Rd., New Providence, NJ 07974 or log on to www.isbn.org, where you can complete the forms
and pay the required $225 by credit card or download it and mail it in. Their
phone number is (877) 310-7333. You get ten numbers for your money, and
assign a number to each title you publish.
If you do a hard cover and a soft cover, each one requires a different
number. Perhaps you and a friend could
go together and buy a batch. Or if NETWO
bought 10, we could pay them for just one number, perhaps. If the book is changed in any significant way
(more than a few words), you will need to give it a new ISBN number. I feel a new sense of freedom since I’ve
published a couple of my books. Even if
I have trouble selling them, they are something to leave behind. Let’s face it, if you leave behind boxes of typed
pages that never went into a book, or CDs or tapes, they will end up in the
trash some day, once you’re gone! The
books may live on. ? *
* * *
* * *
* Minutes
of July 2008 Meeting Twenty-three
members and three guests attended the Northeast Texas Writers’ Organization
July 10, 2008 at the Western Sizzlin in Mount Pleasant. Pat Hamilton gave the treasurer’s report
as having a balance of $8,078.17. Guests
were Phil Edwards (Matt Edward’s father), Tom Nuchols, and Linda L. Davidson. Old Business: New Business: Critique Session: Readers already signed up for the month of
August are Jean Pamplin, A Sweet Job; DeAnna
Hanbly, Grace; Georgia Henson, Ted
Rankin, and Michele Chitsey. Please be
sure to have a short summary—no more than two sentences ready about your
writing project and fill out the reader’s sign-up sheet. This information will be used for the
newsletter. For those who haven’t signed up, be
prepared to read if time allows, if a reader is absent, or sign up for the next
month. The readers will go in order of signup. Each member is encouraged to add a little
fun to the meeting by bringing a door prize such as – recycled writing books or
magazines, pens, writing materials, legal pads, small notebooks, journals,
mugs, etc. Use your imagination and help
inspire a fellow writer who might need a little encouragement. Michele
Chitsey, Secretary *
* * *
* * *
* What
president was a lifeguard and credited with saving 77 lives? (Answer on Page 7)
NETWO
WORD FUN
The English language is complex and constantly changing, so to help us improve our
grasp, Liz Sanders has undertaken to provide “With Pen in Hand” a fun language
exercise each month. Enjoy.
Match
the correct term with each definition. (Check
your answers on Page 7.)
________1. tiny A. vascillate
________2. harmless B. harpy
________3. imposing
C. venerate
________4. to defame or say vile things about D. exonerate
________5. a watchful, observant person E. Lilliputian
________6. to totally free from blame F. vilify
________7. a bad-tempered woman G. torpor
________8. to be indecisive H. Argus
________9. sluggishness I. innocuous
_______10. to revere J. august
& & & & & & &
SHORT STORY CONTEST – THIRD PLACE
WINNER
WHERE’S EDDIE?
By Barbara Washburn
“Edd-deee! This isn’t funny anymore!
Come here to me, young man! Now!”
Molly double-checked the coat
closet, Eddie’s favorite hiding place. She looked in the dirty clothes hamper,
under the beds, behind the sofa where he liked to hide during thunder storms.
Her head ached and objects spun out of focus. “Come to mama, Eddie, and I’ll
give you a treat. How would you like to have some ice cream? Strawberry . . .
your favorite!” She felt her blood pressure rising, fear building.
Eddie loved to play Hide-and-Seek.
Problem was, he never let anyone know when the game started; he’d just go hide
somewhere and wait until he was “found.” For a two-year-old, he could come up
with some clever hiding places, and the sprawling ranch-style house provided
endless possibilities.
Icy fingers of panic crept up Molly’s
spine as she tried to recall other places where Eddie had hidden in the past.
Under the bathroom cabinet—not there. The storm cellar—no. Under the boxwood
bush in the back yard—not there either.
She checked her watch, Eddie
should be getting hungry. . .it’ll soon be dinnertime. Where could he be?
She shouted, “Edd-deeeee! The game’s
over, I give up. You win! It’s time to come in, now!”
Beyond the backyard, the woods were
thick, dark even in broad daylight, and the land sloped sharply downward to the
shore of Beaver Lake. Molly shaded her eyes with her hand and studied the
woods. Her eyes shot from tree to tree, hoping to catch a glimpse of Eddie
peeking from behind a tree trunk or hear the sound of his sweet laughter, but
there was no sign of him.
The sun hung in the western sky, casting
long shadows like ghoulish arms reaching out to pull her into their foreboding
lair. Goosebumps rose on her arms; she tried, unsuccessfully, to brush them
away. God, please help me find my little boy.
“Edd-deeeee!” she screamed. The only
response—her own words echoing back. It’ll
be dark soon, Molly thought as she turned back toward the house. Something
caught her eye . . . movement? She listened—nothing. She waited—still nothing.
“Why didn’t I think of that before?” she
scolded herself and dashed to Rusty’s fishing boat parked on the far side of
the garage. A filthy, smelly tarp was slung over it and tied down with a couple
of pieces of old rope, but there was enough slack for a small boy to crawl
under the tarp and climb into the boat. The garage was not attached to the
house and sat further back off the road. Molly often forgot about the john boat
being there. Two weeks ago, Rusty found Eddie lying in the floor of the boat
sound asleep. He called it his cave.
“I’ve got you now,” she cooed. “Mommy’s
gonna win.” She grasped the edge of the canvas and slowly lifted it as far as
the rope would allow and bent over to peer inside. Her eyes needed to adjust to
the darkness. “Eddie. I know you’re in here.” She untied one of the ropes and
pulled the tarp open wider; her heart sank when she saw that the boat was
empty.
Down the ridge toward Beaver Lake, a
coyote howled, followed by the shrill frenzied yapping of a band of dogs, most
likely fighting over victuals. The hair on Molly’s arms stood on end, her heart
all but stopped; she stood frozen, afraid to allow the images to form in her
mind, yet unable to stop them. God,
please don’t let anything bad happen to Eddie . . . protect him.
A car drove past, tires screeched, a
horn blared, snapping Molly out of her reverie. She bolted to the front yard as
visions of Eddie sprawled in the middle of the road flooded her mind. A black
Suburban narrowly missed a beagle as he ambled across Grassy Knob Road. The
driver blew his horn once more then roared past. She darted inside the house,
grabbed the phone, and jabbed at the buttons.
Before Rusty could say “hello,” Molly
started shouting into the phone. “Rusty, come home! I can’t find Eddie! I’ve
looked everywhere—”
“Slow down, Molly!”
“I’ve looked in all his hiding places .
. . he’s nowhere to be found! It’ll be dark soon and I’m starting to get
scared.” Her breath came in quick sharp gasps.
“Calm down. He’s probably just playing
one of his games. You know how he is.”
Molly let out a heavy sigh, “Just come
home. Help me look for him. I heard coyotes . . . down by the lake. You don’t
think he’d wander to the lake by himself, do you?”
“No, I don’t. But I’ll come home and
help you hunt for him. He’ll probably show up before I get there. Try to stay
calm.”
Molly went back outside and searched the
backyard, the front yard, the neighbors’ yards; she even looked inside the boat
again. No Eddie.
As her fear mounted and the shadows grew
longer, she thought: This seemed like the
perfect place to raise a boy. Away from town where he would have room to
play, places to explore. Right now it doesn’t seem like such a great
place, maybe we should move away from the lake. The older Eddie gets, the
further he ventures away from the house. In town I’d be worrying about traffic,
strangers, rough kids . . . out here it’s wild animals, the woods. And the lake!
A deputy wearing a khaki-colored uniform
with razor-sharp creases stepped into the kitchen where Rusty sat across the
dining table from the sheriff. Molly paced the floor. “We’ve checked
everywhere, sir . . . no sign of the boy.”
Molly’s patience was wearing thin. She
turned and faced sheriff Lykins, “Don’t you think I’ve already checked and
double-checked around here? You should be looking in the woods! Down by the
lake! Put out a missing person’s report! Something besides looking where I’ve
already looked! You’re wasting time!”
Rusty reached for Molly’s hand. She
pulled it away.
The sheriff showed no indication that
Molly’s outburst offended him and he answered calmly, “You’d be surprised how
often we find a missing child asleep somewhere in the house or in the family
car. I know you’ve already checked, but sometimes a new pair of eyes helps.”
Molly stormed out of the kitchen.
Two deputies went door-to-door asking
neighbors if they’d seen Eddie, but none had. Many offered to help with the
search, some out of curiosity, and others out of concern, knowing how
heartbreaking it would be if one of their own children were missing. The
sheriff, three deputies, a K-9 Unit, and dozens of volunteers combed the area
around the Siebers’ house; half a mile in each direction, and down the ridge to
the shoreline of Beaver Lake. Molly wanted to join the search, but Sheriff
Lykins insisted she stay home so when Eddie was found she would be there;
besides, they needed someone to man the phone. Rusty made Molly promise to stay
put until he returned.
Nightfall came quick in the Ozark
Mountains. Molly stood at the window watching dozens of flashlights zigzag
through the forest, going behind trees then out again. The lights appear to be blinking;
it reminded her of stars twinkling in the night sky or fireflies on a summer
night. She heard Eddie’s name being shouted over and over. “Please, God, let them find my little
boy. And let him be all right.”
The ringing telephone startled Molly.
She grabbed the phone and heard a computerized female voice speaking—something
about lowering the cost of your auto insurance. She started to hang up but put
the phone to her ear once again, wanting to talk to someone, talk about Eddie
and what a special child he was; but the voice on the other end wasn’t a
person, just an insipid machine. The recording ended and Molly stood
statue-still, listening to the dial tone buzzing in her ear, but not really
hearing it. It seemed that there was one world connected to the phone line
where everything was normal and people went about their daily routines and
would soon be going to bed so they could start all over again tomorrow; then
there was the world outside the phone . . . her world, where nothing was normal
or routine, where her little two-year-old son, George Edward, was missing. How
long could he last out there without food? What if he falls in the lake? What
if the coyotes find him before the search party? What if he gets bitten by a
snake? What if . . . She let the phone slide away from her ear and slowly hung
it up.
“Would you like some tea?” Molly
hadn’t realized anyone else was in the house, and she didn’t remember ever
seeing the woman before. “I think it might do you some good. Have you eaten
anything?” The woman’s salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a tight bun.
“Huh? Oh, no, I haven’t. I can’t.” She
gawked at the plump woman wearing a dress that reminded Molly of her
grandmother and soiled tennis shoes with holes over the big toes.
“I’m Jo Peterson, Mrs. Sieber; most
people call me Mama-Jo. I live just up the road a piece. My husband, Ted, is
helping search for your little boy. Sheriff Lykins asked me to stay here with
you. I know how difficult this must be for you; I’ve got seven kiddos of my
own. Don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to one of them. If there’s
anything I can do for you, just let me know.”
Molly nodded and turned back to the
window. She could tell the search was near the water’s edge; the once-bright
flashlight beams were merely dim wisps of light bouncing off tree trunks and
leafy branches. There were fewer of them too; she figured they had spread out
to cover a long swath of the shoreline. A sob rose up and caught in her throat,
tears spilled down the front of her blouse.
The phone rang again.
“Would you like me to answer that, Mrs.
Sieber?” Mama-Jo asked.
Molly stood looking out the window,
hugging herself; she didn’t respond and made no move to answer the phone.
Mama-Jo picked it up.
“Sieber residence.” A pause, then,
“One moment, please.”
Jo put one hand over the mouthpiece of
the phone and held it out toward Molly. “They want to speak to you, Mrs.
Sieber.”
Molly didn’t turn around, “Who is it?”
“I think you better take the call,
ma’am.” Jo sounded grim.
“I don’t want to talk to anyone unless
they know something about Eddie.”
“I think they know something, ma’am.”
Molly jerked the phone away from Mrs.
Peterson, “Hello. Who is this?”
“Patty Wilkins, ma’am, I’m the
dispatcher at the sheriff’s office. We just received a call from the hospital
in Eureka Springs. A boy was found wandering on Mundel Road and a couple
driving by picked him up and took him to the hospital. We think he may be your
son.”
Molly’s heart pounded; she couldn’t
breathe, “Is he . . . all right?” She barely managed to get the words out
around the lump in her throat.
“I don’t know any details, ma’am. I’ve
already notified Sheriff Lykins, and he’s callin’ off the search.”
Molly handed the phone back to Jo and
darted to her bedroom, shouting as she went, “I’ve got to go to the hospital,
Eddie’s there. He needs his mommy.” Molly grabbed her purse and Eddie’s favorite
stuffed toy—a tan monkey named Bo, and ran back to the kitchen just as the back
door flew open. Face pale and eyes wide, Rusty pulled his wife into his
embrace. A moment passed while relief washed over them, then they dashed out
the door.
Molly was shocked to see her son’s face
covered with scratches and dried blood; a purple knot swelled the right side of
his forehead. A fluid-filled bag hung from a metal pole attached to the head of
Eddie’s bed, plastic IV tubing trailed from the bag to Eddie’s left arm. He’d
been admitted for observation and slept peacefully with the help of a mild
sedative. He looked so tiny in the adult-sized bed. Molly and Rusty dragged
chairs beside the bed where they would take turns keeping vigil all night.
When Molly opened her eyes, morning sun
filtered through the mini blinds on the hospital room window. Raising her head
off the bed wasn’t easy; her neck had grown stiff during the night. She turned
to look at her son; the white sheet was pulled up, concealing his face. Molly
gasped. “Eddie?”
Rusty startled awake and sat
motionless, staring at the sheet shrouding his son.
Suddenly, Eddie jerked the sheet away
from his beaming face and said, “I hide, mommy.”
Molly cried.
Rusty laughed.
Eddie giggled. ?
t
t t t
t t t t t t t t t
Answer
to question on page 3: President Ronald
Reagan
Answer
Key for Word Fun:
1.
E, 2. I,
3. J, 4. F, 5. H, 6.
D, 7. B, 8. A, 9. G, 10.
C
CONTEST:
The Fort
Bend Writers Guild (large organization in the Houston area) is holding their
annual writing contest. Entry Deadline
is August 30. They have divisions for
novel or screenplay, short story, personal essay, book review, and poetry. There is an entry fee for each, ranging from
$25 for the novel to $10 for book review and poetry (limit three poems – one
page each.) Others are $15. First place prizes are $500 for
novel/screenplay, $100 for short story, $50 for personal essay, and $25 for
book review and poetry.
For
additional information on this excellent contest, see www.fortbendwritersguild.org and
click on “Contests” at the top right of the opening page.
NETWO
P. O.
Box 411
Winfield,
TX 75493