[authorme] Publishing New Writers, February 2004
- From: "Bruce Cook, AuthorMe.com" <cookcomm@xxxxxxx>
- To: <authorme@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sun, 1 Feb 2004 17:38:09 -0600
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In this issue...
DON'T READ THIS!, BY Kenneth Mulholland
GROWING UP IN THE 12 TRIBES CULT, by Melissa
ADVANCED TECHNIQUES: SAY IT ONCE, SAY IT RIGHT, by Sandy
Tritt
Visit our Home Page. www.Author-Me.com!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
DON'T READ THIS!
by Ken Mulholland
Well hello!
So you've bothered to wander down this far.
Why?
There's nothing here worth bothering about.
O.K.
. . . . . .
Good grief!
Not still hanging around to see what's cooking?
. . . . . .
Alright! That does it!
So far I've said absolutely nothing, and yet you're still
here.
Well, what a pathetic way to introduce 'Hooks.'
Here, try saying this backward. 'hooked, bee, oil, well.'
Yes, that's right, it's an old Irish joke, and it has a much
ruder version,
something to do with 'beef', but we won't go there or Bruce
Cook will have
me flogged, keel-hauled and drawn and quartered.
(Not to mention being banned from Author Me)
Darn! I said 'Not to mention!'
. . . . . .
Anyway...
As I was about to say, the bed was thumping, and why
wouldn't it be?
Considering that two men and three women... or was it three
men and two
women?
Oh never mind that now, it's only a story about a pyjama
party
pillow-fight...maybe.
Oh sorry, did those few words get your attention?
Hooks.
Captain Hook.
Never smile at a crocodile.
Crocodiles!
What a great grabber!
. . . . . .
Alright! If you've made it this far, then let's talk about
'Hooks.'
A 'Hook' is supposed to be what makes a reader want to read
further.
(This is what the previous line actually is.)
By all accounts, it's the thing that an article, a story, a
novel, a
gang-buster trilogy hangs itself on.
Hooks come in all sizes. (Much like the fishing variety.)
They can be
subtle, 'His fingers curled about her lovely neck.' or
threatening, 'his
fingers curled about her pulsing throat!'
They can be lollies, 'Andy Pandy ended up, upside down, his
head jammed
firmly between Miss Golly's...iron garden gate. (They can
also be quite
naughty.)
Hooks, it is my contention, can come along at any point. Not
only are they
there to drag you in at a beginning, they can be employed
throughout a
writer's work, even to the conclusion. Indeed, I suspect
that one of the
better uses of a hook is at the end of a story. That's where
a writer wants
a reader to be intrigued to the point where they must
purchase the follow up
book.
And of course they are useful at the end of chapters,
leaving a reader
hanging. 'She couldn't hold on any longer. Her aching
fingers began to
slip...'
Also, there are the cliché hooks: 'Captain we have to
surface, or this man
will die!' 'It was a dark and stormy night.' 'Once upon a
time.'
And there are the classic end hooks: 'Louie, this could be
the beginning of
a beautiful friendship.' 'Oh, I'll have to think about that
tomorrow.'
'Shane! Shane! Come back Shane!'
Hooks abound in advertising and promotional material, real
estate, car
sales, insurance and almost anything you care to
consider...Even email.
BEWARE. Never open an email attachment without first
checking its sender.
The cost of a phone call can save you. Ring the sender. Or
else face the
prospect of losing all your precious writing, correspondence
and research.
Hookers, (No not that kind) Email hookers who want to cause
as much vexation
as they can, will offer you hooks to open attachments that
will invade your
computer with all kinds of viruses. I have seen at first
hand the
devastation such invasions can cause.
"Sure, but I know the sender's name: that's Steve, must be
Steve Benson.
I'll open the attachment...you know, only a little way."
(Yeah, right, like
being a little bit pregnant!) The temptation is great, just
to click the
mouse, after all who'd want to shut you down? It couldn't be
a virus, You've
never had one before. You might even wonder what it's like?
It's kind of
like seeing a sign on a park bench that says 'Wet paint.'
But is it still
wet? Better stick your fingers on to make sure...Yep, still
wet, damn! Only
this time it's more than just turpentine that you'll need.
Be aware always. The Hook that trawls, trawls for thee.
Don't be a poor
fish.
O.K. After the sermon, all I have left to say is that there
are good hooks
and bad hooks. For writers, the hooks that they attempt to
use will be as
useful as they make them. A story, a poem, a novel will have
to stand on its
own feet, no matter how good the hook.
The job of the hook is simply to grab the reader, or to hold
the reader
somewhere through the work and again, at the end.
I intend, with a single word at the conclusion of 'The
BlackEagle Girls,' to
demonstrate exactly what I mean.
Of course the hook is that you will have to read the tale to
determine if
the end hook works. Give it a try, you just might
get...well, I'll leave
that to you.
And now, you might say, who is this person? By what
criterion does he make
these statements? Why should we, the readers of this
Newsletter, take any
notice?
I say to you, that I am just as you. I am a writer. It makes
no difference
whether I am published, or you are published, I am simply
voicing my
thoughts so that you can read. It's called communication. If
you agree,
fine. if you don't, make a noise.
The classification is Writer. I write. You write.
Thus, we both do what we have to do.
Write!
By the way, I heard, and let's keep this just between us,
that when Bruce
Cook was about ten years old, he got his...
Hmm...Just, don't have enough time left to tell you.
Outta time, and outta here.
(Bruce, you'd better stay tuned...)
Ken Mulholland
Country Editor - Australia
AuthorMe.com Group
balloons_210a@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
GROWING UP IN THE 12 TRIBES CULT,
by Melissa
Melissa has asked to share this story as a warning - what
can happen if you
are trapped in a cult. We share this as a warning, and an
example of how
writing can serve an important purpose in society?.
I wanted to share my story of growing up in the Twelve
Tribes cult. I wanted
to share what it's really like on the inside.
I went there when I was only six years old with my mother,
brother and my
sister. I didn't have a choice in the matter for I was only
a child as we
all were. Thankfully we all have left except my mother. I
pray every day for
her safety and that one day she will be strong and leave as
well.
Growing up in a cult is very different from the outside
"real world" that I
was also told was evil. I often wondered why it was so
horrible and what it
would be like to leave but as I grew older I got more
courage and eventually
left. I started seeing a lot of hypocrisy as I got older and
wondered why I
was treated different from the other girls my age.
It was because my mother was single and they didn?t believe
that she was
capable of raising us on her own. This is something that
happens in a cult
with children that have only a single mother.
I wondered why some of these girls seemed to have so much
and why I never
was able to get anything. I became very angry and at times I
would steal
from others because I felt very wronged. I was forced to
become an adult at
the age of 12 and carried on a regular duty as the other
women in the house
such as cooking or caring for a mother that had just had a
baby.
I would not be allowed to things after "school" training
class with the
other girls, for I had to come home to cook dinner. I made
friends with the
adults, for I related to them and didn't feel right around
my peers. My
mother had no real say so in our lives.
I lived with other families and was tossed from house to
house. There was
this time that I was put into an empty room with a pillow
and blanket to lie
on and a glass so that I could go down to the bathroom to
get some water. I
was put there with no food all day and I was told that I
would not be let
out until I told the truth about playing with a doll that I
had found. I was
there all day and that night my mother came in and brought
me to my room to
go to bed.
The next day I was again placed in the empty room until I
gave in and told
them I had played with the doll. I was then paddled on my
butt with a paddle
that left welts that later turned to bruises.
Then there was this time that I was left with another couple
for a week when
I was sixteen because the couple that I was living with at
the time went out
of town. There were two things that happened in that week,
actually. I had a
crush on one of the single men there and the women had him
come over and
pull my pants down and had him paddle me on my butt to try
and make me not
have a crush any more. I was also paddled for asking one of
the women
visitors for a sanitary napkin because they made their own
and I was paddled
for asking her for one.
I remember times when I would be paddled so much that, when
I went to see my
mother, I was covered with black and blue marks all over my
body and she
would rub lotion on me to help them heal. I had no real
childhood and I was
never allowed to go on trips with others my age because I
had
responsibilities in the house, plus I would take over the
others things as
well while they got to go on trips. I would always pretend
to be happy
when inside I felt so much anger.
Then one day I had had enough and I had taken an over dose
of Tylenol
because I wanted to get out of my pain. I ended up being
taken to the
hospital where they pumped my stomach and I stayed for a
weekend. I went
back and that very next day I left and started a new life
for myself. I hope
my story helps others feel free to contact me for further
info. And that?s
what the Twelve Tribes are really all about.
These are just a couple of my stories if you would like to
know more feel
free to contact me for more info. Melissa
To contact Melissa, write us at 12tribes@xxxxxxxxxxxxx and
we will contact
her in your behalf.)
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
ADVANCED TECHNIQUES: SAY IT ONCE, SAY IT RIGHT
by Sandy Tritt
http://tritt.wirefire.com
Let?s face it. We?re writers because we love
words. We love the
way they sound and we love the way they roll off our
tongues. We love to
string them together and give meaning to our existence
through them. Words
are our babies. And one of the toughest things we must do as
professional
writers is to weed through these babies we?ve created and
eliminate those
that don?t pull their own weight. Yes, we are talking
infanticide here.
Killing our babies.
Redundancy is one of the carnal sins of writers.
We don?t trust
our words to do their job. We don?t trust our reader to
catch our meaning
the first time. So we repeat ourselves. Unfortunately, any
word that doesn?t
add to a story, detracts.
Now, before you slam this book shut on me, let
me offer an
alternative. For large groups of words that I just don?t
have the heart to
kill, I keep a file on my hard drive titled ?Babies.?
Whenever I write (what
I consider) beautiful prose that just doesn?t fit my story,
I cut it from my
manuscript and move it to my ?Babies? file. That way, I
don?t feel like a
murderer.
But for those little redundancies, the little
repetitions (like
in this sentence), the best alternative is death. Let?s take
a look at an
example:
Shelly sat cross-legged on the over-sized sofa.
Her life was
about to change. She peeked inside the envelope. The letter
in the envelope
was neatly folded. She took the letter out of the envelope
and opened it.
She was afraid of what it would say. She was scared that
Larry was giving
her the brush-off. Her trembling hands held the paper open.
With great
trepidation, she read the words that would change her life
forever. She
would never be the same again.
Okay, redundancy irritates us. Did the writer
think we were so
bored we had nothing better to do than read the same thought
over again? Or
did the writer just think we were too stupid to catch on to
what was
happening? My guess is that the writer was trying to slow
down the pacing
and became lazy.
Regardless of the reason, we, as writers, don?t
want to irritate
our readers. Therefore, we need to use care in choosing
words that best say
what we need to say, and then say those words once. We gotta
trust our words
to do their job and we gotta trust our reader to do his. So,
let?s revisit
Shelly?s letter and see what we can do with it:
Shelly sat cross-legged on the over-sized sofa
and peeked inside
the envelope. She removed the neatly folded letter and
opened it. Her hands
trembled as she read the words that would change her life
forever.
Well?it?s better, but we can see the need to
slow the pacing. To
do that, we can add one of the following to the paragraph:
· ?She wiped her palms on the shirt Larry had given
her.?
· Something to give the depth of her feelings: ?She
wouldn?t be able
to bear life without Larry.?
· The use of other senses: ?The letter smelled of Old
Spice. Shelly
took a deep whiff and imagined Larry sitting next to her,
holding her hand,
rubbing her knuckles, bringing her fingers to his lips for a
soft kiss.?
See Pacing previously in this section for more
ideas on
controlling the pacing.
Redundancy can also come in the form of a single
word or phrase.
For example, ?free gift? or ?sum total.? Entire websites are
devoted to
naming and eliminating these little nuisances.
Some writers repeat ideas in a list, such as,
?She was tired,
worn out, and exhausted.? Okay. Wouldn?t just saying she was
exhausted serve
the purpose? Better, say it more creatively and actively,
like, ?Exhaustion
hung to her like possums to their mama.? (just kidding!)
Be aware of repetition in your writing. Crisp
prose has no room
for it. So, the next time you feel like a redundancy, repeat
this to
yourself ten times:
Any word that doesn?t add to your prose,
detracts from it.
Any word that doesn?t add to your prose,
detracts from it.
Any word that doesn?t add to your prose,
detracts from it.
Any word that doesn?t add to your prose,
detracts from it.
Any word that doesn?t add to your prose,
detracts from it.
Any word that doesn?t add to your prose,
detracts from it.
Any word that doesn?t add to your prose,
detracts from it.
Any word that doesn?t add to your prose,
detracts from it.
Any word that doesn?t add to your prose,
detracts from it.
Any word that doesn?t add to your prose,
detracts from it.
Exercise: Say it Once, Say it Right
Give your hand a try at eliminating these redundancies (see
Section 6 for
possible solutions):
1. Janie had a tiny little hand.
2. Wilbur ate quickly, in a hurry, and rushed through
dinner.
3. Jacqueline looked at the old antique and quietly
whispered to the
neighbor next to her.
4. ?I don?t wanna go home!? she whined.
5. ?Don?t touch me,? she warned.
6. There was three seconds left on the clock. The arena was
quiet, totally
silent. Not a sound was heard anywhere. No one shouted. No
one breathed. No
one moved. Michael stood on the court and posed, then raised
his arms and
aimed the basketball at the net. He shot the basketball. It
left his hands
and in slow motion, it lifted into the weightless air, then
silently slid
through the net without so much as a swoosh. The quiet crowd
exploded with
cheers, catcalls, applause, clapping and screaming. With
less than a single
second left on the time clock, the Lakers stole the lead.
They won. They had
done it. (Hint: my solution to this one might surprise you)
(from Section 4 , Workbook)
Want more great tips and techniques? Our Inspiration for
Writers Tips and
Techniques Workbook is now available. Expanded tips, more
topics,
reproducible worksheets, exercises to practice what you
learn and much
more--check it out! Free shipping anywhere in the United
States.
(c) copyright 2002 by Sandy Tritt. All rights reserved,
except for those
listed here. May be reproduced for educational purposes
(such as for
writer's workshops), as long as this copyright notice and
the url:
http://tritt.wirefire.com are distributed with the pages.
For use in
conferences or other uses not mentioned here, please contact
Sandy Tritt at
tritt@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx for permission and additional
resources at no or
limited charge.
Keep writing!
Sandy Tritt
tritt@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sandy's website:
http://tritt.wirefire.com
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
AUTHOR-ME PAPERBACK - NOMAD: A REFUGEE POET
By Rais Neza Boneza
"Leave or Die," he was told. Driven from home by the
authorities in
République Démocratique du Congo, Rais Boneza escaped with
his family and
thousands of other dispossessed people. He shuffled from one
neighboring
country to the next: Burundi, Rwanda, and Uganda. Border
guards purloined
his writings. Arriving in Uganda he wrote again, creating
Nomad, a precious
collection of his hopes, dreams, and an outcry for the
conditions he sees in
the land he loves. Read his verses and experience the hidden
misery faced by
a refugee in a land of political strife, bloodshed, and yet
? a brilliant
promise.
For more info.... http://www.cookcom.net/Nomad.htm
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Publishing New Writers, February, 2004 (No. 502 )
Publisher Bruce L. Cook, P.O. Box 451, Dundee, IL 60118 USA.
Fax (847)
428-8974.
Submissions and comments to cookcomm@xxxxxxxx Links are
welcome. To receive
monthly e-mail copies of this periodical, go to:
www.Author-Me.com/member.html
To review our archive of past issues, go to
www.Author-Me.com/newslist.htm.
Go Back in Time...
Check out our new all-immersion Life of Jesus (Part 1) from
David C. Cook
III. Visit www.galleyproof.com/religion.html
AuthorMe.com is dedicated to the memory of David C. Cook III
Visit our sister websites...
www.AuthorMe.com
www.WorldSundaySchool.com
www.AuthorMark.com
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