The meeting began with a discussion, as always. This week an
article out of the FWA dealt with editors, what they’ll do and won’t do. Cool
huh? An Editor in our group applauded the article as it set forth some salient
points. Editors do not write your story; they simply make sure you write it
with the skill and talent you are blessed with. Some editors specialize in
various areas like using proper punctuation and grammar. A very specialized
editor may indeed help with pointing out areas in your piece which have
problems in the manner they are worded or where improper words are used; i.e. there
or their, etc. Even the best of us need
someone to read over our work and point out those obvious errors we make, I
like to blame the auto-spell function; it’s the most maligned feature on the
computer.
A quick read of a second article about Flash Fiction brought
forth a second discussion, though considerably shorter than normal. GET IT?
The reading portion of our meeting was led off by Jim Kelly.
His historical fiction story is considered fiction only in the dialog portions,
as there are sparse references to the language used by Civil War soldiers and
officers in the heat of battle. Jim’s story follows General Hancock throughout
his career and this chapter follows the conclusion of the Battle of Gettysburg.
Wounded, gravely but not mortally, Hancock directs his troops from a litter
while medics tend to his wounds. Jim’s descriptions of sights, sounds, and
odors surrounding a battlefield bring the readers into the fray and make them
want more.
Mailboxes, poetical prose penned by Peter Frickel,
especially when read by the author in his audibly pleasing baritone and
cultured diction, gave us a new outlook on inanimate objects. The piece looks
at every conceivable subject a mailbox might encounter. Damage to the mailbox
and its contents, critique of neighboring boxes and their construction, weather,
animals and their interactions with the mailbox and its post, and the content
of the box’s contents, was most interesting. Great job Peter, show us more.
Cuba, that island 90 miles off Florida’s southernmost Key
West is the setting for Jeff Kutcher’s story of a friend’s life. Amaury’s grandmother
lived on a small farm bordering an old road in the heart of Cuba’s agrarian
culture. In the days before Castro, the road was patrolled by Batista’s soldiers.
The Farmer’s hard lives were made even harder by the demanding corruption of
the regime and overbearing soldiers. Keep going Jeff, I’m anxious to read the
finished product.
Ernie Ovitz is working on some changes and housekeeping on
the Constantine project but fills in by reading excerpts from his dystopian
work, The Rock. In this week’s excerpt, Michael meets Julia, a retired
federal prosecutor turned reality television judge who is very popular. She is
tough, self-reliant and smart. Their relationship is testy at first but blossoms
with time. Stay tuned for more of Ernie’s off-center story. Good stuff!
When Scott Anderson opened his folder containing 5 little poems
a hush fell over the room. Flat Cap, those little caps golfers wore
(some still do), brought Scott’s memories to the fore, plaid, wool for warmth,
and an Austin Healey still fill his dreams. Oil Painting, through the
eyes of two viewers, present two distinct objects in two minds. When Circus
brings out memories of our youth, we love the elephants. Date Night and the
Ballet inspires a man to love his wife even more than before. Finally, Water
Wings gives a child’s sense of security. Scott, your work gives me chills,
don’t stop.
The Dreamer, written 30 years ago and The Realist,
written last week, show Don Westerfield’s range when read side by side. The
wishful thinking and whimsical ideas of one complement the harsh thoughts and
dark happening in the other bring a balance not often shown by a writer in one
sitting. As always, Don. You rock.
Ed Ellis’s wife has her hands full when they go to Disney
World, well actually anywhere. On a recent trip, she had some shopping to do while
Ed wanted to sit and write in a café. Upon requesting a seat by the window, the
hostess asked his name. Ed was not in the mood to be serious. Without much
thought, he said, “Peter Bacharacharoca.” Having to repeat it several times, he
almost forgot what he said to start with, he settled in and began to write.
When his wife came to retrieve him, she asks for Ed Ellis. “Nobody by that name
here,” was the hostess’s reply, “but we do have Mr. Bacharacharoca in the front
room.” A gleam of realization sparked, Ed’s wife said, “That’s probably him.”
Ed’s day of quiet writing was over. Ed, you never cease to amaze us, and
yourself, I think.
A retired pilot, Bruce Haedrich, brought us a piece about
airplanes which sees the machine through a pilot’s eyes. Here, as in a previous
piece, an inanimate object becomes a living being. The hydraulics, cables,
engines, and electrics become organs giving life to a huge creature controlled
by a single brain, it's pilot. With Bruce’s narrative, I could feel the wind,
sense resistance in the levers, and hear the heartbeat of a living machine.
Well done Bruce, well done indeed.
Time grows short and we must close for the night. We’ll be
back here in October, the second to be exact. Join us if you can, all are
welcome. If you can’t be here, check out this blog as soon as I get around to writing
it again. I’ll try to be quicker next time. Until then, Keep on Writing.
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