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Re: 2012 Benchmark

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  • Susan Donahue
    Dear Wings, Well said! Let s see where those little gray cells will take us. This past year, I have spent less time writing and more time with yarn and
    Message 1 of 11 , Jan 3, 2012
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      Dear Wings,

      Well said! Let's see where those little gray cells will take us.

      This past year, I have spent less time writing and more time with yarn and crochet hooks. It is amazing how much more apprecitive my friends and family are of the scarves, mittens, shawls and caps I gave them than they ever were for for the poems and pages of prose I produced with far greater effort. (Pearls before swine, as Grandma used to say.)

      I think I have that out of my system for a while, so I can get back to the craft I love.

      Suzianne


      --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "Wings081" <wings081@...> wrote:
      >
      > 2012 Benchmark
      >
      > Writers and poets of t2w, make 2012 the year we see your work on the bookshelves of the world.
      >
      > Towards the end of the 90s last century, I would entertain a group of writers at my home some evenings to discuss and critique our written words.
      > During one session a young lady asked me what I thought of this new writer J.K.Rowling. I answered that I considered her work unsuitable for young children who might try to emulate the characters by jumping out of windows, expecting to fly. "It will never replace such books as The Wind in The willows,but with modern trends of violence I expect it may even do fairly well"
      > How wrong I was for although Harry Potter & the philosopher's stone had a first run of 500 copies, the very next book The Chamber of Secrets had a first run of 10,000,In 1997.
      > To date Harry Potter stories have sold over 400 million copies and been declared the best selling book in history.
      >
      > Great effort young lady, but I humbly beg to differ;
      > The best selling book of all time is THE HOLY BIBLE with a print of 100 million each year and by 1992 it is estimated that since the first was printed by Johann (very close to Ms Rowlings given name)Gutenberg, the total now exceeds 7.5 billion.
      > So what am I trying to tell you?
      > From a single mum writer, subsisting on government handouts in the late nineties of last century, five years later JKR became a multi millionaire philanthropist.
      > You can each do the same if you put your mind to it.So let your New Year resolution be: "I will try harder to shake up the grey matter, sieve out the dross and place what's left, double spaced, on paper.
      > Perhaps I should end with a quote from the Good Book on words and their enduring quality. Jesus said: "The heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall never pass away" (Mark 13:31)
      > (Not bad for a sinner who hasn't entered his local church since a neighbour's funeral two years ago.)
      > As Always
      > Wings
      >
    • Pauline Hamilton
      Hi Wings, As you have so eloquently thrown down the gauntlet, I am going to choose to pick it up and this year, 2012, will be my year to get published. My
      Message 2 of 11 , Jan 3, 2012
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        Hi Wings,
        As you have so eloquently thrown down the gauntlet, I am going to choose to pick it up and this year, 2012, will be my year to get published.

        My manuscript has been finished for the past three years, and this year I am going to doggedly submit to publishers and agents and knock on doors, proverbial or not, until someone either tells me that I couldn't write my way out of a paper bag, or publishes me.

        I have started the rewrite in the past two months, so I figure at my current rate of
        progress I should be ready to submit by the end of March.

        So, if everyone could cross their toes for me please (its far too long to keep fingers crossed, especially for a bunch of writers), and I will let you know how I progress.

        Thanks for the challenge Wings,
        Happy New Year,
        Pauline

        ------------------------------
        On Wed, Jan 4, 2012 05:23 NZDT Wings081 wrote:

        >2012 Benchmark
        >
        >Writers and poets of t2w, make 2012 the year we see your work on the bookshelves of the world.
        >
        >Towards the end of the 90s last century, I would entertain a group of writers at my home some evenings to discuss and critique our written words.
        >During one session a young lady asked me what I thought of this new writer J.K.Rowling. I answered that I considered her work unsuitable for young children who might try to emulate the characters by jumping out of windows, expecting to fly. "It will never replace such books as The Wind in The willows,but with modern trends of violence I expect it may even do fairly well"
        >How wrong I was for although Harry Potter & the philosopher's stone had a first run of 500 copies, the very next book The Chamber of Secrets had a first run of 10,000,In 1997.
        >To date Harry Potter stories have sold over 400 million copies and been declared the best selling book in history.
        >
        >Great effort young lady, but I humbly beg to differ;
        >The best selling book of all time is THE HOLY BIBLE with a print of 100 million each year and by 1992 it is estimated that since the first was printed by Johann (very close to Ms Rowlings given name)Gutenberg, the total now exceeds 7.5 billion.
        >So what am I trying to tell you?
        >From a single mum writer, subsisting on government handouts in the late nineties of last century, five years later JKR became a multi millionaire philanthropist.
        >You can each do the same if you put your mind to it.So let your New Year resolution be: "I will try harder to shake up the grey matter, sieve out the dross and place what's left, double spaced, on paper.
        >Perhaps I should end with a quote from the Good Book on words and their enduring quality. Jesus said: "The heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall never pass away" (Mark 13:31)
        >(Not bad for a sinner who hasn't entered his local church since a neighbour's funeral two years ago.)
        >As Always
        >Wings
        >
        >
      • jbram98
        Dear Pauline, My fingers are crossed for you! Funny thing about this business: good things happen very unexpectedly when you re down and think you re out.
        Message 3 of 11 , Jan 4, 2012
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          Dear Pauline,

          My fingers are crossed for you! Funny thing about this business: good things happen very unexpectedly when you're down and think you're out. Persistence alone is the omnipotent key (how's that for a well-mixed metaphor?). G'luck,

          John

          http://johnbramhall.tripod.com/

          --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, Pauline Hamilton <phamilton66nz@...> wrote:
          >
          >
          > Hi Wings,
          > As you have so eloquently thrown down the gauntlet, I am going to choose to pick it up and this year, 2012, will be my year to get published.
          >
          > My manuscript has been finished for the past three years, and this year I am going to doggedly submit to publishers and agents and knock on doors, proverbial or not, until someone either tells me that I couldn't write my way out of a paper bag, or publishes me.
          >
          > I have started the rewrite in the past two months, so I figure at my current rate of
          > progress I should be ready to submit by the end of March.
          >
          > So, if everyone could cross their toes for me please (its far too long to keep fingers crossed, especially for a bunch of writers), and I will let you know how I progress.
          >
          > Thanks for the challenge Wings,
          > Happy New Year,
          > Pauline
          >
          > ------------------------------
          > On Wed, Jan 4, 2012 05:23 NZDT Wings081 wrote:
          >
          > >2012 Benchmark
          > >
          > >Writers and poets of t2w, make 2012 the year we see your work on the bookshelves of the world.
          > >
          > >Towards the end of the 90s last century, I would entertain a group of writers at my home some evenings to discuss and critique our written words.
          > >During one session a young lady asked me what I thought of this new writer J.K.Rowling. I answered that I considered her work unsuitable for young children who might try to emulate the characters by jumping out of windows, expecting to fly. "It will never replace such books as The Wind in The willows,but with modern trends of violence I expect it may even do fairly well"
          > >How wrong I was for although Harry Potter & the philosopher's stone had a first run of 500 copies, the very next book The Chamber of Secrets had a first run of 10,000,In 1997.
          > >To date Harry Potter stories have sold over 400 million copies and been declared the best selling book in history.
          > >
          > >Great effort young lady, but I humbly beg to differ;
          > >The best selling book of all time is THE HOLY BIBLE with a print of 100 million each year and by 1992 it is estimated that since the first was printed by Johann (very close to Ms Rowlings given name)Gutenberg, the total now exceeds 7.5 billion.
          > >So what am I trying to tell you?
          > >From a single mum writer, subsisting on government handouts in the late nineties of last century, five years later JKR became a multi millionaire philanthropist.
          > >You can each do the same if you put your mind to it.So let your New Year resolution be: "I will try harder to shake up the grey matter, sieve out the dross and place what's left, double spaced, on paper.
          > >Perhaps I should end with a quote from the Good Book on words and their enduring quality. Jesus said: "The heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall never pass away" (Mark 13:31)
          > >(Not bad for a sinner who hasn't entered his local church since a neighbour's funeral two years ago.)
          > >As Always
          > >Wings
          > >
          > >
          >
        • Wings081
          Dear Suzi Put aside those Knitting needles and pick up your pen. You have two great attributes;Knowledge and ability with the written word, which has been
          Message 4 of 11 , Jan 5, 2012
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            Dear Suzi
            Put aside those Knitting needles and pick up your pen.
            You have two great attributes;Knowledge and ability with the written word, which has been displayed many times on this site for more than ten years.
            Face facts young lady; you may be a milliner of repute among your nearest and dearest but you should follow your heart and share your literary talent with the rest of us.
            Happy new Year
            As ever
            Wings
          • Wings081
            Dear Pauline Re. My manuscript has been finished for the past three years I have manuscripts almost finished since way back in 2002. One was a trilogy
            Message 5 of 11 , Jan 5, 2012
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              Dear Pauline
              Re."My manuscript has been finished for the past three years"
              I have manuscripts almost finished since way back in 2002.
              One was a trilogy covering the years 1916 through to 1950.
              Another, a childrens' adventure series, was ready for the word Go at
              just before JKR and Harry Potter hit the streets.So what gives me the authority to nag others when my office walls are papered with rejection slips.
              Let's see a sample of your Ms for us to offer an honest critique
              or proof read before you submit to your agent.
              Tell you what: Let me see yours and I'll let you see mine.
              As always
              Wings
            • Pauline Hamilton
              Dear Wings, Now I never could refuse a challenge... Two questions: How much would you like to see? And would you like it as an attachment or in the body of an
              Message 6 of 11 , Jan 5, 2012
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                Dear Wings,

                Now I never could refuse a challenge...

                Two questions: How much would you like to see? And would you like it as an attachment or in the body of an email?

                The full manuscript is 72000 words, and 22 chapters..

                You can send me your whole manuscript if you like, I love to read :-)

                I only have three rejection slips.. I must get the full set :-)

                Thanks,

                Pauline

                From: Wings081 <wings081@...>
                To: ticket2write@yahoogroups.com
                Sent: Thursday, January 5, 2012 12:07 PM
                Subject: [ticket2write] Re: 2012 Benchmark Pauline 40983)

                 
                Dear Pauline
                Re."My manuscript has been finished for the past three years"
                I have manuscripts almost finished since way back in 2002.
                One was a trilogy covering the years 1916 through to 1950.
                Another, a childrens' adventure series, was ready for the word Go at
                just before JKR and Harry Potter hit the streets.So what gives me the authority to nag others when my office walls are papered with rejection slips.
                Let's see a sample of your Ms for us to offer an honest critique
                or proof read before you submit to your agent.
                Tell you what: Let me see yours and I'll let you see mine.
                As always
                Wings



              • Wings081
                Dear Pauline Re. How much would I like to see Pick a favourite chapter and let us all check it out. As for mine; I should warn you, Donna was written during
                Message 7 of 11 , Jan 6, 2012
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                  Dear Pauline
                  Re. "How much would I like to see"
                  Pick a favourite chapter and let us all check it out.
                  As for mine; I should warn you,"Donna" was written during my
                  graphic sexuality stage of putting together words of titilation.
                  However I tried to convey this in a tender way apart from one scene of rape.
                  I adore my opposite gender and still count many beautiful females among my close companions, from ages 18 to 80.
                  Don't be alarmed, for you will never ever find words which will upset a Carmelite nun or maiden aunt.There are so many alternative expressions in our mother tongue that the 'F' word is redundant when describing the ultimate action of physical relationship between a man and his chosen paramour.

                  While I'm on the subject:I trust the whole membership of t2w is aware of my affinity to America and the American dream, but I cannot condone the use of the phrase in US films: 'Mother F' suggesting the recipient of those words is conducting an incestual relationship with the women who gave them life.

                  I complain bitterly to the media but their reply is: "We depict it as true to life" Well I spent many years during the 40s of last century, among servicemen from the Air Force and Army, so I know all the words but that doesn't make it mandatory to utter derogatory remarks about the woman responsible for my very existence.

                  Think I'd better pack this in whilst I'm ahead.
                  Look forward to reading your work on site Pauline
                  As always
                  Wings.

                  --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, Pauline Hamilton <phamilton66nz@...> wrote:
                  >
                  > Dear Wings,
                  >
                  >
                  > Now I never could refuse a challenge...
                  >
                  > Two questions: How much would you like to see? And would you like it as an attachment or in the body of an email?
                  >
                  >
                  > The full manuscript is 72000 words, and 22 chapters..
                  >
                  >
                  > You can send me your whole manuscript if you like, I love to read :-)
                  >
                  > I only have three rejection slips.. I must get the full set :-)
                  >
                  >
                  > Thanks,
                  >
                  >
                  > Pauline
                  >
                  >
                  > ________________________________
                  > From: Wings081 <wings081@...>
                  > To: ticket2write@yahoogroups.com
                  > Sent: Thursday, January 5, 2012 12:07 PM
                  > Subject: [ticket2write] Re: 2012 Benchmark Pauline 40983)
                  >
                  >
                  >  
                  > Dear Pauline
                  > Re."My manuscript has been finished for the past three years"
                  > I have manuscripts almost finished since way back in 2002.
                  > One was a trilogy covering the years 1916 through to 1950.
                  > Another, a childrens' adventure series, was ready for the word Go at
                  > just before JKR and Harry Potter hit the streets.So what gives me the authority to nag others when my office walls are papered with rejection slips.
                  > Let's see a sample of your Ms for us to offer an honest critique
                  > or proof read before you submit to your agent.
                  > Tell you what: Let me see yours and I'll let you see mine.
                  > As always
                  > Wings
                  >
                • Pauline Hamilton
                  Dear Wings, I had missed this post.. I have copied below, the Prologue and the first two chapters, and would appreciate any feedback anyone can give. Your book
                  Message 8 of 11 , Jan 8, 2012
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                    Dear Wings,
                    I had missed this post.. I have copied below, the Prologue and the first two chapters, and would appreciate any feedback anyone can give. Your book sounds great, I have to say my manuscript is entirely sexless, the main character having being recently bereaved, however there is a romantic suggestion that threads through the book.. I too hate the expletives that fill today's popular literature, so you won't find very much bad language used at all.. maybe publishers would find it lack lustre, but I dont use bad language much myself, and I don't mix with people who do, so that's my opinion on the subject.. anyway... here's the beginning of Murder at the Mull of Kintyre.. I posted the prologue some time last year, so you may remember it, in which case just skip through it..

                    Thanks,

                    Pauline 

                    Murder st the Mull of Kintyre
                    Prologue

                    A solitary figure pounded his way rhythmically to the ultimate peak of his journey. Even wearing a tracksuit, there was no disguising the taut muscular build of a premium athlete. The steep incline did not deter the figure’s steady progress, the muscles in his legs stretching the fabric covering them tight with every stride. As he reached the top, his speed did not alter, he merely checked his elaborate wrist monitor, checking the time and mentally calculating his estimated arrival at his final destination. He took a second glance at his heart monitor, noting as he did an increase of his blood pressure. He frowned slightly as he noted the elevated reading.
                    The Mull of Kintyre lay some six miles behind him, and the picturesque southern tip of the Kintyre Peninsula stretched out below him, beautiful crescent shaped white sandy bays, protected from the Atlantic Sea by small tree covered islands. He enjoyed running in this solitude, training for the next marathon, even in the cool temperatures November brings to the Scottish West Coast. There was something indefinably satisfying about the frostbitten browning of the heather against the intense almost blue colour of the evergreen Sitka Spruce trees, the rhythmic sound of his feet pounding the asphalt road filling the air, only occasionally accompanied by the sounds of livestock grazing the heather-clad hills. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh crispness of rural air.
                    He checked his monitor again – still elevated, and, unusually, his pulse had also begun to race. Strange, he thought, this journey doesn’t usually present a problem. Perhaps it was that large lunch. He shrugged his backpack higher on his shoulders, slowly his pace slightly.
                    The lunch meeting.. His thoughts turned to this afternoon’s events.
                    Funding for another year for the football team,” he thought contentedly, “Wait until I tell the boys!”
                    The mental picture of their excited faces brought a smile to his face. He loved coaching, even if it was a struggle to raise funding each year. The Kintyre Chiefs weren’t the type of team to attract benefactors easily — a group of teenagers joined together more by enthusiasm than by talent.
                    A sudden wave of nausea interrupted his contemplation.
                    Stupid to have had such a big lunch before training,” he thought, slowing until the nausea subsided. He inhaled deeply, picking up the pace once more. He could see the only farmhouse on the remote road faintly in the distance, with its adjoining sheds, a white interruption in the brown and green tartan-like landscape.
                    Two miles to the farmhouse,” he thought, “then I’ll phone Mariah to come and collect me. I can’t run in this condition.”
                    A second, more violent wave of nausea gripped him. He groaned and vomited violently at the base of the stone wall lining the road. “Must go on,” he moaned.
                    A cow grazing in the field above the road, lifted her head, watching this foreign invader as he leaned against the wall. She mooed loudly at him before returning her head to the grass.
                    He struggled to pull himself upright, trying to focus on the road before him.
                    Two miles,“ he muttered.
                    He began to stagger towards the farmhouse, waves of nausea severely impeding the progress of his muscular frame. The road swayed in front of him, as another violent bout of vomiting left him struggling to move. Suddenly excruciating pain crossed his chest in vice-like grip, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
                    Help!” he cried, leaning heavily against the wall, forcing one foot to move in front of the other.
                    The cow lifted her head once more, moving nearer the fence to watch the unfolding drama. She mooed at him again.
                    The pain eased and he took several steps, guided by the wall, as road and sky merged in yellowed haze. The vice-like grip returned, crushing his chest and he leaned heavily against the wall, but here its strength failed him.
                    Mariah!” he cried, as the wall gave way, and he tumbled down a steep field. Over and over he rolled, cries of pain filling the air.
                    Then, suddenly, silence.
                    The cow shifted her head, and, unable to see the stranger any more, returned to a tasty clump of grass she had noticed earlier.
                    It was several hours before the cow was to see another human being. The farmer arrived promptly at 4.30pm to round up the cows for milking. He opened the gate to the field where Bessie had been grazing. As she moved through the gate, she shook her head towards the broken stone wall.
                    She mooed loudly at him.
                    The farmer followed the toss of her head with his eyes. “Yes, Bessie, the wall’s finally given way. I’ll be up in the spring to fix it, girl.”
                    She mooed loudly at him again, shaking her head more violently this time.
                    Yes, Bessie. In the spring,” repeated the farmer, slapping her on the rump, “But not now, there’s snow on the way.”

                    Chapter 1

                    Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.
                    The word ricocheted around Mariah’s mind in strange accompaniment to her footsteps, as she made her way home along Campbeltown’s loch. February’s wintry weather offered no consolation: although it had been dry when she left work, a sudden change had brought a light rain was accompanied by a stiff wind, driving it harshly into the side of her face.
                    Anyone else would have felt its stinging attack and complained: the grieving Mariah, lost in thought, barely noticed it was raining. As she turned the corner to Askomil Walk on the final stretch home, the wind made an even stronger attack, and she lowered her head to battle towards the Victorian villa she called home.
                    Moving in the opposite direction, the tall lean figure of a man could be made out. He too was battling the elements, and a casual observer — had there been one — would have warned the two figures as they approached each other. The weather being what it was, combined with the preoccupation of both individuals, quickly led to the inevitable: the two collided, Mariah landing on the ground, her groceries, now freed from her grasp, landing on the ground initially, then picked up by the wind in final insult and flung across the road.
                    Milk, eggs, and flour were mixing together on the ground, the young auburn haired woman before him was coated in flour whipped by the wind, and his own clothes were equally affected. He would have laughed, but at that moment, he caught a glimpse of her grief-stricken face. Suddenly all humour disappeared.
                    Mariah sat where she landed — her grief, so well hidden throughout the past three months, now came bubbling to the surface and she buried her face in her hands and began to sob.
                    “It’s no use crying over spilt milk,” the stranger said, in a desperate attempt to mask his discomfort. He instantly chided himself — why say something so inane? He always resorted to humour when embarrassed, and now he was also irritated at himself for not seeing her soon enough to avoid collision.
                    He reached down, and assisted her to her feet by her elbows. She was still sobbing into her hands as he led her to a nearby bus shelter, removing them from the relentless attack of the wind and rain. She leaned against him, grabbing his suit-front.
                    Everything’s wrong. It’s all gone so horribly wrong,” sobbed Mariah, slowly becoming conscious of the man she was so desperately clinging to, and gasping deep breaths of air in an effort to control her hysteria. Mascara rivers coursed their way down her cheeks.
                    “Come on, it can’t be that bad. It’s only groceries, after all,” he said.
                    For the first time, Mariah glanced at the man seated beside her. He was around her own age — mid-thirties, she guessed — with dark hair and rugged good looks. Brown eyes looked down into her blue ones as she struggled to control her emotions, and she cast him a watery smile. Then she caught sight of his expensively cut suit, now finely coated in flour, and she felt the colour begin to rise in her face.
                    “No. You’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you for being so kind.” Mariah got up from the seat, and without a second glance resumed her walk.
                    He was startled by her sudden departure.
                    Can you tell me your name?” he called out to her, but the words were either lost in the wind, or she chose not to hear him. He glanced down at the now thickened flour on his suit, made a vain attempt to brush it off, then stood for a moment watching her retreating figure before also resuming his journey.

                    Chapter 2

                    The door slammed shut behind Mariah, her attempt at a quiet entry to the house foiled by the brisk, cold westerly wind. After colliding with a stranger, losing her groceries and becoming flour coated in the process, the last thing she wanted to do was make detailed explanations. But luck was not with her today. As she walked into the hallway, she met Janet, the housekeeper, coming down the stairs.
                    “Ach, lass. What have you been at?“ Janet’s glance took in Mariah’s flour- coated jacket and red-rimmed eyes. The twenty-minute walk home had done nothing to improve Mariah’s state of mind, or the state of her clothes, and the flour was now well past being able to be brushed off, mixed with rain to a thick white paste.
                    I’m fine, Janet. Just an accident with the groceries, that’s all. You should see the other guy.” Mariah’s attempt at humour fell flat. Janet knew her too well.
                    You’ve been crying.” There was no disguising Janet’s approval. She had wondered when Mariah’s grief would finally surface, and she was glad to see it. Perhaps it marked the beginning of an acceptance that Mark would never be home again.
                    Mark, Mariah’s husband, had disappeared one night after work. A nurse at one of the local rest homes, Mark had a passion for fitness, and was training for the London marathon, often going for long solitary runs before returning home. He had disappeared after leaving work to go on one of these runs on a clear autumn evening in November. Despite police and community efforts, Mark had not been seen again.
                    It had broken Mariah. Over the past three months, Janet had watched the light leave her eyes. With no body or burial to help resolve her grief, Mariah had tried to continue on as normal, working as manager of one of the local pharmacies, Kintyre Pharmacy, but she had fooled no one. She refused to talk about Mark, and the small town was concerned about their local pharmacist, who had become distant and withdrawn.
                    “Yes, Janet, I’ve been crying, but there’s no need to look so pleased about it.” Mariah tried to sound annoyed, but to her horror the end of the sentence wavered as emotion once again overwhelmed her. Tears welled up in her eyes for the second time that day.
                    “O god, Janet, he’s not coming back, is he?”
                    “No, lassie, he’s not.” The words were softened as Janet wrapped her arms around Mariah, and sat on the bottom stair with her as the dam of pent-up emotion finally broke. Mariah sobbed for several hours, and, as the light disappeared from the hall, Janet knew that now Mariah could begin to piece her life together as she started the grieving process so long delayed after Mark’s disappearance.
                    *
                    Doctor David Graham looked ruefully down at his suit, covered in flour, now thickened by the persistent rain. Like Mariah, he too, hoped to avoid question as he entered the house, but he knew his sister Drew, and she was hardly going to let the state of his suit pass by without comment. Perhaps if he removed his jacket she would be less likely to notice the flour on his trousers, but then again, knowing Drew, her first question would be about why he was not wearing a jacket in February, and especially on a wild day like this.
                    He debated returning to the car and changing his jacket for the jersey lying across the back seat, but at that moment he saw the curtains twitch and knew it was too late. He’d been spotted. There was nothing else to do: he would just have to make the best of it. He inhaled deeply before opening the gate and striding toward the semi-detached Georgian house that Drew and her husband Gordon called home. The door opened before he reached it, and Drew’s tall, slender figure came running down the path, arms outstretched. David smiled as he saw her coming: Drew never worried about the weather. Any other woman would be waiting in the house, but not his younger sister. He hastened his step, meeting her halfway.
                    What have you been doing?” Drew stopped short of wrapping her arms around him as she surveyed the white, sticky spots covering his suit.
                    Nothing, Drew.” He smiled at her predictability. “Come on, let’s go inside. It’s too cold to stand out here and talk.”
                    Okay, but as soon as you get inside, you’re telling me the whole story.” She grinned at him, and, linking her arm through his, they entered the house. The fragrance of roasting meat met them as they entered, and reminded David of just how long he’d been travelling. Campbeltown was a good three and a half hours journey from Glasgow, and as he had been keen to arrive as soon as possible, he had left without having breakfast.
                    “That food smells great, Drew. Any chance of some now? I’m starving.” He hoped to distract her mind from his suit. He couldn't explain his reticence, even to himself, but there was just something about the event that disturbed him. He wanted to know more about the woman he had collided with, but his strong aversion to gossip left him wanting to keep the episode quiet.
                    Sure,” said Drew, “Did you bring any bags, or just that dirty old suit?” Drew was enjoying herself. She could always sense when David was trying to avoid discussing something, and it made the challenge of getting information from him even sweeter.
                    My suitcase is in the car. I left it further down the road to find your house, and on the way up, crashed into a woman carrying groceries.” He smiled wryly, plucking at sticky bits of flour as he spoke. “That’s some wind you get up here.”
                    So what was she like, this woman?” Drew ignored the attempt to distract her.
                    David brushed aside Drew’s question. “Can I borrow some of Gordon’s clothes until I bring my cases in? That way I can wait until the weather’s better before going back to the car.”
                    Fine.” Drew sighed, accepting a temporary defeat. She knew she wasn’t going to get any more out of David; his face had that ‘you can ask all you like, but you won’t get anywhere’ look, and Drew knew better than to persevere, but she couldn’t resist one last dig. “Much better to wait until the wind’s died down — you never know who else might be hanging around with groceries to throw at you.”
                    David laughed. Drew looked at him, realizing again just how handsome her brother was. It has always been a mystery to her that he had never met anyone he’d taken seriously. It hadn’t been due to her lack of trying. Most of her friends in school and university had been desperate to gain his attention, but he hadn’t returned any of their obvious admiration. She picked up one of Gordon’s sweaters and threw it to him.
                    There’s a clean pair of jeans on our bed upstairs, first door on the right. Just help yourself. Your rooms on the left. I’ll serve lunch while you’re changing.”
                    “Thanks, Drew. I won’t be long.” David bounded up the elegant staircase, congratulating himself on his swift maneuvering away from Drew’s inquisitive mind. His unusual welcoming to Campbeltown was still very clear in his mind, and in particular the woman at the center of it. He wanted to find out more about her before he spoke to Drew. As much as he loved Drew, she was an insufferable matchmaker and insatiable gossip, and he guessed that the mystery woman would want to forget the embarrassment of becoming flour-coated while walking home as much as he did. And he also knew that in a small town such as this he would eventually meet her somewhere else. Perhaps then he would have a chance to be introduced. At least, he hoped so.
                    *



                    From: Wings081 <wings081@...>
                    To: ticket2write@yahoogroups.com
                    Sent: Friday, January 6, 2012 11:05 AM
                    Subject: [ticket2write] Re: 2012 Benchmark (Pauline 40987)

                     
                    Dear Pauline
                    Re. "How much would I like to see"
                    Pick a favourite chapter and let us all check it out.
                    As for mine; I should warn you,"Donna" was written during my
                    graphic sexuality stage of putting together words of titilation.
                    However I tried to convey this in a tender way apart from one scene of rape.
                    I adore my opposite gender and still count many beautiful females among my close companions, from ages 18 to 80.
                    Don't be alarmed, for you will never ever find words which will upset a Carmelite nun or maiden aunt.There are so many alternative expressions in our mother tongue that the 'F' word is redundant when describing the ultimate action of physical relationship between a man and his chosen paramour.

                    While I'm on the subject:I trust the whole membership of t2w is aware of my affinity to America and the American dream, but I cannot condone the use of the phrase in US films: 'Mother F' suggesting the recipient of those words is conducting an incestual relationship with the women who gave them life.

                    I complain bitterly to the media but their reply is: "We depict it as true to life" Well I spent many years during the 40s of last century, among servicemen from the Air Force and Army, so I know all the words but that doesn't make it mandatory to utter derogatory remarks about the woman responsible for my very existence.

                    Think I'd better pack this in whilst I'm ahead.
                    Look forward to reading your work on site Pauline
                    As always
                    Wings.

                    --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, Pauline Hamilton <phamilton66nz@...> wrote:
                    >
                    > Dear Wings,
                    >
                    >
                    > Now I never could refuse a challenge...
                    >
                    > Two questions: How much would you like to see? And would you like it as an attachment or in the body of an email?
                    >
                    >
                    > The full manuscript is 72000 words, and 22 chapters..
                    >
                    >
                    > You can send me your whole manuscript if you like, I love to read :-)
                    >
                    > I only have three rejection slips.. I must get the full set :-)
                    >
                    >
                    > Thanks,
                    >
                    >
                    > Pauline
                    >
                    >
                    > ________________________________
                    > From: Wings081 <wings081@...>
                    > To: ticket2write@yahoogroups.com
                    > Sent: Thursday, January 5, 2012 12:07 PM
                    > Subject: [ticket2write] Re: 2012 Benchmark Pauline 40983)
                    >
                    >
                    >  
                    > Dear Pauline
                    > Re."My manuscript has been finished for the past three years"
                    > I have manuscripts almost finished since way back in 2002.
                    > One was a trilogy covering the years 1916 through to 1950.
                    > Another, a childrens' adventure series, was ready for the word Go at
                    > just before JKR and Harry Potter hit the streets.So what gives me the authority to nag others when my office walls are papered with rejection slips.
                    > Let's see a sample of your Ms for us to offer an honest critique
                    > or proof read before you submit to your agent.
                    > Tell you what: Let me see yours and I'll let you see mine.
                    > As always
                    > Wings
                    >



                  • Wings081
                    Dear Pauline. Possible small error in your prologue: slowly his pace slightly I believe this should read Slowing his pace Do you really need this
                    Message 9 of 11 , Jan 8, 2012
                    • 0 Attachment
                      Dear Pauline.
                      Possible small error in your prologue:
                      " slowly his pace slightly" I believe this should read "Slowing his pace"
                      Do you really need this prologue. Would it not be better as chapter one.

                      What is the use of a prologue? That part of a book many readers skip and turn to chapter one.
                      I often use a prologue myself but only to introduce my characters and set the scene of any action with any background information and only if I consider it essential for the reader to be aware from the outset of the setting, the time in history and the general theme of the story, e.g murder, war love etc. In other words,background information.
                      However this prologue of yours might be essential to later chapters otherwise how come we have a cow with human intelligence and a wall that collapses with the weight of a human falling against it.
                      I have stone walls around my property that I helped build myself and a chieftain tank would have much difficulty penetrating any section.
                      Then again a full grown man collapses in a field regularly in use by cattle and nobody notices. This tells me(the reader) that this person will reappear in another form in a later chapter.
                      But—it is your baby, dress it how you will, feed it and pass it to us to pat its back to wind it. I for one, look forward to more from you.
                      As always
                      Wings
                      Ps. I wonder if other members are as annoyed as me with the heiroglyphics displayed every time you use an apostrophe. Don't worry it's either me or this infernal machine. Never had this trouble with my old Yost typewriter, the one with two sets of keys, the upper set for capitals.(I suppose that's the origin of uppercase.)
                      Pps.
                      I sometime write an epilogue to inform the reader of present day situations about real places or people in my story but this can usually be included in the prologue if it doesn't give away too much of the story.
                    • Pauline Hamilton
                      Hi Wings, Thanks for that.. the hieroglyphics must be something in between me emailing and the group receiving.. very strange, the apostrophes were all there
                      Message 10 of 11 , Jan 8, 2012
                      • 0 Attachment
                        Hi Wings,
                        Thanks for that.. the hieroglyphics must be something in between me emailing and the group receiving.. very strange, the apostrophes were all there when it left, and the hieroglyphics arrived in from the group. I will post on the web site in future and that should hopefully solve the problem..

                        The use of the prologue: I guess 'I used it because the character dies in that scene and while he is central to the action, he actually doesn't appear anywhere else in the book apart from the obvious solving of the murder. The murder has occurred months before the rest of the action, so that was another reason for including it.. the cow with human intelligence is really just a device to emphasis the fact that there weren't any humans around.. the wall collapsing is important because it is why the body gets found at all.. So that was my thinking with the prologue.

                        If it's any consolation, I have an epilogue too :-)

                        So I've shown you the beginning of mine, it's your turn now..

                        Will post the next few chapters later this evening.

                        Many thanks
                         

                        Pauline Hamilton


                        From: Wings081 <wings081@...>
                        To: ticket2write@yahoogroups.com
                        Sent: Sunday, January 8, 2012 5:07 PM
                        Subject: [ticket2write] Re: 2012 Benchmark (Pauline 40994)

                         
                        Dear Pauline.
                        Possible small error in your prologue:
                        " slowly his pace slightly" I believe this should read "Slowing his pace"
                        Do you really need this prologue. Would it not be better as chapter one.

                        What is the use of a prologue? That part of a book many readers skip and turn to chapter one.
                        I often use a prologue myself but only to introduce my characters and set the scene of any action with any background information and only if I consider it essential for the reader to be aware from the outset of the setting, the time in history and the general theme of the story, e.g murder, war love etc. In other words,background information.
                        However this prologue of yours might be essential to later chapters otherwise how come we have a cow with human intelligence and a wall that collapses with the weight of a human falling against it.
                        I have stone walls around my property that I helped build myself and a chieftain tank would have much difficulty penetrating any section.
                        Then again a full grown man collapses in a field regularly in use by cattle and nobody notices. This tells me(the reader) that this person will reappear in another form in a later chapter.
                        But—it is your baby, dress it how you will, feed it and pass it to us to pat its back to wind it. I for one, look forward to more from you.
                        As always
                        Wings
                        Ps. I wonder if other members are as annoyed as me with the heiroglyphics displayed every time you use an apostrophe. Don't worry it's either me or this infernal machine. Never had this trouble with my old Yost typewriter, the one with two sets of keys, the upper set for capitals.(I suppose that's the origin of uppercase.)
                        Pps.
                        I sometime write an epilogue to inform the reader of present day situations about real places or people in my story but this can usually be included in the prologue if it doesn't give away too much of the story.



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