Late For Work

Assignment; Short story on man attacking a police officer while his vehicle is being towed.

When Alex woke the day began like many previous mornings; hitting snooze once then grabbing his bag and heading to the gym. After a quick shower and coffee he jumped into his truck just as the skies opened and biting rain drove hard against his wind-shield. “Well, no matter”, thought Alex, “it is a fitting way to begin November”.

He flipped to his favorite radio station and backed out of the driveway.

‘looks like the rain is here to stay today’ said a jaunty voice, so let’s hear you call in with some of your favorite rainy day songs’ then, as they filled in with a commercial, Alex flipped to the local news station. Simultaneously he felt, heard and saw something hit the side of his truck. Coming to a screeching stop he jammed the truck into park and jumped out.

A Mennonite woman, eyes wild with fear was trying to calm her spooked horse.

“Whoa there, easy there”, she cried, and the horse reared again while she pulled back with all her might.

“Take it easy now” Alex approached the horse, noting there were no visible injuries. He still wasn’t sure what happened but the horse slowly was settling down a little, sensing that whatever startled him seemed to be over.

‘Hello’, Alex turned to the woman dressed in traditional Mennonite dark coat. She was drenched and her teeth were chattering as she tried to answer.

“Are you okay?” asked Alex.

“I think so”, she nodded.  “Your truck mirror hit the side of my buggy. There’s no shoulder on this road and I couldn’t get off to the side any farther without running off the road.”

“The rain was coming down so hard that I never saw you at all”, said Alex. The sound of sirens caught their attention. Obviously someone had already notified the police. Two cruisers topped the hill, slowing suddenly at the sight of them. Turning on their flashers they pulled over.

Both officers, Alex noticed immediately, were young enough to be his sons. With chests puffed out they strutted over with the authority that only a uniform and gun could boast.

Approaching Alex first they asked what happened and Alex told them all he could remember. “May I see your driver’s license and registration please?” something about his cockiness rubbed Alex the wrong way but the more he co-operated the sooner he would be less late for work. He handed it over and one officer returned to his car to run them through the system. The other officer was speaking to the lady. Alex sat in his truck feeling sorry for the woman, thankful that no one was hurt, but at the same time feeling his frustration level escalate as he realized this was taking much too long. The officer tapped on his window.

Sir, he said, I need you to step into my car for a little bit”.

“I don’t understand” said Alex. The young cop replied, “That’s okay, you just do what I say and there will be no trouble” Now this guy was really getting on his nerves! “I hate to tell you that I’ve called a tow-truck” the officer continued, “but there are some unpaid parking fines and you do not have your ownership signed. Also, your sticker on your plate is not valid though a quick check confirms you have paid for them.

So, what’s the real problem?” asked Alex.

“The real problem, mister, is that you almost killed a horse and a woman!”(a horse and women that had proceeded on their way some time ago) This young whipper-snapper cop really irritated him, especially the faint smirk as if he was sort of bored and looking to see how far he could push him under the guise of Professional Manners’.

Alex wasn’t sure if it was the way he emphasized Mister or if it was his two-bit strut but something suddenly seized him and he grabbed the officer by the scruff of his uniform. The officer, taken completely off-guard scrambled to grab his gun but Alex’s years at the gym were no match for Young Whipper-Snapper. Suddenly Whipper-Snapper’s training kicked in as well as his partner and the next thing Alex knew he was looking at the ground from beneath one officer’s knee while the other officer cuffed him and read him his rights. He turned his head in time to see the wheels of his truck go by as the tow truck pulled away…

He was definitely going to be late for work.

© Janet Martin

Weird (homework assignment)

 Weird

Number thirteen was my pick
Glynis's answer came quick
A weird day in your work place
One topic I'd like to erase

Laughter filled the room
Oh could I zoom
To another day, another meeting
My cheeks in danger of over heating

Every day is weird
This topic I feared
Would expose what its really like
I'd much rather take a long hike

Strange things happen overnight
Things that just aren't right
Prices disappear from the deli scale
The departments looks like its been hit by a gale

Wind whistles through the door
Leaving snow on the floor
The floor mops have developed legs
Hidden out back behind the kegs

Students are a no show
They will lack in dough
When pay cheques are written out
That's for sure, without a doubt

The lunch room lights
Are just not right
Most days they are clear and bright
Others as dark as a starless night

Shelves, racks and bins
Have developed fins
They swim to other parts of the store
Maybe their permanent spot had become a bore

Bananas with French bread
Put their by Fred
Who changed his mind and went
Home to pay his overdue rent

There is so much more
But it is really a bore
Things that I think are weird
Would make your eyes teared

Come see me at work
But do not lurk
Just wink, nod, smile or wavc
I'll try my very best to behave.

Writers Unite (poetry assignment)

Writers group, what a delight
Meeting with like minded people
Sharing the written word

Janet pens inspirational poetry
Bev journals from the heart
Sue's writing a quilling book
Andy's contains environmental issues

Glynis, our fearless leader
Teaches this motley crew
With passion, perfection and love

Who am I amongst these
A unique scribe- a story teller
God directs my pen
As words flow onto paper

I'm not like anyone else
Nor do I plan to be
Content with who I am

The Tale of a Man Names Lou

Once, in a land of Lubadoo

There lived a man that folks called Lou

Now Lou, in everybody’s eyes

Was perceived to be very wise

And often times with nodding head

They all agreed to what Lou said.

Lou lived in a gray castle tall

And roses climbed the old stone wall

In lovely red, year after year

The bloom of roses would appear

And many paused to gaze in awe

At the red roses that they saw

One day in restless discontent

Lou stopped to smell their perfumed scent

He shouted, “Hear what I’ll tell you

These red roses are really blue!”

Folks shook there heads at what Lou said

For how can blue one day be red?

But Lou walked up and down the street

And every day he would repeat
 That what was red is really blue

And slowly folks agreed with Lou

For wasn’t Lou still, after all

The wise man in that castle tall?

Then came that sad and solemn day

When Lou was old and passed away

The mourners stood out on the street

Where rose-petals fell at their feet
 They told their children ‘here lived Lou

Who taught us red is really blue’

Now no one questions anymore

What they had all believed before

As generation rise and fall

Blue roses climb the castle wall

It seems they never, ever knew

These roses were not always blue

Time’s centuries have come about

And no one stops to think or doubt

For who can say red is not blue?

Nobody here has heard of Lou

Or how one day he simply said

'These roses are not really red'

…and visitors are mystified

To hear folk speak with love and pride

At these blue roses; how they’ve grown

Year after year against the stone

For no one here remembers Lou
Or wonders that red is not blue

The moral of this little tale

Is simply this; Truth does not fail

Though generations come and go

The truth remains unchanged and so

Before we teach that red is blue

We should make sure that it is true

Be careful then that none deceive

Lest generations thus believe

A vile untruth told to be true

For those red roses are not blue

Yet everyone within their youth

Were taught what others thought was truth

This is the poem I wrote for our homework assignment.

Of Friends...

After all is said and done

And this small life draws to an end

Our dearest worth upon this earth

Must surely be that of a friend

Life’s road yawns into the unknown

With many a trying twist and bend

Yet darkest miles are warm with smiles

If we can share them with a friend

‘To have a friend we must be one’

This truth is surely ages-old

And oh, the measure of its treasure

Cannot in humble words be told

For friends, in spite of us, are true

Seeing beyond the veil of skin

They weep and laugh and pray with you

To fill the empty cup within

…so, after all is said and done

Regardless of what life may send

The dearest, rarest, purest wealth

Is ever found within a friend

© Janet Martin

I re-posted this from my other blog:)

You guys are the best<3

Dedicated to my dear friends at Writer's Unite. 

You enrich my life more than mere word can tell.

Thank-you.

Hello all,

I am posting the link to a few things I was going to share...My experience of 'life in a small town' and also the poem being published in the Nov. edition of Wisdom Crieth Without.

Park Street in July.I stayed with My Grandma one summer when I was 15. That is my experience of 'small town life'. *Crash, mentioned in the poem got married a few years ago and resides in Elmira:)

This is the poem in the magazine. They told me I would get a complimentary copy and ten dollars!

Time's Swift Ride...a sonnet

Story Sparker...(Homework for June) by Janet

*Story Sparker

How many times did she need to say it? Suppressing the urge to scream at the man, Kelly tossed her auburn hair back and bit the bullet.
“Thank you for doing this.”
Her pasted on smile did not match the ache in her heart. It had been three years. Three years spent faking; pretending; lying. She felt as if her head would explode.

Her forced gratitude as he lay aside the tea towel did not distract him from his cause.

‘No amount of planning can prepare you for the real deal.’ She suddenly recalled her co-worker’s words the week before her wedding. Words she could not grasp at the moment, but three years later, fully understood.

His unflinching glare devoured her attempt at a cool composure. Ignoring her feigned gratitude he repeated the question, “Do you love me? Say it. Go ahead and repeat what you said!”

Her hands shook as she twisted the dish cloth and wiped the counter for the fifth time, trying to steady her voice. “I simply said, yes, I love you, but I don’t like you…anymore”.

There! She had said it. Her words hit hard, like a hammer driving in the reality of hopeless despair.

The silence hung between them, an invisible wall fortified by years of tears, tempers and torment.

How does one begin again? Words cannot be unspoken and years cannot be undone. The ticking clock offered no counsel. The sun fell in golden bars across the wooden kitchen floor where they stood miles apart.

Never in a million years had she dreamed that it would be like this. Never, in her wildest dreams had she fathomed the depths that bitterness and resentment could fill. She studied the face that once she had memorized in crazy fantasies and now approached with uncertainty and…fear?

Home… the word played on her tongue and she rolled it in her cheek trying to feel it; home…the word that should suggest heaven conjured confusing suggestions of hell.

Her eyes wandered to the framed needlework above the door, lovingly stitched by a starry-eyed teenage dreamer ‘Home, sweet home’.

Tears fell, in golden shatters on the sun-patched floor…

Story Sparker homework.

How many times did she need to say it? Suppressing the urge to scream at the foolish man, Kelly tossed her auburn hair back and bit the bullet. "Thank you for doing this."
Her pasted on smile did not match the ache in her heart. It had been three years. Three years spent faking; pretending ; lying. She felt as if her head would explode.
     Just because he had given her a gift, like so many times before; did not make the past go away. How could her father not see that his actions had repercussions that would affect his whole family for years to come? Even worse was the guilt she felt in keeping his secret. It made Kelly feel like she also was betraying the very people who trusted and loved her.
    Her father was sitting in his chair watching TV, a glass of whiskey in his hand. She looked at him and for the first time saw not her father but a cruel and vindictive man.  Kelly decided she needed to leave the room to try to come to terms with the rage that was slowly building inside her skull. A walk in the garden might help clear her thoughts. "What to do next? If I tell the truth what would be gained? What would be lost?"
    As she paced the garden paths she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. "I'm just so angry, how could he make me do this? Why did he make me do this? How could this man that supposedly loved me put me through this for all these years? So many questions...
    She sat down on one the wicker chairs across from the pool, scared and also strangely calmed by the realization of who her father really was. She took a look around at the huge estate and all the many things that her fathers indiscretions had bought. Kelly thought about how this secret was slowly destroying her. "I have been bought just like the chair I am sitting in." She needed to do something. Her life had to change. She would take the chance and let the truth be known. It was the only way to save what was left of her sanity. Walking to her car and picking up her cell phone she made the call...

Thingamajigs and More Great Grammar Tips

For anyone who missed Writers Unite this past Friday, here is the agenda and an overview of what you missed. Who knew nouns could be so exciting?

Agenda                Writers Unite   

February 3rd, 2012

1.                 Welcome & Prayer

2.                 Get snacks, etc. Thank you Rosemary – snacks

3.                 Introduce any new members (sign clipboard) and outline what we do

4.                 Collection ($2) and update – treasurer’s report

5.                 Anyone had anything published or pending publication since last month?

6.                 Computer/blogging - Amanda - worksheets. Logo?

7.                 Homework sharing ( - bring a piece of work [WIP] along with the following: Working Title; audience; where you are submitting with details about the publisher/editor or periodical OR an idea of where you would like to submit. You have to tell us why it fits this particular market or publisher. This can be poetry, a chapter or portion of a chapter from a novel, an article, a short story, devotion, photograph with appropriate caption or story; song [must be played/sung after reading!] 

8.                 We will wait until next meeting to talk about INSCRIBE and other writing organizations

9.                  Grammatically speaking -  Round 2 (below) 8 Parts of Speech – focus on Nouns!

10.            CD presentation. Commando Reconstructing of Non-Fiction Manuscripts – Don Bastien (No time)

11.            Next meeting date?  _13th - April ? NOT Good Friday_____________

12.            Snacks?         Amanda - April

Eight Parts of Speech

1. Nouns are words that name people, places, things, or ideas.

2. Pronouns are words that take the place of nouns.

3. Verbs are words that show an action or a state of being.

4. Adjectives are words that describe nouns or pronouns.

5. Adverbs are words that describe verbs, adjectives, or other adverbs.

6. Prepositions are words that describe the relationship between a noun or pronoun and some other word or element in the rest of the sentence.

7. Conjunctions are words that join two or more words, phrases, or clauses.

8. Interjections are words that show emotion

Noun Notes!

What Is a Noun?

Everything You Wanted to Know

Look around you.

Everything that you see, you can name.

What do you see? A computer, the living room, Amanda, Bev, desk, chair, keys, etc

Nouns are words that name people, places, things, or ideas.

---

Types of Noun

COMMON:

These name general, nonspecific people, places, things, or ideas. They start with a lowercase letter unless they begin a sentence.

For example: writer, city, class, religion, book, shoe

PROPER: These name specific people, places, things, or ideas. They always start with a capital letter.

For example: Victor Hugo, Paris, Disneyland, Christianity, Janet Martin,

ABSTRACT: These are the opposite of concrete. They name something that you cannot perceive with your five senses - something that does not physically exist.

For example: happiness, freedom, Christianity

CONCRETE: These name something that you can perceive with your five senses - something that physically exists.

For example: cat, chocolate, Martha

COUNTABLE: Yep. You guessed it. These can be counted, and they use both the singular and the plural forms. Anything that you can make plural is a countable noun.

For example: clock/clocks, David/Davids, poem/poems

UNCOUNTABLE: These cannot be counted. Since they cannot be counted, they only use the singular form. For example: milk, rice, water

*Note that you would never ask for milks, rices, or waters!

COMPOUND: These are made up of two or more smaller words.

For example: tablecloth, haircut, applesauce, baseball

COLLECTIVE: These are singular nouns that refer to a group of things as one whole.

For example: class, audience, family

SINGULAR: These refer to one person, place, thing, or idea.

For example: box, face, road, ball

PLURAL: These refer to more than one person, place, thing, or idea. They generally end in with an s.

For example: boxes, faces, roads, balls

---

NOUN 'Jobs'

Out of all eight of the parts of speech, the noun performs the most jobs in a sentence.

SUBJECT: whom or what the sentence is about

e.g. Mary kicked the ball.

DIRECT OBJECT: - receives the action of the verb

e.g. Mary kicked the ball.

INDIRECT OBJECT:- receives the direct object

e.g. Mary kicked Jimmy the ball.

OBJECT OF THE PREPOSITION: the noun or pronoun after a preposition

e.g. Mary kicked the ball at Jimmy.

PREDICATE NOMINATIVE: renames the subject, always after a linking verb

e.g. Mary is a soccer player.

OBJECT COMPLEMENT: completes the direct object

e.g. They named the baby Becky.

Tinsel Revelation ~ BY HEATHER CLEMMER

As I hung our children’s home made Christmas ornaments on our freshly cut tree, stories in the media and Facebook comments blinked in and out of my mind like our tree lights.  Do I truly believe others are taking away my Christmas?  Are they taking away Jesus?  Does it matter if my Christmas tree is called a Christmas tree or holiday tree?  People’s anger and negative comments hurt my heart more, WHY?
It hit me hard one day before Christmas while I worked.  As I finished folding a report and slid it into the envelope a mother and her son just finishing their appointment grabbed their coats off the metal coat stand.  I wheeled my chair to a clearing where I could see the little boy and mom and said, “You are welcome to grab one little gift off the Christmas tree.  There is a company each year that donates gifts for the children.”  The mom replied, “We are Jehovah witness and don’t believe in Christmas but thank you so much.” And off they went.

This little boy didn’t take a gift.  Christmas is about giving.  Giving what?  Due to the nature of where I worked what did it mean to that company that EACH child got a gift?  Does it matter he didn’t get a gift?  To my heart it did matter because to me Christmas is about giving to everyone in all circumstances.  Right?  That is what Jesus did and last time I checked I am following Him not a tradition of a tree.  My heart started pumping excitedly as I walked back to where co-workers were and asked, “Is it ok if I take some of the little gifts and put them in a different pile away from the tree?” I then explained about the little boy.  “No the gifts are for the tree, for Christmas and that is their choice they don’t take one,” unfortunately sums up the response I tried to allow to rip through my ears and block from my heart.

So let me ask, as Christians we so badly need our “Christmas” tree and how dare someone tell us not to call it that, are they really taking CHRISTmas? Are we so angry that that little boy couldn’t have been giving a gift just because it was for a special child and he needs to feel loved at a special time for us?  The revelation hit!  The prickly stump can be called a Holiday tree or a Christmas tree.  I could have one or not have one.  My house will have Jesus at Christmas; no one can ever take that away, no one. So let them take away the name of the tree I will actually even let them take the tree.

As they pack up my tree I cry as visibly in its place is the cross.  A child like moment after where I laugh and say, “Na Na Na boo boo you can take the tree because it doesn’t take Christmas.”  Under that cross are gifts that are mine and even the gift to still love those who don’t celebrate Jesus.  Picking up the pine needles and tinsel left behind I put the pieces to the cross and pray, “Thank you papa that as people take away our tree you were there, you are there, you will always be there.  I see even more now Lord Christmas is not about a tree or worldly traditions. Also Father thanks that now we don’t have to worry about getting rid of a tree. AMEN”

Amazing Grace

From the fullness of His grace we have all received one blessing after another.  For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.         John 1: 16-17

            I thought librarians were kind, bespectacled people; quiet and demure, always ready to toss in an extra day or two of grace for those forgetful souls who neglect to check the due dates on their borrowed books. 

            Last week I came close to being photographed and fingerprinted.  I got off lightly with a reprimand, public humiliation and a psychological tarring and feathering instead.  I had one overdue book.  Well…there may have been one or two unpaid fines showing up on the computer, too.  But did she have to be so loud?

I had finally made the effort to venture out to return two bags of well-read books.  Once I arrived at the library turnstile, I slid the pile of books into the ‘return here’ slot and made my merry way into the library in search of more reading material.   

              The librarian smiled as I plopped my new books on the counter.   She tried to zap my library card with her technologically correct magic wand.  Nothing. Her computer jammed.  Her smile slipped away.  She eyed me suspiciously and in a megaphone-like voice said, “Your library card privileges have been suspended.  Come over to the other side of the desk.”

            “Uh…” I glanced around feeling a multitude of eyes upon me as I meekly followed the sergeant-major librarian to the guilty section.

            Beads of perspiration formed on my forehead.  “Why…uh…can’t I use my…uh…library card?”  I smiled a sickly grin.  “Just a minute!” she hollered.  “I’ll check on this computer to see what the problem is.  Aha!” she cried, managing to attract everyone in earshot.  “You owe us money.  You have an overdue book out.”  She continued to speak in shrill tones.  I suddenly recalled a notification I received earlier that week.  “Dr. Seuss!” she screamed.  “You have a Dr. Seuss book out.”  I felt a fool.  I wanted to scream out, “It was a biography of Dr. Seuss - not Green Eggs and Ham!” to all the now tuned-in patrons who were pretending to browse amid the nearby books.

“It’s in the book depository,” I whimpered.  “Wait here!  I’ll check,” she ordered.  I saluted and stood to attention.  Moments later she returned clutching the delinquent book.  “You owe us sixteen dollars and forty-five cents!”  “Sixteen dollars and forty-five cents?”  I gasped, feeling a little like green eggs and ham, myself.  I thought it a bit of a stiff fine for one overdue book.  “The computer is showing fines dating back to last November and December,” she wiggled her finger at the flashing screen  “Oh…uh…yes…well, okay…I remember now.”

My face was crimson and my salivary glands felt paralyzed.  “Would you like me to pay?”   The sergeant major only raised her eyebrows and punched a few computer keys.  “Will you take a check?”  I inquired, fumbling through coins and coupons.  “Yes!  We’ll take a check.  Your fines amount to sixteen dollars and forty-five cents,” she repeated once more with emphasis.

            I gave her my check and, without uttering a word, she signed out my new reading material.  I thanked her and she dismissed me. 

Slump-shouldered, I trudged my guilt-ridden body to the car and thought about the grace of God.  Thank goodness His grace comes without strings.

  When I trudge my guilt-ridden body to fall at the foot of the cross, no computer print out of blunders stops God from loving me. When He showers me with blessings I know I am far from deserving, yet He continues to show mercy.

My patient Lord tells me I am His own (Romans 8:16) and he longs for me to be with him in paradise (2 Peter 3:9).   I am comforted knowing that his gift of grace is real and it is for little ol’ unworthy me!  Now that is amazing!

                             

Farm Auction

A little glimpse of my next story.

The auctioneer gave a brief description of the tractor. Darren knew all the rest of the details. What if I don't get it. What if I haven't saved enough. I have to have this tractor. For Abes sake. It was his first tractor and I want it to be my first tractor too. So many thoughts went through Darren's mind.
"Where would you like to start the bidding folks?" the auctioneer questioned.
There was silence. No one bid and no one moved. Darren had always been taught to wait and see how the bidding went. Time seemed to stand still. Why was everyone so quiet? Darren waited patiently.
"Do I hear one thousand dollars? This tractor is worth a lot more than that. Come on folks, get your hands out of your pockets and start bidding, " the auctioneer commented.
Darren couldn't believe it. No one was bidding. The auctioneer tried one more time. Again, no one responded. Darren didn't know what to do. He couldn't let the tractor go by.
"Well folks, I'm going to have to pass by this one. It's a shame, she's a beauty," the auctioneer stated with disappointment in his voice.
Darren couldn't hold back any longer. Out of his mouth blurted, "I'll buy it. I'll start the bidding at one hundred dollars."
"We have a bid, " the auctioneer announced. "One hundred dollars. Do I hear two hundred. Two hundred dollars. Two, two, two, two. Come on folks, this is a fine piece of machinery. Two, two, two, two. One fifty, one fifty, one fifty."
Darren looked around in disbelief. No one was bidding. What was wrong? The auctioneer gave one more try.
"I've got a one hundred dollar bid. Do I hear one twenty five? One twenty five, one twenty five, one twenty five, " the auctioneer questioned.
No response came from the crowd.
The auctioneer broke the silence by saying, "Well, I guess I'm just going to have to sell her to this young fella here for one hundred dollars. Going once, going twice, sold to our one hundred dollar bidder. Your number please?"
Darren held up his number, 01. It was recorded by the auctioneers assistant.
"You've got yourself a ..........


Hopefully I get this published and you can hear why no one was bidding.

My Dad has won the Lottery.

     Well not the lottery that gives you lots of money but the one that gives you life. Dad is eighty five years old and is living a relatively pain free life in his own little house. He has family around him that take care of his every whim and wish. Since he moved to Drayton a few years ago his life has changed for the better. Dad has a social life that he diligently takes care of ; Coffee at the "Crest" every Tuesday and Thursday, Fellowship on Sunday at a tiny old Anglican Church (Does not even have plumbing). He seems happy and content. What more could you wish for in life. To make it to eighty five with your health and dignity intact. Family and friends that care about you.  Many people are not that lucky.

Rosemary & Dad - July 2011

Excerpt from my novel

This is one of the chapters I've written for my novel...my seat-of-the-pants novel! Not sure where in the story this will be but it will be somewhere! Thanks for indulging me!

**********

Brent watched Taylor throughout the entire funeral. She looked like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. In a sense, she did. Her whole world was about to change. Colin may not have been the best husband but he was a big part of their lives.

As the congregation filed out to the reception, the family went off to the graveyard to say their last good-byes. Taylor came up to Brent with an earnest look in her eyes.

"Brent, please come with us. You are practically family. Please?" She touched his arm. Her eyes looked particularly green today. Maybe because she had been crying for the last few days. Brent met her gaze. Her black, conservative dress hugged her petite frame.

"Of course I'll come along. I'll go grab my truck." Brent dug into his pants pocket for his keys.

"No need. Just come in the limo with us. There's lots of room", Taylor insisted. She turned to go. Brent put his hand in hers. She didn't pull away.

The sun shone as a true irony of the day. Brent was glad he had left his jacket at home. He certainly didn't need it as he walked hand in hand with Taylor. This was where he always wanted to be. But as they got closer to the car, Taylor let go to get in. He silently chastised himself for enjoying their connection. This woman lost her husband; her children lost their father; their squad lost an officer. Now was the time to say good-bye.

Taylor got into the car first, with Brent following her. Calleigh sat with her grandmother, crying on her shoulder. Reid sat quietly beside his grandfather. Taylor slid in beside Reid.

"Nana and Papa are going in their car." Taylor turned to Brent. "That's Colin's parents". He nodded an acknowledgement. Taylor continued, "And these are my parents, Abigail and Walter."

Brent leaned over to shake both of their hands.

"My condolences to you both", Brent said compassionately.

"Thank you", Walter said for both of them.

They all sat quietly for the car ride to the cemetery. As they drove, the smell of coconut wafted from Taylor's hair as Brent sat close to her. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about that but he couldn't help it.

Two things were on his mind. He lost a fellow officer and a friend, even if Colin had been a jerk the last little while. This was part of the job. Officers die every day on the job. They prepare you for this in Police College. You know going into it, it can happen. "No matter how much preparation they give you, it's still not easy", Brent thought.

The second thought he had was Taylor of course. Who was going to look after her and the kids? Was she going to move closer to her parents? He looked at the woman across from her. She sat, eyes cast down, staring at the floor of the car. She had her arm around Reid. She leaned across the seat to rub Calleigh's hand.

Brent's attention came back to the present as the car pulled to a stop. Everyone got out except Taylor and Brent. She turned to him and put her hand on Brent's knee. An electric current shot through him. His eyes met hers.

"Thank you", she said quietly. He put his hand on hers and smiled at her in response. He didn't trust his voice right now. He wanted to keep his hand on hers forever. But he pulled away as she did. Taylor climbed out of the car and Brent followed. She went up to her children and took their hands in hers.

"Let's go say good bye to Dad, okay?", she said with a quivering voice. She began to walk to the grave site but glanced back to make sure Brent was coming. He was only steps behind them.

Some Thoughts on Thoughts...

Hello all,
I thought I would do my homework assignment for this month which is posting something on this blog, so here goes...
I've been doing a lot of thinking about thinking today. It is the beginning of anything and everything ever written or done, yet how often do we really think about thinking? As writers I'm sure we all agree, before pen touches paper, or in this generation, before fingers touch keyboards we have thought about what we would like to say and how best to say it.
Where do these thoughts come from? The short answer, from life. We all have our own personal answers from that point on.
Today I have been pondering the importance of a healthy thought-life. It affects everything we do and who we are. To keep our bodies healthy we need to make wise food choices. To keep our minds healthy we also need to make wise 'food' choices. Are we caring for our minds in the same way we care for our bodies?
My train of thought was sparked by today's devotion in The Daily Bread. 1 Kings ch. 3, the story of God granting Solomon (as a child) whatever he wished for and Solomon asked for wisdom. I wonder what Solomon fed his mind to ask at such a young age for a discerning heart.
Here are some of my...

Thoughts about Thoughts...


Behind our eyes
Intricately designed
Is an infinite cell
Simply called a mind
And from it will flow
All manner of thought
Our action will show
What words do not

***

In every action
In every deed
Whether minute or mighty
Thought is its seed

***

Do we serve thought?
Or are we its master?
Thought is the forerunner
To success or disaster

***

I thought I knew a little
But with each passing year
The little bit I thought I knew
Has seemed to disappear

***

My thoughts are always more beautiful
With you in them

***

What is the measure
Of one little thought?
Coupled with action
I believe…quite a lot!

***

Who can know the power
Of the mind at all
By it man becomes great
And by it great men fall

***

The power of a man
Cannot be defined
By physical attributes
But the strength of the mind

***

Physical strength, no matter how fine
Is oft overcome by weakness of mind...

***

What are you thinking about today?

Janet Martin

Quizzical Queries

For me, preparing for Writers Unite is a lot of work, but the rewards of seeing someone 'get it' or asking questions or using something that she or he has learned is a reward that negates any toil! I really do love helping other writers. And you guys are the best!
I surely don't know everything there is to know about writing - the more I research and listen, the more I learn, too. But I am more than happy to do my part to help where I can.

  I really enjoyed this past meeting as we discussed and shared how to write a query letter. The keenness of everyone present spurred me into action.

I thought, as a bit of a resource, I would post some of the notes I shared orally. You might use it as a review or even as a bit of a checklist as you begin to write your own query letters - you can start with your homework assignment - writing a query letter to a potential publisher! Anyone who couldn't make it to the meeting but would still like to do 'their homework' get hold of me and I will send details your way!

How to Write a Query letter

What is a query letter?

A letter or email sent to an editor or agent which details an idea for a magazine, newspaper, book or other publication, along with an attempt to sell this particular idea, along with yourself as the potential writer.
You need to present your ideas as succinctly as possible so that an editor will want to read and buy your article or book.

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 For articles:
Read the publication where you would like to see your article!

-         You need to read as many copies as possible of the market you wish to submit to so that you get a basic idea of the magazine's audience and the style of writing they prefer to publish

-         Many publications have internet sites now and some will send you a catalogue of their books or sample copies of their publications

-         visit your library and look through the publications which interest you. Could your article fit here?

-          Tell the editor why YOU are the one to write this article.

-         Did you just write a piece on "Cooking with APPLES?" Inform the editor of Taste of Home Magazine about your cooking expertise, your extensive APPLE knowledge, and why their audience needs this vital information from you and nobody else.

-         Tell the editor what the article is about.

-         For example, stating “I wrote an article about moms on a budget that I think your readers will really like,” is not enough information. What about the moms on a budget? Did you write about smart ways to cut costs? Maybe this piece is about how to use everyday items in unusual ways. Perhaps it’s to do with working moms who need to find ways to spend more time with their kids than on housework or maybe you are talking about being frugal or using God’s provisions wisely. Be specific.

-         This is better: Mom’s on a Budget is a step-by-step guide that shows mothers with limited income how to make sensible decisions when shopping.

-         Talk about an actual budget and make the focus needs verses wants.

-         It tells the editor what’s in store, but doesn’t give away the whole thing. The idea is to hook the editor into wanting to read your article.

For books:

-          Find out what type of books the publisher prints. Will your book fit somewhere in their most recent catalogue?

-         As with magazines, most book publishers have websites where you can get a feel for what each publisher specializes in printing.

-         Give a brief synopsis of the book.

-         Include a brief outline of what the book is about.

-         It’s a good idea to include a hook or exciting excerpt from the book.

For both books and magazines:

-          Put your contact information at the top of the letter.

-          Include the date.

-        Find out the editor's name.

-         Editors leave or change titles within the company more frequently than you may think.

-         Phone and ask if you don't know. Don't always rely on information in writer's market books - especially if they are out of date.

-         Give your writing credentials

-         This is the part of the letter that makes new writers nervous.

-         Don’t panic though — you do have writing experience. Think back on everything you’ve done. Have you had anything published online? Have you written anything for others, or a church bulletin; maybe a news release for a local event. What about letters to the editor? It is still writing. Do you belong to a writing group - local and professional? This is good information for editors to know. 

-          Include your phone number or email or blog address after your name

-          Give pertinent information the editor can use.

-         State the genre, the potential audience, and word count.

-         Include a SASE if mailing

-         visit Canada Post’s website to order your stamps prn.

-         State what enclosures are attached.

-         Proofread your letter.

-         Put the same care into the letter that you (hopefully) put into the story or article. A poorly proofed letter doesn’t bode well with editors. They may still give you a chance if there’s a minor typo or two (though preferably not in their name or the company name), but a letter filled with errors goes straight in the garbage.

-         Pay attention to their guidelines - they are not all the same.

-         For magazines: some will ask you to send a cover letter and the entire article. Others will ask that you query only — without the article.

-         For books: some may ask that you query with ten pages, or query with three chapters or send an entire book proposal

-         For both: you may find they only accept email queries and will ask you to use postal mail for the manuscript (ms), or they want both by email, or both by post mail.

-          If you aren’t sure, look in a recent copy of a writer's market (can be found or ordered from the local library) for the website (or Google the company).

-         If they state they do not accept simultaneous submissions, then send your article only to them and wait for their reply before you approach another publisher with that same article.

-         If they state they do accept simultaneous submissions, it is a good idea to let them know you’ve submitted queries elsewhere so if they really want your article or book, they’ll know to move on it right away.

-         If they tell you they won't take unagented queries, then either find an agent, or cross that publisher off the list until you have representation.

        -     If you didn't learn the editor's title (Mr. Miss, Mrs, etc), leave it out.

-         Don't refer to Kim Bell as Mr. Wright unless you know Kim is a man. Stick with what you know. "Dear Kim Bell" is a good intro in this case. If Susan Shepherd is definitely a woman, unless you know her marital status, don’t include a title then either. Mrs. Shepherd may take offense to being referred to as Miss or Ms.

-         Don't tell them you're new to this.

-  The query letter is not the place to make announcements about “who you aren’t,” and “what you can’t.”

-         Never use friends or family as proof of your abilities.

Why would they say anything but good things about your writing. They need you to feed and care for them! They know that poor reviews might mean no apple pie. Don't ever tell an editor that your mom or Aunt Martha said you are the next Farley Mowatt or William Wadsworth Longfellow!

-         Offer editors enough information that they’ll want to read what you have written.

-         Be clever but don't oversell your self, either. No bragging that you are the only one in the world that can write the article and that you are the ultimate expert on the subject. Be professional

     -         Don’t use exclamation marks, bold, or caps. These are tools of an amateur. If you feel you must make an exclamatory statement, use one exclamation mark, only.

-         Don’t query publishers you don’t know.

      -         Do your homework and never say that you don't really know their magazine. If you don't know much about their magazine the editor or publisher is likely not going to be too interested in looking at what you have to offer.
      -           Don't pretend you know the editor through a friend of a friend's friend. Editors are quite smart and don't take kindly to name dropping to any degree.

-         Don’t pester the editor. That means no hounding telephone calls or annoying emails. Check what the guidelines say about response times then add three weeks to that before you start contacting the company.

Last note:

Try to keep your query letter short and to the point. Make it neat and inviting. Make sure you have prepared a letter without grammatical errors or spelling mistakes. Remember you get one chance to make a first impression. Make it count!

Have fun!