Remember to read on to the end for your free short story TOOLS OF THE TRADE A statement borrowed from another writer claimed that writers have only three tools in their toolbox: grammar, punctuation and spelling. While there can be little argument with that, what if you don’t know, or are unsure about how to use those tools? As with any new tool or equipment, an initial learning period is involved – often accompanied by bad language – and in some instances, requiring the expertise of a teenage family member. TOOLS OF THE TRADE
A statement borrowed from another writer claimed that writers have only three tools in their toolbox: grammar, punctuation and spelling. While there can be little argument with that, what if you don’t know, or are unsure about how to use those tools? As with any new tool or equipment, an initial learning period is involved – often accompanied by bad language – and in some instances, requiring the expertise of a teenage family member. A myriad of ‘How To’ books are available to help writers understand those tools and their correct use, and new books pop up frequently. While not a criticism of such books, the way they offer advice, in many cases, can be complicated and confusing. What happened to gaining a solid grounding in the use of those writer’s tools in primary school? It's true, for those of us of a certain age, some of what we learned in primary school has changed. As with everything, fashions come and go. Some examples of those changes are: splitting the infinitive, where to use double and single quotation marks, when to use a possessive participle, when to use ‘was’ or ‘were’, and the use of the Oxford comma. Perhaps it is not surprising, we find many current A-list authors and their editors still have some way to go with their education on the proper use of those tools. WHAT’S NEW? While a lot is happening for Eaglemount Books’ authors, there is nothing much to show for it yet. Neive Denis is continuing work on her new cosy crime story. She admits it is unlikely to be released before the middle of the year. Kayla Danoli’s latest manuscript is out with editors and unlikely to see much happening to it for the next few weeks. Her attempt to rip about 6,000 words from the first draft resulted in a loss of 10,000 words, and a tighter and more manageable manuscript. SOME LIGHT READING Below is this month’s short story for your enjoyment. Disaster Averted “I shouldn’t have bought the red one. I knew I should not buy the red one, but I bought it anyway,” Sue reminded herself as she left the house. It was then she noticed the black clouds overhead. The rain was about to come down, and she wasn’t far along the track before the first drops confirmed it. “My raincoat would have been handy, but I never even thought about rain.” Why did I choose the red dress? Sue reflected on her purchase as she let herself out onto the street. I could have chosen the blue version, or the black one. But, no, I chose the red one… and now I run the risk of turning up looking like a tart. She didn’t have to ponder the question long to find the answer. She had chosen the red one to make a statement on her first night out since her divorce. To Sue, it said I am back, I am alive, and I intend picking up my life again. Her few moments of reflection came to an abrupt end. “Terrific… I spent all that money on a hairdo this afternoon, and now it will be hanging in rat’s tails by the time I arrive at the party. Before long, I’ll be soaked to the skin. I had so wanted to look my best tonight. New dress, fancy hairdo, and all for nothing.” Although she knew there was nothing up ahead, she began running in the hope of reaching shelter before the rain became too heavy. Within moments, the heavens opened and it bucketed down. Puddles quickly formed in the gutters and on the road. The traffic rushed by, spraying the filthy puddles in all directions, including over the pavement – and Sue. A double-decker bus was stopped at the lights a little way ahead. She called on every last skerrick of speed she could muster, but to no avail. She wished she had made it to the next bus stop in time to flag down that bus. “How I wish I stayed home,” she murmured as she slowed her pace to a jog. “I never wanted to go to this party anyway.” Somehow, Cheryl managed to talk her into it. Now she would arrive looking like a drowned rat. For a brief moment, she contemplated returning home instead of continuing to the party. But, Cheryl would worry, and her night would be spoilt . For some reason, Cheryl had insisted she needed Sue to be at the party. Although Sue couldn’t work out why it was so important for her to be there, Cheryl was a good friend and she didn’t want to let her down, didn’t want to ruin the night for her friend. A myriad of thoughts coursed through her mind as she ran. It remained a mystery to her why she was invited in the first place, but she suspected Cheryl had something to do with Sue’s last minute invitation. I don’t even know who the party is for, she reminded herself. The woman organising the event is no more than an acquaintance at best. Although, I think she and Cheryl might be good friends. Yes, it’s probably down to Cheryl’s handiwork that I’ve been invited at all. But it would be nice to know something more about the party, even knowing who the guest of honour is would be useful. “Why am I running?” Sue demanded of the universe. “I’m soaked through. How is running going to help?” She slowed to a brisk walk and, for the first time, became aware of her beautiful red patent leather shoes squelching as she strode along, and her toes aching from being curled-up tightly to help keep her shoes on her feet. “And now the shoes are ruined too,” she moaned as she looked down at them. Right on cue, as she inspected her shoes, a large drop dripped off the hem of her dress. It landed on the instep of her right foot. The pool of shiny redness, spread across her foot and seeped down into her shoe. “Why was it so red? It looks as though I’m oozing blood.” Then a more disturbing thought occurred to her as she inspected the front of her dress. “Oh, God, no… the dye has run,” she wailed. “The rain has washed the dye from the dress’ fabric. I’ll arrive looking as though I’ve been attacked. Damn! Now I remember the label said the dress must be dry cleaned and not washed. If it shrinks, I’m likely to arrive at the party wearing something akin to a skimpy, tight shirt rather than a dress. How embarrassing. I have to go home. Once I’m home, I’ll call Cheryl to explain what has happened. A cab, that’s what I need to take me home. I’ll flag one down.” Trudging home in the still falling rain, Sue tried flagging down every cab that came past. Eventually one slowed and started to pull in to the kerb. As Sue began walking towards it, the driver took one look at her and sped off again. “I’m almost home now anyway,” she shouted at the retreating taxi, before abandoning all hope of a cab. Once home and in dry clothes, Sue called Cheryl to explain her situation. Cheryl didn’t hide her disappointment, but said she understood and would call Sue tomorrow to report on the party. Before the call ended, Sue asked the question plaguing her since she set off that evening. “Cheryl, I know Helen organised this event, but I don’t recall being told who it was for or why it’s happening.” “Helen just wanted to do something for another friend who has just been through a bitter relationship break-up. The idea was to help her start mixing with people again.” “So, whose break-up was it?” “Didn’t I tell you? How remiss of me. The party was for Cindy Parker.” “Cindy Parker….? The gods really were looking after me tonight. They averted a potential disaster by preventing me attending the party.” “Yes, you remember Cindy. Years ago, the three of us were in the same netball team and then, later, we were in the same keep-fit class at the gym. But what do the gods have to do with anything?” “Of course I remember her. But doesn’t her name ring any other bells for you?” “Should it?” “Let me refresh your memory. Some years ago, my then boyfriend had a fling with her. I dumped him. Later, we got back together and eventually married.” “Okay… but that’s all water under the bridge now, right?” “I thought so. Then, two years ago, my husband ran off with another woman… Cindy Parker.” The End
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