Writers Notes Magazine #3

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Writers Notes Magazine Issue #3:

The Independence issue includes:

Words from Shelly Culbertson, Margo Dill, Stephen Donaldson, Frank Finale, C. Duane Hague, Tom Jenkins, Christopher Klim, Nina Lavander, Joe Quinn, Jason Rice, Matt Ryan, Dale T. Stuckey, Victor Walsh, and Lou Wollin

Graphic story by Rich Hedden.

Interview with Tim O’Brien, author of The Things They Carried.

The 2005 Book Award Winners

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Read excerpts below!

“Readable, thought provoking, and organized in an interesting way. … Emerging writers will especially appreciate the non-snobbish approach.”

– The Compulsive Reader

He raised both of his arms to their side, shaking his head when he noted the loose, slightly wrinkled skin around his biceps. He clinched his fists and flexed. “Yeah,” he said, smiling. The looseness disappeared, and he liked what he saw. Orville leaned his head to the side, kissing his bicep. “The guns are still here, baby. Fifty-three years old and still built like a bad ass.” Orville pointed upward, “Thank you, Jesus.” It was now time to get clean.

- Born Again Again by Matt Ryan

“There were a set of social morals that really changed in the late 1960’s and early 70’s where you never knew what to say, or that you had to be careful as a woman or a man, incredibly careful. This story is about what it is like to be a man or a woman.”

- Tim O’ Brien, National Book Award-winning author

Though they never spoke to her, she made them goddesses –

serene beings that fountained over her,

living equally in worlds of earth and sky.

- Tree Woman by Frank Finale

Farouk filled a blue plastic bucket with warm water and soap. Bridget sat on a chair in the kitchen. She removed her shoes and socks. Her feet were pale and sweaty with the pattern of the socks impressed into her skin. Farouk placed the bucket at her feet and knelt on the blue ceramic tiles before her. He lifted one foot and placed it in the soapy water, and then the other, concentrating with bowed head and an expression of deep reverence. He placed both hands around her right ankle and massaged, slowly and firmly. He worked his way down her foot, rubbing in circles. He focused special attention on her toes, kneading in between each one in sensual pressure. As he did his magic, his breathing quickened and deepened.

- A Foot Fetish in Cairo by Shelly Culbertson

Manmade lakes in this part of the country give greater license to the extreme air movement already encouraged by a lack of trees. El Dorado Reservoir lies on the fringe of the Flint Hills, an area of rolling range blessed with a dearth of topsoil and a plethora of root-hating chert. When wind that merely feels breezy in Wichita hits the open expanse of the Flint Hills and, beyond that, glissades for miles on the smooth lake, it turns into something bestial. It becomes a dictator whose voracious appetite swells with conflict and pity, an invisible and battering Caligula.

- Boating Tips by Dale T. Stuckey

Your infant moon flung,

Umbilicus burned from you, she-god sun,

Stooped low at dawn birth.

- Letting Go by Nina Lavander

Then comes the rub. Maharaji offers “knowledge,” but we need to come forward to seek it. I can’t obtain knowledge by standing in the back. Now, Maharaji is pissing me off. If I want to work to acquire knowledge, I can return to Brooklyn and do my chemistry homework.

- My Razor’s Edge by Lou Wollin

Having lived in the country all of our lives, many things in the city were beyond our experience, some of which were unbelievable.

- Hicks by C. Duane Hague

on the surface

he appears calm

the gravity slows movement

to a long perceived crawl

- The Astronaut’s Suicide by Joe Quinn

I pretended to eat while they played their favorite game with the clipboard—Guess When So-And-So Died? My stomach felt like a jar full of fireflies had been let loose inside.

- The Way It Work by Margo Dill

The place reminds me of the film, The Mission. Water cascades off knife-edge cliffs, trickles down the trellis of branches, gushes off moss-encrusted rocks. The rock walls are sheer and sleek.

- Las Cascadas de Tamasopo by Victor Walsh

As your writing proceeds, your draft work gets marred with the wounds of false starts and changes. A mess to anyone else's eyes or brain, your thoughts transmute into the visual product that will eventually become your finished article.

- Write by Rewriting by Tom Jenkins

I think now, perhaps I reminded him of himself while demonstrating none of his skill, a failed legacy. My father excelled in a crowd, best at acquaintances. People were his business, his clay to mold. I was unworkable, to be overlooked. I suffered in crowds, even threesomes, but my passion burned in other ways, better in one-on-one meetings, unearthing the details, best alone with women, not the son of a wife-beater who triumphs in humiliation as well, yet I made women comfortable with their words, thoughts, and nakedness expressed.

- The Dog by Christopher Klim