Glvwg Writes Stuff: GLVWG Anthologies, #1

GLVWG

Writes

Stuff

Greater Lehigh Valley Publishing Group

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All Stories, Essays and Biographical paragraphs are copyright by their respective authors.

Glvwg Writes Stuff February 2015

(Greater Lehigh Valley Publishing Group) glvwg.org

ISBN-13: 978-0692393802

(Greater Lehigh Valley Publishing Group)

ISBN-10: 0692393803

Acknowledgments

Taking Care of his Wife, by Donna Brennan, was previously published in the Christian Fiction Online Magazine.

A Gift of Love by David Miller, was previously published by The Kutztown Publishing Co., Inc.

Halloween & the Sodium Balls by Robert P. Mitchell, was published by Yahreh Magazine on December 3, 2013.

Simple Prayers, by Bernadette Sukley, is an excerpt from her novel, Find me a Woman, published by Assent, in 2014.

Book design and formatting by Bart Palamaro

indieauthorsupport.com

Cover design and graphic by Keith Keffer keithkeffer.com,

Cover format by Bart Palamaro

Book production and coordination by Rebecca Bartlett

rebeccabartlettauthor.com

Introduction

Rebecca Bartlett

Lots of writing groups publish anthologies of their members’ work, but the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group (GLVWG) wanted to put a different twist on ours. Instead of just requesting stories and handing out a finished project six months later, we decided to walk members through the steps it takes to self-publish.

Putting out your own work has never been easier or more affordable, but many writers balk, nervous about an unknown process. The GLVWG Writes Stuff project presented an educational opportunity for our members—a way to learn by doing.

Every action becomes less intimidating when broken into its individual steps:

Step 1: Write and finish something. This isn’t always as easy as it sounds so GLVWG organized several write-ins over the summer of 2014 for members to get together, seek inspiration in each other’s company, and write. Trying to be as inclusive as possible for our fiction and non-fiction members, we opened submissions to both short stories and personal essays about writing.

Step 2: Get feedback. You can have all your commas in place and perfectly adhere to story structure, but is your tale connecting with the reader? We went over the positives and pitfalls of getting critiqued at one of our monthly meetings, and arranged time for members to swap stories with each other.

Step 3: Copy editing. Authors can’t copy edit their own work, it requires a professional or at least someone with training. This step costs money and GLVWG paid three professional editors to go through all the submissions and return them to the authors with corrections.

Step 4: Commitment. Once their work was returned to them, authors had to make their corrections and resubmit their work. In self-publishing, the author assumes all responsibility of the quality of the final product.

Step 5: Formatting. All authors were given formatting instructions to prepare their work for print. We hired a professional to assemble all the stories into the final version and fit the cover onto the book. Unless a writer has training in graphic arts, this is another step that requires a professional, which means paying a fee.

Step 6: Registration. All books must have an ISBN. If you want to place them in a library you must purchase a Library of Congress number. While we’re proud of our GLVWG Writes Stuff book, we just went with the ISBN this time around.

Step 7: Presentation. The goal of any publishing project is to get people to read it. Titles and cover art are essential to lure people to pick up a book and read the back jacket. We solicited ideas from our members and put the winners on the cover.

Step 8: Marketing. Customers have to be convinced to hand over money for what you’re selling. Fortunately we had a preselected audience at our Write Stuff Conference to pitch to, and authors who could sell the anthology on their own, but we still solicited ideas from members to increase sales. Most self-published authors lose money. We wanted to see if we could make money with this project, and challenged the participants to come up with ways to promote it through word-of-mouth, blogging, and other advertising strategies.

So that’s the tale of the volume you now hold in your hand. As a teaching tool it goes beyond a celebration of the authors’ work. We’re hoping that it convinces some of our members that they can handle this process on their own. And, maybe, if our publication is successful, those authors will share what they learned at next year’s conference in a book entitled: GLVWG’s Self-Publishing Project-What Went Right, What Went Wrong and What We’ll Do Better Next Time.

THE STORIES

Survival of the Fittest

Rebecca Bartlett

Bridget got to the bar at seven sharp, just like every other Saturday. Behind the counter, Bear flashed her three fingers. That’s how many beers he would serve her. Bridget nodded to show that was fine. Lately she’d been limiting herself to two. Her pals in A.A. didn’t approve of any drinking, but two beers on Saturday kept her functional for the rest of the week.

She picked up a draft, and did a double take when she saw who was sitting in the drunk’s corner—the place people went when they wanted to get seriously hammered.

Is that Saint Suzie? she whispered to Bear.

I know. He rolled his eyes. I couldn’t believe it either when she came in. Go talk to her, okay?

Why me? Bridget was as far removed from Saint Suzie as one could get. Suzie was a privileged housewife who lived in a nice house with a decent husband who didn’t beat on her. Bridget rented a trailer and was now celibate after a long string of losers who’d treated her like trash. Suzie could have graced the cover of Good Housekeeping magazine in a story about cooking tips. Bridget was more suited to a public service announcement about the dangers of meth addiction.

She’s packing ‘em down fast and furious over there. In another hour she’ll be in the ER, getting her stomach pumped.

Then cut her off! Bear had done it enough times with her. That’s why the Roadhouse was the place to go for those in recovery. You could tell Bear your goals and he’d help you stick to them.

She’s pals with the guy on the liquor board. Bear leaned over the counter, the frown showing through his thick beard. He’s got a son who’s autistic and he worships Suzie. He’s always talking about what she’s done for parents like him. Me keeping my liquor license is always a touchy subject with that guy. I don’t need any more headaches because Saint Suzie decided to drop in and pickle her brain.

Bridget took a sip of her beer. She enjoyed the taste without feeling an urge to chug the whole thing. It was a good night. Okay, I’ll go talk to her.

She made her way to the drunk’s corner. Suzie had three children. Her eldest daughter, Kimberly, was severely autistic. Everyone knew Kimberly. Suzie was always getting Kimberly’s name in the paper for stories about the rights of special needs people.

Hi, Suzie. Mind if I sit down?

Suzie looked up, showing not the face of a well-cared for middle-aged woman, but a mask of tragedy. She lowered her eyes without answering.

Thanks. Bridget took a seat. She knew Suzie recognized her. Bridget had gone through a bad patch two years ago, getting drunk on a regular basis and swimming naked in the town fountain—the one people threw coins into to support programs for autistic children. You don’t look so hot, Suzie. Want to talk about it?

Suzie’s blue eyes were framed by red splotches. Dana left home.

Oh. Dana, Suzie’s youngest child, had been in the paper too, for winning track events. Bridget recalled a pretty blonde girl with teeth so straight they looked like they’d been installed with a carpenter’s square. Did you two have an argument?

She left me this. Suzie slid a torn page from a book across the table. Read it.

Bridget didn’t read very well, but saw no way to refuse. She bent over and began slowly working her way through the highlighted text.

Packs often drive dogs out of the group. Typically the outcast is weak or sick. Sometimes it’s due to behavior. If an adolescent pup can’t learn to behave properly, it isn’t allowed to stay in the pack.

To human eyes, these look like unbearable acts of cruelty, but to the dogs they’re a necessary part of survival. To dogs, the pack is everything. It’s not simply a social order, it’s your means of getting enough to eat and being protected. The well-being of the pack takes precedent over the rights of the individual. To keep a behavior problem, or a sick pup, in the pack weakens everyone’s protection, which is why it can’t be tolerated.

Bridget sat back. She hadn’t been the best student in school. She thought she’d gotten the gist of the piece, but couldn’t be sure.

Maybe Dana’s right. Suzie finished her whiskey and signaled for another. Maybe I should have institutionalized Kimberly. She’s violent, did you know that? She’s been beating the crap out of all of us since she was six. I’ve had her in ten different behavioral modification programs, nothing helps. Frowning, Suzie waved at Bear again.

In the mirror, Bridget saw him give the signal for ‘in a minute’.

I thought Kimberly was a gift from God. That it was my duty to do everything I could for her. Well, I did that. Suzie’s laugh sounded like the harsh bark of a seal. I sacrificed my entire life to make her better: all our savings, all my time, all my energy. There was nothing left over for Dana or Pete or Dan. Oh, have you heard about Pete? He started a fire in our church rec room last year. Last week, he got caught with matches in health class. We’re not going to be able to keep him out of reform school.

Hmmm, said Bridget.

Suzie shot her a sharp look. That’s all you have to say, ‘hmmm’. I thought you’d enjoy this—the self-righteous pillar of society brought so low her healthy daughter has run away and her son is facing jail time. Suzie glared at the bottom of her empty glass. And Dan wants a divorce. He’s wanted one for years, but this time he means it.

Oh, said Bridget again.

Suzie gave her the look. The look you get right before someone’s fist smashes into your nose.

My take on this piece is a little different than yours.

How?

My mom kicked me out of the house when I was fourteen.

Suzie took her focus off the barkeeper and turned it fully onto Bridget.

I was cramping her style. She was a party girl who liked to have fun and I was an introvert. She said I brought the atmosphere in the house down. Bridget considered her words carefully. I didn’t fit in with my pack, so I got chucked out of it.

Oh. Suzie wasn’t so far into the fog of whiskey a revelation couldn’t penetrate.

I spent years trying to get back into her pack by acting silly and flirtatious which was stupid because, by then, my mom wasn’t around to notice. She’d run off with one of her boyfriends. Because I didn’t enjoy acting like something I wasn’t, I started drinking to dull the pain.

Suzie pulled the page about dog packs back toward her. So you’re telling me I did the right thing by not putting Kimberly in an institution, by not throwing her out of the pack. Keeping her has cost me everything. She’s all I’m left with, and I don’t even like her. When she smells liquor on my breath, she’ll hit me. When I wake her up for school, she’ll hit me. When I make her lunch, she’ll hit me, and there’ll be no one to get in between us. Pete will be in reform school, Dan will be out with his new girlfriend, and Dana didn’t even leave me a forwarding address. What am I supposed to do?

Don’t drink too much. Bridget finished her beer. Tonight she’d have only one. That was progress. Maybe next week, she wouldn’t even need to come in here. Sorry I don’t have anything more useful to offer. I dropped out of school my sophomore year.

She put five dollars on the table and left, getting a thumbs up from Bear on the way out.

Bridget had never gone to college, but hard-living had taught her that some problems didn’t have solutions.

Ten Questions for God

Steven N. Bays

Anthony walked out of church with his parents and younger sister. They stopped to say hello to the priest standing in the doorway, greeting everyone. Father Duffy tousled Anthony’s hair with his hand, and complimented his sister Susie on her bright yellow outfit.

Anthony never liked going to church, but he had no choice. Now that Mass had finished, he wanted to get out of his Sunday clothes and spend the rest of the day outside playing ball or horsing around with his friends. Anthony had lots of friends, and he was nine years old now, old enough not to need play dates. No. Those were for little kids, like his sister.

He did have some homework to do, but it didn’t have to be finished today. His parents wanted him to start on it, and going to church had given him an idea.

Walking toward their car, he resisted his mother’s attempt to take him by the hand. He tried to get her attention when his mother stopped to talk to a couple she knew. She talked a lot. Anthony waited patiently, behaving like the good boy the priest claimed him to be. He stood quietly and rolled his eyes, wishing they would hurry up. He heard his mother offer an invitation to the other couple. They didn’t have any kids of their own, and Anthony knew it would be a boring visit. He and Susie would have to sit there as if on display.

Growing impatient, Anthony gave her arm a slight tug. Mom. If he could get his mother’s attention, maybe she would stop talking and they would be on their way. She ignored him.

Mom, I’ve decided what my assignment for school will be.

That’s great Anthony. What is it? She said goodbye to the other couple, and as she walked toward their car, took Susie by the hand.

I’m gonna interview God.

His mother took a deep breath and turned toward Anthony, who had climbed the stone wall surrounding the church grounds and now walked precariously, balancing himself a few feet off the ground.

What the hell do you think you’re doing? his father asked.

Don’t talk to the boy that way, his mother said.

Okay, his father said. Get down from there. Please.

Anthony jumped off the wall and joined them on the sidewalk. He skipped ahead and brought up his assignment again. The teacher said, pick a real person, a hysterical person.

You mean a historical figure, his mother corrected him.

Yeah, a historical person. That’s what I said. Find out as much as you can ‘bout them, then come up with ten questions for, like for an interview.

They continued walking. His parents didn’t say a word.

I’m gonna interview God. He repeated it so they’d know he was serious.

Couldn’t you pick someone else, sweetie? his mother asked.

Historical. Yes, he’s very real.

Which God you gonna pick Anthony? asked Susie. Jesus, the Father, or the Holy Spirit?

They’re all the same person Susie. He shook his head slightly to emphasize that he knew what he was talking about. Didn’t you learn anything in CCD? Anthony had already received First Holy Communion, but Susie had just started her preparation.

It’s my assignment and I wanna inteview God, he repeated.

Opening the car door, his mother said, Okay children, we can talk about it later. Let’s get in.



At home, Anthony and his father were outside throwing a football, while Susie and his mom prepared lunch in the kitchen. Anthony loved football, and wanted to grow up to be a quarterback for his favorite team. His hands were too small to grip the ball, but he could catch better than most kids his age.

Ever think of being a wide receiver, instead of a quarterback? his father asked.

No. Quarterbacks are more fun.

Okay, who’s your favorite?

Anthony laughed. You know who.

Your mother told me about your new assignment. You’re gonna interview God?

Yeah.

God may prove to be a difficult subject.

Then I’ll ask people to help. Do you have a question I could use? In his own innocent way, Anthony had it all figured out.

You know, some people may come up with really profound questions for you.

They’re not for me, Dad, they’re for God.

You know what profound means?

Yeah. He paused. No. Another pause. I don’t think so.

Okay, listen. Two things. After we eat, we’ll look up profound in the dictionary. Tomorrow, I want you to tell your teacher who you decided on. If it’s okay with her, your mother and I will help you with the assignment. That is, if you want us to.

Thanks, Dad. Think of a good question for me.



Over the next few days, and after giving it considerable thought, Anthony could only come up with a couple of questions. He let everyone know about his assignment and the subject he had picked. He told his neighbors, his friends, and