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eWinter2016

Vol 34:2 ISSN 1929-6193

Writers Helping WritersNational Capital Region

SNOWFLAKES FLUTTER DOWN outside my window on thisday that leads into winter. Autumn wanes, and that meansthe writer’s time of active dormancy begins.At this time of year writers can celebrate a closing down that

opens doors, a shortening of days that lengthens time to write.Without balmy weather, sunny evenings and summer activities todistract, we can nestle in for quiet productivity. Like our decidu-ous trees, to an onlooker we appear stripped down and inactive—maybe even dead—but the opposite is true. We thrive in thebusy-ness of dormancy. We riffle through thoughts, ideas, expe-riences we stored away under the summer sun and we processthem to create a new, surprising beauty in the spring.

With the right nourishment—supportive writing circles, help-ful editors, education, and encouragement—writers flourish andblossom in the active dormancy of winter. That’s how organiza-tions like CAA help. We are vital nutrients for the writer’s mind.For ideas and connections, I invite you to join in our webinars andmeetings to feed your winter writing. For fun, please join us at ourwinter social on Sunday, December 4. Together we can producesome beautiful spring blossoms.

WinterActive dormancyBY ARLENE SMITH

Shake off those shivers at a warm gathering offriends and fellow writers.

DATE: Sunday, December 4, 2016TIME: 1:00 - 00 p.m.LOCATION: Sharyn's country home3622 Campbellcroft Rd, Osgoode (Off Hwy 31 South of Metcalfe)TYPE: Pot Luck Appetizers and MunchiesRead your favourite seasonal poem or short story, share recentsuccess, review and purchase work of your fellow writers ... just intime for gift-giving. RSVP sharyn_40@yahoo.com

Good cheer! Good friends! Good food!I you need a ride, we'll try to accommodate.

Celebrating WinterCAA-NCR Social

mailto:sharyn_40@yahoo.com

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IN THIS ISSUE

It’s Never Too LateYoung at ArtSONIA TILSON

Poem: “Christmas Baking”2016 NCWC Honourable Mention LEE ANN ECKHARDT SMITH

How to Find and EnterContests BARBARA FLORIO GRAHAM

Poem: “A Piece of ScotchPlaid”2016 NCWC Honourable MentionGERRY MOONEY

The Power of StoryStructureWriting the Page Turner BARBARA KYLE

Short Story: “They NeverCalled Her Cinderella”2016 NCWC Second PlaceTONY BOVE

Short Story: “The InwardVision”2015 NCWC Honourable MentionZENON STRZELCZYK

WHEN MY FIRST book, The Monkey Puzzle Tree, was published byBiblioasis, The Ottawa Citizen review made much of the factthat the book was written in my late seventies. I appreciated thereview's positive remarks about my novel of course, but could have likedthe focus to have been more on the book and less on my age. The manydelightful book clubs I visited were also eager to hear about how I hadmanaged this apparent feat.

When you think about it, however, publishing late in life is not reallyso surprising. After all, many writers continue working into their seventiesand eighties: Alice Munro, Ursula Le Guin, Leonard Cohen, the late P.D.James, Philip Roth, Elmore Leonard, Toni Morrison, Cynthia Ozick - thelist goes on.

Admittedly, writers who begin publishing very late are rarer, of course,but it can and does happen. Frank McCourt published his first book,Angela's Ashes, at sixty-six, and Laura Ingalls Wilder was sixty-four whenLittle House on the Prairie was published. My favourite childhood writer,Violet Needham, began publishing her nineteen highly successful books atthe age of sixty-three.

The reasons for late development as a writer are not hard to see, the firstbeing, of course, lack of time. Writing, as we all know, takes time, lots oftime, and time is what we usually don't have. Most of us have or have haddemanding jobs, and/or families to look after and homes to run. Theamount of time required by writing is unavailable to many and to someunimaginable.

Not until retirement can we finally have the luxury and necessity ofuninterrupted time to ourselves. Also, with our work finished and ourchildren grown, retirement can bring with it, if we are lucky, greater peaceof mind and a quieter household. Relatively speaking, the pressure is off,for a while anyway. Moreover, with more time and greater peace of mindthere could be an increase in energy level along with a desire for adventureand a sense of untried possibilities. While we are aware much of our life isover, we see the rest of it stretching before us.

Another bonus is that that we older folks have a lifetime of experienceto draw on for our material. Our lives, along with those of our friends andfamily and others we know, are full of stories. We are familiar with amultitude of places, times, and situations. Also, if we are drawn to writing,we have to be readers, and therefore have all those years of reading behindus. We know what we like, and why, and have a good sense of what is true

continued on page 3

BY SONIA TILSON

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OUR MONTHLY MEETINGS - SEPTEMBER TO MAY

● The second Tuesday of the month● 7 p.m.● McNabb Recreation Centre, 180 Percy Street, Ottawa● We meet at 7 for conversation and refreshments and start

our meetings shortly after.

It’s never too late: Young at art

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to life and what works. Many of us, moreover, who aredrawn to writing fiction, have had practical experience inother forms of writing such as journalism, report-writing,analyzing, editing, etc., and already understand the basicsof effective writing.

All these factors are tremendous assets to the latestarter, but there is yet another bonus, to me the best of all:the joy of learning how to do something new.

While it is wonderful to be able finally to focus on alife-long hobby or interest, acquiring a new skill of anykind at a later age can feel like a new lease of life. It couldbe anything: painting, learning a new language, knitting,skiing, cabinet-making, playing the flute...

My mother, for example, after immigrating to Canadaat the age of eighty, took up copper enameling and leatherwork. None of that 'just waiting for the end' stuff for her!After action-filled days she would proudly bring home hercreations: brooches, coasters, bowls, mats, wallets, all ofthem more than acceptable gifts; some of them little worksof art.

When I retired, inspired by her perhaps, I looked forwhat I could learn to create.

Oddly enough, I made a couple of false starts beforethrowing myself into writing. First, worn out after decadesof "the intolerable wrestle of words and meaning," (T.S.Eliot), I found I was sick of words. Words, I thought, werenot the thing. I decided to stop thinking about them andlearn how to paint (always an interest of mine).

In painting, I discovered, it is possible to think withoutwords. The brain bypasses them as the brush moves frompalette to canvas and back: a touch more red here, tonedown the orange there, change that line so… Secondly, ataround that time I also took up the highly rewardingproject of reading philosophical/religious works to a blindwriter.

Finally, after some years of this recuperation, I wasdrawn to take Ivan E. Coyote's wonderfully encouragingmemoir-writing course and suddenly saw the light. Hiscourse made me realise that what I ought to be doing waswriting for myself. After almost a lifetime of struggling toconvey the splendours of other people's writing and ofinterpreting and editing my students' efforts, I wouldbegin creating my own material, first memoir and then -the most daring leap - fiction.

Long before there was any prospect of publication,just going to Mary Borsky's excellent short story-writingwriting workshop, experimenting, learning, sharing workwith other writers, felt to me like a whole new life.

Looking back, I know that even without thesatisfaction of having my first novel published and mysecond accepted for publication, acquiring all these skillsand learning to become a writer myself, was the bestpossible way I could spend these later years. In fact, itseems to me now that my whole life has been apreparation for becoming a writer.

Reading, studying, writing papers, assessing students'work, raising a family, teaching, painting, and readingphilosophical/religious works; all these elementscontributed to my having the material, and to some extent,the ability to become an author, reminding me of the linesin Robert Browning's poem, "Rabbi Ben Ezra":

Grow old along with me!The best is yet to be.

The last of life, for which the first was made.

BIO: Sonia was born in Swansea and educated atMonmouth School for Girls and the University of Wales,Swansea. In 1964 she immigrated to Canada, settling inOttawa. An English teacher all her working life, she hastaught at Elmwood School for Girls, Algonquin College,Carleton University, and the University of Ottawa.

Sonia's first novel, The Monkey Puzzle Tree, publishedby Biblioasis in 2013, alternates between Wales andCanada, beginning at the outbreak of WWII. Her secondbook, The Disappearing Boy, has been accepted forpublication as a middle grade novel, in September 2017,by Nimbus Publishing in Halifax, NS. Currently she isworking on a collection of short stories.

IT’S NEVER TOO LATEcontinued from page 2

The Luck of the Karluk: Shipwrecked inthe ArcticBY L.D. CROSS

The amazing story of human natureunder treacherous conditions.

ISBN: 9781772030211Print and e-bookhttp://www.heritagehouse.ca

http://www.heritagehouse.ca/http://www.heritagehouse.ca/http://www.heritagehouse.ca/,

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CHRISTMAS BAKINGby Lee Ann Eckhardt Smith

Every timeI lightly flour the countertopRollOr drop dough by teaspoons-fullFollowing exactly the recipeMy mother copied faithfully fromHer motherI feel the energy flowMotherGrandmotherGreat-grandmotherConnecting usSure as string on mittens.And I feel my hands, supple and stickyGuided by ghosts of handsSome decorated with thin gold bands and tiny diamond chipsSome gnarled with swollen knucklesBlunted by too much caring for and not enough of anything elseAnd yet for all that,GentleAs they direct me in this motherly work.

WomenFor millenniaHave had the job of transformingButterEggsSugarInto memories for their children,Who insistWith shining eyesThese are recreated in exactly the same wayYear upon yearFrom childhood onUntilWith gentle guidanceThey are handed down.

2016National Capital Writing Contest

POETRYHonourable

MentionLEE ANN ECKHARDT SMITH

BIO: Lee Ann's passion for history andstorytelling has driven her career as a writ-er of life stories. She is the author of twoacclaimed non-fiction history books, andmany magazine articles. Her workshopseries, "How to Write Family History andMemoir – Even if You're Not a Writer" hasbeen running in Ottawa and Perth since2007. Recently, her interest in writing po-etry has been rekindled and she is currentlyat work on a collection of poems and pho-tographs.www.leeanneckhardtsmith.com

Lee Ann Eckhardt Smith withNCWC Co-ordinator, Sherrill Wark

www.leeanneckhardtsmith.com

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Called to Egypt on the Back of the WindBY ANNE KATHLEEN MCLAUGHLIN

Jean Houston leads students through thetemples, tombs and pyramids of Egypt in aquest for a new planetary spirituality. Themyth of Isis and Osiris becomes a catalyst forthe healing of old wounds related to love.

Copies available from Borealis Press, atSinging Pebbles bookstore on Main Streetacross from Saint Paul University in Ottawa,or from Anne Kathleen.

Author ShowcaseCanadian Authors Association

National Capital RegionBranch

2016 - 2017 Executive andCoordinators

Please feel free to contact any of the fol-lowing with suggestions or concerns.

EXECUTIVEChair Arlene SmithMembership Dr. Francois MaiPrograms Debbie RoseRecording Secretary Phyllis BohonisTreasurer Frank HegyiBranch Historian Gill FossByline Editor Sharyn Heagle

COORDINATORSNCWC Sherrill WarkWebsite Arlene SmithCommunications Carol StephenWriting Circles West End Kit Flynn Ottawa Centre Sharyn Heagle

Writers Helping Writers

WebinarWrite Better Dialogue

Date: Tuesday, December 6,7:00–8:15 p.m .Eastern TimePresenter: Matthew Bin, Past Chair, Canadian Authorsand author

Dialogue is a critical component of fiction andnonfiction writing. What people say—and how they sayit—can engage your readers or turn them offcompletely. Join Matthew Bin for a tour of thetechniques and mechanics of good dialogue. In thiswebinar, you’ll learn the mechanics of punctuation andparagraphs, understand the nuances of subtext andvoice, and discover the always effective “Law andOrder” dialogue technique. Let Matthew, author ofthree published books and numerous short stories andarticles, show you how to make your dialogue naturaland compelling.

Register at www.canadianauthors.orgDEADLINE to register: 12:00 p.m. ET December 6

http://www.borealispress.com/BookDetail/rid/991/Called%20to%20Egypt%20on%20the%20Back%20of%20the%20Windhttp://www.borealispress.com/BookDetail/rid/991/Called%20to%20Egypt%20on%20the%20Back%20of%20the%20Windmailto:amclaughlin@sympatico.camailto:mailto:amclaughlin@sympatico.camailto:mailto:amclaughlin@sympatico.camailto:somertonsmith@yahoo.commailto:somertonsmith@yahoo.commailto:maifse@gmail.commailto:maifse@gmail.commailto:maifse@gmail.commailto:debbie.rose@primus.camailto:phyllis.bohonis@sympatico.camailto:fhegyi@cistel.commailto:fhegyi@cistel.commailto:sharyn_40@yahoo.commailto:sharyn_40@yahoo.commailto:ncwc@crowecreations.casomertonsmith@yahoo.commailto:cstephen0@gmail.commailto:cstephen0@gmail.commailto:kit.flynna@gmail.commailto:mailto:kit.flynna@gmail.commailto:sharyn_40@yahoo.commailto:sharyn_40@yahoo.comwww.canadianauthors.org

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How to find and enter contests

ENTERING CONTESTS IS a great wayto test your work. Even receivingan Honorable Mention canreassure you that this piece is worthsending to top markets.

I had a short story that kept winningcontests, piling up hundreds of dollars inprize money, but remained unpublished.

One of the contests it won was run by the OttawaBranch of CAA. Members urged me to keep trying tofind a market for it. I finally heard about a Canadiantextbook company accepting submissions for a gradeeight reader.

That's when the light bulb went on. I had taughtseventh and eighth grade, and my students loved thisstory, which I always read to them in December. CalledA Christmas Story, it fit one category Nelson Brotherswanted for this book.

So I submitted it, and it was published in the sectiontitled War and Peace. They purchased only Canadianrights, so I subsequently sold U.S. rights andCONTEXTS remained in print for more than two decades.

But one day I received a letter from a textbookcompany in Sweden. They were looking for stories toinclude in a textbook of readings for high school studentslearning English. They paid $250 for A Christmas Storyfor a grade nine reader, and then came back again to askto use it in the grade 10 book, and paid me again!

This story was subsequently purchased by a textbookcompany in Norway, and then by the same company fora new version, in 2008.

You can see it in the Table of Contents in Voices inTime.

What if I had never entered this story in any contests?What if I hadn't been persuaded by those contests todiscover other markets?

I kept looking for a market because I was encouragedby judges who felt this story was worthy of a prize.

I see too many writers who give their work away, tomarkets that either don't pay or pay very little, becausethey don't think it would ever be considered by a majormarket.

I always suggest sending your work first to the topmarket, and then move down, if necessary.

But even before that, why not enter it in a contest?Writing contests are everywhere. The best way to

find good ones is to rely on reputable newsletters, suchas those listed by CAA in its email bulletins or Byline.

Many publications list contests in every issue, andsome, like Freelance Writer's Report, sponsor theWriters-Editors Network annual contest, one of the topinternational contests I recommend.

Beginning writers should look for contests with noentry fee, or local contests held by writers' groups in your

BY BARBARA FLORIO GRAHAM

30th Annual National Capital Writing Contest (NCWC)Sponsored by the Canadian Authors Association–National Capital Region

Short Story • Poetry

$300 First Place • $200 Second Place • $100 Third PlaceOpen to all Canadian writers.

Deadline: 11:59 PM/23h59 EST Friday, February 3, 2017

Submissions may be sent via regular mail or submitted online.Winning entries will be published in Byline, and all finalists’ entries will be published in a 2017 Anthology

celebrating NCWC’s 30th Anniversary. All rights will remain with the writer.Short Story: Maximum 2,500 words, unpublished, in English.

Poetry: Maximum 60 lines including title and blank lines, unpublished, in English. No Haiku.Information: www.canadianauthors.org/nationalcapitalregion

Continued on page 7

www.canadianauthors.org/nationalcapitalregion

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region where you aren't competing with a huge range ofestablished professionals. CAA is a perfect place to start.

Where there are entry fees, look for how this moneyis used. If it goes toward supporting a local organizationyou belong to, like CAA, this is a way to help themthrive and grow. Some contests support a particularcharity, or fund an educational program.

But if the contest is designed only to enrich somecompany you're never heard of, check their website andbe very careful before submitting anything.

Weigh prize money against entry fees. If prizes areexceptionally high, and entry fees are as wll, be wary.This may be a scam designed to lure writers intosubsidizing a new venture that may evaporate as soon asfunds are collected.

Also read the guidelines carefully. If a contest is opento established professionals with several books to theircredit, your chances are much slimmer than if entries canonly be from writers in a certain age range, or those whohave not yet published their first book.

Some scams lure writers to submit to what ends upbeing an expensive pay-to-publish operation. There havebeen several companies in the past with impressivenames, publishing The Best of... or The American…which are actually ways to obtain free content for bookswhich are then sold only to contributors! They solicitmanuscripts widely, charge very small entrance fees, andaccept everything for publication. These aren't contestsat all, but publishing scams.

However there are many legitimate contests toconsider. Perhaps the fee is used to publish a literarymagazine. Check the publication on the web, and if it'swell-established, contains the work of writers whosenames you recognize, and all contest entrants receive afree subscription, this is a win/win situation. It's fairlycommon for some small literary magazines to set entryfees in the $20 range, and include a free subscription totheir quarterly publication. Reading a year's issues will

allow you to see what this and similar literary journalsconsider publishable.

I know several award-winning poets who enter oneof these contests every year, sampling different literarypublications to find markets that fit their work.

What's really important, regardless of the entry fee,is to check the fine print. Make sure you aren't signingaway your rights just by submitting your work.

If I hadn't been careful to license only Canadian andthen U.S. rights to A Christmas Story I would have beenunable to accept the offers from four textbooks, whosetotal payment came to $1000.

The wise freelancer budgets for contests. Decide howmuch you can afford to spend, and then find contestswhere you're likely to do well.

And good luck!

BIO: Barbara Florio Graham is an author and publishingconsultant. The author of three books, Five Fast Steps toBetter Writing (20th anniversary edition), Five FastSteps to Low-Cost Publicity, and the award-winningMewsings/Musings, she served as Managing Editor forProse to Go: Tales from a Private List, which is nowavailable as an ebook for just $4.99. Her website,http://SimonTeakettle.com, contains a great deal of freeinformation, including resources for writers andpublishers.

Continued from page 6HOW TO FIND AND ENTER CONTESTS

For CAA-NCR Branch programs andactivities, or to see what your fellow writersare up to, check our website.

Current and back issues of Byline are available on the site.Our Websitecanadianauthors.org/nationalcapitalregion

The story that won the CAA contest was alsopublished in CONTEXTS, and then in Norway,in Voices in Time.

http://SimonTeakettle.comwww.canadianauthors.org/nationalcapitalregion/

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A Piece of Scotch PlaidBY GERRY MOONEY

Inspired by “Double Dutch”by Oleg Shuplyak, date unknown

Vincent, I am captivatedby your striking ginger hair, beard,self-acknowledged insecure eyesburied in a calm expression,probably inaccurate for onewho has known suchturmoil, trembling.The swirling amber backgroundreflects your inner turbulence,a steamy, pressure-cooker mindfilled with imaginary arabesquesand digitalis-induced hallucinations.

I am transfixed as your portraitkaleidoscopes, morphinginto a pastoral scene,an impastoed, golden wheat field,with dark obelisk cypresses andsquatty, light-green olive trees.Your younger self, wearing a strawhat, perches on a rock watchinga blue-clad, flaxen-haired young ladyflutter by, seemingly unawareof your presence. Perhaps she isyoung Adeline who posed for you at the inn.

I am mesmerized by this masterful illusion,this optical trickery moving betweenportrait and wheat field, butVincent, I want your last portraitin shades of melancholy blue, not thispastiche with cypressed sideburns andmarmalade backdrop. I long for yourfluffy zinc-white clouds on cobalt blue,swallows chirruping, crickets chirpingin rolling waves of nutty-flavoured grain.I want your “canvas of cypresses withsome ears of wheat, some poppies, andblue sky like a piece of Scotch plaid.”(1)

(1) Van Gogh, Vincent (Saint-Remy, France). Letter to: TheoVan Gogh (Paris, France) 1889 July 2

2106 NCWCPoetry

HonourableMention

GERRY MOONEY

BIO: Over the last two years, Nepean poet GerryMooney, a member of TOPS, has had poemspublished in Canadian Stories and several TOPSanthologies. She won awards in the 2015 and2016 Canadian Authors' Association NationalCapital Branch poetry competitions and in the2015 William Henry Drummond poetry contest.

If you wish to receive Byline or our bi-weekly email updates, send your

information toArlene Smith.

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Join the CAA-NCR Facebook groupto receive updates on meetings,workshops, author activities and othernews of interest to writers. Add yoursuggestions or comments about ourprograms, or share your news.

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Note: Yearly prices reflect the cost of threeissues; the fourth publication is freeFor more information, contact BylineByline is distributed by e-mail to those onour extensive CAA–NCR mailing list. Tohave your name added to our mailinglists, contact the editor.

for Quarterly Publication

Our January Meeting:Caroline Pignat

DATE: January 10, 2017TIME: 7:00 p.m.LOCATION: McNabb Community Center, Percy St.Stuck at a threshold? In need of a mentor? Dreadingyour dragon? Wherever we are in our writing careers,writing takes courage—and lots of it. Askingourselves the right questions can help us forge aheadand claim that treasure. Join two-time GG winner,author and teacher Caroline Pignat as she exploresthe call, challenges, and adventure of writing. Ourvoices, our stories, our ends and means may differ,but every writer’s journey is truly a Hero’s Journey.BIO: Caroline Pignat is the two-time Governor GeneralʼsAward-winning author of highly acclaimed young adult novels.Her historical fiction, contemporary, and free verse novels usemultiple points of view and varied forms to engage readers ofall ages.As a grade 11 Writer's Craft student, Caroline wrote a shortstory that years later became Greener Grass, which went on towin her first Governor General’s Award for Children’s Literaturein 2009. She won her second G.G. Award in 2015 for her freeverse historical novel, The Gospel Truth.Since the release of Egghead her first novel in 2008, Caroline’swork has been on shortlists, such as the IODE Violet DowneyBook Award and the Canadian Library Association Book of theYear, twice — one of which won Honour Book. Hailed byCanadian Children’s Book News as “historical fiction at its best”her historical novels have been finalists for the Geoffrey BilsonAwards four times. A five-time finalist and three time HonourBook winner in the Red Maple young readers’ choice awards,Caroline is shortlisted for this year’s Red Maple Award for herlatest novel, Shooter.Born in Ireland, she grew up in Ottawa, and lives in Kanata withher family.

The Writer’s Journey

https://www.facebook.com/groups/CanadianAuthorsNCR/mailto:sharyn_40@yahoo.commailto:sharyn_40@yahoo.com

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THIS IS THE second post in aseries about story structure. It'san abridged excerpt from myupcoming book Page-Turner. Readthe first post here.The HookAs writers, our first goal is to create inthe reader a desire to read on. We do

that by crafting a hook. A hook is a novel's first sentenceor paragraph, and it functions as a promise, an unspokenassurance that excitement lies ahead.Examples of HooksThe opening sentence of Herman Melville’s Moby-Dickis: “Call me Ishmael.” It's famous, and for good reason.First, it’s an imperative sentence—a command—so itestablishes an extraordinarily confident voice. Second,it gives a name, which conjures up a real, flesh-and-blood person. Third, that particular name, Ishmael, res-onates with the Biblical character of the same name,establishing a portentous theme. Powerful stuff in justthree words.Jane Austen’s much-loved novel Pride and Prejudicebegins with: “It is a truth universally acknowledged thata single man in possession of a good fortune must be inwant of a wife.” No one reading that sentence can

withhold a small, wry smile. Which was precisely Aus-ten's intent. She is telling you two things. First, this storyis going to have a foundation of gentle humor. Second,it's going to be about love and marriage: it's a romance.Hook TechniquesHere are some of the most effective ways to wield thisessential tool of craft.1. Name a character. As noted above with "Call meIshmael," names have power, because they conjure up aliving, breathing person.2. Raise a question in the reader's mind. Toni Morrisonstarts her novel Paradise with these six, arresting words:"They shoot the white girl first." Instantly, the reader'smind lurches to ask: Who are "they"? Who's the girl?Why have they shot her?3. Plunge straight into the plot. Paul Auster's City ofGlass begins with: "It was a wrong number that startedit, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night,and the voice on the other end asking for someone hewas not." 4. Foreshadow an intriguing element of plot. Here's theopening sentence of Dick Francis's mystery Straight: "Iinherited my brother's desk, his business, his gadgets,his enemies, his horses and his mistress. I inherited mybrother's life, and it nearly killed me."

The Power of Story StructureBY BARBARA KYLE

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Veronica’s PapersBy A. Colin Wright

Gerald Clayton, suffering from amnesia, receivesa package of papers from Veronica, a formerclinical hypnotist. She tells him they accomplishedhis fantasy of gathering together, on the shipMarguerite, his past loves with the two of thempresent, but in disguise.

In hopes of discovering his own past. Geraldinvites the passengers to share in a mystery byguessing what, or whom, they all have in common.

“Veronica’s Papers has an amazing premise thatmakes the reader think about the likelihood andoutcome of such an experiment in his or her ownlife.” Cold Coffee Press.

Available: http://www.coldcoffeepress.com

Follow us @caa_ncr forwriting tips and connectionswith other Ottawa areawriters.

http://us4.campaign-archive1.com/?u=4bd082541343598a3cf3a6acf&id=1d009f7ff2http://www.coldcoffeepress.comhttps://twitter.com/

5. Show a character’s personality quirk. The opening ofVladimir Nabokov's ground-breaking Lolita tosses asmall bombshell of Humbert Humbert's quirkiness:"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, mysoul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip ofthree steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth.Lo. Lee. Ta."6. Show a character’s attitude. In J. D. Salinger's TheCatcher in the Rye, the cockiness of teenage narratorHolden Caulfield is on full-frontal display in the firstsentence: "If you really want to hear about it, the firstthing you'll probably want to know is where I was born,and what my lousy childhood was like, and how myparents were occupied and all before they had me, andall that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feellike going into it, if you want to know the truth."7. Render a mysterious or suspenseful event. GeorgeOrwell's novel Nineteen-Eighty-Four starts with: "Itwas a bright cold day in April and the clocks werestriking thirteen."8. Start at the story's climax. Donna Tartt uses thistechnique to open her Pulitzer Prize-winning novel TheGoldfinch. Theo Decker is hiding out in an Amsterdamhotel room, where, he says: "I'd been shut up for morethan a week, afraid to telephone anybody or go out..."With Theo's crisis established, the author then loopsback to the chronological start of his story years earlier.

Use any of these techniques and you'll have your readerintrigued, maybe even slightly on edge. In other words,happily hooked.Next time, I'll share with you tips on creating the nextessential element of story structure: the inciting incident.

BIO: Barbara Kyle is the author of the acclaimedThornleigh Saga series of historical novels and of con-temporary thrillers, with over 450,000 copies sold inseven countries. Barbara has taught writers at theUniversity of Toronto, and is a popular presenter atwriters conferences. Her master classes and manu-script evaluations have helped launch many writers topublished success. Barbara's book Page-Turner: YourPath to Writing a Novel That Publishers Want andReaders Buy will be released in November 2016. Visitwww.BarbaraKyle.com.

Continued from page 10THE POWER OF STORY STRUCTURE

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www.BarbaraKyle.com

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They Never CalledHer CinderellaBY TONY BOVE

ONCE UPON A time, in a far-offkingdom, there lived awealthy gentleman namedGiordano. He spent many months ata time across the sea for his work, buthe always brought home a present forhis handsome wife, Portia, and twofor his beautiful daughter, Daniela,for he loved them both with all hisheart.

Giordano was skilled in the waysof commerce, so they wanted fornothing. Still, neither of themsneered at a hard day’s work. Intruth, they could easily have retained

servants to keep their house, but theyfelt that honest work cleansed thesoul.

While he was away from home,Portia taught the child everything thata young woman of good lineageshould know—how to cook andclean, tend to animals and a garden,do needlework and sewing, and shemade a song or a game out of every-thing. They spent nearly all of theirtime together, and Daniela spent mostof every day smiling.

Until, her mother died.Giordano was at sea when the

accident happened, and it took him 3days to get home. On the very morn-ing of the funeral, when he collectedhis daughter from the abbey whereshe awaited his return, she quakedwith sobbing. Daniela loved her fa-ther, but her constant companion wasgone, and she missed her very much.

Giordano’s already broken heartsank deeper at hearing his daughter’sdespair. Not knowing what else todo, he requested a favour of a servant

from a neighbouring house—a hard,haggard woman with a scab on her lipand no joy in her heart—to go to thecommercial district to procure everydiversion that she could think of forDaniela, in the hopes that that wouldtake her mind off the emptiness be-hind her breast.

There were toys and trinkets,dresses and costumes, fabrics forsewing, jewelry and baubles, and apin of amber for her long yellow hair.But, his effort was in vain; Danielawas inconsolable. She wept andwailed all through the day. And, allthrough the night. And, until the firstlight when she came downstairs toseek comfort from her father. Shedesperately wanted to recount tales ofher mother, to enwrap herself in thewarmth that had been her mother’smanner.

But, her father was gone.Mourning as he was in his own

right, he had no comfort to offerDaniela. Feeling impotent to relieveher grief and nearly consumed by his

2016 NCWCShort Story

Second Place

continued on page 13LETTERS TO KATHYby Klothild de Baar (shortlisted for the Fred Kerner Prize2016)A series of notes and love letters written by James Traill Lyon, a giftedCanadian writer - at times full of humour and laughter, then drifting intomelancholy and nostalgia, lost in a shroud of mystery and pain, all within astream of intense realpolitik and mischief.

Found floating in the St.Lawrence River by a fisherman, the letters graduallyreveal an old story of two star-crossed lovers fighting against all internal andexternal odds for a place in the sun.Although intentionally confined to the deep, where their secrets could bekept safe, the letters refused to sink and would not be damned to oblivion.Like silent merlins, they arose and returned - lest it be forgot that for onebrief and shining moment, there really was a Camelot.

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own, he hired the neighbour’s ser-vant, Mistress Sciatto, to keep thehouse and to care for Daniela as herGoverness. He noted to himself thatshe was a curt, unsympathetic wom-an, and a poor substitute for anymother. But, she was convenient, andhe was resigned to leave. Stoopedover, he left the house a widower inthe middle of the night to commithimself again to his affairs of com-merce on the sea.

Daniela’s grief turned to ragefaster than a falling star sputters outbefore you even know that you see it.She demanded of Mistress Sciatto topresent her father, but she could not.Daniela lashed out as would an in-jured cat, breaking dishes and win-dows, demanding again to see herfather. Mistress Sciatto explained, inthe most inhospitable way, that herfather had abandoned her, having leftenough money to maintain the house,and to provide for Daniela, for twoyears. She shouldn’t expect to see orhear from him again until those yearshad passed.

Daniela retreated to the pile ofgifts her father had given her, for theybrought her some comfort. She criedherself to sleep that night on a bed ofbright dresses, wearing a tear

streaked harlequin costume, clutch-ing a ballerina carved from ivory.And she spent the next two yearsbeing utterly indulged by the lazyMistress Sciatto, having but to de-clare a want to see it fulfilled, for itwas easier than banter. And, shequickly became accustomed to get-ting everything that she wanted, in themanner in which she wanted, precise-ly when she wanted. She didn’t knowit, but her mother would not haveliked the vain, spoiled thing that shebecame.

Two years later, her father re-turned—with them.

Come child, and meet your newmother, was all Daniela rememberedhearing that morning. Unbeknownstto Daniela, Giordano had taken a newwife, the Lady Tremíti, a widow withtwo daughters of her own, Cataníaand Amaría, both about the same ageas Daniela. Giordano was uncon-cerned with the manner in which hisnew wife ran the house, and he in-structed Daniela to obey her newmother—something she would neverever call her. And, despite Daniela’sobjections, he withdrew again to hislife on the sea.

Lady Tremíti insisted that herdaughters, now three of them, partici-

pate in keeping the house to earnprivileges and rewards. Lady Tremítiwas never unkind or unfair, but Dan-iela was unaccustomed to having toearn anything that she wanted, andshe did not care for this new customat all. Her demands went unheard;her tantrums, no matter how dramat-ic, did not win her the thing that shewanted as they had done with hernow dispatched Governess, and shethought her step-mother—her madremedía—to be wicked, and cruel.

Catanía and Amaría, knew whattheir mother expected, and how tokeep a proper house. When the threegirls were offered a basket of straw-berries as a reward for pulling theweeds from the garden, Daniela satidly by, letting the other two do all ofthe work. They didn’t like dividingthe rows by two instead of three, butthey wanted the strawberries, so theydid Daniela’s share of the work them-selves, and the three girls sharedequally in the spoils. This continuedfor a long time, until the sisters wereno longer willing to cover for Danie-la. If Daniela’s chores went undone,as they always did, they told theirmother the truth, and Daniela oftenwatched her step-sisters eating straw-berries without her, or having new

continued from page 12THEY NEVER CALLED HER CINDERELLA

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A Marginally Noted Manby Anne Shmelzer

This timeless and poignant story portrays Will Nicol’s inter-nal struggle to regain his sanity after five years in the WW1trenches of Flanders Fields, and explores the central themes oflasting love and friendship. Will’s journey plunges readersinto the moral ambiguity of war, his recuperative convales-cence with Trappist monks and his courage in confronting hismemories and demons, as he searches for redemption.A Marginally Noted Man is available through the publisher’swebsite railwaycreekbooks.ca Amazon, Kobo, and iBookstores. Print editions are also available at Perfect Books andBooks on Beechwood in Ottawa, The Book Nook in Perth andNovel Idea in Kingston.

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ribbons in their hair when there werenone for hers. She thought her step-sisters to be even more wicked thanher madre medía, and she repaidtheir wickedness as often as shecould.

Then, word arrived that Giordanohad died at sea.

Daniela had no idea who the dan-dy man in the blue cape was, but shedid hear what he said. By law, nowoman may own land. If her madremedía didn’t take another husband,or marry off one of the girls, then thefamily estates—hers, and both of herlate husbands’—in their entirety,would revert to the King.

Desperate for a solution, LadyTremíti invited four gentlemen fromthe village to enjoy an evening ofdinner and fine wine, in the hopesthat one of them would take one ofthe girls to be his wife. She knew thehearts of men all too well, and shedeliberately invited four men to courtthe three girls in the hopes that themen’s fighting spirit would light afire in their hearts, or somewhereelse, and make them compete for theaffections of a girl that they mightotherwise have overlooked.

The three girls knew the plan,and the importance of its success.But, Daniela saw only an opportunityto strike back. When dinner wasserved, and the guests began eating,the expressions on their faces made itobvious that Daniela had succeeded.When asked to identify the uniqueflavor in the stew, in response Danie-la flung a pocketful of cinders intothe faces of all in attendance, uncon-cerned that she covered herself incinders in the process. As the menretreated in disdain and disgust, Dan-iela reveled in the look of anger and

disappointment on the face of hermadre medía, and she considered it afitting lesson for the many times thatshe herself had been angered anddisappointed by the other three wom-en in the house.

She slept in the forest last night,beside the tree that marked her moth-er’s grave, unaware that a Royalproclamation was being delivered toevery household in the kingdom.

The King was to host a Festival.The King’s Festival would last

for three days. There would be pan-tomimes and exotic animals, feastsand treats, music and dancing and,most importantly, the opportunity forevery maiden of marrying age tocatch the eye of the yet unmarriedCrown Prince.

Daniela, Catanía, and Amaríawere all expected to attend the festi-val, but Daniela seemed uninterestedin the whole affair. The sistershelped each other get dressed, grab-bing for the best jewelry, helping topin each other’s hair, but when Dan-iela was asked to hand Amaría acomb, she flung it across the bed-room where it landed in the chamberpot. The sisters didn’t know it, butDaniela had her own plans for theFestival and they were far more gran-diose than their own.

Daniela had snuck out to thecommercial district and visited theshoppe of a merchant her father hadsupplied with the most beautiful silksfrom Asia. She stole everything sheneeded to make her own dress, whichshe did under cover of night, andunder the careful watch of the mice.When asked by her madre medíafrom where the dress had come, shemade up the most fantastical lie. She

declared My god-mother gave it tome. She lives as a faerie in thewoods, and she made me this magi-cal dress out of poplar leavesstitched together with thread made ofwinter-wheat. Everybody knew shewas lying, but she didn’t care.

She hadn’t ridden to the Festivalin the coach with the other womeneither, and when asked how she gotthere, she made up another godmother story about a pumpkin, andsome mice and a rat being magicallytransformed into the most beautifulcoach with Arabian stallions and awhiskered coachman. In truth, Dan-iela had offered herself to the RoyalCoachman, a man she knew from aneighbouring estate whose whiskersreminded Daniela of a rat. He wasthe beneficiary of something that theGoverness Mistress Sciatto hadtaught Daniela upon the occasion ofDaniela becoming a woman.

Use your mouth and keep yourvirtue.

The Prince’s Ball on the firstnight of the Festival would have beenhumiliating had the stakes been notas high. You can liken it to a herd ofmilk cows being inspected forworms on their teats. The Prince wasintroduced to more than a hundredyoung women, each of them primpedand powdered and preened, and per-fectly rehearsed. Daniela watched asthe other girls flattered and fawnedover the Prince, promising fidelityand everlasting love—two things hedidn’t desire.

At the Prince’s Ball on the sec-ond night of the Festival, the Princeselected three women from the firstnight, with whom he would eat, anddance, and talk, and probably de-flower on the terrace somewhere

continued from page 13THEY NEVER CALLED HER CINDERELLA

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near the stroke of twelve. That night,the unimaginable happened. Danielaactually caught the eye of the CrownPrince. And, upon taking his handfor their waltz, remembering howunimpressed he was by the guiles ofthe other girls, Daniela stated quiteplainly that if he took her to be hiswife: she would always play thedevoted dutiful Princess in public, hecould keep as many courtesans as heliked in private, and he could use theestate for whatever purpose hewished.

At the Prince’s Ball on the sec-ond night of the Festival, the eveningended with the Crown Prince takingDaniela as his wife. Lady Tremíti’sutter bewilderment didn’t diminishher relief; they would not lose theirhome. Granted, the Tremíti and theGiordano estates would be trans-ferred, through the marriage to Dan-iela, to the Prince, but they wouldkeep their home.

Or, so she thought.Unfortunately for Lady Tremíti

and her daughters, what the Princewanted was to have a tract of landwhich he himself could declare Roy-al hunting grounds for the CervoMesola, the elusive red deer.

Lady Tremíti and her daughterscame home from the festival thatSunday morning to find an armeddetachment of Royal servants withorders to prevent their entry to theestate, even if only to retrieve theirpossessions. The land, the house,and everything inside now belongedto The Prince, and they were neveragain to be admitted to the estate.

They returned immediately to thecastle to demand an explanation anda reversal, but they would not beadmitted to the castle, and no Royalfamily member would give them anaudience. They were simply andunceremoniously turned away at thegate. Lady Tremíti assured herdaughters that she would do every-thing in her power to reacquire theirhome, but she underestimated howlittle power she actually had. At theoffice of the barrister upon whomher late husband had relied, she wastold quite plainly There is no inter-pretation of the law that can helpyou. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I havean appointment with a client whocan afford to pay me.

As she left his office, she saw herformer home in the distance, ablaze.It was, after all, the fastest way to

clear cluttered land. They had no-where to go, and they had nothingbut their ridiculous ballgowns and anold carriage to sell for food.

Daniela’s revenge for injuriesonly imagined, was absolute and un-compromising.

As the newlyweds took theirthrones as Prince and Princess forthe first time, Daniela looked at herhusband and asked sardonically,

So, this is love?And they lived happily ever af-

ter……while the step-mother and her

daughters died of the pox.

BIO: Tony Bove has been employedas a Technical Writer for the last 20years. The Step-Mother's Story,inspired by his own step-children,Ash and Isaac Proulx, is the firstpersonal writing project he's evercompleted, and the CAA-NCRNational Capital Writing Contest isthe first competition he's everentered. Obviously, this is a greatfirst step towards a productivewriting career. Tony lives inKanata.

THEY NEVER CALLED HER CINDERELLAcontinued from page 14

New Planet, New WorldIan Prattis transports you to a faraway planet. Earth isdying due to Humankind’s damage to the environment.The clash of cultures, late in the twenty first century,opens this epic novel of pioneers establishing communityin a nearby galaxy.This sci-fi finale of a trilogy stands on award winningRedemption and Trailing Sky Six Feathers.New Planet, New World, has 13 chapters, 286 pages.Published by Manor House, Buy a copy ($24.95) directlyfrom the author and receive the two prior books for free.In Ottawa pick up your books at 1252 Rideout Cr,Ottawa, ON K2C 2X7.613 726 0881 iprattis@bell.netOr order through: http://ianprattis.com/NewPlanet.htmlAmazon, Indigo, Barnes & Noble.

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BETWEEN THE WOODEN slats, Adam could makeout flashes of passing countryside as the trainpushed through open, harvested, fields; the edgesof the fields were lined with trees: black naked branches,gnarled fingers reaching out to the pockmarked fullmoon. The moon, framed by torn slate- grey clouds, hungin an ebony sky. Cold night, winter is coming thoughtAdam.

He leaned against his haversack and turned back tolook into the interior. Bright moonlight shone in throughwooden slat walls: stripes of dark and light cut across theheaps of humanity lulled to their fitful rest by the sway-ing of the train car. The faint odor of cattle urine mixedwith the musty smell of unwashed humans filled thecattle car.

Adam slipped a hand into his tweed wool jacket’sinside pocket and searched around until he found thesecret flap sewn into the lining and smiled; he slowlypulled out the ring Emilia had given him as a weddinggift and placed it on his wedding band finger. It felt warmto the touch; the gold ring band glinted in a strip ofmoonlight.

A black oval opal filled the centre of the ring withshades of blues, greens, yellows and flares of red: colour-ful galaxies set in a black universe. The opal held his

gaze as the galaxies shimmered and flashed - then theyslowly began to fade to black; Adam’s face appeared inthe opal. The reflection showed an older clean-shavenman greying at the temples; wrinkles and sadness sataround the edges of his bright eyes and a wistful smilewas on his lips.

Darkness fell. Clouds hid the moonlight. Emiliastood in his mind’s eye, smiling, her green eyes spar-kling, “Rehearsed a new piece today. Will you turn thesheet music for me?” She sat at the piano, smiled up athim, and started to play; her delicate body moved intime to the music, her shoulder-length blonde hairswaying with the movement. Chopin, their stocky ori-ental tabby cat sat on the piano watching her fingersdance across the piano keys. Adam stood next to herenveloped in the wildflower scent of her hair. Finally,Adam fell into the music and it enfolded them both.

Moonlight sliced in between the wooden slats of thecattle car again and the clattering wheels screeched asthe train rounded a long curve. Adam glanced around.Sleeping heaps of humanity squirmed on the floor,adjusted themselves and then fell asleep again. Half-way down the cattle car, on his left side, were doubledoors that opened daily and guards brought in the slop:passing for soup and the bread was no better: mainlysawdust.

2015 NCWC - Short StoryThe Inward VisionBY ZENON STRZELCZYK

HONOURABLEMENTION

continued on page 17

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Next to the double doors sat a large middle-aged manwatching Adam. In his arms, the man clasped a smallblack suitcase; moonlight slashed diagonally across theman’s unshaven face exposing large chubby jowls, a setof thin, taut, down-turned lips, part of a stubby nose, asmall ear, one watching eye; the rest of his face disap-peared into shadow. The one watching eye stared at him.

A raw wind blew in between the wooden slats; Adampulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck closingthe lapels across his chest. To hide the ring he placed hishands into the outside pockets of his jacket.

Emilia had found the ring in an antique shop in theold port of Marseilles where she was holidaying with hercousin, Anna. The dealer told her that it had been in theantique store since his grandfather’s time; the ring hadoriginally belonged to a Templar Knight. His grandfa-ther’s story was that the knight had received the ring,while on crusade, from an Arabic scholar whose life theknight had saved and he, in turn, had presented the ring toa family who were sympathetic to the Templars. They hadarranged the knight’s escape to Scotland, beyond thereach of the French king who, with the collaboration ofhis puppet Pope, persecuted the Templar order on falsecharges of heresy. In the 14th century, the Templars werethe bankers of Europe and the king coveted their wealth.

The ring had been passed on from one generation tothe next. Until one day a man came into the shop, aneighbour of his grandfather’s, and asked the grandfatherto hold on to the ring until he returned for it; if no oneclaimed the ring after five years, it was to be sold; themoney was to be given to a charity. The man left the shopand no one ever returned for the ring; it had been sittingin the antique shop window ever since. The dealer left itin the window, occasionally dusting it, because the ringreminded him of his grandfather. When Emilia showed aninterest in the ring he know it was time to let it go anddonate the profit to the local church orphanage.

Emilia told the dealer that the ring would be an appro-priate wedding gift for her fiancé, a professor of history.The inside of the ring band had been engraved in alanguage that looked like Arabic; the dealer never both-ered to have the inscription translated. Emilia had theoutside of the ring band inscribed with, “All my love E.”It fit Adam’s wedding band finger perfectly.

Clouds hid the moon again. In the darkness, therhythmic clatter of the train wheels was lulling Adam tosleep and he thought again of Emilia. He recalled theday she left - her smile as Emilia looked over at him,waved good-bye, blew him a kiss and then slid into thepassenger seat of her cousin Anna’s car. Then late inthe night came the knock on his door, the police officerin a dark blue uniform said,” There has been an acci-dent. Your wife has been killed. I’m sorry for yourloss.” After that, all he remembered were the odd words:near Rome, heavy rain, train crossing, signals not work-ing, car thrown into ravine, fire, no survivors. As hestared at the weave and texture of the police officer’suniform, why always dark blue he wondered.

Emilia and her cousin were both buried on the sameday, in closed coffins; Adam’s hand had been shaken,condolences and hugs were given, but the faces of thepeople were all a blur. Late in the evenings, Chopin’ssoft purring moved Adam into sleep. Now, a solitarytear made its way down Adam’s cheek and wet his lips;he wiped the tear away with the back of his hand. WhenAdam had proposed marriage to Emilia, she said thather career, as a classical pianist, came before children.Now, as the world darkened, he was relieved that theyhad not brought children into this world.

Adam’s university classes were usually full, some-times to overflowing, but recently fewer students weretaking his courses. The university closed for the summerholidays and in the fall never re-opened. During thesummer, most of his friends and colleagues had left thecountry; Adam stayed. He could not leave behind all thethings that reminded him of Emilia. Finally, they camefor him. Banging and shouting the soldiers in greyuniforms - who were no older than his university stu-dents - gave him 15 minutes to pack a bag and to be onthe sidewalk. He had just enough time to place Chopininto the arms of his next-door neighbour, Mrs.Nevski.Chopin always divided his time between the two house-holds.

Adam’s world had shrunk to this cattle car and theone watching eye.

The moonlight returned. Adam sensed someonestanding next to him. He looked up. Looming over him,the one watching eye had become a large hulking body

continued from page 16THE INWARD VISION

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that seemed to grow out of the floor; it stood in the widebands of shadow and the narrow bands of moonlight creat-ed by the slats of the cattle car. Cradled in its arms was thesmall black leather suitcase. The body stood over Adam;kicked the sleeping soul next to him until the soul movedover and then it lowered itself down next to Adam stillclutching the small suitcase: he positioned the suitcase onthe floor between his knees and rested his arms on it.

“Professor Lucas, I’m Samson Mishne.” Mishne satsmiling, sticking out his large thick hand waiting for him toshake it. Adam noted the shabby black suit sleeve thatcovered a stained shirt cuff. He nodded in Mishne’s direc-tion; Mishne cleared his throat and lowered his hand. “Thepublic works department. You came in whining about thepotholes on your street. Last spring.”

Adam recalled the condescending clerk in the shabbysuit with a mustard stain on his tie; he remembered thefleshy face, the rumpled brown hair and the cold eyes.Working at a desk had not turned Mishne’s bulky build tofat, yet.

“Ah yes, Mishne, we are still waiting for the repairs.”Mishne leaned towards Adam, pointed a sausage-sized

finger at him and said, “Where do you think they are takingus, professor?” Without waiting for an answer, he pointedthe sausage finger at himself, “I worked hard. I learned. Iwas to be the new supervisor. Now, Gregor that weak-kneed jackass will get the job and I’m here.”

“He waved his large hand around the cattle car. Thiscan’t be good. My old man

said things would turn out badly for me. He tried to beatthe evil out of me with a stick. It was for my own good hesaid. I had enough. I took the stick and beat him until hebegged me to stop, then I left for the city. I was doing allright for a farm kid, before this.”

Mishne glanced around the cattle car frowning, andsaid, “That ring in your pocket must be expensive! I believewhat I see.”

And see what you believe, thought Adam as he closedhis fingers into a fist, staring straight ahead, collectinghimself then said, “My wife gave it to me.”

“Where is she now?”Adam sighed, turned and looked at Mishne, “She died.” “Um, I want to see the ring.” He reached across with

his left hand and grabbed Adam’s left wrist. Adam tensed.Mishne tightened his grip pinning Adam to the wall with

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his shoulder. Mishne’s suit jacket armpit was stainedand the musty smell of an unwashed body mixed withcheap cologne assaulted Adams nostrils.

Mishne pulled Adam’s left hand out of the tweedjacket pocket by the wrist and held the clenched fist upto a narrow beam of moonlight. “The stone looks blackand blue with some green, red and yellow. What’s it?”

Adam tried to pull away from Mishne’s grasp, “It’sa black opal.”

Mishne squeezed Adam's wrist until the clenchedfist opened palm up. In a strip of moonlight, Mishneread the inscription on the outside of the ring band.

“E was your wife?”Adam nodded.Mishne let go of Adam’s wrist and leaned back

against the wall. Adam lowered his sore ring hand on tohis lap and covered the ring with his other hand. Mish-ne’s face was in shadow, now. “Give me the ring!”

Adam’s chest tightened, he took a deep breath, hischest rising, and then slowly he let his breath out.Having composed himself, he finally said, “This ringcannot help you. It will be bad for you.”

Mishne’s face came out of the dark, so close toAdam’s face that he could smell Mishne’s bad breath,“I know what’s bad for me. This place is bad for me. Ineed money; I want that ring, old man!”

Adam lowered his gaze and then said, “No”.Mishne’s voice softened, “You’re a smart man, an

educated man, professor. Let your education get you outof this. Give it!”

Adam looked down at the ring glistening in a bandof moonlight. “No”, came softly from his lips again.

A big fist hit Adam in the mouth, his head snappedback and he fell against the wooden slat wall. Bloodtrickled down his split lip, the taste of salt was in hismouth; pain stabbed into Adam’s left shoulder: his armhad been twisted up behind him by Mishne. To protectthe ring he curled up the fingers of his hand.

Mishne pulled at the ring and punched Adam, twice,in the side of the face; he shoved Adam’s face into thewooden wall slats.

Time stopped for Adam. His head swam into nearunconsciousness. He was aware of the pockmarked

moon, the shadowy silhouette of passing countryside,and the smell of wood preservative. A shrill trainwhistle pierced the cold night air and then the painwas back.

Mishne pulled Adam’s head back stuffing a dirtyhandkerchief into Adam’s mouth and wrenching upon the arm again. Adam’s fingers opened. Mishnetook the ring; he held it tight in his hand and then helet go of Adam’s arm, pulled the handkerchief out ofAdam’s mouth and threw it onto the floor. Adam laystill against the wall slats catching his breath. Mishnestood looking down at Adam and kicked him in theribs; Adam lay on the floor gasping for air.

In his fat fingers, Mishne held the ring up to themoonlight, pleased with himself. He looked into itscentre and the colours faded; his gaze was drawn intothe black of the opal. He smiled at his reflection, thenMishne’s face froze. He let out a whimper, a shortsudden drawing in of breath as if his heart hadstopped.

The ring slipped through his thick fingers,bounced twice and rolled along the floor coming to astop, in a groove, between two of the thick floor-boards. Mishne fell to his knees. He lowered his headas if to pray. His hands started to shake. AbruptlyMishne looked up and slowly scanned the cattle car.Clasping the small suitcase to his chest, he scuttledback to his place by the double doors holding on to thesuitcase as if he were hiding behind it. He jumped atany sound.

The train slows with a jerk; in the groove betweenthe floor slats, the ring rolls towards Adam coming torest in a band of moonlight. Finding the ring next tohis knee Adam smiles, although his ribs ache withevery breath. The moon shines bright, big, and round;Adam holds the ring up. Moonlight glints off theinside of the ring band; the Arabic inscription reads:

“The inward vision opens the eyes to your trueself.”

BIO: Zenon Strzelczyk has spent 35 years working as a federalpublic servant. Now he divides his time between writing (histori-cal fiction, fantasy) and fine art photography. He is also a longtime practitioner and instructor of Taoist Tai Chi Chuan.

THE INWARD VISIONcontinued from page 18

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Canadian Authors AssociationThe local and national organization for professional and emerging writers across Canada

THE CANADIAN AUTHORS ASSOCIATIONprovides writers with a wide varietyof programs, services and resourcesto help them develop their skills inboth the craft and the business ofwriting, enhance their ability to earna living as a writer, and have accessto a Canada-wide network of writersand publishing industry professionals.

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• Provide writers with up-to-dateinformation on awards, contests,opportunities, calls for submissionsand writing conferences and retreatsvia monthly national bulletins, branchnewsletters, and the website

• Provide learning opportunitiesfor writers at every stage throughwebinars, podcasts, and CanWrite! –our national conference

• Showcase Canada’s incredibleliterary talent through our literaryawards, ezine, website, social media,conference – and whatever othermedia we have at hand

Our MissionThe Canadian Authors

Association (CAA) is a nationalorganization with a local presencededicated to promoting a flourishingcommunity of writers across Canadaand to encouraging works of literaryand artistic merit. We do this by

• providing opportunities forprofessional development

• promoting the fair and equitabletreatment of writers

• increasing public awareness ofCanada’s writing and publishingenvironment

NATIONAL OFFICECONTACT INFORMATION

Jessica Wiles, Office Manager

Reach the office:

By phone705 325 3926

By emailadmin@canadianauthors.org

By mail6 West Street N, Suite 203Orillia, Ontario L3V 5B8

BYLINEDEADLINES

Byline is a quarterly publicationof the National Capital RegionBranch of the CanadianAuthors Association.

Submissions of articles,poems, writing tips, interviews,literary events and memberachievements are welcome.

Deadlines:Fall Issue: August 15Winter Issue: November 15Spring Issue: February 15Summer Issue: May 15Send to Byline

mailto:admin@canadianauthors.orgmailto:admin@canadianauthors.orgmailto:admin@canadianauthors.orgmailto:sharyn_40@yahoo.commailto:mailto:sharyn_40@yahoo.ca