Tuesday, July 31, 2012

wordhaus loves writers


wordhaus loves writers! 
Send us your sagas of passion and love, your daring tales of suspense, chronicles of strange creatures from other dimensions. Just keep ‘em under 2,000 words. Email your stories to us at wordhauspub@gmail.com

And no attachments. Attachments make our servers angry. Attachments get picked on by the other emails for being different. Our laptops eat attachments for breakfast. Also, they can be bad and we don’t like to open them. So we don’t.

Now pardon us while we get serious for a moment, but wordhaus is serious about giving writers the love they deserve. wordhaus reserves the right to post all works it publishes in its archives, and to re-publish any published work in future special collections. The contributor maintains the work’s copyright and may offer the work to any other publication. By submitting your story to wordhaus, you are telling us that being published in wordhaus does not breach any under agreement you are under.

Wordhaus is not currently able to pay contributors for submissions. However, we do promote our weekly releases on Twitter and Facebook. Additionally, every writer published in wordhaus is provided a profile page in which he or she may share a bio, photograph and link to his or her website, blog or other works.

See Brian Henry's schedule here, including writing workshops and creative writing courses in Kingston, Peterborough, Toronto, Mississauga, Brampton, Georgetown, Milton, Oakville, Burlington, St. Catharines, Hamilton, Dundas, Kitchener, Guelph, London, Woodstock, Orangeville, Newmarket, Barrie, Gravenhurst, Sudbury, Muskoka, Peel, Halton, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.

Monday, July 30, 2012

New literary magazine seeks fiction, essays & poetry for first issue; Good News Toronto seeks very short true stories for contest


Apophoreta
320 Home Street
Winnipeg, MB, Canada
R3G 1X4

Apophoreta is a Canadian literary magazine edited and published by Joseph Gerbasi and Jesse Hill. Apophoreta will publish poems, short fiction, essays, translations, reviews and epistles.  Each issue will be published both online and in short-run print copies.

We make no grand claim for either the genius of our intent or the genius of our contributors. Rather, we wish merely to collect and share such literature as we ourselves would wish to read.

We find in common a love of literature that employs both the senses and the intellect, literature that is wrought with care, purpose, and play,  literature that betokens an engagement with literary history as much as it does a dissatisfaction with mere novelty. In short, we like writing that speaks to its time and place with a view to what is greater, striving thus to unite the particular and the universal. Such is world-literature and multiculturalism in the highest sense.

We are currently accepting submissions for our first issue. The submission deadline is September 1st, 2012.

If submitting poems, we consider no more than 6 per submission. If submitting anything else, we consider no more than 5000 words per submission. 
Full submission guidelines here.


Good News Toronto is accepting submissions for its 2012 True Story Contest. Open to residents of the Greater Toronto Area. Submit creative nonfiction stories (450 words max.) on the topic: A Good Neighbour. First prize: $100, publication, and 1-year subscription. Deadline: September 30, 2012. Entry fee: $10 (additional entries: $5)


See Brian Henry's schedule here, including writing workshops and creative writing courses in Kingston, Peterborough, Toronto, Mississauga, Brampton, Georgetown, Milton, Oakville, Burlington, St. Catharines, Hamilton, Dundas, Kitchener, Guelph, London, Woodstock, Orangeville, Newmarket, Barrie, Gravenhurst, Sudbury, Muskoka, Peel, Halton, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Great Village by Mary Rose Donnelly, reviewed by Sheila Eastman


Cormorant Books, Toronto 2011, Winner of the Jim Conners Dartmouth Book Award (Fiction) 2012

Great Village brings us the smell of the ocean, the richness of friendships and the numbing horror brought by the secrets of the past.

Flossy O’Reilly is an aging retired school teacher living in a small town in Nova Scotia. We meet her as she is looking back on her life while feeling threatened by a death she feels is imminent. 

The story opens with a gripping flashback to Flossy’s youth when her older brother came in from his field work one day, went directly up to his bed and stayed there for 24 years. With the unfolding of her memories we begin to understand what brought about his breakdown just as we learn of the pressures it brought to the family.

Donnelly’s characters are richly and convincingly painted. Flossy’s brother Jimmy is a bit of a hayseed with tatty bird’s nest hair and crooked Onassis glasses. The ocean itself is a character, presented as a living and vibrant friend. But it brings death, with sucking red mud edges, and the huge tides of the Bay of Fundy.

Flossy’s lifelong friend and larger than life artist Mealie moves hugely through the kitchen and in fact throughout the whole story. She is a wonderful source of humour as the two women chat over their morning coffee, the interchange often making us laugh out loud. As warm and intelligent as this friendship is, silence pervades as well, each of the women holding their secrets too close to their chests.

Into this morass of silence drops Ruth, a sullen teenager, who is reluctantly staying with Flossy for a few weeks while her mother is off to a church conference. By this point in the novel, Ruth is just what we all need. Vibrant, lovely and full of energy, she is easily won over by the calm humour of Flossy and Mealie, and the hidden opportunities of small town life – a baseball team which desperately needs her skills, and of course an attractive boy.


Mary Rose Donnelly is a popular
guest speaker at Brian Henry's
The language of the book is a tapestry of vivid imagery, dripping with metaphors and similes. We hear the language of the Maritimes, where every little town has its own peculiar idioms and accent. Flossy’s ideas are “Tangled like a fishing line.”  Images frequently draw on farm life: “As routinized as a Holstein cow,” “I’m sweatin’ like a hen hauling hay.” We move from saccharinely cute little teddy bears hanging from purses to the gruesome slaughter of a pig.

Donnelly’s observations of human nature make the characters as vivid as if they are in the room with you; unsettled, Marjory sits shredding an orange peel into the tiniest pieces possible. Her brother Jimmy chews the inside of his cheek. Her mother feels for a coat button that isn’t there.

Throughout, echoes of death are reinforced by Flossy’s interest in Virginia Woolf. As she comes near the end of reading Woolf’s diaries, our sense of doom heightens. We are with Flossy as she imagines herself walking into the river with stones in her pockets just as Virginia did.

Another source of sadness is reflection on the poet Elizabeth Bishop, whose life was full of mental illness and loss. Bishop lived in Great Village at one time, and the formation of The Elizabeth Bishop Society is currently the focus of local activity. Her poems connect us to the ocean, and to the contrast of change and constancy in Flossy, who learned to accept the things in her life that had broken others.

I have only two small issues with the book.  First, even though much of the language and focus is local, there are leaps into the literary world that left me behind. I found myself looking up references to Roger Fry and the Bloomsbury Group (which I thought was perhaps a comic strip). Donnelly assumes I am more widely read than I can claim.

Second, how did Flossy evolve? She has appeared to us as a woman well read, deep and wise but we have no idea of how she became the woman that she is. But when it comes down to it, at the end we don’t care, it is such a warm pleasure to meet her.

I came away from this book feeling a gentle reassuring hand on my back, feeling hope even in the face of death. I was enriched by Flossy’s friendships with Mealie and with Virginia Woolf, in fact more than a little envious of both.

Sheila Eastman is a musician living in Mississauga. She plays and teaches piano and five-string banjo (eee haw) and performs in local concert bands in the percussion section hitting things. Her writing reflects detailed observations of human behavior and her bizarre sense of humour. 

Sheila has a novel in progress but prefers writing short stories because they are short. She is a past winner in the Mississauga Library writing Contest, poetry division.  Publications include obscure articles on medieval music, a monograph on a Canadian composer and articles on wildflowers.

See Brian Henry's schedule here, including writing workshops and creative writing courses in Kingston, Peterborough, Toronto, Mississauga, Brampton, Georgetown, Milton, Oakville, Burlington, St. Catharines, Hamilton, Dundas, Kitchener, Guelph, London, Woodstock, Orangeville, Newmarket, Barrie, Gravenhurst, Sudbury, Muskoka, Peel, Halton, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.

Saturday, July 28, 2012

"The Great Randini," an excerpt from The Story of Sam and Cathy by Brandon G. Kidd


           “I am The Great Randini!” the boy exclaimed, holding his arms over his head.
            It was the Friday before Halloween at Sir John A. Public School and Mrs. Martin’s Grade Four class was having a carnival that afternoon. 
            Several different children had set up games and booths around the class where candies could be gambled at The Wheel of Fortune or traded for a guided tour through the Haunted Cloakroom. 
            But Randy Miller – pardon me – The Great Randini, was quickly standing out as the main attraction.
            Randy sat behind an upturned cardboard box covered with a black satin cloth wearing a polka-dot, plastic shower curtain over his shoulders and a bath towel wrapped turban-style around his head. 
            He was raking in his classmates’ tootsie rolls and lollipops in exchange for glimpses into their futures. Things were going swimmingly, but the afternoon hadn’t started perfectly. Randy had forgotten his crystal ball at home.
            Actually, his mother had hidden it from him. It was a favourite flower vase of hers and she feared it would not survive the day’s activities. For a fortune teller of less skill and magnificence this might have been an insurmountable problem. However, The Great Randini simply substituted his Ancient and Mystical Softball of Mystery and never missed a beat.
            “Who dares to be next!?” Randy asked, pointing around the classroom. “Who dares to look into what their future holds?”
            Mrs. Martin, playing the part of a clown on this occasion, was surprised that Randy could talk so well with his mouth half-full of candies.
            Randy put his hand dramatically to his forehead and closed his eyes.
            “Do not tell me!” he said. “I already know who will be the next to step forward — I am The Great Randini!”
            Randy slowly swept his hand back and forth across his audience of other nine-year-olds and suddenly pointed directly at one boy.
            “You!” he exclaimed, opening his eyes wide. “You, Sammy Blackburn! You will be the next brave soul to gaze into his future. I have forseen it!”
            Sammy was game. He stepped forward and sat down at the black box across from Randy.
            “I was right! He sits! Behold the power of The Great Randini!”
            Randy sat down across from Sammy.
            “Give me your hand, brave one,” said Randy as he grabbed a hold of Sammy’s hand across the box, placing his other hand at his forehead.
            “Now, Sammy, place your offering on the Black Altar of Fate!”
            “Whaddaya want?” asked Sammy.
            “Today the sprits are demanding peanut M&Ms.”
            “I only have plain ones.”
            “I have consulted the spirits and they will also accept plain M&Ms.”
            Sammy put his candies on the black box and Randy closed his eyes.
            “Oh yes! Oh yes! I am beginning to see something now. The spirits are giving me a vision. They are showing me … a face! The face of … of … of your best friend!”
            “Dave?” asked Sammy.
            Dave was standing in the audience watching over Sammy’s right shoulder.
            “No!” Randy corrected. “That is not the face the spirits have shown me.”
            “Well who is it then?” Sammy asked. This was getting good. Randy was a fun guy.
            “I see… I see a bright smile. But the picture is very faint. Perhaps if the spirits were given an additional offering...”
            Sammy put down another package of M&Ms.
            “Oh yes! I can see it more clearly now. This smiling face is moving toward you. Closer … closer … and … Oh! Oh no!”
            “What!?”
            Randy threw his head back and forth. “It is too awful, Sammy. I do not have the words.”
            “I’ll give ya my Oh Henry! bar.”
            “Oh yes! The words are coming to me now.”
            Now not only Sammy was listening, but half the class was watching the performance as well, Dave more closely than anyone.
            “The face of your best friend is moving toward you. Closer … and closer … and closer! And your best friend is … is … is …”
            “What!?”
            “Your best friend is kissing you!”
            “Huh!?”
            The audience started laughing and twittering.
            “Is it a girl?” Sammy asked with raised eyebrows. “Who is it?”
            “Yeah! — Who is it? — Who?” asked the other students in the class.
            Other boys might have been embarrassed at this point, but not Sammy. He had outgrown his cutie stage and was already enjoying the attention of several girls in the class, each of them now turning their heads to give this performance their undivided attention. Maybe The Great Randini was legit.
            “The spirits are not revealing a name to me,” said Randy. “But! I can see the colour of her hair!”
            “Yeah?”
            “Her hair is … is … is …”
            “What!?”
            “Orange!”
            Orange? Sammy looked over his shoulder at the girls who were all looking around at each other. Not a one of them had orange hair.
            “C’mon, Randini,” said Sammy. “Who is it really?”
            “Oh!” Randy breathed, letting go of Sammy’s hand and pressing both his own hands to the sides of his head, “I can tell you no more! The spirits have exhausted me. I will accept these delicious offerings on their behalf and replenish my strength. The Great Randini must now ask for the bathroom pass.”
            Exit The Great Randini, stage left.
            “What didja make of that?” Sammy asked Dave. “Do you think Randy actually knows something I don’t, or was he just pretending?”
            Dave shrugged his shoulders.
            “Beats me, Sammy. I know this for sure though. I may not have orange hair, but I am your best friend and there’s no kissing in our future.”

            The next morning Sammy and his family were at the Bridgetown Farmers’ Market with the goal of bringing home the family pumpkin to be turned into a jack o’ lantern for the front porch. It was a busy day at the market. The aromas of mulled apple cider and freshly baked doughnuts hung in the air like garlands. Bushels of butternut squash, coloured corn, green beans and potatoes clustered on the ground with leafy sprays of cabbages and kale stuffed between them.
The market-goers slowly waltzed around each other, woollen sweater rubbing against denim jacket. Sammy’s parents, John and Mary, were holding hands and nodding their heads, inspecting the pumpkins arrayed on the ground before them, but Sammy, who should have been giving more than his share of input, was notably silent. The pumpkin farmer also brought puppies that day.
            Sammy was transfixed. There were half a dozen of the little squeaking and guh-ruffing balls of fur in a fleece-lined basket. Their eyes were barely open. Sammy’s eyes, however, were as big as the harvest moon.
            “Oh, John, look at him,” cooed his mother. “Isn’t that sweet?”
            “Yeah, sweet.”
            Sammy’s father was conflicted. Pleasant childhood memories of his own dog were dancing alongside visions of veterinary bills and destroyed furniture.
            “What breed are they?” he asked the farmer.
            “Good question.”
            The pumpkin farmer wore an old plaid shirt and denim coveralls. He was a tall and slender man in his late sixties with wisps of thin, gray hair sticking out from beneath his straw hat and up from the open collar of his shirt.
            “The mother’s a lab-retriever-something-or-other and the father is your best guess. Vet says they’re all healthy though. Just weaned. And free to a good home.”
            Sammy’s head spun around and up to his parents so fast it was in danger of twisting right off his neck. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. He let his big, brown eyes do the talking for him.
            Sammy’s father looked over at his wife, wearing his best “I don’t know” expression, to see those same big, brown eyes staring over at him from her face. Damn. He was out manned and out gunned. Vet bills or no, destroyed furniture or no, they were going home today with one of those puppies whether he liked it or not. But he wasn’t saying yes. Not yet.
            “Now, son,” he began, crouching down to eye-level with Sammy, “if we got one of these puppies, he would be your dog. You’d feed him and walk him and play with him every day.”
            “Well, yeah! That’s the fun part,” said Sammy without a trace of guile. 
            The farmer couldn’t help laughing at that, a jubilant wheezing sound.
            Sammy’s father tried again, hoping to drive home the import of this occasion, of this potential new responsibility, to his son.
            “You know dogs live for a long time, Sammy.”
            “I hope so!” Sammy shot back, serious as a heart attack.
            Now Mary was laughing too.
            “Well…” John Blackburn still wasn’t giving in, not yet. “If we got one of these puppies today —if we did— which one would you want, Sammy?”
            Sammy turned his attention back to the puppies in their fleece-lined cave. They were all rooting around one another, each one trying to get to the warmest spot possible underneath his brothers and sisters, away from the noise and light of the market. But there was one puppy lying on his side on the edge of the basket and looked to be half asleep, content to enjoy the gentle rocking motion being generated by his siblings. He was orange with brown markings on his face. He had pointy ears like the rest of his siblings and a fox-like look to him. The puppy’s mouth was open and he was panting. Or was he just smiling?
            “That one!” said Sammy. “Please, dad?”
            “Yeah, please dad?” Mary Blackburn said as she slipped her hand into her husband’s back pocket.
            With a shrug and a sigh, Sammy’s father decided to give in and hope for the best.
            “Well … alright.”
            The farmer looked pleased. “Congratulations. I’ll get you something to carry him in. And I can recommend a good vet.”
            In the car on the way back home, Sammy was cradling his flea-bitten bundle of fluff like it was the most precious and delicate thing in the world. Sammy insisted that they take the puppy home straight away as that would be the most responsible thing to do. Sammy didn’t look up from his sleepy new best friend the whole ride home, not once. He poured all his attention into his lap, as though he would memorize every hair on the puppy’s body. This warm, living, moving being nestling into his lap was suddenly the most important thing in his life.
            His father looked frequently into the car’s rear-view mirror to observe the growing silence between his son and his new best friend.
            “You’d better start thinking of a name, son,” he called back.
            Sammy heard him but didn’t respond.
            Mary sucked in a breath of air and looked over at her husband.
            “Oh! We forgot the Jack o’ Lantern.”

Brandon Kidd is a library worker and aspiring author in Guelph, Ontario with too little spare time and way too much formal education. He is currently in the process of revising his first novel and preparing it for publishers.

See Brian Henry's schedule here, including writing workshops and creative writing courses in Kingston, Peterborough, Toronto, Mississauga, Brampton, Georgetown, Milton, Oakville, Burlington, St. Catharines, Hamilton, Dundas, Kitchener, Guelph, London, Woodstock, Orangeville, Newmarket, Barrie, Gravenhurst, Sudbury, Muskoka, Peel, Halton, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.

Friday, July 27, 2012

Anvil Press publishes literary fiction, nonfiction, poetry & drama


Anvil Press Publishers
278 East First Avenue
Vancouver, British Columbia
V5T 1A6

Anvil Press is a small literary publisher that puts out eight to ten titles per year. It began in 1988 with publishing subTERRAIN magazine and evolved into publishing books. They’re not interested in genre novels.

Submissions:
For fiction and nonfiction, provide a brief, one-page synopsis of the entire manuscript (no need to break it down chapter by chapter) plus 20 – 20 pages of the manuscript (enough to give the reader a good sense of the style and content).

For poetry, submit 8 – 12 poems (depending on length)

For drama, unless it's excessively long, forward your entire manuscript.

Submissions by mail only. See full submission guidelines here.

Brian Henry will lead a “Writing for Children and for Young Adults” workshop in Newmarket on Saturday, September 22 (see here), and he'll lead a "How to Get Published" workshop on Saturday, October 13, in Toronto with Monica Pacheco of The Anne McDermid literary agency (see here). But the best step you can take toward getting published is to take one of Brian’s weekly courses (see here).

See Brian's full schedule here, including writing workshops and creative writing courses in Kingston, Peterborough, Toronto, Mississauga, Brampton, Georgetown, Milton, Oakville, Burlington, St. Catharines, Hamilton, Dundas, Kitchener, Guelph, London, Woodstock, Orangeville, Newmarket, Barrie, Gravenhurst, Sudbury, Muskoka, Peel, Halton, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.


Thursday, July 26, 2012

Three new agents at Talcott Notch Literary agency seek new authors

Talcott Notch Literary Services
2 Broad Street
Second Floor, Suites 1 & 10
Milford, CT 06460

http://www.talcottnotch.net/home

Sara D’Emic recently graduated from Emerson College with a B.A. in Writing, Literature, and Publishing, and is happy to be starting her career as an agent with Talcott Notch. Her reading tastes range from Dostoevsky and Dumas to Burroughs and Salinger to Lovecraft and King.

Sara is looking for adult horror, urban fantasy, paranormal, magical realism, science fiction, mystery, thriller, or crime fiction. In nonfiction, she’s looking for science and technology books. “Compelling characters are the crux of good fiction,” says Sara, “and I’m seeking stories that will spark the imagination and the soul.”

For fiction, attach a 10-page sample. For nonfiction attach a one-page sample plus a table of contents.

Paula Munier has joined Talcott Notch Literary as a literary agent. Paula comes to Talcott Notch with broad experience creating and marketing content in all formats across all markets for such media giants as Disney, Gannett, and Quayside.

She began her career as a journalist, then added editor, acquisitions specialist, digital content manager, and publishing executive to her repertoire. She most recently served as the Director of Innovation and Acquisitions for Adams Media, where she headed up the acquisitions team responsible for creating, curating, and producing both fiction and nonfiction for print, ebook, eshort, and direct-to-ebook formats. 

Paula is very involved with the mystery community, having served four terms as President of the New England chapter of Mystery Writers of America as well as on the MWA board. (She’s currently VP of that organization.) She’s also served as both co-chair and Agents and Editors chair on the New England Crime Bake committee for seven years and counting. And she’s an active member of Sisters in Crime. She is also the co-author of Hot Flash Haiku, with Jennifer Basye Sander.
  
Paula’s specialties include mystery/thriller, SF/fantasy, romance, YA, memoir, humor, pop culture, health & wellness, cooking, self-help, pop psych, New Age, inspirational, technology, science.

Query Paula at: pmunier@talcottnotch.net
Include the first 10 pages of your manuscript in the body of your query. No attachments.

Associate Agent Rachael Dugas has recently completed a six-month internship with Sourcebooks and is now seeking fiction, particularly YA and middle-grade fiction, along with women's fiction, romance, paranormal and mysteries. She'll also consider nonfiction, with a strong interest in the arts.

Query Rachael at: rdugas@talcottnotch.net  
I
nclude the first 10 pages of your manuscript in the body of your query. No attachments.


More information about submitting to Talcott Notch here.

Brian Henry will lead a 
“Writing for Children and for Young Adults” workshop in Newmarket on Saturday, September 22 (see here), and he'll lead a "How to Get Published" workshop on Saturday, October 13, in Toronto with Monica Pacheco of The Anne McDermid literary agency (see here). But the best step you can take toward getting published is to take one of Brian’s weekly courses (see here).

See Brian's full schedule here, including writing workshops and creative writing courses in Kingston, Peterborough, Toronto, Mississauga, Brampton, Georgetown, Milton, Oakville, Burlington, St. Catharines, Hamilton, Dundas, Kitchener, Guelph, London, Woodstock, Orangeville, Newmarket, Barrie, Gravenhurst, Sudbury, Muskoka, Peel, Halton, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Intensive Creative Writing course, Burlington, Wed afternoons, Sept 12 - Dec 12


“Intensive Creative Writing”
~ Twelve weeks of creative growth ~
Wednesday afternoons, 12:30 – 2:45 p.m.
Sept 12 to Dec 12, 2012, (no class Sept 26 or Oct 31)
First set of readings distributed September 5
Appleby United Church,
4407 Spruce Ave, Burlington, Ontario (Map here.)

This course is for people who are working on their own writing. The format is similar to the "Intermediate" and "Extreme" courses: Over the twelve classes, you’ll be asked to bring in six pieces of your writing for detailed feedback. All your pieces may be from the same work, such as a novel in progress, or they may be stand alone pieces. You bring whatever you want to work on.

Besides critiquing pieces, the instructor will give short lectures at the start of each class, addressing the needs of the group.

In addition to learning how to critique your own work and receiving constructive suggestions about your writing, you’ll discover that the greatest benefits come from seeing how your classmates approach and critique a piece of writing and how they write and re-write. This is a challenging course, but extremely rewarding.

Instructor Brian Henry has been a book editor and creative writing teacher for more than 25 years. He teaches at Ryerson University and has led writing workshops everywhere from Boston to Buffalo and from Sarnia to Charlottetown. But his proudest boast is that he's helped many of his students get published.

Fee: $181.42 plus 13% hst = $205
Payment in advance by mail or Interac.
Advance registration only. These courses usually fill up, so enroll early to avoid disappointment.
To reserve a spot now, email: brianhenry@sympatico.ca

Note: A similar course, The Next Step in Creative Writing, is offered Thursday afternoons, 12:30 to 2:45 p.m., in Mississauga (see here) and Thursday evenings in Georgetown (see here). To register, email brianhenry@sympatico.ca 

Intensive Creative Writing is also offered on Wednesday evenings, 6:45 to 9:00 p.m., Sept 12 to Dec 12 at Sheridan United Church in Mississauga. Details here.

See Brian Henry's full schedule here, including writing workshops and creative writing courses in Kingston, Peterborough, Toronto, Mississauga, Brampton, Georgetown, Milton, Oakville, Burlington, St. Catharines, Hamilton, Dundas, Kitchener, Guelph, London, Woodstock, Orangeville, Newmarket, Barrie, Gravenhurst, Sudbury, Muskoka, Peel, Halton, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.