Story Institute is under no obligation to publish every contest entry and can disqualify an entry at any time for any reason. The writer is under no obligation whatsoever to purchase a copy of the publication in which the short story or poem may appear. Purchasing the publication will not determine inclusion within the compilation. Publication will be determined on merit alone. Final compilations will be available for purchase on Amazon.com and other online retailers.

For Poems: All poems must be no more than 30 lines and no less than 5 lines.

For Short Stories: All short stories must be between 500 and 5000 words.

We hope you enjoy the new books and help support Story Institute and a fellow author by purchasing the works. More on each work will be featured soon. In the meantime, remember to Imagine, Enhance, and Grow your stories.

Direct from www.chadcorrie.com:

Chad will be running another World Building Workshop at the Fridley Community Center starting on the last week of April.

Once again he will be running two workshops for different age groups. You can find out more about these workshops by going to the events page. If you or anyone you know of might be interested than you might want to register now and make sure you have a spot as space is limited.

If you like, you can also feel free to download the sign up sheet that the community center was nice enough to put together and send our way or you can contact them by the information provided on the events page.
ChadCorrieFlyer.pdf

AND…Episode 25 of The Works and World of Chad Corrie has posted…

Our FEATURED section includes the books from Story Institute authors and other specials currently being offered at Story Institute.

Our NEW BOOKS area includes books from authors we have interviewed or are among our favorite stories. Each of these books are new and some are even autographed.

Our PREVIOUSLY VIEWED BOOKS page contains previously viewed books found within the library of our team members. Quantities of each book are limited and prices are low. All books listed are in good to excellent condition.

Check out the new section and make suggestions by sending us an email: customerservice@storyinstitute.com

If you are an author and would like to share your work, send us an email at customerservice@storyinstitute.comwith a summary of your work and where we can purchase a copy. If you are a writer working on a new piece, share it in our forum. If you are looking for topics on which to focus your stories or poems, search our short story or poetry topics. After you write them, share it here or by email at customerservice@storyinstitute.com. If it relates to one of our topics, we will feature it on one of our shows.

Until the next episode, remember to imagine, enhance, and grow your stories.

We are planning our next contests and revising our compilation of previous winners and entries. Books from Story Institute authors can be found on Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble and right here at Story Institute…are you looking to share your stories…connect with us here, Facebook, or Twitter…but, write and enjoy…

Use it to find past ideas and topics quicker by typing in some key words…Try it here as well…

Select your topic type (i.e., “Short Story Topic” or “Poetry Topic“)…

Find your muse and write away…

“An exciting new addition is coming to ChadCorrie.com. There will soon be a Fan Page on the site.

Have fun and be creative!

Story Institute Forums

NASHVILLE, TN – June 21, 2009 – Story Institute, your online and in-print source for imagining, enhancing, and growing stories, is proud to announce the winners of its 2009, United States short story contest.

The first and second place winners will be featured in upcoming Story Institute RamblingVerser podcasts and newsletters. Along with the winning short stories, entries from selected writers will appear in an upcoming anthology released at the end of 2009.

Story Institute contests have created excitement within the writing community and inspired excellent entries from writers across the U.S. Each writer expresses excellent imaginary and creates a wonderful storyline within their short stories and applicable websites.

The First Place winner is:
Rebecca Laskowitz for “Kaylee’s Quarter”

The Second Place winner is:
Amy Priddy for “The Lady of the Fountain”

All winners receive gift certificates from leading bookstores, a feature in RamblingVerses, Story Institute’s Newsletter, publication in an upcoming Story Institute anthology, and other prizes.

The First Place, 2009 winner, Rebecca Laskowitz, along with the winner of the Fall 2008 (Jill Eisnaugle) and Spring 2009 (E.D. Arrington) poetry contests, will receive additional pages within the anthology to share more poems demonstrating their dedication to writing, creativity, and storytelling.

About Story Institute:
Since its basic beginnings in 2002 with Timeless Tales, Story Institute has grown to inspire, enhance, and grow your stories personally and professionally while helping share your success in print, online, and in person. Through short story and poetry topics, storylines, novel ideas, and contests, Story Institute encourages and assists the writer in most of us and the imagination in all of us.

Through Integrity, Ingenuity, Inspiration, Influence, Impact, and Excellence, Story Institute strives to:
* Evoke emotion within our customers that make connections to our communities
* Engage our customers, their families, and clients in active tales that connect their emotions to past knowledge and experiences.
* Empower our partners to use their new knowledge while growing their families, organizations, and stories into a world of their own.

Contact:
John E. Murray, III, Chief Story Symphonizer, Story Institute
615-713-1783
ramblingverser@storyinstitute.com

With this new look and feel, we hope to bring you more writing ways, writing topics, and some new publications. If you have checked out our forums, you may have noticed a new name out there…Mark Sengenberger. Mark’s new book, In Between Epiphanies, is available on Amazon and through Story Institute. We are proud to serve as his publisher and encourge our readers to check out his work.

Stay tuned for new tweaks, rules, and prizes to our contests…

Tune into the next episode of Story Institute’s RamblingVerser for this great conversation…

The next round of storylines will begin next week…with a focus on the good writers found within our contests. Stay tuned for more and continue checking your feeds…

NASHVILLE, TN – April 21, 2009 – Story Institute, your online and in-print source for imagining, enhancing, and growing stories, is proud to announce the winners of its Spring, 2009 United States poetry contest.

All first and second place winners will be featured in upcoming Story Institute RamblingVerser podcasts and newsletters. Along with the winning poems, entries from selected poets will appear in an upcoming anthology released at the end of 2009.

Story Institute contests have created excitement within the writing community and inspired excellent entries from writers across the U.S. Each verser/poet expresses passion within their poems and applicable websites.

The First Place winner is:
E.D. Arrington for “An Ending of a Similar Kind”

The Second Place winners are:
Suzanne Grenoble for “Core”
Jamie Lynn Waters for “Bitter Awareness”
Joy Sheppard for “Cole Ridge Poem”

All winners receive gift certificates from leading bookstores, a feature in RamblingVerses, Story Institute’s Newsletter, publication in an upcoming Story Institute anthology, and other prizes.

The First Place, Spring 2009 winner, E.D. Arrington, along with the winner of the Fall 2008 contest, Jill Eisnaugle, will receive additional pages within the anthology to share more poems demonstrating their dedication to writing, creativity, and storytelling.

About Story Institute:
Since its basic beginnings in 2002 with Timeless Tales, Story Institute has grown to inspire, enhance, and grow your stories personally and professionally while helping share your success in print, online, and in person. Through short story and poetry topics, storylines, novel ideas, and contests, Story Institute encourages and assists the writer in most of us and the imagination in all of us.

Through Integrity, Ingenuity, Inspiration, Influence, Impact, and Excellence, Story Institute strives to:
* Evoke emotion within our customers that make connections to our communities
* Engage our customers, their families, and clients in active tales that connect their emotions to past knowledge and experiences.
* Empower our partners to use their new knowledge while growing their families, organizations, and stories into a world of their own.

Contact:
John E. Murray, III, Chief Story Symphonizer, Story Institute
615-713-1783
ramblingverser@storyinstitute.com

Enjoy!

So, what are we waiting for, you may ask…we are waiting for the winners to confirm their eligibility and information…so, if you entered, check you inbox…

All entries will also be featured on an upcoming episode of RamblingVerser…Thank you all for your participation.

The premise was one that would bring young readers into the reading world again. When a father refuses to read aloud to his daughter for fear of her being pulled into the book he is reading, there is need for more than just concern. The adventure that travels through the story helps the read believe in the characters within the story and the writers themselves.

Read this book if you enjoy becoming involved in craft of a writer who becomes too lost in his own words.

Check out InkHeart and Sign-up for Audible now…

Or, if you wish, pick up the hardcopy at Amazon.com

Submit your Poems

View Our Guidelines

Read the Poets

As we began our journey into the Netshow/Podcast world, bigger things had to move and adjust. One of the things that moved was this newsletter. So, since we are a little behind on sharing and growing, we are dedicating this issue to the many poems and short stories we have received for our contests. Remember, the deadlines for each contest are:

Poetry Contest Deadline: March 15, 2009

Short Story Contest Deadline: April 15, 2009

If you have not entered yet, or know someone who will be entering, please be sure to check out the guidelines for each contest.

Poetry Contest Guidelines:
http://www.storyinstitute.com/poetry-contest-guidelines/

Short Story Contest Guidelines:
http://www.storyinstitute.com/short-story-guidelines/

We have some great bonus prizes for those who do not reach our top honors. So, stay tuned into our site, your email if you have entered our contest, and our podcast, RamblingVerser….

Story Institute has a new netshow about writers talking about writing and their books…no, not those who get the major marketing budgets, those who are looking to share a little more insight into the world they ventured into of sitting in the bookstores signing books, contacting friends and family to tell others about their work, and, yes, even those writers using the massive internet web to share interesting ideas about their craft…
Find RamblingVerser on iTunes: http://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?id=301942371

OR, on Story Institute:
http://www.storyinstitute.com/category/ramblingverser-podcast/

Only Love
© 2008 Lamar Cole

Love can sometimes be fresh.
Love can sometimes be new.
Love can sometimes make you happy.
And sometimes make you blue.

Love is the light that radiates from your eyes.
Love is your image floating in the skies.

Love is true.
And darling, the only love for me is you.

Our Love
© 2009 Lamar Cole

As long as there is love, I will cherish you.
As long as there is life, I will love you.
As long as the stars shine above, I will want you.
As long as there are waves in the ocean, I will need you.
As long as there is heaven above, there will always be our love.

An Ending Of A Similar Kind
© 2009 E.D. Arrington

I looked into your eyes and saw mine;
The countenance on your face sent me traveling back in time;
The love that poured from your heart reminded me of another;
It was the same love I had shared with my mother;
On a hot, muggy, August morn my mother went away;
My age was young and tender, but I can still clearly remember that day I woke to a world that suddenly felt enormously big and round;
And I, like the tiniest ant, now seemed to small to ever be found;
I wondered how or if I would again have a place where I belong;
For my mother was gone, my life no longer had its song;
Then I woke early one magnificent morn to a brand new world;
One filled with hopes and dream meant just for this little girl;
So, I dug in my heels and went searching for all I could discover;
Eager to see what possibilities lay ahead, each I wanted to uncover;
The road I traveled surely was not easy;
There were many dips twists bumps and curves;
Many times I nearly quit, many times I nearly lost my nerves during those dark scary moments when it didn’t feel much like i was winning;
But with an iron will and soul full of hope, I leaped in and sent myself spinning on a journey with no light, no map, not direction sign
Just sheer determination to find the life destined to be mine;
Though I’m much older, there still remains much more work to, and on the very top of my list was to write this poem just for you;
To leave a message that I pray you’re always keep close in mind;
For as you travel your life’s journey, you may face a string of endless struggles;
But if you refuse to give up, refuse to quit each and every time;
One bright early morn, you too, will rise beneath a sea of stars to find that we not only share a story with a familiar beginning, but with an Ending Of A Similar Kind.

Visit E.D. Arrington’s website for more information on her writing: http://www.edarringtonbooks.com/

Interpretations
© 2009 Jody McMaster

I cant suppress all these memories. Why would I try?
The past, like a songbird perched matter-of-factly on my window sill.
Not to be neglected. Passed down, recorded, each one.
On blank pages are penned an account of my life.
Etched on my brain for eternity.

Each one so vivid, like a beacon in the darkest of night.
They are replayed on a stage set in my mind.
I can return again and again to each scene, or not. Prolonged or fleeting; or not at all.
I am the keeper of these abstract thoughts.

There is no moderation. Only anything and everything.
Like sacred writings, I will read until my senses are full.
Until each perception has been nurtured,
all my impressions have been completely and entirely saturated,
every sensation has been manipulated absolutely.

They will continue on their voyage. There is no lull.
They peak, and my intellect becomes intoxicated. They have come to anchor now.
A hushed calm occupies my will. All reflection recedes.
Back to the recesses of my intellect. But only for a brief intermission.
Nestled among exaggerations,secrets, and misinterpretations.

Changing Times
© 2009 Courtney Lyn Blystone

Seasons change from summer to fall
Winter coming with an early frost
Plants start to shrievel up and turn brown
Grass soon turns into hay
Trees begin to lose all the leaves
Which turned such pretty colors in the fall.

People grow and change year to year
A baby learns its first word
Two new parents so brilliantly excited
A young boy learns to ride his bike

Like everything does in the cycle of life
People may grow, things may change
We can choose to accept it or run scared

Life is meant to be lived to the fullest

The weather might not all be sunny
You might not always wear a smile

Laughter may never come

Connections may be lost between good friends

In the end, one thing is constant
That is which we call, love.

You can read more of Courtney’s work at: http://allpoetry.com/smurf

Ad Finem
© 2009 Jody McMaster

Today is the same as yesterday.
Tomorrow will be the same as today.
Misery pushes open the door of desperation.
A lull descends upon demeanor, and hopes quickly dissipate.
Soon becomes an afterthought.
Time passes.
Tomorrows come, and yesterdays pass with no change in incident.
Time is no friend of irrevocable circumstance.
Spirit is broken, and all becomes submissive.
Only to immortalize that which is influential.
It’s this time, all times, all ways. Ad finem.
To the end.

So Lost
© 2009 Michele Lee Moyer

When your away
My eyes cry
Tiny little tears
On my pillow
I feel so alone
When your not
Here
I wish you
Would come back
Home
Where you need
To be
Because I feel
So Lost
Without you

Be sure to visit our Poetry Contributor section for all new entries:
http://www.storyinstitute.com/category/poetry-contributors/

Deadline: April 15th…

Honesty Is
© 2009 Aaron Eugene Lee

Frosted Flakes, or Wheaties. Cheerios are all gone: only two little o’s remain. The boxes are full of words like “Best” and “Brightest”. “Be all you can be”, that’s our army’s slogan. Tiger Woods ate the Wheaties, I wanna be like him. The tiger says his are “Grrrrrrreat!” I gotta be the best, brightest and fastest. And I wanna have my breakfast with some toast. The toaster is on the other side of the table. A real problem. I groan, and then come to my senses. I grab the small card table and wrench it sideways, knocking some silverware and the salt shaker on the floor. I made a mess, but I get the toaster.

Since my wife can’t help me, I help myself to the bread cooking machine. It takes too long to heat up so I pop it early and just stuff my face with cold rye. It is cold and it is rye. It is also dry. My mouth is full of this dry rye bread – I chew it loudly and my wife just scoffs.

I think she lied to me last night. I think she lied for me last night. Last night in bed I dreamed of rye bread. This morning has fulfilled my wild dreams of the night before. Have you ever woken up from a dream just to have the dream fulfilled?

I had to.

I had to buy my wife’s lie. Eat it up like I was eating the toast. We don’t always talk when we go to bed together. Sometimes we just lay there and dream before we nod off to dream. It seems that we wish for things. Me and my toast. Her and her lie. That’s all it was, a little white lie. What does a white lie mean in the midst of life. Ask me, or ask my wife. My wife will tell you it means a great deal. That Honesty is important. That Honesty is secure, safe, binding, and sure. Honesty is all of these things. Ask me and I will say that a white lie in life is like a piece of cold rye toast and an opened salt shaker on the floor.

I beat my wife to the floor that day. She was going to clean up the spill, but I insisted. I got there before her. She had a rag – but I had my napkin. How unexpected was I that morning? You see, I rarely get a napkin to eat my Wheaties, or my Frosted Flakes. But that morning was different. She was about to clean the mess – but I beat her to it. I got there first. I made the mess, and I would clean the mess. I didn’t really need her there. Not for that. What is a white lie in the midst of life? It is only a small mess that I can clean up myself…that, and a cold piece of toast.

After dropping the salt, I thought it was like losing a part of myself. We are all made of salt. ‘From ashes to ashes and dust to dust’. What about ‘from salt and to salt we shall return’? I thought maybe we were all just a little white lie in the midst of some one else’s life. I have now given up my salt, and lost my dust.

Before I go to work in the morning I have a kind of ritual. I suppose we all do. I do. My wife does, and I do. I remember my parents having their own morning ritual, so I suppose we all do. I step in the shower, and then back out. I forget my toothbrush. I keep my toothbrush in the cabinet – but I brush my teeth in the shower. So I need to remember to take my toothbrush in the shower. Kills two birds with one stone, I say. My wife won’t shower with me because I brush my teeth. I thought she was strange when we married, but the longer you live with someone the more you learn to love them. Her ritual begins with cleaning up after me (except for that one morning) and then avoids me in the bathroom. She won’t even come into the adjacent bedroom if I’m still getting ready. She complains about the steam and my singing. Of course she compliments my singing on occasion. I think it just depends on what song I sing that morning. This talk is tiresome – no one wants to hear about how I brush my teeth after cleaning up after myself.

My morning ritual progresses, as does my wife’s (and everyone else’s I suppose). I head off to work and the rest of the day is rather uneventful. Not to suggest that nothing exciting ever happens, but just to say that I’ve gone on about my day too much already. I want to talk about THAT day. Just THAT day. When I ate Wheaties and Frosted Flakes because the Cheerios were all gone except for two. If you can understand that day then you may believe me when I say I have seen the CHILD of MERCY and MERIT. It was a circumstance that day. Something happened that changed my world. That changed my wife’s world. It was OUR world really, and what changed was between us. We were visited that day, though we never fully introduced ourselves. Our visitor came and left, like visitors tend to do, but ours left us with a gift.

Whoever came and went left us feeling silly. Stars silly. That is, so silly that we felt we were seeing stars. I dropped the salt and lost my dust. She came to help and I helped myself. At first it seemed like an act of rejection, and hers of retaliation. But when all was said and done I looked at her fine curves. How she filled out that dress very nicely. How she moved with grace and her shadow had trouble keeping up appearances with the real deal. My wife. So lovely, even if she did what she did. How could she stand it at all? Why hadn’t she left me yet? Not that we ever fought – not really. Not that there were ever harsh words between us. Or threats, or fists, or fires of passion. I had swallowed my toast, but I wanted a second helping now. Honesty is brutal.

My wife, the queen of bees. She could have had her pick right out of high school, but she held out for me. We didn’t meet until we were both out of college. What does that mean? I mean – I wasn’t likely to meet anyone, and her…she could have had them all. But we met each other and now we were here together. The queen of bees and the jack of trades. But what could I do for her? The answer that came to me was my brain child. An idea so inspired that I think it was also left for me by our visitor. Something just for me. Just for me to give to her. I brushed my teeth before getting in the shower that morning. She knew about it too, because she passed through the bedroom that morning. Maybe that was her gift to me. Another chance. She saw me and I her. We both knew that my morning ritual had been set aside. And after that we made love and I called in sick to work. We wanted to spend all day together, but after our passionate throws we knew it was kind of like the salt and toast. Except maybe it was a little better that morning, after the sex. Though we didn’t spend all day together it felt like we did. She said she had urgent business in the office and couldn’t just call in sick. This was the real world and the real world needed her. I told her I understood – and that morning I think I did.

What did I do all day? It was like lying on a bed of nails. Not necessarily fatal, but if you try and get comfortable it makes things worse. She came home, and we saw each other again. We could still tell. That morning hadn’t been a dream. There was still something between us. Given to us by our visitor. Maybe the world didn’t change because of it – but something did, something just between us. Honesty is indirect. My wife may have lied to me the evening before, and she may do it again. But not every night, and I love her for it.

The only other spectacular thing about that day was my dream. Not the dream I had while I slept, but I’ll tell you I met my wife that night. It was before that, when we laid down together and just breathed beside each other. We dreamed before we fell asleep. I couldn’t tell what she was dreaming, but I’ll tell you mine. I dreamed of the Honesty between us. What did it mean to me? Honesty is a one way ticket to the deepest part of a person’s soul. It is a dark ride, and I have found myself frightened by it. But I ride the train and stare out the black window until the daylight comes back. Dark windows also provide a good reflection, but I did not turn away. I looked into the window anyway, seeing myself in the dark. The shadows beyond took shape and I saw a bird. A Crane. A beautiful bird that swooped down to the ground. It was flying. No, it was falling and it was lying. The bird of lies was headed for the ground and there might not have been enough air to slow it’s descent. I wanted to scream out. To tell it to stop, to break its own fall. But that is not Honesty. So I prayed. Move into the fast lane, Crane. Die quickly, Dye your feathers red. Do not stop, do not hesitate, do not think that you can save yourself but give in. If death awaits you, be Honest.

My dream got me sweating a little bit, and my hand started to shake. My wife grabbed hold of my hand and I was able to stop, and sleep throughout the night.

See more of Aaron’s work at: http://www.geocities.com/aelauthor/

The Slope of War
© 2009 Yael K. Miller

He was a scout.

He could have been an officer but he made his choice years ago. He had no interest in being an officer and his job as a scout kept him as far away from officers as possible and for a majority of the time. He had been in this business for a great many years as evident from the braid and stripes on the underarms of his Blue uniform.

Years ago, long before his birth, it was decided that ranking should not be so visible. It could be seen now only if a person stood right in front of another person and even then you could still prevent people from seeing the ranking. It was a good system and he enjoyed the rare occasions when he got to flash his underarms. This was one of those times.

He had been called to the Blue command tent. As he entered the camp he saw how few of them had survived. He could see the aftermath of a very recent battle. A defeat no doubt. He, of course, had been somewhere else scouting. He followed the discreet signs to the command tent – an old code that had never been broken. Or so he assumed as he had never heard otherwise and never heard about a command tent being specifically attacked.

He flashed his rank markings and gave his name to the guard outside the command tent. The guard had just passed the enthusiasm of youth and had not yet settled into the comfort of veteranhood.

“What happened?” the scout asked.

At this the guard got suspicious and lightly touched his belted pistol.

The scout again flashed his rank markings. “I’m a scout.”

The guard relaxed. “I’m probably not suppose to say this but the Maroon boys ground us into little bits.”

The scout nodded. He had seen the effects in the camp.

“The command tent’s been reviewing the whole battle for the last two days,” the guard said, “discussing some Maroon master strategist.” The guard described in great detail the battle; he had been in the fight and had also eavesdropped at his post for the last two days.

The scout started to get an idea why he had been called but did not let his thoughts weigh too heavily. After all, these were officers and, beyond that, command officers. Who knows if they actually lived in the same universe as the rest of the world?

The scout nodded at the guard. The guard called out in a soft firm voice: “Scout Specialist reporting as ordered.”

There was a grunt from the command tent that both the scout and the guard interpreted as permission to enter. The guard held open the tent door and the scout entered.

Inside the tent all the command officers clustered around a table covered in maps. Though most of their rank markings were obscured, from what the scout could see and who he recognized from his long career, the scout figured that all of command were huddled in this tent. Apparently, the Maroons really hadn’t cracked the code to the location of the command tent.

The scout was handed a picture. “This is the Maroon commander that made us eat dirt,” said an old familiar face.

The scout saw the other commanders frowning at the phrase but said nothing. Then he saw the old familiar commander was missing a rank mark. Apparently the other commanders had already spoken their piece. It was nice to see that, in the midst of the aftermath of a crushing defeat, the command structure still had time to place blame and demote.

“Something must be done,” said a baby-faced commander, echoed in nods from the rest of the command except the one with whom the scout was familiar. As if a scout had no idea of how a war works.

“A sniper attack should do it,” said the old familiar face.

After long experience, the scout had stilled his mental remarks from becoming public: “Are you insane? Sniping an enemy commander, not in battle, and a labeled master strategist? I know, I’ll send him a note inviting him for tea.”

The other commanders took the scout’s silence for stupidity or perhaps cowardice. But the old familiar face knew what it was and grinned. He said to the scout, “This Maroon commander takes walks in a forest clearing just beyond the no-man’s land at dusk.” The scout was handed a Maroon uniform – a lowly private by the rank markings. “Wear this.”

The baby-faced commander gestured the scout to a map. “Here’s the defense map of our side of no-man’s land and what we know of theirs.”

The scout quickly memorized the map: mines, chemical traps, and other nasty stuff. This is what made him such an excellent scout, the ability to quickly assimilate maps and terrain and apply the knowledge to survival.

It was clearly the end of the meeting; the scout waiting to be dismissed and the old familiar face about to open his mouth when one of the baby-faced commander’s cohorts said, “This mission is absolutely vital. Failure is not an option. You’re dismissed.”

As the scout left the tent and nodded to the friendly guard, he could only think that this was further proof that he was glad he had never become an officer. Something about being an officer must fry a person’s brains so he can only state the obvious.

Just outside the camp, the scout changed into the Maroon uniform. He belted on a pistol even though it was not standard for a lowly private to carry one; the scout always figured better safe than sorry. The scout removed his sniper rifle from its hiding place and attached all the extensions for an extra long shot.

The scout crept into the no-man’s land with heavy fog blanketing the area. He wove his way through the Blue traps of his own side and went as far as he could into the Maroon-trapped area. Lying down in a sniper prone position, he lined up his rifle scope with the forest clearing and waited for dusk.

He was patient, a veteran. Although he much preferred his scout duties, he was no untried greenie as a sniper.

Dusk approached and the fog shifted away from the forest clearing. It looked to be close to perfect conditions for a sniper shot.

And then a figure in Maroon walked into the clearing. The scout could not yet definitely identify that this was his target as the Maroon paced back and forth. Finally the Maroon stopped pacing and sat on a tree stump. Now the scout could confirm that this was his target. The scout waited to ensure that the Maroon was not about to move. The scout lined up the shot just as the Maroon turned his head to the side leaving the scout with only a profile at which to fire. But this was no problem for the scout, and so he pulled the trigger.

At that moment the scout saw something impossible in his scope. The target had turned his head back so that the scout could again see the target’s face. The target was no longer the Maroon that he had been shown the picture of but himself, the scout! Somehow he, the scout, sat on that tree stump.

The scout dropped his sniper rifle and sprinted to the forest clearing – praying he’d dodge Maroon traps, running on pure adrenalin, something he had not done since a young, green scout. He made it to the forest clearing just as the bullet hit the target/himself/the person’s head. The scout drew his pistol and nudged the body over. The body’s face was completely gone – the scout had no clue whether he had impossibly shot himself.

Two Maroon figures dashed into the clearing carrying automatic weapons. The scout was outgunned and did not bother to fire at the Maroon men. The scout only hoped they would be merciful when they figured out he had killed their master strategist commander.

One of the men, hopelessly young and slightly out of breath, said, “Commander, are you alright? We heard a gunshot.”
The scout thought: “Are you insane? Your commander is lying on the ground.”

The two Maroons were not looking at the body but at him as if he, a Blue scout in a stolen Maroon uniform, were their commander.

Something impossible was going on. The scout drew in a breath and thought: “I guess I’m the commander of these Maroons.”

The scout-now-commander said, “A Blue in a stolen Maroon uniform snuck through the no-man’s land and tried to kill me.”

Only now did the two Maroons look at the body. The other Maroon, a veteran and someone apparently quite familiar with the Maroon commander, said, “I told you, Commander, it’s too dangerous for you to be walking in this clearing. I know you said you needed to get away to think but now your safety has been compromised.”

The scout-now-commander allowed himself to be herded between the two Maroons into the Maroon camp. It was a healthy camp with few wounded, not like the Blue camp, and, as he walked, he noticed the stiffening of soldiers as he passed – the coming to attention when a well-respected commander walks by. All of these Maroons thought he was a Maroon commander. Flashing his rank markings to himself, he saw they were no longer the markings of a lowly private on the uniform he put on earlier today. They were the markings of a very high-ranking and well-decorated commander.

His two Maroon bodyguards escorted him to what he assumed was the Maroon command tent. On the way he did not recognize the codes to a command tent, although in truth he had not been looking so hard. He entered, and the commanders in the tent all came to attention.

“Clear your head, sir?” one commander said in tones of an subordinate talking to a superior and desperately hoping the superior knows what to do.

He nodded and moved to the table. On it lay maps of incomplete plans of a battle. The same battle that had decimated the Blues two days ago. He now understood what was happening – at least as far as he could. This was a he that had not stayed a scout but had become an officer, a command officer. All the other commanders in the tent looked at him for a plan. What could he do? Just this morning he was a Blue scout. Could he really turn his back on the Blues and plan a Maroon victory? Looking around the tent, he realized he had to do this. Somehow, someway, he had become a Maroon and the Maroons needed him – they were his people now.

He took a deep breath and moved forward. He explained his plan of attack based on what the Blue guard told him about the battle two days ago and the map of the Maroon side of no-man’s land he saw earlier. A brilliant plan – the other commanders were in awe. “We strike at two hours before dawn,” he said. After all the commanders completely understood the plan, they dispersed to inform their own subordinates.

He laid down to sleep after informing his guards not to wake him, not even during the battle. Although he was now a Maroon commander and the Maroons were his people, he had no desire to see the Blues slaughtered.

He awoke late in the afternoon to murmuring outside his tent. He granted entrance, and the grinning faces of his commanders greeted him. Everything had gone according to plan – an amazing victory. He toured the camp, visiting the few wounded. Almost all of the wounded were on the Blue side.

His commanders begged and pleaded for two days that they should follow up on the victory and crush the remnants of the Blue army. But he could not allow it; he had killed all the Blues he could stomach. Near dusk of the second day, he informed his bodyguards that he was going for a walk alone to clear his head. They protested but he finally wore them down. No doubt they would still be close to him though hidden.

He walked until he came to a forest clearing, the perfect place to think things over. He paced, reviewing the ethics of what he had done. The Maroons needed him to be a Maroon master strategist commander so he gave that to them, ignoring that a short while ago and for most of his life he was a Blue scout.

He felt dizzy so he sat down on a tree stump. Suddenly he heard the sound of a long-range sniper shot.

He turned his face to the bullet.

You can follow Yael on Twitter at: http://www.twitter.com/MillerMosaicLLC

Read more short stories on our Short Story Contributor page:
http://www.storyinstitute.com/category/short-story-contributors/

St. Patrick’s Day – Wearin’ the Green
The wearin’ of the green…that’s the day when all those who are not of Irish decent celebrate the lovely story of St. Patrick and his day. From marching in large parades to drinking green beer to eating corned beef and cabbage, this day is about celebrating life and enjoying it. This festive occasion brings about a brotherhood many don’t remember exists the rest of the year. This joyous occasion provides opportunities for grown adults to relive their youth and become a part of new traditions. And, don’t forget the beer.

Choose your path. Choose your subject. Choose you remember of the day, if you can remember. Were you standing in a parade line waiting to march your way down Michigan Avenue hold a freezing piece of metal, praying and hoping that the cameras would not catch your step on the opposite foot from everyone else as you passed by the judging booth? Were you a bystander watching the people walk by, happy, chilled, and throwing candy? Either way, choose your words well, but don’t leave out the pot of gold. Remember poems are simple, but have all the power of a story in a little, tiny space. Post it on Story Institute, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Groundhog Days
Ahh, that cute, furry little creature that determines whether the weather will be kind or severe. Yes, this creature is the groundhog. Tiny ears…small pudgy body…very timid…very predictive of the possible future. Sometimes he is correct. Other times he is no so much. Create a verse that ties in the semblance of this simple creature to his prognostications.

When did this craziness start? Does the groundhog know the story itself? Or, is he just along for the ride of being woken early and waits for extra food in a side dish that had remained dormant for an extended period of time as hibernation took over. Give your day and critter a personality that breathes life into the day and the events around the day. Think of how you don’t care about the outcome, yet somehow are always disappointed when he sees his shadow. Post it on Story Institute, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Selected Stories Unravel
The book has sat on the shelf since you were three. OK, maybe four…However, the book has always been there. You remember when you were ten, opening the cover once…once…And, your father stood over you and asked where the book belonged. You quickly put it back. You managed to see a few words inside the cover. Those words have stuck with you to this day. Now, as you sort through your father’s belongings shortly after his recent passing, you remember them…

What were those words? Who is this character? What was the book? Why did the father leave it on the shelf for so long? Were there other books on the shelf? Was the character able to read the other books? Were there other times the character got close to finding out what was inside?

Think about the special times in your own life and reflect on the stories they can tell. Connect with your parents and remember the stories they shared. What plotlines did they leave out? Did you find out about any later in life? Realize the impact of the storyline as you write and expand on the ideas and the meaning of the book itself. Decide on the story, and write. Post it on Story Institute, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Grandma and the Friendly Feline
Grandma has not been feeling well recently. In fact, her grandchildren think that she is starting to lose more than her memory. She seems to have intimate conversations with her cat. One day, however, her littlest granddaughter over hears one of those conversations…both sides…

This story connects the imagination of a little one with the belief that rests only with age. The granddaughter sneaks away from playing with her sisters to listen to the stories the feline and her grandmother share. The cat talks about what he does at night and the tricks he plays on the children, while grandma shares stories of her past.

Who is this special animal? How is the grandma and the grandchild able to understand what it is saying? Where exactly do they live? How will the stories progress? How will the story end? Decide on the path. Decide on the why. Decide on the story, but write. Post it on Story Institute, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Visit us at Story Institute for other ideas and writing prompts…
http://www.storyinstitute.com

To take RamblingVerser with you or read it offline, download the PDF version here:
RamblingVerses Episode 6 March 2009

Try Audible Now and Get 2 Free Audiobook Downloads with a 14 Day Trial. Choose from over 50,000 Titles.

Download and Listen to any Audiobook for only $7.49. Choose from over 50,000 Titles.

Members of the Story Institute team have been Audible.com listeners/readers since 2000…and have enjoyed dozens of the over 50,000 titles…each week, we will feature a specific Audible story in this site, so stay tuned and enjoy…

This week’s Audible pick is What the Dickens by Gregory Maguire It is a fantastic tale woven together as a story within a story. If you ever considered using classic story figures with your own work, What the Dickens provides excellent examples along with a great storyline…listen and read more…

Publisher’s Summary

©2007 Gregory Maguire; (P)2007 Scholastic Inc.

Sign-up today and listen to What the Dickens

If you prefer the physical version, you can always stop by Amazon…

Have you tried other authors that align with your personal reading style? Have you thought about trying a lesser know writer? What was your experience? Was it good? Was it bad? Was it a book you passed along to someone else? There are so many books out there. How do you choose? Tell us about your favorite titles, your favorite writers, your favorite step back from daily life.

What? You haven’t read any books that did not fall under mainstream? Try this…visit amazon.com and type Createspace in the search bar…Or, just click the word Createspace here…Most of the books there are by less known writers. Most are people just like you waiting to share a story.

Do you have any requests for authors to feature? Is there an author out there whom you have read and enjoyed, but doesn’t get enough credit for their writing? Let us know. We will work to help promote their works, evoking emotions from their readers, engaging new audience members, and empowering others to read and write…

Walter H Hunt – Online / In Print

Lenn Millbower – Online / In Print

Jill Eisnaugle – Online / In Print

Joseph Langen – Online / In Print

Marcus DeHart – Online / In Print

These are just a few of the great Guests we have lined up for you…If you have any feedback, please email us at ramblingverser@storyinstitute.com

Subscribe to RamblingVerser and add it to your iTunes library now…

Ahh, the new year…full of fun, full of frenzy, full of excuses not to write that new story, poem, novel, play, or check…There are always resolutions around writing if you are a writer. There are also at least double the excuses for every resolution going unfulfilled. The only one who can build the story you need to tell is you. You neighbor, your writing group or buddy, your small pet can only encourage the story to start, stop, or spin. You must engage in the actual writing. The inspiration was not meant for anyone else. Need to choose and write.

You know what your day looks like. You know when you have time to write. You also know when you don’t have time to write. There are really two challenges though…Finding the time when you are not asleep and finding your particular muse somewhere along the way. They are both elusive creatures. Neither seem to be on your side. Neither want to cooperate with each other. You may be inspired, but you don’t have the time. You may have the time, but are not inspired.

Read this Tale-ing Tip for recommendations and ideas on how to engage yourself in the writing process…Enjoy…

http://www.storyinstitute.com/2008/12/06/find-your-time-to-write/

Oscar Wilde
Good resolutions are simply checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account.

Mark Twain
New Year’s is a harmless annual institution, of no particular use to anybody save as a scapegoat for promiscuous drunks, and friendly calls and humbug resolutions.

T.S. Eliot
For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.

http://www.storyinstitute.com/poetry-contest-submission/

Perfect Man
© 2008 – Damien Livingston
Just foolish, thinking I can be a perfect man
Look at my face masked wit incorrect thoughts
Or this body of mine… that has been bathed in self ignorance
Listen to the words I speak from the depth of my mouth that are not genuine but are instead dishonest and misleading
Or the loss look in my eyes… smothered with life’s tragedies
I’m just foolish, for there is only one who’s perfect
Why do I ache for approval from relatives and friends …, or, lust for acceptance from foreign faces
Where did I misplace my self respect, or bury my integrity
What would make me sacrifice my inner potency, for shame and guilt
Most times I feel lost in this abandoned house known as my Life
Unsheltered from self-hatred, adverse depression and redundant let downs
Yet, I find myself looking for a savior
Looking for someone to feel sorry for me
Yearning for compassion…, starving for unbeneficial pity
Chasing a mirage of a Perfect man
Left me scorn, drowning in a sea of hatred
For I forgot to accept myself, forgot to believe in myself… but most of all I forgot to love myself
I forgot to tell myself that as long as I give it my all

I’m am perfect, perfectly me as I can be

http://www.storyinstitute.com/2008/12/04/poem-perfect-man-damien-livingston/

Bitter Awareness
© 2008 – Jamie Lynn Waters
What is a dream?
The word dream is scrumptious,
Like the cotton candy held in the palm of your hand,
Realistic and loud,
Like the sticky situation if held to long,
Self knowledge weighing on you like a twenty-eight pound brick dropped from the sky,
Landing in the palm of your hands,
Preservation, the key to the long roads you’ll take,
Preparing yourself for what may or may not be,
Most satisfying to the mind like a cold winter’s day and a cup of hot chocolate,
Your future of life, or the death of your dignity,
Your goals set before you like a steaming brownie with a perfectly round scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, most delicious when reached for, your dream!

http://www.storyinstitute.com/2008/12/17/poem-bitter-awareness-jamie-lynn-waters/

Moving On
© 2008 – Jamie Lynn Waters
There comes a point in life when we all grow up
The loss of innocence,
Promises,
Heartbreaks,
Loss of loved ones,
High school,
Graduation,
It’s all a part of life,
Some may experience more than others but it’s what makes you, you
Don’t lose your morals and faith for the pleasure of others,
Keep your ground and hold your head high,
Show people you can be who you want to be and still succeed,
Sometimes there will be a fork in the road,
Take the path in which you feel you will succeed because if worse comes to worst
There’s always construction, you can make it back on that path of triumph,
It’s never too late,
You’ll learn from your mistakes and become more cautious as you continue on the path of life.

http://www.storyinstitute.com/2008/12/17/poem-moving-on-jamie-lynn-waters/

As you grow into the new year, Alfred, Lord Tennyson shares well-chosen words about where the old year went and where it started…
Read carefully. Something may arise that remained dormant for previous readings…

The Death of the Old Year
By: Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing:
Toll ye the church bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.
Old year you must not die;
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year you shall not die.

His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone,
Close up his eyes: tie up his chin:
Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,
And waiteth at the door.
There’s a new foot on the floor, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door.

It was New Year’s Eve. Ted thought that things could not be worse than last year. In fact, he was not taking any chances. He decided to stay home, watch the celebrations on tv, and go straight to bed shortly after midnight. The doors were locked. The windows sealed shut as the cold tried to reach inside and chill everything within its grasp. Ted did not want to face the same path he did last year. He did not want to see the faces on any of the party-goers this time as he did last year. It was a mess.

Why was Ted so concerned? What happened last year that caused Ted to keep things simple? Was it a girl? Or, did something erupt within him bringing about a Ted than anyone had ever seen? Why was the cold so cold?

Decide on the path. Decide on the past. Decide on the other characters who may call, stop by, or make their way back into the memory of Ted. Decide on the history. Decide on the future. Decide if Ted makes it to bed on time. Decide on the story and write. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Here are some of the many resources on the web for engaging yourself and your audience…Good luck…

Poets.org – New Year Poetry Topics –
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5889

Poem Recordings –
http://classicpoetryaloud.podomatic.com/

Children Short Stories –
http://www.apples4theteacher.com/holidays/new-years-day/short-stories/

New Year Challenge –
http://bloginhood.blogspot.com/2008/12/new-years-resolution-365-short-stories.html

Charles Dickens Refresher –
http://www.readbookonline.net/readOnLine/7730/

Visit us at Story Institute for other ideas and writing prompts…
http://www.storyinstitute.com

To take RamblingVerser with you or read it offline, download the PDF version here:
ramblingversesepisode5january2009

Do you have a book that you are thinking of publishing, but don’t know where to get started? Check out our Book submission guidelines as well…

Contact us for more information:
Email: Customer Service
Phone: 615-431-WRIT (9748)

Or, friend us:

Visit our first post…Find Your Time to Write

A free copy of “Alone With Someone” – A novel by John E. Murray, III

And…

A Story Institute Hat…

With each new holiday, a new memory is created. The old ones do not just disappear. They simply blend together making new memories that grow to be more impactful on our lives. We live through each new event as if it is an expected occurrence. Think about why the holidays are celebrated. Think about the intensity each family member adds to the time together. Think about the connections you miss due to random memory lapses or holiday induced emotive moments.

When you write about the holiday season, focus on the familiar and make it fantastic. Remember your missing uncle who joined a religion where he doesn’t recognize any holidays. Remember your great, great grandmother who only spoke Lithuanian the last 20 years of her 100+ life. Remember the spirit is out there somewhere. Try to connect with it before your story starts. Stay connected with it as the moves you through your own Christmas Carol through past, present, and future. Ride the chilling breeze as it rest on the soft, fluffy wet stuff that clings to the earth and the snow people who inhabit it.

Find your memory, or make a new one. This month, recognize the unique stories that have grown from the season and write…Enjoy…

Irish Proverb
A turkey never voted for an early Christmas

Benjamin Franklin
A good conscience is a continual Christmas.

William Shakespeare
At Christmas I no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May’s new-fangled mirth;
But like of each thing that in season grows.

Cole Ridge Poem
© 2008 – Joy Sheppard

Blythe gale,
Peasants to hail,
Why canst thou fling free?
Soar over the churning sea in wild ecstasy?
Must you always salt my soars?
Bitter struggle tasted by scores
Inflicted by you, the curses rebound
Upon the shipwrecked Sound
Enslaving master and taskman alike
Oh, wild spirit, why not burst the dike
And fly home?
To roam
Frree

My heart is the captain for a ship of gold
Our mission is something special to behold
Together, my boat and I span the high seas
We ride through the turmoil with the greatest ease
Clear skies form to greet us and welcome our cause
There’s no hesitation found to bring us pause
So onward we go, though the dawn turns to night
Our destination firmly fixed in our sight.

My heart is the captain for a ship of gold
Yet, found in the cargo, there’s something quite old
A masterpiece which has lived through tests of time
A gift for the ages, still well in its prime
Some call it a blessing, reserved for a few
Yet, when we dock portside, I’ll give it to you
The “gold” in my cargo is love, evermore
My dear, I will see you when I reach the shore.

To read more of Jill’s work, please visit: www.authorsden.com/jillaeisnaugle

http://www.storyinstitute.com/2008/09/20/poetry-contest-winner-announcement-2008-fall-contest/

For a more meaningful reflection on the season, John Milton shares well-chosen words reflecting on the nativity and its inspirational aspects…
If you do not believe the content, read it as a verse first, searching for the muse…
Read carefully, and re-read it. We all miss something the first time…

On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity
By: John Milton

This is the month, and this the happy morn
Wherein the Son of Heav’n's eternal King,
Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the holy sages once did sing,
That he our deadly forfeit should release,
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.
II
That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty,
Wherewith he wont at Heav’n's high council-table,
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,
He laid aside, and here with us to be,
Forsook the courts of everlasting day,
And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.
III
Say Heav’nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein
Afford a present to the Infant God?
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,
To welcome him to this his new abode,
Now while the heav’n, by the Sun’s team untrod,
Hath took no print of the approaching light,
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?
IV
See how from far upon the eastern road
The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet:
O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;
Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,
And join thy voice unto the angel quire,
From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire.

You’ve seen adventures that begin in a snow globe. How about one that is ignited by the spark of a flame and moves with each new candle lit. With certain flames, we are afforded the opportunity to join the residents of this randomized world. For the people within the spark, the light in one candle can represent years or decades.

Is there night in this world? What are they people like? Who do they represent? Can you find the flame anywhere? Or, is stored in a secluded area and only available to a select few? Where do you find an exit? Do you try? Or, do you enjoy the centuries within?

Decide on the path. Decide on the transportation route. Decide on the stories within. Decide on the path you follow and the path you lead. Decide on the story, and write. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy…

Here are some of the many resources on the web for evoking the muse within…Good luck…

Christmas Poems – Holiday Poetry for Christmas –
http://classiclit.about.com/od/christmaspoempoetry/Christmas_Poems_Holiday_Poetry_for_Christmas.htm

Traditional Christmas Stories & Poems –
http://www.christmas-poems.com/

Kaboose – Christmas Stories –
http://holidays.kaboose.com/christmas/stories/xmas-stories.html

All Things Christmas –
http://www.allthingschristmas.com/stories.htm

Visit us at Story Institute for other ideas and writing prompts…
http://www.storyinstitute.com/

To take RamblingVerser with you or read it offline, download the PDF version here:
ramblingverses-episode-4-december-2008

5 Stars = Classic
4 Stars = Bestseller
3 Stars = Mass Market
2 Stars = Romance Novel
1 Star = Tabloid

If you are rushing off to write a new poem or short story, just select your rating for that post. If you have a few moments and are waiting for inspiration to hit, post a comment as well. It only takes a few minutes and will help others understand why you did or did not like the topic or post.

In fact, we will give away a Story Institute t-shirt to the 5 lucky individuals and a Story Institute cap to an additional 5 poets, writers, or inspirational people who post a constructive comment, share their poetry, or provide a link to a short story they have written. (US Residents only) Enjoy.

With the many, many poem ideas on the site and else where, surely there is something for which to write…
Poetry Topics

With the thoughts and ideas from past poets, surely there are ideas out there waiting for connections…
Poetry Contributors Contest Entries

With the guidelines and direction shared here, surely there is a topic that needs to be told…
Poetry Contest Guidelines

So, what new verse is waiting to be born…Is it yours…Share it here…
Poetry Contest Submission Page

Now is the time to write. Empower yourself to deliver the stories that lie within. November is National Novel Writing Month. So, break out the scrap paper, the simulated, onscreen paper, or the trusty, somewhat dusty notebook and write. Just sit down and do it. So far, we have focused on your muse…so, you should have the inspiration…and belief…without which your characters would not be real…wait a minute, they are characters…

Choose whether you need to outline your storyline or just jump into the writing. If you choose to outline, be consistent in formatting. Short or long outlines depend on the writer. With short outlines, you can save some of your words for the story itself and breathe life into the story. With longer outlines, you can simply fill in the empty spaces and provide transitions to your world of imagination. If you choose to just jump into the writing, feel the pen, pencil, or keyboard. Search deep inside for the inspiration and let your creativity flow through the writing instrument as you conduct your verbal symphony.

Think of topics with which you are comfortable. Remember though that being a writer involves writing. So, compose every day. Find a small space, find a time, find a reason to write. Enjoy becoming a part of your thoughts instead of the controller. Enjoy becoming a part of something bigger instead of just something. Enjoy being a writer.

Tennessee Williams
Why did I write? Because I found life unsatisfactory.

Benjamin Franklin
Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.

F. Scott Fitzgerald
You don’t write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say.

For a more meaningful reflection on writing, Oliver Wendell Holmes shares great images and encouraging words…read carefully, and re-read it. We all miss something the first time…

A Familiar Letter
By: Oliver Wendell Holmes

YES, write, if you want to, there’s nothing like trying;
Who knows what a treasure your casket may hold?
I’ll show you that rhyming’s as easy as lying,
If you’ll listen to me while the art I unfold.

But it’s all of no use, and I’m sorry I’ve written,–
I shall see your thin volume some day on my shelf;
For the rhyming tarantula surely has bitten,
And music must cure you, so pipe it yourself.

When I was younger, I began writing because it was not only something I could do by myself, but it was inexpensive…I didn’t have to ask anyone for money…I just had to find a notebook. Since they are needed for school and they are only a small amount of money, I would always justify an extra one…you know notes and such…

When one of my friends would get ready to throw out their notebook, after the quarter or before summer, I would take it…As I got older, I started buying the 3-subject notebooks…to hold more notes, of course…Now, as an adult, I find myself needing to purchase a 50 cent notebook every once in a while to get the creative juices flowing…computers are great, but they are no notebook…

When you find yourself looking for a topic for your poem, short story, or novel, search the web, but don’t forget to look around you. Return to the simpler times…return to the notebook…Enjoy…

Here are some of the many resources on the web for empowering yourself to write…Good luck…

Writing and Reading Communities
National Novel Writer Month – http://www.nanowrimo.org/

AuthorsDen – http://www.authorsden.com/

Experience & Advice
Writing Excuses – Brandon Sanderson, Howard Tayler, Dan Wells – http://www.writingexcuses.com/

Advanced Fiction Writing – Randy Ingermanson – http://www.advancedfictionwriting.com/art/snowflake.php

About.com – Fiction Writing -Top 7 Signs Your Short Story Wants to Be a Novel – http://fictionwriting.about.com/od/novelwriting/tp/novelworthy.htm

Inspiration
The Voice of Your Muse – Mark David Gerson – http://markdavidmuse.blogspot.com/

Writing, Editing, & Publishing Services
Agent Query – http://www.agentquery.com/

Writers in the Sky – http://www.writersinthesky.com/

Createspace – Publishing – http://www.createspace.com/

Visit us at Story Institute for other ideas and writing prompts…
http://www.storyinstitute.com/

To take RamblingVerser with you or read it offline, download the PDF version here:
ramblingverses-episode-3-november-2008

For those of you who have been with us for a while…or, those who have just joined the adventure…

Driving ROI sets the stage for driving excellence within your organization. Your path, position, and perspective influence where you add and find value in a business decision. Whether you are an executive, trainer, operator, or a member of the marketing team, you will find value in the surveys, summaries, and stories trapped within. Most conversations about return on investments begin by someone telling you their method of calculating a dollar value for your efforts. ROI calculations have been based on subjectivity and cavalier approaches to assigning value to efforts. The reality is we all contribute to a return. Sometimes, that contribution is positive. Sometimes, it is negative. Sometimes, we need to share our stories and connect them before we apply some formula or a calculation. Driving ROI provides important insight and connections to communication, listening, delivering, and integrating a distinct return to your investments.

Buy it from Story Institute:
Story Institute Originals

OR, Buy it from Amazon:

OR, download it here FREE by completing this simple form…A link will appear after providing your name and email. This is used only to track where our creativity travels, not to limit annoy its readers…

Read Jill’s Award winning poem:

Ship of Gold
© 2008 – Jill Eisnaugle

My heart is the captain for a ship of gold
Our mission is something special to behold
Together, my boat and I span the high seas
We ride through the turmoil with the greatest ease
Clear skies form to greet us and welcome our cause
There’s no hesitation found to bring us pause
So onward we go, though the dawn turns to night
Our destination firmly fixed in our sight.

Alas, we’ve seen struggles through which some would fail
But, my ship and I are destined to prevail
No rock ‘neath the surface or force from a wave
Could make us believe our course is not to save
My ship and I know what we can and can’t take
Such trust and assurance leaves calm in its wake
When the stars appear, come the moon’s brilliant glow
Toward our final port call, my ship and I go.

My heart is the captain for a ship of gold
Yet, found in the cargo, there’s something quite old
A masterpiece which has lived through tests of time
A gift for the ages, still well in its prime
Some call it a blessing, reserved for a few
Yet, when we dock portside, I’ll give it to you
The “gold” in my cargo is love, evermore
My dear, I will see you when I reach the shore.

To read more of Jill’s work, please visit: http://www.authorsden.com/jillaeisnaugle

OR, Buy it from Amazon:

OR, download it here FREE by completing this simple form…A link will appear after providing your name and email. This is used only to track where our creativity travels, not to limit annoy its readers…

Winners will be announced soon. Thank you!

Are you a poet looking for a place to land your verses…Check out our Poetry Contest…

Check out our recent entries on Our Poetry Contributor Page