text:
Saturday, 31 December 2016

by Kathy Conde

We took the pulse of earth
seismic soundings
for ebony lakes of hidden energy.
Our youth and our god
detected through explosions
demanded audacity.

Flying us to the field
the pilot, a war vet,
clutched the control stick
put us into a hammerhead stall
and said, "I turned
one of these choppers over once."
but so was his grin
as the helicopter’s glass bubble
hesitated at the crest of the climb.

The silence of the killed
engine roared in our ears.
We tilted toward earth,
our toes white from pushing
brake pedals that weren't there.
Our fingers spread wide
in surrender. There was nothing
to hold on to. Even the air
was falling with us.

* * * * *

"Energy Exploration" first appeared in Wazee Journal.

Kathy Conde won the Crab Orchard Review Jack Dyer Fiction Prize 2014. She has also won prizes and scholarships from Salem International Literary Awards, Munster’s Seán Ó Faoláin Short Story Competition, and the Aspen Writers' Foundation. Her stories have appeared in Crab Orchard Review, CutThroat: A Journal of the Arts, Southword, Underground VoicesWord Riot, and others. She lives in Colorado with her husband and son. You can see more of her work at

Friday, 30 December 2016

by Kathy Conde

I hold back, feel the pull
of gravity through my boot.
Mac says it will be easy
scaling the vertical
rock face full of cracks
and quarter-inch ledges.
I climb and granite
turns to flat gray.
Handholds visible from below
vanish at a certain height.
Everything is gone—
summer grass, Mac's red car
gleaming from the road,
green silhouette of tamarack
against blue sky, screech
of a redtail hawk. All gone—
even the wind that blew
dust across the road
when I took my first
look at the wall.
All that is left
is rock, my body pressed
against it like a lover,
the pull of gravity

* * * * *

"Climbing After a Fall" first appeared in the anthology, New Poets of the American West.

Kathy Conde won the Crab Orchard Review Jack Dyer Fiction Prize 2014. She has also won prizes and scholarships from Salem International Literary Awards, Munster’s Seán Ó Faoláin Short Story Competition, and the Aspen Writers' Foundation. Her stories have appeared in Crab Orchard Review, CutThroat: A Journal of the Arts, Southword, Underground VoicesWord Riot, and others. She lives in Colorado with her husband and son. You can see more of her work at

Thursday, 29 December 2016

by Marlee Cox

After she climbed the maple, the one
which spit its samaras into the Midwestern
autumn breath, we split for the night— just for the night—
to separate suburban sprawls. We knew each way
home and back again.

Rich red lolls down my thigh, spurred by the
lilt of my run. The city found its heat wave. Stenches
of softened tar and hot lilacs rise from the
streets and swarm me. Gnats attack the sweat at
my temples and nape. Whatever. I’ll never go back to ordering my coffee on ice.

She fears only girls who burn themselves, and I
am dry desert fire.

Baby, I’ve got welts.

There are more punishing ways to bleed, surely, than
from my depths while jogging.

I wish they wouldn’t stare at me on
the train. Stage fright brings my hands to a tremble, stirring my iced coffee
into a riot. Condensation dribbles down my wrist
like summer’s blood.

If God
stranded us at sea, she would know the proper things to do. She would warn me against

She would be the
smart one—she, unflinchingly, would eat my liver. Raw.

She, surely, would make it home.

* * * * *

Marlee Cox at age 15 won one of the Glass Woman Prize awards in 2011 for her story "Collapse."

Wednesday, 28 December 2016

Learning Long Division

by Lisa Cihlar

If you knew the exact moment when the time ahead of you was equal
to the time behind you, would you change direction?  Drive west
and for every right turn make two lefts?  On back roads in flat states where
timothy grass and purple clover clot the roadsides, hang your hand
out the window, feel the slap of weeds on your palm, the occasional wetness
from spittle bug froth?  Get angry.
Tell mothers that their children are beautiful.  Never tell a lie.
Join the end of every parade you come upon.  Throw candy, the good
kind that sticks in the teeth, like caramels that can be sucked for hours.
Drink strawberry malts in small town parlors painted pink and yellow.
If you knew that you were going to die in your sleep would you buy
new sheets, wash them every day, hang them outside to dry, perfumed
by new mown grass and west wind with rain running ahead?
Write a confession that spills everything, lies and stealing and however
many of the seven sins you can remember, then do them over again
to make sure you got it right the first time.  Pray.  Assume there is
a God.  Then assume there is not.  Tell a pastor that religion is the cause
of most of the wars in the world, but forgive him.  Leave offerings
in collection baskets and food pantries.  Wear red panties and white
shorts and walk with a hip sway that says fuck me.  And do it in a bed,
in the woods, on a beach before a storm when waves crash louder
than you moan and shout.  Kiss your dog between the eyes.  Slow
your breathing.  Give everything away, crawl to the graveyard, hold up
your arms until wrens land on your fingers, sparrows pluck your hair
to line their nests
and make new music.

* * * * *

"Learning Long Division" was previously published in Wordgathering here:

Tuesday, 27 December 2016

by Gloria Mindock

Waiting for an angel to circle, drop
threads on our faces, we cover our eyes
in this system of the obsolete.

After awhile, we are meek in our armchair
watching TV…
feeling lazy, thinking, we have time.

Gather yourself.
The bullets fly on this hot summer day
into your skin.

Monday, 26 December 2016

by Gloria Mindock

My Mind is crushed, flattened, bruised, banished…
into all the agonies of the world

It is true
I think about all the
inches of rain…
Sorrow does visit sometimes

Now that I am empty,
my dreams exaggerate peace,
where everyone pulls the sky into their eyes
wishing to hear

all the lost mourning

Sunday, 25 December 2016

By Nicole M. Bouchard

          The discovery following his death, though an unsettling one, did not announce itself in the conspicuous, crude fashion that such discoveries typically do. It came more subtly, in fragments: items left behind, remembrances triggering revelations, and most particularly, in the form of all the things that were not there. Indeed, it was what was missing, far more than what was found, that provided the framework of his life’s story. All of the absent moments, hollow spaces of a lifetime that ought to be filled—the words unsaid, roles never assumed, a vacant chair across a table, the photographs never taken and placed upon the mantle. Paired against what little remained, one theme, soft as a whisper at first, started to echo in all of the empty places. Surreptitious in the days immediately after his passing, the graceful figure with long, lean lines like the sketch of a 1920s Vanity Fair cover was no more than a haunting. Gliding through, her slender fingers brushed along the surfaces in abandoned rooms so lightly, that not even the particles of dust, newly gathered without his care, were disturbed.
          She might have gone unnoticed all together in the apartment, what with the relatives talking more regularly with the passage of days—the men discussing furniture, a few legal matters and disposals, along with the occasional baseball score or gadget reference. The veil of solemnity disintegrating faster than the few antiquities left to his name…
          She probably would have disappeared as the vapor she was if it hadn’t been for one mis-step. It was when she wanted, most impudently, to announce her presence in her grandiose way that for one second, she almost made herself real upon entering the room. And it was that, that prideful sweep of a porcelain arm dripping in furs, which registered a flicker in Allison’s mind. At the corner of her eye, at the crossroads of grief, belief, imagination and want, Allison thought she saw a tiny glimpse of someone she recognized, someone who did not belong—and it troubled her immensely.
          At the news of her uncle’s death, Allison had been the only one to cry, cry with the kind of sobs that shook her body. The world had been deprived of the kindest, most unfettered soul she’d ever known. And no one else seeming to give a damn had the harsh consequence of making his life seem as though it mattered less.
          She was suddenly twelve years old, standing in the rain to pound on her uncle’s door at ten o’clock on a school night. Her father had left the year before and this was the second time her mother had forgotten to pick her up at school and hadn’t come home for over twenty-four hours. No call, just a note in fuchsia lipstick drawn directly onto the kitchen table: Going out xo. The door opened and arms extended in the wake of the porch light. Nothing had to be explained as the rain blended with her tears. A comforting smile and a warmth from eyes that looked just like hers signaled that he understood everything. Frank never disparaged his younger sister, but instead took up the mantle of guiding his niece through her most uncertain years.
          Nights she stayed with him, he gave her his bedroom and slept on his small sofa for which he was much too tall. The image of his legs hanging over its right arm with his large, socked feet in mid-air, reminded her of the king in a storybook who wanted more than anything to be of formidable stature. He tried all manner of tricks, notions, and potions, but his height always remained the same; his daughter, to put an end to his discontent, had builders come in the night to make all the furniture in the palace smaller. The king awoke to find his legs hanging over the bed, and to his joy, viewed himself as substantial in appearance as the princess knew him to be at heart. The thought of the book, one he’d read to her in a series when she was small, always made her smile. In the mornings, following tea and toast, he’d either take the city bus to see her off to school or, if she begged to miss a day, he’d take her to work with him—and to Allison, that became an experience above all others.
          As Head Tour Guide, Franklin, as they called him at the mansion, had access to anything and everything. There was a world of shimmering glamour and charm preserved, suspended in time as a portal she could escape into. The structure reached up its stone walls to demand the acknowledgment of the sky above it as though it had always existed, and was deserving of the status of conduit between heaven and earth. In the French Baroque, Neo-Classical style, it was meant to mirror elements of Château de Saint-Cloud, a palace in France, expanded by Marie Antoinette in the late 1700s.
          It was there that Allison was first introduced to the striking figure that would serve as idol, mentor, and elusive friend for the next seven years of her life. Back then, it never seemed strange to either of them that this central woman they shared was an heiress neither had met, someone whose personage was limited to the pages of history. With her jet black, chin-length bob and red lips, Elaina Flannigan was as alive to Allison as a young aunt who’d just left the room—or who’d gone out for the evening—might have been. The lack of her physical presence made her all the more covetable. It became possible to project into her personality whatever traits Allison wished, choosing to get swept into the embrace of a woman who had the secrets of life and could tell a blossoming girl how to live.
          Frank gave her select articles and book excerpts that he’d uncovered in his research. At the mansion, his stories were more detailed than the other guides and the extent of his knowledge superior—the lines poured out the door just to get him. Most of all, though, it was the delivery that was the principal distinction. He spoke with fresh conviction each time, each tour. Even the most disinterested tourist, from teenagers with headphones to weekenders snapping only photos of themselves, stood up straighter to listen and put away their distractions. They would leave lit with a flame of wonderment about Elaina and the work she did. Frank was passionate about his vocation and took it upon himself to be the consummate guardian of all concerning the Flannigan heiress.
          Allison took to imagining Elaina as her confidante, someone accessible, yet also a figure to look up to. At home, Allison and her mother had become passing shadows, rarely overlapping spare for unwanted intrusions that served as a reminder of their wintry existence together—a door to memory left open too long to let in the chill. Perhaps it was because she was too much her father’s daughter in little ways that chipped away at her mother’s façade of forgetting. Thus, she let go of one hand to take hold of another. Allison played at the idea of being encouraged to sit down close by on the chaise lounge while Elaina sat at her vanity in a silk gown to apply her rouge, readying herself for the kind of 20s soiree that Allison could only dream of. Elaina would smile in the reflection and hand the thirteen-year-old her red lipstick to try. She wouldn’t treat her like a child but would talk to her like a friend and educate her with the views that a cultured woman of the world would possess.
She’d speak of her work on reform and fighting for women’s rights domestically and abroad—her role as a women’s advocate in the 30s when females able to attain employment during the Depression were perceived as having robbed their male counterparts of available labor and wages, causing them to lose their positions without warning or fair compensation. She would tell her about leadership and taking one’s place. She would speak of friendships, and how to be beloved in the right circles. She’d tell her about love and give advice on what to look for in a man between sips of champagne. Elaina would issue anecdotes and cautions so that Allison would grow to be the kind of lady she ought to want to be.
          By the pool of the grotto, they’d laugh over boys and growing pains as Allison worked hard to try to emulate the inner calm and outward grace that Elaina found effortless. She would dream of her hair being brushed by steady, elegant hands as they conversed about life and she wouldn’t be ignored or forgotten but made to feel as though she was worth something.
          At nineteen, in her sophomore year of college, Allison was running down the steps on the last day before winter break. She was an Art History major by this time and working on a paper concerning one of the mansion’s many paintings. There was a youthful painting of a queen that would later turn a city of celebration into a graveyard overnight. It said nothing of what she would become, the torment she’d undergo in an abusive marriage, or the unspeakable things she herself would do. The image was innocent and hopeful. The painting hung as a fascinating contradiction, making it ideal subject matter to explore in diverse layers. Allison had acquired some of her uncle’s passion for the past.
Allison was also minoring in Women’s Studies, the work of Elaina as inspiration. Her auburn hair was cut into a chic bob, her lips always either bare or some shade of red. Her mind was on getting home, the hour drive she’d speed through to spend the holiday with Frank, when she collided with one of her guy friends on the stairway. He shoved a wrapped package into her arms, his enthusiasm underestimating momentum, nearly knocking her backwards.
          “Hey! Merry Christmas!”
          Quick, graceful steps avoided a loss of balance. Her expression was one that he recognized too well. The look one might feel compelled to give an affable waiter following a lousy meal. Try as he might, of all the guys that rallied for her attention, it seemed that he was always serving up disappointment. His was a world of numbers and electronic algorithms. To him, art was discretionary, travel a preoccupation for the discontented, wealth (and its accompanying finery, typical decorum) a consequence of a character flaw. But she, despite possessing interests in these less than desirable areas, was an anomaly his awkward heart wanted to incorporate into a working equation.
          “Oh. Hi. Merry Christmas, Allen. For me?” she said holding up the package with a polite smile. “That’s really sweet of you—you didn’t have to get me anything. I’ll look forward to opening it when I get home.”
          His silence, the unblinking stare, his solid stance hindering her way down the stairs, meant she was to open it then and there. The familiar expression crossed her face, but she adjusted the things in her arms to free both hands and unwrap what she could feel was a book.
          “Have you read this? I know you love all that history stuff at the Flannigan mansion, so I thought you’d want the new, authoritative biography. Went downtown to a signing so you’d have an autographed copy. It’s pretty bizarre. Kind of a nutcase. People were talking about it in the store... Weird little rich bitch, right?”
          The cover showed Elaina leaning against a column at a soiree, appearing scarcely able to stand, the weight of alcohol or unseen despair heavy on the tiny body. Eyes wild, dark circles, a glare daring judgment from the crowd with a champagne glass dangling in her hand.
          Allen was always making a study of Allison’s face with geometric precision; each shape, angle, or shift with a different meaning. This was a look of hers he hadn’t seen. Was it shock? Something that would settle down into being impressed with his ability to hand over truth about her idol? It would be fascinating, right? Heroic of him, even. Yes; yes, he assured himself he’d finally done it.
           Allison didn’t answer, but broke her gaze, turning the book over in her hands and read the back cover that toted the biography as the first tell-all about the “real” Elaina Flannigan—a violent-tempered diva who struggled with alcoholism and divorced eight times before dying alone at sixty-five. She was undiscovered for two days because the servants were told never to disturb her and they feared incurring a torrent of her verbal abuse. Allison’s hands shook. She kept flipping the book over as though she expected to read something different.
          “It’s…it’s just a book-length gossip column. I would’ve heard about these things before. Most of this probably isn’t even true—just some perspectives of people with an axe to grind trying to get their fifteen minutes of fame.”
          “I don’t think so. I read the review in The New York Times. Did you know she threw stuff at her servants? Really, it’s true. She tried to hit a guy in the head with a Chinese vase; I bet they don’t mention that on the tour.” Pride swelled. He opened his mouth to give more helpful facts, but without glancing up, she murmured, “Thanks, Allen,” in a tone that couldn’t be misinterpreted.
          Though the exact reasons wouldn’t appear on any chart or graph he could plot, it was known to be beyond recovery. Accepting defeat, it would be the last time he’d try. She brushed past him as the shadow she could become when she wanted to disappear, nearly brushing right through him.
          In her dorm with the door shut, she fought back tears as she read. She dug deeper and pulled up old articles, ones that her uncle had never mentioned. It was crazy, she thought, to be heartbroken that someone she’d built in her imagination didn’t live up to the image. She couldn’t make sense of why she was angry or why it seemed she’d been deceived. A foundation had been ripped from underneath her. She felt a good part of who she was had been molded on a figure that didn’t exist. Her own identity, still vulnerable in its youth, felt at attack. The image of that vulnerable twelve-year-old not knowing where her mother had gone, burned in her mind. Would reality take Elaina from her too? The wanting-to-believe was replaced with a defiant need to tear down all the facades. Elaina was human, yes, and the good was true, but Allison couldn’t reconcile how the bad could also be true. She needed more, better from her, selfish though it may have been.
          She gathered up the articles, the book and stuffed them into her backpack. She would go to her uncle and he would have to address this. Did he know? Had he been deceived? Could he find some way to explain it away and make it alright? She drove to her uncle’s home in a fever, looking for answers about what could have just been a tempting illusion all those years. Finding the place empty as he’d left early for his shift, she left her car there not wanting the hassle of parking at the mansion and took a cab.
          Flushed and furious, she burst in and found him in the private office. He got up and suddenly looked much older than she’d noticed before. Older than perhaps she’d allowed herself to notice before. An unseen weight on his lean frame. Standing in front of her, leaning on the desk with both hands, he gave her the same smile he’d given that rainy night she’d shown up at his door. Without words, he looked inside of her mind and understood. They both knew it went back to then, a different kind of loss, but a loss just the same that was written all over her features. Confused about whether he did or didn’t know, she wondered at that moment if maybe he needed to believe. She didn’t want to shove his face into the facts and upset the only person who’d ever loved her.
          She caught a ride to leave the mansion early that day and as she left, it started to snow. Allison could almost imagine the shape of Elaina standing in the drive as she pulled away, looking through the back window. The face was shaded with a deep sadness and Allison continued to watch it shrink in the distance, not turning around toward the front until the mansion was out of sight. Allison thought she’d have to make excuses about not visiting the mansion any longer, about finishing her paper absent from the company of the painting, but they were never necessary. Her uncle ceased any mention of Elaina during their discussions and didn’t once ask why she didn’t go with him to work like she used to. They continued their close relationship, neither mentioning the abandoned world between them or the figure that inhabited it.
          As Frank aged, Allison watched his stature diminish, his shoulders stooping as his back curved slightly, and she worried about those secret weights he carried. She wanted him to retire but knew through talk passed along from decades of staff that he’d never missed a day of work since he started at the mansion in the mid to late 60s, not too many years after it was opened to the public. Cane or no cane, he was going up and down the endless staircases because he chose to. Spare for nights, weekends and holidays, that was where he lived for well over forty years. She often wondered whether he regarded that as his real home, never moving out of the apartment into a house of his own, hardly having more than the most basic furnishings to suggest the idea of living there. The apartment started to remind her of a set in a play more than a place that he could have felt was real to him.
          When a neighbor of his called to tell her that he’d left the stove on for the second time and someone had to break the lock to get in, she told him that he had to retire. He could move in with her. It wasn’t the only instance where he was starting to forget important things. He lovingly but firmly refused, consenting only to cut his hours. He asked if she would come with her children to see him do a tour at the mansion; the subject hadn’t been broached for nearly twenty years and she knew he’d never ask if it wasn’t important.
          She felt like an intruder, an ungrateful infiltrator in her old stomping grounds. Everything felt different, except Frank. His tour was exactly the same—the same clarity, passion, and almost youthful zeal, that gave him a lightness that she hadn’t seen in a very long time. To Allison’s amazement, her daughter had turned off her iPod without being told to. He still had it.
            The day before he died, he’d been giving holiday tours for Christmas.
            Allison was alone with her thoughts. Her mother hadn’t returned for the services. She was out West—where she had been since the day Allison went to college—away from rain, cold, death, memory, and the kind of love that takes hold deeply enough to be painful. Though her immediate family, her husband and children, were supportive, there was no one who could quite understand this. No one who’d understood Frank as she had, so consequently, no one to truly empathize with the stranglehold of grief.
          Allison couldn’t shake the phantom glimpse out of her mind. How dare she? To appear then. Had this specter of an obsession robbed him of a full life where he could have had a family of his own? Had she taken a promising man and used him for her own glory? Where was the evidence of his life? Where were his memories, his travels, other passions and possessions…great loves, an adoring spouse? A yellowed scrapbook of the articles he’d chosen to keep about Elaina was one of the few things Allison found in his desk. This woman, highly superstitious, had charms for love scattered throughout the mansion in hidden places. She’d never found what she was looking for. Had Elaina ensnared someone beyond her time?
          Unable to sleep, Allison drove to the apartment. She let herself in and sat at the desk. Opening the scrapbook, she found an old note addressed to her that she’d never been given:
It takes both eyes open to see an image clearly. I trust that you will find this one day and won’t discard something that gave you hope and helped bring us together.
          She stayed to read the scrapbook, articles she hadn’t seen before, and started to put together the image of a woman who had suffered, triumphed and lost herself in her later years. She thought of her uncle and the way that his loyalty and devotion was all that Elaina Flannigan had ever wanted. For him, the purpose of reaching people through history, whether or not the figure was flawed, was his way of inspiring the best in others. His stories, his life and the way he’d saved Allison herself, were his legacy.
          Laying her head down by the note, she closed her eyes and started to see a pathway that she’d walked thousands of times in her youth. This time, she walked it as the grown woman she’d always wanted to be and could see a figure with a jet black bob extending her hand in the distance.
            She’d take it.
Outside, it started to snow.
 * * * * *

Nicole M. Bouchard has spent a decade as a writer and editor of various mediums in both literary and journalistic sectors. She has shared her experiences and expertise in interviews, essays, and contributions to professional anthologies. Following an early mentorship and advanced English coursework, she chose to take a road “less traveled by,” and combined independent study with extensive hands-on experience. Her freelance journalism career sprouted partly from a seed of counter-motivation. Having written to a famed male journalist for advice, she was informed that breaking into the field at her age was nearly impossible, particularly for a female. The rest of the advice, however politely put, had an opposite effect, fueling her to land a feature story a year later at nineteen in a regional publication where she'd then be referred to entertainment journalism, interviewing a visiting Broadway actress, a Hollywood producer with regional roots, and singer/songwriter Jewel prior to a New England event. She also served in an editorial capacity for numerous magazine issues. Through further journalistic experience, she penned various cover stories and features.
As her literary work started to receive notice and the advent of electronic publishing was creating shifts that were opening doors for online publications, she saw an opportunity to form a publication that would be an embracing community of writers and artists, personalized in its approach. In 2008, at twenty-one, she founded The Write Place at the Write Time literary journal which has interviewed a number of NYT best-selling authors and featured contributors ranging from newly published to having written for The New Yorker,  Newsweek, The Wall Street Journal, Time magazine, Glimmer Train, Georgetown Review, Simon & Schuster and Random House. The eighth anniversary of the magazine also celebrated a reach to eighty countries as of 2015. Her chapter "Founding Female Editors: Your Voice, Your Vision and How to Make it a Reality" was featured in Women, Work, and the Web: How the Web Creates Entrepreneurial Opportunities, Encourages Women's Studies (Rowman & Littlefield 2015).
She served as a speaker on the Small Press Panel: How Online Journals and Social Media Transform Poetics at the Fourth Massachusetts Poetry Festival. She has been a Letters member of the National League of American Pen Women since 2009. She was profiled on the television program, Creative Women Today. She also serves as a content editor for manuscripts and as a coach through a separate website with writer resources and testimonials. At thirty, she is most grateful for the incredible people in her life: her family, her friends, and the literary family of writers, readers, and artists she has the privilege of knowing.

Sunday, 18 December 2016

Writing in a Woman's Voice is currently on winter solstice sabbatical until December 25, 2016. Happy holidays to all!

Saturday, 17 December 2016

by Larissa Shmailo

I haven’t passed that dream of wisdom,
the borders you crossed through.

I can’t translate the language
I thought I thought I knew.

I see a meaning, watching you die,
hold it in my hands like a graying sigh,

this lock of hair which I comb and tie.
I kiss the head which hears my no,

and meet your eyes, and say: Don’t go.
and leave you to this tongue of dread:

This is me, it cries, this is me and I die.
We will all speak these words in this way
and then, and till then, what shall I say?

* * * * *

Friday, 16 December 2016

by Larissa Shmailo

Dawn: I wake in the park, face puffy and red;
Liquid, brown tallboys, broken glass, at my head.
The bench is cool, my shoes are gone, my fishnet stockings torn;
I wish I were elsewhere, lived differently, was safe, or never born.

Policemen tell me, broke and blackly bruised, to move along;
I find cardboard in the garbage, make a sign, sing a song.
A teenager stops, sings with me, and blushing, averts his eyes;
Women pass, scorn me, prouder than they’d be otherwise.

A businessman winks, gives nothing; a serviceman gives a buck.
Men hang out windows; one screams obscenities from his truck.
What some men will hit on, eagerly, still astonishes me;
You are never too sick, too dirty, or too old, apparently.

* * * * *

Thursday, 15 December 2016

Revenge of the Mercy Date
    by Laura Ruth Loomis

            “I only came to talk,” he says, pointing the gun at my stomach.
            I’m pretty sure Wilbur doesn’t know how to fire a gun, but then I was pretty sure he wasn’t the kind of guy to show up on an ex-girlfriend’s doorstep with a deadly weapon, either.
            “Do you have a permit for that?” I ask, as if that would keep him from shooting me.
            The neighbor’s door opens. Old Mr. Wilson steps outside and fumbles with his key, trying to lock up. In a moment he’ll be heading for his prize Buick. I’m overcome with embarrassment. The thought of anyone seeing Wilbur on my front porch, holding the pistol uncertainly toward me, is just too humiliating. I step back and let him squeeze his chubby body past me into the house.
            “We need to talk,” he says.
            In the entire history of human relationships, these words have never preceded anything good. Every boyfriend who ever started a conversation that way ended by telling me I was too good for him, or he’d met someone else, or he loved me but he was in love with my cousin Mark.
            In fact, when I dumped Wilbur, I started with, “We need to talk.” I think I gave him breakup line #217, saying I was so into my career at that point in my life that I didn’t have room for a relationship.
            But instead of leaving quietly and resolving it with a few sensible crying jags and a shopping spree, like a woman would do, Wilbur’s now in my living room, sweating like a marathon runner, the gun barrel wobbling as his hand shakes. I try to move out of the line of fire.
            “Gina, I don’t think you gave our relationship a fair chance,” he says.
            “Relationship” is a generous word for what we had. I went out with him twice because he was a friend of my best friend (who is conveniently married and doesn’t have to deal with setups). I dumped him because he was such a spineless noodle. I can’t imagine him shooting anyone. But the gun doesn’t know he’s a noodle, and it could go off by accident.
            “I know you dated Jeremy Johansen after you broke up with me, after you said you didn’t have time for a relationship.”
            Jeremy had been gorgeous, charming, and sexually insatiable. “Yes, well, that was a mistake.” I give him my best smile, perfected after years of waitressing for people who send back their eggs and complain that the milk is too cold, then tip ten percent.
            “I think we could be really good together, if you just gave it a chance. I would treat you like a queen.”
            I have to stop this plastic smile before my lips crack. “I don’t know quite how to say this, Wilbur, but charging over to my house with a gun isn’t the best way to get back together.”
            “You wouldn’t return my calls. And when I came over, you wouldn’t answer the door. I could hear the TV on, so I knew you were home.”
            I fish for an excuse about not hearing the doorbell, but I already know I’m busted. “I felt really bad about dumping you, so I avoided you. I’m sorry.”
            Wilbur shifts uncomfortably. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he announces. He looks from the gun to me in confusion. Guys on TV never have to take a leak when they take hostages.
            “Just put the gun down, Wilbur,” I tell him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
            Even Wilbur isn’t stupid enough to believe that. “I have to tie you. Just so you don’t run away.”
            “I don’t have any rope lying around.”
            “Take off your panty hose.” He can’t be serious. “I saw it in a movie once. You can tie people up with panty hose.”
            “Wilbur – ”
            “Come on! I have to go!
            The barrel’s shaking again, so I sit, trying not to show any underwear as I peel down the hose. I feel creepy as I hand them to him.
            He looks frantically around the room, trying to figure out where to tie me. I see him considering and rejecting ideas: my big kitchen table could be tipped over, a chair could be carried with me as I fled. He walks past me to the kitchen and tries the handle on the fridge. Not sturdy enough.
            “Show me your bedroom.”
            Oh no. No. I have a big 4-poster bed.  Wilbur is the last person I want to see it, much less tie me to it. But here we are, and he’s tying my wrists to the bedpost, arms over my head, and then he runs to the bathroom.
            In the movies, the woman tied to the bed is supposed to feel sexy. In reality, my nose itches, my hands are getting numb, and I’m pissed as hell.
            I flip onto my side. The phone is on the nightstand. Minus the pantyhose, I’m barefoot, and he didn’t have time to tie my legs. I fold my body up like a jackknife and reach with my foot. I have to hurry. My hamstring is screaming in pain, but my toes catch the phone and manage to drop it close to my head. Thank God for my weekly yoga class.
            I dial 911 with my nose. It rings one, two, three, four times. Are they all on a donut break over there? Five. I try not to think about the ugly noises from the bathroom. Six. Finally somebody picks up.
            “I need police!” I whisper as loud as I dare. “My...” I am not going to dignify him with a term like boyfriend, “This guy I dated came over with a gun and he won’t leave.” I hear the toilet flush. No time. I whisper the address, talking so fast that my teeth and tongue are tripping over each other. I jab the hangup button with my nose. He’s coming out; I can hear the doorknob rattling. I grab the pillow in my teeth and yank it down to cover the phone.
            Wilbur emerges, looking a bit gray in the face. “Do you have any Pepto-Bismol? I sorta have the runs.”
            “No,” I lie. “It’s probably just nerves.”
            He sits down on the edge of the bed. “This isn’t the way I imagined it at all.”
            I look down and realize my skirt’s up around my waist, evidence of my contortions earlier. There’s a dime-sized hole in my underwear. “Would you please just untie me? I promise not to run.” Unless I see a clear path to the door.
            It takes him forever to get the knots undone. “It’s just that I think we’d make such a great couple. We have so much in common.” That thought frightens me more than the idea of getting shot. “Remember how we both loved seeing Les Miserables?”
            “That’s true,” I say carefully. Of course I love Les Miz. Who doesn’t? I only went on the second date with him because he had tickets, and I should have known better. He had a noisy allergy attack during a crucial scene, and wound up squeezing past everyone in the row to go get some water. Then when he got back, he insisted that I explain what had happened in his absence, and pestered me with so many questions that I lost track of the rest of the show. Everyone sitting nearby was ready to throw us in the Bastille. And dinner with him that night, well, “Miserables” doesn’t begin to cover it. At least we didn’t dance (if you could call it that) like on our first date, when I narrowly escaped serious bodily injury.
            He looks encouraged. “When I hear that song, it always makes me think of you.” He starts singing: “A heart full of love...”
            Oh. God. He has just ruined that song for me forever. He finally gets the pantyhose untied, and I stand up quickly so my skirt will fall to a decent length. My hands have that awful tickling feeling you get when the numbness is just starting to fade, a million pinpricks. I shake out my wrists, trying to bring them back to life.
            “The thing is, Wilbur, a relationship isn’t just good times and going out somewhere fancy.” Like the awful Italian restaurant he took me to before the show. “It’s about two people really being able to communicate with each other, to trust each other. I mean, here you are in my house with a gun. You obviously don’t trust me, and how am I supposed to trust you after this?” I sound like Dr. Phil.
            We hear car doors slamming outside, voices shouting orders. Wilbur leaves my bedroom (finally!) and runs to the front window. I’m right on his heels.
            “Who called the cops?”
            “I don’t know,” I lie. I’m giddy with relief. “Maybe my neighbor saw you with the gun.” Any minute now, they’ll kick in the door and set me free. I picture my regret as Wilbur goes down in a hail of bullets. I’m saved.
            The police completely surround the house next door.
            “Maybe it’s a coincidence,” Wilbur suggests. “Maybe your neighbor did something.”
            A really hot-looking Latino cop pulls out a megaphone. “We know you have a hostage in there. Come out with your hands up.” He has a nice voice, authoritative.
            “They’re looking for you, Wilbur. It’s over.”
            “Over? You mean this,” he gestures vaguely with the gun as I wince, “or us?”
            Us? I must not, must not throw up until he’s safely in handcuffs. “I mean this crazy idea. This is not the way to make someone love you.”
            “I know you don’t love me yet, Gina, but you could.”
            I try a different approach. “I’m worried about my neighbor. What if the police just come in shooting?”
            “He left when I got here.”
            “His wife might be home.” He doesn’t have a wife. “Mrs. Wilson’s old and she doesn’t hear very well. What if she doesn’t even know they’re out there, and they bust the door down and kill a poor old lady?”
            Wilbur struggles with it for a moment, but I’ve handed him a way to save face. He’s not admitting defeat, he’s rescuing an elderly woman from peril. He stuffs the gun in his waistband, zips up his jacket, and heads outside. I watch from the window. After all this, I don’t want to get shot by mistake.
            I see Wilbur look around, and finally approach the Latino guy, who seems to be in charge. I can’t hear what’s happening, but the next thing I know Wilbur’s coming back inside.
            “They wouldn’t let me explain,” he says sheepishly. “I guess they thought I was a nosy neighbor or something.”
            Christ. I could be stuck here with Wilbur until someone comes out of the house next door, which will be never because no one’s there. “Maybe you could show them the gun,” I suggest.
            He pulls the gun out and contemplates it. “What if they didn’t wait for me to explain?”
            “You just come out with the gun pointing down, and then you drop it.”
            “I don’t know.” The gun is sitting across his palm, achingly close. Maybe I could grab it and just whack him over the head with it. Then I could call the police back and explain, or something. “Maybe they’ll go away.”
            “It’s not like they’re just going to get bored, Wilbur.” I am really losing patience here. “These are professionals.”
            “It’s sort of romantic, really. You and me in here, and danger outside.”
            “Romantic?” It’s less romantic than hearing him talking about his diarrhea earlier.
            “Sure, like Romeo and Juliet. You and me, facing the big goodbye together.”
            The big goodbye? That is the absolute goddamn last straw. Calling on muscles developed from years of carrying trays of food, I bring both fists down full force on his arm. He drops the gun and I dive. My skirt catches on the corner of the coffee table, but I still get the gun. I jump up, ignoring the ripping sound from my skirt, and point it straight at him.
            “I have had enough! You were a lousy date! You wore that awful bow tie, and got spaghetti sauce all over it! You dance like a cow having an epileptic seizure! You insisted on paying for everything, then you left such a lousy tip, I couldn’t look the waitress in the eye! You know what she whispered to me as we were leaving? ‘I hope you’re not putting out for that!’”
            He gives me a vacant look. “I just think that arbitrary 15% thing is ridiculous, especially when the food was so overpriced.”
            That does it. “I am a waitress! Fifteen percent is not nearly enough for putting up with you!” I wave the gun in the air for emphasis.
            The shot fills up my ears until there isn’t room for anything else in my brain. Gunshots on TV never seem that loud. I see, but don’t hear, my light fixture crash to the floor, along with bits of plaster where I shot the ceiling.
            I’m still staring at my hand in surprise when the first cops burst in. Unlike me, they know exactly how to hold a gun, and they’re all trained on me.
            “Drop it!” My hearing is starting to return, but the voice still sounds fuzzy.
            I bend over and lay the gun on the coffee table. I can’t just drop it, for fear it would go off again. The moment it leaves my hand, the Latino cop slams me against the wall. Up close, he’s older than I thought, mid-40's maybe, but still handsome in a craggy way.
            “You’re under arrest! You have the right to remain silent –”
            “No!” Wilbur and I shout together.
            “Arrest him!” I add.
            “I’m the kidnaper! She didn’t do anything wrong.” Wilbur obligingly slams himself against the wall.
            The cop – Lt. Sanchez, according to his tag – looks a bit surprised, but he cuffs Wilbur and reads him his rights. “Sorry about that, ma’am. You’ll need to come down to the station and give a statement. You’ll want to change first, of course.”
            I look down. My skirt is ripped almost to the waistband, showing off the hole in my underpants. I catch Lt. Sanchez trying not to look.
            As they drag him away, Wilbur strains back toward me. “Do we still have a chance?” he whines.
            One of the cops gives his arm a totally unnecessary yank, and I hear a muffled Ow! Lt. Sanchez suppresses a smile and offers me his card. Maybe the day isn’t totally shot after all.

* * * * *
"Revenge of the Mercy Date" was originally published by The Writer's Place.
Laura Ruth Loomis is the author of the short story collection "Lost in Translation" from Wordrunner Press.  Her fiction and nonfiction have appeared in Writer's Digest, On the Premises, Phone Fiction, and elsewhere.  More of her stories can be found at Goodreads.  Her day job is doing social work in the San Francisco area.  Follow her on Twitter @LauraRuthless.


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Wednesday, 25 October 2017

                        This Is My Temple

                        by Lisa Okon

                        This is my temple
                        Here we have spent many deep slow hours
                        Becoming as one.
                        Here I was reborn
                        In this room of shadows and light

                        This is my temple
Here you became the air I breathe, filling me.
                        You are the sweat that bathes my skin
                        In the summer heat
                        You are the fresh breeze that strokes me

                        This is my temple
                        Here I have learned to see all that is around me.
                        I find your face in all faces
                        Your voice in all voices
                        And they are music

                        This is my temple
                        I have traveled over great distances to meet you
                        And many years
                        Wandering through vast desert spaces
                        Of meaninglessness

                        This is my place of peace
                        In the purr of motors, the roar of engines, the clamor of machinery
                        I can sleep in silence.
                        I open my eyes and you lead me by the hand
                        Into wakefulness

                        In this place of love and lust
                        You have invited me to enter you
                        And I have responded
                        Living with my obsession
                        Awake in my dream of life

                        But as they demolish the houses of our neighbors
                        Let them demolish too this temple
                        For these words are only scattered markings in the sand
                        Scratched by a baby with his stick
                        Or footprints made by bathers
                        To be washed away by the sea

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Natural language processing using social media

In reality, the best strategy is simply to ask yourself if the use and placement of a keyword reads naturally. Using social media for your Do your homework! The primary resources are all available here. Its as simple as your ABC's business has numerous benefits, but it's never been more important for SEO than today. Search engines are measuring social signals such as likes, favorites, shares, retweets and +1s to determine valuable, search-worthy results. According to experts, we should expect high-quality social media posts to rise higher and higher in search results. To avoid spreading yourself too thin, consider focusing a majority of your social efforts on two platforms, or hiring a part-time social media expert. The algorithm responsible for taking the world's information and organizing it into (usually) 10 entries is, as you likely know, complicated. Use attractive subheaders: Readers should be able to bounce around to seek out the pieces of your content that interest them. By using attractive subheaders, you can pique the curiosity of your readers and keep them engaged.

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Who wants more traffic? These are called "stub pages," and can lower search engines qualitative analysis of an eCommerce website when too many exist. Many questions consumers ask these apps are questions on what services are nearby. According to Gaz Hall, a Technical SEO from SEO York: "Everyone should be using paragraphs, but it is more important to make sure that your paragraphs actually make sense."

Quality over quantity when it comes to mobile search

If you want your content to stand out from the glut of online content and attract the kind of shares and links that boost search rankings, you've got to create epic content or "10X Content". Most of the content that ranks in the top 10 of Google is over 2000 words in length, so you need to create long-form content. The Take a butchers at Business Profile , for instance. more competitive the keyword, the more meticulous the on page optimization should be to offset the tendency for attrition or recession in the SERPs. Search engine traffic is the only time people are actively searching for exactly what it is you sell. Millions of websites clutter the Internet waiting for visitors.


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Advancements in delivery systems make itpossible for purchases to arrive in a matter of daysfrom anywhere in the world. Google started penalizing mobile unfriendly sites in 2015. And they're likely crack down even more in the future. If you want to make your site mobile-friendly, I recommend Responsive Design. If the linked text happens to be one of your search terms, you might earn extra points toward improved ranking in search engine results, too. Search traffic is free and you do not need to pay for it when compared to PPC, public relations, and display ads.

Little known ways to improve positioning through the use of keyword density

A problem or gap exists between an individual's current state and desired state. Generally speaking you don't want Do your homework! The primary resources are all available here. Its as simple as your ABC's orphan pages (those that aren't linked to by other pages), nor do you want an overly-messy link structure. If you search Google, it gives priority to selected official news services, such as the New York Times and so on. Make sure you pick a permalink structure that fits your goals. If you have a news site, it might make sense to add the publication date of the article to the URL.

Bucket brigades based on reporting

The "correct word count" for your home page depends on a number of factors. Yes, you do want a respectable word count, but you don't want to bloat your home page with fluff just to make it with the search engines. Google already gives ranking I'm on the lookout for an incredible Victorian rocking horse . to sites on a secure protocol (https vs. http) and this emphasis on security will only grow as time passes. In many cases, paid search is much faster for testing user flow or usability. Updating your content regularly is important, for search engines and readers. Search engines favor posts that are more recent and relevant because that is what their users want.

The secret behind plugins

The last great way to drive leads to your local business (that's free and not based on an incredible amount of technical skill) is being great at your business and getting terrific reviews. Inbound link-building is an important SEO strategy, and a great way to do this is to make friends with other relevant, local businesses so that you can share links and promote one another. Perhaps you could organise a community event together or work out some kind mutually beneficial offer for customers that will give you the opportunity to create links on your sites? Keyword cramming is old news and will probably result in a penalty anyway So, don't do it! Instead, focus on creating real, interesting and valuable content. Gaz Hall, from SEO Hull, had the following to say: "Even after grabbing the audience's attention, keeping it can be challenging."

The ultimate revelation of bread crumbs

Think Like Your Customer - When creating a basic keyword list, you should start of by thinking like your customer. Just I'm always amazed by the agility of Beverley Websites on this one. like bots, zombie apps create the impression that individuals are engaging with various types of mobile apps. Semantic search attempts to improve accuracy of search engine results by understanding the user intent and context of the terms as they are used in a query (1). Google had a very good reason for targeting and penalizing sites with thin and duplicate content. Back in the early 2000's, many websites were using short, spammy pages to quickly reach the top of search results without putting forth much effort to provide valuable information for users.


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5000downloads.com Privacy Policy

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Whereas Steam is cluttered with half-built early access survival games that may barely hold themselves collectively, Bethesda managed to create among the finest survival simulators within the business with only a few optionally available extras added to Fallout four.

That is precisely what developer Studio Wildcard did with Ark: Survival Advanced At its core it is a survival sport that fills each edge of the template: punch trees to get wooden, use wooden to build shelter, kill animals to search out meals, inevitably die since you forgot to drink water.


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Check back on MARCH FIRST!

Friday, October 23, 2015

Stormy the Weather Gnome talks holidays & theme opportunities!!

It's almost time for Halloween!

Wouldn't that be a great theme for A to Z? All your favorite trick 'or' treat candy? Or your favorite costumes?

How about Thanksgiving?

Got any recipes for every letter of the alphabet? Think of the side dishes alone!

Perhaps Hanukkah or Christmas traditions?

Do you do watch football on New Year's Day?

All of these holidays are coming up soon and it might be the perfect time for you to start jotting down some ideas, memories, or even recipes for the 2016 Challenge!

And, don't forget your camera! Pictures are a great way to share your theme with readers!

Get your family involved! No one said the A to Z Challenge couldn't be a team sport! Maybe your kids can help with your posts each day!

Or even your pets! They can be great sources of inspiration and sometimes just too darn funny.

My point? There are lots of opportunities coming up and lots of ideas all around you to help make your next A to Z Challenge a breeze.

Don't miss your chance to make this your best year ever!

Heather M. Gardner
The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Alex J. Cavanaugh said...

Stormy looks like he's about to be hung.
Pictures. Hmm... Maybe Mini-Alex doing the A to Z? Something to think about...

nashvillecats2 said...

It's very cold here where I live, I think I have found a theme for A to Z 2016,
Enjoyed the post and pictures. Enjoy your week-end.

Debra Renée Byrd said...

Stormy is adorable, as is Miami Vice Suit kitty. lol

Christine Rains said...

Great advice, Stormy! And awesome pictures!

Anonymous said...

I'm hoping to participate next year, so good ideas, Stormy! I laughed at the cat, of course right? haha

betty said...

Loved the tips ;) I've done picture themes the last two years and planning again for this year to do the same; so already started collecting pictures to correspond with A/Z :)

(and how did this year go by so fast that we are already thinking of the holidays?????)

Patricia Lynne aka Patricia Josephine said...

You should totally do that! Mini-Alex is fun. =) (And you are too FYI)


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Key Basic Facts About TOEFL Tests

If your goal is to study abroad, there are a lot of crucial things that you need to meet for you to qualify for various tests that will be given to you. For instance, TOEFL is among the criteria that you will be asked to complete and note that this will be essential towards your admission to the university. Nowadays, most of the colleges and universities need the TOEFL scores from non-English speaking students to admit them in various programs.
When you are a focused and determined student who wants to accomplish his or her education goals internationally, this is the test to consider. Before the exam, make sure that you practice and research before making your last remarks.

The TOEFL Assessment

The Test of English as a Foreign Language is ideally an assessment of English-language skills that are taken by all the university applicants who are the speakers of other languages. If you are a student who received your secondary education in a different language, you will be asked to showcase your stability to study in a specific university by passing the TOEFL.

english languageIt is crucial to understand that the TOEFL has two main versions or categories. The paper-based test and the internet-based test are the two versions of TOEFL. In various locations or countries where there is internet, most students take their exams through the internet. However, understand that these versions consist of listening sections, speaking, writing, and reading.

It is crucial to understand that the internet-based test measures all four language skills. Some of these skills are such as writing, reading, speaking, and listening. For you to pass this test, you need to use integrated skills when it comes to writing and speaking sections. These sections help most students show that they have the necessary communication skills required for academic success.

How Are TOEFL Scores Calculated?

As a student who is planning to take these exams, you should understand how the scores are calculated. It is essential to know that the ratings of this exam are mainly divided into different sections. Therefore, for each category, make sure that you calculate the number of correct answers to compare them later with the results of those candidates who did the exam. The final initial score will be directly converted to a scale of up to thirty points. However, students need to understand that the maximum points that the best student can reach are one hundred and twenty.…

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Cinderella Deluxe Adult Costume
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Welcome to! We built our reputation by offering every reputable brand of Halloween Costume. Today, we are not just a Halloween Costume company. Our well established Halloween Costume Collection of 6,800+ distinct Costume Styles. See for yourself, how Pleasant and Rewarding Online Shopping can be!

Cinderella Deluxe Adult Costume Costumes can come in all shapes and size. Find out other interesting facts about costumes inside the

Halloween occurs at the time of the year when the last of the harvest is being gathered, the days are cooler, and the nights come earlier and seem more mysterious. Its a time for children of all ages to enjoy the preparations as they invite witches and monsters and hobgoblins home.

"Games, music, costumes, party supplies -- we can come to you or you can come to us."

LEVER COSTUMES Cinderella Deluxe Adult Costume and interesting games are what make a Halloween party fun. Here are three costumes that are bound to provoke comment and laughter, and a game alled the "spook race" that fits right into the witch-ghost-goblin atmosphere of this October celebration. Dimensions for the costumes can be changed to ccommodate youngsters of different ages.

We offer best price for Cinderella Deluxe Adult Costume


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7 Foods For Longer And Healthier Life

Photo credit: Pixabay

Photo credit: Pixabay

After the holiday overeating it is time to eat better. Here are seven foods that will help you live longer and healthier.

1. Avocado

Although many diets avoid it due to calories, there is no need for that. Avocados are nutritious and they’ll help you feel full due to the large amounts of fat and fiber. It is rich in vitamins (K, B6, C), foliate, copper fiber and other beneficial nutrients.

It’s a good source of potassium which helps to regulate blood pressure. Recent studies have shown that oleic acid protects against breast cancer as well as some other diseases. Phytonutrients from the avocados have preventive effect against cancer of the oral cavity and they effectively fight free radicals. Avocado is one of the richest sources of glutathione, a powerful antioxidant that has been shown to block a number of different carcinogens. They can be eaten by themselves or in a salad.

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Saturday, June 26, 2010

Family Reunion

Back on Father's Day, we celebrated family with our annual family reunion at my mom's house. The reunion has changed so much in the past few years with the addition of new young children. It was a hot day filled with good conversation and delicious food -- a fun day for all!

The men talking sports... or homemade fuel... who knows.

Talking to our cousin Scott about surviving an intracranial hemorrhage.

My mom and Mema, my dad's mom.

Mimi, my mom's mom, and my uncle.

Dad and my mom's brother

Like always, Molly got the horses out for the kids to ride.

Blair playing with her Uncle John, my brother. This usually includes lots of sticking out of tongues. That's what Blair thinks she's supposed to do when she sees John.

And thanks to rain or a slow day, Brad made it!

And there were watermelons!

And homemade peach ice cream for all!

Can't wait to do it again!


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Report Writing Training

Enhance your business report writing skills with this practical one-day course

Contact us
Business report writing

Report Writing Course

Produce well structured business reports that engage the reader.

An interactive one-day report writing training course for business reports, run by a written communications skills expert.

The report writing training teaches delegates how to write informative and effective reports which are compelling, persuasive and easily understood. Participants will also learn how to plan, organise their objectives, structure, construct arguments and summarise their content effectively.

See course outline

This business report writing course is ideal for anyone who has to write or contribute to business reports, proposals, white papers or other types of written business communication.

Working with our training partner, we are able to deliver a wide range of bespoke business report and creative writing training courses to meet specific organisational and individual goals.

Course objectives

By attending this report writing course, participants will have:

  • Gained an understanding of the reason for the different types of report formats and when, why and how they should be used
  • Produced clear, hierarchical and logical structures which project the messages they wish to communicate
  • Used some tried and tested report writing techniques to persuade and influence their readers
  • Learnt how to write correctly

See course outline

  • Principles for effective report writing
  • Clarifying objectives
  • Undertaking your research
  • Constructing your case
  • Planning the report
  • Structuring the report and testing out the key messages
  • Using the appropriate style and tone
  • Formatting and finalising the layout of report
  • Calling the reader to action
  • Editing and proof reading the report

Course Methods

This report writing training will be delivered in a highly engaging and interactive way, focused on the specific needs of the participants and the organisation.

  • Trainer input and tips through short presentation, facilitation and group discussion
  • Individual and small group exercises with facilitated group review of learning
  • Practise sessions for participants to complete key elements of writing a report

The training will be supported with:

  • An optional participant pre-course questionnaire
  • A colour printed workbook with report writing tips, techniques and space for personal notes

Check pricing

Standard UK course pricing - report writing

The pricing below is for delivering the business report writing course on a weekday, for the specified number of participants. Prices exclude travel expenses and optional workbook printing. We supply a free PDF for our client to print the training materials.

One-day course…
  • 3-12 participants £1200 +VAT
Type of course: In-house

Our report writing training is run at the business premises of our client, on an agreed date. The minimum number of course participants is 3, read why.

Book now

What's included

Our prices already include some tailoring of the course to your business needs, as standard. For example, we will embed your own work-based scenarios into the training, at no additional cost. Alternatively, to discuss a fully bespoke course…

Contact us

Discount pricing

Some additional discounts are available for not-for-profit organisations, the NHS and Public Sector, as well as registered charities…

Get a quote

In-House Training Locations

Our specialist trainer delivers in-house report writing training for companies right across the UK and have local trainers covering the following areas:

  • London and the South East
  • The Thames Valley – including Slough, Maidenhead, Oxford and Swindon
  • Cambridge
  • Norwich and East Anglia
  • Leeds and Bradford
  • Manchester and the North West
  • Southampton and Bournemouth
  • Birmingham and the Midlands
  • Nottingham
  • Bristol
  • Cardiff and South Wales
  • Exeter and the South West
  • Newcastle
  • Glasgow and Edinburgh, Scotland

Contact us

Testimonials from previous attendees

Complete our contact form and we’ll be in touch shortly, or phone between 9:00 and 17:00 Monday to Friday.

If you prefer, you can email us your enquiry.

Minimum No. of Course Participants is 3, read why


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Check out this job opportunity below.  Be sure to act fast, if you are interested, as the job closes on July 20, 2011!

UNICEF, US, Consultant, School-based Violence

Consultant, School-based Violence

crossposted from UN Job List, and reliefweb

Closing date:  20 Jul 2011

Review and analysis of UNICEF programmes on the prevention and response to school-based violence

  1. Background Violence is an everyday reality for millions of girls and boys worldwide. It cuts across boundaries of geography, race, class, religion and culture. In every country of the world there are children who continue to fear and experience violence. Violence can occur in any of the settings where children spend their childhood: in their homes and families, schools, care and justice systems, workplaces and communities. Exposure to violence in one setting may lead to violence in another. Where the social and physical environment of the community is hostile, the school environment is unlikely to be spared. The levels and patterns of violence in schools often reflect the levels and patterns of violence in countries, communities and families. These, in turn, reflect prevailing political and socio-economic conditions, social attitudes, cultural traditions and values. School-based violence is embedded in social norms around authority, hierarchy, gender and other forms of discrimination and discipline.

In schools and in other educational settings, parents, teachers and other staff have the duty to ensure safe and nurturing environments that support the child’s education and development. They also have the duty to make sure such development prepares children for life as responsible adults, guided by values of non-violence, gender equality, non-discrimination, tolerance and mutual respect. However, the reality for many children is that schools expose them to violence and, in doing so, are denying their rights, including to education. Evidence gathered for the UN Study on Violence against children confirms that violence impacts on the child’s ability to get to and from school, to learn effectively while in school, and to remain in school long enough to reap the benefits of education.

The forms of violence found in schools are both physical and psychological, and usually occur together. Forms perpetrated by teachers and other school staff include corporal punishment and other cruel and humiliating forms of punishment or treatment, sexual and gender-based violence, and bullying. Forms of violence perpetrated by children include bullying, sexual and gender-based violence, school fighting, gang violence, and assault with weapons. Technology has also introduced cyber-bullying through the use of Internet and mobile phones.

UNICEF in all regions provides on-going support to governments and civil society organizations at the national and sub-national levels to develop and implement comprehensive programmes that are directed at creating safe learning environments for children. This includes enacting and enforcing protective legislation, developing and implementing strategies and other policy documents, building and strengthening the social welfare, education and health systems; increasing the capacities and awareness of school staff, those working directly with communities members, parents and children. An important part of this work focuses on changing perceptions and attitudes towards violence and on cultivating positive social norms that promote the rights of children.

  1. Purpose and key objectives

An increasingly number of UNICEF Country Offices (COs) are addressing school-based violence within their child protection and education programmes. Often COs take different programmatic approaches given differences in nature, extent and scope of the issue, available financial and human resources, and socio-economic and cultural aspects of each context. Consequently, programme results also vary from one country to another. The purpose of this consultancy is to review and analyse a number of country programmes that address school-based violence with the aim of identifying good practices/examples of programmes that have been measured and can demonstrate concrete results in terms of making an impact at the community level.

The findings of this review will serve as the basis for the development of a technical guidance note to COs to support programme development, implementation and monitoring and evaluation from two angles – strengthening systems and addressing social norms to prevent/respond to school-based violence. These processes will also contribute to increased cross-fertilization among UNICEF and to a more coordinated response to violence in schools.

The consultant will undertake the following activities:

i) Review key programme documents from identified COs (project documents, reports, evaluations, and other documents as relevant) with the aim to provide an analysis of programme trends and issues across regions/countries and to identify good programme practices ii) Develop a technical guidance note for COs and ROs to support their programming based on the findings of the programme review and good programme practices and provide key recommendations relating to programme development, implementation and monitoring and evaluation, including a set of indicators to measure results/impact. iii) Develop a user-friendly two-page note for COs, ROs and partners with key programme recommendations.

  1. Duration

The estimated duration of the contract will be from 01 August 2011 to 20 September 2011. The assignment will be undertaken in 35 days over this period.

  1. Methodology

The consultant will be required to: i) Directly engage with pre-selected COs (and Regional Offices as required) and HQ staff (Child Protection and Education sections) to collect material, information and inputs; ii) Review and analyse key documents including programme/project documents, reports, evaluations and others as relevant and provide an analysis of trends and good practices; iii) Work in coordination with the Education Section on the case studies for the Education Section’s state-of-the-art- review on social norms and equity in education; iv) Develop technical guidance and advocacy notes

  1. Expected outputs/deliverables and timeframe

The consultancy is expected to result in the following:

i) Analysis of regional and global trends on school-based violence (forms, extent, impact, risk factors and responses); ii) Compilation of good practices and interventions; iii) Technical guidance note, including recommendations for programme development, implementation and monitoring and evaluation; iv) User-friendly advocacy note with key information and recommendations; v) Presentation and discussion on research findings with CP and Education Sections and other HQ staff as relevant. vi) Final consultancy report, including a compilation of all deliverables with inputs/suggested changes from discussion incorporated.

Outputs/Deliverables Estimated duration (per working day) Deadline Programme review and trend analysis 10 working days 12 August 2011 Report on good practices 5 working days 19 August 2011 Guidance note and key recommendations 10 working days 06 September 2011 User-friendly note 5 working days 13 September 2011 Presentation of findings and final consultancy report 5 working day 20 September 2011 Total 35 working days

  1. Key skills, technical background and experience required:

i) Advanced university degree in social sciences or relevant related discipline; ii) A minimum of 8 years of professional experience working at the national and international levels in Child Protection or related field; iii) Good understand of child protection systems and social norms, with a particular focus on school-based violence; iv) Knowledge of UNICEF policies and programmes is a plus, particularly programmes that address school-based violence; v) Excellent analytical and communication and writing skills; vi) Fluency in English and working knowledge of French or Spanish; vii) Ability to work independently and effectively in a multi-cultural environment.

  1. Location

The consultant will be home-based and no travel is expected.

  1. How to apply:

Qualified candidates are requested to submit a cover letter, CV and P11 form (which can be downloaded from our website at to pdconsultants (at)  with subject line “Consultancy on school-based violence” by 20 July 2011. Please indicate your ability, availability and daily rate to undertake the terms of reference above. Applications without a rate quoted will not be considered.

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items related to TSN4 network

2017 North American TV Coverage Is Still Up In The Air

(Ed note: 3/23/17 7:00 PM EDT. We have added almost all known schedule listings to our TV schedules page. We still await the official announcement from the AFL and Fox Sports. TSN did issue a press release today.
3/22/17 9:15 PM EDT. We have now confirmed the round 1 schedules with all parties. We also will be adding Round 2 to 5 for Fox to the schedules page in the next 24 hrs. However, we understand that contractual issues remain between Fox and the AFL.
3/22/17 4:00 PM EDT. We have posted the schedule info we have so far on our TV schedules page but nothing has been officially confirmed by the AFL, Fox Sports, or TSN. We anticipate an announcement in the next 24 to 36 hrs. More will follow as available.)

With a little over two weeks until the 2017 AFL season kicks off, the league and its North American broadcast television partners are still in the process of negotiating television rights for the 2017 season and beyond. The AFL is hopeful that the deal is finalized before the Round 1 opener of Carlton v Richmond on March 23rd.  This applies to both US and Canada.

While AFANA understands this is not ideal, we are encouraged that the parties involved are still negotiating and are hopeful that an agreement can be reached quickly. None of the parties has indicated that any specific problem is the cause of the delay and we discourage fans from uninformed speculation. While the delay is of concern, we do not suggest fans take any action at this time.

All games will still be streamed on WatchAFL Global to subscribers, regardless of the current broadcast television situation.
Read more

Television Info - Aussie Rules TV Coverage for North America in 2020

Australian Rules Football Television Coverage in 2020

We have full schedules at our AFL TV schedules page.
We have weekly radio listings for the AFL at our AFL Radio page
2020  TV Info Coming Soon! Please read the following message regarding AFANA, the reasons for the delay, and need for your immediate support: Open Letter to Fans

This page will give you the basic facts you need to know about TV Coverage in the USA, Canada, and Mexico in 2019 and is expected to be largely unchanged from late 2018. Information will be updated as necessary throughout the 2019 season. It appears we will get one live game per week on FS2 (rarely on FS1) and three on FSP. This year there is extensive coverage of the AFLW, AFLX, and AFL preseason. Coverage in Canada is unchanged from last year, mostly on TSN2 and occasionally other TSN channels.

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lady gaga style

  • 3237101885_a8ef705eec_o.jpg
    Beauty Style

    Going Gaga for Bows

    So I know The Gays love Lady GaGa and I might kind of a little, especially since that “Just Dance” song now reminds me of a recent clubbing moment when I was dancing to this song and a certain somebody next to me was rubbing their crotch like a goddamn magic lamp, as if some …


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Odor Neutralizer

Odor Neutralizer ESON 100

Odor Neutralizer ESON 100is made up of an important blended oils and perfume components. It neutralizes wide range

It neutralizes wide range of unpleasant odors including cooking smells and produces a pleasant odor. This is frequently used to control odors arising from toilets, bathrooms, kitchens, nurseries, smoke rooms and waste bins etc. It is also good for monitoring animal odors in kennels, cages, hutches, bedding materials and stables.....

Odor Neutralizer – Its Presence Makes the Place Pleasurable

Those who are looking for efficient yet cost effective Odor Neutralizer in UAE, can opt Odor Neutralizer ESON 100 without giving a second thought. This is the device made up of an important blended oils and perfume components and help in making the inner environment of place where it is installed pleasant. The odor neutralizer air filtration solution amasses following features

• It efficiently removes smell of cooking from the kitchen.It is 90 percent effective in that

• It Produce good smell and make the inner environment pleasant

• This Odor eliminator has dexterity of effectively removing the odor of toilet, waste bin, smoke rooms, kitchen, etc.

• It is effective in remove smell of animal living place like cage, hutches

• It just not removes the smell but neutralizes it and creates a nice aroma.

The odor neutralizer is creation of best brains in the industry and offer great level of comfort to users. This industrial filtration solution as Odor eliminator has been meticulously designed to give superlative performance while creating minimum sound. The Airfilters dubai offer great customer support service to buyers along with the assurance of it performance for years to come.

All these attributes make the odor neutralizer the best air filtration solution among its competitors.


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In an emergency, dial 911.

For non-emergency assistance or to file a police report, please call:
  • Lake County Sheriff's 911 Communication Center at 847-549-5200
Police reports can be filed in person weekdays from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. (excluding holidays) at:
Lake County Sheriff's Office
25 S Martin Luther King Jr. Avenue
Waukegan, IL 60085


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My company, meaning “us”, “we”, or “our”, is what operates the “site” Here you will find information on all of our policies in regards to the collection, use and the disclosure of any and all personal information that we gather from the users of the site.

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