Done on magenta paper, the colors are cobalt, red, white, forest green, and orange. Flick through some of the white spots to create winged shapes, using swirls to suggest wind. A regular arrangement of such designs create a quilt. That provides a theme suitable for imprinting on mugs, Tees, etc. Plus, you get a chance to get out your paints and play, until a more studied subject is on the menu.
The fancy first letter is called drop caps, which you can set as large as you want, then toggle off. Page size is set for 6x9, the most popular paperback format if you go that route. It works equally well for ebooks. The best thing about these programs is that what you see on screen is exactly how it looks in the published work. Sometimes with rtf, though, the drop caps appear as ordinary letters.
Another consideration is making a backup copy to cd in case your computer crashes. Text size is 12 point Times New Roman. Some publishers make a title page and table of contents for you. I find it's best not to use page numbering, because unpredictable things can happen if they get shifted.
Margins are set to 0.8 on both sides (be sure to use 'mirror' on the page setup, since it will keep the margins the same). This is about right for a 200 page book. For larger page counts, the publisher has a calculation for setting a wider margin. That keeps your text from running right down into the divider due to margins set too narrow.
So get your epic on disk--it's the first step to one day holding that book in your hands.
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The figure kept going through Ed's mind like a snatch of forgotten song. Why had it popped out of the dusty archives? What did it mean?
White-bearded dwarf Hecabano came into their third-floor condo. "You'll never guess what's in the squirrel trap, Master Ed."
"An armadillo."
"Close. Three sparrows. All of them went in before one of them tripped the bait tray and dropped the door shut."
Ed had some initial success carting the nest raiders off to a golf course. Lately he'd scored some unwelcome guests. There was a foul-smelling possum who bared sharp teeth at him; a rat who ate the peanut, shell and all (the sharp wood fibers had finished him off); and every bird to be found in the Audubon guide.
Wicca came out of her room, still wearing a sleep shift. "That's easy. You've caught all the squirrels in the state."
"BLA4243RN5," Ed droned. "BLA4--"
"Is that still rattling around up there?" Wicca demanded. "All day yesterday while I was trying to watch the Stooges. . . ."
"Have no worry, Menad of Misery," Hecabano said. "When dealing with a brain defect, one consults a computerized brain. I have summoned the Bot queen from the studio."
"Now we'll get answers!" Wicca gave Ed a little head smack. "Are you sure you can't pin it up?"
"Down," Ed corrected. "It'll come to me. BLA424--"
Wicca bopped his head. "Will you start that again?"
"I'll get it if you don't knock it back into cold storage!" Ed massaged the back of his head.
Presently the gold automaton came in and was apprised of the problem. She did a nanosecond web search. "It is the designation of a loan for a 1985 Mustang you purchased in 1992. It is a curious thing to remember."
"Now I recall it!" Ed jumped up. "I had to write it on the checks, so I memorized it. That was easier than looking it up in the loan document. But why did it come back?"
"Bringing psychiatry program online," Queenie said. "Advancing age has you in constant need for testing your remaining memory capacity."
"I'm only fifty!" Ed protested.
"Well," Wicca said, "I'm glad that's put to sleep."
"Put to bed," Ed said.
Hecabano called from the kitchen. "I perceive your memory to be fine, Master Ed. Perhaps we could work this into a comedy routine at the studio tonight."
"We're doing a show tonight?" Ed asked. "I thought it was Sunday. . . ."
Witness three workmen at a roadside diner. They're miles from the shop, so the boss isn't likely to know they're having breakfast on his time. There's Benny, just out of high school on his first job as an electrician helper. Then there's Donny, a longhair metal head, and George, a crusty New Yorker. Along with a wisecracking, fortyish waitress, they love to kid him about his lack of worldly experience. But in the Twilight Zone, such things have consequences.
Benny tackled the French toast with gusto, trying to keep up with the fellas, wolfing down their bacon and eggs.
"This ain't your mom's place," Donny quipped. "You don't get pancakes and oatmeal with a cartoon face."
"Yeah," George piled on. "Now a BLT--that's easy to fix."
Wiseguys. Not a good influence either. They'd turned him on to coffee, but he drew the line at beer.
"Hiya, Smiley!" Bess the waitress sauntered over, coffee pot in hand. The wiseguys sniggled in anticipation, because they knew Benny hated the moniker. If there was a waitress mold, she had sprung from it: glasses on a string, graying hair more suitable for a younger style, pencil in ear, apron.
"I made the French toast myself, Smiley, because the cook is busy." A dig at how he never left a tip, not getting it was over the Smiley thing. In fact, the only reason he didn't wait in the truck was the food. It was too good to miss out on.
"Y'all should drop by for lunch," she went on. "We got a killer steak sub."
Donny appreciated how Benny's face lit up. "Can't do it. The plastics factory is five miles down the road."
"Aww," rued Bess. "You poor fellas have to brown bag it. A growin' boy needs better." Just then, a grumpy farmer repeated his demand for coffee, calling her away.
Benny once again left no tip. Next time, he would wait in the truck.
Hours later, when the noisy cracking room at the plant had fallen quiet for the lunch hour, Benny took out his ear plugs and settled against an I beam some distance from the fellas and their incessant sports talk. He had just started on his PBJ and apple when Bess entered the loading dock, carrying a white bag.
Benny needed no clues to as to what it was. Ignoring the taunts about his "girlfriend", he jumped up to confront her. "How did you get in here?"
"Easy. I told the guard you called for takeout, and here I am." The bag held one of the fragrant, still hot subs.
"Where's ours," George whined in mock protest, grinning at Benny's plight.
She waved him off. "You boys should be on a diet. Let's call this free advertisin'!" On the way back, she turned to wave. "Enjoy, Smiley!"
That he did in spite of himself. Nor did the surprises end that night at home. To added ridicule from the fellas, he still lived with his folks.
His mom stuck a head in his room. "There's some woman on the phone for you. Something about a retirement dinner tomorrow night."
Who else. He went to the kitchen extension. That no good Donny must have given Bess the number. "Why are you calling me here?"
"Take it easy, Smiley! Tomorrow's Saturday, when you're off work. My place is half a mile down that dirt road behind the diner--only one out there. I'll leave a light on. Ruth and Louise will be here. We're making the best dinner you ever saw." The other two waitresses had to be in their seventies. "Whatya think? About eight."
This time he'd call her bluff. So Donny didn't think he'd dare. "I'll go anywhere there's free eats."
"Fine! See ya there!"
It took some fancy explaining to assuage his mom's worries about a drunken party. He jumped into his old Mustang and drove eleven miles across the river. He turned right at the diner in the failing light, took the bumpy road half a mile until he saw a lone porch light.
He knocked on the screen door. Bess admitted him, wearing a gray robe but no shoes. Must have just come from the shower.
She noted his curiosity. "Oh, we all went for a swim down at the creek."
Then why wasn't her hair wet? "I don't smell any food."
"We're gonna have it outdoors, a regular picnic!"
He followed her uneasily down to a clearing, where digital lights were strung across the trees in a glade. Others were there, wearing the same robes, gathered around a large flat stone.
A coven. A freakin' coven. And he was bait for whatever they planned to summon on that stone. "Wait a minute--I know her!" He gaped at a famous local news anchor.
"Lot's of bigshots here," Bess said. "See that man? The district school superintendent. And her?--head of the state health department."
It figured. But he wasn't going to see their invited guest, and even worse, he wasn't going to see the robes come off. He ran.
"Aw, Smiley!" Bess called. "Oh well--see ya at the diner on Monday!"
Good morning and Happy Friday! Been a week and glad it is done. Our kids had a sniffle that required our attention and progressing on our packing to move. The tentative days left are sixty. We are fastening our moving belt with every box to put items in to keep or donate.
One of the ways I like to work on my dialogue are plays. Are there any plays are favorites? I think my first play was in high school was Ceryano De Bergiac. If you recall the movie Roxanne, it is almost like that.
So many plays to look through, but I like the olde worlde plays of Shakespeare and William Butler Yeats or John Synge. I have a number of plays, many of Scottish origin as well Irish. Some of us are visual learners as I am.
As a reader, your audience we want to be delighted, thrilled and hooked into your world, the writing world you created and express. Although it is our calling, make it the best work you can muster, a gift to take the reader away from the ordinary world. Don't forget the coffee to speed up those beautiful thoughts this morning. Maybe you are having coffe with us. I am onto my second cup already. Have a great Friday!
