The Written Word… An E-newsletter for Writers, Thespians, and

Patrons of the Arts in the Florida Panhandle “Panhandle Proud”

A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver...Biblical Proverb

Myra Shofner’s WriteWay2Write

Editorial Services

myrashofner@aol.com Editing, Proofing,

Ghost Writing.

The Editor’s Written Word……….

Myra Shofner

This month we have added a new feature. At the end of

the E-Newsletter we will include stories, poems, essays,

and/or an occasional first chapter of a novel a local author

has written. Everything will be printed as submitted by

each author, without editing by this editor.

I am kicking it off with the first chapter of one of my

novels, Lawfully Yours. Hope you will read and enjoy it!

Our major goal in this E-newsletter is to comment on

the many wonderful area artists and their forums and to

encourage our readers to support these talented people.

Please, forward this E-newsletter to your friends/

and neighbors, especially those who live in the area.

New readers welcome. Send email address and we

will add you to our monthly mailing list.

Local Songwriter James Graves recently had a dream fulfilled. He speaks from the

heart when he says, ―Yes, I did. I finally heard one of my songs on the radio. Once Upon A

Time, a medium-tempo Contemporary Country song, aired on 99.9 Hank FM in Tallahassee on

Anything Local by host and long-time friend and fellow musician, Mike Smith. It was truly an

amazing moment for me.‖

Graves has published his songs with Graves-McMillan Sons, set up as a song marketing

company to marked original songs. ―We’ve signed a lot of publishing contracts with music

publishers, but no success stories to tell. No record deals,‖ he says. ―As a novelist, I discovered

the music business is even more convoluted than the book business. When you pitch a song to a publisher or a record producer,

you’re competing against dozens – sometimes hundreds - of demos for a specific artist that is looking for new material for a new

album.

―Although there will typically be about fifteen songs on the album, the screener is looking specifically for hit material. It’ easy

to find filler songs to complete an album. They want songs that are good enough to be released as a single and get on the charts.

The screener will listen to your song for about thirty seconds. If the song doesn’t capture attention by then, it’s in the trash and on

to the next one.

―So the rejection list for my song demos dwarfs my book manuscript rejections by a very large margin. And that’s just the

producers and publishers that take the time to comment and drop the self-addressed, stamped comment card in the mail. Most will

only contact you if they’re interested in your songs.‖

Graves grew up in Ponce de Leon in a musical family and taught himself some chords on an acoustic guitar when he was nine.

He, his cousin, and sister formed a garage band when he was twelve, and continued to play in bands during high school and

college. While in the Air Force and stationed at Eglin he played with Erik the Red, a professional rock band.

Graves, no stranger to the written word, has penned fifty or sixty songs, with more in the works. He writes in a number of

genres, including ; Folk and Adult Contemporary Ballads, Country, Blues, Rock and Southern Rock. He has also written a number

of novels and essays.

Reflecting on his life, Graves gives credit to a couple of outstanding teachers. ―I toyed with poetry and short stories in high

school & college, but nothing meaningful. I guess I showed some potential, because my English teacher, Daisy Manning, encour-

aged me. She gave me a much-needed push in the right direction and the inspiration to try. At Chipola College, a remarkable

young English Lit teacher inspired me. I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember her name, especially considering that she

was not much older than me, single and quite lovely. She was very subtle, but she helped to fan the flames that burn to this very

day. I am eternally indebted to both of those wonderful ladies.‖

Find links to purchase his books on his website, http://jagwriter.com and you can follow James Graves on Facebook.

Feature : James Graves

1

Upcoming PCT 2

Buy Local (Books) 2

1st Chapter Novel: Shofner Poetry

3

MAY 2011

Issue 2

Inside this issue:

Par for the Corpse, a homicidal comedy in three acts by Jack Sharkey. Takes place in the pre-

sent, late October at Alexandra Ellis’s rustic-but-expensive retreat in the woods of the Catskill

mountains. She is an author and is having a party with several friends. While the evening

rolls on, murder is afoot and the ―who done it‖ mystery begins.

Cast of Characters:

(6 women)

Alexandria ―Andy‖ Ellis, a successful novelist

Gert Hartman, Andy’s longtime general factotum

Hazel Corlian, a rather discontented wife

Thelma Alban, Hazel’s very concerned mother Daniella Jessup, a famous fashion model

Bettina Redmond, a not-so-dumb jet-setter

(4 men)

Mark Taggert, a stage star and friend of Andy’s

Rick Corlian, Hazel’s not-too-happy husband

Jed Stebbins, an elderly general handyman

Lionel Channing, a rather unscrupulous broker

Auditions to take place on (all beginning at 7pm at the theater):

Monday, April 18

Tuesday, April 19

Wednesday, April 20

Practice to begin the week of April 25th.

Play dates are:

June 9, 10, 11, 12, 16, 17, 18

Published Saturday, January 23, 1999

Humor plus murder brings play up to 'Par' Jack Sharkey, author of ''Par For the Corpse,'' has scripted a very funny homicidal comedy with a surprise is humorous, well-acted and complete with set and special stage effects that are remarkably well done. Novelist Alexandra ''Andy'' Ellis hard at work trying to write her 18th book. As ideas run through her head, the cast of 10 winds through the author's starts and stops while she is developing the story line. Ellis seeks advice from her trusted housekeeper, Gert Hartman, At first, Andy begins writing a scene involving an older man and a younger woman entangled in a torrid affair that is coming to an end. Alas, she decides that won't do, rips the paper out of the typewriter and starts again. As the characters huff and puff at being ripped apart in midstream, they obligingly disappear from stage and wait for a new scene. The secondary plot has the audience trying to guess who done it. The scene begins with the author hosting a party at her home. A nasty storm with blizzard conditions strands the guests, and because this is a murder mystery, one surmises that someone is going to be killed. Enter Mark Taggert, an actor who is also the love interest of the author. Other guests include Lionel Channing, the dashing older man, who becomes the first victim. his much younger, and very beautiful, fiancee, Daniella Jessup, on his arm, it soon becomes evident that he has been romancing more than one woman in the room. Marie Hamby. Enter Rick and Hazel Corlian, rich social types who spend all their time bickering and making snide comments about each other. A mother to the daughter from you know where. Bettina Redmond in this production, her lively and animated performance received a lot of laughs. straight man, Bob LeSage Jeb Stebbins, adds a good balance to a terrific cast of characters

When novelist Alexandra Ellis throws a party at her Catskills retreat, no one expects a bliz-

zard to strand everybody nor do they suspect there’s a killer amongst them until one guest is

poisoned at the party. Desperately, the others try to figure out not only who did it but more

mystifying how it was done. They’re baffled by a seemingly impossible crime till one guest

thinks of a ruse to reveal the killer, but is stabbed before the unmasking. Everyone even the

hostess is a suspect, and a number of murky motives emerge during the night’s strange

events. And just when another guest thinks he knows the culprit, there’s another murder the

suspected killer couldn't possibly be responsible for. There are plenty of laughs but the main

thrust is for the audience’s nerve-endings with more shrieks of terror than of hilarity espe-

cially in the surprise-filled final act with its series of convulsive plot-twists. No one will ever

be able to guess the shocker of a surprise-ending.

4 m, 6 f

Try a Sample of This Novel

Lawfully Yours ...Myra Shofner

Lawfully Yours is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the

product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual

events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Copyright © 2009 by Myra Shofner.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part

of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any

means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the

author.

CHAPTER ONE

“So, are you going to represent them?‖ Marisol stuck her head in the doorway.

Sam, who had been known as the Boy Wonder by his colleagues in law school removed

the cigarette stub from his mouth and used it to light up another before crushing it in the ash

tray, a permanent fixture on the corner of his desk. He deliberately ignored his secretary’s dis-

approving look.

―You told them I wasn’t taking new clients?‖

―First words out of my mouth.‖ She tossed a head covered with jet black hair. ―Until they

told me how they’d been taken in. And knowing how you feel about lost causes…‖

―You already made the appointment.‖ His statement was flat.

Marisol was the only one who knew how bad he wanted to redeem himself after the Per-

kins boy incident and was presumptuous enough to ignore his new rule.

―Four o’clock this afternoon for Mrs. Pansy Norris and her granddaughter, Lucy Hall, the

Spanish teacher at San Cristobal.‖

Sam groaned. Most of his experiences with high school teachers weren’t all that good.

Marisol placed a file on Sam’s desk, turned on her heels and disappeared into the recep-

tion room, but not before taking an exaggerated whiff and expressing her sentiments.

―My, my, what a delightful aroma.‖

―Get the aerosol, Marisol,‖ Sam yelled and her giggles floated back into his office.

Sam threw his morning paper in the trash can. The story in today’s Journal irritated him.

According to old Bradford William, features editor, Abundant Life Foundation had made a

deal with the owners of Water Oaks Manor about a year ago for their property with plans to

renovate it into a conference center. Basically, Walter Avalon, a motivational guru whose talk

radio show was based in Atlanta, was Abundant Life Foundation and he had big plans to

move his entire operation to Cristobal Beach.

The zinger was Mikey Stone, who wasn’t exactly on Sam’s top ten list of people he ad-

mired, had put the deal together. Mikey was a lazy lawyer whose practice rode on the coat-

tails of his father’s firm. He had accessibility to a slew of money thanks to his landed father

who’d bought and sold enough property on Cristobal Beach to amass a fortune. As a matter of

fact, it was Jackson Stone who’d sold Water Oaks Manor their acreage back when it didn’t

cost an arm and a leg.

Today’s story was all about how Abundant Life discovered it wasn’t feasible to renovate

and had put the building up for sale, something the original owners weren’t too happy with.

Sam reached for the file, pulled his reading glasses from where they rested atop his head

in his mat of sandy blonde hair down to his nose and read as rapidly as his speed reading

course pushed him. He closed the file, flipped the glasses and the file across his desk and

pushed back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his neck, his handsome boyish face puck-

ered with thought.

―Want coffee?‖ Marisol was standing at his elbow. ―Goes with cigarettes.‖

―Sure, bring it on.‖

―I left off the sugar and cream. Didn’t want to cut the caffeine and nicotine.‖ She handed

him the cup and plopped down in the chair across from his desk. ―There’s a square dance at

my church Saturday.‖

―Yeah?‖ he raised an eyebrow.

―I need a date.‖

―You’re lying. And that makes it easy for me to say, thanks, but no thanks.‖

She pushed herself forward and pointed an admonishing finger. ―It’ll be fun. No strings

attached. I’ll still be your submissive receptionist and I won’t file a harassment suit against

you if you hold me too tight when we promenade.‖ Her eyes were twinkling, making her look

even younger than her twenty years.

Sam shook his head and stared at her. ―You’re a beautiful woman and the offer is tempt-

ing, but I’ve got another engagement for Saturday.‖

―Now who’s lying?‖ She sank back into the chair.

―Me. But the answer is still no. Now get back to work or I’ll have to fire you and you

won’t be able to pay your tuition. That’s an order.‖ He faked sternness.

―Yes, sir, Boss. Whatever you say, Boss.‖ She rose and backed out of the room, making

little bows along the way. At the doorway, she cast him a smoldering glance through half-

closed sexy eyes. ―But I was going to show you a really good time.‖ She gave him a flutter-

ing wave as she left the room.

Sam lit another cigarette, drank his coffee and thought about Patrice who hadn’t minded

that he smoked. In fact, she hadn’t minded anything until the Perkins case. That was when

Sam’s thriving practice hit the skids, not because he couldn’t get clients, but because he lost

interest in building a practice. It became a point of contention for his wife because one day,

out of the blue it seemed to him, Patrice left.

With Patrice gone, he settled into the life of a disinterested bachelor, enjoying the com-

pany of women, but making sure no strings were attached in the relationships.

Although he didn’t much hobnob with the elite lawyers because he equated them with

what he thought was wrong with the law and this put him on the outside of the legal circle.

His criteria for choosing clients became more and more defining and financially disastrous.

Sometimes, he had to make an exception in order to pay the bills and take on some case that

didn’t interest him, because, for some reason, most honest and decent people generally didn’t

have much money.

He always settled his cases out of court, because in court, before a judge, pleading a case,

Sam’s mouth jammed and he became a blubbering idiot; he had no confidence in public

speaking, whatsoever. Some who didn’t know him well probably thought his malady

stemmed directly from his losing the Perkins case, but that wasn’t true. He’d never been any

good at public speaking. He simply didn’t have the style or the presence. That was why he

negotiated. But the Perkins case went to court and then it went south from there and the boy

didn’t get justice. He didn’t get anything. And Sam blamed himself for not being a good trial

lawyer.

Sam reached over and dug the Journal out of the trash and checked the details of the sale

again. Abundant Life had paid an incredibly low price, even considering how run-down the

place was and that it was going to take major bucks to renovate. That could explain why the

sellers were upset he was selling. So upset they wanted a lawyer.

That’s where the interesting fact lay. Mikey Stone had been the lawyer for Water Oaks

when they sold the property, but according to Sam’s friend, Chuck Thomas, Mikey and the

radio personality had become new best friends well before the sale. Sam would bet that

Mikey researched things at Water Oaks and gave Dr. Avalon the thumbs up on the purchase.

It was only a short jump to believing Mikey was also at the bottom of Avalon’s present deci-

sion to sell Water Oaks. Buy low, sale high. Done all the time.

_______________

Sherby Jean, was at Lucy’s house ragging her about not getting on with her life, which

mainly meant she was concerned there was no man on Lucy’s horizon.

―You can’t build a real life around teaching,‖ she groaned. ―You’re going to end up Old

Lady Hall with the stubby nose.‖

―What’s wrong with my nose?‖

―Don’t change the subject. She cast a long, contemplative look at Lucy and turned serious.

―Lucy, you’ve gotta move on. You just have to. You can’t stand still. It’s been three years

since Dan died and…‖

The words hung in the air. The look on Sherby Jean’s face said she wished she could call

them back. ―I could cut my tongue out, Lucy.‖

―Don’t be silly.‖ Lucy reached over and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ―I know

you have my best interest at heart.‖

―You need a man!‖ Sherby Jean had regained her footing. ―I know you live vicariously

through me, but, hey! You don’t want to end up some tight-lipped, skinny old lady writing

birthday cards to county inmates and feeding your goldfish. What kind of woman has a gold-

fish for a pet any way?‖

―Let’s leave Goldie out of this!‖ Lucy loved Sherby Jean, but their friendship was a com-

plicated one in that they were so different.

―Come on, you’ve got to get up to bat and take another swing at love.‖ Sherby Jean said

just the kind of thing that made her mother call her cheap and tacky when they were in high

school—before Mom’s memory lapses began. Now when the two met, her mother didn’t have

a clue as to who Sherby Jean was.

At fifty-seven, her mother was still a lovely woman. Only her eyes gave away the secret

that she was not the Anne Marie Willis she’d once been. Not that they were marred by notice-

able crow’s feet. They were just vacant. Sometimes it was more than Lucy could bear. And

watching her father take care of her didn’t make it any easier.

And Granny was so un-sympathetic with the change in her daughter. Once she asked Lucy

if Anne Marie was faking it. ―Nobody else in my family’s ever had Alzheimer’s,‖ she de-

clared, like it might be a disease she had contracted. Lucy promised herself she’d keep trying

to make Granny understand, but she didn’t have much hope about that.

With all that on her, she really, really missed Dan. If he were here, she could deal with her

mother, have the courage to tell her grandmother to get a grip, and wouldn’t be having this

stupid conversation with Sherby Jean. Dan, how could you leave me? With that question

came the added guilt of blaming him for dying!

Sherby Jean cut into her thoughts. ―Cripes, Lucy, stop standing still! It’s time for you to

live again!‖ Then, she delivered the fatal blow. ―Dan would want you to.‖

―Listen, Sherby Jean, I need to go pick up Granny.‖ She knew she sounded abrupt, but the

conversation was futile. ―And I’m not standing still!‖

―High school kids and grandmas? That’s really moving! I give up. I’m out of here. Tell

Mrs. Norris hello.‖

Lucy blew a kiss before the door closed behind her friend. She shivered, aware of how si-

lent and empty the house was. She grabbed her purse and car keys, and paused to feed

Goldie. The thought that maybe she was lying to Sherby Jean nagged at her. Maybe she was

standing still. Had been standing still since Dan died.

As she backed out of the drive, she built her defense. She was trying to make her life

meaningful by giving one-hundred percent to her students, listening to them, attempting to

read between the lines of what they said so she could offer the help they really needed, not

just slap a band-aid on it with some bit of worn-out philosophy. The ones who needed prod-

ding, those who needed a little latitude, and Joey Tomazach who needed—that one she hadn’t

been able to figure out yet.

Oh, Dan, she thought, as she made her way across the bridge to Granny’s house, life was

busy when you were alive, but I had your shoulders to cry on. You were my strength and I

miss you so much. I want to be happy again. Like I was when you were here. And I am ready

to love again. When the right man comes along.

She squared her shoulders and caught a glimpse of her dour expression in the mirror. Time

to put on a happy face. Granny needed her.

________________

Predictably at two o’clock, Chuck, who worked in the accounting firm next to Sam’s of-

fice, popped through the door holding a cup of coffee in one hand and an unlighted cigarette

in the other. He set his cup down on the edge of the desk, whipped out his lighter, with his

initials imprinted in gold on its side, and lit up.

―Jillian gave me this lighter as a wedding present, but now she won’t let me smoke in the

house. And the crusaders next door have totally shut me down. You’re my last refuge, Sam.‖

Chuck made himself comfortable in the leather chair opposite Sam’s desk, took a deep

drag, blew smoke rings through his nose and whiffed the air appreciatively.

―I love the smell of this place—even the drapes smell like stale tobacco.‖ He had been at

his laptop all afternoon, his eyes were heavy, his shoulders tight, so he stretched out his long

blue-jeaned legs and heaved a relaxed sigh. ―You are one lucky man.‖ He illustrated his affec-

tion by drawing in a deep breath. ―You can chain smoke all day long and not owe anybody an

apology.‖

―Hey, man, I created the ambiance just for your pleasure. One of the perks of having a pri-

vate practice. That and poverty.‖

―Your choice.‖ Both knew Sam made reference to his sliding practice. The two smoked in

silence for a minute or so, then, ―Did you hear they’re selling Water Oaks Manor?‖ Chuck

loved to gossip almost as much as he loved to smoke.

Sam nodded at the yellow pad where he’d made a few notes for his meeting with a client

who was long on ambition and short on brains. The man was facing some tough questions

about a house he’d sold with a new house warranty and Sam wasn’t sure his client’s answers

were going to hold up. The new home owner wasn’t a happy resident at the moment and was

after the broker big time. Sam took a breath. He hated cases like this one—honestly he hated

most of his cases.

―Abundant Life Foundation sure had great plans for it when they bought it.‖

―This something you know?‖ Sam sat upright, both feet on the floor, his interest piqued.

―Yeah.‖ He was miffed Sam would question him. ―Jillian’s friends with a gal who would-

n’t dare miss a single one of his broadcasts. Buys all his books, too. Sends money to keep him

on the air. Got her husband on Avalon’s board, as a matter of fact. He trots up to Atlanta for

meetings.‖

―Trots?‖ The word choice struck Sam as funny and he laughed.

―Southern for high-tails-it! You know that. Now she tells Jillian Water Oaks isn’t working

out—too expensive to upgrade. That’s why Abundant Life’s gonna buy a piece of land and

build from scratch.‖ Chuck leaned forward and flicked his ashes into Sam’s already crowded

ashtray.

―You don’t say? I thought maybe they were backing out of their plans.‖

―No way. Jillian says Dr. Walter Avalon is hell-bent on moving to Cristobal Beach.‖ He

took an extended drag on his cigarette and blew circles in the air. ―Wonder what it’ll bring?

Real estate’s escalated at the beach. The area’s really booming.‖

―You thinking about buying it? Setting up your own firm?‖ He liked to kid Chuck about

his entrepreneurial enterprises. He liked to call accounting his day job.

―Are you kidding? This town can hardly support what accountants it has. It’s too seasonal.

First five months of the year, you’re swamped, last seven, lots of time to sit around. Besides,

I’d begrudge Walter Avalon the profit.‖ Without stopping for a breath, he changed the subject.

―You know you could become a rich man if you’d use your expertise, Sam. You might not

know where the bodies are buried, but I bet you know every acre of land in the county and

what the proposed plans are for it. You just lack ambition, friend.‖

―Is that a fact? Hum. Never thought about it like that.‖ Sam laughed. So did Chuck.

―And I bet you’re not gonna change, are you? You’d rather take on some hopeless dude,

fight for the underdog and let someone else make the money.‖

―Well, I do prefer a good cause.‖ He didn’t add that he didn’t know how much longer he

could hold out, rent and other expenses being what they were.

―Marisol said you’re doing your best to take down your shingle. Said every time someone

calls with a dull case, you tell her to refer him elsewhere. Is that true?‖

―Why would Marisol lie? Tell her employer’s business, sure. But lie? No.‖

―Marisol said you’re doing your best to take down your shingle. Said every time someone

calls with a dull case, you tell her to refer him elsewhere. Is that true?‖

―So what would you do instead?‖

―Oh, I don’t know. Head out west, buy a ranch. Jump a plane and tour Europe.‖ He

winked at Chuck. ―Trot over to the Orient and see the geishas. The possibilities are unlim-

ited.‖

―Yeah! For you. You don’t have a wife holding your nose to the grindstone. But,‖ he re-

turned Sam’s wink, ―you also don’t have the money!‖ Chuck took a couple of frantic puffs.

―So when are you gonna settle down? Find a good woman, be tied-down like the rest of us?‖

―What? Are you trying to be my dad, now?‖

―Nah. Just want you to be miserable, too!‖

―Don’t forget my office’s bugged. Jillian might want a copy of what you just said.‖

For a moment Chuck looked like he believed Sam about the bug. Then they laughed and

Sam pointed at the ash tray as a reminder for Chuck to flip his ashes. ―When the time comes

I’ll settle down.‖

―You got somebody in mind?‖ Chuck sat up straight. Now he was interested. ―I mean, I

know you get around. Jillian keeps up with you, man. She’s always talking about how tragic

it is you haven’t married again. He’s so handsome, she says. The girls are all over him.

What’s with him anyway?‖

―Well, tell Jillian that it’s not such a bad thing—having girls all over you, I mean.‖ He

grinned at Chuck. ―And I appreciate that she thinks I’m handsome.‖ Sam decided it was time

to close down this particular conversation. ―Now don’t you have some figures to go add?

Don’t look surprised, but I’ve got a client coming.‖

Chuck feigned surprise anyway, unwound his legs and, with empty coffee cup in hand,

headed for the door.

The conversation with Chuck left him off-balance. His buddy didn’t know he’d struck a

nerve. He, also, didn’t know Sam was mostly putting up a façade. He actually envied Chuck.

Because of Jillian. And that they were happily married. While he, Sam Baker, who everyone

thought had the tiger by the tail, wanted desperately to make that special connection with a

woman he could love and who would love him. It was the same thing he’d wanted when he

and Patrice married and, for a short time, he thought he had it, but it was not to be. Maybe it

wasn’t in the cards for him.

He opened the paying client’s folder and began to absorb the information he needed to

make his case.

End of Chapter One

To Order Your Copy email writeway2write@aol.com

Lawfully Yours—$10.00. Postage has been paid.

Nu-Del:

Daughter

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People of the

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tugger’s down (supernatural)

Tommie Lynn

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Scribbles (Supernatural)

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Myra Shofner

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Southern Sage: The Honorable

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HELENA: Un-

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High On A

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TWISTED

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Judy Hodges

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The Written Word-MARCH 2011 Page 2

ABOUT PANHANDLE

WRITERS GROUP

Panhandle Writers Group

began in October 2003 for the

purpose of aiding and abetting

gifted local writers. Beginning

as a fledgling group, its mem-

bers set high goals, number one

of which was to strive for ex-

cellence in the craft.

Realizing talent alone is not

enough, the group members

attend writing workshops and

seminars, seek expert speakers,

and research every aspect of

the craft of writing.

Critique sessions, while re-

spectfully sympathetic, offer

honest opinions and careful

analysis. Spelling, grammar,

and punctuation are regarded

as important and proofreading

is essential.

Seven years later, the group

remains alive and functioning.

It has produced published au-

thors in several genres as writ-

ers are encouraged to develop

their style of writing and write

in the genre of their choice.

Meetings: 2nd & 4th Thursdays

Visitors Welcome

PROPER USE OF (i.e. and e.g.) Ray Shoop

(Ray Shoop’s novels are on Kindle. Type in Ray Shoop and it will take you to them.) I recently discovered these two abbreviations. Let me rephrase that. It’s not that they were new to me, because I’ve seen them around but never knew exactly what they meant. So I thought there may be others who are not sure of their meaning or how to use them. Let’s start with (i.e.) remember the phrase “that is”, or “in other words”. It shortens your sen-tences, i.e., it conserves words. Something to remember is, especially if you are a speaker; don’t use these abbreviations in your speech. Use the actual words “that is” and “for example.” The shortened forms are used only in writing. In the second abbreviation, the e and g means “for example.” Here, associating the (e) with example is helpful. It is used in a sentence to illus-trate an example of what you just said. Isn’t that simple? It must be; if I can get it down anyone can. When I started using these, I just put them in a sentence where it seemed logical. Sometime later, when I researched them further, I found that I wasn’t using them properly. That’s me, always jump-ing in without testing the water. When using these abbreviations: (1) Do not put them at the begin-ning of a sentence, and do not use both in the same sentence. (2) Punctu-ated properly, i.e., use a comma before and after them, for example, (, i.e.,) as though you were using the actual words in whatever part of a sentence they are. That’s it. This revelation doesn’t make me an expert now. So don’t be beat-

ing down my door for other things. Well, you can tap on it if you like.