WritingPartners
Vada M. Wolter and Joseph A. Zapalac write books that warm the heart. The purpose of this blog is to share some of those stories and tidbits and to help others to come to know us.
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WELCOME
Joseph and I welcome you to our world--the world of writing and photography and all that is involved with being published authors. We hope you will come to know us...and our writings.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Monday, July 15, 2013
Letter From Publisher
Dear Vada,
We are honored you have selected to return to Outskirts Press to publish your seventh book with us. I am pleased to report that your latest manuscript (LOST INNOCENCE) has been accepted for publication through Outskirts Press. I want to be the first to congratulate you and welcome you back!
Before I begin to refresh your memory about some of the options and available services here at Outskirts Press, I want to give you my overall impression of your work: I always enjoy my review of your work. Since I do believe I have had the pleasure of reviewing most all of your submissions now I am not sure what more I can say about your writing. It is consistently good. You have a certain style about your writing that cannot be matched. You are very creative and always approach your plot with vivid description and detail regardless of the genre you write in. Once again, your characterization and and your use of dialogue is excellent. The dominant traits of your characters help to make them more intriguing thus allowing the reader to make a real connection with them. This adds significantly to the power of your work. It is obvious that you have done a significant amount planning and preparation in crafting your work. You have crafted another quality piece of writing. Bravo!
Sincerely,
Lisa
Saturday, June 15, 2013
LITTLE BOY LOST:CHAPTER 3
S
|
eptember was a difficult month for Joe
and the other men working of the derrick. They worked each day from
when-you-can until when-you-can't, leaving little time for anything—except work.
Long, hot days in the grueling sun left Joe exhausted—but not
too exhausted to try to learn about Martha. It seems he was asking the waitresses at the cafe, and
she was doing the same thing, trying to learn about one another.
Martha’s
curiosity about the tall, lanky boarder caused her to ask around. Juanita, after
cleaning his room, told her that he traveled light and kept a neat room.
At noon, she asked Kathy about him and learned he was friendly and could eat a lot. She
would just have to keep her eyes open and try to learn more as the days passed.
Martha gathered enough ingredients, one evening, to make a
batch of cookies and waited up for Joe.
“Evening, you’ve
been putting in long hours the past three weeks; how about a cookie before
going to bed?”
“Don’t
mind if I do.” Taking a couple from the plate, he stood, to keep from getting grime
on the sofa, and takes a bite.
“How’s
the work going?”
“We’re
almost finished building the derrick. Mmm this cookie tastes great…did you bake
these?”
Martha blushed and gave a faint smile, “Yes; I hope you like
them. I’ll wrap up
some so you can put them in your lunch for tomorrow.” Maybe it’s true that the way to a
man’s
heart is through his stomach.
“Sure, that would be great.”
Martha disappeared, returning with a small brown bag of cookies.
“Thanks,” he said as he took the bag from Martha. “Well, it’s getting late; I need to
get cleaned up and to bed…morning comes early. Goodnight, Miss Daniels.”
“You can call me Martha. Goodnight, Mr. Clayton.”
“Call me Joe….” He moved up the stairs to his room, and from
Martha’s sight.
She walked
to her room to prepare for bed, after putting up the plate of cookies.
She envisions
him standing in the shower all lathered with soap, as she drifts off to a peaceful sleep.
Joe left for the rig, before daybreak, with cookies in hand—without
seeing Martha.
Throughout the day, his thoughts kept returning to Martha, and
how he wanted to ask her out. Enough of
this being fearful…I’m going to
ask her today, he thought.
Joe climbed in the truck after work and headed for the hotel
for a bath and a chance to see Martha. He knew she’d be off work and hoped to get a chance to ask her out on
a date.
Back in his room, he shed his filthy clothes, leaving a trail from
the door to the bathroom. He stepped into the shower; the cool water ran over
his head and down his masculine body. Grabbing the bar of soap, he scrubbed his
wavy, blond hair then worked on his grimy body. The dust and sweat circled down
the drain, making a slurping sound.
Stepping from the shower, he wrapped a freshly-laundered towel around
his hips. His damp, blond hair curled at the nape of his neck. He selected a
pair of khakis and a white shirt from the antique oak armoire. Shoving his
socked feet into his brown shoes, he headed out the door in search of supper—and
Martha.
Disappointment spread over Joe’s
face as he descended the stairs and stepped foot in the decorated-for-fall-lobby.
He saw a yellow floral arrangement on the desk, and a
snagged-tooth jack-o-lantern sitting on an end table. Martha, however, was
nowhere in sight. He stepped outside into the cool October evening and walked down
the block to grab something to eat.
Entering the bustling café, he didn’t see anyone he recognized. He took a small table
to the back of the dining area, and his favorite waitress came to take his order.
“Say, Caroline, what’s tonight’s special?”
“Meatloaf,” she said, with a smile. “It comes with buttered
potatoes, green peas, and carrot slaw. The dessert for today is homemade coconut
cream pie.”
“Mmm sounds great; I’ll
have the special and a large glass of iced tea.” Before Caroline walked away,
he inquired if the manager of the hotel ever ate at the café.
“Martha? Sure, she comes in occasionally. It’s about this time of day that she comes in for supper.”
As Caroline turned and walked to the kitchen to turn in the
order, he noticed the varicose veins in her legs—proof of many hours, if not
years, of being on her feet.
Waitressing had to be a hard job, but there weren’t a lot of jobs for
women.
Joe sat alone—tapping his fingers on the table and watching
other patrons. He noticed the catsup-drenched-fries couple laughing as they sat
at a table over in the corner.
He hated eating alone and wondered if he should have gone with his co-workers.
They planned to check out the café that served great chili.
His heart skipped a beat at the beautiful sight of Martha as
she walked through the café door. Her rose-print dress on a white background accentuated
her slender figure, and her smile, friendly. Today must be my lucky day; now is my chance to ask
her out.
“Evening,” he said,
as he stood and gave her a warm smile, towering over her a good seven inches.
“I know this is really bold of me, but would you mind joining me? I hate eating
alone, and the other guys are eating elsewhere.” He held his breath, hoping she
would join him.
She stood silent, contemplating. She wanted to go out with him,
but didn’t want to
seem too anxious.
“Come on, I promise to behave,” he said, giving her a wink and an
innocent, broad grin.
Martha studied him for a while, deciding. Seconds ticked by.
Joe stood quietly under her scrutiny while Martha thought. We are in a public place, and we both had to eat
anyway; besides, he seems like a nice person, and I really want to date him.
“Okay,” she said, as Joe pulled out the chair for her to sit
down. He pushed her chair up to the table and returned to the seat across from
her.
Caroline approached the table ready to take Martha’s order. “I’m glad you came in; it’s
been a while since I’ve
seen you. What can I get you tonight?”
Before Martha had a chance to reply, Joe said, “Supper is on me
tonight—order anything you’d
like. I’d like to repay you for directing
me to this café. The food is reasonably priced, and their homemade desserts are
excellent. Tonight’s dessert is coconut
cream pie, my favorite.”
“That’s
very nice of you, but I’m
sure you could have found this café on your own.” She giggled, exposing her
dimples, and then placed her order for the meatloaf special.
“Maybe so, but I’m
glad you are here tonight. I’ve wanted
to ask you something. I know we hardly know one another, but I’d love for the chance to get to know
you better. Are you dating anyone?” His heart nearly stopped beating, fearing
the absolute worst.
Lowering her head as if embarrassed, she replied shyly, “No…no one.
With having to do so much work on the farm, dating was rare. Since I got this job,
I’ve been too busy training for the
manager's position.
A sigh of relief passed his lips, and he relaxed a bit. “Uh…would
you like to go out with me this Saturday? We could have supper together and
then possibly go to the picture show—or to a dance?”
Martha's heart beat rapidly...she smiled, giving him hope that
she might say yes—which she did.
Days slowly passed for Joe, before the big weekend and his date
with Martha on Saturday. It was supper at the Corner Cafe and then the dance. She
really liked Joe and had a great time—even if he stepped on her toes a few
times.
After the evening was over and time to return, he parked his
car behind the hotel. They stepped out and walked to her door, located around
the corner from the hotel lobby's desk. As much as he wanted to kiss her
goodnight, he dared not on the first date. He hoped it would come later.
“Good night, Martha,” he was almost certain that she could hear
his heart pounding in his chest.
“Good night, Joe; I had a wonderful time.” She unlocked the door
and walked inside her room. She leaned against the closed door, a smile on her full
lips.
Continued another time...
Vada
Friday, May 31, 2013
CHAPTER TWO: LITTLE BOY LOST
J
|
oe had enjoyed his supper the night
before and decided to check out the morning menu. He knew a hard workday was ahead, so
starting with a large breakfast was foremost on his mind.
The café was almost vacant—only three other customers—so he sat
close to the door.
A middle-aged, slightly-overweight day shift waitress came to
wait on him. Placing a cup before him and pouring coffee, she handed him a
menu, “Good morning, beautiful day we’re
having.”
“Beautiful, but it looks like it might be a hot one. Thanks for
the coffee. Give me a minute or two—Kathy,” glancing at her name tag and then
her cherub face.
“I’ll
come back in a few minutes…take your time.”
Joe listened to the chatter of the others sitting around him, as
he studied his menu. Two customers—obviously farmers—were drinking
coffee and talking about their crops; the third person sat alone, reading. Joe's
thoughts turn of his own parents and how they worked hard on their farm. They
had help from all of his six still-living-at-home siblings.
Seeing the waitress approaching, he selected something
to eat. He selected
a large country breakfast of ham, eggs, buttermilk biscuits, and gravy. Several
cups of strong coffee washed down his meal before going to the new job. Leaving
a small tip, Joe walked to the hotel, arriving in time to catch a ride with his
boss.
“Ready for work?”
“Ready as I’ll
ever be,” said Joe, as he belched loudly and climbed in the truck.
“I’ve
had a crew to lay the rig's foundation. Today you, Bill, and the crew will
start building the wooden derrick.”
“We’re
sure going to have a hot day for it,” Joe wiped his shirt sleeve across his
forehead. “Working as a roughneck is a hard, dangerous job, but the pay’s good.”
The temperature rose to the mid-eighties by mid-morning and by
one o'clock had soared to one hundred degrees. Many believed it to be a typical
Texas August day; however,
the drought made it worse.
Joe removed his hard hat and raked his fingers through his blond
hair, now plastered with his perspiration, and cursed the heat.
He walked to the 1933 Ford pickup, the only shade available,
and sat on the running board. Opening the burlap-wrapped water-jug sitting in
the shade, he poured some water in a tin cup. The water that splashed onto the
dry, heat-cracked thirsty ground vanished quickly, leaving no trace.
Drinking hastily, some water trickled from the sides of the tin
cup onto his muscular chest, cooling it. He couldn’t wait for quitting time; he had in mind to ask Martha for
a date for the weekend. He just hoped she wasn’t
seeing someone.
“Joe, stop loafing and get back to work,” yelled his boss.
“Yes, Mr. Reed.” Joe put his hard hat on, and returned to work…and
the scorching heat.
JOE & VADA
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
LITTLE BOY LOST: Chapter One
I
|
t had been an intense training, during
which time Martha turned twenty, making her the hotel’s youngest manager.
“Juanita,” said the hotel’s
new manager of three weeks, “we are expecting the oil rig crew today. Would you
and the other girls make sure the rooms are ready?”
“Yes, Miss Daniels,” the pleasantly-plump maid of Mexican
descent continued with her dusting. Juanita wore a white uniform, and a hairnet
kept her dark curly hair in place. With a twinkle in her dark-brown eyes, she went
in search of the other girls.
The hotel lobby was decorated in overstuffed couches and chairs
from the late 1800s, when the Mexican cowboys moved cattle to the nearest
railroad. Pictures and animal heads hung on the walls that were reminiscent of
Texas. Behind the registration desk, stood Martha.
Martha was happy with her position as manager and even happier
to be off the farm. She spent her young life working in the field—not to
mention helping with her younger siblings and chores around the house. It was
just what families did.
She now helped her family differently by sending part of her
earnings to them. She knew how difficult it was to make a living as a sharecropper.
Long hours working on a sharecropper's farm, hoping for good weather and crops,
left one exhausted and discouraged. One of the benefits of her manager position
was free room and board. This allowed her to send money to her parents and to save a little for herself.
Hearing the front door open, she looked up to see a tall, lanky
young man walking in her direction. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties and well
built. “Welcome to the Prairie Hotel. Judging from your physique you must be
part of the oil rig crew that we are expecting.”
“Thanks,” said the six-foot-three young man, as he smiled at
Martha. She’s sure cute; I wonder if
she’s
seeing someone, he thought.
“My name’s
Joe—Joe Clayton. You were correct;
I am with the oil rig crew. Mr.
Reed has reserved some rooms for his men.” He ran his fingers through his hair
and smiled.
“Clayton. That name sounds vaguely familiar. Are you from around
this area?” Martha took in his blue eyes, wavy-blond hair, and dimpled smile. Please say yes.
“My folks own a thirty-acre farm about twenty miles outside of
town. I live with them to help out on the farm when I’m not on a job. Mr. Reed likes for his crew to stay close
when working a rig; it saves travel time, and if we run into a problem, it’s best to be in the same hotel.”
She checked the register, running her index finger down the
page. “Room 218, second floor, first door on the right at the top of the
stairs,” she said, as she handed him the key.
Their hands touched as he reached for the key. She jerked her
hand back, wondering if he, too, felt the jolt of electricity between them. His
face didn’t show it. Perhaps she imagined
it.
Taking the key, Joe grabbed his bag and climbed the stairs to
the second floor. Martha couldn't help but stare at his firm backside as he
walked away—and smiled. “We hope your stay will be a pleasant one.”
Standing in front of room 218, he put the key in the lock and
turned it. The door opened to a room like most hotel rooms, small but adequate.
The white two-inched
fringed cotton bedspread on the double bed brought a feeling of
home. An antique ash dresser, with attached mirror, was large enough for
his scanty belongings. Opening the two-door armoire, he placed his bag inside,
hanging his shirts on the hangers. He then dropped in the brown leather chair sitting
near the double screened-windows which faced the street.
His mind drifted to the girl behind the registration desk. He imagined
what it would be like taking her out to eat, to a picture show, or… What was he
thinking, he had just met her; he shook his head. Most likely, she would
already have a steady beau.
Looking at the wind-up clock on the dresser, he saw it was 5:45
p.m.; supper time was approaching. Joe’s
stomach rumbled, confirming his hunger and need for food. He slanted the
dresser's mirror up to check his appearance before going to supper. Satisfied with
his mirrored-image, he heads to the lobby where he sees the hotel manager.
“Excuse me, Miss—can you tell me where a guy can grab a decent meal
around here?”
“Sure, if you take a left as you exit the hotel, go down one block,
and you’ll see it on
the left. It’s a
white building with four screened-windows in the front and a bus station next
door. I like the country atmosphere; the prices are reasonable, and the food is
quite delicious. The Corner Café’s
sign is above the door; you can't miss it.
He followed Martha’s
directions to the nearby Corner Cafe. The tiny, clean, café had square tables.
Each covered with red-checkered cloths; in the center sat a napkin holder and
salt and pepper shakers. The café had a relaxed small-town feeling about it,
which Joe appreciated. Noticing an empty table in the back, he walked across the
wooden floor and sat down.
A petite, red-haired waitress with emerald eyes brought him a
menu. “Welcome to the Corner Café,” she said, handing him the menu and giving
him a broad smile.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll have a large glass of
iced tea, please.” She disappeared, only to return with the iced tea and ready to
take his order.
“The chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, and southern
green beans sounds good. I'll also have a big slice of homemade apple pie,” he told
the waitress, handing her the menu.
This seemed to be the favorite spot for the townspeople—young
and old. A seasoned couple sat by the windows, enjoying apple pie and coffee.
The gentleman wore khaki trousers with suspenders and a blue shirt. His
slight balding gray hair, he combed neatly and parted on the left side. The
woman dressed in a delicate pink outfit, silver hair, and blue eyes sat across
from her mate. It touched Joe's heart seeing the couple holding each other’s wrinkled-with-age hands.
Joe noticed one teenage couple, sitting to his left, eating
burgers and feeding each other catsup-drenched fries.
The perky brown-haired girl, dressed in a dark-blue print skirt
and a matching short-sleeved blouse was around sixteen. She giggled, as she
wiped a smudge of catsup from her date's mouth on her napkin.
The curly, sandy-haired boy, about eighteen years of age,
dressed in khaki trousers and a plaid shirt—smiled.
Joe thought about the job ahead of him as he sipped his iced
tea…and of the hotel manager. She must have suggested the same café to the
other crew members because three of them were headed his way.
He motioned to them, “Bill, you guys come join me; I hate
eating alone.” They walked over to Joe’s
table and pulling out the ladder-back chairs, sat down.
Making her way back to Joe’s
table, the waitress asked, “What can I get you boys tonight? Our special is chicken-fried
steak, mashed potatoes, southern green beans, and homemade apple pie.”
Monday, February 25, 2013
LITTLE BOY LOST EVALUATION
LITTLE BOY LOST EVALUATION
BY PUBLISHER
Words can't express the joy I felt when I opened an email from Lisa C. from Outskirts Press and read her evaluation of our manuscript.
What you have submitted for publication involves a wonderfully planned out plot with excellent characterization. This story was a great read that kept my attention from the first page.
You have a terrific writing style. I can tell that you have done much planning and preparation in crafting your work – especially the way you have thought out the characters and movement that happens in the story. This is not an easy feat.
Your prose is very nicely written with details that capture the reader. I found myself really connected with your characters and what was going on. It is easy to have too much going on too soon – not in your case.
Your plot is slow and methodical and you use your dialogue to move the plot along. Your characters are lifelike and I love it when I leave a story feeling like I know them. You have a realistic plot and to me that makes for an enjoyable story. Characterization is one of the most important elements of any successful story. You did not rush or force anything.
Your manuscript is a nicely developed story that really did read like a movie in my mind. I can picture your setting – your characters. You have crafted a quality piece of writing.
Writing Partners
Vada & Joe
Writing Partners
Vada & Joe
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