receive $60; second place--$30; and third place--$10. The results should be interesting and informative even if you are not a team member. ?

NETWO December 2009 Meeting

Eight members and three guests met in Jean Pamplin’s building in Winfield, Texas on Thursday, December 10^th 2009 at 5:30. Finger foods were served along with good fellowship during the evening.

Guests, Bro. John Fennel, his wife, Trish, and daughter, Jessica, were introduced to the members. Brother John uses Jean’s building to hold weekly church services. Each member introduced him or herself and told what writing projects each one likes to work on.

Joy Chitsey set up a writing prompt which consisted of a table cloth and a formal Christmas place setting. A name card with a question mark was placed in the center of the plate. Members were given twenty minutes to write a story to share with the group about who would fill the empty seat. The stories varied greatly in plot and characters.

Photo by Bryan Freeman

Karen Watt Reads Her Story

Wonderful stories bloomed as each participant read their creations. It was a fun evening.

Submitted by Joy M. Chitsey

JANUARY IS DUES MONTH

Dues for 2010 are now payable. Membership is still just $20 per year for an individual, or $25 per year for a husband and wife, or for a parent and a child.

Dues can be paid on-line at our website: www.netwo.org or can be sent to NETWO, P. O. Box 411, Winfield, TX 75493, or can be paid at any NETWO meeting to Treasurer Bryan Freeman.

NETWO membership cards will be issued to all dues paying members. ?

PAT HAMILTON RETIRES

After 20 years with Lakewood Land Titles in Mount Vernon, Pat Hamilton retired on December 29, 2009.

She was honored with a retirement party on that day. The following NETWO members attended to wish her well: Jean Pamplin, Georgia Henson, Jim and Earlene Callan, Galand Nuchols and a friend, Bryan and Wally Freeman, and Ted Rankin.

Photo by Bryan Freeman

They presented her with a blue bird carrying a pillow under one wing and a satchel under the other. A small card said “Follow Your Dreams.” Great advice.

During her years with Lakewood, Pat was Treasurer of NETWO and for fifteen years edited the newsletter. Pat Fox, her employer, was extremely supportive of her extracurricular work and has been a great friend of NETWO.

Enjoy your retirement, Pat, and let Sash know how privileged she is to have you home all the time. ?

POETRY CLASSES SCHEDULED

NETWO once again announces Skip Hughes’ popular January (2010) Poetry Seminar, at the Pizza Inn, north of Pittsburg on U.S. Highway 271. Former participants should come again, and new attendees are welcome. All should attend as many sessions as possible of the four to be offered. The sessions are:

· Saturday, Jan. 9^th, 9 to 11:30 a.m.

· Saturday, Jan. 16^th, 9 to 11:30 a.m.

· Saturday, Jan. 23^rd, 9 to 11:30 a.m.

and 1:15 to 3:30 p.m.

(NOTE: two (2) sessions on

January 23.)

Tuition adjustments are available for those

who cannot attend all four sessions. Tuition rates (same as last year) are: $40 for two sessions; $50 for three sessions, and $60 for all four sessions. To register and be given a preliminary assignment, e-mail diffdrumr@gmail.com. ?

2010 SHORT STORY CONTEST

Rules for the short story contest were previously published in the newsletter. You can also check them out on the website: www.netwo.org. Be reminded, however, that the start date for accepting stories was January 2, 2010; closing deadline is February 15 for postmark and February 20 for delivery to NETWO. ?

DON’T FORGET TO SUBMIT YOUR QUESTIONNAIRE FOR THE NETWO MEMBERSHIP DIRECTORY.

A CRACK IN THE WALL

By William Carl

Several men sat around inside the store in Kentown when Joshua came in his wagon to buy a few staples. Feet resting on nail kegs, they eyed the tall, rawboned man in buckskins.

“Hain’t seen you round here.” A grizzly, red-headed old man said. “Where you settlin’?” He whittled away on a stick and spat tobacco juice into a nearby spittoon.

“About ten miles down south by the crick,” Joshua said. “We set up with a sod house against a rise. Looks like good land for farmin’ but the snow done killed our garden.” He filled his burlap sack with the bags of flour, meal, coffee and salt.

Another man spoke up, “Hope you don’t have no trouble with them Jicarilla Apaches roamin’ around. You know that name means ‘enemy’ and they damn sure are.”

An older man with an aged yellow beard barked out a laugh. “Yeah, I seen one of them savages sittin’ on top of that ridge just to the south. I wonder if they’s plannin’ a raid, or sump’n.”

Joshua shrugged. “I ain’t seen none but I got my .45-70 Sharps rifle and plenty of cartridges.” He gave a half-hearted wave to the men and left. His buckskins felt good in the chill of the November mountain air. The Indian on a pony was still there atop the ridge. In the blink of an eye, he was gone. Joshua spent his time on the way home thinking about what he would do if the Apaches came after his family.

Running Wolf sat rigid on his paint pony, angry at the destruction of his people’s hunting grounds by the white invaders. Their trashy village called Kentown marked the boundary of the reservation that Running Wolf was not allowed to cross. Even now, one of the hated white eyes was driving his wagon headed south from the village.

In 1874, faceless men in far away Washington made the decisions that starved his people. He reined his pony around hard, his bronze body tense with anger, and rode away to the south. The papooses in his tepee needed solid food to become stronger. There was a place to hunt game in the woods at the foot of the great hills. It was off the reservation but his family was hungry.

He longed for the lush grass of spring and summer, nearly up to his pony’s belly. But it withered in the snow at the half moon, earlier than usual. The geese flew south many suns ago. Small game were gone. Wild grain harvest was slim and the cook pots were near empty. True to Apache ways, the women said nothing, but Running Wolf knew their thoughts. He drove the pony to a faster pace.

Close to his hunting ground, there was another cursed sight. The hated strangers were appearing everywhere. A new sod hut was built into a rise across the meadow from the woods. Their garden was dead now, after the snow. Smoke rose from the hut. He cursed them again.

Running Wolf guided his pony toward the woods. It was a good place to hunt for deer, rabbits, or birds in the underbrush. The lower slopes of the mountain the Spanish called Del Norte Peak were his last hope before nightfall.

Tethering his pony on a hickory branch, he began a swift, silent exploration into the thick growth. The scent of the evergreens was right in the air. Deerskin leggings and shirt protected him from the dense underbrush. His wife, Moonbird, made the decorated deerskin cap he always wore. His legs were strained after guiding the pony for most of the day but he never allowed himself to be tired. If he had to, he would hunt until dark.

Working fast after returning to the hut, Joshua looked over the horizon again and again. Rushing to attach hinges to the door of the hut, he gave a final swing of his hammer. He dropped the hammer into his wooden tool box and went inside to get his hunting supplies.

“What are we going to do, Joshua?” Belle said. Her long, dark hair was braided into a crown around her head. She stirred the meager contents of a cast iron pot in the stone fireplace. A crude flue carried the smoke out.

“The children need something more than bean soup and I don’t have anything else. My garden is gone and I don’t know what to do.”

They struggled through a wagon trip from Missouri to the foot of the San Juan mountains to have a new life. The trip was hard and they barely made it to the Colorado territory in time to scrape out a garden for vegetables.

There was no gold under their feet, which was the reason for their journey. But there was land, with deep, rich soil for farming. With their cow for milk, and game to eat, they survived -- until the early snow.

Their sod hut at the foot of Buffalo Hill was ten miles from Kentown. The hut was warm but that was all he could say about it. They had enough food for a while, but the snow came.

Joshua concealed how worried he was. He knew that Belle gave a lot of her food to the children, Caleb, Deborah, and Saul. It made him ache inside to see how her figure barely filled out her floor length dress. He walked over behind her and put his big, work-hardened hands on her slim shoulders.

“I have plenty of cartridges for my rifle and I am going hunting again today, Belle. The game have been pretty scarce since the early snow but I will find something, even if it is a rabbit or two.” The hollowed eyes of his children playing on the floor pierced his heart.

He slung his leather bag on one shoulder and his Sharps .45-70 rifle on the other. Ammunition, jerky, and hardtack biscuits in the bag were all the supplies he had for the hunt. The coonskin cap was necessary for blending in with the dried underbrush and woods on the hillside. He turned for a last look at his family.

“I’ll come home as soon as I can.”

The children waved with faint smiles. Goodbye, Papa.”

He went with a long stride. They needed food. He could not fail. Approaching the tree line from the low hills of their sod hut, he wondered if he would have trouble with any of the Jicarilla apaches. The talk of the men in the store at Kentown about the possibility of Indian raids troubled him. Seeing the Indian himself made the threat even more real.

He studied the wind direction before entering the thick brush. The cold air sustained the pungent fragrance of evergreens and the earthy smell of moss and leaves on the ground. If the game smelled him, he and his family would go hungry. Stepping silently in his moccasins, he began a long journey into the woods. In the cold November afternoon, his breath was a vapor cloud drifting through his mustache. Beard and mustache were as useful as his buckskins in the winter to keep him warm. Tiny creatures scuttling through the dried leaves and humus on the ground made taint rustling sounds.

Nothing large enough to skin and eat came in sight. He trekked on into a level place he

had not encountered before. It was as wooded as the hillside but easier to walk in. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks. There was movement in the tall brush ahead. Was that the flicker of a black tip tail?

Mule deer had a black tip on the tail. Fog and shifting shadows in the trees made an accurate identification impossible. Joshua crept silently to his left to see through the breaks in the trees. The shadow moved slowly to the right. It was large. Some mule deer bucks grew to five feet at the shoulder and weighed 300 pounds. Joshua swallowed. Could this be one of those?

Running Wolf saw tracks in the crumbled leaves on the ground. The mossy humus made identification difficult but he believed it was a deer. A large deer. Joy leaped in his heart. His nostrils flared with the hunt. Ever faster, he slid his footsteps toe to heel. Silently, he traced the tracks. Was that a moving shadow through the brush? Instinctively, he kept position downwind of any game …this could be his best hunt in a moon.

There were antlers above the brush. Running Wolf swung his bow around into his left hand. Reaching over his shoulder, he slid an arrow from his quiver. There it was, a flicker of a black tip tail visible through the catclaw briers and rounded heaps of dried berry vines. A mule deer! There were many points on the antlers. A big mule deer. The deer stopped to eat from the fronds of a pine tree. Running Wolf stopped and held his breath. Arrow in place, he drew the cord back, his muscles strained with the power of the bow. His arm was strong and steady.

Over the brush, Joshua glimpsed the rack of horns. The buck still had his antlers. He counted twelve points. It was an enormous mule deer, yet he heard not a sound while the animal walked slowly, grazing on the foliage of the pine trees.

Joshua couldn’t believe that something the size of the 12-point buck could move silently through the mist in the trees. The buck moved in and out of the dark shadows beyond the underbrush. Silent in his moccasins, he muffled the cocking of his Sharps rifle with his wool gloves. He moved carefully across the moss-covered humus to remain downwind of his prey. The buck was still visible in the dim light of the dusk. Joshua raised the Sharps to his shoulder, sighted in on the stately animal and pulled the trigger.

Running Wolf loosed his arrow straight and true toward the deer. There was an explosion like a thunderclap from his left.

In a flash, the buck whirled and raced away. Joshua knew he could not have missed. Vaulting over a fallen tree, he ran after the buck. Dodging through the trees, he managed to keep the flickering image of the deer in sight. Sweating in his buckskins after several hundred yards at top speed, he began to wonder if he had scored a hit after all. Then he saw a trail of blood. The dark image ahead continued to run, but a little slower now.

Running Wolf knew he had not missed. The arrow was aimed at the heart of the buck. His family had to eat. Others in their wickiup had to eat. And one of the hated strangers was trying to steal their food. He ran for their lives, jumping, dodging, with brush tearing at his shirt and leggings, hands and ankles. From the corner of his eye, he saw a large, black-haired man with a rifle running after the deer.

From the corner of his eye to the right, Joshua saw something moving. He snapped his head for a fast look and saw an Indian running on a parallel path. Long bow in hand and quiver on his back, the Indian easily kept pace with Joshua.

The race continued toward the faltering buck. Each breath came hard with sharp pain. He wasn’t a seventeen-year-old kid any more. The hard frontier life took its toll. Winded, Joshua was relieved to see the buck had stopped about a hundred yards away. The Indian was distancing Joshua, who gave a hard extra effort.

The two arrived together at the staggering buck not ten yards apart. They stopped. Rifle in hand, Joshua stared at the tall, rigid figure of the Apache in deerskin shirt, leggings and loin-cloth. There were black painted arcs across each side of his face and hate in his eyes. Facing off over the prize, they glared at each other.

Heaving chest to get his breath, Joshua pointed his Sharps at the Indian, who had drawn a long knife, ready for a throw. Joshua’s gray eyes and the Indian’s brown eyes locked. The mule deer sighed and slowly sank to the ground.

The two hunters looked at their prey. Beside the bullet wound, an arrow was imbedded into the buck’s heart. Joshua kept his eyes on the Indian who had not moved a muscle, or relaxed his stance. The knife glistened in the moving beams of the setting sun. Joshua studied

the Indian and realized he was not a young brave and his face was thin.

Risking everything on a hunch, Joshua raised the barrel of his rifle and set the weapon against a tree. Facing the Indian, he made a cradle with his arms and rocked them side to side. Next, he leaned over and made three, level gestures: one from knee level, one at his hip, and a third to his waist. Then he placed his hand on his stomach and rubbed in a circle.

The Indian had a slight wrinkle to his brow, then came as close to a smile as an Indian was able. He holstered his knife, made two level gestures with his hands and the stomach circle. Joshua nodded and smiled.

As one, they drew their knives and began field dressing the buck. Their families would eat tonight. And perhaps there was a crack in the wall between their people. ?

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Some Tips on Correct Grammar

1. Take care on when to use a question mark and when one is not correct.

a. Wrong: I could not understand how he did that?

Correct: I could not understand how he did that.

b. Wrong: I tried to decide what is the best route?

Correct: I tried to decide what is the best route.

c. Wrong: I tried to decide. What is the best route.

Correct: I tried to decide. What is the best route?

2. o or oo – too can mean “excess” or “also”; to is a preposition.

a. Wrong: I am to tired to go on.

Correct: I am too tired to go on.

b. Wrong: You can eat to.

Correct: You can eat too.

c. Wrong: I must go too the meeting.

3. Till or ‘Til – either is correct, just don’t mix the two.

a. Wrong: I can wait ‘till the cows come home.

Correct: I can wait till the cows come home.

b. Wrong: She can sing til the Cardinal arrives.

Correct: She can sing ‘til the Cardinal arrives.

4. i.e. and e.g. – i.e. is a substitute for “that is.” e.g. is a substitute for “for example.”

a. Wrong: I saw many birds, i.e. crows.

Correct: I saw many birds, e.g. crows.

b. Wrong: There is only one road to my house, e.g. CR 4560.

Correct: There is only one road to my house, i.e. CR 4560.

5. Mr. and Mister, Dr. and Doctor – Mr. and Dr. precede a name; mister and doctor do not.

a. Wrong: See here, Mr., I don’t believe you.

Correct: See here, mister, I don’t believe you.

b. Wrong: Mister Jones will bring the evidence.

Correct: Mr. Jones will bring the evidence.

c. Wrong: Doctor Wilson has arrived.

Correct: Dr. Wilson has arrived.

d. Wrong: The dr. left yesterday.

Correct: The doctor left yesterday.

6. It’s vs. Its – It’s is a contraction for it is. Its is a possessive.

a. Wrong: Its wrong to lie.

Correct: It’s wrong to lie.

b. Wrong: The book was better than it’s cover.

Correct: The book was better than its cover.

With thanks to Jim Callan

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

WRITING CONTEST -- “FAMILY STORIES” -- NO FEE

December 21, 2009 to February 23, 2010

There is currently running a free-to-enter short story contest on BookRix for writers and readers. The theme is “Family Stories.” (No page limit)

Prizes include $1,800.00 in prize money for writers, and Amazon vouchers ($20 each) for voting readers.

Prizes for authors: First Prize: $1000

Second Prize: $500

Third Prize: $300

The 10 best-rated stories will be given to an independent jury consisting of the Georgia Writers Association and BookRix.

Go to http://www.bookrix.com/contest.html?contestID=BX_1261137553 for info.