mountainechoes

What are the top three reasons writers should consider attending a writers' conference? If you've never been to one, what would entice you to attend?

Recommend three short story or poetry collections/anthologies. Elaborate on your choices if you'd like.

Discuss the pros and cons of writers' workshops.

Now, send your questions, answers, and articles about writing to editor@mountainechoes.com.

Q & A from the Jan./Feb. Issue

What is the most valuable marketing tip you've ever received?

G. Brooks (Charleston, WV): To use directories, ads, contacts, etc., seeking out audience medium for my story.

Ginger Hamilton Caudill (Charleston, WV): Believe in yourself. Study your market. Submit your work. Keep submitting.

Avery Elzmyth (Haverhill, Massachusetts): Imagine being an editor, agent, publisher, script reader . . . What do you do every stinking rotten day of your career? You read manuscripts! You read them when you're sick. You read them when you're tired. You read them when you're sick and tired of reading. Are you looking for the next best seller? Uh-uh. You are looking for the slightest reason to reject that crappy manuscript so you can move onto the next crappy manuscript. Does it have poor punctuation? REJECT! Lousy grammar? REJECT! Unclear sentences? REJECT! Don't give these people a reason to reject your work. Before sending out your manuscript, make sure it's absolutely preefect. Oops! REJECT!

Brenda Hubbard (Canada): Analyze the publication you're considering writing for. Read previously written pieces and you will get a feel for what the editor or publisher is looking for. Although analyzing may take some time it's the best way to gear your piece for whom you're submitting to.

Colleen Neumann (Kenmore, New York): Read everything you can get your hands on.

How much consideration do you give to audience when working on a piece, or how much consideration should a writer give to audience?

G. Brooks (Charleston, WV): My personal approach is: I hope the audience we reach has similar interest in the story.

Ginger Hamilton Caudill (Charleston, WV): I don't usually consider the audience unless I'm writing it for a particular audience to begin with. For example, if I'm writing an interview for Goldenseal, of course I take the readership's preference into consideration, or if I'm writing a short piece for a themed contest, I take the preferences of the judge(s) into consideration. If I were entering a contest sponsored by The New York Times, for example, I would take the readership into account before submitting something written in a typical Southern storytelling style.

Avery Elzmyth (Haverhill, Massachusetts): I consider the audience before putting pen to paper. Right now I'm working on a dark, superhero type novel. I have to accept the fact that Einsteins are probably not going to buy this book. Politicians? Nope. Aggressive businessmen? Men of the cloth? Those who've been knighted by the queen of England? Not bloody likely. The ones who will read my story will not require me to dig deep into the thesaurus. Plain words for a fun story. Also, kids might pick it up, so no cursing or sexually graphic scenes. Boobs? Oh yes, there will be gigantic boobies!

Brenda Hubbard (Canada): Personally, I give all my attention to the audience when working on a piece. It's important to know your readership which means studying who you're writing for. Two of the main points I look for are age groups and readership levels. It makes no sense to write with words that an eighth grade reader may not comprehend, or to write a piece targeted for teenagers in a seniors publication.

Colleen Neumann (Kenmore, New York): If the inspiration comes from specific guidelines (i.e. contest, theme, or genre magazine), then audience takes a front seat. Otherwise, I write about what interests me, then search for an appropriate market.

Do you have some sort of system or schedule (that you're willing to share) that helps you to keep your writing and submissions organized?

G. Brooks (Charleston, WV): I defer to "Writing" magazine contributors with lots of insight and tips. I try to keep an open mind, but it comes down to what works for me as an individual. This must make writing an art (in addition to a craft?)

Ginger Hamilton Caudill (Charleston, WV): I use free software called Sonar. It was created by a writer, and it works very well for me. You can download it at: www.spacejock.com/

Avery Elzmyth (Haverhill, Massachusetts): I have to be inspired and really excited in order to write something. If I can be ho-hum and nine-to-five about it, then I probably wouldn't buy my own book.

Brenda Hubbard (Canada): Microsoft Access and Excel are both wonderful tools to keep track of submissions. A writer can create their own database tables, which include: titles, publishers, date sent, date of response, status, comments and even whether or not you've been paid. When all the information is created once, it's just a matter of adding or deleting records to stay on top of submissions.

Colleen Neumann (Kenmore, New York): I have a Word Document that lists all my submissions (Magazine, Date Submitted, Story Title, and other pertinent info). A color-coded system tells me at quick glance if the story is a new submission, is under consideration, has been rejected, or accepted.

What brainstorming or freewriting techniques have been particularly useful to you when trying to ward off that pesky writers' block?

G. Brooks (Charleston, WV): I abhor brainstorming and freewriting (get some discipline or something!) I have found I need my available time (even upon retirement) to pursue the story, something I want to write based on my own—hopefully not all selfish—interests.

Ginger Hamilton Caudill (Charleston, WV): I enjoy the Dada method of taking ten (or more) unrelated words and creating something cohesive from the list. An interesting prompt I read recently someplace said to write a piece describing how to do something no one knows how to do, such as travel through time or walk on the ceiling, etc. Anything that causes me to associate freely, works!

Avery Elzmyth (Haverhill, Massachusetts): In two words: flash fiction. (Okay, here are some more words.) I can always come up with an idea for a paragraph or a page, as long as it's quadruple-spaced with four inch margins. God appearing as the flame in a fireplace; front stairs that say 'Don't go in' when they creak . . . . They might not be publishable, but they may lead to a great idea for my next novel.

Brenda Hubbard (Canada): The dreaded writer's block is in my opinion a frame of mind. My solution to this problem is either a nightly or a morning journal. I tend to write rants, which help me to release stress. A few days later, I'll look back on them and tend to find a nugget which is worth writing about. Another great way of getting the "junk" out is to pick a word from the dictionary and freefall from it.

Colleen Neumann (Kenmore, New York): Good question. I'm experiencing a block right now! LOL Usually, this signals "the need to read," and I try to write anything . . . even if I have to put it onto my "what was I thinking!" page later on. I never toss anything I've written. Even the yucky stuff (told ya I had a block) may be worth something down the line. ■

On December 5, 1787, a Shawnee Indian party raided the Hacker's Creek settlement near present day Weston, West Virginia. White renegade Leonard Schoolcraft led the marauders. He was, sorrowful to relate, the writer's uncle, five generations removed. Tecumseh's Shawnees earlier had captured Leonard in the spring of 1779 near Bush's Fort on the Buckhannon River. Sixteen-year-old Leonard survived the deadly gauntlet run. In fact, he defended himself so well against the double line of missile and war-club wielding tribesmen and women, the Indians decided to adopt him into the tribe. He readily accepted their hospitality.

Then, in a strange psychological twist of mind, the boy somehow came to love his enemy and turned against his own kind with a frightful vengeance. A few young men in those days perceived life with the natives to be better, in some ways, than the hard frontier life confronting the pioneers. An Indian brave didn't have to work the farm – women did this kind of work. You didn't have to go to church. Cleanliness was not next to godliness. Your chief job was to hunt for food, which frontiersmen loved to do anyhow.

There is a legend that Leonard went back to the white settlement at Hacker's Creek to ask his favorite girl to join him with the Indians. She refused, and he secretly vowed to get even. Whether that is true or not, at age twenty-four, he led a brutal raid on the Hacker's Creek settlement. Settler Edmund West's young new bride, Mary Ann Hacker was killed; his little brother and others were killed. Mary Ann's little sister was fearfully wounded and famous local frontiersman Jesse Hughes' daughter was captured. The legend has it that Mary Ann was the one asked by Leonard to go live with him at the Shawnee village. Neighbors reported that they recognized Leonard on numerous additional Indian raids on the settlements.

Leonard Schoolcraft by this time had to know that a few months after his own capture, in the fall of 1779, his adopted tribal friends had committed one of the most dreadful massacres against a single family in the annals of the Western Virginia Frontier. While their father John was attending the election of a Militia captain at Bush's Fort, Leonard's own mother and his brothers, except two who were taken captive, and all his sisters, seven children total, were murdered in a Shawnee raid on their cabin near present day Weston. The murdered children's names were Lucy, Mary, Martha, Austin, Sarah, Polly, Nancy, and Charity. One family researcher reports a legend which has it that this particular raid was in retaliation for Mrs. Schoolcraft having abandoned her Indian tribe to marry a white man. Her name is said to be Miotoka Nyeswannen. If this is true, from her perhaps, come the high cheekbones, aquiline noses, and darker skin exhibited by certain family members.

During this second raid, two more young Schoolcraft boys were taken captive: Jacob, my third great-grandfather and his little brother John. Two years later, two more brothers, Simon and Michael were captured. Like Leonard, they too stayed with the Indians. The last male child, Matthias, was killed. By now the total was, in this one family, eight killed, five captured. A lonely entry on the 1782 census shows only father John Schoolcraft, who by then had no family left to be counted.

Leonard cannot have had a peaceful death. He clearly had become a black sheep in wolf's clothing as compared to the heroism amply performed by others in his family. His father John was a frontier scout and solder with Jesse Hughes in defense of the border settlements. A cousin James was a Militia Scout. His uncle Simon was wounded in 1772 while defending West's Fort. Other Schoolcrafts served in the frontier military, including a cousin John who served during the Revolutionary War for a time at Ft. Laurens in northeast Ohio near Canton.

But perhaps the most heroic episode of all was the escape from the Indians by the youngest two of the captured boys, Jacob and John. History does not record what fate held for Leonard and the other two boys, Simon and Michael, but fortunately for the writer and hundreds of other descendents, the two youngest did escape.

Jacob Schoolcraft had reached the age of reason when captured at the time of his family's massacre. He kept alive in his heart an iron determination to return home to his father. He kept this fire burning in the mind of his little brother John. Their captors took them to live in the archipelago of Shawnee towns in the Ohio country. When the boys became old enough to hunt, the Indians entrusted them with guns to fetch game for their adopted tribe. However, their powder and bullets were carefully measured out. They had to account for all their shots when they returned home with their kill. When the boys grew into young men, they plotted a daring escape. Over many months, they slowly built a cache of supplies to tide them over the long journey back home to West's Fort. They short-charged their powder and claimed an occasional miss or two so they could hide away an occasional bullet. By nature and necessity, they became dead accurate shots. They hid away nuts, some cracked corn, dried berries, and deer jerky for future use.

Finally, one fateful smoky summer day, they took their ration of powder and lead for the day's hunt. They left their hated prison camp never to return. They gathered up their food and cache of ammunition and carefully packed them in their blanket rolls. They left tracks for those sure to discover their absence. They doubled back a mile or so through a creek to throw off any followers. Then they quickly made off across the gentle Ohio hills. They put their supplies on driftwood logs and swam across the Ohio, then down from spring floods.

They ran silently, swiftly for hours at a time. They made no fire. Better to meet up with a bear or panther than to be spotted by Indians bent on dreadful vengeance. They followed the trail along the Little Kanawha watershed back into their long beloved Western Virginia country. So many years before, they had traveled this same trail in grim sorrow and tears secretly hidden from the Indians. Now they stayed well off the trail itself, out of sight and sound. They avoided the ridges where they would be outlined against the sky. They had a good day's start on their pursuers. When they were discovered missing at the evening fire, the Indians sure enough sent their fastest braves running off after them as Jacob and John knew they would.

That first night they found a safe cave high up in the rocks in the Little Kanawha Valley. Here they silently rested and eyed the warrior's path. They did not sleep. After a time, while the boys watched and gathered their strength, at long last the Indians came past trotting quickly down the trail. Feeling safe for the first time, the boys slept. They stayed put and ate from their meager rations. A nearby spring provided water. After a time, the Indians knew they had been tricked. They doubled back to carefully search the trail again. This was what the boys were waiting for. Now they knew that they had the lead they needed to stay ahead of their pursuers. They would have had exquisite tortures waiting for them if they could take them back to the tribe in Ohio.

When the boys got near to home, Indians, perhaps not the same ones, again overtook them. Shawnee, Delaware and Mingo raiding parties made forays into the border territory regularly from spring on into the aptly named Indian Summers of October and November. Good fortune smiled on the lads once more. They heard the Indians first and quickly jumped down under a riverbank and hid. They waited there until the warriors came back past their hiding place. The Indians weren't inept. The boys just beat them at their own game.

They then went on to West's Fort. After so many years as captives, the boys looked, dressed, acted, smelled, and talked like Indians. When they approached the Fort, they were fired upon. Realizing what was happening, they held their guns butt first up into the air as a sign of peace. They then were allowed to proceed inside the beech log walls of the Fort. After it was discovered who they were, Jacob and John were reunited with their stunned and dumfounded father who had long since given them up for lost. Joy ensued.

What subsequently happened to young brother John Schoolcraft is not recorded in the Chronicles of the Border. Jacob later settled not far from the familiar Indian trail along the Little Kanawha in the wilds of what became Calhoun County where he raised a large family. ■

Climbing

Descend

the mossy branches,

the quietly yawning boughs

into the sparkling emerald of a world

one day to be forgotten by the greed

of those who never knew

its quiet perfection.

a Tragedy of

modern

times.

Slide

down the

scattered

sunlight

of a bark

river

and plunge into

a lake of

pungent earth, remember

where it came from.

--Autumn Carter

Different Shades of Green

Different shades of green

announce spring as the

creek nearby swells with

winter thaw.

Wild onions, the darker shade of green

dot the hilltops

and the odor permeates

the air with its delicious aroma.

Sour grass, the brighter shade of green

lightens the valley floor

a tasty treat if you know where to look.

New grass, the brightest shade of all

surprises the eye

as it overshadows the dullness of winter.

A slight breeze dries the mud,

and warms my spirit.

I pause a moment

as a splash of yellow

catches my eye.

Small clusters of buttercups

accentuate all the growth,

A perfect compliment to all

the shades of green.

--Mindi R. Fitzpatrick

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