Elizabeth Scott Media

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How-To Article

Short Non-Fiction Article

In-Depth Non-Fiction Article

Essay

Fiction


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Real Estate Advertisement

The key to writing real estate advertisements that get results is to turn negative characteristics into positive features.

We all know that "cozy" means "small" but there's much more to it than that.

In Northern New Mexico, where I live, grass lawns are rare. Most yards are filled with sagebrush. This becomes an asset if advertised as "low maintenance yard" or even "no maintenance yard."

Other drawbacks can be made into selling points.

Here is an actual ad I wrote:

SUPER CLEAN 1 BR 1 BA 700 sq. ft. casita on 2.5 acres in desirable Blueberry Hill area. Viga ceiling. Low maintenance yard. Nice mountain views. Lot can be subdivided for another homesite. Live in casita while you build your dream house. ASKING $230,000

Doesn't "casita" sound romantic? Wouldn't you love to live in one while you build your dream home?

It's all in how you sell it!

Of course, it's easy to write an ad when the house is perfect, but I can make the perfect house sound even better.

ELEGANT AND SPACIOUS 4 BR 3 BA home in upscale Upper Colonias. This spacious pueblo style home sits on 1 acre and has 2 courtyard areas with hot tub and a portal for enjoying the pleasant summer breezes. Open floor plan has dramatic foyer with 20 ft. ceiling, a great room with lots of picture windows to take in the spectacular Taos Mountain. Spiral staircase to 3rd level viewind deck for those fabulous Taos sunrises and sunsets and a 360 degree view of the mountains. Ideally located 15 minutes to town and 15 minutes to the World Famous Taos Ski Valley. Excellent rental history. ASKING $469,000

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How-To Articles

This is a very brief, "step-by-step" how-to article.

How To Refinish Furniture

(For the purposes of this article, I'll refer to the piece of furniture as a table, but of course the instructions apply to any piece of furniture.)

Before you begin, make sure the table isn't a valuable antique. Refinishing an antique could lessen its value.

Be sure you work in a well-ventilated area, preferably outdoors.

  1. Put a dropcloth down on the floor (or ground) and put the table on the dropcloth.

  2. Remove the old finish. Using a nylon-bristle brush, apply a thick coat of chemical stripper. Work in a small area at a time, so the stripper doesn't dry out before you can remove it. Let the stripper sit for 15 to 20 minutes, then remove with a plastic putty knife. Use coarse steel wool for carved, curved, or other detailed areas. Depending on the condition of your table, you may need to repeat the above steps another one or two times. Once all the old finish is removed, soak a piece of cheesecloth with mineral spirits and wipe the cloth all over the table. Let dry for 30 minutes.

  3. Sand the table. First, use a medium, 150-grit sand sponge. Then use a fine, 220-grit sand sponge. Work with the grain of the wood, not against it. Remove the dust with a tack cloth. Then apply a thin coat of wood conditioner using a clean piece of cheesecloth.

  4. Apply the stain. Using a clean, dry foam brush, paint the table with a thin coat of stain. Let it absorb for 10 to 15 minutes, then wipe off excess with a clean piece of cheesecloth. This time, wipe against the grain, not with it. If you want a darker finish, apply a second coat of stain, repeating the above steps. Let the wood dry completely, about five hours.

  5. Apply the finish coat. Using a tack cloth, wipe the table to remove any dust. Open the can of polyurethane, but do NOT shake it first. Once it is open, stir it gently with a wooden stick to remove any air bubbles. Apply a thin layer of the polyurethane with a brush. Let the finish coat dry overnight. Lightly buff with fine steel wool to remove any imperfections in the surface. Use another clean tack cloth to remove the dust. Apply a second coat of polyurethane, repeating the above steps. Let the table dry overnight again. Then, bring inside and enjoy!
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Short Non-Fiction Article

This is a very short (only 200 words) article. It gives a brief overview of the subject.

Dog Agility

Dog agility is a fun and fast-growing sport in which a handler guides a dog through an obstacle course. This is done through the handler's voice and body language; no "treats" are allowed and the handler cannot touch the dog or the obstacles. It is a race for accuracy as well as time.

The course consists of obstacles such as jumps, tunnels, a tire, a pause table, weave poles, a see-saw, and an A-frame. Each obstacle has its own rules. For example, when going through the weave poles, the dog must enter to the right of the first pole and weave each one until they exit the last pole going to the left. Dogs are faulted for breaking these rules or for taking obstacles out of order. Every course is arranged differently, laid out by the judge. Handlers are allowed a short walk-through before the competition starts to decide how to best guide the dog through the course. As the dog and handler move up to higher levels of competition, the obstacle course becomes more challenging.

Success in agility requires teamwork between handler and dog, but it can be a lot of fun for both of them.

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In-Depth Non-Fiction Article

Coming Soon

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Essay

Coming Soon

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Fiction

This is a short story I wrote for a contest, but in the end, I didn't enter it in the contest. The theme of the contest was "The Envelope" so that is the title of the story.


The Envelope

The rain pounded so hard as it fell, I didn't hear the pounding on my front door at first. Only when it grew louder and more insistent did I hear it. I approached the door, baseball bat in hand. "Yeah?" I asked, adding a menacing tone to my normally docile voice.

"It's Luke. Let me in!"

I barely opened the door and he forced it open, rushing in and running to the other side of the room. He stood, panting, as the water dripped to the floor. I waited until he caught his breath. "What's going on?"

"Charlotte, you've got to hide me."

I smiled and handed him a towel. Luke always did have a flair for drama. "What's going on?"

"It isn't funny, not this time. Jeff's after me."

Jeff. Luke's older brother. I hadn't heard his name in more than a year and had been trying to forget him for longer than that. I'd had a crush on him in high school, but he rejected me soundly. He did it so cruelly my crush turned to near hatred. Luke and I had become close friends after that, bound together by our loathing of Jeff. Now we never spoke of him; Jeff and I had graduated from high school a year before and Luke was about to graduate. "Why?" I asked tightly.

"This," he said, pulling a large envelope from under his jacket and handing it to me.

"A treasure map? A million dollars?"

"Jeff's past."

"Does he have an illegitimate kid or something?"

"That pious twerp? No. But this isn't the only reason he's after me."

"What then?"

"I tried to shoot him tonight."

"What?!"

"Damn gun jammed; first time that's ever happened to me. Idiot left the room to call the cops so I ran out and came here."

Thunder boomed and a flash of lightning illuminated the room. I sank to the floor, unable to stand up any longer, unable to make it over to the couch. I felt like I was going to throw up. "They'll know you came here. I can't hide you."

"Then just hide the envelope and I'll leave."

"What's in it?"

"Jeff's identity."

"I already know his identity. Jackass."

"This is true," Luke said and laughed bitterly. "But once he turned 18, Jeff sent away for his birth parents' information. Now I've got it."

"Why do you care?" Early in our friendship Luke had told me that both he and Jeff were adopted. That explained why they looked so different -- Jeff so slender and delicate, and Luke so muscular and strong.

"Because for the first time in my life I have something he wants. He'll have to give me something good to get this envelope. I finally have power over him." Luke had a huge, satisfied grin on his face. He'd always lived in Jeff's shadow. Their parents, the teachers at school, everyone had always favored Jeff, Luke didn't help any by continually getting into trouble, but that was his way of getting attention.

"Is that why you shot him?"

"No." He began thumping his left hand with his right fist. I don't think he even knew he was doing it.

"Luke, talk to me," I said gently. I'd always been able to calm his demons, but I had a feeling this one was beyond me.

The telephone rang and we both jumped. "Don't answer it," he said.

"I have to."

"Don't tell him I'm here."

I answered the phone, but wasn't prepared for the voice I would hear. "He's with you, isn't he?" Jeff's voice, harsher than I'd ever heard it, demanded with no introduction.

"Nice to talk to you, too. What are you talking about?"

He exhaled dramatically. "Is Luke with you?"

"No. What's wrong?"

"I really don't want to get into it with you," he said, a nasty edge to his voice. "Look, if he calls you or shows up on your doorstep, you have to call me. I'm at my parents' house. It's extremely important. It's a matter of life and death. Luke's and yours." He hung up.

"Jackass," I muttered. "O.K., I told him you're not here. Now what?"

"I don't know." He began pacing back and forth across my living room. "I thought I knew what I was doing, but now I just don't know." He looked at me, panicked. "Tell me what to do."

"Why did you try to shoot him?"

"He taunted me."

"About what?"

"Birth parents. Now he'll know his and I'll never know mine. Our adoptive parents helped him. They know his birth date and where he was born. They don't know anything about me." Luke stopped pacing and slumped beside me on the floor.

"I didn't know that bothered you."

"I didn't know either. Until he got that damn envelope in the mail today. And then when he saw it. . . he just gloated. He was so mean." For the first time, Luke didn't sound angry or panicked. He sounded like an inconsolable little boy. I put my arms around him and held him close. Another clap of thunder and almost instantaneous flash of lightning made us both jump. I held him even closer for a moment, then let go.

"Does he know you have it?"

"Yeah."

"Then I have an idea. Bargain with him. Tell him you'll give it to him if he gets the cops off your back. And if he doesn't, you'll burn it."

A small grin appeared on Luke's face, and then grew larger. "I never knew about this devious side to you."

"Do you think he'll agree? If we burn it, he'll just send away for it again."

"He's waited eight months for this. Now that it's here, he won't want to wait another eight months."

"Now all you have to do is call him." I handed him the telephone.

Luke hesitated, and then took it from me. He hesitated again before making the call. "It's Luke. I have a proposition for you. I'll give you the papers if you call off the cops and drop all the charges."

I held my breath and waited as Luke listened to whatever Jeff was saying.

"I'm at Charlotte's." He hung up the phone and we both exhaled at the same time. "He agreed. He'll be here in a few minutes."

Jeff was coming here? I hadn't planned on that. I hadn't seen him since graduation and except for our brief earlier phone conversation, hadn't talked to him in almost two years. I ran my fingers through my hair a couple of times, fluffing it out. I looked around my apartment, hoping it wasn't too messy, wondering what Jeff would think of it, and hating myself for wondering that.

We lived in a small town, so I knew it wouldn't take him long to get there. Much too soon, there was a knock on the door. Luke and I looked at each other, neither of us willing to answer it. "It's your place," he finally said.

I opened the door and Jeff hesitated before entering. "You don't have a gun here, do you?"

"No, just a baseball bat," I said, indicating the bat in its place beside the front door. He still looked scared, and I remembered he'd almost been shot just an hour before. "Are you O.K.?" I asked gently.

"Yeah." For an instant he had an friendly look on his face, but just as quickly it disappeared and was replaced with the normal hardened look he'd always given me.

I couldn't remember what I'd ever seen in him, but at the same time, there was a hint of physical attraction. He was better looking than the last time I'd seen him. He'd filled out a bit and gotten contact lenses. I didn't know his eyes were so green. "Damn," I said under my breath. "Come on in," I said out loud to Jeff.

It had stopped raining; he wasn't wet at all. He went to the living room and he and Luke stared at one another wordlessly for several seconds. "Give me the papers," he said.

"Drop the charges first," Luke answered. "You got here so fast, I know you haven't done that yet."

"I want the papers first."

"Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I don't."

"Here," I said, holding up the envelope to show Jeff that it was still sealed. "It hasn't even been opened yet." I put it on the table where they could see it. "Now call the cops and drop the charges."

"I don't know if they'll let me just drop them. Attempted murder is pretty serious."

One of the benefits of living in a small town is that everyone knows everyone. "Who'd you talk to before?" I asked.

"Bernie," Jeff admitted, aware that his excuse wouldn't work.

Bernie was my cousin. "If you don't call him, I will."

After Jeff finished on the telephone, he reached for the envelope, but I grabbed it before he got it. "I knew it," he said. "It was just a trick."

"It wasn't a trick. I'll give this to you in a minute. But you need to hear the rest of the story first. Do you know why Luke wanted to shoot you and why he took off with these papers?"

"No."

"Because you hurt his feelings when you taunted him. You've found out who your birth parents are, but he'll never know about his. You were unbelievably cruel about that, don't you see?"

"He doesn't care."

"Yes, I do!" Luke suddenly bellowed. He'd been uncharacteristically silent ever since Jeff arrived, but now his pain and anger were clear.

"Have a little sympathy for him," I told Jeff. "You have something you've always wanted, but it's something he's always wanted and he'll never have." We stared at each other silently for several seconds. It seemed like hours. I knew the look on my face; I'd used it once before. It was part sadness, part anger. It was all pain. "Be the good person everyone thinks you are," I said.

"O.K.," he said reluctantly. I handed him the envelope and he left without another word.

Luke and I looked at each other and he smiled sadly. "I don't care what anyone says; you're the good one," I told him.

The rain began to fall again.

© 2006 by Elizabeth Scott

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Writing is thinking on paper.
~William Zinsser


If you read good books, when you write, good books will come out of you.
~Natalie Goldberg


The task of a writer consists in being able to make something out of an idea.
~Thomas Mann