(Margins 1-1 1/2" all around) (First North American Serial Rights are
assumed for any story submitted in the U.S.
(Give legal name, mailing address, phone #, Include rights at top right only if the rights being
and email address.) sold are different.)




Igor Beaver Writer		 200 words
1313 13th Street (Word count rounded to the nearest 100)
Rancho Rico, CA  99999
(555) 555-1212 (No copyright notice.  The publisher will file the
ibwriter@anywhere.com copyright for you if they purchase the story.)

 

 

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AWARD WINNING SHORT STORY

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by

(Drop down 2 lines and type your penname here)

I.B. Writer



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(Indent paragraph start five spaces.)




     It was a dark and stormy night.  Jed, a lanky

                                                      
(Double-space between lines.)

Arkansan with that starved, hungry look so common to

aspiring writers, cursed that cliché.  Every time he

                                                                    (Put two spaces between sentences.)

sat down to his swap-meet-reject computer, he typed

that same accursed line.

     "Buck, get off your damned doghouse!  How do you

expect me to write my award winning short story with you

sittin up there like that?"

     The old bloodhound threw him a toothy yawn.

     "Don't make me come out there, you dumb ol' mutt,"

Jed said.  He shook his fist at the dog, but the dog

    


(Maintaining your 1-1 1/2" margins, place a tag line at the top upper right of every page except the first page.  (Editors and agents often hold or paperclip manuscripts on the left side, so you want all your information visible on the right.)  The tag must include: the title in capital letters (or a shortened version for longer titles, the writer's last name, and the page number.)
AWARD WINNING/Writer - 2




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(If you are using a word processor, turn off Widow/Orphan protection.)
just laid his head down and went back to sleep.

    "Dumb ol' mutt," Jed repeated.  He turned back to

his computer.

     It was a dark and stormy . . . night.

                                                                       (Space out ellipses.)

     Jed stopped typing.  He got up, removed all the

cables from the back of the computer, and pitched it

through his bedroom window at the dog.   It made a

satisfying crash as it broke the glass but fell short of

the doghouse by several feet.

     Damn.

(Underline text you want italicized.)

     Buck raised his ponderous head and looked toward

Jed with bloodshot eyes.  "Missed me," he said.

     Jed stared at the old bloodhound in disbelief.  A

talkin dog--now there was a story that would win awards.

(Use two hyphens to represent a dash.)

He hoped his computer still worked.

 


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THE END

     

 

Copyright © 1999 Hamilton Mac Alester