WRiTE CLUB 2018 - Bout #3

Welcome back to WRiTE CLUB 2018. Today is our 3rd of 15 bouts with a fresh pair of contestants ready to muscle their way into the next round. For those of you who might have just stumbled in, let me give you a run-down of what is going on here.

Weeks ago the submission window opened for this year's contest where we asked anybody wishing to participate to submit a 500-word writing sample – using a pen name. The sample can be from any genre, flash fiction or something from a larger piece of work, basically, anything goes except that it cannot have been previously published or posted on the internet. All of the rules regarding how to submit can be found here. After the submission period closed, we had fifteen judges (we call them our slush pile readers) read all 181 submissions from 132 writers and once all the ballots were total we narrowed the 181 down to the 30 that will be stepping into the ring over the course of the next three weeks. Today is the first of those bouts.

How this works – two anonymous (pen name only) writing samples step into the ring. Visitors to this blog (that’s you) read both entries and vote for the one that resonates the most with you. We ask that you leave a brief critique for both writers with your vote because that is one of the real values of this contest – FEEDBACK. Please be respectful with your remarks!

Even though there will be a different bout every day (M-F), the voting for each bout will remain open for seven days from the date it is posted to give as many people as possible to have a say. The voting for today’s bout will close on Tuesday, April 24th (noon central time).

It’s that simple. The piece that garnishes the most votes moves on to the next round where they’ll face a different opponent. Using a tournament style format, the 30 contestants will be whittled down to just 2, and the winner of that final bout will be announced at the DFW Writers Conference in Hurst TX June 9-10. You can follow along with all of the bout results right HERE.

In case of a tie, I’m the deciding vote. I can do that because, like all of you, I do not know the real names of our contestants either (my wife processes all the submissions).

Oh yeah – for every bout that you vote in, your name (see rule #2 below) will be placed into a hat for a chance for a $40 Barnes & Noble Gift card that will be drawn after the contest concludes.

A few rules –

1) One vote per visitor per bout.

2) Although our contestants are anonymous, voters cannot be. Anonymous votes will not count, so if you do not have a Google account and are voting as a guest, be sure to include your name and email address.

3)Using any method (email, social media, text, etc) to solicit votes for a specific contestant will result in that contestant's immediate disqualification. It’s perfectly okay, in fact, it is encouraged to spread the word about the contest to get more people to vote, just not for a specific writer!

That’s enough jibber-jabber…like the man say’s –

In the far corner, we have Stella Sterling representing the Suspense genre.

I sit with my butt planted in the sand and my back resting against the Joshua tree. People think I’m outta my gourd, coming all the way out here for a phone call. But that tired, dusty phone booth—eight miles from the nearest paved road and fifteen miles from the closest highway—it’s my lifeline.

               The phone rings. It’s a harsh, metallic sound. It’s out of place in this scorching stillness.

               I scramble into the booth. “Hello?”

               Static.

               “H—hello?!”      

               That rhythmic, beautiful sound.

               The call disconnects.

               Relief crashes over me in a welcome torrent. My chest heaves with elation. I return the phone to its cradle as if I might hurt her by performing the task carelessly.

               I wave goodbye to the woman who’s standing in a wide stance a few yards away, hands on her lower back. She tips her head in acknowledgement. I don’t know when her call will come, but I sure hope it’s before sundown. I hike back to my truck, which I was instructed to park at least half a mile away. Something about interference. I keep my windows down and drive for two hours, the smell of desert sage all around me. It’s dark out when I get home. As soon as I pull into the driveway, my wife yanks open the front door.

               “Jimmy…” she says, a look of tentative hope on her face.

               I don’t scold her for being on her feet, which is against doctor’s orders. For the first time, I know that everything’s gonna be alright. “I heard her, Annie,” I say, bringing my hand to my wife’s round belly. “I heard her heart beat.”

               My wife erupts into tears and shaky laughter.

               I hold her and press my lips to the crown of her head. “We won’t lose another, Annie. This time, everything’s gonna be different.”

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And in the near corner, we have Richard Knight representing the Short Story/Fantasy genre.

The Various Wanderings of the Wondrous Wizard Rorr: The Ring

A slight breeze blew through the tower room.

“Sir,” Xed said, “might I reiterate that this is exceedingly dangerous?”

Rorr didn’t look up from the items in front of him. “Depends. Have you hit one thousand yet?”

“This would be warning nine hundred ninety-three, sir.” The thick book stood on the end of his worktable. It wobbled back, closer to the edge. Despite a lack of eyes, or a face, or any features to speak of, Xed looked worried.

Rorr didn’t blame him. One little slip up with such a powerful enchantment and he might well blow his entire tower to dust. Or another dimension. Or universe.

“Then you have seven more warnings to give in the next…” He glanced out the window. The sun would reach the midday apex any second. “…few seconds.”

“All right sir. I’ll save those in case you survive.” Xed lifted into the air and sailed across the room, landing on his back cover in the armchair by the fireplace with a soft thud.

Rorr raked the other bits and pieces he didn’t need off the table and onto the floor. He took a quick look around his tower. The huge single room looked as if a battle had been waged through it. In a way, one had.

Books older than the tower’s stones lay scattered everywhere. Bits of parchment covered the floor like stale snow. In the center of it all Rorr stood over his infusion table. He stared down at the six-pointed star he’d drawn on the flat white surface with an aeonic crystal. At each point sat a different item for the ritual. The top was an angel feather, light and pure. Given as a gift. To its right an air crystal plucked from the forehead of a griffin. Next a mote of fire. At the bottom sat a frozen black soul, the remains of a clumsy necromancer. Next a stone heart once belonging to the earth elemental who lived in his garden. Last, a kraken’s tear in a tiny vial. He’d almost drowned getting it.

In the center of the star sat a ring of solid omnium. The silver-white metal glinted as the sun moved into alignment with the hole in his roof overhead.

“Little bit more,” Rorr whispered, watching the beam of sunlight move onto the ring.

The beam hit the center of the table. A web of blue lines on the table lit up like lightning. Runes carved along the edge glowed so bright they stung his eyes.

“I’d step back if I were you sir!”

Rorr took a step back as energy swelled along the table’s crystal network. The swirling energy glowed brighter than a star. Rorr stepped back again. No such thing as too careful.

He reached into a pocket of his robes, took out his obsidian tinted goggles, and pulled them over his head. With a black tint over the world he could watch the enchanting process at work.

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Leave your votes and critiques in the comments below. Again, be respectful of your remarks and try to point positives as well as detractions.

We’ll be back tomorrow with another bout.  See you then.