WRiTE CLUB 2019 - Preliminaries - Round 7

For anyone just discovering us, WRiTE CLUB is a tournament-style competition that runs during the eight weeks prior to the DFW Conference (who is also a sponsor) and it provides writers the opportunity to compete against one another for a chance to win a host of prizes, topped off by a free admission to the following year’s conference. Our writers have submitted 500-word writing samples under pen names and they'll be appearing in head-to-head in “bouts”, with the winner of each match determined by you the reader—by voting for your favorites. Bout winners keep advancing until there are only two remaining and that’s when a panel of celebrity judges, who include well know authors, agents, editors, and other publishing folks, choose the ultimate champion.

Even though the contest is sponsored by DFW, anyone can vote (as long as you have a Google sign-in or verifiable email address), and when you do, we encourage you to leave a mini-critique for both writers. Oh, I forgot to mention that the voters have a chance to win a $60 Barnes and Noble gift card. Each time you vote in a bout your name will be placed in a hat and at the end of the contest, one name will be selected to receive the prize. And as an added incentive to keep readers coming back for more, we're upping the ante. Readers who place a vote in EVERY bout will have their names placed in a second hat and the name selected from that pool will win a $40 Barnes and Noble gift card. Double the chances of winning!

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 I post it to give as many people as possible to have a say. Voting for today’s bout will close on Monday, May 13th (noon central time). To help keep up with which bouts are open, you can follow along on the WRiTE CLUB Scoreboard updated right HERE.

It’s that simple. The writing piece that garnishes the most votes will move on to the next round where they’ll face a different opponent. 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).

A few more 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 cause 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!
4) Although more of a suggestion than a rule - cast your vote before you read other comments. Do not let yourself be swayed by the opinions of others.

That’s enough of the fine print…like the man says –

For our 2nd bout of the week, we have OpheliasPansies on one side of the ring representing the Science Fiction/Romance genre.

 Nyx couldn’t feel her fingers or toes. Her consciousness waned as someone carried her down the corridor of a ship. It looked like the Thanatos, but the blur of the tan panels as they sped by could’ve been any other ship.

She moaned, and a deep voice hushed her. Her black jumpsuit was soaked and white parka frost-covered. She shivered, iced to the bone.

A door slid open, and the person cradling her set her on a soft bed.

Fingers unzipped the parka, unbuttoned the front on her uniform, and peeled the wet fabric from her body. The white tank underneath clung in frozen folds. Nothing was going to heat her back up.

Her eyes fluttered as the hulking figure of Malcam sat her up and pulled off her underclothes, then wrapped her in a dry blanket. He laid her down and piled her wet hair on a towel, melting the icicles at the ends. Maybe it was time to cut it again, her head spun through the drowse of cold.

A weight settled next to her, hot. Arms circled her, pulled her close, and her uneven breath slowed, heartbeat steadying. A hand rubbed hard against her arm.

She didn’t understand why Malcam was so insistent. He was her enemy.

She tried to turn, but the blanket wrapping her was tight, and her limbs cold-numbed. Something had happened. She wouldn’t die because of the nano-bots in her blood. Couldn’t die. But she was in danger of losing consciousness, maybe forever.

She fought to open her eyes.

Malcam’s voice whispered, panicked. “Come on. Don’t go to sleep.”

She muttered, tongue thick.

“That’s it. Stay awake. Stay with me. Don’t leave me.”

Nyx flexed her fingers, tiny motions, painfully, one-by-one. She hadn’t lost any to frostbite.

“That’s it. Move. Just a little.” His voice frantic.

He pressed his fiery feet against her tingling toes. The pain of the temperature difference seared through her legs. She pushed her toes, hardened by the cold, straight. She curled them. They wouldn’t move.

Malcam wrapped his legs and twined his feet with hers, pouring heat from his body.

Nyx’s cold-fogged mind dimmed. Her nano-bots wouldn’t allow damaged tissue to be a part of her system. Frostbite could be battled, but she could still lose her toes, her feet. The nano-bots would cut off resources to that part of her system if deemed irreparable. They would concentrate on what could be fixed. So, she had to move her toes to prove to the system they were viable.

She gripped Malcam’s hand. He clutched hers back. She squeezed her toes down as hard as she could, pain ripping through her legs. Her toes clenched, gently scratching the tops of his feet.

Nyx rolled her head towards Malcam, their faces close, lips nearly touching, his breath on her face. She blinked, engulfed in his bright blue gaze.

He wrapped a hand to her forehead.

He was dangerous. He shouldn’t be helping her. She shuddered. She’d owe him now.

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On the far side of the ring, we have Daisy who is representing the Speculative genre.

I couldn’t remember anything before Room 23.

I was unemployed and my apartment was the best place no money could buy. I slept in a bed as soft as a dropped burrito. Butlers scooped pellets into my bowl, and I made bigger pellets in my corner bathroom. At least I lived next to my brothers. I thought I’d get to forever.

Dr. Willis named us all Jeremiah. We looked the same from snout to tail. Jeremiah One was a hot mess. Jeremiah Two was feisty but stuck up. Jeremiah Three was adventurous. Jeremiah Four was restless. Jeremiah Five was all heart. He’d push his nose to the plastic wall. It meant, “I love you.”

I understood doctors, but they only understood me when I bit them. I tried to tell them that I didn’t like stabbers or pinchers, but doctors aren’t smart. Biting is the universal language. Jeremiah One was fluent, so the doctors arrested him and took him away.

The doctors knew we missed our brother, so they gave us matching back tattoos.

I said, “Give me a skull with a snake coming out of its eye,” all they heard was, “oink.”

The tattoo involved stabbing me millions of times, so I informed the doctors that I did not want a tattoo any more. I told them by biting.

I still had four brothers left. A few weeks after our tats, two of my brothers shuffled out of Room 23 on blue leashes. They weren’t like Jeremiah One. They didn’t bite. Jeremiah Three and Four were the best little porkers I’d ever seen. Before they left, they were quiet. They threw up and laid still most of the time, but they still got arrested.

Later, Jeremiah Two left. He had blue ears and was asleep when he got wrapped in blue blankets. He rode out on the Magic Table. None of them came back.

Then, Jeremiah Five started throwing up. I tried to warn him about the doctors, but he wasn’t the crispiest bacon in the pan.  

The next day, he was too tired to stand. He slept with his eyes open. Dr. Willis came in to feed us, but she noticed and ran into his apartment. She left my door cracked.

“Watch out. Bite her!” I screamed through the plastic wall.

Dr. Willis tightened a blue leash around my brother’s neck. He didn’t move. My door was open. I could try to run out and knock her down. I could save him. Instead, I hid under my cushion.

A butler helped slide Jeremiah Five onto the Magic Table. Dr. Willis pulled on the table until it grew tall. She folded a blue blanket over him. His eyes were still open, but he wouldn’t look at me. I peeked out a little further.

“Don’t leave! You’re too handsome to go.”

He looked like me until his ears turned blue.

She wheeled him away.

“I’ll miss you, and I love you,” I said, but all that came out was, “oink.
 ##############################################################################

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

Before we sign off I wanted to address the issue a few readers are having with not being able to post comments, or having those comments show up as UNKNOWN even though they have a Google Account.  There are several things at play here. First, if you are using the Safari or Chrome browsers they have a known problem with Blogger and you have two choices. Switch to Firefox as a browser (I've never had a problem using it), or change the setting on Safari as illustrated below.

The other problem is Blogger not recognizing you when adding a comment and therefore designating you as UNKNOWN. This could happen if the reader is a Blogger user themselves and they have not changed their settings since Google + went away.  To do this, follow these steps:

Go to Blogger dashboard.
SETTINGS
USER SETTINGS
Set User Profile = Blogger (instead of Google +)
Save

Hopefully, that will resolve everyone's issues and let the votes/comments reach our contestants. If you missed the first two bouts because of one of these issues, remember the bouts remain LIVE for a week so you can still go back and let your choice be known.

We’ll be back on tomorrow for another exciting bout. Please help all our writers out by telling everyone you know what is happening here and encourage them to come vote.

This is WRiTE CLUB—the contest where the audience gets clobbered!