WRiTE CLUB 2021 - Preliminary Bout #12

The bouts continue - with just four more remaining. As a reminder, the voting for each bout remains open for an entire week, so if you missed one or two you can always go back and catch up.

Here's a reminder of what is happening. WRiTE CLUB (sponsored by Wild Lark Books) is a tournament-style contest that will run for nine weeks (which includes a week break for the holidays). It provides writers the opportunity to compete against one another for a chance to win a free publication package (along with other prizes). Here’s the kicker—it’s all done anonymously. Writers have submitted 500-word writing samples under pen names. The chosen (decided by a group of twelve slush pile readers) are paired off to go head-to-head in daily “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.

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, the voters can win a $50 Wild Lark Books gift card. Each time you vote in a bout your name will be placed into a hat and at the end of the contest, one name will be selected to receive the prize.

How this works—two anonymous (pen name only) writing samples are waiting in the ring below. Visitors to this blog (that’s you) should read both entries and then vote by leaving a comment for the one that resonates with you the most. We also 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 I post it to give as many people as possible to have a say. Voting for today’s bout will close on Mon, Jan 3rd (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. What is okay, in fact, encouraged, is to spread the word about the contest to get more people to vote, just not for a specific writer!

That’s enough of the fine print…here we go!

On one side of the ring stands ch3ru representing the Sci-Fi genre.

“So, we should probably talk,” Leah says by way of greeting.

 She sits down with a tray-sized plate heaped with what looks like one of everything on the human-consumable menu, plus a few slices of bright orange fruit from some distant alien world. She starts cutting small, orderly squares from one section of her plate, elegant manners strangely at odds with the pile of carbohydrate-rich layers liberally soaked in with a sticky caramelized sugar syrup.

 “Um,” Sol begins intelligently. We should talk. A particularly charged human expression, and that is where Sol's knowledge ends. Why are emotions so complicated? Every time Sol thinks they've found a baseline, some new variable appears and changes the whole equation.

Something like Leah.

“Why don’t I start?” Leah says, after swallowing a bite of fruit. “I won’t lie—last night was pretty mind-blowing. That's probably an understatement, but it’s the only word I can think of right now. Also, I like someone who can beat me at cards, and doesn’t run out of things to say.”

“I’ve been told I have a tendency to ramble, actually,” Sol admits, feeling unbalanced. They run a quick diagnostic on their internal gyroscope, but the scan comes up normal. This isn’t how they expected the conversation to go.

“I didn’t mind. You’re passionate about your work, and you know I like the sound of your voice. But anyway.” Leah sets down her utensils and pushes the tray aside to lean forward, mirroring Sol’s posture. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you again, getting to know you better. Maybe see if this has somewhere to go, y’know? But this isn’t a one-way street. If last night is all you want, that’s fine with me too. No hard feelings, and we can still be friends."

Sol is listening, but… Her mouth. It glistens faintly from where the piece of fruit slid across her lips. Sol recalls the taste of lips, of her skin; the sight of her mismatched fingers on white keys; the sound of her laughter; neon lights painting her skin bright colors in the night; the way she patiently taught them the rules to one game after another; the ease of trading anecdotes, stellar cartography for musical studies, a childhood in the colonies for the solitary existence of android mission directives.

And neither of them ever seemed to get bored. All this and more, collected into a newly-formed partition set aside in Sol's memory banks just for her.

Sol reaches out to take her hand. Warm flesh and blood in cool, malleable plasteel. She’s smiling softly, as if she already knows what they're about to say. Perhaps she does, through that uncanny and unquantifiable method of human intuition.

"I think I like the sound of that. Seeing if this has somewhere to go," Sol says, and is glad to see Leah's smile widen. Her grip on their hand shifts she can lean in, and Sol follow's her lead, optics deactivating.

Her lips are just as sweet and soft as Sol remembers.

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On the far side of the ring, we have Battlestar Bear who represents the Fantasy genre.

He didn't have a destination in mind, but when Jael found himself on the catwalk of one of the three watchtower spires, he finally slowed himself to stand and look out across the great river that wound down from the Dark Mountains to the north. The sun was low across the foothills to the west, casting a warm glow across the cool stone railing.

Jael gripped the edge and leaned forward. The wind was wild at this height and he closed his eyes to listen to it as it whipped and whistled around his head. Autumn was fast approaching and there was a tang of wood smoke and leaves in the air. He breathed in deeply and reached for his power. It responded like an eager child, ready to come out and play.

He stood back from the rail and lifted his hands in front of him. Regealth had been trying to teach him how to meter the amount of magic he called forth.  "Little sips and tastes," the old mage had explained. Now, Jael raised his hands and called two wisps of blue electricity. The magic wound through his fingers, the tendrils of energy pulsing and crackling as they snaked over the backs of his hands.

He watched it, his eyes narrowing as he tried to gather it in his palms. The magic fought him and he grimaced, applying more focus. Some of the strands started to pool together, but others broke off and continued their strange game of chase around his fingers.

"Sky magic is always so temperamental," a lilting voice said from behind him.

Jael dropped his hands and the blue energy dissipated into the air like tiny lightning bolts. He turned to see a very young woman peek around the curve of the spire. She grinned.

"Ah," he breathed out, "you found me."

"Aye, my lord," she said, coming closer.

Jael held his hands back up in front of him.

"I don't know why it won't do what I wish," he murmured.

The young woman smiled again. She held one hand up, a crackling sphere of green energy sitting neatly in her palm.

"Sky magic is hardest because it is all around us," she began. The sphere flattened out and began to form a swirling disc.

"It is like a horse."

She drew her fingers together and pulled down, calling the disc to form a cyclone. The wind began to whip around them faster, as if reacting to her magic.

"You must stay in control so it will do as you ask."

Jael watched in wonder as she used her other hand to twirl above the spinning cyclone. Fine tendrils of energy spun out like glass, shimmering in the late afternoon sun. Then, with one swift move, she pulled her hands apart and the magic scattered like a fine mist that settled over them both and flickered away.

"Show off," Jael smirked.

"Regealth won't let me play like this when we study," Isabela chuckled.

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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.

Finally, in order to keep this contest going AND GROWING, I'm asking folks to donate to the cause on my Ko-fi account. Let me assure you, 100% of the donations will go towards the contest prizes for this year and next!

We’ll be back tomorrow with bout #13. Please help all our writers out by telling everyone you know what is happening here and encouraging them to come vote.

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