WRiTE CLUB 2021 - Preliminary Bout #10

 

Here is the final bout of the week.  We will take a break next week as I'm certain everyone will be distracted preparing for the holidays. We will return on Dec 27th with the last five preliminary bouts. Here is what the upcoming schedule will look like.

Remember, 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 Thur, Dec 23rd (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 Vaxxxy representing the Political Fiction genre.

I drop the basket on my brother's bed and happy dance as I wait. There's a flush and the sink running before he saunters in.

"You're in my room?"

I hold up his card. "You're vaccinated! We can hug!"

I throw my arms wide, bouncing on the balls of my feet, my skin flushed from the joy radiating through me. "Hug me! You have no idea how much this means to me."

He storms to his window.

"Get out and never touch my stuff again." He opens it so fast the panes shake.

"What?" I wrap my arms around myself. The windows aren't alone in shaking.

He leans on the sill, hanging his upper body outside. "I'm not vaccinated. Put it down and get out."

"But," I look at the card, "it says you are. Why would you hide this from me?"

"I'm not vaccinated! That thing was expensive. Put it down and get out. I can't even take a crap around here. You needed the dryer that bad? You couldn't just wait five minutes for me to finish using the toilet?"

He beats his fist against the sill. "What possessed you to go through my wallet? Hard up for cash? Take the money, leave the card, and get out."

Tears burn my cheeks. "I don't understand."

"It's a fake. I needed it to get into places, like that concert, okay? This is the real world."

My legs give out. I collapse on the floor at the foot of his bed. The card escapes my hand, drifting away to the unfolded laundry. "But that's not right."

"Didn't ask your opinion." He thumbs his phone.

"People there believed you're vaccinated. That it was safe to breathe around you."

He shrugs. "I don't have a fever. That vaccine is a lie. I'm not putting that stuff in my body. They think they can take my choice away, force my obedience, by carding me? Screw that. I'll drink if I want. I'll smoke if I want, and I'll attend a concert if I want."

My heart breaks more with each beat. "It isn't like a fake ID. You're endangering others. People believe they're safe. What if it were me? What if I were there?"

"Yeah, right," he rolls his eyes and laughs sarcastically. "You don't go anywhere. You don't live life. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're a survivor. But for what? This house isn't the world. I can't be like you. I want experiences. And some dumb rule isn't going to stop me."

I bite the edge of his blanket as I scream. I press my legs together as tight as they'll go, but a little urine escapes anyway. Everything goes dark.

Cool hands are on my arms.

"Get away," I plead. "You aren't vaccinated"

"It's me. Your brother texted. Come on, let's go to your room."

I collapse against my best friend. 

 #############################################################################

On the far side of the ring, we have DoNotAwoo who represents the Paranormal/Urban Fantasy genre.

She kept her nose low to the ground, heart racing as the sharp, acrid odor of blood grew stronger despite the rancid stink of the alleyway garbage. Music pulsed and thumped from one of the buildings that surrounded her like ignorant sentinels, the sound bounding off of garbage cans and scattered refuse before leaping up and worming its way into her ears, disorienting her as panic gripped her throat.

Carly let out a low huff, closing her eyes as she let her nose guide her, shutting everything else out as she placed one foot in front of the other—only to pause when the scent of death pressed the faintest kiss upon her muzzle, like a whisper of forgotten memory. She opened her eyes and immediately flattened her ears, letting out a low whine.

A woman lay face-down in the alleyway, limbs splayed at awkward angles across a pile of seeping garbage, its foul puddles mingling with the drip-drop of slowly congealing blood. Carly backed away, her hackles rising; this was bad. If anyone saw a werewolf alone in a dark alley with a dead body... But what if she was still alive? What if she needed help? Or, worse: what if her killer was still nearby, just waiting to pounce? She grit her teeth, lips pulling to one side in an oddly human grimace.

“Oh, man,” she muttered, slowly stepping closer and reaching one forepaw out to delicately touch the body. “Miss?”

It was cold. Oh, God, it was cold! She shuddered all over, shaking herself like some common dog as she stifled a gag.

“Aw, shit.”

Carly blinked, freezing in place. That was not her voice.

“They actually killed me. Un-freaking-believable.”

She turned, looking over her shoulder and stifling a very undignified squeal of terror. A pale, half-translucent figure stood over the corpse, hands on her hips and annoyed expression written across her freckled face despite the blood that spattered her torso. Red hair cascaded down her shoulders, as frizzy and out-of-control as the body that lay sprawled in the garbage.

The woman lifted her head to look at Carly and quirked an eyebrow, then let out a low groan as her shoulders slumped.

“A werewolf? Oh, just perfect. That is absolutely not what I needed today,” the ghost grumbled, shaking her fist at Carly. “Go on! Get! Don’t you nibble at my innards, you rotten scavenger!”

Carly blinked, shaking herself off again and forcibly un-tucking her tail as she straightened up.

“I wasn’t going to, uh... You’re...”

“Dead? A ghost? Yeah, thanks, genius. Wait—you’re the first one that found me, right? And you touched me?”

“Um. Yes?”

The ghost let out a stream of curses, half of which Carly was sure she had invented on the spot. She then kicked at her own body, only to let out a half-strangled scream of frustration when her foot simply phased through the corpse.

“All right, wolfy, ears up. We’ve got a lot to do.”

#############################################################################

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.

I want to take an opportunity to thank all those folks who have contributed towards WRiTE CLUB.

This has become necessary to keep this contest going AND GROWING. So, if you can, please consider donating 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 on Jan 2nd. Please take the time during this break to help all our writers out by telling everyone you know what is happening here and encouraging them to come vote.

WRiTE CLUB 2021 - Preliminary Bout #9

 

The contest marches on with preliminary bout #9. Remember, 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 Wed, Dec 22nd (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 Trelawney representing the Childrens Magical Adventure genre.

Come along. If you follow me, we might just catch him before he shuts the shop. Stay close to me. These streets are dark and narrow, and slither through the city like a snake. A child could easily get lost here. Hurry now. Down this alleyway – past the Captain’s Cavern pub and - yes, we’re just in time. Look, he’s closing the shutters. Quietly now. Don’t let him see us. Slip into this doorway and peep out carefully.

Ah, you’ve seen him, I can tell. Quite a sight, isn’t he? What’s his name? It’s Fraser. Fraser Crannog - of the Clan Crannog as he always reminds people. You won’t forget that, will you?

 F R A S E R   C R A N N O G. 

He doesn’t like it if you get his name wrong, and it’s always ‘Mr Crannog’ at first. He’s a wild looking man. If we were a little closer, you’d be able to see his thick, grey caterpillar eyebrows, his radish-red nose, his hair all wild and spiky. But, most of all, you’d see his eyes: sharp, shiny and icy blue. The sort of eyes that seek out your secrets. Your - very - deepest - secrets. Can you see the shop window? Look at those old lamps, antique toys, ancient books, pieces of furniture – all so thick with dust you could write your name in them. Finn does sometimes.Crannog’s Curios – ah, you spotted the sign and yes, you’re right, it is an antique shop – officially. But Fraser sells more than that. Much, much more. But we must go. He’s locked the door – he’s on his way home. Stay quiet. Quiet. He’s passing, so close we could reach out and touch him – can you smell the stale tobacco? That’s from his pipe. He smokes it all the time. He’s walking down the alley now to the main street, his footsteps echoing. He’ll disappear in a moment, into the swirling mist that chokes Edinburgh tonight. Now, let me take you to meet Finn.

***

Here we are, on the other side of the city. Look at those gloomy Victorian flats. Finn Silvers is up there in his bedroom. It’s the smallest room of all and smells musty and damp. He’s huddled under a blanket to keep warm. Can you see him, looking out from the top floor window? He’s wishing – wishing that he could fly, like the birds that are roosting in the tops of the trees. If he could, he’d fly back to London, back to the time when his Mum was alive. His old life, where his Dad hadn’t married Sylvia. It will be tea-time soon. His Mum used to make cakes and cook lovely meals with roast potatoes and gravy; Sylvia gives him spam and cabbage. Finn’s always hungry now. Come, I’ll take you up. Hold tight. 

“Finn! Come here this instant.” Ah, there’s Sylvia - that lemon-faced, bony woman in the frilly apron. Don’t be scared, she can’t see you.

  #############################################################################

On the far side of the ring, we have Durden Mayhem who represents the Flash Fiction genre.

Payoff

Five minutes in the bank line, and I’m hoping I get the attractive woman as my teller.  Landing in front of the older fella would be odd for both of us.  I can see his wedding ring from here.

It works out.  I approach the smiling Jillian, who certainly didn’t wake up this morning expecting the kind of deposit I am going to make.

“Can I help you?” she says to me as I get to her plexiglass.

I make sure my phone is angled correctly, and while looking at her nametag, I get straight to it.  “I am in love with you, Jillian.”

Her lips curl into a scowl, and her brow bends into all sorts of confusing.  

“Excuse me?”  Her face defines dumbfounded.

I continue with all sorts of sincerity.  “Sorry. I know we have never met, but when you know, you know. I saw you when I came in, I watched you while I was in line, and yeah, I am definitely in love with you.”

Jillian looks side to side at her colleagues to see if any of them are responsible for me.  When she realizes nobody at her workplace put me up to this.  She looks back at me with a mix of sympathy and anger.  

“Sir, you are a weirdo. I’m going to get my manager.”  She makes a move like she is going to have a higher-up come over to bring me down.

“Wait.  Hold on, Jillian. I am a weirdo. That much is true. But you don’t need to get anyone or call the cops or whatever. I’m leaving. I just needed to say what was on my heart.”

I leave her there with a smile and a wink.

As I make my way out of the front door, I turn off the video on my phone and quick text it to Jeff. 

Jeff is the guy I lost the bet to, and he always insists on video proof of my payoff. 

“Express your love to a complete stranger in a public place” was my bookie’s demand since I couldn’t pay my debt with cash.

I bet a thousand bucks on the Cowboys. 

Never smart.  

Especially when you don’t have the money to pay.

Thankfully, Jeff is not a knuckle-breaking sort of bookie.  He’s got a YouTube channel with a million followers, where he features fools like me having to shame themselves in various ways to pay off their debts.  He makes more money from his advertisers than he would if I had paid him actual dollars.

Works out for both of us.  

As I step into the bank parking lot, I approach my car and hear a pounding coming from my trunk.

The sounds of my second payoff. 

“Put a drunk stranger into your trunk for an hour.” 

That was for the $2,000 bet I made on the Lakers a week ago. 

I’m sure glad he knocked.  I had forgotten about him. 

He’s been in there since last night.

#############################################################################

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.

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 one last bout before we take a break for the holidays. 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!

WRiTE CLUB 2021 - Preliminary Bout #8

We're back with yet another preliminary bout. Remember, 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 Tue, Dec 21st (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 Iradessa representing the Fantasy genre.

The king sat at his desk, weariness threatening to drag him into sleep. But he couldn’t sleep, not yet. There were letters to answer. Problems to address. Double agents to recruit. He rubbed a hand across his forehead before unrolling the newest scroll in his stack of unread mail.

He had barely broken the seal when he heard it: a tiny little cough.

The king sighed and set the scroll aside. “How long have you been there?”

There was a pause, and then the form of a man in his mid-thirties flickered into existence by the door. He leaned against the mantle, arms crossed. Bright violet eyes peered out of a heavily scarred face. “I’m surprised you didn’t abandon your plan,” he remarked. “Dores is a wild card; nothing about him is certain.”

“His success—or failure—is a raindrop in a heavy thunderstorm, Ace,” the king replied.

Ace crossed the room and lowered himself into one of the chairs across from the king. His golden hair glinted strangely, almost unnaturally, in the dim torchlight. “Our enemy is close to achieving his goals.”

“We are close to achieving ours also. Have you Seen anything about the outcome?”

Ace frowned, opening his mouth as if to speak and then closing it again. He lifted the scroll off the top of the pile, the one with the broken seal. He unrolled it, his eyes skimming over it so briefly that there was no way he could have read it before he returned it to the top of the pile. “It’s all muddled,” he finally said. “I’ve tried focusing upon many different events and people. But none of them elicit a clear view.”

The king waved for Ace to continue.

The man sighed and stood, pacing back and forth. “I see…beasts of old,” he said after a moment. “Power bounces back and forth, but there’s no finality, no conclusion. The only clear thing is the opening of the sixth Vault. But I’ve been unable to identify if it is our enemy who opens it, or us.”

“Anything else?”

A pregnant pause filled the room.

“Ace?”

“No,” the other man finally said, but something about the way he said it made the king believe he wasn’t telling the truth. Yet there was no use pushing him. Time and again, he’d learned that Ace revealed only what he wanted to share, what he believed would be useful. If there was something else he was holding back, it wasn’t relevant, at least not yet.

“Very well,” the king said after a moment passed. “Thank you.”

Ace left through the door instead of whatever way he’d magically come, and the king watched him go with narrowed eyes. The man had been useful, far more useful than he could ever have imagined when he’d been approached decades earlier. But now the end was nearing. Would Ace stand with him when they’d defeated their shared enemy? Or would he become a new enemy?

 #############################################################################

On the far side of the ring, we have Wheelock's Latin who represents the Realistic Fiction genre.

Hitting Home

Gary slid the key into the lock, making sure the rest didn’t rattle against the door.  Even though he pulled the door toward him, the hasp scraped before it gave.  Gary winced.  Taking a breath, he cracked the door.  Inside the darkened apartment, he relocked the door and hung the chain that Ellen had left undone.  As he let out his breath, the kitchen switch clicked behind him and light stretched into the hallway.  It was 3:30 a.m.

Always lie to your wife and to the cops – to everyone else you tell the truth.  That was Gary’s motto.  He smelled his armpits and hands and blew a quick breath into his palm and inhaled.  A little boozy but he had washed Gloria’s smell from him.  He had told Gloria it felt as if he’d wiped his nose with his marriage license yet again but the feeling would passed.  He certainly wasn’t going to make any rash promises to himself or God always to be a good boy and never stumble again.  Gloria laughed at this and tried to diddle him into shape for a second go, but he couldn’t outrun the whiskey.  Sorry, kid.

“Where have you been, mister?”  Ellen sat at the table in her blue robe, her hair a mess but her eyes dry.  Gary picked up the mug in front of her, swirled its remnants, and took a sip.  A fruity tea but no booze.

“Up with a sick friend.”  The lie that said it was none of her business.

“In a pig’s eye,” she said.  “Which whore this time?”

“Like I’d have to pay for it, sharp looking guy like me,” he said, chuckling with his back to her.  

“Get real.”  He rummaged a couple of tortillas from the fridge to soak up the booze.  He had married Ellen fourteen years before on a pregnancy scare, and he’d been faithful for the first four.  Since the twins, though, he wound up with someone every couple months.

“Maybe I ought to do some stepping out of my own,” she taunted.  “Show you what you’ve been missing.”

“The girls wrecked your body, kiddo.  Good luck with that.”

“There’s an ass for every chair,” she said, her voice a whisper.

He leaned back against the sink and nodded.  He body wasn’t what it had been, but she still had something.  He only ran that line to keep her options shut down.

“Go ahead,” he said, calling her bluff.

“I’ve done it before, smart man,” she said, twisting her wedding ring.  “Grab a couple of cold ones, and I’ll tell you all you want to know.”

He opened two bottles, placed one before her, and sat across the table.  As she began to talk, her eyes wide and defiant, he lifted his beer to drink, but his throat was too dry to swallow.

#############################################################################

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.

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 #9. 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!

WRiTE CLUB 2021 - Preliminary Bout #7

 

We're back with the next preliminary bout. Remember, 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, Dec 20th (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 WordMonger representing the General Fiction genre.

Showdown in Severance

The only residents left in Severance were empty buildings, tumbleweeds, and dust. Harry had spent the last three weeks chasing this one since the Montana border, through Wyoming, and into Colorado. The trail of bodies it left behind made tracking it easy.

He was tired and thirsty and was surprised to see a well along the main street. He twisted the water valve and was greeted with brown sludge. Did a fish die in it? He abandoned the faucet tapping his breast pocket where he kept a flask of whiskey. Once the job was done, he would treat himself to a swig.

Pulling on his mustache Harry scanned the buildings that tumbled along the empty street. The only movement came from the occasional breeze that blew up a bit of dust or fluttered the colored drapes from broken windows.

She was here somewhere. It was here, he reminded himself. He could smell its oily disregard that hung in the air. It, and cyborgs like it, were the Federal Conglomerate’s answer to an alien problem, until they, the cyborgs, became humanity’s worst nightmare. A glitch in their programing the F.C. said. Some glitch, Harry thought.

He was pulled aside. Caught with an arm wrapped around his neck and a weapon in his back.

“Hello Harry. Are you ready to die?”

Harry knew the velvet voice could only belong to Stark. “Don’t tempt me with death. It might be the easy way out of this Hell hole, but I’m not quite ready to leave.” He twisted out of its grasp and stepped back a few paces with his own gun in his hand.

She took his breath away, yet he had to remember he was looking at a cyborg, not the drop-dead gorgeous woman it portrayed. He glanced to Stark’s head. Above the left eye and across its metallic skull, the polished sheen was marred by deep gouges exposing the wiring beneath. “You don’t look so good Stark. Your brain feeling the breeze, or is your cardboard heart too stiff to connect to your Bot-brain to know it’s sprung a leak?”

“Half bot, Harry. Not that you could extrapolate anything with your human grey matter.”

He lifted his chin, his mouth turning into a crooked grin. He took a half step to the left and tilted his hat in front of his face just as the cyborg’s head exploded.

After a moment’s hesitation he lowered his hat and shook what gore he could from it. Looking up, the grin he had a moment ago grew into a full smile.

“Nice shot Josie!” he waved to the small woman holding a rifle who rose from the roof of a saloon down the road. She gave him a quick salute.

Harry stood over the cyborg and kicked its foot. A deep laugh rumbled from his chest. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his flask of whiskey raising it to the prone body in a toast.

“Extrapolate that, bitch.”

 #############################################################################

On the far side of the ring, we have Stardust Forager who represents the Literary Fiction genre.

“A New Page” 

Dusk had just turned the corner into night when an ambulance pulled up at my neighbor’s house. Well, neighbor was probably stretching it. I didn’t even know his name. When I’d moved here a year ago for the crown molding and the pine floors, he’d been raking leaves, looking like the grandpa I barely remembered. I’d walked over to say hello, but he didn’t speak first and my courage failed. And that’s a moment you can’t get back, the one where the most natural thing to do is open your world to someone else. This I’ve learned from a lifetime of letting hellos pass me by. So for a year I’ve watched him shuffle out to get his mail and he’s watched me water my petunias and we’ve never said a word. 

But in an emergency, that moment circles back. I ran into his yard as they brought him out on a stretcher, his white hair dissheveled, an oxygen mask over his face. His rheumy gray eyes locked onto mine and he pulled the mask down long enough to gasp, “My cat. Will you feed my–” before a paramedic secured it again. 

“Of course,” I said, watching them load him under spinning red lights. Then I ducked inside to the stench of dust and kitty litter. News buzzed from a corner of the den where a can of cold chicken noodle soup and a spoon had fallen to the floor. I picked them up, swallowing the prickle of fear that, give or take a few decades, this would be me. 

“Here, kitty,” I said, glancing at an envelope on a stack of bills that covered the counter. J. Merritt. I was that much closer to his name, at least. 

When no cat appeared, I stepped into the brown carpeted depths of the hall. “Kitty?”

A muffled bump answered. The cat. Just the cat. Still I grabbed for the light switch at the nearest door. Inset bulbs hummed on, reflecting off the last thing I expected. Glass cases. The nearest held an oversized yellowed volume, opened to Shakespeare’s Tempest. In the next, Marlowe’s Faustus stared up at me. A fluffy tabby materialized, twined around my legs. “What in the world, cat?” 

That’s when I felt someone watching me. I turned slow, hackles rising, to the portrait of a woman, elegant and accusing. Her blue-green eyes seemed to follow me out of the room as I fled back to the kitchen, grabbed a can of Purr Delight from the nearly empty pantry and dumped it in the bowl by the sink, trying to reel my imagination in. This was exactly why I never said hello. Still my thoughts kept drifting to that picture. Who was she? And who exactly was J. Merritt? 

None of my business, that’s who. 

On the way out, I snagged keys from the counter. I’d come back tomorrow, just to feed the cat and drop off some real food. 

Most definitely not to investigate.

#############################################################################

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.

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 #8. 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!

WRiTE CLUB 2021 - Preliminary Bout #6

We kick off the second week of WRiTE CLUB bouts by congratulating our first bout winner - Fern Calloway. They will now move on to the next round. 

Remember, 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 Sun Dec 18th (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 Blueface representing the Science Fiction genre.

CHAPTER ONE

“Stay away from Old Town,” called Kirsten’s mom after her.

“Yes, mom,” she said, heading for Old Town.

Out past the far corner of their ranch, up by the Blasted Oak, she walked Old Town’s perimeter for the first time this year. The tall steel bulwarks were all intact, to her usual disappointment, and the ‘Unexploded Bombs, Keep Out’ signs had been recently renewed.  She squinted through thin gaps between the panels: no change inside, either. 

“It’s all craters, how can there be anything left to explode?” she had often asked her mother, but her mother would only frown and threaten her with grounding.

Kirsten turned for home; there was nothing new here. She passed the Blasted Oak - admiring, as always, its determination to survive.  When the Military blew up the town, this ancient tree’s branches were ripped away; all but one twisty branch. Now it was only a small sprinkle of green in a dead landscape. She saluted it and continued on; but then felt a strong impulse to look back. The oak looked improbably lush from here, surrounded by a large green haze.  Puzzled, Kirsten walked back towards the tree, but the impression faded like mist as she approached. An optical illusion, no doubt: hurricane-season was imminent, and did curious things to the light.

For several days Kirsten revisited it, quite certain the haze was thickening into branching shapes; yet it always dissipated. On the fourth day the winds began, and the twisty branch rocked and whipped. As Kirsten watched with interest, she realised there was an identical second twisty branch behind the first, this one quite still and far more leafy. Disconcerted, and with the first vicious raindrops amongst the winds, she ran home, arriving just as the rain set in.

She told her mother about the haze and the twisty branch, hoping for answers.  Her mother’s expression was inscrutable.

“What did I say? There’s poison at Old Town and it’s making you hallucinate.  Stay away.” 

Kirsten was confused by this new information. “They blew up…poison? What?”

Her mother stared, then snapped “You’re grounded for a week. Go wash for lunch. Now.”  As Kirsten stomped up the stairs, her mother picked up the phone, frowning.

A week of heavy winds and rain kept them both close to the house, but eventually supplies were low.  

“Stay away from Old Town. And the tree,” said her mom as she drove off. 

“Yes, mom,” said Kirsten.

The tree was now a majestic beauty in sunlight, surrounded by meadow for 20 yards all around in a perfect circle. As Kirsten studied it, from the muddy path in the wind and rain, she thought her mother must be right. Hallucinations. She backed away, intending to return home, but then a linen-clad girl stepped from nowhere into the meadow and looked at Kirsten in surprise, coming close and peering at her. She looked oddly familiar.

“What’s your name?” asked Kirsten, in rising alarm.

“Kirsten,” said the girl. “What’s yours?”

 #############################################################################

On the far side of the ring, we have Almach Nightmare who represents the Satire genre.

A Tender Moment

Julia was sitting at the base of one of my favorite hiking trails. She loves hiking, and that day she’d worked up a light sweat that gave her skin a little shine. The setting sun cast her in amber; her lopsided smile and flowing hair glowed in that one perfect moment of light.    

When she was in Rome she tossed a coin into the Trevi Fountain wishing for love but told her family that she only did it because it was tradition. That vacation was the first and last time she ever left her hometown. She still calls herself a world traveler though, and dreams of visiting other countries.

Her eyes have a little green mixed in the light brown. When she wears mascara and a little eyeliner they seem to sparkle with an ethereal glow. It’s as if she could look into my eyes and see every thought laid out like pages from her favorite glamor magazines.

She like to dress casually—jeans and colorful blouses—but she’s not afraid to show off her knowledge of fashion when the occasion calls for it. Long flowing dresses, slit high to the hip, low slung necklines showing almost too much skin. The look says classy and sexy at once.

I imagine she’d be the talk of the night if we ever showed up at one of my work parties dressed like that. Her arm around mine as we made small talk with my colleagues. Steve and Carlos giving me the silent bro nod of approval. Dancing and sipping chardonnay ‘til the early hours before walking home hand in hand, her high heeled shoes slung over my shoulder.

When we get home she’d look into my eyes and without saying a word know how much I appreciated her in my life. We’d kiss and make love and when the first light of the sunrise comes through my bedroom window her eyes would still be on mine, those little green specks glittering in the sun like tiny emeralds.

Later that day she’d convince me to do a quick hike up Little Turtle trail to help exorcise the demon spirits we consumed the night before. While we hike, we’d talk over plans for our vacation next October. She’ll push for Spain and I’ll argue Thailand. By the time we get home we’ll have decided on Cyprus.

The thought of the sundown casting her in that same amber glow as we looked out over the Mediterranean is everything. Her hand in mine as we talked about how great the food is and how welcoming the locals are. I’d lean over and kiss that lopsided smile of hers and she would kiss me back. Before she notices, I’m on one knee, proposing with my grandmother’s ring.

Julia loves cats. She has three of them.

I’m allergic to cats. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted. Swipe left.

Monique has the cutest little dimples when she smiles and damn her body is… 

#############################################################################

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.

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 #7. 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!