WRiTE CLUB – Round 1

The time has finally arrived!  Gather around all, there are plenty of good seats left.  WRiTER’s from far and wide, spanning the globe, of all ages and representing multiple styles of WRiTING have gathered here today to witness the inaugural bout of the WRiTE CLUB!  Our illustrious WRiTER’s are not only from all walks of life, but they also inhabit various levels of the publication world.  Within our ranks we have everything from the newbie bloggers to the recently published, but inside this ring today they stand as equals before you.   The submissions have been steadily pouring in, but only two can have the honor of going first.

Let’s get to it!

 

Here are the first two randomly selected WRiTER's.

Standing in this corner, weighing in at 250 words, please welcome to the ring…ANNE SHIRLEY

Fear pierced me from the moment I recognized his eyes beneath the bloodred mask. He bowed, giving a slow smile that punctured my confidence and filled my head like a dizzying perfume.

“My lady. May I have this dance?”

I felt him grasp my waist, his hands burning like fire through my gown. The waltz began and I was swept into the blur of feathered masks and swirling skirts, trapped within the prison of his arms.

“You should not have come.”

His eyes glittered like dark pearls in a crimson sea. “How could I stay away from you?”

We spun to the music, blending into the forest of candlelit masqueraders. Beneath the heady scent of wax and roses, I sensed a more primal fragrance, like iron and rust, creeping from his pores.

I fought the urge to sink deeper into his gaze, to give in to the nightfall that would surely come. I pulled away, my dress rustling like dead leaves as I ran through the ballroom doors into the evening’s chilly embrace.

I melted into the woods, where I thought the light of the full moon would not betray me - but he found me still. I knew it when I smelled the iron and rust.

“You should not have come,” I repeated.

He pulled me close, bending down for a kiss. The seductive fire never left his eyes, not even when my fangs sank into the warmth of his neck.

Only the moon and I saw him die.

And in the other corner, also weighing in at 250 words, let me introduce to you…TRILLIAN42

“Questions like that make people nervous.” The voice slipped around the collar of the trench coat pulled tight against the rain and was blown off by a chilling breeze that scudded across the river.

“Just want my money, is all.” Taylor ducked his head, keeping his eyes on the dark figure across the hood of his car. Rain blurred his vision. He bounced on his toes to combat the numbness.

“Your money.”

Taylor fingered the baseball buried in his pocket, careful to touch only the seams so the signatures didn’t smudge. His fifth burglary of the week with nothing of value. He’d spotted the ball during his dash for the window when he heard footsteps. Dumb move, grabbing the ball. Taylor strained to see the man’s face. The street light left his features in shadows.

Finally the man tossed a fat envelope onto the hood. Taylor snatched it before water soaked in. “Now get lost.” The voice still held menace, but Taylor didn’t argue, or ask more questions. He slid behind the wheel. A gloved hand tapped on the passenger window. Taylor hit the button to roll it down and the man leaned in.

“Mr. G would appreciate if you didn’t ask any more questions.” A darting move, a flash, a muted pop. Reflex shoved Taylor’s foot into the accelerator, gunning the engine. The man ground the transmission into Drive and the car shot a dozen feet off the shore and sank slowly into the muddy waters.

No more questions

I don’t know about you, but isn’t it enjoyable just watching both of these talented WRiTER’s work!  But that is only part of the price of admission, now it’s up to you to decide who moves forward to the semi-final round, and who will return to WRiTE another day.  In the comments below leave your vote for the winner of round 1.  Which one tickled your fancy?  Will it be Anne Shirley or Trillian42?  Tell all of your friends to stop by and make a selection as well.  Anyone can vote!  The bout will remain open until noon Sunday.  Yes, it’s subjective, but so is the entire publishing world.  It’s as much about the readers as it is about the writers.  Here in WRiTE CLUB, it’s not about the last man/woman standing, it’s about who knocks the audience out!

The results will be posted Sunday night, just ahead of ROUND 2 which will happen next Monday.   Remember, you can enter the fray at anytime during the first twelve rounds by submitting your own 250 word sample and become a full-blown member of WRiTE CLUB.  Just check out the rules here…then come out swinging!

Where words are the true knockout!

DL

The WRiTE CLUB visits the Coffee Shop

Writer Gold: This is going to be a short meeting, right?  I’m hot & heavy into NaNo and I still have at least 1000 words to write before the hubby gets home!

Writer Red: I thought you said you weren’t going to do NaNo this year?

Writer Gold: I know, I know.  I changed my mind at the last minute.  It can be stressful, but some of my best work has been written in November.

Writer Red: But what about WRiTE CLUB?  I thought you were submitting something for that?

Writer Gold: Oh, I sent that to DL this past weekend.

Writer Blue: What is WRiTE CLUB?

Writer Red: I thought you said you were following DL’s blog now.

Writer Blue: My laptop has been in the shop since last week.  I just got it back and I’m still behind with my blog reading.

Writer Black: Hey everyone.

Writer Red:  OH MY GOSH!  Why are you wearing that ridiculous hat?

Writer Black:  Just in case that odd guy with the Mac Book shows up again.

Writer Gold:  But, you gave him your phone number.

Writer Black:  That’s what he thought.  I actually gave him my personal trainer’s phone number.

Writer Red:  You have a personal trainer?

Writer Blue: Won’t he just assume he wrote it down wrong and come looking for you?

Writer Black:  Duh!  Thus the hat.

Writer Gold:  *shaking head* What were we talking about?

Writer Blue: WRiTE CLUB.  You were going to tell me what it is?

Writer Red:  I have a better question.

Writer Blue: Yes?

Writer Red:  How can Black afford a personal trainer?

Writer Gold:  WRiTE CLUB is a really neat idea DL came up with.  It’s kind of fashioned around the movie FIGHT CLUB.  You know, the one with Brad Pitt.

Writer Blue: Ohhhh…I loved him in that movie.

Writer Gold:  Anyway, in DL’s WRiTE CLUB writers submit a sample of their writing, no more than 250 words, using a made up pen name that nobody knows.  Then starting this coming Monday, once a week he’ll randomly pick out two samples to go head to head on his blog.  The winner will be chosen by votes left by his blog readers in the comments.  The winner will advance to the semi-finals.

Writer Blue:  And what happens to the writer that doesn’t win?

Writer Red:  Their pen name goes back into the pool and could possibly be selected for other rounds.

Writer Blue:  How many rounds are there?

Writer Red:  Twelve.  The semi’s don’t start until February.

Writer Blue:  Does the 250 words have to be flash fiction, or can I use something that I’ve already written?

Writer Gold:  Anything.  It just can’t have been posted or published before.

Writer Blue:  That is really really cool.   I’m going to look for something as soon as I get back home.

Writer Black:  You girls do realize you broke the first rule.

Writer Blue:  What’s the first rule?

Writer Black:  You don’t talk about WRiTE CLUB!

Writer Gold:  DL didn’t really mean it like that, just certain parts of it.

Writer Red:  Think about it…in the movie how did so many people show up to watch the fights if nobody ever talked about it?

Writer Black:  I just know that I’m not breaking the rules.

Writer Red:  *sigh* Technically, you just did.

Writer Black:  I did not!

Writer Red:  Did so!  You told Blue what the first rule was.

Writer Black:  I….uh….that’s not really…I mean.

Writer Gold:  Relax.  What you can’t do is tell someone what your pen name is.  The whole thing is supposed to be anonymous so it doesn’t turn into a popularity contest and nobody gets their pride hurt.

Writer Black:  Then it won’t hurt to tell you I was planning on using Mrs. Tyson as my pen name.  Get it, after the boxer.  But I decided against it.

Writer Gold:  Why, afraid you might bite another bloggers ear off?

Writer Blue:  So, all this starts Monday?

Writer Gold:  Just go to DL’s blog and all the rules are posted there.

Writer Black:  You know what’s funny?  DL never said what the winner would receive.

Writer Red:  I know what I want to win.

Writer Gold:  What?

Writer Red:  A personal trainer!

Writer Black:  Listen, can we go back to number labels instead of colors?  Writer Black makes me feel fat.

Writer Gold, Red & Blue: ?????????????

Writer Black:  It has more letters than the others.

Do You Have the Courage?

This is my November submission for Alex J. Cavanaugh’s Insecure Writers Support Group.  For those NaNo-nites out there reading...happy writing!

Do you have the courage to sing along with your favorite song…even when you’re listening on headphones in a crowded room?

Do you have the courage to wear in public what’s comfortable…not necessarily fashionable?

When faced with choosing between the popular path and one less traveled, do you have the courage to make a trail of your own?

You may trust your instincts, even your judgment, but do you have the courage to trust your emotions?

Do you have the courage to speak up for those who are afraid or unable, to speak for themselves?

Do you have the courage to admit that sometimes there is a difference between being wrong…and not being right?

Do you have the courage to realize that a single friend willing to stand by you through thick and thin is worth a 1000 Facebook friends?

If you’re comfortable with your body and your health, do you have the courage to order desert when everyone else declines?

If you have children, do you have the courage to let them learn from their own mistakes?

Do you have the courage to admit to your parents that you made a mistake?

Do you have the courage to realize that doing something for yourself, isn’t always selfish?

If you come across a stranger who looks to be having a terrible day, do you have the courage to give them hug and bring a smile to their face?

When you’re told that “shit happens”, do you have the courage to reply with “not to those who pay attention.”

Although today’s pain may be unbearable, do you have the courage to let it become tomorrow’s strength?

Do you have the courage…to question someone else’s?

Finally...you need to know that your passage to eventual publication is fraught with rejection, ridicule, up-turned noses, crushing setbacks, self-doubt, self-loathing, frazzled nerves, agonizing waits, and paralyzing second-guessing. Do you have the courage?

The second rule of WRiTE CLUB.....

We are now just one week away from our first WRiTE club matchup and I can already feel the excitement building.  My wife tells me that the submissions have been trickling in and although she's not allowed me to read any of the samples yet, she has been amazed at the quality of the work.  As promised, this post is supposed to clear up any lingering questions about WRiTE CLUBS purpose and how you to participate.  First, here are the rules again.

1st RULE: You do not talk about WRiTE CLUB.

2nd RULE: You DO NOT talk about WRiTE CLUB.

3rd RULE: If someone taps out, WRiTING is over.

4th RULE: Only two people to a WRiTE.

5th RULE: One WRiTE per week.

6th RULE: No shirts, no shoes.

7th RULE: WRiTES will go on until Feb1. 

8th RULE: If this is your first week at WRiTE CLUB, you HAVE to WRiTE.

Recap:   Every writer who wishes to WRiTE should submit a 250 word sample of their WRiTING via email to dlh.hammons@gmail.com.  The sample should be identified by a pen name of your choosing (be creative) that nobody has ever seen before.  The writing can be of any genre, any style (even poetry), with the word count being the only restriction.  My wife will be monitoring that email address and will assign a number to each sample we receive.  I will never see who belongs to what writing, other than by the pen-name.  Beginning on Monday, November 7th, the first WRiTE will be held.  Just prior to that date I will randomly select two of these anonymous entries and post them on that date for head to head competition .  The winner will be selected by WRiTE spectators via your votes left in the comments (you don't have to be a WRiTER to vote, anyone can participate).  Ties will be decided by me (if necessary) since I will have not seen any of the authors names.  The victor will automatically be eligible for the semi-finals that will begin February 1, 2012, and the runner up will be placed back in the pool for possible selection for the next weeks WRiTE. It's that simple!

Tapping out means a WRiTER can decide at any time during the 12 week competition to withdraw their name from the pool.  No matter how many submissions I receive, there will only be one WRiTE per week.  Each week any new submissions will be placed in a "newby" pool from which one half of the WRiTE will be made up.  The other WRiTER will come from the existing pool.  If there are no "newbies", both WRiTERS will come from the existing pool less the previous winners.

On February 1st the 12 winners will match up against one another on daily posts until the ultimate WRiTER is chosen. 

After the competition is over and we have a champion, I will release the true names of only the WRiTERs who allow it.  Otherwise, the competition will remain completely anonymous to prevent anybody from having their feelings, or pride, hurt.  It will also be fun trying to figure out which writing might be who's, but remember RULE #1.

Now let's answer the questions left in the comments from the first post about WRiTE CLUB.

Can we start submitting any time now?  Yes.  You can submit anytime during the 12 week preliminary round.

Does the 250 words have to be a complete piece (i.e., flash fiction)?  No. 

If not, does it have to be the first 250 words of something? No.  It can be carved out from any part of a  larger piece of your work, the only thing I ask it that it not have been previously posted or published.

Because your wife is manning the email, it's ok to send our 250 words from an email address that has our name in it, yes?  Yes.  I will not see the emails, only the submissions with their pen names.

You're going to start during the craziness that is NaNo?  Yes.  First, because believe it or not there are some writers who choose not to participate in NaNo.  Second, what's 250 words compared to 50K?  But most importantly of all, WRiTE CLUB goes on for 12 weeks, well beyond NaNo, so you can choose to submit in December or January if you like.

So if you've been toying with the idea of taking part in this totally unique, and anonymous venture, now's the time to send in those submissions.  Next Monday will be on us quickly.  Grit those teeth and flex that imagination.

And whatever you do, DON'T tell your friends.  DON'T take the badge I've created and post it on your own blog.  DON'T twit, or update your Facebook status update about it. *exaggerated wink *

Monday, November 7th...WRiTE CLUB is ON!!!  

(PS.  Have fun starting tomorrow NaNo-nites!)

I want Ten!

I was doing some research by looking back through some of my OLD blog posts when I came across this one from a couple years ago.  It might have been read by 5 people.  I think it deserves another shot.  I hope you enjoy it.

My son Boo got himself into some deep trouble a while back. I’ll spare you (and him) the details of his offence, but it was bad enough to warrant more than just a stern lecture. I’m not the type of parent to resort to spanking, much, but I do believe it is a vital and sometimes necessary disciplining technique. For Boo this was going to be his first go round with me being the disciplinarian. He had been spanked previously one time by his mother earlier in the year, so he knew the routine. After he was informed what his punishment was going to be he was banished to his room so he could sit and think about what was coming for a little while. The fear of an impending spanking is just a useful as the spanking itself, so getting it over with too quickly is a waste of good psychological torment. So I let him sit in his room for at least 30 minutes before I headed back there.

When I entered his room I was surprised to see that he was standing beside his bed waiting for me. He was expressionless except for a faint hint of what could be described as determination on his face. There was no whimpering, no tears, and no quivering lip. Nothing. This was definitely not what I had expected. And at that moment I flashed back to a time in my own childhood. Boo’s actions reminded me of a situation I once found myself in. It is a story my mother used to love to tell when she was alive, and thinking about it now reminds me as much of her as it does the circumstances.

Me and my two brothers used to fight all of the time. My older brother is eleven months older than me and my younger brother was three years younger. Both of them have always towered over me in stature.

One day after school, I think I was ten at the time, me and my brothers got into it. The reason for the fight was probably something minor and stupid, but first came the yelling, then the shoving back and forth which quickly disintegrated into a three man wrestling match. Our mom usually tuned out our horseplay and didn’t get involved, but this time an exceptionally hard push combined with tripping over a sneaker ended up with me colliding loudly with a wall and subsequently leaving a large dent in the wallboard. Going instantly to silent mode, we could hear her heavy footsteps as they approached the bedrooms from the other side of the house. Naturally she was livid. She didn’t even try to listen to my explanation of what had happened, instead sending us to our respective rooms and beds with the spine chilling final line, “wait until your father gets home!”

Being the head of a military family with three rambunctious boys should have earned my father a college course credit in discipline. My father was fair, but firm with his punishment, and he got to practice it a lot. After years of trial and error he had settled on a wide black leather belt as his implement of pain. He always wielded it without malice and made sure we knew why we were suffering at the end of it. Even so, the dread we felt leading up to our eventual punishment was always mind-numbing.

Just before nightfall I heard the car door of my father’s Buick clank shut outside and shortly thereafter the front door opened and closed. I could only hear the murmur of voices and I imagined my mother telling him the events of the day. A couple minutes later the unmistakable footfalls of my father’s spit-shined dress shoes made there way down the hallway towards my room. He stuck his head into my room and said, “Follow me.” As expected, his expression was not favorable.

As I trailed him down the hallway to the other bedroom my brothers shared, I couldn’t take my eyes off the infamous black leather belt sticking out of his back pants pocket.

In my brothers room I took a seat next to my younger brother on his bed as dad inspected the damage to the wall. Both of my brothers looked like they had been crying and my younger brothers had his hands jammed beneath him. He was already preparing himself for the inevitable.

When dad turned back towards us I think his face was a shade or two darker.

“Who hit the wall” he asked.

“I did,” I answered truthfully.

“Stand up,” he commanded to all of us. We did as he asked and a soft moan emanated from my younger brother.

Then my dad did something he had never done before. He stood in front of my older brother and asked, “How many?”

Confused my brother replied, “Huh?”

“I said how many,” my dad repeated.

My older brother thought for a moment and then answered in an unsure tone, “One?”

My dad nodded his head and then slowly turned around and faced my younger brother.

“How many,” he repeated the question to him.

My younger brother glanced briefly at my older brother and then replied, “One,” as well.

Then dad moved in front of me and stood silent for a minute. “How many?” he asked me.

I am not a fan of pain. I’ll avoid it as much as the next guy. Nor was I grooming myself to grow up to be some sort of Norma Rae. So I don’t know why I answered like I did, all I can attribute it to is temporary insanity.

“I want ten,” I answered defiantly.

“How many” he repeated, even though there was no mistaking my answer.

“I want ten,” I answered again, purposely not breaking eye contact.

We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. At first I thought his eyes were going to burn holes through my brain and the need for the belt would be moot, but slowly his eyes softened and I thought I caught the sparkle of a smile starting to form. Then he turned around and left the room.

The three of us just stood there staring at one another with dumb expressions on our faces afraid to move. A few minutes later he returned. In his hands, instead of the black leather belt, was the cookie jar.

He reached into the jar and pulled out a single cookie and handed it to my older brother who took it slowly, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Next he pulled another single cookie from the jar and handed it to my younger brother, who immediately started eating it. And to me, he handed ten chocolate chip cookies.

“You all will be doing chores for a month to pay for that wall,” he said as he walked out the door.

It was a moment of my childhood, I will never forget.

Now in Boo’s room, seeing him standing there bravely waiting to face the music, I thought of that story and how my mom loved to tell it.

And so I asked him, “how many?”

“Huh?”

“How many?”

He seemed to think about this for a second and then he answered confidently, “Five.”

I picked him up, gave him five kisses across his face, hugged him tightly and said, “You can thank your Grandpa for that one!”