WRiTE CLUB 2012 Play-offs - Round Two / Bout 7

Today is the last of the edited/revised submissions (for those who chose to submit them) for round two. The bouts are posted on this and two other blogs.  Here are the links to the blogs where the other bouts can be found.

DL Hammons @ Cruising Altitude 2.0

Julie Dao @ Silver Lining

Tiana Smith

 

Read the submission from each WRiTER below carefully and leave your vote for the sample that resonates with you the most.  If you haven’t already done so in the previous rounds, offer some critique if you have time.  Anyone reading this can vote (after signing up on this Linky List) so blog/tweet/facebook/text/smoke signal everyone you know and get them to take part in the fun.  You will have until noon on Sunday (Nov. 11^th) to vote on any of this week's nine bouts.  Vote on as many bouts as you can get around to.  Whether that is one bout, or all nine, how much you participate is up to you. 

In round two...every vote counts. This is because the contestant who doesn't win their bout but garners the most votes amongst the losers, will become a wildcard winner and advance to round 3. 

The nine winners will be posted on the afternoon of Nov. 11th and round 3 will kick off the following Monday with all new 500 word submissions.

Good luck to all the WRiTER’s!

And now…..

In this corner welcome back to the ring for a third time.....Eleven.

I had just slammed down a cocktail and was happily contemplating my eternal damnation when the angel walked into my bar. Solid muscle, like all the warriors, and with that same self-satisfied, holier-than-thou attitude. It was the set of the jaw. Gave them away every time. He paused just inside the door, scanning the patrons to the right and left of him. After a moment, satisfied his glamour concealed him, he headed in my direction.

A low whistle floated over my shoulder. “Who in the hell is that fine piece of flesh?” Riley asked.

“Who in heaven, actually.” I poured a bubbling green concoction into a martini glass and slid it down the counter. “HR security. Working a pretty tight glamour on his wings.”

“No way.”

“He’s straight anyways,” Quinn said, reaching past us for the ice scoop. “So I may have to take him off your hands.” She threw him a honeyed smile and sauntered down to the other end of the bar to deliver a couple drinks.

“Never stopped me before,” Riley grumbled under his breath as the subject of our conversation leaned up against the black marble.

The angel hooked me in an intense gaze and parted perfect coral-colored lips to speak.

“What’ll it be, Wings? Can I interest you in a synthetic blood-tini?” I smiled real big, flashing some fang.

His smug expression fell and a scowl replaced it. “You’re Zyan Star?” Half statement, half question, his voice dark velvet.

“What makes you think that?” I asked. Just to be difficult.

“Well, you’re a vamp, and you can apparently see through my glamour, which only a witch could do. A pretty rare combination of talents.” He leaned forward even more, arms crossed over his chest, bulging against his gray t-shirt. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Riley and Quinn staring from a few feet away.

I smiled slightly, pushing a strand of burgundy hair behind my ear. “So, what brings a pretty boy like you to Noir? Somehow I don’t think it’s just because you decided to take a walk on the naughty side and mingle with the commoners.”

He tensed, standing up extra straight. “I’m here on official business for the Holy Representative.” His milky white skin seemed to glow as he said it.

“Uh-huh. And?”

“He wants to hire you for a job.” He enunciated each word as it came out, as if I wouldn’t understand him. Which, actually, I didn’t.

“Come again, Wings?”

“My name is Eli,” he said, with a very angelic glower.

“Of course it is,” I crooned. “So, Eli, I kind of thought I just heard you say that the Holy Representative, that is, the direct ambassador between Heaven and Earth, God’s right hand man, all that’s pure and holy, etc., wants me, a damned witch vampire who is technically within the Devil’s jurisdiction, to work for him. Did I hear that right?"

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And in the other corner, also anxious to return to the ring, let me re-introduce....Patrice Croninville.

I have traveled over three hundred dusty, dangerous miles with Lubomir, but today may be the day I leave the fool behind.

“Please, Lubo. Get up.”

He smiles an idiot’s smile at me, all gums and milky blue eyes. He’s found a nest of giant carpenter ants and is plucking them out one by one, shoving them between his thick, wet lips.

“There’s another storm coming. We have to find shelter.” My voice is even. I don’t know if Lubo can hear the tension that pulls at my vocal chords, cracking the last syllable. If we’re out in the open when the storm hits, the rain will slough the skin right off our faces. But I can’t afford to send Lubo into a panic.

He plucks another fat black ant and offers it up to me like it’s a roast duck with crackling skin. Heavy clouds hang low and green in the sky behind him.

“No, I don’t want any. We have to leave now, or the rain will hurt us.”

A frown creases his fair brow. Does he still have memories of pain, before I came along and took him away from everything he knew? Does he remember what caused the scars that crisscross his back?

Losing patience, I seize his wrist and attempt to pull him to his feet. As if the iron will of a 90-pound girl could lift this mammoth. He yanks his arm back in surprise and sends me flying to my knees. The sharp burn tells me I’ve torn my trousers and my flesh.

“Lubo!” I scream in frustration, raising a fist. It takes every ounce of self-control to stop myself. I want to strike him, badly, but that wouldn’t be right. Not after all he’s been through. Not after all I’ve been through. I won’t be like them.

A crack of thunder rebounds through the valley. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’d rather leave him behind than lose my temper, so I rise to my feet. “Goodbye then. You can stay out here and feast on ants if you wish, but I’m not ready to die. Farewell, Lubo. Those must be awfully tasty ants. ”

On a lighter day, I would have laughed at the wild confusion written across his face. The expression is particularly charming. Instead I wheel around and march back up the road. We passed a rocky overhang a ways back that will serve my needs well enough. If I sprint, I may still make it in time.

He saved my life first. Then I saved his. We’re even. This is a clean break.

“Malin!” Tears well up in his eyes as he stumbles after me, breaking my heart. I am an evil, wicked girl.

I reach out with both arms. “Come on. We have to hurry.”

He may be a fool, but he’s the closest thing I have to a friend, and the only person in the world I can trust. He takes my hand, and we run.

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Don’t forget to visit the other two sites and vote for your favorite in those bouts as well!  Remember the WRiTE CLUB motto, it’s not about the last man/woman standing, it’s about who knocks the audience out!

WRiTE CLUB 2012 Play-offs - Round Two / Bout 4 *Revisited*

I am re-posting the notification of bout four again today because I mistakenly used an original submission instead of the revised version for Sissy Grimm. I corrected the post yesterday at 1:00 PM Central Time, so if you voted after that time you are good to go. For the 15 readers who voted before that time, please return to the original post and make sure you don’t want to change your mind.


Sorry for the confusion everybody!

WRiTE CLUB 2012 Play-offs - Round Two / Bout 4

We continue with the edited/revised submissions (for those who chose to submit them) in round two. All of the nine bouts will be posted on Mon-Wed-Fri, on this and two other blogs.  Here are the links to the blogs where the other bouts can be found.

DL Hammons @ Cruising Altitude 2.0

Julie Dao @ Silver Lining

Tiana Smith

 

Read the submission from each WRiTER below carefully and leave your vote for the sample that resonates with you the most.  If you haven’t already done so in the previous rounds, offer some critique if you have time.  Anyone reading this can vote (after signing up on this Linky List) so blog/tweet/facebook/text/smoke signal everyone you know and get them to take part in the fun.  You will have until noon on Sunday (Nov. 11^th) to vote on these nine bouts.  Vote on as many bouts as you can get around to.  Whether that is one bout, or all nine, how much you participate is up to you. 

In round two...every vote counts. This is because the contestant who doesn't win their bout but garners the most votes amongst the losers, will become a wildcard winner and advance to round 3. 

The nine winners will be posted on the afternoon of Nov. 11th and round 3 will kick off the following Monday with all new 500 word submissions.

Good luck to all the WRiTER’s!

And now…..

In this corner welcome back to the ring for a third time.....Alondra Larkin.

Irovel walked through the busy streets of Yonden Hithis, looking for a place where she could stand to watch the execution. Word had come up to her in the hills – Barjuk, her sister's murderer, had stood trial and been found guilty. He would die today.

The crowd made Irovel uncomfortable. If these people knew what she was, knew that she was different … well, she might just end up as dead as the prisoner standing by the execution block was about to be. There had to be a place she could watch without being jostled so much.

She looked up at the buildings lining the street, and saw one with a roof sturdy enough to climb on top of. Hurriedly, Irovel went around back and climbed the rain barrel to get onto it. She had always preferred the high ground.

The roof was empty, and she slid across it until she could see the heads of the people below. From above, the crowd varied little as her eyes swept across it to the wooden riser upon which stood the prisoner and his guards. The people were all so dark of hair and skin that she could hardly tell one from another. She knew the prisoner, though. That one could never hide from her. Trees would grow old and die before she would forget what he had done.

The executioner was a killer himself – only a fool would sacrifice his freedom to wear the wooden soldier’s mask that hid his face – but one who had subjected himself to the law instead of fleeing from justice. The magistrate, a clear-eyed woman, stepped up to pronounce sentence. “This man has killed with his face bared to the world. Now he will so die. Let it be done!” she said.

Irovel heard a sound from beside her, and turned to see a man climb onto the next rooftop. He too was masked, and he held a bow in his hand. He nocked an arrow and drew back, aiming for the magistrate. The crowd, oblivious, cried out with one voice. "Kill him! Kill the murderer!" Barjuk cringed at the sound.

“Stop!” Irovel shouted at the archer. He stopped; he had no choice. People down below who heard her froze in place, then turned to see who had spoken. Irovel crouched to hide her face from them. Her voice always carried the ring of truth, but giving a direct command was much more dangerous than simply speaking. Somebody might figure out what she was.

Across the street, the sentence was carried out. Irovel’s cry alerted the guards to the presence of the archer, and the executioner hurriedly escorted the magistrate down from the block before the assassin could recover.

Seeing his plot foiled, the masked archer turned and loosed his bow at Irovel instead. Pain blossomed in her shoulder, and she felt more than heard a loud pop. The seething anger in his gaze filled her vision as she tumbled to the street.

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And in the other corner, also anxious to return to the ring, let me re-introduce....Sissy Grimm.

 


Twigs snapped underfoot, and the pale light of the moon dimmed as the branches overhead grew thicker.

“I can’t believe they ran out of food,” Gretchen complained.

“They were hardly out of food,” said Hans. “They just didn’t have any more of what you liked.”

“Pepper knows I swore off carbs years ago, and did you taste that pâté? It was completely inedible. I’m glad she’s so smitten with her new huntsman boyfriend and all, but venison-wurst? Gag me with a harpsichord.”

Hans reluctantly followed his fiancé deeper into the woods. “Be nice.”

She glanced over her shoulder and smirked, lifting her long skirt to expose a teasing ankle. “Oh, I plan to be.” Skipping ahead, she disappeared behind two fat tree trunks.

Hans paused and barely managed to stifle a groan. Six months ago, such flirtation would’ve elicited a completely different kind of groan. But six months ago he’d barely known her. Back then she’d simply been the pretty daughter of a wealthy financier—the ticket to saving his father’s woodcarving business. He’d truly believed it would be easy enough to fall in love with her, but as the months ticked by he realized that no amount of wavy blond hair nor evenings spent with her plump lips applying just the right amount of pressure to his various pleasure points could make up for the rotting carcass of a soul that resided beneath all that beauty.

He couldn’t go through with it, not all the way to the wedding. But he’d play along with the engagement. Before the church bells started ringing, however, the financial documents would be signed, his father’s business would be saved, and he could break off the relationship quietly, tastefully, finally. Until then…

“Gretchen, stop! We’re going to lose our way if you go any further. We really should get back.”

She peeked out from behind a tree several yards ahead. “Didn’t you drop any bread crumbs?” Her long, lean arm emerged from behind her back, and she flourished a pair of white, lacy panties before dropping them to the forest floor. “Guess we’ll just have to leave something else behind.”

She dashed off again, further into the forest, and Hans clenched his fists, tempted to turn around and leave her to be the victim of her own folly. But then he thought of his father—his kind, gentle father who’d already lost so much—and took long strides into the forest.

He found her leaning against a tree, waiting for him. A silvery beam of light broke miraculously through the leafy branches to illuminate her sensual form, casting an enticing glow upon every curve. Even Hans, jaded against her as he was, couldn’t help but admire the vision. He reflected that his lot wasn’t the worst that could befall a man and didn’t resist when she reached out and pulled him to her.

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Don’t forget to visit the other two sites and vote for your favorite in those bouts as well!  Remember the WRiTE CLUB motto, it’s not about the last man/woman standing, it’s about who knocks the audience out!

Déjà Vu Blogfest 2012

It’s time that I begin contemplating life after WRiTE CLUB (it seems like a lifetime ago since I wrote a normal post) and I’ve come up with a perfect way to help me catch up.

Want to know one of my pet peeves about the way our blogosphere operates?  You can miss some really awesome posts if you have to be away for a while and unable to keep up with your favorite blogs.  While WRiTE CLUB was going on I’ve probably missed hundreds of quality posts.  During the A to Z Challenge in April I’m certain I missed some truly outstanding posts.  It’s really hard to catch up when things get like that, so what I resort to doing to get back in the swing of things is simply pick up with everybody’s latest post.  You know what that means?  A post about the signing of an agent…missed….a book contract finalized…missed…a cry for help...missed...a birth announcement…missed…some other special event in a bloggers life…gone.  I just shake my head when I think of all of the special posts I’ve missed this year.  And then there are the informative posts about the topic I’m dying to know more about, yep I probably missed some of those as well.

It’s for this reason that last year I hosted the Déjà vuBlogfest, and before that it was the BLOG RECYCLE STATION.  Well, I’ve decided to turn last year’s blogfest (which involved participants re-posting their favorite blog offering of all-time) into an annual event.  So I’d like to announce…. 

On December 14^th anyone taking part will re-post their favorite blog offering from 2012, or one that never received the exposure it should have.  I’m announcing it now, in the midst of WRiTE CLUB, because it takes almost a month for the word to spread and generate enough interest to make a blogfest impactful.  If I waited until WRiTE CLUB was complete (which will be the first week of December), there wouldn’t be enough time to fit it into this year. So please sign-up to participate with Mr. Linky below, then shout out to all of your blogging friends and encourage them to sign up as well.  Take the badge above and plaster it everywhere, blogging graffiti gone wild.  Then on December 14^th as the day unfolds and everyone hops from one blog to another, what they will be reading is the best of the best (as determined by you) from this year.  The blogosphere will be chock full 2012 writing brilliance!  Encouragement, enlightenment, knowledge, bared souls, stimulation, hilarity, insecurities, success stories!  All on display…the very same day.  And it couldn't be any easier to take part...no writing necessary!

Sign up below and start looking through those old posts!  :)