Come on in everybody, there are still plenty of ring-side
seats remaining. After weeks of
anticipation and build up, the time has finally arrived!
On May 3rd we began taking submissions from WRiTER’s far and wide, spanning the
globe, representing all ages and multiple styles of WRiTING. We received 167
entries in all! A new WRiTE CLUB record! Those 500 word
samples have been under careful consideration by 11 judges since May 31st
and the panel has narrowed the list down to 32…which are the ones that will
pair off in the ring over the course of the next eight weeks. Needless to say,
just becoming qualified to compete is an accomplishment in itself. I want to sincerely thank my 11 judges for
volunteering their time and eyes to undertake this massive task.
Sarah Ahiers
VR Barkowski
Deniz Bevan
Barbara Jean Byrem
(Faraway Eyes)
Skye Callahan
Guilie Castillo
Kathleen Doyle
Carrie-Anne Foster
Donna Hole
Gregory Murray
Jessica Peterson
The illustrious WRiTER’s
chosen are not only from all walks of life, but they also occupy various levels
of the publication world. But none of
that matters today, because inside this ring everybody stands as equals. You
know why? Because no one is allowed to use their real name…the only name you’ll ever
see is their pen name. This is not a popularity contest. The focus here is on the writing, where it
should be.
Today marks the first of sixteen bouts, two bouts per
week, with a new one posted every Monday and Thursday. The winners are
decided by votes left in the comment section and anyone can vote. The voting
for each fight will last for one full week, so you can vote for a Monday battle
all the way until midnight on Sunday, and you can vote for a Thursday brawl up
until midnight the following Wednesday. And
when you do vote, please let the contestants know what you liked and disliked.
So who are these 32 contestants? Well, you’ll have to come
back each week to find out. Last year I posted a list of the 32 qualifiers
before the contest began and it resulted in a significant drop-off of traffic
during the battle rounds. I guess when some readers discovered they didn’t make
the cut, they couldn’t be bothered to stop by anymore and vote. Though I
understand the disappointment, I’m going to do whatever it takes to put these WRiTER’s words in front of as many
people as possible.
That’s enough blabbering…what do you say we get to it!
Here are the first two randomly selected WRiTER's.
Standing in this corner, representing the Fantasy genre and weighing
in at 490 words, please welcome to the ring……..Lord Codpiece
I was ten steps
from the ballroom door, my pockets stuffed with stolen jewelry, when I stepped
on someone’s foot.
"Watch
yourself, you oaf!" a man spat.
I tried to ignore
it, but he grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. That shook something loose
from the stash hidden in my jacket; it fell into my right boot. Felt like one
of the sapphire earrings.
"I called you
an oaf," he said.
He was a highborn
noble of the worst sort, young and fat-cheeked and angry. I wore the plain dyed
woolens of a servant. It made me an easy target.
"Apologies,
m'lord," I said. I kept my body still, to minimize the clinking of coins
in half-a dozen purses tied to my belt. “I was just-“
"Wipe it off,”
he said.
Oh, wonderful. This
flabby brat was actually looking to start a fight. I took his measure while
pretending to think it over. Soft was the word for him. His hands were
uncalloused, no surprise there. He hadn’t done a hard day of work in his life.
But I noticed the tan lines at the wrists. A gloved swordsman, then. A showoff.
Probably got his practice on the household servants, ones who were afraid to
draw their master’s blood. The least-capable man in my crew would have gutted him
like a deer. There was no time for that, though. And we certainly didn’t want
the attention.
"Pardon,
m'lord?" I asked.
"You scuffed
my boot. Wipe it off." His breath carried the mingled smells of wine and
spiced meat.
I couldn’t refuse
outright, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to oblige him. Obfuscation seemed
like the best option. I made my voice cheerful.
“Can’t say I see
it, m’lord,” I said.
A girl in a
silk-and-taffeta gown (recently relieved of the gems on her bodice) tittered
with laughter. Ah, so that was why he was putting on this display. Sure enough,
his cheeks reddened even further.
“It’s right there!”
he said.
The
pearl-and-silver necklace I’d nicked just five minutes ago was threatening to
spill out of my left sleeve, so I thought it best to head him off.
“I’ll be sure to
have my eyes checked, m’lord,” I said. “But right now I’m to fetch another
bottle for my master.”
“Who’s that?” he
demanded.
I needed him to
back off. That was the only way this would end quietly. So I spoke the name of
the meanest and most dangerous noble that came to mind. “Lord Peyton,” I said.
Recognition bloomed
in his eyes. He wasn’t as drunk as he seemed, and even the most wine-addled
fool would know to be cautious, here. Peyton had challenged and killed men for
smaller offenses than quarreling with his servants.
“You’ve heard of
him, I take it,” I said.
“I’ve more than
heard of him,” he said. “He’s my father.”
**************************************************************************************
And in the other corner, also representing the Fantasy genre with
499 words, let me introduce to you……….Little Darlin
Alison cursed as she smothered the flames from her blonde
hair. No one sensible climbed into this dank hole for any purpose other than to
hunt the fire-breathing monster, so it perceived her as a threat. Obsessed victims
came to steal the singing gems behind the web. Alison doubted the eight-legged,
sixteen-eyed, web-spinning, black fur-covered monster had ever witnessed a
rescue mission.
Flames ignited another pocket of gas beside the valiant
knight. Her sword shook of its own accord in her steady hand. The magical
entity residing inside the blade feared the web, knowing those blackened stands
were capable of destroying it. A feeling of being disrobed in public washed
over her as she tossed the precious sword outside.
"Prince Gabe, there is a maiden at the nearby tavern
longing to meet you. Forget the gems. Come with me." Said Alison.
"No! She will want to take them. Mine, all mine!"
The advice she'd been given, to distract him from the
hypnotic effects by offering him something he'd want more, wasn't working.
Though, since they normally went to great lengths to avoid each other, Alison wasn't
sure what he'd want.
"Sire, the King of Lebnoek is dead. His land is ours
for the taking." She hoped he hadn't become bloodthirsty enough to desire
this. Relief came when he dismissed her call with a wave of his hand.
Flames shot from the monster. Another unseen pocket of odorless
gas exploded, singeing her eyebrows and blocking her view of the prince. She
didn't want to hurt the monster. It ate many incompetent creatures that she
would have to deal with otherwise. Alison dared not dwell on what it meant that
the trap lured her prince.
Visions of the queen danced in her head. The sweet woman she
admired, who loved her ten times more than Alison's own mother ever did, would
be heartbroken if her only child were to die. It should be the future of her
kingdom, duty to her sword, and loyalty to her prince motivating her to face
this ordeal. But it was imagining tears streaming from the blue eyes of the
queen, eyes that matched Alison's own, which propelled her through the flames.
"Prince Gabe, your mother needs you outside. You don't
wish to disappoint her, do you?" Alison grabbed for his arm, snagging it a
second before it touched the web.
Not looking away from the objects of his desire just behind
the sticky strands, the dazed prince responded, "I order you to obtain
those gems for me at once!"
"Yeah, well, I order you to forget the gems and come
with me," she said through gritted teeth.
"What did you say?" Prince Gabe turned to her
aghast. He yanked his arm from her hold. "How dare you touch me? What
horrid place have you brought me to? I will see you locked in the dungeon for
this, Alison!"
**************************************************************************************
Enjoying two talented writers at work is only part of the
price of admission, now it’s up to you to decide who moves forward to the playoffs. In the comments below leave your vote for the
winner of Bout #1. Which one tickled
your fancy? After you vote please tell
all of your friends to stop by and make a selection as well. The voting for this round 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 the audience that gets
clobbered!
