Reminder - You can follow along with all of the bout results right HERE, and remember, the bouts stay open for one week and some of the first weeks are still live.
Today is the 7th of 15 bouts with a pair of contestants ready to climb into the ring. Here's a refresher of what's going on, in case you forgot how things work here.
Weeks ago the submission window opened for this year's contest where we asked anybody wishing to participate to submit a 500-word writing sample – using a pen name. The sample can be from any genre, flash fiction or something from a larger piece of work, basically, anything goes except that it cannot have been previously published or posted on the internet. All of the rules regarding how to submit can be found here. After the submission period closed, we had fifteen judges (we call them our slush pile readers) read all 181 submissions from 132 writers and once all the ballots were total we narrowed the 181 down to the 30 that will be stepping into the ring over the course of the next three weeks. Today is the first of those bouts.
How this works – two anonymous (pen name only) writing samples step into the ring. Visitors to this blog (that’s you) read both entries and vote for the one that resonates the most with you. We 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 it is posted to give as many people as possible to have a say. The voting for today’s bout will close on Monday, April 30th (noon central time).
It’s that simple. The piece that garnishes the most votes moves on to the next round where they’ll face a different opponent. Using a tournament style format, the 30 contestants will be whittled down to just 2, and the winner of that final bout will be announced at the DFW Writers Conference in Hurst TX June 9-10.
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).
Oh yeah – for every bout that you vote in, your name (see rule #2 below) will be placed into a hat for a chance for a $40 Barnes and Noble Gift card that will be drawn after the contest concludes.
A few 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 result in that contestant's immediate disqualification. It’s perfectly okay, in fact, it is encouraged to spread the word about the contest to get more people to vote, just not for a specific writer!
That’s enough jibber-jabber…like the man say’s –
In the far corner, we have Birdie representing the Novel Excerpt genre.
With All His Heart
BEEP. BEEEP. BEEEEP. Sang the metal snitch on my chest.
I get three beeps to stop doing whatever I’m doing. If I don’t obey, it calls an ambulance.
I caught Coach’s eye and patted my chest. He blew his whistle and called a timeout.
A girl with curly pink hair and a hoodie yelled at me from across the field. “Little boy! Little boy!” She clapped at me with each word. “THERE. ARE. NO. TIME. OUTS. IN. SOCCER.”
I thought academic probation was the worst thing that could happen during my first varsity game. Mom thought that the worst thing that could happen would be me dropping dead on the field. We were both wrong. Everyone was looking at me, confused. This was the worst thing that could happen. The coach ran over and walked me a few steps away from the other players.
“You alright?”
“I’m okay. My monitor messed up.” I lied. The snitch was always right. It was supposed to let me play soccer. It was supposed to let me be normal. I reached under my shirt and I slipped my finger under the wire that grew out of my chest like a thick hair. It looked like I was scratching.
The timeout ended. We raced onto the field. I dug my shoes into the dirt.
I thought a raindrop hit my head. It was sweat. Pink-haired girl had the ball. I was the closest. I fought to close the distance and show Pink Hair what a “little boy” could do. I fought to keep my lunch from coming up. My steps rang out louder than the deep bass of my heartbeat. There was no beeping song to stop me this time. Freedom.
Pink Hair inched nearer the penalty area. Near me. Time for the “little boy” to force her off the field. Her shoulders turned toward the touch line. My heart vibrated. Excitement. Maybe.
The October air sucked the warmth out of me. Everyone was watching. Judging. Goosebumps popped up. Pink Hair almost drove the ball out of bounds. So close. We’d get the ball. Hero. Mom would regret telling me to play goalie.
The air thinned like had just sprinted up a mountain. Cold.
I slowed. Pink Hair crossed one foot around the ball. No air. Her shoe like a planet around the sun. Breathe in. The next foot orbited and kicked the ball behind me. Breathe out. A perfect crossover. My heart sank. Kept sinking. Fell into my stomach. Knotted into an angry little fist. Breathe in. Breathe in.
Foot, move. Lungs, work. My heart quiets. Buzzing. Heavy. Brick shoes. Bricks on my chest. Bricks in my chest. Pulling me down. Now there’s a mountain of bricks on top of me.
There goes the ball. Spinning crazily. Great. If my feet would-
Then the world started spinning.
Before everything went quiet and black the last thing I heard was Pink Hair’s voice, “give him the red card, he’s obviously faking it…”.
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And in the near corner, we have Wordmonger representing the Sci-Fi genre.
Most of the trailer was taken up by a large topographic map on the command table. Black and white pictures of the destroyed town were tacked up on boards along the walls. Samira stood in front of the largest panel, searching the photos carefully. There had to be something she was missing, a clue waiting to be uncovered.
"How does an entire town just disappear?" she said.
"Well, looks to me like the tornado took it," Larry said.
Samira groaned. That wasn't the answer she was looking for but Larry was just messing with her as usual. She turned away from the pictures and began to pace. It was an annoying habit, but one that helped her brain get unstuck whenever she was faced with a puzzle. And the fate of Jensen, Missouri was a pretty big puzzle.
Larry cleared his throat and began to read from his notepad. "As of Friday afternoon the town of Jensen, population 1,179, was still present and accounted for according to state officials. A tornado passed through the town at approximately 9:08 pm that evening and lasted for 11 minutes. Everything in the town has been destroyed. No survivors, human or animal, have been located and no bodies have been found."
Larry cleared his throat and began to read from his notepad. "As of Friday afternoon the town of Jensen, population 1,179, was still present and accounted for according to state officials. A tornado passed through the town at approximately 9:08 pm that evening and lasted for 11 minutes. Everything in the town has been destroyed. No survivors, human or animal, have been located and no bodies have been found."
"Not yet, anyway," Samira said. "Have we checked above ground?"
Tornado winds were known to whip debris far from the original location and deposit it several miles away. Although Jensen and the surrounding area was as flat as a pancake, there could be a survivor marooned in a tree somewhere. Samira had to check.
Tornado winds were known to whip debris far from the original location and deposit it several miles away. Although Jensen and the surrounding area was as flat as a pancake, there could be a survivor marooned in a tree somewhere. Samira had to check.
"Let’s go up. I want to see the town from above." Samira grabbed her jacket and strode out of the trailer.
"Ah, the good old bird's eye view. Just like crop circles," Larry said, hurrying after his boss.
A wry smile tickled Samira's full lips. Larry was as smart as a whip, but he was a sucker for conspiracy theories. He even dressed up as Fox Mulder every Halloween. But Samira trusted his instincts and he was loyal. She considered him a friend and in this job, friendship was hard to find and harder still to keep.
The helicopter rose rapidly and the remains of the town came into view. Crumpled cars, torn siding, and dismembered furniture littered the ground and twisted branches blocked the roads. The usual tornado side effects, Samira thought. Just then an image popped into her peripheral vision.
"What's that?" she said, pointing to the southern edge of the town.
The pilot nosed the chopper down. Shredded planks of what had been a red barn once lay in a heap next to an oddly shaped metallic object. It was as big as a tractor, with smooth sides that gleamed wetly in the morning sun. As Samira watched, it shifted suddenly to the right and the top end bulged outward, almost like something was moving inside. Something big.
“Get me down there,” Samira said. “Now.”
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Leave your votes and critiques in the comments below. Again, be respectful of your remarks and try to point positives as well as detractions.
We’ll be back tomorrow with another bout. See you then.
