I'll be shooting them off to the judges and will get back with you soon. I hate, hate, hate choosing just one winner, but those are the rules.
Winner will be posted soon -- I hope!
Jess
I’ve enjoyed reading (and writing for) the new Southern Writers Magazine . The pages are packed with encouragement and advice from voices of experience. The articles and interviews share secrets of success by experts in book marketing, promotion, branding, blogging, screenwriting, songwriting, conferences and more—all with a touch of Southern hospitality, of course. I want you to sample this great magazine so I’m hosting a writing contest. The winner will receive the latest issue of Southern Writers Magazine—a print issue because I want you to see just how wonderful it is. The color is vivid. The pages are thick. The print is comfortably readable.
Contest Rules:
"I’ve had a wonderful time, but this wasn’t it."
Using the Groucho Marx quote above as your first line, write a story in 159 words or less. (The quote serves as the first nine.) No profanity because I don’t like it. No erotica because you need to keep that good time to yourself. Put your name and email address below your story then post your 150 words in the comment section. There must be a minimum of ten (10) entries and you must add yourself as a follower of my blog. Deadline: October 31st.
All entries will be judged by selected members of my Bayou Writers lunch bunch. Sorry, only one winner will be chosen. The winning entry will be posted on my blog with gushy, flattering comments from the judges.
I repeat—in a nutshell:
You must add yourself as a follower of this blog if you aren’t already.
Your first line should be: "I’ve had a wonderful time, but this wasn’t it." (No modification)
Story must be 159 words max. Any kind of story—romance, western, scifi, fantasy, horror, etc. No profanity/No erotica.
Post your story in comment section with name and email.
A minimum of ten entries or contest is cancelled.
Deadline: Midnight, October 31st
Winner announced November 4th (or shortly thereafter)
Winner will be published on my blog and receive the November issue (print copy) of Southern Writers Magazine. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to email me at jessy31writer (at) aol (dot) com
This will be the first contest I've hosted -- hope it's fun!
21 comments:
Sounds like a great contest. I'll have to see if I have any ideas. I am pretty swamped unfortunately. I will check out the mag even if I don't get a chance to enter the contest.
Great idea. This rocks.
One Chance
By
James R. Tate
“I’ve had a wonderful time, but this wasn’t it.” Rick mumbled, shoving aside a box labeled glassware. Of all the things he’d dreaded about the divorce, separating the personal items was hands-down the winner, thirty-seven years of ‘stuff’, as Rachel called it. To Rick it was like tearing his heart out, marinating it in ‘I don’t love you anymore’ sauce, then throwing it into the fires of hell to burn forever.
Rachel pushed strands of graying hair out of her eyes. “Did you say something?”
“I didn’t say anything.” Rick picked up his weathered Senior jacket and turned to toss it into a box marked HERS.
“That’s yours.” Rachel reached for the Bobcat’s jacket, inadvertently brushing her slender fingers up his arm.
Rick felt heat rise in his face and was surprised to see her staring. He saw something then, just a flicker in her eyes, which made him smile and say, “It aint over till it’s over.”
Thought it was time to get back on the horse--See you in November. Thanks for the Prompt.
What a fun contest! Great prize too! Who wouldn't want to win a copy of Southern Writers?
Great contest. Halloween opens up all kinds of possibilities. Okay, here's my submission. Thanks for the opportunity.
A Halloween Collar
“I’ve had a wonderful time, but this wasn’t it,” I said, and smacked the kid on the back of his head.
The ghoul mask fell from his hand to the floor.
“Up yours,” he said.
I grabbed his nose and put my face an inch from his ear. “The next time I hit you, sport, you’ll lose your teeth.”
His eyes strained to look at me. I removed my fingers from his beak.
“I chased you four blocks,” I said, “and ripped my pants going over that fence. I am not a happy policeman. I’ll ask again. Where did you get those fireworks?”
“I forget.”
I smacked him again, this time a little harder.
His hand went defensively to his head. “I’ll have your badge for that, man.”
“I doubt that. Blowing up a mailbox makes you guilty of a felony. Where did you get the M-80s?”
An arrogant smirk crossed his face. “From my father, the chief inspector.”
By Wayne Zurl
wayzur865@aol.com
www.waynezurlbooks.net
PO Box 70
Walland, TN 37886
"I've had a wonderful time, but this wasn't it. I never thought I'd say those words aloud, especially about a writing conference," I said to my husband.
First Dracula, now the Wolfman! Are you kidding me? Leatherface, Jason, Pennywise, Freddy! Seriously? I am suppose to be at a writing conference. Where are the guest speakers? Why is everyone dressed like they're at a costume party? A hundred dollars wasted on this crap? What a sucker.
I head for the exit. The auditorium lights dim. A thunderous applause erupts. Red spotlights shine on the stage as Stephen King, Bram Stoker, John Carpenter, and Dean Koontz appear.
That's more like it, maybe I'll stay.
Instantly, their smiles fade. Faces melt from their skulls.
I scurry to find an exit amidst the chaotic screams filling my ears. Demonic laughter envelopes me. Sweat drenches my forehead and armpits. My heart races. I can't breathe.
I awaken and think, forget writing!
I'm excited about the three submissions and looking forward to getting many more. I thought using that particular first line would be difficult but you three make it look easy. :) Thank you for entering. I can tell, the judging is what will be difficult!
Sure hope you get your required seven more. This is such fun!
Come on, writers! Where are you??
JUMP IN EVERYONE!!
"I’ve had a wonderful time, but this wasn’t it."
I have a thing about reclining rockers. I love them. Recently I discovered a display of La-Z-Boy chairs in our local mall. Standing on a four-foot high circular display area near the Sears store, a sales woman coaxed shoppers to “Come and try our newest chair, the La-Z-Boy Burgundy Plush recliner-rocker with back vibrator. Try this chair; you’ll never want to leave it.”
I trotted up the four steps to the display level. Oh, this chair was a beauty. I lowered myself into the chair, the vibrator mechanism discretely hummed and I was enveloped in comfort and pleasure. After 15 seconds or so, I realized too late that the chair was slowly moving backward toward the display edge. I landed on my back on the floor, still in the gently vibrating chair, completely uninjured but horrifically embarrassed by the hysterical laughter of two teen-age boys, cracking up at my predicament.
Georgia Downer
georgia.downer5@gmail.com
“I’ve had a wonderful time, but this wasn’t it.” Peggy yelled through the car’s open window towards the various members of her family scattered across her mother’s lawn. She was pissed. Ten minutes earlier she’d entered her mother’s home carrying the balloons tied to envelopes. Unbeknownst to them she’d won the lottery and as appeasement for her former misdeeds she’d wanted to share her blessing. She’d agreed to meet her four siblings at their mom’s home in the belief they wanted to celebrate her birthday. Instead and as usual the gathering turned into a soul skinning and self-esteem stripping party. And as usual, she was the victim. Stretching her arm out, Peggy released the fist load of strings tied to the bouquet of balloons held in her hand. She’d rather share with the wind.
Ey Wade
imtheauthor@gmail.com
“I’ve had a wonderful time, but this wasn’t it”
“My mind regurgitates reflections as I slowly sink into oblivion. My miserable self never deserved a vocation of pumpin’ and shovelin’ out portable toilets. Death will liberate my achy haunches and eradicate the stench that clogs my nostrils.
In retrospect, my rebirth as a hearing-and-speech-impaired cripple was also forgettable. My wife exhibited little compassion and ignored my attempts to communicate with sign language. Since only my right hand signed, I couldn’t even converse with myself.
Worse yet was my renaissance as a caveman. After I broke my war club roundin’ up a mate, a cannibalistic tribe captured, cooked, and consumed my flesh and bones.
That leaves my reincarnation as Sir Lanceless in King Mardi Gras’ Court. Maid Marigold proved a delectable distraction when I wasn’t engaged in mortal combat. That existence had to be my only wonderful time.”
Bob Downer
rrdowner37@gmail.com
"I’ve had a wonderful time, but this wasn’t it." My vision was obscured by a white sheet covering me. I took inventory. All body parts accounted for, gunshot wound to chest almost healed, clothes gone. The last part wasn’t surprising. What do the dead need with clothes? It’s a hazard of being immortal. Your heart stops and people think you’re deceased. A few hours later, resurrection. I stood up, wrapped the sheet around me, glanced around the morgue. Next to me was a form I recognized. The face under the drape grimaced in fear. Poor Kasey. I told her it wasn’t a good idea to stop at a convenience store at midnight for a pregnancy test.
Since I can’t have children it would hurt to know she’d been unfaithful. It’s been centuries since I enjoyed someone’s company. Still, it had to end somehow. I would’ve preferred something less brutal. Being immortal has it’s perks. This wasn’t one of them.
Beth Savoie
b_savoie@bellsouth.net
"I’ve had a wonderful time, but this wasn’t it," Ann scribbled on her legal pad. Resigned to end her life, or what was left of her American dream, she grabbed the bag of Xanax she had stock piled for months. Pushing back her chair from the desk, she stood almost in triumph. She was going to do it; she wasn’t a coward. Death didn’t scare her, not after all she had been through. The pain of broken dreams, broken promises, the marriage, the miscarriages, the betrayal…She could accept disappointment when things didn’t go her way. But this, this was more than anyone could bear.
Adrian Smith
"I've had a wonderful time, but this wasn't it."
Those were the first words I ever heard. To this day, I don’t know whether Mom said it or her OBGYN who delivered me.
Mom swears it wasn’t her, often swearing amidst the denial to emphasize her defense. To her credit, we only have audio, making an indictment impossible. Dad helmed the video camera, and he swooned the moment I crowned. The entire video consists of a partial shot of his foot and mom’s left leg…in a stirrup. Every thirty seconds, a nurse barked “Push!” Every thirty seconds, Mom responded with a groan issued by the frayed ropes of her vocal cords, drawing from the deep well of her soul.
The nurse offered commentary:
“Is the baby breech? That’s just its head? Wow!”
“No offense…your husband’s a coward.”
“It’s a girl!”
Finally, I arrived with a wail.
Then, a voice: “I’m here with the anesthesia. Did someone order an epidural?”
"I’ve had a wonderful time, but this wasn’t it." She thought staring at the man sitting next to her in the private booth.
Ana listened to the romantic music the live band played. She glanced at the happy couples staring lovingly at each other across candlelit tables or snuggled closely on the dance floor.
When Rick picked her up in the limo and brought her to Che’ Anre’ she had been so sure tonight he would finally propose.
Yet, he had only wanted to celebrate his new promotion. The promotion which meant he didn’t need her money or her anymore. He brought her here so she wouldn’t make a scene when he broke it off.
Well, she wouldn’t make a scene. She grimaced as she removed the blade from his gut. No one even looked as he went pale. The room was dark enough she rose from the table and left without anyone noticing.
Sylvia Ney
writinginwonderland(at)gmail(dot)com
Past Perfect
I've had a wonderful time, but this wasn't it.
This time was supposed to be different. I'd checked off all the points of a perfect meet from my list.
Connecting online and meeting in person are two separate things. But every time I thought I was matched up with the perfect man, he wasn't it.
This dude lied about his age, his fitness level, his occupation.
"I can go to church with you," he offered. "Pretend to meet there."
I learn the Lord's will through His word, according to His time. Not so much reading lately.
I chose to come here without praying.
I stood. "Sorry you wasted my time."
I gathered my journal, my sequined bag, slapped a twenty on the cloth-covered table, and stormed from the restaurant.
And on the street, lunged straight into the arms of my perfect past. This is a wonderful time.
LoRee Peery
meadowlark@loreepeery.com
Loved reading all the entries. Good stuff.
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