I was pried out of NYC by a fierce band of desert writers who forced me, FORCED I tell ya, to come to the sun and lovely light air of Phoenix, Arizona and talk with them about effective query letters. Since the paramedics were not called, nor were the gendarmes, it probably wasn't as fun as they'd all hoped. I, however, did have a great time. Writers are so tasty!
The contest results are a day late because I was watching the Oscars, and I can't read your lovely work and watch TV at the same time. And I was glad I watched till the end! Zounds! Seeing that guy snatch the envelope from Warren Beatty's hand, and hold the Moonlight card up in front of Beatty's face was so funny I first thought it was a part of the program. (I'm really glad I don't work at Price Waterhouse this morning!)
Herewith the results:
Here are the words I had to look up (I always like those!)
awlwort: Kathy Joyce 4:17pm
millicarat: Rkeelan 11:23pm
Special recognition for a great sentence
Same Ghost 8:44pm
Her eyes are chilled hunger.
Deliciously amorphous
Marie McKay 12:49pm
Not quite a story but gloriosky the writing is utterly compelling
Barbara Lund 12:51pm
Not quite a story, but I loved them!
PAH 12:58pm
delicartoons 1:34pm
The Steve Forti Award for dexterous use of prompt words:
Steve Forti 12:59pm
benign. A wistful smile
These entries really made me smile
Amanda Wade 1:28pm
Kate Higgins 2:36pm
Sherry Howard 4:41pm
I'm pretty sure these are terrific, but I didn't quite get them
Megan V 4:12pm
flashfriday 6:57pm
Here are the entries that made the final cut
Timothy Lowe 12:54pm
Hands pinned, face broken, I was sent to the doctor. His lens could summon God from stone. Peering down through a single blue eye, he went to work.
He was a precise psychiatrist, prying into my insides, spilling my guts. Finding out what made me tick.
I was a hard case. He went in with some intricate tools, removed my problematic parts, jettisoning them like trash. He almost got my insides to align. Awaiting the final gear, I dared to hope.
But then a wealthier customer arrived. I was deserted. Laid open. Bare.
I still blame him.
Stupid fucking Rolex.
I love the twist here. We of course are expecting this is about a person, and the devious use of psychiatrist reassures us we are on the right track. And "finding out what makes me tick"-what a perfect example of using our expectations against us.
This is brilliant and clever story telling. Damn fine writing.
Richelle Elberg 1:30pm
They huddled under the mesquite throughout the blue sky hours. Third day. Cross the desert at night, sleep days. Nearly there now; border agents shouted in the distance.
Jets passed overhead, chem trails stretching and shifting and pointing the way. A murder of crows cawed and swooped. Fear gnawed, acid rose in his throat.
“Tonight?” the girl asked.
He didn’t respond.
“I don’t mean to pry.”
“You didn’t have to come.”
“Where else would I go?”
“Back to Indiana.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She was silent for a time.
“How will we cross the wall?”
“Other illegals, Americans, will help.”
This entry knocked my socks off.
Do you see the twist here?
Colin Smith 1:44pm
Sky Blue: My marriage dreams; My new eye color.
Sap Green: Her read of me; My eye shadow.
Jet Black: Her new BMW; My new hair.
Red Oak: The J.P.’s office desk where I signed my life away; The town where I had a pharmacist design a way out.
Desert Sands: Hotel where our bodies lay; Place where her body lies.
Cheap Rye: Her shoe color; My last breakfast in poverty.
Morning Shadow: Song covered by The Pancakes, playing when she left; Covered by theatrical pancake before I left.
Vengeance Red: Color of her purse where she keeps her passport.
This is a perfect example of a story told by what's not said.
Mark Ellis 1:51pm
The ink-jet printer slid flyers into a bin, each warm page gnawing against the thread of hope for Robert’s return after ten days overdue in the high desert.
They’d called off the search, and now only scrubby towns and cold blue sky would be Stef’s companions as she sought the man she’d argued with, and swore she never wanted to see again if he skipped their anniversary for another backpacking trek.
Prying herself off the counter at Mailboxes USA, she resisted the impulse to dial best friend Millie, who had her own problems, and had been strangely unsupportive of late.
I love the ending of this story.
So much unsaid, yet, we know, don't we, what's happened.
Lovely writing.
Galen Surlak 2:21pm
Unexpectedly, God sits next to me on a jet. He says nothing, but I’m sure it’s Him. Out of the blue, I ask, “Hate to pry, but are you God?”
“Yes.”
He raises two fingers. “You get two questions.”
“Two?”
“Yes. One left.”
I hesitate. What should I ask?
“Try writing down those that gnaw at you.”
I do. I question evil, the future, heaven, hell and more. Ten minutes later, for giggles, I add one more to the massive list: What should I have for desert?
“Dessert has two S’s” he says.
“You sure?”
He nods and then vanishes.
This is an old joke but it's never outdated.
It always makes me laugh.
Nate Wilson 8:43pm
"He sprayed you?"
"With one of those new Jango Fett--sorry, new-fangled jet power washers. Called me impure."
"You should've reported him."
"I did. That's why he chopped down spry moose. My spruce. From my daughter's memorial garden. He said it defiled his yard."
"Wow."
"Prejudice brings out people's shoe trades. Er, true shades."
"Yet, if it's his house..."
"I know. And he had me wino saver. Sign a waiver. When I rented the place from the affluent buck. Dammit. Abluent f--"
"I get it. So, you're here to lodge another complaint?"
"What? No. Biz hottie's in try monk."
Honest to godiva, the talent here is a little frightening. This is just fucking brilliant.
I'm travelling Monday night (red-eye back to NYC) so the final results will be sometime Tuesday when I have regained my wits.