This is my 100th blog post. Hurrah!
I missed my 1-year blogiversary by a few weeks, but hey--we're all still hungover from Evil Editor's rawkin' party, so the oversight comes as a massive relief to our virtual livers, I'm sure.
To celebrate my blog's odometer ticking over to zeroes again, I propose a contest! And to make it really interesting, I propose:
PRIZES!
(Picture that in blinky font; I dunno how to do blinky font.)
Aaaaand because I'm po' the prizes are in fact a prize, and a chintzy one at best: a $15CAD gift certificate to Amazon for the winner.
But you're all slavering like crazed beasts, right? You're pulsating in anticipation 'cause it's free, darn it, and free is like candy wrapped in bacon dipped in maple syrup and slathered with cream cheese, right?
Okay, so you're not quite that excited. Regardless! Here's the contest:
Write me a story exactly 100 words long. Being even one word too long or too short disqualifies you, although I will be lenient about sketchy cases like hyphenated composite nouns (e.g. "ten-year-old".)
Post it in the comments; you retain all rights (unless Blogger steals 'em; I haven't checked their fine print.)
The story can be about anything you like, and the winner will be chosen by the thoroughly dodgey criterion of having been the story I liked best (humour is always a safe bet.) Commenters may sway me with their eloquent online votes. There is no limit on the number of times you can enter!
Tell your friends. Tell your neighbours. Tell that hairy guy at the bus stop who wears no pants under his trench coat.
The deadline is Friday, May 2nd, 7 PM Pacific Daylight Time (i.e. expect whiny snivelling and self-pity from me if nobody enters by then.) The winner will need to provide me with an email address to send the gift certificate to.
*Grins wildly and fires the starter's pistol*
Fine Print: Comments on the stories are encouraged, but only if they are complimentary, i.e. this is not a critique session, so all negative comments--even if constructive and polite--will be deleted. Only say nice stuff, okay? Okay. Thanks for your cooperation, guys!
Pageloads since 01/01/2009:
21 comments:
Happy 100! I probably won't be participating, but I look forward to seeing the stories.
Congrats on the centennial. Here is my story. Not counting the title it is exactly 100 words.
Mother Nature
Hand on the door, he hesitated, cringing at even the thought of getting drenched. The water came down in sheets, attacking the other side of the glass. He watched a rivulet snake it's way downward.
Overhead, Mother Nature grumbled.
He had no choice. Sooner or later, he would be forced to go.
Another rumble shook the air. This one more forceful than the last. Holding his breath, he ducked his head and gasped as the drops slapped his tender face.
When young Bobby Nature grew up, he vowed to never makes his kids take showers. Not even on school nights.
"My turn, Daddy, my turn. Ask me."
In the rear-view mirror, twinkly-eyed Mandy clapped her chubby little Magic-Marker-stained hands.
"Okay, pumpkin. Chocolate or vanilla?" The rules of The Game were simple: the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And giggling was allowed. Encouraged, actually.
"That’s easy. Vanilla. I like vanilla best." More clapping. Lots of clapping when you were four. And giggling. "Your turn, Daddy. Ready?"
"You bet." Steve stopped at the red light and faced Mandy.
"Okay, Daddy." Extra sparkle in her eyes. Along with a sly grin. "Who’s your favorite child?"
Happy 100 and many many more.
Two great stories so far.
Terrie
Happy 100th post! Many hundreds more!
My blogiversary is next Monday! Good thing I wrote it down or I'd forget to celebrate.
Great contest. Flash ain't my thing, but I'm happy to sit on the sides and giggle at the entries!
I saw the happy occasion on Trav's page, and thought I'd drop in to say happy 100th!
Here's my entry:
I think they’re on to me.
They’ve added it up, and realized that Paul Stone, securities advisor, is actually an undercover reporter. And I’m on my way to breaking the story of a lifetime, to cracking a case of organized crime and corruption that’ll reach all the way to the top.
This’ll show the editors I’m ready for the big assignments. Next time there’s a story no one else can handle, they won’t say I’m too young. They’ll know I’ve stepped up to the big time, front page.
Now I just have to find a way out of this trunk.
I must come back for this and see if I can do it. I don't know if I can but I will try. This is so cool! I love contests!
And congrats on the 100th post!
Congrats on the big 100, JJ!!!
I'll have to come back with an entry... 100 words is definitely tight, but I'll see what I can come up with.
Nice work on your entries, guys!
Okay, here's mine:
His eyes danced in unabashed impudence as he stared me down from across the desk. He knew I had no answer; the little bastard stumped me again. He drummed on the formica-topped surface as smug condescension oozed from his every pore.
“Well,” I said, feeling the heat of anger rising in my face and trying my damnedest to keep it down – the last thing I needed was to lose another job, “I think it’s time for our break.”
I ushered them into lines for the bathroom and wondered, not for the first time, why I ever decided to teach pre-school.
Mom in Scrubs,
LOL! And here I thought Frank might be auditing him for the IRS... hysterical.
Here from Travis' blog...OK, I can't stand it....I'm my own worst critic!! Can I submit a rewrite?
You can delete my first attempt - that would probably be best as this one would have better impact. Here goes:
---------------
Frank never thought he'd see the day.
Here he was, face-to-face with his childhood nemesis. The bully who'd extorted his lunch money, planted stink-bombs in his locker, and fabricated rumors about Frank's sexuality that plagued his high school years.
Frank slid into the seat opposite the man, setting down his sharkskin briefcase, loosening his Armani tie.
He cleared his throat. "Don't I know you?"
A blank stare. The briefest flicker of horrified recognition, squelched instantly into contrived dispassion. "...don't think so."
It was all Frank needed. He settled back, snapped open the Wall Street Journal.
"Black polish. Make 'em shine."
Congrats! My silly effort follows. And if I win, don't send me a prize, buy yourself something nice.
==============
Janey’s boyfriend wore socks. To bed.
Janey didn’t like cold feet either, but those socks...those socks were hideous. They were the Brezhnev eyebrows of sockdom, hoary caterpillars of grandmotherly giftitude in pea green and purple stripes. The mere sight of them brought on a baseless terror of being gnoshed upon feet-first by alien larvae escaped from a bad B movie.
Lack of sleep from worry brought Janey to the breaking point. So she resolved to eradicate the socks in a manner both redemptive and inculpable. In other words, so that she’d blame the dog. Because the socks had to go.
'Tis a fun contest, Goblin. I always enjoy a challenge.
-----
The necromancer wanders the world in torn jeans and an ill-fitting leather jacket. He walks empty streets, picks up dangling phones to listen for whispers on the other end. He shuffles through graveyard skyscrapers and drives any car he finds with the keys still in the ignition. Every city he visits is the same. The bombings left no bodies behind.
He would’ve been destroyed as well, had he been in the physical realm when someone pushed the big red button. Sheer dumb luck.
He refuses to look over his shoulder. Refuses to acknowledge the six billion ghosts following his footsteps.
I like reid and joshs' entries best. I'm hopelessly outclassed by the talent pool here, I can see. ;) Where do we actually vote?
Natasha took a gulp of air then lowered the lid of the trunk she was hiding in. Yes, his Grace had done well. What a fool she had been to believe him!
Cringing in the cramped darkness, Natasha remembered the Duke’s smile as he convinced her to become a stowaway. "Lady Walton is staying in England,” he had said. “Your path is clear. Follow his Lordship to America!"
And now Lady Walton herself strolled the deck with her husband, while Natasha crouched, breathless, knife in hand, straining to hear her lover’s voice. No more games. She would have him tonight.
Where do we actually vote?
Here! :-)
It's nice to be able to read the entries you're trying to comment on without bamfing back and forth between separate windows or tabs.
I gotta go with Reid so far.
I'v emade up my mind: josh. Love that haunting last line.
Tiiiiiiiime's up!
Thank you to all participants; the winner will be announced shortly! (After much waffling, chewing of lip, and general guilt.)
These are all really great entries!
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