Monday, May 14, 2012

Don't Enter The 81st Annual Writer's Digest Writer's Competition


Stop typing and step away from the, er, outdated typewriter. Granted, the deadline for the Writer's Digest contest is tomorrow and I'm just now submitting my entry, but don't bother entering; I got this shit sewn up. Here's a little taste of what I did. In all honesty, I'm pretty proud of it, be it good or be it shite. It's the first bit of fiction I've written in a long time and get me writing again. Here's the first couple of paragraphs. Enjoy.

The moment he entered his home, Bob knew the ghost was gone. 

Over the past four weeks, the ghost had always welcomed Bob home, whether in the evening when he came from work or Saturday afternoons when he returned from Mother’s or Sunday mornings after church. The ghost was a voice Bob had grown accustomed to hearing and now that it was gone, Bob was saddened and confused. 

Bob waited at the door another moment, hoping the ghost would speak. Perhaps she (the ghost’s voice had a decidedly feminine character to it) was playing a game. Or busy. Bob had no previous experiences with ghosts, so maybe today, the third Thursday of the month, was when they ran their errands. A smile touched his lips as he thought of the ghost at the spectral grocery store. Maybe the ghost was at the ethereal DMV. 


Once the contest is over, I'll post the story in its entirety. Or not. If the judges mail it back with a brown smear on it because it was so terrible they wiped their respective asses with it, I probably won't make it public. Probably. But I might anyway. Because I'm a masochist like that.

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