Photographic evidence:
Now, the question is:
What Happened Next?
Give us your
50 words or fewer!
Reality doesn't need to be a part of this!
I PROMISE to actually post the results and a winner on Sunday!
(and the winner of last week's contest too!)
Contest closed (sorry!)
Results on Sunday!
35 comments:
Colin’s attempt to woo all by reading some of his prose was met with, “Not so fast, buster.”
That’s when he learned he’d been relegated Minion for the Day.
He tried to play statue by the stack of books.
“Get to work!” said QOTKU.
Thus began his NYC vacation.
Our Colin: agent for the day.
(Fig. 1) For every slushpile entry he read...
(Fig. 2)...he was allowed to take home an ARC.
Books, like TARDISes, are bigger on the inside.
Suitcases are not.
Good luck, Colin.
Colin grinned wickedly.
And then...
he leaped!
Call it a leap of faith, a leap of love, or a leap into the leaves of glory, but he leaped into the books like a pirouetting Labrador.
THE ONE skittered across the floor in his wake.
And everyone knew—that’s him.
Eight steps forward. Armful of books. Eight steps back. Put them on the shelf.
“Alphabetically.”
Eight steps forward. Armful of books. Eight steps back. Order them on the shelf.
“Faster.”
Colin glanced sideways. Both cat and shark were demolishing cocktails; he supressed a shudder.
His manacle clinked.
Eight steps forward.
Day
Long
Tired
Bed
Midnight
Pounding
Cops
Ms. Reid
Kerfuffle
#1
Where’s
da
I
Oh
Oops
Office
Lights
Colin
Entranced
Staring
At
books
Colin pondered his next move while playing book Jenga with the interns. Minutes later, one copy of Numb by Sean Ferrell brought the whole game to a crashing halt. At least reading the aftermath was fun.
After confirming The Frain Manuscript was not in the pile before him, Colin threatened a tantrum if there wasn't a new contest.
"I must win," he demanded. "So don't give Steve prompt words. And nobody else can enter. Know what, Shark? Just gimme the prize now."
Chomp.
"Drats. Carkoon again?"
Thus, outfitted in forensic goggles, gloves and asbestos underpants, Colin proceeded to stock the bookshelves using the famous Carkoonian Decimal System*, i.e. the method of filing books according to the creative ways characters were decimated in the story.
*not to be confused with Carkoonian Decibel System.
Colin: Finally finished! [wipes sweat from brow] All 15 bookcases fully stocked.
Daughter: Hey, isn't that a Jeff Somers book down there?
Shark: You know, I think we need these in REVERSE alphabetical order, with my client books at eye level.
Colin: [groan] Yes, my Queen. [empties first bookshelf]
Here at the NYPD, we do things a little differently.
Mug shots?
Add creative flair!
A few props, a piece of art.
Let’s make it fun!
Miranda rights?
Why have them read TO you,
When you can read them yourself?
Scavenger Hunt!
Nope - the photos don’t lie.
Pure joy!
A chipper BING BING signalled his arrival in Eden.
Like all prophecies, Janet's message had been cryptic.
“I want to discuss a book deal.”
Spying the agente provocatrice, Colin's heart raced ahead to greet her.
“Yes, Janet?” he stammered.
“I’ll pay you $20 to shelve these books. Alphabetically, by author.”
Aha!
The shark circled prey—fresh writer flesh—the best of the best.
What new torture to tear a little flesh?
Oh, Colin, said she, that query’s all wrong, and adverbs, now surely you know better than that.
Colin hung his head, looked meekly around, sprinkled bourbon and backed away.
When the Sorceress leaves Colin unattended, he uses her magic to enchant two chapters. The pages soon burgeon into a towering, tilting wall of books. Mere moments before the tumbling TBR pile crushes him, Janet returns and saves him with the wave of a Laird Barron bookmark.
As often happens when a congregation of books convene, a portal opened to take our erstwhile Mr. Smith to a magical world between the moon and New York City. When you're caught there, you do the best that you can do.
Janet: He thinks it’s a book contract, right?
Minion: As always. They never read it.
Janet: We need six more to fill the shuttle to Carkoon.
Minion: I’ll put him on the blog to lure others in. Looks like he’s smiling, not grimacing.
Janet: Don’t let the shackles show.
*sound of cellphone ringing…Tchaikovsky’s June*
“Yello,” he turns from Janet.
“Oui, bonjour, Monsieur Smith.”
“Yes, I’m Mr. Smith.”
“ J'appelle de la part des French'Encas, il s'agit de votre fille, je suis heureuse de dire qu'elle a été acceptée dans notre institut.”
"Whatever," he hangs up, and shrugs at Janet.
“Page and page and page
Blasts by this thrilling pace
Unto the last syllable of this gripping novel.”
So say the critics.
Colin says, “Man, am I glad I stopped by New Leaf. My literary career is really taking off.”
Plus he got to meet some really cool people.
“Take all the books you can carry,” Janet told Colin.
Airport baggage checker by day/Coney Island’s I Can Guess Your Weight guy by night whispered into his walkie. “What was the weight of that missing woman?”
“Hold it, Mister!”
That familiar sound. McCoy’s face. “Must have dozed off,” said Janet.
Today the man brought pages from his WIP. He was not popular. She took his picture for her dart board. She made him shelve books. Then the Queen took him to a watering hole and made him buy her much vodka. Tomorrow the Queen will rest.
“Choose wisely.”
Treasure. Smith breathed in, awaiting the magic. When he opened his eyes, he noticed a tiny volume in the back, gold cover shimmering under the office lights. He waded in, pulled out the book, and read the title.
EXCALIBUR.
The minion gasped. “My queen, we have our intern.”
Colin played Tetris with the books. After they crashed on Djanet's fin he invited her to the salad bar. Nothing like greens to stop the yowling.
'Lettuce Devil Special, you won't regret.'
When she declined he built a cave and slept on the slush pile.
Colin swallowed his final bite, chased it with water to force it down.
“And the lima beans,” commanded the voice.
At last, green without envy, he entered. Bookshelves filled to capacity! The door slammed. He realized every book was identical.
I always thought this place was just a fictitious island.
Colin stands, head buzzing, legs shaking, skin such a gray-green that a real-live New Yorker asks if he's okay.
“She’s a chimera!”
The New Yorker slinks away.
I must tell!
Everyone prefers alternative facts now anyway.
I’m a Pastor!
Your daughter will be blackballed.
Scruples itching, Colin types, “She’s lovely!”
The thing that looked like Colin grinned. Suddenly, he toppled over, twelve hundred pounds of corrugated steel and vinyl matted skin. Books tumbled across the floor.
“Holy Shark Fin soup!” a damsel cried.
“‘An assassin,” Colin said, stepping from behind the cubicle glass with a smoking Beretta.
“Poelle,” she snapped.
Colin flexes his fingers.
Gets back to work.
“…afraid it’s a pass…”
Reshelve books, they said. As if.
“…not a good fit…”
But still.
“…best wishes…”
Better second job than driving for Uber.
Or delivering pizza.
Janet doesn’t believe in NORMANs.
And he’s gotta pay the mortgage.
“…Sincerely…”
"Felix?"
"He's escaped. Through a book. I have photographic evidence"
"Felix. He's not escaped. The queen set a trap."
"I don't understand."
"The Duchess wanted him. For her experiments with thumbs. The queen had no choice."
"Carkoon won't be same without Colin."
"Buck up, Felix. We got a lovely trade. Donna or Dixie something..."
With stacks of books blocking his escape through the window, Colin turned to face the snarly teeth of the Shark.
“Don’t just stare at them,” she growled. “Fill up those drawers.”
Colin gulped and his glasses fell from his nose with the sweat. Lips quivering, he said, “I – I already did.”
“Sit. Please.”
“Thank you, my Queen.” As Mr. Smith bows he discreetly wipes the spray of saltwater from his face.
“Show me what you’ve brought.”
Smiling confidently, Smith holds pages aloft.
“Oh, Colin. Colin. I said pastries.” Slips a fin around the daughter’s shoulder. “Start stacking. You have five minutes.”
A British Author in Queen Janet’s Court
(Former) Reider Colin Smith is missing after allegedly attempting to distribute his single-spaced, 200,000 word manuscript to the Queen’s minions. Last seen with a rucksack full of sardines, he is thought to be held as a food taster for the Duchess of Yowl.
The pages soft, the words inviting.
Colin dove.
A better bed than any ol' McDuck ever had.
"Veronica Roth? Patrick Lee?
Verbal droolers compared to me!
Read my work, you’ll read for hours,
'Cos I’m a writer with super powers!!"
The agent snapped, he left dejected.
A pile of books left unprotected?
"She’ll pay," he said with vengeful cries,
And a single zap with his laser eyes.
**NOT AN ENTRY (OBVIOUSLY)**
Just to say, I'm home now. Had a great time in NYC. It was great seeing Janet again, and meeting most of the New Leaf team. Thanks, Janet, for not calling security immediately. ;)
And you are all having way too much fun with this. Y'all are a blast. :D
It was a small tap. Not even what you could call a nudge.
Yet it was enough.
The towers of books, so carefully stacked, spines out, alphabetized by title and author, swayed slightly.
With a tumultuous roar, books cascaded to the floor.
In the aftermath, shattering the echoing silence, a small voice, “Carkoon?”
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[REDACTED]C[REDACTED] S[REDACTED] kale.
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“Way better than your earlier lame entry,” [REDACTED]said. “But you can only enter once.”
“Also, thanks for the chocolates at the hotel, but she’s not letting me judge the contest.”
A map found somewhere around 7pm....(4pm PT)
The map says 77 books with 777 pages, 7 down and 7 across and you will find a buried 7 finned shark trying to dig herself out of this 7square foot pile ... "When found please serve 7 bottles of 70 year-old scotch!"
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