The Writing Without Rules Flash Fiction contest

I am currently splashing about in the lovely lakes of Minnesota (with companion in crime La Slitherina herself, Barbara Poelle!) at The Loft writing conference.

Since conferences tend to leave me babbling incoherently, and unable to form cogent thought, we'll need a writing contest for diversion!

And with  Writing Without Rules by the Amazing and Awesome Jeff Somers, (subject of yesterday's blog post)  is just one short month away from publication, this seems like a good time to remind you to Pre-Order! (I've read this book more times than either Jeff or I like to think about, and it's the best writing book I've ever seen. Am I objective? Probably not. Have I read a lot of writing books? oh dear godiva, yes.)

 The usual rules apply:

1. Write a story using 100 words or fewer.

2. Use these words in the story:

tenet

canon

rule

law

reg

3. You must use the whole word, but that whole word can be part of a larger word. The letters for the
prompt must appear in consecutive order. They cannot be backwards.
Thus: reg/regular is ok, but law, canon/cannon is not.

4. Post the entry in the comment column of THIS blog post.

5. One entry per person. If you need a mulligan (a do-over) erase your entry and post again. It helps to work out your entry first, then post.

6. International entries are allowed, but prizes may vary for international addresses.

7. Titles count as part of the word count (you don't need a title)

8. Under no circumstances should you tweet anything about your particular entry to me. Example: "Hope you like my entry about Felix Buttonweezer!" This is grounds for disqualification.

8a. There are no circumstances in which it is ok to ask for feedback from ME on your contest entry. NONE. (You can however discuss your entry with the commenters in the comment trail...just leave me out of it.)

9. It's ok to tweet about the contest generally.
Example: "I just entered the flash fiction contest on Janet's blog and I didn't even get a lousy t-shirt"

10. Please do not post anything but contest entries. (Not for example "I love Felix Buttonweezer's entry!")

11. You agree that your contest entry can remain posted on the blog for the life of the blog. In other words, you can't later ask me to delete the entry and any comments about the entry at a later date.

12. The stories must be self-contained. That is: do not include links or footnotes to explain any part of the story. Those extras will not be considered part of the story.


Contest opens: 8:43am, Eastern Daylight time, 4/21/18

Contest closes: 9am, Eastern Daylight time, 4/22/18



If you're wondering how what time it is in NYC right now, here's the clock




If you'd like to see the entries that have won previous contests, there's
an .xls spread sheet here http://www.colindsmith.com/TreasureChest/

(Thanks to Colin Smith for organizing and maintaining this!)

Questions? Tweet to me @Janet_Reid (but be prepared for a long wait, since I'm working at the conference this weekend!)

Ready? SET?

Not yet!

Enter! 
Oops, sorry, too late. Contest closed.

It's not right, but it's also not wrong

I swear every word of this is true

Act One: Happy Hour -17, New Leaf office.

Manuscript arcs over the transom, and lands on my desk with a rather liquidy plop. Clearly whisky was involved in the writing. Aha! The new Jeff Somers pages.

Read; savor.
Read; savor.
Laphroaig, rinse, repeat.

I sharpen my editing pencil on my fangs, and mark that Jeff has named characters Alice, Alyse, and Alison. And two people both seemed to be named Candace.

I mark the odd capitalization that Creeps in to Jeff's writings; capitalizations That really don't seem To be any Thing other than random.

I mark the occasional homonym and grammar slip.

I summon the messenger and have the ms biked back to New Jersey.


Act Two: Happy Hour -8, New Leaf Office

Revised manuscript arrives via liveried footman who mentions off-handedly that Jeff is helping Prince Harry write his wedding vows today so I won't need to reply till tomorrow.

I compare old version to new.

Changes accepted.

But wait, one...no, TWO grammar errors remain.

He must not have seen them.

I mark again, this time in BOLD RED and catch the liveried footman before he steps into the elevator.


Act Three: Happy Hour -5, New Leaf Office

Homer Spit Somers pussyfoots into the New Leaf office with a manuscript in his back pack. He deftly spins it onto my desk, settles into a warm spot on top of my computer, casually flicks a claw in my direction to indicate this is the next revision.

I read.
I savor.
I spot those same damn grammar errors.

I reach for the phone.

Homer Spit, no fool he, dives into the nearest filing cabinet and pulls the drawer shut behind him. As I dial, I wonder idly if Homer has filed himself under F for Feline, C for Cat, or H for Hidden.

*Ring*
*RING*
*RING!*

JS: Oh hi Janet, how are you?
JR: Purrfect, of course.

JS: So, I'm busy here, this Prince guy isn't who I thought he was, but never mind. What's up?
JR: You didn't fix those two grammar mistakes.

JS: They aren't mistakes.
JR: (a tad huffy) They certainly are. "Her and me" is totally completely 100% wrong wrong wrong.

JS: It's on purpose.

JR: (aghast pause) You're making mistakes on purpose? This is cranking "let's torture your agent" up to 11.

JS: The character speaking does not always sound like Miss Parsnips, your grammar teacher.

JR: Oh. But still, it's WRONG! It's Bad Grammar! (clutches copies of Mignon Fogerty books to fluttering fin.) It can't be right if it's wrong, it just can't. *weeping ensues*

JS: It is and it's not. The character says this. It's not narrative, it's dialogue. Get yourself together, before I write a scene in a bank with safety deposit boxes

JR: *heartfelt moans* no, no, please don't do that. Anything but that.
JS: My agent is weeping. My work here is done.

Homer Spit deftly opens the file cabinet, leaps out, pussyfoots down the drainpipe and into the sunset.

The End, Happy Hour .. oh hell, break out the whisky now.



Your takeaway: Don't let Miss Parsnips, in agent or editor form, tell you that just cause it's wrong it's not right. Characters speak incorrectly all the time, just like real people do. Hold your ground, even in the face of bitter shark tears.

The drawback of beta readers

There are two things to be aware of about beta readers:

(1) they read all of what you give them; and
(2) they read with the idea of giving you feedback.

Agents do neither.

I stop when I've decided the query or the pages don't work for me.
I don't read carefully, parsing out what works and what doesn't. I read your query and pages to see if I want to read more.  I'm not skimming, but I'm not reading with the idea of giving feedback.

In other words, if you don't catch my attention I don't spend any time figuring out why, I just pass.

The point where people stop reading is entirely subjective. There's no way you can know where that point is for each and every agent.

Your take away from this: on the final pass, ask your beta readers where they'd stop reading if they were just reading for fun.

And if your beta readers love your work, but you're not getting requests for fulls, find new betas to read as though it was just for fun, and then see what they say.

Bottom line: find betas to read as though they were agents before you type FINAL on that manuscript.

Comping my adult novel to YA novels

Is it okay to use comps outside one's category?

I'm currently working on an adult novel (historical fiction), but the two comps that feel right to me are both YA. Is it okay to say something like "I hope it will appeal to adult fans of [YA title] and [YA title]?" Or is this a red flag?

I read widely in the genre (both YA and adult), so I'm sure I can come up with some adult titles if this is an issue, but the two YA books feel like such a great fit (and, bonus, both are recently published and seem to have done well). It's probably also worth mentioning that there's no way to age my book down to YA (both because of the age of the protagonist and the subject matter).

I'm probably overthinking this, right?

You're not overthinking this at all.
This is a really good question, and I'm glad you asked.

Since you read both YA and adult you know that YA books differ from those marketed and sold as adult fiction even if they are both in the same genre (such as crime fiction, or historical fiction.)

YA generally is about young people finding their way in the world, making sense of situations they didn't create, or have thrust upon them because of their age.

Adult fiction can certainly be about that but the characters, as you point out, are older, have more life experience, and generally a few more of life's scuff marks.

YA is acquired by entirely different editors than acquire adult fiction (mostly), sold differently (mostly) and even in a separate imprint at the publisher (often.)

If I have a YA novel, regardless of genre, I go to the Harper divisions that publish those books.
If I have an adult novel, I go to the Harper imprints (like Morrow or Avon) that publish those kinds of books.

What you can intuit from that is that YA comps are largely meaningless to adult editors. Sure, adult editors have read some YA and they know what it is, but they're not steeped in it like the YA editors are.

The purpose of comps is to tell an agent or an editor what kind of reader will like your book. Given the size of the historical fiction market, you need to cast a wider net.

Don't feel stupid about this. Comps are the bane of my existence and I spend HOURS trying to get them right. And even then, when the brain trust here at New Leaf weighs in, someone else always has a better one (which is a good thing, but humbling!)

This may be a place where your librarian can help you. They know more (or at least how to find more) than any of the rest of us!

Flash fiction contest results!

This was another terrific showcase of your flash fiction skills!

Colin Smith got the prompt connection 
Connection: The words are all from the names of the April 11th Caption Contest finalists.

A great, and oh so true, line
Alina Sergachov

You treat me like a pet. Prepare to die."

Special recognition for this lovely epiphany
Michael Seese 

Is this how God feels? I wondered. Amazed at, and terrified of, the power. I understood why He can't look us in the eye.

Special recognition for a great sentence
James Leisenring

An applause of paws.

Special recognition for a perfection definition
Melanie Savransky

Joy said, whaddaya call a gang with no plan? And Smith said: “The defendants.”

Not really a story, but utterly and completely hilarious 
StackAttack

Howard Smith chucked the burger wrapper from his Hummer, searched for a woman to catcall, then sped off. This was the kind of asshole Howard was. Him being possessed by a demon was unrelated.

The demon thought he learned the trick to success. Why infect an innocent soul and be easily discovered? Better to inhabit scum, and enjoy a home behind a hideous curtain.

Unfortunately, Howard’s behavior was so insufferable when the demon wasn’t behind the wheel, the only effective torture was forcing him to be a decent person.

This was a new low, even for the spawn of Satan.

Not quite a story, but I really love interesting and unusual POVs
LynnRodz

Should I kill the boy on the bike?
Or the couple crossing the street?
The boy's young, someone's son.
The couple's old, they've had a life.
What if the boy grows up and becomes a trickster, worse a rapist or killer?
What if the man's a surgeon saving lives, spreading joy; the woman a scientist on the brink of a discovery that'll help the world?
Pawl?
No one programmed me for this!

*

Mr. Smith, Tesla awarded you four million dollars. It won't bring your wife back, but perhaps there's some consolation knowing three lives were saved.

Special recognition for masterful subtlety
Amy Schaefer

I enjoy gravedigging.

People are strangely squeamish about my vocation, so I’ve learned not to share over a beer or three. Conversation trickles to a halt, and everyone stares at me like I’m the spawn of Burke and Hare. I don’t get it; all I do is grant peace.

I’m no wordsmith, but I’ll recite a sonnet or two as the moonlight bathes my sweaty shoulders and the shovel bites the ground. Your struggle is over now; be tranquil, friend.

Truly, gravedigging is soothing.

I cherish the task after the fierce, foul, strenuous minutes that let me dig a grave.

You know how they handicap thoroughbreds by adding weight to the best horses? Or trotters, who start in staggered formation, with the best horses last? That's to even the field.

I think we've got some writers who in future flash fiction contests are going to have get extra prompts or some nefarious rule twist. They're just getting too damn good.

Here are the entries that really stood out for me:
Steve Forti

Dangling like a participle, the guards will find my rope come morning.
It was inevitable. Judge Joykill saw to that. Life sentence. No parole. Oxford Penitentiary.
The warden is a real stickler. Dashes hopes to smithereens. Carved “SPITE' into the rafters. Locks you in the hole for any infraction. Men went mad in there. Catatonic. They call it the Oxford Coma.
He thinks he's got me in line. I'll show him. This pawky prisoner knows some tricks. I carve the “DE” in front. I'll use a preposition to end my sentence with.

And yes, I had to look up pawky.

Steve's deft use of prompt words is a continuous source of delight but he's more than a one-trick writer here. The story is also wonderful. Homage to Shawshank Redemption of course, written by Stephen King, a master wordsmith, about words.  That's a hat trick!

Honestly, at this point, Steve is in his own category.


Timothy Lowe

They ate the silversmiths first. Wily bastards, Bill Craft said, chewing the nub end of his pipe in the subterranean glow of the Inn’s fireplace. Next, the blacksmiths and gunsmiths. Old Jeb Farrier’s apron was found folded neatly over his anvil, a crimson paw-print telling the tale as neatly and surely as blood on snow.

Winter was long. People huddled in the dark. The whole town got rickets. Then came joyless spring when they ate the locksmiths.

Nobody knows why they left the wordsmith. But they did, the whoresons. Left me white-knuckled, scrabbling words by moonlight. I think I might

This is a GREAT first line.
And the use of trick with got rickets is like a triple axle. Amazing and awesome!

And of course the ending is perfect.
This is a great story.
(Notice there's no explanations! I love that --let the reader wonder!)


Cecilia Ortiz Luna

Family reunions suck

Look at them

Dena’s spawns circling the dessert table (like vultures-in-training)
Kathy and her “pride and joy” (more like frankenboy)
Amy’s precocious son, Kristafer (seriously?)
Colin, babysmith extraordinaire, six and two more in the oven (geez!)
Stacy’s Little Lord Fauntleroy (whom Patrick still believes is his, LOL)

Showing off their children like Blahniks bought on sale
Comparing pre-schools, timeshares, Sandals
Stopping when they realize I’m around
Pretending to envy my ‘bachelorette lifestyle’
Throwing pitying glances when I walk away (I’m sure)
Shaking their heads (I bet)

Every year
Every freaking year

Family reunions suck

There are no words to describe the amazingness of this entry.
Words literally fail me.
Well, not totally. How about brilliant, and hilarious.

Lennon Faris

Snowy: My best friend is best guy in the world he yells and smells sweaty! Yum! We’ve been friends 2 hours!
Hot: My best friend packs boots and long loud stick and green fur and smells excited! Me, too!
--Oh. Not me? Huh? Is he playing hiding game?
I check every room!
Every night.
Rainy: Best friend’s smell is almost gone so I watch out window every day. Paws are comfy. Once, 2 in green fur come. “Ms. Smith, your son…” It smells like terror. Snowy: Trick? Rolling chair that smells like – MY BEST FRIEND!!! I howl with joy.

This one hits so many of the things I love in stories: dogs, interesting point of view choice, subtle story telling, heartstrings not just tugged but yanked.


I love this. And yes, I"m a sucker for the videos of soldiers coming home and surprising their kids and dogs.

Donnaeve

Joy finally conceived, and Smith so wanted a son, he sought a legendary seer, also wise in herbal remedies.

She dispensed tiny packets, canned pawpaws, careful directions.

Returning to his mountain, Joy consumed the brew and fruit daily.

One morning, she began laboring hard.

By nightfall, a daughter arrived. Stillborn.

~~~

Eventually, Joy conceived again.

He found himself returning to the old woman’s cabin.

More packets and fruit were given.

Another daughter, stillborn.

Angry, he confronted the old woman. “Trickster! Faker! Our babies are dead! My wife now barren!”

Pale blue eyes pierced. “You did not say you wanted daughters.”

I've always thought that Mary Shelley must have looked a lot like our Donna. Demure, sweet, and dear god, what a mind.  

this is a terrific story that really resonates with me: be careful how you ask for things!

kdjames

Drawn by joyous laughter coming from his office, Colin Smith found his son and the cat sitting at his computer.

"Dad, I taught her a new trick. Watch!"

The cat extended a paw, pressed the keyboard.

"She loves the whoosh sound of Send."

Colin looked closer, recognized his email account, the "query drafts" folder open-- dread clenched his gut.

"You've been busy, so we're helping with queries."

"NOOOOOO!"

Colin jolted awake, sweaty, panicked.

Just a dream.

Horrid cliché. Sweet relief.

He saw her then, sitting on his nightstand, tail flicking. She extended a paw-- and slowly, decisively, pressed it down.

 This one is ever more terrifying than Donna's!
Talk about every writer's nightmare.

Of course I loved it! 


In the end, the winner this week is Steve Forti.
Deft use of prompts, great story. Made me laugh.

Steve, let me know your mailing address and I'll send you a prize.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to write and post entries. Your work amazes me every single week, even the ones that don't get shout outs.

Context is important!

There's a new post at Query Shark today!