Back to Brooklyn Writing Contest results/FINAL

I needed this contest today! I'm furrless for the first time in almost a month. Neither yowls nor purrs!

No sleek regal beast, no cool orange cat. I'm reduced to cat gifs on Twitter.

The contest was indeed a good way to perk up. Some ferociously talented writers out there of course, and a few of you were in top form!

Kitty's entry made me laugh. The only thing she got wrong? I had gin with me, not whisky. (Sacrilege, I know)

Dan Castro's "TEN HOURS LATER" cracked me up! I always promise myself I'll ONLY spend a few minutes on the NYT Crossword. (Ten hours later!) Not quite done!

Dena Pawling just wrenched my heart.

Things I had to look up:

Eustace Clarence Scrubb (Timothy Lowe)

words I had to look up

futhork

Lucy Crowe

Special designation of She Who Shall Never Be Spoken of Again in the Presence of Her Grace, the Duchess of Yowl (and all she survey, and what you survey as well) given to:

Luralee Kiesel

Great word

Luralee Kiesel

(smirkpurrs)

Great line

cjohs

he wanted the world - it did not want him back.

Not quite a story, but what great writing!

kregger

Not quite a story but hilarious

charlogo

Not quite a story, but honestly, I'm never leaving my apartment again EVER

K (11:54pm)

I don't know why I even try. Honestly.

Steve Forti

Approaching footsteps in sync. LA waterfront at night. Dangerous territory.

My pulse quickens as he seizes me. Hunger. I can feel it. I’m ready. Eyes close as his teeth bite my neck…

CLANG!

“Yeeeooowwwmmmffffpphh!” The vampire reels, fangs blunted and broken against my titanium cybernetic skeleton. I turn, purring at his terrified face.

This is what I was made for. I raise the stake and bury it in his undead heart. Catch or kill is no debate. There is no remorse.

I am Bionic Undead Fighter, model E (BUF-E). This is my America. LA. Mi tyrannis. I slay the night.

Forti slays the shark ....again.

Here's the long list

Unknown

I am a cat who wants the thing that smells good . The lady is snoring on the couch. It is my time.
I have one claw hooked, but it makes sound that wakes the lady.
"Finn. Get out of the cabinet."
I ignore her, and pull. Things fall. The stuff the dogs like scatters across over the floor. I do the work. They eat for free.
"Finn. Oh, Finn. Another cat-calamity?" The lady picks me up. I don't mind.
If I purr she may give me the thing that smells good. I will hork on the dogs bed later.

KDJames

"Cats," she wailed. "Why cats?"

The seventh cat, most recent to appear, purred.

"I've tried half these conjuring spells, but all I get are CATS!"

The largest cat pushed the spellbook off the counter. Pawing, turning pages.

Mrrrrow.

"It's a catastrophe. FURRY CALAMITY!"

The cat calmly clawed a gash under a word in the glossary's F section and gave a slow blink. Then horked up his dinner, curled into a chair near the hearth, and began to snore.

The would-be witch peered at the underlined word, understanding dawning as she re-read the book's title: "Beginning Witchcraft: Easy Familiar Spells."

Kolin Mofield

“Thank you for calling Robyn’s Intimates. This is Mity, how may I assist you?”
“Will the Cat’s Claw thong support my boys, if you know what I mean?”
She muted, stood up and yelled, “I got Frank!” She grabbed some paperclips and tossed them over the cubicle walls & her coworkers jumped up like a game of whack-a-mole; just another day.
She unmuted. “They do have sizes up to 3XL, would that work?” She purred, and sipped her tea. Sheila laughed, someone snored.
“Oh Calamity, you’ll know soon enough.”
She horked out her drink. He knew her name.

Here's the short list:

When I read this by French Sojourn I really wondered if anyone could top it:

“It’s that finishing school that finished her…Calamity College and that starch lipped Headmistress.”

“Honey, it’s Amity College, London.”

“I just about horked, every time I wrote those fucking clowns a check.”

“She met that nice boy there…”

“Nice boy? Looks like he spent his developmental years trapped in a mayonnaise jar.”

“Don’t be catty George, she loves him.”

“He’s a walking snore fest.”

“They want to set a date”, she purred.

“What?”

“It’s true George, he loves her,” she sensed George retracting his claws.”

“Does he?”

“He adores Carrie.”

“So, now she’ll be Mrs. Carrie Oakey of Old Brokenote, Sangloudlieshire.”

Well, ok Aphra Pell is going to give Hank a run for his money

I am cousin to the serval, not a servile beast.

I want to be a leopard in Udaipur, roaming the lakes.
Or the sacred pet of King Neferkahor.

Kodkods stalking the Chilean hills,
Or an iriomote, laying down pacific law.

I yearn to be an ocelot, margay or manul.
A jaguarondi, lynx, or hunting caracal.

Am I typical?

For I am not a Pallas, nor Egyptian god.
Not a ball of demonic atoms, ruling star-lit paths.

I am a creature of pink collars, fancy bows and bells.
Brushes and dry kibble. Clean bowls.

Did they have to call me Snookums?

And we can pretty much always count on Marie McKay to some terrifyingly good story:

She'd had a breakthrough. Orkney was the birthplace of her great-grandma.The archivist confirmed it, along with details of Innes N. Ore's life.
After clawing around for information for months- her dad no help at all- she'd positively purred with happiness when the email dropped in.
She began reading:
Innes was a fisherwoman which had been frowned upon by the menfolk.
"Go Innes!"
She'd been a poet.
"Yay!"
She'd had one child.
"This is it."
But catastrophe: Innes was murdered.
"Murdered!"
The perpetrator, her only grandchild, was released from incarceration at age 25 having spent 15 years in prison.
"..."

Jeannette Leopold

Ironic that a guy named Thor would work in carpentry, but there it was. The others spurred each other to the height of hammer humor. Thor had clawed his way to the top, but there’s no respect anymore.

Back to them, he worked late. He was building a masterpiece, curled wood and straight edges. Catherine waited by the window for him to come home, one hand in the pickle jar. She sniffed him when he came in, trailing moonlight.

Thor knew what she thought, so he showed her the crib.

She showed him the baby. “I’ve named him John Henry.”

I love the understated subtlety here. Elegant precise writing makes me so very happy.

And Nate Wilson just makes it all look so easy

"What is THIS?"
"Oh, hi boss. Sorry. It's MSN. Or... ESPN?"
"Don't care. Your job's to watch Ork, Jerry. That's it."
"Sorry, boss."
"And where's Na?"
"Nanette? Dunno, she hasn't been in."
"For how long?"
"Two... three days."
"Three days. Yet you've said nothing?"
"Sorry, boss."
"Sorry? Old broadcasts will reach Ork any day now!"
"...and when they see how they've been depicted, it might spur retaliation, I know."
"Retaliation completely justified under cosmic law. That'd be a calamity of global proportions. Check her logs."
"Locating them now. And... shit. They've seen. Warships arriving... tonight."
"Damn. Na knew."
"Na knew."

This left me gasping.

Of course it's John Davis (manuscript) Frain

The guys at Mensa snore me to death, so I never mention my brain cancer. I don’t mention my brilliance either, but these cats see it.

“Daniel,” some genius purrs. “How’s the book selling?”

“Only the Bible has sold more.”

“You should pen your memoir. Call it the Man in the Window.”

“My life? Nobody would believe it.”

He nods agreement with a grin that makes me hork. I claw my way out of the room and hear the geezer complain to someone. “Where’s the current New Yorker?”

He won’t find it. I canceled the club’s subscription to that rag.

flashfriday

“You look deliciously clever,” said the dragon. “Harvard educated?”

“Naww, pretty much just YouTube.”

“Ah, comic law,” she said. “Thor knows just how to trap them, hilarious boy.”

“Huh?”

“Speaking metaphorically, dear. More mead?”

“You bet.”

“And you’ve touched neither macarons nor éclairs. May I tempt you?”

“I love temptations.”

“And I love eating local! --Am I tyrannical? So tyrannical, nattering on when you came for business.”

“That’s right, I solved your contest riddle!’”

“Did you? Share the solution, darling.”

“Dragon tired of hoard seeks horde. I won, right?? ‘Prizes to die for.’”

“Clever, clever knight,” purred the dragon.

 I just love this so much.

Plus hoard and horde, used to perfection.

With seven on the short list I need some time to think and reflect.

Let me know who you think should take home the prize! 

**UPDATE**

Well, it took a while, but this week's winner is Nate Wilson.
Evoking the miracle that was Robin Williams reminded me how glad I was to be alive when he was, and that I got the chance to see his amazing body of work. True genius is so rare. It's always good to be reminded that it takes many forms.

Thanks Nate.