Half way home. Six weeks behind us, and six weeks ahead.
Congratulations to Joy Frost for winning the 15th round. Her opponent, Satellite Heart, will have his/her piece returned to the pool for a chance at re-selection for a future bout. Make sure you check my WRiTE CLUB 2012 results page for a breakdown of all the winners, along with links to all of the writing samples.
We have seen 34 contestants up to this point and I can honestly say the talent level on display has been truly phenomenal! Can it keep possibly keep up that pace? Why don't we find out.
Here are this rounds randomly selected WRiTER's.
I stared at the wall of toothpaste. How can there be eleven different kinds of Crest? If I chose whitening over tartar control, would I forsake cavity protection in favor of vanity? What's the difference between "tartar control" and "cavity control"? If "complete" is truly complete, why does one "complete" come with additional breath freshener while another "complete" doesn't?
Fighting rising anxiety over my commitment to dental hygiene, I recognized the Muzak-ified tones over the grocery store's speakers as "Rebel Yell." If she did, in fact, cry, "More! More! More!" with a rebel yell, why hadn't Billy Idol included an actual rebel yell in the lyric?
My palms began to sweat. Overwhelmed by questions, my attention drifted above the toothpaste. Ice chests crowded the top of the display shelves. There was only one size, big enough to hold a week's worth of groceries for a family of four. Two color options, red or blue. The cooler would fit perfectly in the back seat of my truck. The unstained majority of the king cab's upholstery was blue but I really liked red. If I needed a cooler, I would pick the red one. The world of ice chests seemed so simple.
But what I needed was toothpaste. And the Muzak DJ in the secret corner of the grocery store to find another song. And a vacation. And a dog sitter. And a million dollars. But did I need minty fresh breath or cinnamon spice?
Maybe I should ask for an objective opinion. I looked up and down the aisle. Too late. A lady with an overflowing purse escaped around the vitamins. The decision rested with me. With a shaking hand I picked up my environmentally responsible canvas bag from its resting place at my feet. Its only contents at the moment, a six-pack of beer, light, but imported. Having the earth's ecological future on my shoulders often required a Saturday afternoon buzz. Had I planned by weight, beer would have been the final item in the bag. Given that there is only one beer from Amsterdam carried by this grocery chain, though, it would be the easiest decision of this shopping excursion. I went for the quick win.
Hefting the bag's canvas straps, steeling my resolve to settle on a single toothpaste, terrified for my dental future, I noticed a penny on the floor. Maybe I should keep tossing it until I got the unwieldy choices down to two. I could start by narrowing it down between gel or paste. Then move on to the tougher yet no less important calls until I reached the pentultimate enamel- and gum-saving decision.
I picked up the penny. An unvoiced, blood curdling, accompanying yell echoing in my head, I flipped the penny. Heads, blue gel toothpaste. Tails, red ice chest. Time slowed down as Lincoln switched places repeatedly with his own memorial, end over end, moving as if through Jello. I held my breath until the penny hit the floor.
And in the other corner, weighing in at 496 words, let me introduce to you ……..Chloe Hart.
The sweet smell of morning air rejuvenates my senses as I start along the trail to take some pictures. Spring flowers are sprouting a new life in all their glory. The ground is blanketed with leaves from the past year’s fall creating nature’s playground. Dew still sets atop the brush, shimmering in the sunlight.
A massive blueberry bush sets on the side of the trail, filled with berries. I stop to pick some off for a nice morning snack and to get a few shots. When I stoop down for a different angle, I hear a rustling from behind.
Probably a squirrel, I think, turning back to the berries.
The rustling gets louder…and closer. Whatever it is shakes the entire area a few yards away. Perhaps I am eating something else’s breakfast.
Maybe it’s just a deer, I try to convince myself. It’s definitely bigger than a squirrel. I stand up to get a better view, but the brush is thick and I can’t see too far.
Before I can react the branches start waving more violently, snapping and breaking. I need to get out of here!
Breaking into a brisk jog, I turn around and catch a glance. A black bear is chasing me!
“GO AWAY!” I cry, raising up my arms.
“GRAWR!” he growls from deep inside his gut, rising up on his hind legs. His teeth sparkle in the sun.
I start to sprint with the camera thudding against my chest, matching the pounding in my heart. He catches me within a few steps, swatting me down on the ground with one swoop.
The strike from his claw sends blood streaming down my face, stinging my eye. My eyes close involuntarily, blinding me to what he will do next. The warmth of his breath flows across my face, gagging me with his stench.
I try to roll away, but I can sense his presence following me, grunting and snorting.
I feel him breathing on me again. His wet nose starts nudging me. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and hold my breath to keep myself from screaming.
Tears mix with the blood streaming down my face. I’m forced to surrender to his wrath, with no way of fighting back. I’m blinded by the rip down my face from his claws.
Just when I think all hope is lost, I feel him licking my face. LICKING my FACE! Was it the blueberries he wanted?
After what feels like an eternity, the licking stops. I gasp for air, thankful to refill my lungs.
I lie there to catch my breath then slowly open my eyes, one at a time. There in front of me is my little dog staring at me intently. The sun has come up, and she is ready to go outside. The sheets on the bed are damp from sweat. I grab the leash and walk outside, relieved and thankful for another day. No more watching NatGeo before I go to bed!
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Remember, here in WRiTE CLUB, it’s not about the last man/woman standing, it’s about who knocks the audience out!