Today we reveal the final two contestants who'll be stepping into the WRiTE CLUB ring and I want to take this opportunity to congratulate all 30 contestants. Win or lose, it was an achievement simply making it this far! But what about the other 102 writers who took the risk and submitted their work? I know you're disappointed, but there is some good news.
For the first time in this contest's history, we are able to offer writers who didn't make it to the ring some feedback. A dozen of our slushpile readers have generously volunteered to critique your submission (one per writer), provided you meet two criteria. The first, you must send an email to WRITECLUB2019@GMAIL.COM to formally request the critique. The second condition, you must have voted (before the deadline) in at least five of the bouts. This 2nd condition may seem harsh, but I have a hard time offering feedback to anyone who is unwilling to support their fellow writers by registering a simple vote. Once we receive your email and verify participation by voting, your submission will be looked at by all 12 slushpile readers and those critiques will be emailed back to you. Because I'm not sure how many of you will take part in this, it's impossible for me to say how long it will take to get this input back to you. Stay tuned for more information.
Recap
WRiTE CLUB is a tournament-style competition that runs during the eight weeks prior to the DFW Conference (who is also a sponsor) and it provides writers the opportunity to compete against one another for a chance to win a host of prizes, topped off by a free admission to the following year’s conference. Our writers have submitted 500-word writing samples under pen names and they'll
Even though the contest is sponsored have a chance to win a $60 Barnes and Noble gift card. Each time you vote in a bout your name will be placed be selected
Even though there will be a different bout every day
(M-F), the voting for each bout will remain open for seven days from the date
I post it to give as many people as possible to have a say. Voting for today’s bout will close on Thursday, May 23rd (noon central time). To help keep up with which bouts are
open, you can follow along on the WRiTE CLUB Scoreboard updated right HERE.
It’s that simple. The writing piece that garnishes the
most votes will move on to the next round where they’ll face a different
opponent. In case of a tie, I’m the deciding vote. I can do that because, like
all of you, I do not know the real names of our contestants either (my wife
processes all the submissions).
A few more rules –
1) One vote per visitor per bout.
2) Although our contestants are anonymous, voters
cannot be. Anonymous votes will not count, so if you do not have a Google
account and are voting as a guest, be sure to include your name and email
address.
3) Using any method (email, social media, text, etc)
to solicit votes for a specific contestant will cause that contestant's
immediate disqualification. It’s perfectly okay, in fact, it is encouraged
4) Although more of a suggestion than a rule - cast your vote before you read other comments. Do not let yourselfbe swayed by the opinions of others.
4) Although more of a suggestion than a rule - cast your vote before you read other comments. Do not let yourself
That’s enough of the fine print…
Our first contestant in the ring is Terrance East representing the Sci-Fi genre.
"I can't feel my fingers." I blinked against the bright light as my arms
disappeared.
"Perfectly normal. Didn't you watch the
induction hologram?"
"Of course, but I didn't think that
things would just disappear." The room smelled of electricity and ozone.
What had begun as a gentle hum now pulsed and throbbed.
"Your feet and lower legs should be
going about now."
They did. I blinked again. A holocam hovered
a little too close, and I blew a quick breath to shoo it away. I didn't
appreciate that it was my last.
"Systems transference in three, two,
one..."
The world went blindingly white. The transference
room shimmered back into focus. The smell and sound were gone. Replaced by an
overwhelming sense of the expanse of everything.
"Wow."
"Impressive isn't it."
"It's... amazing. So much... nothing."
"You're no longer constrained by your
physical body."
"This is incredible." I began to
move and the room vanished as I went. I floated past the robotic operating
table and the botnurse, then paused at the door.
"We don't encourage that."
"What?"
"98.724 percent of all Transferals stop
to look back at their Organic. 76.387 percent have an adverse reaction."
"I'll risk it." I turned and looked
back. The body on the table was pale, lifeless, and wrinkled. I knew it from a
lifetime of mirrors. The head, my head, was encased inside the glowing circular
opening of the transferal unit. The final vestige of humans as life forms.
Now, with transferal to The Cloud, I too
would be immortal. Unlimited. At least my mind or my consciousness. Or my soul.
I had wondered about that.
A yellow tint colored my world. The botnurse
moved quickly to the glowing unit. It flickered..
"Level one. Adverse reaction."
"What's going on!? What's happening!?"
I'm not proud to say I panicked. Totally freaked out and then -
The yellow tinted world twisted into
charcoal gray.
"Mr. Templeton? Concentrate on the
pinpoint of light in the center of your field of vision."
"There's nothing there!" The edges
of the world were black and folding in.
"Find the light. Move towards it."
"There's no light!"
...
"...empleton? Mr. Templeton? Can you
hear me? Mr. Templeton?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have functionality?"
"What the hell was that?"
"0.047 percent of Transferals suffer an
initial boot issue. Yours was a full boot rejection. We restored from your
system backup and you should be just fine."
"Should be?"
"There's a 99.994 percent acceptance
rate."
"So that's 6 out of every --"
"It's not relevant, Mr. Templeton. You
are free to go."
"That's it? Just go?" My
consciousness spun around slowly. It was a different room. No table, no body, just
the big picture window from our kitchen back in Texas.
"We've programmed a familiar environment
with reference cues and the sensation of physicality. It will help you adjust. You
may go."
With that, the walls dissolved and infinity stretched out beyond the vision of my backyard.#############################################################################On the other side of the ring, our final preliminary round contestant is
I
was born on a mountaintop in ancient Koyu, a place where dragons wind around
the stony spires and winter red trees and breathe out the misty smoke that
drifts through our sky like clouds.
This
is what my grandmother taught me, her hands weaving spells in the air and
pulling on the dragon mist to paint pictures in my mind.
She
taught me other things too, how to eat the petals of the blossoms that drop
from the twisting shoyu tree; the flowers that show us the future. The petals
are soft and fat, the size of a baby’s palm, pearlescent white with a blush of
pink and, at its heart, the reddest of reds.
They
look juicy and full of water and the first time I eat it I am afraid, afraid all
that water will rush like a dark river down my throat and I will drown, drown
while dreaming of the future.
But
as succulent as the petal looks, it is not. It’s as light as air; it tastes
like the memory of candy, sweetened with icy melon and fiery hawkfruit, or like
nothing at all. It tastes like everything and emptiness all at once, for
Grandmother says that is the future - not my future, of course, I am nothing in
the vastness of the universe. What we taste is the future of all things.
What
did I see, that first time I ate a shoyu petal, you ask? Why, I saw you.
Sitting in a tea shop, eating a cookie shaped like a shoyu petal, laughing and
pulling the pictogram off your tongue, the pictogram that comes when the cookie
is gone, and your lovely eyes try to see me as you puzzle out the
dragon-wrapped mountain on the candy disc and then with one bite it is gone.
You eat it and nothing is left.
I
ask my grandmother about this vision; she paints the air and tells me, in the
future there are not so many shoyu trees, so people do what they can.
And
then she teaches me to weave the long soft gortse hairs, and the coarse ones
too, into braided yarn, and then the yarn becomes a blanket and the blanket
stays with me at night when I try to find her in my sleep, the dragon-mist
softening my dreams.
I
search for her, the girl of the shoyu vision; the future girl who drinks tea
and laughs so freely. I cannot find her in the dragon mist again.
She
is not there.
The
other girls rustle and wake, disturbed by my tossing and turning.
Settle
down, Ryu, they say. Their jewel-like eyes light the darkness in our small
stone room.
Go
to sleep, Ryu, they whisper as one.
We
are as one in all things, but not in this.
They
want to sleep; they want to follow, but I do not.
I
want to break things; I want to dance in the sky.
##############################################################################
As always, leave your votes and critiques in the comments below. Again, be respectful of your remarks and try to point out positives
We’ll be back next week with SAVE WEEK. Did one of your favorite pieces lose their bout? Then you'll want to make sure you come back next week when everyone will be giving the opportunity to possibly SAVE three contestants from elimination. Don't miss it!
Please help all our writers out by telling everyone you know what is happening here and encourage them to come vote.
Please help all our writers out by telling everyone you know what is happening here and encourage them to come vote.
