Posts Tagged ‘Writing’

I love NYCMidnight writing contests, but they're not always quick with the promised critiques. Just got one in the mail concerning my entry in the Short Story contest heat in September. I had 1000 words to write a romantic comedy that took place at least partly in an ambulance and that involved an onion ring. Here was my entry, with the critique following.

Burned

by C. A. Bridges

The sound of the ambulance's siren was louder than Kevin's screams, but not by much, and the guilt was killing her. It didn’t help that Kevin was flailing about like a man being disemboweled by a shrimp fork.

The paramedic deftly avoided the waving arms and quickly applied something that smelled like aloe while Kevin clawed at him. “So,” he asked Jessie brightly, “how did your boyfriend burn a circle around his… in his genital region, anyway?”

Jessie risked a glance over the man’s shoulder. Kevin’s pants were pulled to his knees, revealing a ring of angry red skin in a nearly perfect circle around the base of his penis. She winced. It looked like someone had seared an uncooked chicken with a particularly unimaginative branding iron.

“Kitchen accident!” Kevin said, through gritted teeth. “KItchen accident. She’s just a clumsy little bi–”

“We were playing ring toss with onion rings and one got stuck,” Jessie said.

“Dammit, shut up!”

“I’m sorry, honey, I have to tell him. Doctors need to know stuff, to diagnose everything.”

“They really do,” said the driver happily, a woman who seemed entirely too amused by the situation. “Onion rings?”

“I deep-fry them myself, one of those home cooker things. They’re really good. I guess I should have patted it dry a bit more first.”

“God!” Kevin wailed. “You’ve ruined me, you stupid slut!”

“Please calm down, sir,” the paramedic said. He grinned at Jessie. He had a nice smile. “But seriously. Ring toss?”

Jessie blushed. “Well–”

“Nice shot,” the driver called back. “Did you win?”

“Look,” Kevin said. “Consenting adults, right? Are you going to help me or not? I’m dying!”

“Actually, it’s not even a first-degree burn,” the paramedic told him. “Because of the, ah, delicate location we’re going to get you checked out, and the doctor will probably give you something to prevent infection, but you’ll be fine.”

“Oh, thank God,” Jessie said, slumping back. “We have to stop doing this.”

The paramedic looked up. “Wait, what? You’ve done this before?”

“Shut up, Jessie,” Kevin warned, as menacingly as a man with his pants around his calves could.

“Not the onion rings. This sex stuff. It never works out for us.”

“You say one word,” Kevin yelled. “And I swear… Ow! Goddammit!”

The paramedic straightened from where he’d accidentally leaned his elbow on the mass of gauze on Kevin’s crotch. “Sorry, sir. Must have slipped. Now,” he said, turning around.“Has this happened before?”

“Well, sir–”

“My name’s Rick. What happened?”

She took a deep breath. “Well, there was the role-playing. Like, this one time I was a nurse and he was an NFL star with a pulled groin?”

There was a snort from the front of the ambulance.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Rick told her. “Perfectly healthy sex play.”

“See? See?” Kevin called.

“Only I got distracted and diagnosed his testicular cancer.”

Rick did an admirable job of only smiling. “That’s cool, though. You probably saved his life.”

“But ruined our anniversary,” she said. “We tried leather but he chafes and I couldn’t get the whip to whip. We bought some porn DVDs but I couldn’t stop laughing, you know–”

“Been there,” the driver said.

“He’s violently allergic to massage oils. God, that was a nightmare cruise. Oh, and the cops had to come out last February when I lost the handcuff keys. And the fire department. And two different plumbers.”

“Oh my God,” the driver said delightedly, looking back over her shoulder. “That was you?”

Rick ran a hand over his face. “And you need all this, why?”

Kevin started to sit up but grunted and fell back. “None of your goddamn business! I will have both of you fired and sued for this, and you can just shut your filthy mouth, you tramp! Where’s the damn hospitAAAHH!”

“Sorry, sir,” Rick said, picking up his clipboard from where he’d accidentally dropped it on Kevin’s lap from three feet up. “So, why all the props and games and fried food?”

“Because I love him,” Jessie said, “and he likes trying new things. It’s the only way he, um.”

“The only way what?”

“Well, I’m not that attractive, you know, and I want to be exciting for him.”

The driver stopped chuckling. Rick looked at Jessie for a long time as the city lights flashed by, and she blushed again at his intensity. Then he looked back at Kevin, who glared at him but stayed quiet as Rick hefted the clipboard experimentally. “And he told you that, did he?”

“He was trying to help me,” she said. “You might not realize it, but I used to have really low self-esteem.”

“Did you,” Rick said flatly.

“Kevin’s the only man who’d have me,” she said, although she was still tingling from Rick’s stare. “I owe him everything.”

“We’re here!” the driver called back.

The ambulance doors burst open and attendants neatly extracted Kevin’s gurney. “That bitch castrated me!” he told them all as they rushed him inside. Jessie climbed out and waited awkwardly while Rick made a few more notes.

“Thank you so much,” she said, as he jumped down beside her.

“Glad I could help. Listen, can I tell you something completely inappropriate?”

“Um. Yes?”

“You’re an amazingly attractive woman who’s stuck with an abusive, domineering boyfriend,” he said, taking her hands. “You can do so much better, and you should start with me.”

“But–”

“Sorry, gotta go.” He held up the clipboard, which now had several heavy folders clipped to it, and grinned. “He needs his chart.”

Rick dashed into the emergency room as the driver dropped down beside her. “You didn’t answer my question,” the driver said, smiling and nodding at the note in Jessie’s hand.“Did you win?”

There was a sudden, outraged scream from inside, which cheered Jessie up much more than it really should have.

She looked at the note. There was a phone number.

“You know,” she said. “I think I did.”

———————————————————————–

And the critique:

WHAT THE JUDGE(S) LIKED ABOUT YOUR SCRIPT – ……I had a ball reading this one. The characterization is well done, the story has character/conflict/crisis/change–it's a complete piece–and plus, it's very funny. In addition, the descriptions are rendered sparingly but they are effective at conjuring the visuals in the reader's mind: particularly good: "It looked like someone had seared an uncooked chicken with a particularly unimaginative branding iron." Well done….At first, the reader thinks that this story will simply be a romantic comedy. However, when it is revealed that this woman's lover is not as nice or loving as one might think, the reader can't help but root for the paramedic. The dialogue in this piece is fast and fun, and the reader is pleasantly surprised by a story that ends not where it began.

WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK – ……Honestly, I have nothing to say in terms of improvement suggestions–the only thing I'd suggest is a bit more of Kevin's protest in the ambulance; in addition, I think the driver should say something much more powerful to her. I mean, as a character, she figured she could never do better, and after years of just accepting him, she suddenly turns on a dime? I wanted to see the driver say something much more persuasive and convincing. I think if that's made stronger, everything will work better and the ending will be much more satisfying….Does the paramedic need to give her his number? This makes the story seem too perfect. if so, then it might be wise to shift this piece so that it is told from this man's perspective. It would show his thought process and personality. One-word titles are hard to pull off because they are not usually as specific as others. Think about how to focus, instead, on a key image or metaphor from the piece.

Remember the NYCMidnight Microstories competition? Of the top 25 chosen in my group, two of them are mine. And they're open for voting!

So I'm shamelessly asking for your votes. Head to http://www.nycmidnight.com/Competitions/FFMC/Groups/6.htm, click on the link and vote for my stories (if you feel they're worth it).

My two finalists were:

Even as she killed him over his penny-pinching ways, he smiled. She was using the bulk duct tape. // by Chris Bridges

and

A sex tape can actually revive a career these days. We haven't seen the last of Larry King. // by Chris Bridges

Winners will be announced Wednesday at midnight, not sure when voting stops. Vote!

NYCMidnight, home of zillions of different writing contests, is having some quickies. Micro Challenges, 100-character-including-spaces stories which must include a provided word.

I can see their point. I've written and read Twitter-length 140-character stories before, and frankly some of them are too tedious to get through. I mean, by the 120th character you're just ready for some resolution already. How long can you pad out a conversation? Like reading a 19th century Russian tweet or something, I keep falling asleep. And the way some writers telegraph the ending in the second word, there's no point in finishing them at all. Much better to trim away all that redundant crap and stick to the basics.

So here are my entries. We were allowed three. My word was "tape." I added titles afterward for fun, but all the stories are 10 words or less.

Vindication

Even as she killed him over his penny-pinching ways, he smiled. She was using the bulk duct tape.

 

Action!

A sex tape can actually revive a career these days. We haven't seen the last of Larry King.

 

Good Evening

Vampires don't show in mirrors or on tape but oddly they do on webcams, which explains BatRoulette.

 

OK, the last one was lame, but what the hell.

So I entered NYCMidnight's Screenplay Writing Contest, because I am a fool, and in the first round my group received the following assignment: Drama, Courage, A Dishwasher.

Ooookay. Here's what I entered. Results of the first round came back this week and I was one of the 5 in my group that's moving to round 2, so it can't have been too bad.

Wet Work

EXT. DINER – DUSK

The sun is setting on a small, quaint diner on the corner of a city intersection. The sign says "The Diner on 3rd." We move in as two young waitresses walk out, still gathering their things as they go.

KAREN

–am not going out with you. I’ve
been here since 6 in the frickin’
morning! If someone slipped me a
roofie tonight I’d take it just to
get some sleep.

LILA
(taking her arm)

We will indeed go out and terrorize
this town with our hotness and if
need be I will pour shots down your
throat like a baby bird because I
am your friend and I love you.

They pass us. An older man wearing an apron, JACK, steps

into the doorway to watch them get to their cars.

JACK
(yelling)

Don’t listen to her and her evil
ways! I need you back here
tomorrow! Upright!

Jack smiles, shakes his head and FLIPS the OPEN sign to read CLOSED as he steps back inside.

CUT TO:

INT. DINER – NIGHT

The diner was clearly designed by someone who loved the 50s, possibly in a kind of stalky, obsessive way. Jack goes behind the counter and does cash register things. A Japanese-American teenager, IZZIE, is sweeping the floor. Izzie is a surburban kid trying to look street and nearly succeeding. He has a fading bruise on one cheek. Somewhere, CLASSICAL MUSIC is playing softly.

JACK

Hey, Iz. Good night tonight

Izzie nods, keeps sweeping.

JACK (CONT.)

You’ve been doing a hell of a job
since you started here, and I
appreciate it.

Izzie nods, keeps sweeping.

JACK (CONT.)

You know if you ever need anything,
you can ask me, right?

Izzie nods, keeps sweeping.

JACK (CONT.)

Say, I hear they discovered water
on whichever planet you’re circling
at the moment.

Izzie nods, keeps sweeping. Jack grins and zips up a BANK BAG, closes the register. He turns, leans into the large window looking into the kitchen, and yells.

JACK (CONT.)

You got this, Benny? I’m gonna do
the drop!

BENNY (O.S.)

I got it! Sorry I was late today.

JACK

Hey, first time for everything.
Night!

Jack grabs his stuff and leaves, squeezing Izzie’s shoulder on the way past. We stay on Izzie as we hear the door CLOSE and LATCH. Izzie looks up and WATCHES, intently, until we hear a car drive off.

CUT TO:

INT. DINER’S KITCHEN – NIGHT

The kitchen is spotless, gleaming. A middle-aged man, BENNY, is WASHING DISHES in the huge sink. His sleeves are rolled up and he has a bowtie on under his apron. There’s a lot of history in his face, but he looks like a nice old guy. There’s a hint of Jersey that comes out in his voice sometimes. The music is coming from a RADIO on a shelf. There are a few more stacks of dishes waiting, and a large drying rack nearby, half-full.

Izzie comes in, without the broom but carrying a BACKPACK, and leans against a counter across the room.

BENNY
(without looking around)

Hey, Izzie. You know what song this
is?

No answer.

BENNY (CONT.)

Me neither. I don’t know the names
of any of this crap, Brahms-toven,
Mo-chairsky, whatever, but I like
it. It’s soothing.

Izzie just watches him.

BENNY (CONT.)

What’s up? You need help with
something?

There’s a pause just long enough to be uncomfortable. Then:

IZZIE

I want to learn from you.

BENNY
(chuckling)

This ain’t rocket science, kid. You
want my secrets? Put some baking
soda in the water to cut the
grease, and sometimes you got to
use your thumbnail to get the stuck
stuff. There, now you can buy a
sponge, go into business for
yourself.

CLOSE ON: Benny’s hands. He’s wiping down a LARGE KNIFE.

IZZIE (O.S.)

I want you to teach me how to kill
people.

Benny’s hands stop moving. He just holds the knife. Then he carefully dries it and sets it aside.

ANGLE ON: Both men, but we can clearly see Benny’s face and he looks honestly confused.

BENNY

Excuse me?

IZZIE

I know what you do. What you used
to do, I mean. I want to learn.

BENNY

Kid, I wash dishes in a two-bit
diner in Florida. What am I
supposed to teach you, how to kill
a guy with a lunch special?

IZZIE

I Googled you. I had this homework
assignment on organized crime,
right? There was this picture of a
bunch of made guys from the 80s and
I thought, no fucking way, but I
started checking you out and turns
out you ain’t got no past, Mr.
Benny Kolbeck.

He reaches into his pack and pulls out a handful of papers and newspaper clippings.

IZZIE (CONT.)

But your life picks up right when
Nickolas "Bullet" Brancato’s stops.
Looks just like you, man. Although
you sure don’t look like no killer.

Izzie HOLDS out the papers; Benny makes no move to take them.

BENNY

You Googled me?

IZZIE

I Googled you. And if you don’t
teach me, I’ll tell everybody, the
Feds, the whole world.

Benny, a tired old man, shakes his head and goes back to washing dishes. Izzie comes over to stand next to him, dropping his PAPERS on the counter away from them.

BENNY

Since you and Mr. Google seem to
have gone cuckoo, lemme ask you
this. Why do you want to be a
killer?

IZZIE

I’m in this group…

BENNY

Gotcha.

IZZIE

Just a buncha guys, we hang out.

BENNY

You’re in a gang, I got it. That
where you got hit?

IZZIE

It’s not a gang!

BENNY

It got a name?

IZZIE

Yeah, we’re the–

BENNY

Then it’s a gang. Here, learn how
to do something useful.

Benny hands Izzie a BOWL to dry. Izzie takes it, reacts (it’s hot!), then grabs a towel and starts awkwardly rubbing the bowl. Benny continues washing, adding dishes to the water as needed.

IZZIE

Whatever. The point is… I’m at
the bottom. I’m the one got to run
around, get the food, run the
errands, pay for shit. None of them
are tougher than me, but there I
am, right?

BENNY

And they’ll respect you if you can
kill people?

IZZIE

Hell yeah. Wouldn’t you?

BENNY

No. Fear, maybe. Not respect.

IZZIE

I’ll take fear. Fear means you
don’t get sent for pizza.

BENNY

Well, that’s certainly enough
reason to murder complete strangers
in cold blood. What’s "Izzie" stand
for, anyway?

IZZIE
(taken aback, maybe a little
embarassed)

Isamu. Means "courageous."

BENNY

Courageous. You want courageous.
Isamu, there is nothing more
cowardly than a hitman.

IZZIE

Stop shittin’ me, old man. You
kill, you got it all, don’t take
shit from nobody. Anybody bother
you–

(blows someone away with a
pretend gun held sideways,
movie-style)

BLAM! That’s it, lights out,
straighten your tie and go back to
banging supermodels on a pile of
money.

BENNY

That how it works in the video
games?

IZZIE

That’s how it works in the real,
man. Assassins are cool. You don’t
know shit.

BENNY

Thought I was one?

IZZIE
(stops rubbing the bowl)

Were you?

Benny takes the bowl from him, holds it up. Water DRIPS out of the bowl Izzie’s been drying all this time. Benny gives him a disgusted look and goes back to washing, but not as quickly now.

BENNY

I knew a hitman once. Back up
north. He was good. I mean, scary
good.

IZZIE

Yeah!

BENNY

Usually you’re a boss, you just get
some interchangeable hired goons
and you use them up and go get
more. There’s always another damn
fool idiot thinks shooting people
is cool.

The dig goes right over Izzie’s head. He’s in heaven; this is what he came for.

BENNY (CONT.)

But sometimes you needed someone
taken out that was protected, or
hard to get to, or too tough for
your regular guys. Or maybe you
just wanted to send a message. Then
you’d call this guy. He might take
the job, he might not. But if he
did, your problem was gone.
Sometimes everyone in your
problem’s apartment building was
gone, too.

IZZIE
(spinning around, delighted)

That’s what I’m talking about! And
he loved it!

BENNY

No, he didn’t.

IZZIE

Come on, he had to–

Benny looks at Izzie.

BENNY

He didn’t love anything. Or hate
anything. Or anyone. Ever. You had
more emotional investment in
picking out socks this morning than
he ever had shooting someone. Men,
women, children, babies, puppies,
didn’t matter. He got hired once to
kill the woman he was dating at the
time and he didn’t blink an eye.

Benny goes back to scrubbing.

BENNY (CONT.)

When you start out killing people,
you tell yourself that they deserve
it somehow, or maybe they’re not
really as human as you. Soldiers do
that with the enemy, call them
"Charlie" or "ragheads" or whatever
they need to so they don’t have to
think about shooting at people.

(looks at Izzie)

I guess you’d be a gook.

IZZIE

Whatever, man. Guy was a stone
killer, that’s what you gotta do.

BENNY

He never had to do that. There was
nothing inside him. People were
always just things to him, and
annoying things at that. You got
family?

IZZIE

Yeah, I got… a dad, you know.
Mom’s dead. No brothers or sisters.

BENNY

So kiss your dad tonight, cuz if
anyone gets mad at you they’ll go
after him.

IZZIE

Shit. They’ll have to get in line
behind me, man.

Benny eyes Izzie’s bruise and nods. He loads the last stack in the sink. He also starts handing wet dishes and pots to Izzie, who absent-mindedly starts drying them.

BENNY (CONT.)

When you’re a killer, you can’t
trust anybody. Everyone around you
is a potential target or a
potential threat, and you make sure
you learn all you can about all of
them, just in case. You don’t let
anyone close because that’s where
you’ll be weak and you can’t let
that happen because you’re a
coward.

IZZIE

What’s with the coward shit? Guy
was badass!

BENNY

It ain’t brave to shoot somebody
from hiding, from across the
street, or when they’re sleeping.
Soldiers are brave. Firemen are
brave. Hell, teachers are braver
than hitmen, and they probably get
shot more. Hitmen are gutless.

IZZIE

Even your boy, there?

BENNY

Especially him. It takes a lotta
courage to let yourself be
vulnerable sometimes, and that’s
the one thing he would never do.

They wash for a moment.

IZZIE

So what happened? You’re telling me
for a reason, right? What have we
learned from all this?

BENNY

He got a job to whack some
dignitary, I forget the name. He
gets in the guy’s bedroom and does
the deed, no problem, and he’s
leaving when this chick steps out.
Young, beautiful, holding a baby.
And she sees him and she knows
she’s a witness. And she doesn’t
freak out. She stays calm and says
’Let me put him in his room and
shut the door, and I won’t scream.’

And for some reason, he lets her.

And they go in the hall, and she’s
got tears rolling down her face,
and she says ’Do what you need to,
just please, let my baby live.’

IZZIE

Damn. Lady had some balls.

BENNY

You got to understand, this guy
didn’t see a lot of self-sacrifice
in his social circles. Guys might
jump in the way of a bullet in the
heat of the moment, before they
thought about what they were doing.
But here’s this chick perfectly
calmly offering her life.

IZZIE

What did he do?

BENNY

Oh, he shot her. But it bothered
him, after. None of the others had
ever bothered him. And it nagged at
him. Something had meant more to
her than her own life, and he
couldn’t understand that.

All the dishes done, Benny starts tidying up. Izzie glances over; the top newspaper clipping on his stack is headlined "AMBASSADOR, WIFE SLAIN."

BENNY (CONT.)

And he started thinking back about
all the others. For the first time,
he thought about what happened
after he did a job. He ruined the
lives of entire families with one
shot, and then walked out without
caring what happened next. He
realized, basically, that he was a
cowardly, selfish prick. So he left
to go think about things.
Consequences. Humanity. Whether or
not hitmen have souls. How to open
up and care about people. How to
enjoy music.

Benny turns off the RADIO.

BENNY

How to be vulnerable.

IZZIE

You think he became a dishwasher?

BENNY
(chuckling)

I doubt it, the pay’s crap. But you
never know. You can get a lot of
thinking done, washing dishes. And
bit by bit, you’re making the world
a better place.

CUT TO:

EXT. DINER – NIGHT

They emerge in the alley behind the diner. Benny locks up.

IZZIE

It’s a beautiful story, they should
tell it at Christmas. But it don’t
help me.

BENNY

You want a moral? You want to fix
your life, do it yourself. Don’t
make other people suffer for it.

IZZIE

You don’t know nothing about my
life, "Benny"!

Benny looks at him and his expression is suddenly cold, hard, scary as hell. For the first time, Izzie is afraid of him. So are we. This is a man who can kill.

BENNY

I know a little. I know your mom’s
alive and lives in Fort Lauderdale.
I know you got two sisters and a
brother, and I know where they go
to school and I know when. And I
know what your dad does to you when
he drinks. Didn’t even have to
Google it.

IZZIE

You leave them alone, goddamit!

Benny’s expression relaxes back to that of a harmless old man.

BENNY

Sorry, habit. But you been coming
to work with a lot of bruises
lately, so I had a little chat with
your dad today while you were in
school.

IZZIE
(suddenly terrified)

Is he…?

BENNY

Never touched him. I might have
scared him a little, you know, by
accident. Can’t have our janitor
coming in beat up all the time.
Nice that you still care about him,
though, don’t you think?

IZZIE

Jack don’t care you take long
lunches to go threaten people?

BENNY

Jack doesn’t own this place, Iz.

IZZIE

Then who… oh.

BENNY
(smiling)

A real owner probably would have
bought an electric dishwasher by
now. But I get by, and I watch over
my people. You’re my family. By the
way, I think Karen likes you.

IZZIE

Really? Did she… Wait!

(panicking again)

I know your secret! I could put you
away! What are you gonna do to me?

Benny takes in a deep, joyful breath of night air and looks around, beaming.

BENNY

I’m going to do the bravest thing
I’ve ever done in my entire life,
Isamu.

(beat)

I’m going to let you live.

Benny grins at him and walks off, into the night.

BENNY (CONT.)

Night, Izzie. See you tomorrow.
Hey, good luck on your report.

Izzie watches him go as we:

FADE TO BLACK.

So the final round came along and the remaining writers were given our word. And it was an appropriate one, since I had forgotten it was coming that night and was out at a concert when I checked my mail and read, "SURPRISE"!

So, sitting in a bar while two guys played excellent acoustic guitar three feet from me, I wrote some 140-character stories that incorporated the word "surprise." Got home in time to write another, and here's what I submitted, with titles added later for fun.

First, here's the one that the judges selected as one of the top 25 finalists, which was really cool. Go here to vote for me to win!

Timeless Memories

I never want to forget the surprise on her face when I proposed.

And, thanks to a sharp knife, some fixative, and a frame, I never have to.

 

Here's the other two:

 

At the End

Together 70 years, her illness still came as a surprise.

"I love you," I said.

"You know," she smiled, "I'm starting to think you mean it."

 

 

Tactical Advantage

He had soldiers and knights aplenty.

So our tanks were a surprise, but that’s time travel for you. Tomorrow we’re off to settle Napoleon.

 

 

And here's the ones I wrote that I didn't submit:

Be Careful What You Ask For

"Don't try to surprise me," the birthday girl said as I led her in the dark, "it never works."

I smiled, and released the flaming monkeys.

Present Tense

Time travel works! Went home to surprise my wife and there was future me! Unfortunately, I shot him.

Quick, help me destroy this machine…

 

Did I mention voting? I might not have mentioned voting. Go here to vote for me to win! G'head, I'll wait. It's good for you!

So the first round of stories for this year's Tweet Me a Story contest from NYCMidnight are in, and in my group, 2 of the 3 I submitted are in the voting for top 25. The Tweet Me a Story contest provides each group of writers with a word, which they must use in a complete story taking no more than 140 characters, including spaces.

What this means: in each group, four stories are chosen by the judges to go to the final round, and an additional story gets picked by you, the voter. Yes, this is where the begging part starts.

If you are so inclined, please head to the Group 7 page and click through to vote for my stories. You can vote for as many stories as you like, so if you see others that tweet your fancy go for it.

(That's me being all honorable, but really I want you to just vote for mine…)

Here's the two of mine that made it, in the format you'll see them in:

"“Imagine an endless void, just nothing for billions of light-years…” “And what does this have to do with your rent?” “I’m getting to that.” by Chris Bridges

"“What could be better than riches, beauty and youth?” “Nothing,” her father replied. It took years to give it all away, but he was right. by Chris Bridges

You can read the other one I submitted, and a few I didn't, here. Vote!

Once again it's time for "Tweet Me a Story," the writing contest hosted by NYCMidnight that asks writers to submit up to 3 stories per round, all containing a specific word, all under 140 characters (including spaces). The first round was last night, and my group's word was: nothing.

And yes, submitting a blank story would have been too easy. Here's what I submitted, with titles added for fun.

 

Fact-checking

“There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done,” he sang.

Yoko smiled, and ate her own head.

“Bloody showoff,” he said, and started erasing.

On a Cosmic Scale

“Imagine an endless void, just nothing for billions of light-years…”

“And what does this have to do with your rent?”

"I’m getting to that.”

Satori

“What could be better than riches, beauty and youth?”

"Nothing,” her father replied.

It took years to give it all away, but he was right.

 

I'll keep you posted as I move up (or don't) in the competition.

 

Posted a new entry — I know! — over at my 24/7 blog on collecting autographs through the mail, with examples.

I was inspired after receiving a Stephen Colbert autograph, a mere 23 months after I sent in my request. Never give up, autograph hunters! Never surrender!

Which is kinda ironic because I had given up sending out autograph requests, but now I kinda want to start again. Also a post office within range finally started carrying International Reply Coupons again after months of postal workers assuring me (despite what their website says) that they weren't carrying them any more, which means I can start haranguing Doctor Who people now. Geronimo!

Sad I missed requesting Dollhouse autographs while they were all in one place, and I suspect after the Emmy win Jim Parsons is going to be tougher to get now. Ah, what the hell, Sheldon would try it.

Last night, the word for the final round of NYCMidnight's "Tweet Me a Story" contest was provided: BELOW. Here are my entries, all 140 characters or less (titles added afterward for fun):

Keeping Your Spirits Up

"Still below the weather, hon?"
"Much better now."
"The nap helped?"
"No, finding the poison you used on me and dosing your tea did."

Finding Your Inner Freak

“Huh. We tried abuse, vinyl, shoes, nothing.”
“Can't I just not have a fetish?”
“C'mon,” she said, lashing me from below, “that’d be weird.”

The Final Battle

“I’m a wizard,” he cackled, from his room below our stairs. And maybe he was. But it turns out that the wizard’s natural enemy is the Taser.

Results will be posted January 7th, and I'll be sure to harangue… um, ask nicely for your vote, if I make it that far.

Today is the last day to vote for the "Tweet Me a Story" first-round finalists, of which I are one. Actually, I are two.

Recap: NYCMidnight's "Tweet Me a Story" gives contestants 5 hours to write a story of 140 characters or less which must include a supplied word. My word was BETTER. Entrants could submit up to 3 stories, and 25 finalists were chosen. Two of my stories made the cut. Now the judges will select the top winners, but there will also be a reader's choice winner and that's where my shameless begging comes in.

If you've got a mind to, please consider going here and voting for my stories. They are:

From my blanket, I watched the surf. "It doesn't get any better than this."
From his time machine, me from 2023 sighed. "No, it doesn't."

"That's it, I have to know. You've been with me and with Mike. Which one is the better man?"
I smiled. "The one who didn't have to ask."

Both are marked as BY CHRIS BRIDGES. You can vote for as many as you like, but only once. No registration required.

VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE or not, you know. Up to you.  You can see the rest of the finalists in the other groups here. Voting ends 6 p.m. EST tonight.

Thanks.