Writer’s Friends—Conferences and Contests

Yikes! It’s a new year and I’ve been so busy editing that I’ve neglected this wonderful blog. Never mind. I’ll bring you up-to-date. I finished off the year with a writing conference. Every writer should avail herself or himself of the chance to mingle with like-minded individuals, and published authors who offer educational insights as well as personal advice. Some conferences for 2016

Crime Bake!

Once again, the November conference put on by Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America was wonderful. Elizabeth George, the guest author, proved to be witty, friendly, and happy to share her writing knowledge and experience. All the authors made themselves available and the panels were informative and humorous. The Master Classes provided up-to-date information on a variety of subjects and made time for Q and A. It was also a great time to catch up with all those writers I haven’t seen for a while.

Conference Opportunities: One of the perks of conferences is pitching your manuscript. This year, Crime Bake held a pitch slam or the chance to pitch to multiple agents. What an opportunity. Two agents asked me to send in partials. Another perk is a manuscript critique. I had an excellent twenty-page critique with Lucy Burdette, who gave me an in-depth review and a written assessment.

Contests: For the Crime Bake Flash

Words contest, a story having to do with crime, and no more than 150 words with 10 chosen from a list of 20 (ashes, blood, body, careless, consequences, death, deception, edge, enemy, evil, hiding, memory, missing, murder, payment, pursuit, shadows, traitor, vengeance, witness).  I was a winner for the fourth year in a row. What an exciting moment, especially sweet after reading all the other excellent submissions. Here is my winner:

Sweet Thing

I was at the River’s Edge Café when he spoke to me—the same chilling words that dogged my nightmares, “Hey there, sweet thing.”

Memories flooded my mind. I was thirteen years old, hiding to spy on my sister and her date. She’d always been careless about boys, and Mom had warned her of the consequences. That night, payment came due, and I was the witness. From the shadows, I’d listened. I’d listened as she laughed. I’d listened as she died. Since her death, I’d thirsted for vengeance.

I blinked and looked at him. The fire in his eyes almost undid me. His honeyed tongue dripped evil. “I was just headed outside for a smoke. Care to join me?”

I sucked back the fear and followed him. Tonight would be different. Tonight I was the one with the gun and the badge to back it up.

###

I’m beginning the new year on a high note with a Submission. On the heels of Crime Bake, I sat down and began re-editing my manuscript, Trace of Evil, to send in to a Ghostwoods Books, as they were accepting submissions until the end of the year. That done, I’m working on a synopsis for the same book to send to RWA’s Golden Heart contest. Once that is out (before 1/11/16), I will work on the changes one of the agents suggested in “Watcher Clan”. Some excellent free writing contests 

This is the year! I'm going to be published. All I have to do is keep on writing.

Mondays Finish the Story 5.11.15

Mondays Finish the Story

A writing challenge from Barbara Beacham that supplies the first sentence and a photo prompt. Write the story with 100-150 words not including the sentence provided.

Here is the photo and my story - Word Count 130:

Not To Worry

Arriving at the beach, she reflected on her life.

True, it hadn't been too wonderful lately, but on the whole she was happy. Her children were adults, living on their own.

The little problem with her husband and his side dish had been difficult. She hadn't seen it coming. But she wasn't about to let some home-wrecker steal everything they'd built up together in a messy divorce.

She smiled as she listened to the surf. Too bad about the accident. They say it was alcohol and drugs.

After the funeral, she'd taken her devastated husband out here to recuperate. Poor thing. He was inconsolable. It would be a shame if he tried anything foolish. What he needed was a good drink.

She smiled again, looked out at the blue water, and cradled the bag of pills in her pocket.

How It Starts

 Hi All,

I'm a little late, but this is my story for the Mondays Finish the Story challenge. We're given the first sentence and a picture and asked to write a 100-150 word story.

Here's mine:

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

After losing her head, she realized that the rest of her body was falling apart. Not actually falling apart as much as being ripped apart.

Junior laughed and punched his horrified sister, Mindy as she cried, "You killed my doll."

"Shut up you little baby, or I'll hit you again."

Mindy cringed and backed away from her brother.

He picked up all of my pieces and took me to the woods outside the house. When he dug through the dirt, I saw something--a little yellow piece of fluff. Oh no. Mindy's cat. Poor Max. Junior delighted in killing everything Mindy loved.

When he grabbed my head, getting ready to toss it into the hole, my painted eyes widened. Another deep pit lay next to mine, empty and waiting. Oh dear--just the size of my poor little Mindy.



Only A Dream

Hi Everyone. I'm trying the Friday Fictioneers photo prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields' blog, Addicted to Purple. The challenge is to write a story about the photo in 100 words or less. Here is my story, "It's Only A Dream".

© Douglas M. MacIlroy

It's Only A Dream

91 Words

The whispers, late at night when the overseers slept, carried hope, hope that our lives could change.

Being a Grub was hard. We worked all day, never left the dungeons, and only met the Carriers when it was time to breed. We never saw the Place of Light. All we had were our dreams.

Each night we looked forward to stories of the Time Before and wild tales about our wished-for future. Tonight a hushed voice added another dimension to the dream of escape. "What if the Goodlaw built multiple domes?"

Winning With Flash Fiction

How many ways can you win with Flash Fiction? Check out my blog post  on Winning With Flash Fiction at Mostly Mystery. I think you'll like it.

Rita Mae's Legacy

Genre Paranormal

Word Count 100

Rita Mae's Legacy
In response to Friday Fictioneers challenge



photo prompt is courtesy  of Rochelle Wisoff

Something terrible happened that night, the night Rita Mae came screaming out her front door covered in  blood.

Bud had bled out right there in the hall. We all thought Rita Mae had done it.

She kept babbling about her great granddaddy and some curse. She never was the same after that night and they never found the killer.

Some nights I sit here and watch lights moving around her house.

She never remarried, said her great granddaddy wouldn't like it. She's a mite touched in the head, now. Funny thing, though. The knife that killed her man? Great Granddaddy's.

Read the other creative entries.

Christmas Eve Tale

The following is a short, short story or flash fiction. Flash fiction can be fun to write and there is  market for it. For more examples of this writing, go to http://www.flashfictiononline.com/index.html.

In the silence of the dark living room, in the boughs of the Christmas tree, a strange conversation evolves.

"Okay, it's safe to talk."

"Is that you Snowy?"

"You betcha, Olga. Mr. Snowman, himself. How's our pretty little ice skating queen?"

"I'm still here."

Another female speaks, "Me, too."

A new macho voice. "Is that Tina, our tiny ballerina? Still twirling?"

"So far."

"Okay," Snowy said. "Tina and Mr. Football are still here."

"Yeah, Snowy. I'm ready for the big game."

"Okay. What about Santa?"

"Ho, Ho, Ho, Snowy."

Snowy keeps up the roll call. "Angel?"

A sweet voice drifts down from the top of the tree. "I'm here Snowy, but I don't hear Chirpy singing."

Snowy calls out, "Chirpy?" Nothing. He tries again. "Chirpy, are you here?"

Chirpy was missing, and he wasn't the first. Last night they'd lost the Snowboarder, and before that, Rudolph and Teddy Bear had disappeared.

A frightened little voice cries, "Where is everyone?"

"Easy, Tina," Snowy says.

"Who's doing this?" Angel asks.

Olga answers. "I heard the mother say there were too many ornaments on the tree."

"I think it's the little boy," says Nutcracker. "Snowboarder said the boy wanted to play with him."

"That's right," Mr. Football says. "And Rudolph said the boy pinched his nose. Now they're both gone. I hope he doesn't hurt them."

"I wish we could see each other,"says the ballerina. "I'm afraid, twirling up here by myself."

"I can see your head, Tina," says Angel.

A squeaky voice pipes up. "I can't see anybody."

"Who's that?" Snowy says.

"Gingerbread Man. What are we going to do?"

"I'm afraid," Tina says. "Who'll be next?"

"Don't worry, Tina. I'll protect you." The deep voice belongs to Mr. Nutcracker.

"Thank you Mr. Nutcracker, but you couldn't protect all the others."

Tina's words resound throughout the tree, and the living room gets very quiet. They all know how easy it is for someone to steal them. 

As each ornament worries about his fate, the branches on the tree begin to move. Tiny voices cry out, "What's that? Who's there? What's going on?"

Then they hear a scream. "Help! Help! He's got me."

"Who is that? I can't see. What's happening?" Snowy yells.

"It's Gingerbread Man. Save me."

"What can we do?" Nutcracker says.

As Ginger's scream fade off into the distance, Angel asks, "Who took him? Did anyone see?"

No one saw anything. Finally, it becomes quiet again. None of the ornaments speak. It's Christmas Eve and they don't know if they'll be here to see Christmas morning.

In another room, a tiny voice calls out, "Mommy? Mommy?"

A sleepy voice answers. "What is it honey?"

"Mittens got ahold of something. I heard it scream."

"I'll take care of it in the morning."

"Mommy, it's in my room. I think it's crying."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. I'm coming."

Mommy comes in, turns on the light, and laughs. 
"Mittens! He's been stealing ornaments off the tree. Naughty kitty. Shoo."

She picks up Ginger, Snowboarder, Rudolph, Teddy Bear, and Chirpy and puts them all back on the tree. Chirpy's feathers are a little chewed, but he can still sing.

The little boy follows Mommy into the living room. "But, Mommy, I heard a scream."

"It was probably Mittens playing. Go to sleep. Santa will be coming soon."

After all the humans go back to bed and everyone has been welcomed back to the tree, Snowy whispers, "I forgot that humans can hear us on Christmas Eve. If that wicked kitten comes back, we'll all yell and make a great big ruckus.

Just then, they hear sleigh bells outside, and a sigh sweeps the tree.

"We'll be all right now," Angel says.

###

Merry Christmas!

And, keep writing.