UK Amazon Kindle Forum discussion
Past group quizzes/comps
>
Writing Contest #12 - Entries
'Mr Author Fails to Sell'.‘I’ve written a brilliant book,’ said Mr Author, to anybody who would listen – and to many who wouldn’t.
Publishers weren’t interested. He said, ‘They’re silly.’
He published via Amazon and checked sales ten times a day.
‘I must promote it,’ he thought.
At the post office there was always a long queue. ‘I’ve written a brilliant book,’ he said in a very loud voice. ‘You’ll find it on Amazon.’
Everyone hurried out. He smiled to the lady behind the counter, ‘They’re hurrying to buy my book.’
He posted on the Amazon forums about his brilliant book. People were surprisingly rude.
At work Mr Author yawned, ‘Up late writing twenty-five words of my next brilliant book.’ Everybody groaned.
He sold no books.
Mr Author said to his friend, Miss Reader, ‘Read my book. Tell everyone it’s brilliant.’
Miss Reader read Mr Author’s book. ‘Do you read books?’ she asked.
‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘I’m too busy writing, brilliantly.’
‘Your book has no character arc, is unfocussed, uses multiple points of view and is full of errors in spelling and grammar. You need to read before you try writing.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Author. ‘Can you recommend a good book.’
MR PROCRASTINATORmakes a sandwich
Mr Procrastinator lived in a rather messy house.
It was rather messy because whenever there was cleaning to be done, Mr Procrastinator said “I'll do it tomorrow!”
But when tomorrow came, did Mr Procrastinator do it? No, he did not. Instead, he said “I'll do it tomorrow!”
There had been rather a lot of tomorrows since Mr Procrastinator had moved in.
One day Mr Procrastinator, who had been thinking about tidying his kitchen, had decided it could wait. However, he was a little bit hungry. “I'll make a sandwich,” he thought. So he started to look for the bread.
He looked in the bread bin. It wasn't there. It wasn't in the fridge.
It wasn't under the table.
In fact, there didn't seem to be any bread at all.
Then he remembered. He hadn't gone shopping the day before.
“I thought I would do it tomorrow!” he said. “Oh blast.”
Mr Procrastinator went and sat down in his messy sitting room. “Not really that hungry,” he thought. “I can wait.”
Several weeks later Mr Nosey, who wondered why he hadn't seen Mr Procrastinator for a while, peered through the window.
Mr Procrastinator sat slumped in his chair, unmoving. He had left it too late, and starved to death.
Mr SlaphappyLittle Miss Whiplash demanded two services of Mr Ecstasy. But since he had failed to make their agreed meeting time, she was unlikely to receive one and administer the other. She knew the reason of course. Mr Ecstasy was off his cartoon face. The illustrator would be forced to draw him with dilated pupils and white powder caked under his nostrils. Whereas to Mr Ecstasy in his altered state, the denizens of cartoon world with their elongated arms and triangular or serrated heads, had all morphed into the alarming prospect of real life flesh and blood humans like you and me dear reader (but not the illustrator who remained one rung below on the evolutionary ladder).
After Miss Whiplash reported yet another blown exchange to her bosses, Mr Ecstasy's paymasters decided to act. The ultimate sanction, he was to be written out of the series. Mr Slaphappy was assigned the contract, a specialist drive-by eraser. And because this is a children's series, the illustrator drew petals around the blood spatter and turned them into daisies. Or forget-me-knots (the illustrator forgot which, addled memory and dead brain cells being by-products of being an alcoholic).
Kids, don't do drugs. Drinking's cool though.
MR. POLARIMr. Polari was very unhappy. Nobody seemed to understand anything he said, so he couldn't find love.
"Ooh, I'm blue," he sobbed, "I'm bored trolling for trade in the cottage. I need to charper a chicken dish for keeps. I'll zhoosh me riah, powder me eek, clamber into glam drag and troll to a bijou bar!"
At the bar, he saw Mr. Tickle.
"Ooh, yer luckies are bona!" flushed Polari.
But Tickle didn't understand, so started dancing. Then he tripped over his enormous arms.
"Ooh dear," giggled Polari, "nanti-hoofer!"
Next, he saw Mr. Small.
"Ooh, aren't you bijou?"
But Small didn't understand, so walked away between Polari's legs.
"Ooh well," huffed Polari, "bijou basket too!"
Finally, he met Mr. Strong.
"Ooh, you're a butch dish!"
But Strong didn't understand, so flexed his muscles at everyone.
"Ooh no," winced Polari, "naff troller!"
Polari was, again, sad.
But, nearby, Little Miss Butch overheard and understood what he'd said and knew just the Mr. for him. She introduced him to Mr. Omi Palone.
Together they exclaimed,"Ooh, hot bod, big basket and vada the dolly eek! Fantabulosa!"
Soon, Mr. Polari and Mr. Omi Palone had a civil ceremony - officiated by Mr. Corrupt Cardinal!
THE END
Little Miss PernicketyLittle Miss Pernickety opened the email. It was short and to the point.
“Would you mind having a look at this story, I want to include it in my next collection?”
“Certainly. You need a semicolon where that comma is,” she sent back.
“Oh, yes. Thank you,” replied the slightly bewildered author. “But I’d like another opinion on the story, if you have the time.”
“You’ve just started a sentence with a conjunction,” Miss Pernickety observed with a palpable air of irritation. “That’s really rather poor.”
“Well, yes, but that’s how I talk. This is just an email. And I really, erm. I really could do with someone to urgently glance through it as my deadline’s fast approaching.”
“I further observe that you have no compunction about splitting an infinitive,” droned Little Miss Pernickety, ever the pedantic one.
“What? Oh, never mind.”
The emails stopped. In fact, if it were not for the Indie Book Bargains newsletter, there would scarcely be any point in looking at her inbox any more.
Little Miss Pernickety had at last learnt her lesson. People don’t like smart-arses because they are a pain in the colon.
MR. SOCIOPATH“But it’s after 10:30”, said Mr McDaffy of McDaffys restaurant, “I can’t serve you breakfast now.”
Mr Sociopath wasn’t happy about this so he jumped over the counter and pushed Mr McDaffy’s head deep into the fryer where he convulsed violently. Stretching, Mr Sociopath took a breakfast roll from the shelf and ate it until Mr McDaffy fell limp.
“Your shoes won’t ready till Monday.” Said Mrs Boot the cobbler who was repairing Miss Book the librarian’s kinky boots.
Mr Sociopath wasn’t happy about this so he threw himself onto Mrs Boot ripping the stitching needles from her hands plunging them deep into her eyes.
Later, Mr Sociopath found himself in the park. An old man with a long beard was sat on his favourite bench. Mr Sociopath wasn’t happy about this so he pulled out a knife, crept up behind him and slit his throat in a single motion.
“Ouch.” Said Mr Sociopath suddenly filled with intense pain.
“You can’t hurt me Mr Sociopath,” said the tramp who was in fact a wizard. “I’ve cast a spell on you so you can’t hurt anyone anymore. Any pain you inflict will instead be felt by you.”
Since that day Mr Sociopath hasn’t maimed, mutilated or killed anyone.
'Little Miss Paperback dates Mr Kindle'Little Miss Paperback had been friends with Mr Kindle for a while. Their friendship had grown over the last few months and today was their first real date.
Before, Little Miss Paperback had only dated other paperbacks. She had once tried to date a hardback but, one night, she had almost suffocated under his weight.
Little Miss Paperback prepared for her date with Mr Kindle by slipping into a transparent dust jacket. She thought the see-through garment would turn Mr Kindle on. Although, she did hope he was already turned on. A switched-off e-reader would be useless.
During the film, Little Miss Paperback secretly watched Mr Kindle. He was positively glowing. (Well, his middle name was Paperwhite.)
Afterwards, the pair checked into a seedy motel. They were just getting settled when Mr Kindle displayed a message, informing Little Miss Paperback that he needed to be charged. She looked around in dismay; Mr Kindle had not brought his power cable.
As Mr Kindle became ever more sleepy, Little Miss Paperback climbed off the bed and walked out to get a taxi home. She would date only other paperbacks from now on, for there was no risk of their charge running down.
Mr Pious & FriendsThe days were getting shorter, the temperature dropping every day and Mr Pious was setting about his work on the mean streets of Buenos Aires. As he moved from hostel to hospital ministering to his flock the local residents smiled and waved happily despite the poverty and hardship that was the signature of the La Boca district.
Mr Pious signed the cross to the eldery, the sick and the young. His faith preserved him even as he watched Mr Stinking Rich drive past in his cadillac to another meeting with Mr Corrupt and Mr Bribery.
As the sun set, Mr Pious set down his robe in his small room and prayed to his God. Despite the futility of trying to save so many wretched souls Mr Pious knew that good must always triumph over evil, that Mr Corrupt and Mr Bribery could not buy their place in the kingdom of heaven and that one day he would get his opportunity to make the world a better place.
As he prayed alone, in a world a million miles away Mr Pyromaniac was lighting a small fire in an ancient chapel and a puff of white smoke began to billow out a message to seven billion lost souls.
Mr ChavMr Chav glanced at his bedside clock: 12:20 pm.
It was early, but he was awake so he might as well get up.
Mr Chav dressed in his off-white shell suit and Nike trainers, donned his bling and Burberry baseball cap, and set off for town.
The sun shone, the birds sang, but Mr Chav didn’t notice. He was too busy chattering away on his i-phone, arranging with his best friend, Mr Got-a-Bad-Back-Can’t-Work, where they would spend their disability benefit cheques.
He also didn’t notice the person standing in front of him, barring his way.
“Hello, Mr Chav,” said the person.
Mr Chav stopped and lowered his i-phone.
“Yeah?” he said. “Who’re you?”
The person smiled; rather a wolfish smile, all teeth, no humour.
“I’m Mr Fed-Up-to-the-Back-Teeth-With-Scroungers,” he said. “Mr Fed-Up for short.”
Mr Chav sneered. “Yeah? You’re in my way.”
Mr Fed-Up’s smile grew wider, revealing teeth that were long and pointy.
Mr Chav took a step back.
“Can you run?” said Mr Fed-Up. “You have shiny new trainers.”
“What…? No. I… No.”
“Pity,” said Mr Fed-Up. “For you.”
Mr Chav swallowed. Then he turned and ran.
Mr Fed-Up waited, grin growing wider, slavering, before loping after Mr Chav.
Haha! I might end up tossing a coin! An excellent suggestion for the contest.
Simon Wherever you are can you please set up a poll since Patti is on holiday? I promise that if I ever meet you I'll buy you a beer if you do.
Oh and the poll should close next Wednesday.
Excellent! I'll read these later but I can already tell by the titles they'll be good!
Hahahahaha Brilliant! Love them all
They are brilliant!Well done everyone :-)
I've voted.....Great variety again!
Interesting that the actual Mr Man most of us seemed to have dragged from our addled memories was Mr Tickle. Wonder what that says about us all! :-)
I suspect it was one of the first. It was certainly the first we bought for our kids.
What fun! And what a tricky choice to make! Thanks, Jud, for coping with snow, migraine and jury service to put these up promptly.
I'm going to have to re-read them a few times. I often have to!
Yes, me too. I find with a very short story my reaction depends totally on the mood I'm in. With a novel I can take up reading wherever I left off and my mood adjusts to the book, but with a very short story it's over before any tuning in can take place. I'll have to keep coming back and vote at the last minute.
Why BJ, you make me sound like super woman
Jud (Disney Diva) wrote: "Why BJ, you make me sound like super woman"Actually, I forgot to mention fitting in your job. You are Superwoman!
Bump for votingOr Mr Bump if you prefer :-)
If you entered please vote... For someone else....
B J wrote: "Jud (Disney Diva) wrote: "Why BJ, you make me sound like super woman"Actually, I forgot to mention fitting in your job. You are Superwoman!"
Aw shucks... you're making me blush.
What a great selection. I read them all last night and have now voted (not for my own!) :)
Marc wrote: "Interesting that the actual Mr Man most of us seemed to have dragged from our addled memories was Mr Tickle. Wonder what that says about us all! :-)"It's the only one I remember reading as a child - it was a while ago.
Great entries all! Have to make my decision though...
I'll read them again later and vote then. Hard decision!
Ignite wrote: "I'll read them again later and vote then. Hard decision!"It's easy, Ignite. Just vote for mine.
That's the problem, see. I know several people who've entered and I have absolutely no idea who wrote what!
I hope the authors unveil themselves at the end. It's part of the fun!
Have read them all twice and still can't decide on just one! I need Mr Decisive!
Same, I've narrowed my vote down but I need more time!
Well, I've voted, but I'm not convinced I won't change my mind.
Come on everyone. Get a cup of tea and a jaffa cake, read the entries and vote. It takes ten minutes and the entries are good fun.
Simon (Highwayman) wrote: "Come on everyone. Get a cup of tea and a jaffa cake, read the entries and vote. It takes ten minutes and the entries are good fun."what he said, though you're not restricted to a cup of tea
Got it whittled down to 5 but still no clear winner!Will try again later!
Simon (Highwayman) wrote: "Come on everyone. Get a cup of tea and a jaffa cake, read the entries and vote. It takes ten minutes and the entries are good fun."I've got a feeling that Simon thinks he's going to win this ... I've voted.
I cannot decide between two entries. I wish we could cast multiple votes.
Ummm, I can see the votes and I am battling it out for last place.... Again.
Someone misread the rules and their story is 50% longer than all of the others. At least they'll be able to reassure themselves that the lack of votes is down to a simple error, whereas, unfortunately, I have no such excuse.
I think that's my fault. I did receive an over 200 words one and then I got a revised shorter version and I have obviously posted the wrong one...oops
One fine sunny Saturday afternoon in Metroland people were going about their usual weekend business. Gardens were being pruned; cars were being washed; shopping was being shopped.
One person, however, was doing something unusual for this time on a Saturday. Rather than being fast asleep, Mr. Teenager was up and about and rather than hanging around with his friends on the corner of his street, Mr. Teenager was some way from home. In fact, dressed in his habitual Hoodie which covered him from head to toe, hands in pockets, trainered feet barely visible beneath the hem of his monk-like garb, Mr. Teenager was striding into the Metroland Mega Shopping City.
As he walked purposely through the crowd of bustling buyers, Mr. Teenager was aware that although he was being given a very wide berth by everyone, all eyes appeared to be fixed on him. Then he spied the Greetings Card Shop. You see today was not any ordinary Saturday. Today was the Saturday before Mothering Sunday and being a nice boy, Mr. Teenager had saved some of his pocketmoney to buy his Mum a card.
He arrived at the shop and held open the door for an exiting little old lady, who strangely gave a “squeak” and zimmered away towards two men in uniform. It was then that Mr. Teenager noticed the notice: “No Hoodies Allowed”. What was he to do? He had to get his Mum a card or she would be upset. There was nothing else for it; he took off his precious hoodie rolled it up under his arm and went in.
Mr. Teenager never did get his mum that card, but as he sat in the cell at the Police Station, he realised he’d learnt a lesson for life. When taking off your hoodie in public, make sure you are wearing something underneath.