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Weekly Contests > Week 44 (August 24 - August 29) Done

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message 1: by Clare D' Lune (last edited Aug 24, 2009 02:35PM) (new)

Clare D' Lune Instructions:

Please do not use a story previously used on goodreads. After the week's contest, you are welcome to put it on your profile writings, but please refrain from using stories you have already put on there.

You have until Saturday afternoon to post a story on here. Please post it directly onto this topic, rather than posting a link. Also, please do not discuss stories on here. You must go to Weekly Short Story Contest Discussion for that. This will avoid any clutter and confusion, so that people can simply come on here and read the story, without having to read comments on the story.

This week's Topic is Cigarette. If anyone has any objections to this topic, please go to the Objections post. The rules are pretty loose. You could write about pretty much anything. Just have the word in the story.

Weekly stories must be at least 500 words long to 2,500 words long. (if the whole story won't fit in one post, divide it into two)

Good luck!

Clare

P.S. PLEASE say if you would like to have your story on Short Story Galore, if you win. This way it wouldn't take me ages to get your consent afterwards. This includes adding a link to your stories. If you want to have your story on the Short Story Galore, but not the link, just say so.



message 2: by Della (new)

Della | 19 comments im new at this--how much of the story has to be about ciggarets? or can it just be something the character mentions?


message 3: by Megan (new)

Megan Hansen (meganhansen) Hi Della! Cigarette only has to be mentioned once within your story, it doesn't have to be about cigarettes. Unless you want it to be, of course.

Hmmm, I'll ponder this one and see if I can come up with anything


message 4: by Della (new)

Della | 19 comments thanks!! :)


message 5: by Della (new)

Della | 19 comments My mom always disagreed with Marilyn Monroe; diamond’s weren’t a girl’s best friend, cigarettes were. They never deserted you, like a man did--she was still kind of sore over Denny leaving her, even though I always thought he was a piece of trash--and they never complained when you didn’t get rent in on time--she and land lady got into screaming matches last month about the rent.
Cigarettes were always there to calm you, give you a second, help you think. Of course, this is my mother we’re talking about. Some people might say her morals are a little messed up--and that’s the polite way of saying it.

My mom has a lot more bizarre set of “rules for life” if you will. Like mooching off of relatives is acceptable and even welcome, because they’re family. Well, it works for me.
People assume (and when I say people < /i> I mean the entire town) that since I’m the black sheep of the town’s daughter, I must be doomed as well. That if my mom has messed up a few times, I’m doomed for disaster as well.
Is messing up in life genetic?
So that’s what I’m trying to find out. I’m on a mission; the type you go on that you see in movies with long road trips, wind in your hair; the real bona-fide soul searching find of mission.
So, the list for the trip included:
1 red mini cooper
1 notepad
3 ball point pens
1 girl desperate for answers

And then I was off! I wasn’t really sure where I would end up, so it turned out that I drove to Springfield first. I figured that where ever I ended up I’d do the best of it. Two wrong turns= Springfield.
I ended up spending most of my time at the mall; I interviewed a girl with strawberry blonde hair named Allison who says that being a failure is genetic.
“I mean,” she pipes, “You learn from your mom, right? I mean, your mom is, like, a, like, role model, right?” Agreed.
My mom has never been very role model-esque. She usually let me run free, as long as I didn’t make a mess and didn’t get in trouble. She told me to follow my heart, and if push came to shove, to please marry a rich guy so she wouldn’t have to pay for me for the rest of her life.
Well, what can I say? She didn’t like to sugar-coat things.
At Starbucks, I talked to two people; a man named Colin who said that failure is a choice, and it can’t possibly be genetic, only if you get the idea from your “kin” as he put it, that failure is an option. I didn’t really like him; he was very Harvard/Yale/Daddy pays for everything but I’m on scholarship/.
The other was a woman named Cathy. She seemed really nice; heart-shaped face and soft red hair. She offered to buy me a coffee, but I told her (reluctantly) that I had to get back on the road. She told me that messing up in life isn’t genetic or she’d be stuck in New York right now, a loser drug addict. I hope she’s right.
DAY 2 OF SOUL-SEARCHING:< /u> No luck. It seems no one wants to talk to a slightly caffeine-deprived teenager with a paper and pen. The only one who talked to me was the cashier lady at Applebee’s. Her name was Crystal and she told me that if my mom had succeeded in raising a beautiful daughter like myself, she had hardly failed a darn thing.
DAY 3 OF SOUL-SEARCHING:< /u> Funds are slowly running out. There was a seven year old boy who I talked to, but before he could tell me his words of wisdom, his mother ran me off.

DAY 4 OF SOUL-SEARCHING: < /u> Unfortunately, after four days of deep soul-searching and what not, I have to head home because my funds are slowly running out.
I’ve decided that--ironically enough--the Applebee’s lady, Crystal, was right. My mom raised me when my father, Roy, abandoned me when I was two months old. My mom, no matter what, has always taken care of me the best she could.
Cue the sappy music, right?
Well, anyway, when I got back to the pleasant homestead--AKA Apartment 28B--surprisingly enough, my mom’s eyes filled with tears when I told her about my little “mission”. I expected her to yell at me that she wasn’t a failure, but instead she said in a soft, quiet voice--that was very uncharacteristic of her: “You can’t possibly have the failure gene because no one doomed for failure would go on a mission of soul-searchin’. You’re going to make me proud, Rene.”
Of course, I hardly proved anything to anyone else, but I proved something to myself.



message 6: by Megan (new)

Megan Hansen (meganhansen) What a sweet ending! Rene running off and to interview strangers was a funny idea! I really liked it Della!


message 7: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune wow that was an awesome story Della! Loved the begining >.<


Come on anyone else have stories? I'd write one, but skool started a couple days ago and I'm trying to keep up XD


message 8: by Della (new)

Della | 19 comments thanks!!! :)


message 9: by Nessiebear (new)

Nessiebear “James…” I whispered, a hot tear slipping down my cheek. I could feel the racking of sobs begging to be let out in my stomach. As I watched his figure disappear around the corner, I gripped my plaid purse tighter. If I could tell him sorry, I would. That I was sorry for wasting his time, sorry that I wasn’t his type, and more than anything, sorry that I was so average. And that he was a wrong doer.

By the time that I had returned home that night, my eyes were red and swollen. Like that, I flopped onto my bed and fell asleep. That next morning was the first time I had ever been late to school.

“Ali!…Ali! Goddamnit, Ali get up!” someone said from above me. I blinked blearily, looking up at my older brother.
“Yes?” I asked, sniffling pathetically.
He gave me a disgusted look. “Dumped, huh?” he asked as I sat up, hugging my pillow to my chest.
“Maybe…” I said, pouting.
“It only took a week…as expected of James, the girl killer.” he chuckled.
“Shut up!” I said, standing up, throwing my pillow onto my bed. “Tell Mom I’m gonna be late to school today.”

“Daniel, it’s time to go!” my mother’s voice came from downstairs.
Daniel’s eyes widened. “Should I tell James that your skipping for his sake?”
I shot Daniel a glower from my bathroom sink.
“No! I’m not skipping or doing anything for his sake!” I asked, covering up my pain with my words.
“Yeah yeah. You’re not the only girl to have said that.” he said, standing up, leaving the room.

“Don’t compare me to those girls…” I said, even though I knew he was already gone. I stared at my bleak looking reflection. My chest length orange-y blonde hair, which I liked to think of as a light pumpkin shade and boring brown eyes made me look like I was trying too hard. In all truth, my hair was naturally this color and there wasn’t much I could do about my brown eyes other than wear colored contacts.

I sighed, pulling the brush though my hair ruthlessly. Being lazy, and boyfriendless, I pulled on my white un-ironed blouse and red school skirt. “Depressing…” I said to myself as I looked in the mirror again. With a sniff, I grabbed my bag and black blazer top and left the house.

One of the best things about being me was that fact that no one in my class could really turn me down if I asked something. Why? Because I was class representative and they assumed I’d give them a bad seat if they did. “Hey, Ali!” Lulu said, waving from her car window. She was in the middle of a green light, getting honked at from the side and behind.

I chuckled and ran across the street, sliding into the passenger seat. “Morning.”
I said, shutting the door. I turned, expecting Lulu to answer.
“You bastard! SHUT UP!” Lulu yelled, giving the man in the car next to us the finger while glaring violently.
I snickered. “Lu, step on it, we’re late to class.” I said, clicking my seat belt in.
“Yaaay! Speeding!” Lulu giggled, stepping on the gas rather suddenly, sending us speeding forward, through the yellow light towards school.

“Whoooooooooooooo!” Lulu sang, swinging wildly into the school parking lot. I held my stomach while giggling. Once we parked and got out of the car, I smiled over at Lulu.
“Getting you a sports car was the stupidest thing your parents have done yet.” I said with a smirk.
“Hells yeah.” Lulu laughed, tying her light brown hair into a low ponytail as we climbed the front steps of the school. “Oh yeah! You forgot to tell me, how did the date with James go?”
I laughed nervously, looking at the ground as I pulled open the door. “No good.” I admitted, swallowing a bit too loudly.
“Ehh? No way, he doesn’t know what he just threw away.” Lulu said, giving me friendly consolation.

“Ah…haha..” I said, squinting to hold tears in. “See you in class Lu.” I said hurriedly, turning on my heel, heading for my locker, my head down.

Carefully, I opened my locker, taking the books I needed. I looked up, out the window. I knew James wouldn’t be in class. He never bothered to come to first period and it was half way through first period at the moment. I shut my locker and headed for the back of the school, hugging my books to my chest.

When I stepped outside of the emergency exit doors to the back of the brick building, I could smell smoke. I turned to see James leaned against the brick, cigarette in his mouth. He lifted his head to look up at me, his black hair hanging over his left eye. “Need something?” he asked, removing the cigarette from his mouth, blowing the smoke out in puffs.

I shook my head, looking away. “That’s a lie, Ali.” James said with a sigh, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Yeah.” I nodded and frowned. “There’s no smoking on school grounds.” I said, taking the cigarette from his mouth. I held it away from him as he stared up at me with waiting eyes. “Watch the ash.” he said.

My eyebrows furrowed until I felt heat on my fingertips. “Ow!” I yelped, dropping the cigarette onto the dirt. I looked at my pointer finger and the singe mark on the side of it. “Are you okay?” James asked, his eyes wide. He grabbed my hand, looking at my finger. “Y-Yeah…” I stuttered, looking down at him in surprise. “Little girls shouldn’t play with fire.” James said, putting my finger in his mouth.

I felt a blush heat my face as I felt his tongue on the side of my finger and pulled my finger away suddenly. “D-Don’t touch me!” I said, clasping my singed finger with my hand. James straightened up off the wall. “Right. Sorry.” he said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from the pockets of his black skinny jeans.

“D-Didn’t I just tell you that smoking wasn’t allowed?” I asked, struggling to regain my calmness. “I wont get in trouble as long as I only chew on it, right?” he said, starting to walk away. “Does that mean your skipping class?!” I asked hurriedly, hugging my books to me again. “Leave me alone Ali West. Unless you plan on telling on me.” he said, pulling his black hoodie over his head.

As I watched him walk away again, I knew I wouldn’t be able to tell on him at all. I sighed and headed back into school, going to my second period class. I sat down at my desk and listened to the teacher take roll. “Harry Amsworth?…”
“Here!”
“James Brell?

“He doesn’t seem to be here Mrs. Lane.” I said, gritting my teeth.
“Ah, so him showing up to my class for a week was a fluke.” Mrs. Lane said, adjusting her glasses, continuing with the roll call.

I zoned out, staring at my pencil on the desk. Absently I looked outside to see Lulu in front of her car, leaning against the hood. I raised an eyebrow. Lulu’s skipping…? I wondered. Then I saw a guy walking towards her, his black hood over his head. I saw Lulu smile and pull the hood off of him and take a cigarette from his mouth with her teeth. Then she tossed it on the ground, laughing.


message 10: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune wow!! awesome! The end is so sad : ( but a good story!


message 11: by Megan (new)

Megan Hansen (meganhansen) Aw, the ending made me sad! Very well written, I enjoyed it xAnissax!


message 12: by Nessiebear (new)

Nessiebear Thanks! :D


message 13: by Arthur, Live a little Give a lot (new)

Arthur | 554 comments Mod
Title: In the End
Author: Arthur
Words: 1450

…………….

In The End

Denise had closed her eyes.

The night was hot and sticky. No it wasn’t. It was from the smell of perfume that made it seem sticky. There wasn’t any window to open. And even if there were it would only probably open to some cheap parking lot. And again, it seemed the afternoon didn’t go very good until Denise was finally sitting for her make-up for the fifth time, in the dressing room. There had been too many retakes. She disliked show business now; her favorite cousin in the world had been sort of an actress. When visiting Jennifer in California she got talked into being one of those extra for some famous Hollywood producer and his film. Yeah just a famous producer but also notoriously just cheap. And now Denise was fighting with eye-makeup and the false wig she was forced to wear. She looked at her face and was probably suffering blepharitis. There was an all cast meeting and she was only one of those extra, so she was spending it with the artistic makeup person and talking about the movie they were going to make. They started filming like five in the morning. The California sunsets were cooler than where Denise is from and she wanted to see it more somehow. So much that Denise had hopes of spending some time later with Jennifer in some nightclub or beach club after they leave the studio. Lorenzo must have been changing the scenes he wanted. Lorenzo was the producer and he had just come in moments ago and called for everyone he deemed important for tomorrows takes. He wasn’t leaving until they got some message of his of how things out to be. The director seemed upset with something, and the air seemed unnatural between the two. Leaving wasn’t difficult for Denise who disliked everyone here. They all were snobs. But Jennifer seemed stuck on the director guy, hence why Denise was being ushered into the movie. Maybe he felt the same for Denise.

The hours seemed to begin to be going slower. After Jennifer’s return they did a few rehearses for Jennifer’s part tomorrow. There were a few individual groups acting. It suddenly was almost midnight when the people there were becoming thin. Jennifer had done this often enough she assumed Denise would enjoy seeing what actors did. In effect the night was spirally erratically on Denise. Michael had not even been there. He left hours ago of course with Lorenzo intended on getting some new script scene materials. He hadn’t returned.

“It’s awful late Jennifer. I mean it’s going to be early tomorrow, let’s go, I’m calling it a night.” Denise said.

“It’s too bad Michael never returned.” She said. “I thought he would. It’s not like him to disappear.” Jennifer had started working on this film four months ago. The director Michael had picked Jennifer out from nearly a thousand other girls to play Tempest, a mad mademoiselle for the film. All she had to do was convince people Tempest existed and lure them into danger, and that was what Jennifer was good at as an actress, luring people with her Oval green eyes.

It was late and they entered the parking lot and went to Jennifer’s site trailer for the night.

“Midnight.” Denise said when they past to the bed at the end of the trailer. A clock on the hall wall had both hands blacking out the twelve. She slipped off her sandals and grabbed her bag and took out her night dress to slip it on. She hadn’t felt uncomfortable with being with the cousin she grew up with.

At twelve minutes after twelve there was an insane amount of noise like voices coming from inside the studio. It was like there had been a private show on for entertainment. It woke Denise who looked up at the clock. Had it been morning? No, she had fallen asleep nine minutes ago though, if she remembers right.

She sat up. The voices were coming from outside and from the studio as she at first thought. She got up and went outside hoping to get a better view of things. What was going on was there had been lots of people entering the studio in the middle of the night.

Denise had on a house coat, which may have been more than some of the ones she now saw going inside. So she began edging towards the studio in wonder.

Once she got to where other stood she realized she hadn’t awakened Jennifer who seemed to be going to sleep past this entire racket coming from this studio party. Denise wondered who was having a party in the middle of night and went inside. It was more like a kind of cult ritual than a party and a few of the people standing around had on ominous masks to conceal their identities, or to be acting out a part of some deity that had a representational value of best people here. Whatever it was Denise had never seen anything like this and was instantly attracted.

There was a midnight party with half dressed men and women wearing what was like Greek togas only these hung over the shoulders. It wasn’t tightly wrapped around to conceal anything. And the four wearing masks were of jackals. They were standing in the deep middle. One of them was pressing his hands along a big serving table waiting for the servers to come in to serve the food. He snapped his fingers and the other three jackals joined him. Then the last one turned and whispered something in the ear of one of the barely dressed Greek togas who turned around looking for the caterers to bring in food and drinks.

Then two strong looking bodies entered the room wearing jackal masks too. They were dragging in Jennifer who was still in her night dress. Denise hadn’t expected this. She thought Jennifer had gone to sleep. Then she noticed she hadn’t gone to the bedroom before she left the trailer to see if Jennifer was there. She just assumed it. So Jennifer was the invited too and that this was some midnight ceremony for actors and maybe even in secret. No wonder she didn’t ask Denise along. But why not, wasn’t it a bit exciting?

They lifted her up using force to lay her flat on the table. Denise didn’t like what she was seeing. Then that was when she realized it was a game they played at the ceremonies.

The first jackal lifted a huge knife and when it rose in the air it looked like it would take a thousand years for him to plunge it. A small ominous hum entered the room, and everyone chanted simultaneously a small prayer for Jennifer and then it was done, the knife came down on to her and into her bowels. Denise stood there for the moment in shock. She wondered, were they just actors?

When she began to scream, all the actors turned to hear. All of them gave her the evil eye. The room became quiet. Then they all began to laugh. Was there something funny?

Denise started to push her way past the people to get to Jennifer. If this was some kind of joke she was going to get even with Jennifer. She reached the table but the sight of Jennifer made Denise realize she wasn’t sure if it was a joke or they planned to make it look real. Then the man holding the knife took off his mask. He let it fall slipping to the floor. He had an evil smile of some mad man on his face. It was Michael, the director for the movie.

Denise began to materialize what had been happening. She blacked out. When she woke she was in her car. Only she was still in Florida and not in California. In fact she hadn’t met with Jennifer yet. She realized she had another of her black outs and premonitions. She had planned to tell Jennifer about them after she drove there for her holiday. She had had a premonition of her life before it was going to happen sometimes. But then she pushed down the gas to get going faster when a cigarette whooshed through her window from a careless driver ahead. It hit the canister can of extra gas sitting down on the back seat floor. Denise left the funnel open because she felt to lazy to tighten it this morning. Her car exploded killing her. She never reached California and her dreams were just that, fuzzy premonitions of darkness she wouldn’t ever really realize.

The End



message 14: by Paul (new)

Paul
Word count 902. I would like the story on the website if I win. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

A TOWN NAMED HOPE.

The old man sitting alone had a face like a dried prune. His skin had the weather beaten look of a man who had lived, and had his full of everything it had thrown his way. Under his dark fedora his hair was the colour and texture of fine ash. He sat alone in the shadows of the otherwise deserted corridor and waited patiently. Outside, the moon slunk across the clouds, illuminating his gnarled knuckles as they drummed an incessant beat on the metal table by his side.
Pulling a packet of cigarettes from his suit jacket he bent down and with practised ease drew a solitary cigarette and lit it. Inhaling, he gasped and sputtered, before blowing the smoke upward.
The old man knew the boy was there before he even saw him. He could hear the gentle padding of his bare feet upon the tiled floor as he crept every closer. He felt sorry for the frail figure standing a few feet away from him. He was nearly bald, with just a few sorry excuses for hair fighting for attention on an innocent looking head. His blue striped pyjamas hung like a limp sack on his emaciated body.
‘I heard you call for me,’ the boys voice was a mere whisper.
The old man merely shrugged, taking another drag from his cigarette and watched the smoke as it spiralled upwards.
‘Can’t you read?’ the boy asked
‘Eh?’ the old man enquired puzzled.
The boy merely nodded his head at a sign on the wall. The sign was of a large red and white circle with a cross diagonally across a cigarette.
‘If you can’t read it says ‘no smoking’. Besides, smoking is bad for your health, the government tells you it kills,’ he said matter of flatly.
Stubbing the cigarette out with his bare finger the old man started wheezing like a run down pair of bellows. Coughing and spluttering he gasped out, ‘I like you boy, I haven’t laughed like that in ages. Well not since….’ Staring into the darkness he was quiet while he remembered.
‘Why are you so unhappy?’ the boy asked, plonking himself down next to the old man. He tried not to notice the smell of fish and dried sweat as he shuffled closer.
‘Who says I’m unhappy? I’ve got a life, a job, and responsibility,’ he said, looking the boy in the eye.
‘I can see it in your eyes. The loneliness, the boredom, the despair of it all, its like your eyes are wells of misery.’
‘I’ve come to this hospital to take your life and you quote me words like some wise old hermit. Your words won’t change anything, you haven’t a hope.’
‘But don’t you see? The cancer can beat me and take my life, but what it can’t beat, is hope; hope will always win. Hope can save me, and keep you from our beds for a little while longer,’ the boy said his voice squeaking with passion.
‘I don’t understand such useless concepts such as hope and faith. All I need is the bitter taste of this cigarette to sustain my existence,’ he said, taking another long drag.
‘When was the last time you enjoyed life? Watched the sunrise, the bright new day exploding into life before your eyes. Laughed for the sheer joy of it. Danced and sang till your body ached and your throat was raw. That’s what being alive is all about, them tiny things that make life worth living. And everyday you wake up and hope it last just that little bit longer,’ the boy said.
‘But everything has to die. That’s just the nature and order of things. I’m just doing my job.’
‘And hating every minute of it,’ the boy sniped back angrily. The old man had no answer, but merely sat staring into space while he puffed away at his cigarette. ‘Why not take a break, open your eyes to the wonders of the world. Let the living do a little living while you enjoy yours.’
‘You talk a good talk boy. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to get away for just a little while. Recharge my creaking bones; take the weight of my feet. Besides, I don’t like the sound of this thing you believe in,’ the old man said with a grin.
‘What thing?’
‘This thing called hope,’ the old man said.
‘Hope is all I have at the moment. It might be a small word but it’s immense and powerful. Hope is my last defence, but what a defence.’
‘You can go back to bed now. I’ll see myself out; I think I know the way out.
‘Oh, and while your about it, quit the cigarettes. They’re never done anybody any good,’ the boy said with a concerned look on his face.
‘Some old habits are hard to kick. Besides, they’re what I’m all about. Give an old man some luxury boy. I’ll be back,’ the old man said, puffing out a cloud of smoke in his wake. ‘Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, maybe not for you, but for somebody that’s not so strong and full of hope.’
The boy watched the old man shuffle away down the corridor and with a tear splashing the tiled floor whispered to himself, ‘I hope I don’t see you again for a long time my friend.’



message 15: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune awesome stories Paul and Arthur!


message 16: by Nessiebear (new)

Nessiebear Those were both really good :D


message 17: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune Go vote, everyone!


message 18: by Arthur, Live a little Give a lot (new)

Arthur | 554 comments Mod
OK, thanks Clare.

*****CLOSED ***** PLEASE VOTE

Hey everyone, the contest is closed for voting. So, please follow to the Featured Poll for this week's contest, all you need to do is vote for your favorite story of the week.

Next Monday we will have a new topic which to start writing. See you then.




message 19: by Amber (new)

Amber (iceapple95) | 41 comments i am so mad; my storty is freakin long and i have to go and i cant get the rest typed and its closed. this sucks. it is os awesome


message 20: by Megan (new)

Megan Hansen (meganhansen) That's happen to me too Amber... maybe you can use it in next weeks contest?

Arthur great story! You know when you're watching a scary movie and you’re yelling at the screen when the main character does something stupid, like going off alone? I almost yelled at my computer screen when Denise wondered into that scary party! lol You had me on the edge of my seat!

Paul, I loved all the details, you really painted a vivid scene for the reader! The message about hope and faith was very heartening!


message 21: by Arthur, Live a little Give a lot (new)

Arthur | 554 comments Mod
I was just thinking funnily how my daughter would get at the TV years ago, it was loll. 'Oh, come on!' !!! hum. Still, it's good to see ya enjoying somebody Else's story.


message 22: by D.B. (last edited Aug 30, 2009 05:42AM) (new)

D.B. Pacini (DBPacini) Claire,

I just voted. Thanks.

DB

*******

Della’s Story:
This story reveals raw talent. Sure, I see revision needs that would smooth and polish, but does Della have natural talent? Yes, definitely. This piece is fantastic. An insightful teen wrote this and I’m impressed. Della, thanks for sharing this.

*******

xAnissax’s Story:
xAnissax has written a “slice of life” contemporary story. Young love can be disappointing and overwhelming. Insensitive siblings are often part of the dismal package of teenage heartbreak. A bit of advice that I give to the teens and young adult writers, don’t swear often and don’t habitually use the “F” word in your writing. Yes, sometimes a swear word is needed; it is what the specific character would say. Use it then, but not frequently.

If the piece is excellent, swear words will limit its market. I recently read a terrific novel written by an adult. It was sexually explicit and graphically violent. The author had a right to write what he wanted to write. He did that. But, he drastically limited a fantastic novel, he forced it into a narrow readership market, he had to reveal that it was an “R” rated book on the opening page, he had to include a warning to potential readers that the book contained sexually explicit and graphically violent material. This author didn’t mind. He did what he wanted, that is fine. You may do what you want to do as well. I just want to remind you that a wider margin of readership is usually a writer’s goal. Why limit yourself when you don’t have to?

Regarding the “F” word, it is overused and boring. Most readers aren’t shocked by the “F” word anymore; they have heard it so often they have become desensitized to it. You aren’t impressive as a writer if you resort to using the “F” word too often. Sure, occasionally there may actually be a place for the word in a story. There are always exceptions. In most cases, the “F” word really needing to be in a story is rare. I am impressed with a writer who can tell me to “F” off without saying the “F” word. That takes talent.

That would be a great writing assignment to offer here in the future. Ask writers to have a character tell another character to “F” off without saying the “F” word and without swearing. It is challenging and when it is done effectively it is brilliant.

xAnissax, this is a good piece. People are always interested in “slice of life” stories. I often write them. I enjoy writing them. I know you didn’t use the “F” word; I just wanted to explain my thoughts about it while I was explaining my thoughts about swear words. I started seriously writing when I was a teen. I didn’t know a lot of stuff. Writing mentors taught me. I’m teaching you. When you’re older, perhaps you will teach younger writers too. Thank you for sharing this.

*******

Authur's Story:
Authur, thanks for sharing this. I didn’t expect that ending! You like descriptive writing and it is popular with readers. I see some revision needs, but I think you have an interesting concept going on here.

*******

Paul's Story:
First Paul, I want to tell you that I noticed that you follow instructions. Clare especially asked writers to say if they would like to have their story on Short Story Galore, if they win. When you start submitting material to literary agents, editors, and publishers you will find that your ability to pay attention to instructions will serve you well. Many literary agents, editors, and publishers use their submission instructions as a first test. Writers that submit material without following instructions are not considered.

Great Line: Under his dark fedora his hair was the colour and texture of fine ash.

Great Line: That’s what being alive is all about, those tiny things that make life worth living.

Very interesting concept Paul. Thanks for sharing.

*******

I wish you all the best with your writing endeavors.





message 23: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune D.B. THANK YOU for you're comments! Thats exactly what this group is for, so that we can all learn and get advice! I really appreciate it, thank you!

and I'd also like to thank Paul for his following instructions, it makes my job much easier :) thanks :D and Thanks D.B for noticing...


message 24: by D.B. (new)

D.B. Pacini (DBPacini) *******

I don't know how old you all are. I have a piece I’ve written that is titled: FOR YOUTH WRITERS. Even though it is written for teen and youth adult writers, people of any age can benefit from it. Send me your email address and I will email it to you.

Also, visit this link. It has countless resources for writers. We add additional resources each month.
http://www.astarrynightproductions.co...

If you are a teen writer you can ask questions:
http://www.astarrynightproductions.co...

Many people today (of all ages) are apathetic. They are just breathing. You are writing. I support that and I will help you if I can. Just remember, I am one writing mentor, I get to as much as I can each week.

Best to you all!

DB
Email: Pacini.Novelist@gmail.com





message 25: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune thank you :)


message 26: by Nessiebear (new)

Nessiebear Thanks D.B. ^^


message 27: by Arthur, Live a little Give a lot (new)

Arthur | 554 comments Mod
Yes, thanks also D.B., I wrote it from scratch D.B. I had a character, a cigarette, and had to work from there. My story ended up just going to California from Florida which just evolved somehow.


message 28: by Arthur, Live a little Give a lot (new)

Arthur | 554 comments Mod
Congratulations Della our weekly contest winner. Good work!


message 29: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune congrats della good story!


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