Are You Hooked on Hockey?

        Chicken Soup for the Soul has extended their deadline for hockey stories. That means only one thing: they have not gotten enough marvelous entries to round out their anthology.

      And that means one thing to us as writers: we have a few more days to send  in a submission (or another submission). The deadline is March 4.

      I sent in a submission about being in the locker room with Brett Hull; getting drawn in by his impossibly-blue eyes, I became a cougar--or at least a cougar in my mind. (I hope my submission is not one they have tossed aside as crappy...)

     I did have another story that I had worked on, but it needed major revising. Chicken Soup's extension has prodded me to take the time to work on it, so I can increase my chances...a little.

     Neither of my stories are true hockey stories. I've never been to an entire hockey game--only to one partial game. I imagine there are writers out there who have a hockey story to tell (their son played street hockey or hockey in school) but it's stuck in the crevices of their mind.

    Dig around. Unearth that story. And submit...

A Bloody Writing Contest

          Saturday Writers' latest writing contest has just opened up. This time, it is a short story murder/mystery/whodunit contest. The word count limit is 2,012 and the entry fee is $5 for members and $7 for nonmembers. If you would like to check out the specific guidelines, go to Saturday Writers.  I would encourage all my blogging friends to send in an entry. Why?  Read on to find out...

        This year our contests are designed for writers to think outside the box. For example, the contest that just closed was a short story romance. I am so far from a romance writer, nor do I read them. However, some of the "romances" that were highlighted in our January meeting were "Sid and Nancy" and "Twilight." There are no heaving bosoms and no Fabio-like men on the covers of those books. I brought up the movie Fargo when someone got spitting mad and said that "all romances have a happy ending." If I went over the edge and chopped up my husband and put him in a wood chipper, it would indeed be a happy ending...for me.

      I submitted two entries to the romance contest. Neither one involved a man and a woman. Neither one even involved two people. And probably, neither one has a chance of winning.

      So why enter, if I'm fairly certain that I will be deemed a loser? Because one, it got me writing. (Actually, it was more "recycling" but that's beside the point.)  And two, it got me thinking outside my comfort zone.

     At the meeting, a new member leaned forward and asked me, "What kind of outside-the-box ideas are there, besides the 'mystery' of childbirth?" (She's too new to realize I'm the wrong person to ask that kind of question.)

photo by mikaspics
This photo gave me a bunch of new ideas...The "murder" of an apple or a pumpkin...
"Murdering" an expensive piece of meat by roasting it until it's dry as a bone. The
possibilties are endless...

     I replied, "What about the mystery of men? We try to figure out how they work, but are probably just overthinking them. What about the mystery of hair? As we age, on some parts it starts to disappear and on others," (and I gestured toward my "mustache" that needs to be macheted away every month) "it grows more prolifically."  At lunch after the meeting, we spoke of murder by frozen leg of lamb. One of the members--I won't name names, but she has the same name as one of the Brady Bunch daughters--is working on a story involving a knife, and when someone in the works-in-progress group asked, "How big a knife are you talkin' about?" she pulled a knife out of her purse! (She claims she was taking it to get sharpened after the meeting, but I don't know. I think I am going to make sure I don't tick her off from now on.)

       So, check out the contest. The romance contest did not have too many entries, so your chances might be good.
       

WWWP Shenanigans

       Oh, it was a wild critique session last night. Here are some of the highlights-- see if you can guess which member is responsible for which comment/prank:

• One of the WWWPs is suffering from a back problem. Or so she says. Several times while she was seated on her "throne," she dropped something, and insisted that one of us pick it up for her. We each had to take at least one turn being her lackey. After dropping 11 objects out of her purse, with intervals between each, we got a bit suspicious. Then we put a stop to it when she took a grape out of the fruit salad and asked us to peel it for her. That was going a bit too far...

• One of the WWWPs mentioned she has "such trouble putting on weight." She reportedly put on some--after working hard to do it--and then lost a few pounds. Another writer chimed in, and said she had the same exact problem. What mirror is she looking in? they all wondered. They looked at the fat rolls and the cellulite that was attempting to escape from her waistband, and silently pondered what the real story was...

• One of the WWWPs has had to hire a storage facility to hold all the letters she has received this month (and February isn't even over yet!). For every letter she gets, she sends three replies, and the cost of postage has gotten out of control. Her husband has cut her off from the bank account, as it was all getting siphoned directly into the post office. This WWWP has had to get a part-time job as a pole dancer to support her letter writing habit...(Apparently, spandex and glitter are a lot cheaper than stamps.) 

• One of the WWWPs wrote a story that was so full of brilliant phrases and imagery, it makes you ticked off that you didn't create them. After we read the piece and we picked our jaws off the floor, she said, "Thanks. You really like it?" Jeeze!

• One of the WWWPs ate several pieces of fudge during the evening, but since her body is seemingly impervious to calorie accumulation, the rest of us began gluing pieces of the milk-chocolate goodness onto her 6'3" frame. She went home with Viggo Mortensen. We'll see how that hook-up works out...

       Send your answers to me...Major prizes if you get all 5 correct. The winner gets a half-eaten plate of fudge...Oops, sorry. That prize has already been snapped up...

     

Picking Up Men, One Frumped-Up T-Shirt At a Time

      I know everyone has missed my bloggial presence (not!). I was in Santa Barbara--left on Wednesday afternoon and got back late last night--and although I missed my blog friends, I thoroughly enjoyed the west coast weather.

photo by Michael Stidham

       As a teacher consultant for the National Writing Project, I was part of a group working with the SB art museum. Like most museums, they are not the most welcoming when it comes to people of color and people who are not part of society's uppercrust. Lots of people are intimidated by art museums. Even more people allow art to make them feel stupid. We were there to help the staff find ways to embrace the community in a more inclusive way.

      At one point, we were on the sidewalk in front of the museum writing in journals. I was wearing a T-shirt from a creative writing camp. An elderly man (in his 70's? 80's?) came up and started a conversation with me when my "beacon" of a shirt reeled him in.

     He said, "I think you might be interested in this," and then pulled a page--one that he had been saving--out of his satchel. It was from a book on writing, and had some interesting thoughts.

     Since a copyright of 1949 was noted, I voiced my assumption that the book was out of print. When Russell confirmed that was correct, I wrote down my name and address and asked if he would send me a copy of the page. (He refused the dollar I tried to force on him to cover the cost of the printing and postage.) We had an extended conversation about writing--he had always wanted to be one, but had never taken the leap--in any way. 

      As soon as Russell left, one of my colleagues came up and teasingly said, "Did you make a new friend?" I teased back, "Yes, a man thinks I'm hot, but it's only ones in their 80's who think that."

      The next day a couple of us went up into a church tower; a native of Santa Barbara had tipped us off...the view was spectatular. While we were up there, basking in the beauty, a woman approached me. (I was wearing a writing shirt--a different one. I am civilized enough to change my clothes daily when I travel.) Her son--who was with her--wanted to be a writer, and I advised him to find or form a writing critique group.  

       Writers are beacons.  They're lighthouses. If you wear a shirt or button or hat that proclaims you're an author, a writer, others are drawn to you. Everyone has a story to tell. And even though they might not have taken the time or had the courage to act on it yet, they're drawn like moths to a flame to those who do.

      Russell said he has several penpals. He even pulled an unopened letter from one out of his bottomless satchel. How will I respond if he sends a letter to accompany the book's page?

      Write, Russell.  And if you want a penpal, there's always Lynn Obermoeller.  

     

A Dog's Life

        This is Foley. He is like some women like their men: blonde, fast and not-too-bright.

         Twice a day--every day, he eats the same thing, and gobbles it with relish (and mustard and ketchup, too). When he comes in from outside, he's always hopeful that he'll get a treat. When he's "relaxing" on the couch, he's lovin' it. When he's hurtling after the ball like a bullet, he's focused on only that...

          As a writer, I need to be optimistic that I'll get an acceptance, each time I submit a piece. I need to relish the time I read, or chat with friends but when I'm writing, I need to zero in on that and put my blinders on, to keep everything else at bay.

         What lessons have you learned from your dog or cat (or iguana, or guinea pig)?

2/3 of a Hat Trick

          Several months ago I submitted a story for the "Here Comes the Bride" Chicken Soup for the Soul anthology. Despite receiving an email that it had made it through the first chute, I didn't feel good about it making it through the final round. Having been told stories that it could be rejected up to a month before publication, I fretted. So I conjured up pessimistic thoughts, and kept them simmering.

This will be on sale on May 15, 2012.

          On Friday, I received an email that my story is going to be included in the anthology. That makes my second one so far, as far as CS stories. (The collection with my first accepted story is coming out on March 13.)

          I'm trying to catch up with Linda O'Connell, a Chicken Soup for the Soul Queen. That means 2 down, 143 more to go...