It's.... ANDRE!!
Andre, please send the first 500 words of your manuscript (finished or in progress) to Mad at awritergonemad.submissions(at)gmail.com. We'll post it on Thursday so our readers can offer you critique!
Showing posts with label contest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label contest. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Your Silly Story
The llama was definitely dead.
"What are we going to tell Uncle Bif?" Daisy prodded the stiff animal with her toe, hoping the slightest twitch from the llama would prove them wrong.
Nothing.
Daisy's older brother Gaff shrugged and squatted by the llama's head. "It's a week's worth of meat."
Daisy scratched her ear. "It was necessary to get you through security at Duck Palace. But that's irrelevant now that the great Dali Llama is dead. Our quest to bring him..."
"What are we going to tell Uncle Bif?" Daisy prodded the stiff animal with her toe, hoping the slightest twitch from the llama would prove them wrong.
Nothing.
Daisy's older brother Gaff shrugged and squatted by the llama's head. "It's a week's worth of meat."
"But he's a vegetarian," Daisy whined.
"Llama's a vegetable."
"No it's not."
Her brother was an idiot. Worse than that, Uncle Bif liked the llama more than either of them. It was in the will, and now that it was dead, she and her brother would be out on their butts.
"What if we bury it?" Gaff suggested.
"He'll notice it's missing."
"We could make a new one."
Daisy blinked, then raised an eyebrow. Sometimes she doubted her brother wasn’t actually an alien, despite the fact that his head was strangely antannae-free. “Make a new one?” she repeated.
"Sure if we shave its hair off and use glue and newspaper like we did to make planets in first grade. Oh, we'll need chicken wire and some sticks..."
"You've been eating Gran's killer pepper jelly again, haven't you?" Daisy pulled her brother's bottom eyelids down to see if his eyes were bloodshot.
"Oh yeah Killer pepper strikes again.' Daisy lets his lids snap back into place. "Think you can see straight enough to get the darn jacket off the goat."
"Think you can see straight enough not do that again?"
"Just get the jacket. Oh, and the shoes too!"
She smiled. Gaff would fit the disguise perfectly. His webbed feet might be a little hard to conceal... but he was the same size as the llama. They'd often shared fashion tips.
"Now, where can I find some SuperGlue?"
It would take a lot to cover up his pesky feathers.
"You used it up when you glued these dumb feathers onto me," Gaff said, giving her a death glare.
Daisy scratched her ear. "It was necessary to get you through security at Duck Palace. But that's irrelevant now that the great Dali Llama is dead. Our quest to bring him..."
Friday, April 22, 2011
Weekend Contest: Story Extraordinaire!
The contest: Add to the ongoing story-in-a-comment-box below.
The prize: The winner (drawn randomly from all participants) gets to post his/her first 500 words on the blog for group critique!
The rules: Write the next 50 words of the story. Keep the protagonist's name the same, but FEEL FREE TO CHANGE THE GENRE AT WILL! Keep it clean. And don't write more than 50 words, even if it means stopping before the end of a
You may add to the story as many times as you'd like, but please don't enter consecutively. (In other words, let someone else write something before you jump in again.)
Okay. Ready? This contest will be open until 11:59 pm on April 24. Which happens to be the very end of my birthday. *grin*
Here we go!
STORY EXTRAORDINAIRE
The llama was definitely dead.
"What are we going to tell Uncle Bif?" Daisy prodded the stiff animal with her toe, hoping the slightest twitch from the llama would prove them wrong.
Nothing.
Daisy's older brother Gaff shrugged and squatted by the llama's head. "It's a week's worth of meat."
The prize: The winner (drawn randomly from all participants) gets to post his/her first 500 words on the blog for group critique!
The rules: Write the next 50 words of the story. Keep the protagonist's name the same, but FEEL FREE TO CHANGE THE GENRE AT WILL! Keep it clean. And don't write more than 50 words, even if it means stopping before the end of a
You may add to the story as many times as you'd like, but please don't enter consecutively. (In other words, let someone else write something before you jump in again.)
Okay. Ready? This contest will be open until 11:59 pm on April 24. Which happens to be the very end of my birthday. *grin*
Here we go!
STORY EXTRAORDINAIRE
The llama was definitely dead.
"What are we going to tell Uncle Bif?" Daisy prodded the stiff animal with her toe, hoping the slightest twitch from the llama would prove them wrong.
Nothing.
Daisy's older brother Gaff shrugged and squatted by the llama's head. "It's a week's worth of meat."
Friday, April 1, 2011
HUGE ROUND OF APPLAUSE
....for ALL the entrants in our 100-word story contest. Each one of you was brave and creative, which is a wonderful combination (and imperative for anyone who aspires to be a professional writer!).
I just wanted to congratulate ALL of you before I make the winning announcement later today. Because you all deserve it.
This is NOT an easy choice to make. Just so you know.
I really think someone ought to send me chocolate...
I just wanted to congratulate ALL of you before I make the winning announcement later today. Because you all deserve it.
This is NOT an easy choice to make. Just so you know.
I really think someone ought to send me chocolate...
Monday, March 28, 2011
CONTEST: The 100-Word Story
Let's have some fun!
Overwriting is probably THE most common problem among new or inexperienced writers. (And it creeps up on the more seasoned among us sometimes, too!). So let's do something where we're FORCED to use as few words as possible.
THE CHALLENGE:
Write a 100-word story! Make sure it has a beginning, middle, and end. (A 100-word description of a sleeping ferret does not count as a story.)
You must use the following words in your story:
CHOCOLATE
SHOEHORN
SIDLE
(Entries that do not include these 3 words will be disqualified.)
And clean language and themes only, please.
THE PRIZE:
The story that makes me laugh the most, or delights me the most, or that is absolutely the cleverest thing ever stated in 100 words, gets a FIRST CHAPTER LINE-EDIT from yours truly.
That's right. I will line-edit and offer notes on the first chapter of your novel.
WHO IS ELIGIBLE?
How can I say this delicately? Um...THIS CONTEST IS FOR TEENS ONLY. Please respect this. Grown-ups get lots of good stuff, and this one's for the younger set.
HOW DO YOU ENTER?
Leave your 100-word story in the comment box below. You may enter more than once, but PLEASE LEAVE A SEPARATE COMMENT FOR EACH INDIVIDUAL ENTRY.
This contest opens NOW and will close at midnight, EDT, on THURSDAY, MARCH 31.
The winner will be announced on APRIL FOOL'S DAY.
(Hee.)
(Yes, it's a real contest. I promise.)
Oh, and please don't comment anonymously. Sign in with whatever name you use over on the forums.
Have fun!
Overwriting is probably THE most common problem among new or inexperienced writers. (And it creeps up on the more seasoned among us sometimes, too!). So let's do something where we're FORCED to use as few words as possible.
THE CHALLENGE:
Write a 100-word story! Make sure it has a beginning, middle, and end. (A 100-word description of a sleeping ferret does not count as a story.)
You must use the following words in your story:
CHOCOLATE
SHOEHORN
SIDLE
(Entries that do not include these 3 words will be disqualified.)
And clean language and themes only, please.
THE PRIZE:
The story that makes me laugh the most, or delights me the most, or that is absolutely the cleverest thing ever stated in 100 words, gets a FIRST CHAPTER LINE-EDIT from yours truly.
That's right. I will line-edit and offer notes on the first chapter of your novel.
WHO IS ELIGIBLE?
How can I say this delicately? Um...THIS CONTEST IS FOR TEENS ONLY. Please respect this. Grown-ups get lots of good stuff, and this one's for the younger set.
HOW DO YOU ENTER?
Leave your 100-word story in the comment box below. You may enter more than once, but PLEASE LEAVE A SEPARATE COMMENT FOR EACH INDIVIDUAL ENTRY.
This contest opens NOW and will close at midnight, EDT, on THURSDAY, MARCH 31.
The winner will be announced on APRIL FOOL'S DAY.
(Hee.)
(Yes, it's a real contest. I promise.)
Oh, and please don't comment anonymously. Sign in with whatever name you use over on the forums.
Have fun!
Saturday, March 19, 2011
"Talking Heads" Critique Session Entry #3
TITLE: THE NIGHT
GENRE: Epic YA Fantasy
The prince/keralealon, Taeon, and his manservant, Ghale, are preparing for their mission, to capture a fugitive and bring them back to the capital.
Ghale pulled a set of gold, ruby-encrusted ceremonial robes from the closet. “Perhaps these shall be of some use to you on the journey, sire.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Yes, I agree.” Taeon turned back to reading the details of the mission. “Find a good place for them among the saddlebags. Wouldn’t want them to become wrinkled.” Ghale knew perfectly well what he ought to be packing.
There was a clinking of metal on metal. “Master Taeon, what are these for?” He held three silver arm bands, each about the width of two fingers.
“My father has decided he must have a hand in what I wear. As if the people concern themselves with such trivial things.”
“Must be popular with the keradealas.”
Taeon gave him a look.
“Maybe he hopes you’ll find a wife during your travels,” he continued with a sly grin.
“Ghalen, we’re to be chasing dangerous fugitives from the law. I doubt we’ll take the time to attend any keraden banquets. If you’re coming solely to chase maidservants, I suggest you stay home.” Not that the boy had any choice in the matter.
“Already have a girl in mind, then, sire?”
“You are dismissed, Ghalen,” he said without looking up. “And when I say dismissed, I mean permanently.”
Ghale placed one more item on the pile, then assumed a sullen expression. “As you wish, my keralealon. I will go pack my things.” He left.
Taeon shook his head. If he ever truly wished to dismiss Ghale, he wouldn’t take him seriously.
GENRE: Epic YA Fantasy
The prince/keralealon, Taeon, and his manservant, Ghale, are preparing for their mission, to capture a fugitive and bring them back to the capital.
Ghale pulled a set of gold, ruby-encrusted ceremonial robes from the closet. “Perhaps these shall be of some use to you on the journey, sire.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Yes, I agree.” Taeon turned back to reading the details of the mission. “Find a good place for them among the saddlebags. Wouldn’t want them to become wrinkled.” Ghale knew perfectly well what he ought to be packing.
There was a clinking of metal on metal. “Master Taeon, what are these for?” He held three silver arm bands, each about the width of two fingers.
“My father has decided he must have a hand in what I wear. As if the people concern themselves with such trivial things.”
“Must be popular with the keradealas.”
Taeon gave him a look.
“Maybe he hopes you’ll find a wife during your travels,” he continued with a sly grin.
“Ghalen, we’re to be chasing dangerous fugitives from the law. I doubt we’ll take the time to attend any keraden banquets. If you’re coming solely to chase maidservants, I suggest you stay home.” Not that the boy had any choice in the matter.
“Already have a girl in mind, then, sire?”
“You are dismissed, Ghalen,” he said without looking up. “And when I say dismissed, I mean permanently.”
Ghale placed one more item on the pile, then assumed a sullen expression. “As you wish, my keralealon. I will go pack my things.” He left.
Taeon shook his head. If he ever truly wished to dismiss Ghale, he wouldn’t take him seriously.
"Talking Heads" Critique Session Entry #1
Title: Short Swords
Genre: YA fantasy
Sophie and Brent live in the Under City where food is scarce and children are forced to live on the streets. To survive they must steal what ever they can get, however, if caught by the Street Sweepers, punishment is harsh. Sophie has joined Tommy's children's street gang, of which Brent is a member, but Tommy has set her up for failure.
“Who’s coming?” she tried not to yell in her panic and began wiggling faster.
Brent took hold of her shoulders and pulled. “Tommy spilt the beans. Told the Street Sweepers ye would be here. I’m sorry Soph, it’s my fault.” His panicked tugs were more hindering than helpful.
“Brent let go, I can do this myself. And it isn’t your fault, you were trying to help feed me.” She grunted in pain. “Will Tommy hang?”
“Tommy?” Brent froze. “Hang? Oh no Soph ye dinna understand. They dinna catch him. He volunteered the information. He only let ye join ‘cause I insisted but he dinna like the way ye talk.”
Sophie kicked her feet trying desperately to find something to push against. The blood in her temples was beating so hard her eyes watered, “He doesn't like the way I talk?” she whispered. “I can’t help that my grandmother made me learn fansy Upper City speech.”
New foot steps echoed down the ally. Two more men had arrived.
“Brent go!” yelled Sophie. She knew there was no point hiding now, sped was their only remaining hope.
“But?”
“I’ll be out in a moment, just get out of here!” Sophie redoubled her struggles as, with one last look, Brent melted into the darkness.
“Well well well, what have we here?” asked a new voice and a pair of filthy shoes appeared in Sophie’s vision.
She stopped moving as all feeling left her limbs and old terrors took over. Twice already the Sweepers had caught her, a third time would mean death or transportation.
Genre: YA fantasy
Sophie and Brent live in the Under City where food is scarce and children are forced to live on the streets. To survive they must steal what ever they can get, however, if caught by the Street Sweepers, punishment is harsh. Sophie has joined Tommy's children's street gang, of which Brent is a member, but Tommy has set her up for failure.
“Who’s coming?” she tried not to yell in her panic and began wiggling faster.
Brent took hold of her shoulders and pulled. “Tommy spilt the beans. Told the Street Sweepers ye would be here. I’m sorry Soph, it’s my fault.” His panicked tugs were more hindering than helpful.
“Brent let go, I can do this myself. And it isn’t your fault, you were trying to help feed me.” She grunted in pain. “Will Tommy hang?”
“Tommy?” Brent froze. “Hang? Oh no Soph ye dinna understand. They dinna catch him. He volunteered the information. He only let ye join ‘cause I insisted but he dinna like the way ye talk.”
Sophie kicked her feet trying desperately to find something to push against. The blood in her temples was beating so hard her eyes watered, “He doesn't like the way I talk?” she whispered. “I can’t help that my grandmother made me learn fansy Upper City speech.”
New foot steps echoed down the ally. Two more men had arrived.
“Brent go!” yelled Sophie. She knew there was no point hiding now, sped was their only remaining hope.
“But?”
“I’ll be out in a moment, just get out of here!” Sophie redoubled her struggles as, with one last look, Brent melted into the darkness.
“Well well well, what have we here?” asked a new voice and a pair of filthy shoes appeared in Sophie’s vision.
She stopped moving as all feeling left her limbs and old terrors took over. Twice already the Sweepers had caught her, a third time would mean death or transportation.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Twitter Contest!!!
If you're not already following me on Twitter, head on over and FOLLOW!
Read HERE to learn all about the fabulous prizes. Then head over to Twitter! First contest window is today from noon to 3 EST.
Cool prizes for writers and readers alike!
Read HERE to learn all about the fabulous prizes. Then head over to Twitter! First contest window is today from noon to 3 EST.
Cool prizes for writers and readers alike!
Monday, February 21, 2011
And We Have a Winner!!
From Ms. Boudreau's own lips (erm, fingers):
"The entry that made me LOL the most was Jess's: Real Mermaids Don’t Wear Skinny Jeans, especially considering Jade's, um, plus-sized frame."
Congratulations, Jess! Please email your address to helene (at) heleneboudreau.com to receive your signed copy of Real Mermaids Don't Wear Toe Rings.
A big thanks to everyone who participated! I promise this is the first of lots of fun contests.
Yay!
"The entry that made me LOL the most was Jess's: Real Mermaids Don’t Wear Skinny Jeans, especially considering Jade's, um, plus-sized frame."
Congratulations, Jess! Please email your address to helene (at) heleneboudreau.com to receive your signed copy of Real Mermaids Don't Wear Toe Rings.
A big thanks to everyone who participated! I promise this is the first of lots of fun contests.
Yay!
Thursday, February 17, 2011
HÉLÈNE BOUDREAU'S Title My Next Books Contest!
Ready to give the next two Mermaids books their titles? The contest is open NOW!
RULES:
1. You must be a registered member of the Write On! forums. (Click here to join.)
2. You must be a follower of this blog (see side bar).
3. Come up with the FUNNIEST, CLEVEREST titles for books 2 and 3 in the Mermaids trilogy as you can. Leave them IN THE COMMENT BOX BELOW.
4. You may enter as many times as you'd like!
5. Keep your entries PG, please.
6. I will close the comment box at the end of the day tomorrow (Friday). Ms. Boudreau will choose the winner and I will announce it on Monday.
The prize: A book-plate signed copy of Real Mermaids Don't Wear Toe Rings!
On your mark....get set....
Go!
RULES:
1. You must be a registered member of the Write On! forums. (Click here to join.)
2. You must be a follower of this blog (see side bar).
3. Come up with the FUNNIEST, CLEVEREST titles for books 2 and 3 in the Mermaids trilogy as you can. Leave them IN THE COMMENT BOX BELOW.
4. You may enter as many times as you'd like!
5. Keep your entries PG, please.
6. I will close the comment box at the end of the day tomorrow (Friday). Ms. Boudreau will choose the winner and I will announce it on Monday.
The prize: A book-plate signed copy of Real Mermaids Don't Wear Toe Rings!
On your mark....get set....
Go!
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