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Monster Mash – Round 2 – NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge

This past weekend marked my 11th round of the NYC Midnight (NYCM) Flash Fiction Challenge (FFC). To be honest, I wasn’t all that enthusiastic to compete. I’m currently immersed in the latest draft of my novel, and shifting gears pained me. It pained me even more when I received my score for the first round of this year’s contest.

Two points!

Okay, okay. That’s not horrible considering I’ve never attempted to write pure comedy, and comedy is one of the most subjective genres out there.

Low score aside, I still had fun this weekend. Well, mostly…

As a quick reminder, NYCM FFC is a writing contest where writers from all over the world are given three prompts (genre, location, and object), and then 48-hours to write a 1,000 word story. All competitors get to compete in two of the four rounds. This past weekend was the second round, which kicked off at 10 p.m. (MST) Friday when prompts were released.

First impressions of my group’s prompts:

Genre: Fantasy

Location: Waterfront esplanade

Object: Animal horn

When I saw my prompts, I went through a myriad of emotions all at once: horror, amusement, irritation, confusion. I mean, seriously, what the heck is an esplanade? I had to google it before I could do anything else. (FYI, an esplanade is “a long, open, level area, usually next to a river or large body of water, where people may walk.”)

Once I had my location prompt figured out, I turned to the main matter at hand: brainstorming a plot.

Per usual, I talked things out with my favorite writing critic: my mom. For the first time ever, we didn’t banter back and forth on how to approach the prompts. I already knew the general direction I wanted to take.

Goblins!

Yeah, yeah fantasy lovers. I know Gollum isn’t a goblin. However, I decided a long time ago that if I ever received fantasy in this contest, I’d write about a Gollum-goblin-like character. So, I did!

Next, I had to figure out the “animal horn” prompt. Obviously, my first thought was, “Unicorn!” I’m sure it was everyone else’s too, so I stayed far away from that and brainstormed other possibilities. As I did, my seven-year-old nephew curled up next to me with his tablet and watched one of his favorite videos: “Giant God Warrior” (a Japanese short fantasy monster action film). I stared at the creepy creature on screen, studied its horned back, and voila! I had an idea!

Well, sort of.

I packed up my computer and went home. By this point, it was approaching 1 a.m. and I’d been up since 4 a.m. So…yeah. The second I got home, I collapsed in bed and stayed there much longer than I usually do during these contests.

Once I found the motivation to get up on Saturday and start writing, my internet crashed. GAHHH! That threw me for a loop since I needed to do some much needed research on goblins.

[Cue twiddling thumbs, cleaning house, texting friends…]

An hour later, the internet returned, along with my focus. I sat down and spent the rest of the day hammering out a first draft. Mid-afternoon, my mom showed up to read what I’d come up with and help me chop over 600 words (doh!).

My favorite part of the contest occurred when my mom and I tried to think of names for my characters and the fantastical world they lived in: Letchmo. Catastrafo. Fodhopper. Evilgore. Mcnasty!

After we pulled ourselves together (and found a few serious names), my mom left and I sent a draft off to my beta readers. On Sunday morning, I awoke to their feedback. To my surprise, they liked it–much more than I thought they would.

Hallelujah!

I fixed the big problems, chopped the remaining 200 words I needed to chop in order to meet the word count limit, and submitted my story.

Was fantasy my favorite genre? No. Did I like the story I came up with? Yes. It’s not my favorite NYCM entry, but I’m proud to present it to the judges, my competitors, and, maybe someday, a publisher.

For those interested, here’s my title and synopsis:

“Zili”

BRIEF SYNOPSIS: Zili, a gentle goblin, wishes to walk in the light as a man. A horned creature grants his wish . . . and more.

If you’d like to read my entire entry, let me know and I’ll send you the password.

Congrats to all those who participated and submitted a story for NYCM’s Flash Fiction Challenge 2017!

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Photo Credits: giphy

 

Bottoms Up – 1st Round – NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge

Lat weekend I competed in my 5th Flash Fiction Challenge. Yep, I keep coming back year after year to punish myself with sleep deprivation, lots of hair pulling and crying, and heart palpitations…Okay, okay, it’s not that bad. Well, it used to be when I was still figuring out how to handle this mad-dash writing contest. But after 17-rounds, I think I’ve finally figured out my process. (If you care to, you may read about my full experience here).

As a reminder, I had 48-hours to write a 1,000 word story based on these prompts:

Genre: Comedy

Location: A bartending school

Object: Sandpaper

Thanks in advance for reading, and thanks for any feedback you might have!

“Bottoms Up”

 By Jenna Willett

BRIEF SYNOPSIS: A millennial needs a job to handle life’s necessities, like yoga, Netflix, and Starbucks. He decides to try bartending (#thestruggleisreal).


 

A flashing advertisement caught Jax’s eye as he skimmed through his Facebook feed:

CALLING ALL WANNABE BARTENDERS!

Intrigued, he clicked on the ad:

Looking for a career in bartending? Bottoms Up has an EXCELLENT opportunity!

Learn the tricks of the trade, gain real-life experience, and walk away with a job.

No experience necessary. Paid training. Good work ethic a MUST.

Where: Bottoms Up, 1932 Blake St., Denver, CO

When: Every Sunday until filled

Time: 9 a.m. – Noon

Belly up to the bar and chug down this opportunity. Chug, chug, chug!

Jax snickered at the cheesy ad, but bookmarked it anyway. In less than a week he’d be a college graduate with zero job prospects. His parents had offered to let him move home, but he wanted to make it on his own. He only needed help with his phone, car, groceries, rent, and utilities. He could handle the real necessities like yoga classes, Netflix, and Starbucks. He couldn’t go a day without a green tea frappuccino with hazelnut (grande, extra whipped cream).

Inspired to bartend, Jax pulled up his Twitter app.

Found a job! Go me! #workingman #showmethemoney

The next morning, Jax arrived at Bottoms Up at nine o’clock on the dot. Well, close enough to the dot. Juggling his frap, he stepped into a dim interior and smelled stale beer, perfume, and a trace of weed. Lipstick-smeared shot glasses and empty beer bottles lined a mahogany bar; and peanut shells, glitter, and other debris littered a checkered floor.

“You’re late.”

Jax swiveled around. An older woman with ice-blonde hair, Khaleesi red lipstick, and a tight-fitting tank top emerged from the gloom. Behind her trailed a thirty-something man with bubbly green eyes. Another trainee?

“Uh, yeah. Hey.” Jax sighed. “I’m here for the bartending school—job thingy.”

The woman crossed her arms. “The ad said nine.”

He blinked.

“It’s almost ten, pup.”

“Hmm.” Jax sipped his frap.

The woman rolled her eyes. “That’s strike one. When you hit three, you’re outta here.” She marched over to the bar.

The thirty-something man grinned at Jax, then pranced after her. A perky poodle happy to obey its master.

Jax, however, remained rooted to the spot, shocked by the woman’s biting disapproval. He’d only been an hour late. Big deal.

He pulled out his phone and tweeted:

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. #bitchboss #newjobsucks

“What’s your name, pup?”

“Jax.” He shuffled across the room, one eye on the messy floor, the other on his Twitter notifications. So many likes and retweets!

“I’m Bobby and your boss if you make it through training.”

Jax’s face fell. “The job’s not mine?” How could that be? He’d driven here. He’d walked through the door. He’d shown up! By tonight, he planned to be a bartender. By tomorrow, promoted to manager. By month’s end, part-owner. No, owner!

“As I’ve already explained to Rififi, you’ll need—”

“Rif-what?” Jax snorted.

C’est moi!” Poodle Man beamed. “Ri-fee-fee. C’est français. It means . . . er, how you say, trooblah?”

“Trouble?”

Oui!” He winked at Jax. The same coy wink Jax usually reserved for girls, though he refused to identify as a cisgendered straight male. He hated labels.

He smirked at his phone and tweeted:

Good news, co-worker LOVES me! #hottyalert #solit #singlelife

“Strike two.” Bobby grabbed a broom and thrust it at Jax. “Put that dang thing away, and start cleaning.”

“Cleaning?” Jax gaped at her. “I thought this was a bartending school?”

“It is. But if you wanna work here, pup, you’ve gotta start in the trenches.”

“The what?” He’d never—Why would he even—He was about to graduate college! Sure, it had taken him six years to complete a degree in University Studies, but so what? He deserved everything he wanted.

Jax’s phone dinged. A text from his mom:

How’s the new job? You’re a superstar!

He relaxed and took another sip of his frap.

“If you wanna stay, get to work.” Bobby vanished through a swinging door behind the bar.

Jax glared at his phone and tweeted.

New boss is such a hard-ass! #feelingannoyed #fuckher

Alors.” Rififi clapped. “Zee faster we clean, poop—”

“Pup?

“—zen zee faster we drink!”

Jax frowned. “You mean, the faster we get to learn how to make drinks?”

Oui, oui!” The Frenchman scooped up beer bottles. “We make zee drinks, zen we drink zee drinks. Many drinks. Oui, oui?” Another salacious wink.

“Uh, sure. Wee-wee.

The Frenchman giggled and began sweeping random objects off the floor: a high heel, a strip of sandpaper, a pair of swimming goggles, and a feather duster.

Tres intéressant!” Rififi flicked the feather duster at Jax’s nose. “Nudey, nudey.”

“Naughty, naughty?”

“Ah, oui, oui.”

Jax shook his head and reluctantly dragged the broom across the floor a few times. Too bored for words, he gave up and snapped a selfie holding a beer bottle.

Need a drink? I do! #workshardforthemoney #thestruggleisreal

He took a seat and admired all the likes. Five, ten, twenty . . .

“That’s strike three, pup.”

“Hmm?” Jax hardly glanced up.

“That means it’s time to go.”

“Why?” Twenty more likes. Awesome!

“Look,” Bobby sighed, “I don’t need another lazy, entitled, self-centered millen—”

“Lazy?” He looked up, dumbfounded. Hadn’t she seen him sweep? He should get a raise!

Rififi flounced past with the feather duster and a knotted trash bag.

“What about him?” Jax pointed at the buoyant Frenchman.

“He’s enjoying himself while he works. And he’s proving he wants to be a bartender. You, on the other hand…” Her eyes drifted to the front door.

Heat rushed to Jax’s cheeks. “This is bull! I can’t even—ugh! I don’t deserve this. It’s not fair!”

Bobby tilted her head.

“Screw it. I don’t need this.” He grabbed his green tea frappuccino with hazelnut and stomped to the door.

Au revoir, poop!” Rififi waved.

Jax slammed the door shut, and tweeted:

Fuck it! #iquit #whatevs

 

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Cheers – Round 1 – NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge

Greetings, blog followers! Yes, it’s me. And, yes, I’m still alive.

As you’ve may (or may not) have noticed, I’ve been absent from the blog world the past few months (er, maybe longer). I made a New Year’s resolution to put all of my attention and free time into finishing my novel, which I almost have! By the end of summer/early fall, I should have my manuscript and query letter ready to go for literary agents (eeks!).

This past weekend, I decided to reward my good, focused behavior by participating in my 5th NYC Midnight (NYCM) Flash Fiction Challenge (FFC). To be honest, I signed up for this writing contest a couple of months ago hoping my novel would be in my betas’ hands when the challenge kicked off…Wrong! My betas returned their notes a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been revising ever since. So, it was really hard to shift gears on Friday night.

But, I did. And I had so much fun!

As a quick reminder, the NYCM FFC is a writing contest where writers from all over the world are given three prompts (genre, location, and object), and then 48-hours to write a 1,000 word story. It never fails to stress me out, but it’s always worth it.

Round one kicked off last Friday night at 10 p.m. (MST). I prayed and prayed the prompt gods would give me comedy. Why? Because 1) it’s the complete opposite of what I usually write, and 2) it’s one of the few NYCM genres I’ve never been assigned.

Well, guess what? The prompt gods finally answered my prayers! I was put in group 40, which had to write a comedy that took place in a bartending school and incorporated sandpaper.

 

First impressions: 

Comedy

Bartending school

Sandpaper

I literally squealed when I saw comedy as my assigned genre. It’s taken five years and 17 rounds of NYC Midnight contests for me to get this genre (I don’t count rom-com or political satire, because those are very specific comedies that push you into a smaller realm of the comedy world). As for my other prompts…ugh. The location threw me. I’ve never been a bar-kinda girl, and I don’t drink much, so finding inspiration was tough. The sandpaper prompt didn’t faze me. I’ve had much, MUCH weirder objects to incorporate, so I pushed it to the back of my mind.

My process with these contests has become fairly streamlined: Friday night, brainstorm/plan general gist of story. Saturday, write. Sunday, edit/beta read.

So, as usual, I brainstormed on Friday night and went to bed with a solid idea. I planned to sleep in on Saturday because I had a really rough week at work and needed the rest, but my body refused to listen. It’s been hardwired for pre-dawn workouts in preparation for a half marathon I’m running in August, so I ended up waking up, bright and early, at 4 a.m. Which meant I only got about four hours of sleep. Which meant I was exhausted all. Day. Long.

Somehow I managed to find my groove and dig into my story by noon. As I wrote, my original concept changed quite a bit. I discovered comedy is different from other genres because you have to let the humor evolve organically. If you find something funny, then you have to keep going with it and play up the joke. My joke ended up revolving around millennials.

*cue millennial eye rolls across the world*

Sorry not sorry, millennials. But, hey, I’m partly millennial too, so I was the butt of my own jokes.

By 3 p.m., I had a rough first draft that was 500 words OVER the limit. Blerg! I decided to let it rest while I attended my brother’s 30th birthday bash (yes, I was a fantastic social butterfly at that event.) When I got home later that evening, I rolled up my sleeves and began revising–er, chopping. I successfully hacked about 200 words before crashing for the night.

The next morning, I had to get up early for my pre-dawn workout. Thankfully, I felt pretty calm about my story. Still, I was eager to get home and back to writing. I only had until 4 p.m. that day to finish and submit my story before I had to leave for yet another event. (Yeah, it wasn’t the best weekend to participate in a writing competition.)

As always, my wonderful, patient mother came over to my house and helped me edit. I was more nervous than usual to get her opinion on the story because it was so far out of my comfort zone. And because I had NO idea if it was actually funny. But, thank the Lord, she laughed a lot. So did the six other beta readers who helped me chop my comedy down from 1,200 to 996 words. Phew! I whipped together a synopsis and submitted my story eight hours ahead of the official deadline.

Yeah, despite the lack of tears and heart palpitations this round, I was exhausted. But, I genuinely like what I came up with, and I’m really proud of myself for tackling a genre so completely out of my comfort zone.

In the past, I shared my story publicly. However, I’ve begun sending my work to publishers, so I’m no longer posting them here for any and all to read. Sorry! If you are interested in reading it, please send me a message and I’ll provide you with the password. For now, here’s my title and synopsis:

“Bottoms Up”

BRIEF SYNOPSIS: A millennial needs a job to handle life’s necessities, like yoga, Netflix, and Starbucks. He decides to try bartending (#thestruggleisreal).

Congrats to all those who participated and submitted a story for NYCM’s Flash Fiction Challenge 2017!

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Photo Credits: giphy

 

Red Sunset – 2nd Round – NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge

Well, here’s my next (and likely last) story for NYC Midnight’s Flash Fiction Challenge 2016. After a lot of positive feedback and high expectations, my round one story, “The Blue Divide,” received a big, fat zero from the judges. I’d be pretty upset, but I’ve been inundated with messages from my fellow competitors (some friends, many strangers) who are outraged on my behalf. Most of them assumed I’d place in the top three, so…It’s nice to know my story was worth more than a zero. (Thanks for all the support, NYCM peeps!)

Anyway, it’s pretty easy to throw in the towel after you get a zero in round one (you basically need to win your group in round two to even have a chance to advance in the competition). But, after 15 rounds of NYCM challenges, I’ve learned it’s not about winning. It’s about learning, growing, and having fun. And I had a lot of fun with my round two story. (If you care to, you may read about my full experience here).

As a reminder, I had 48-hours to write a 1,000 word story based on these prompts:

screen-shot-2016-09-19-at-3-05-10-pm

Thanks in advance for reading, and thanks for any feedback you might have!

“Red Sunset”

 By Jenna Willett

BRIEF SYNOPSIS: Georgi Petrov, Hollywood playboy and Russian dissident, is a hero to some and a traitor to others. A fateful taxi ride down Sunset Boulevard proves just that.


Viktor drove down Sunset Boulevard, eyes narrowed on the nightclub ahead. Ciro’s, a popular stomping ground for Tinseltown’s elite, shimmered like a beacon of depravity. In front of the unadorned building, a tall man swayed on his feet.

Even in the dark, Viktor recognized him. Ash-brown hair, prominent cheekbones, protruding nose. Georgi Petrov. Actor, playboy, Russian dissident. Hero to some, traitor to others.

On the curb next to Georgi stood a voluptuous woman in a black cocktail dress, stilettos, and a silken wrap. An ideal pinup girl. She raised her arm and hailed Viktor’s checkered taxicab. He drew in a deep breath and pulled over. The intoxicated couple opened the door and collapsed into the backseat. Liquor, cigar smoke, and Hollywood glamour wafted off of them.

“Careful, Georgi, pookie.” The woman giggled and jostled up next to the actor. Her blonde waves bounced in time with her generous bosom. “We don’t wantch’ya gettin’ hurt before we get to the hotel.” She kissed his neck.

“Oh?” Georgi smirked. “What’s gonna happen at the hotel?”

She leaned in and whispered in his ear. A grin spread across his face.

Unable to help himself, Viktor stared at Georgi. He never thought he’d come face-to-face with the famous Russian.

“So.” Viktor cleared his throat and spoke in a well-practiced American accent. “Where to?”

“Sunset,” Georgi hiccupped, “Boulevard.”

“We’re on Sunset Boulevard, pookie.” The blonde laughed and smacked his arm.

Georgi hiccupped again.

“Make it Hollywood Boulevard, to The Hollywood Roosevelt.” She shifted her smoky gaze to Viktor. “And make it snappy, will ya?”

Viktor squeezed the steering wheel. “Sure.” He pulled away from the curb.

Thirty blocks.

He only had thirty blocks.

As he wound through traffic, Viktor tried to ignore the passionate moans building in the backseat.

“Peggy, wait.” Georgi laughed. “Not here.”

Viktor peeked in the rearview mirror. Peggy pouted and traced a finger down Georgi’s heaving chest. “I don’t wanna wait. I’ve been waiting too long for this.”

“But, the driver…”

“He’s not watchin’. Are ya, pal?” Peggy’s eyes flashed to Viktor’s in the rearview mirror.

Viktor flushed and shook his head.

“See, pookie?” She kissed his throat. “We’re all alone.”

Viktor wrinkled his nose and refocused on the road. Beneath the rumble of the engine, a symphony of smacking lips and whispered words played in his ear.

Twenty blocks.

Viktor patted his pocket. The outline of a thin, metallic cylinder steadied his nerves and strengthened his resolve. He could do this. He had to do this. If he didn’t, he’d regret it forever.

“Ah, pookie. What’s wrong?”

Viktor’s gaze snapped to the mirror. Even in the shadows, he could see Peggy’s lipstick smudged over Georgi’s neck and face.

“I can’t believe the Academy won’t put me on the voting ballot.” Georgi stared at a crumpled piece of paper sticking out of his breast pocket.

Peggy sighed. “Well, you are Russian.”

“So? I’m not a Commie.”

Viktor swerved.

“Watch it!” Peggy glared at Viktor. “What’s ya problem, mister?”

Viktor gulped. “Sorry, miss.” He turned onto Hollywood Boulevard.

Fifteen blocks.

Viktor’s hands trembled. Could he go through with this? Of course he could. He’d done it before, and he’d do it again.

“I’m not a Commie. I’m not.”

“I know, pookie, I know.” Peggy slid her wrap off her shoulders. “And you were so brave, what with those awful KGB dogs. They could kill ya for leavin’ Russia.”

“Hmmph.”

“Yeah, let’s not talk about it anymore. We’ve talked plenty.” She plucked the ballot out of his hand and tossed it to the taxi’s floor.

Viktor made a note to pick it up later.

“All I wanted was a nomination.” Georgi’s lightly accented voice cracked. “After all my hard work and sacrifices…”

“Shh, shh.” Peggy pulled herself onto his lap. Her black dress hitched up her legs, exposing milky white thighs. “Don’t think about it anymore. It’s over.”

Viktor’s eyes darted from the road to the rearview mirror. To Georgi. This wasn’t how he’d pictured this moment. Too much remorse, too much liquor, too much Peggy.

Ten more blocks.

Viktor glared through the windshield. Would Peggy foil his plan when they arrived at the hotel? He clenched his jaw. He’d have to risk it. Otherwise Georgi would get away.

“I’m a good man. Why can’t they see that?”

“Because, you’re a bad, bad boy, Georgi Petrov.”

“No—”

“Oh, yes.” Peggy moved on top of him. “Yes, yes.”

Viktor pressed the gas pedal.

Five blocks.

The towering, red fluorescent sign of the Hollywood Roosevelt came into view. Viktor’s heart raced. Behind him, lips moved in frantic unison, tongues intertwined, and hands groped.

Two blocks.

Georgi released a loud, guttural groan.

Peggy moaned and arched her back.

Viktor reached into his pocket and removed the metallic cylinder.

A cluster of Hollywood’s elite, drunk on booze, fame, and life swarmed the hotel’s entrance. The taxicab came to an abrupt halt.

The moaning in the backseat faded away. Weight shifted and clothes rustled. Viktor couldn’t bring himself to look behind him. Instead, he glanced at the meter. “That’ll, uh, be sixty cents.”

“Pookie, will you take care of it?” Peggy simpered and stepped out of the taxi. The door clicked shut.

Viktor’s heart pounded harder than ever. He stared at the pen in his hand. “Mr. Petrov? Do you think you could—I mean, I’m a big fan. So is my wife, Yulia. We both left Russia like you and—Well, would you mind signing an autograph?”

Silence.

“Mr. Petrov?” Viktor twisted around, pen raised, anticipation unbearable.

Georgi stared back at him, eyes wide and lifeless. Peggy’s black wrap hung from his mouth, shoved deep inside, gagging him.

Viktor dropped the pen.

A hypodermic needle stuck out of Georgi’s neck. Some kind of black residue dripped down his ashen skin, and blood cascaded from his nose. A scream rose in Viktor’s throat. He whipped around and looked from the hotel, to the street, back to the hotel.

Peggy had vanished.


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Mission Possible – Round 2 – NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge

Hey, everyone! So, this past weekend I participated in the second round of the NYC Midnight (NYCM) Flash Fiction Challenge (FFC) 2016. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t really in the mood to play this time around. Just the day before the challenge kicked off, I received the results from round one and found out I didn’t get any points for my story, “The Blue Divide.”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve written a lot of stories in this contest that I could accept getting a zero for (ahem, “Operation Disney“). But this one wasn’t one of them. “The Blue Divide” received more positive feedback than I’ve ever received for a story. It also landed in my personal top favorites I’ve ever written. So, getting a zero hurt. What hurt even more was reading the judges’ feedback. Besides the storyline vaguely echoing the movie “Interstellar,” they had no complaints. Only positive comments…Ugh. Very frustrating.

BUT not frustrating enough to make me bow out of round two! I refused to let the judges get me down and embraced my next assignment. Which arrived, as always, at 10 p.m. (MST) on Friday night.

screen-shot-2016-09-19-at-3-05-10-pm

First impressions: 

Spy

A taxi

A voting ballot

I probably stared at my prompts for a solid thirty minutes with no clue what to do with them. I don’t know if I was completely uninspired, completely miserable, or completely exhausted. I think it was the latter. I’d been up since 4:30 a.m. that morning, and hadn’t taken a break all day (I’d gone from an intense spin workout, to a crazy day at work, to a fun night at the Rockies game).

With my mom’s help (who of course was there to help me brainstorm), I pulled it together and started throwing out various concepts. Most of my ideas were absurd (ex: a taxi driver/spy who careens off the edge of the Grand Canyon and parachutes James Bond style, while the bad guy plummets to his death). What gave me the most trouble was the voting ballot prompt. It screamed politics, and I’m not a big fan of politics. I also knew many of my competitors would go in a political direction, so I wanted to avoid that.

After about twenty minutes of hemming and hawing, inspiration struck.

I decided to give my story an old Hollywood twist. And I decided to have FUN with it. Why not? With zero points from round one, I had nothing to lose, so I decided to write something light, entertaining, and kinda silly.

I sold my mom on the concept, worked out the major kinks of the plot, and then went home to collapse in bed. On Saturday, I woke up and dove straight into research about the Cold War, old Hollywood, and, well, spies. I also watched this scene from the movie “Victor Victoria” about a dozen times to embrace the traits of one of my main characters (a ditzy, flirtatious pinup girl).

It took me most of the day to crank out a solid draft, but once I had it, I knew I had it. I went back over to my mom’s house to let her read it, and get her “Simon Cowell” judgment. Halfway through her first review, she started laughing. My heart sank, and I asked her if it was dumb. She said, “NO! Don’t change it. It’s great.” By the time she finished, I knew the hard work was over. She liked it and I liked it, so now it was time to edit.

We ran through the story a couple of times. Once to analyze the actual story, and once to cut words. I was about 100 over the competition’s 1,000 limit, so nothing too major.

Or so I thought.

Surprisingly, the story didn’t have a ton of fat to cut. I only managed to hack out 20 words before I slammed into a wall. I didn’t know what else to remove or reword to make it any tighter.

Beta readers to the rescue!

I sent my story to about six writers to help me find unnecessary, fluffy, redundant words (and, of course, get opinions about my actual story). When the reviews came back, I was both relieved and a little panicked by the lack of criticisms. Just about all of my betas didn’t know where I should cut words. It was a solid, polished story. But I had to cut 80, or I’d lose major points in the contest.

So, all of my betas rolled up their sleeves and helped me hunt down those 80 extra words. Chop, rewrite, tweak, slash…Ugh. The process was beyond painful! But by Sunday afternoon, I had a final draft that was six words under the word limit. Phew! I submitted it and then did a little jig.

Now, do I expect points for this story? HA! No. If I couldn’t get points with “The Blue Divide,” then I highly doubt this silly spy story will get me much of anything. But, I’m really proud of myself for giving it my all, and not letting my round one debacle deter me from doing my best.

Although I don’t think I’ll ever send this story out for publication, I’m going to play it safe and put a password on it when I post it. Sorry! But, if you’d like to read it, let me know and I’ll send you the password. For now, here’s my title and synopsis:

“Red Sunset”

BRIEF SYNOPSIS: Georgi Petrov, Hollywood playboy and Russian dissident, is a hero to some and a traitor to others. A fateful taxi ride down Sunset Boulevard proves just that.

Congrats to all those who participated and submitted a story for this round of NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge 2016!

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Photo Credits: giphy

Protected: The Blue Divide – 1st Round – NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge

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