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Posted: 7/18/2009 10:47:35 AM | Ted, the captain of the opposition team walked slowly across the tavern towards our table. He was a worthless piece of human flesh with a big belly and a bad attitude towards all. He bounced his pool cue on the floor as he walked, as if he was using the cue as a crutch. Standing up close to our table he bellowed out, “Do any of you girls want to put some money on the match? Just what I thought, none of you have any balls. You guys suck.”
We had won the first match seven to two, and now we were going to play for the City Championship of team eight ball. We had come up through the “losers bracket” of the 64 team tourney and would have to beat the best team in the valley once again. Ted’s team was always stacked with good players, they were used to winning the City championship. Our team was mediocre at best, we all played for the fun of it.
The format for the game was Eight ball, a rather difficult and boring form of pool. Charley, our captain. was an enrolled Indian from the local Tribe. He spoke infrequently. He controlled the tempo, kept it very slow, frustrating our opponents.
The second match started out like the first. Charley had us playing cautiously, not taking any risks. The hotshot team would get to the table and go for everything. Soon we were ahead five to two in a race to seven. Ted was yelling at Charley, “play pool”, “grow some Charley”, “you play like an old lady”.
The match eventually got down to six games apiece. This was it. Meanwhile Ted’s team had completely changed their game. They were trying to play like Charley had us playing.
The final game had our best player and his partner. Ted’s team had himself and their best player. The game went back and forth with both teams trying to outsmart the other. Ted made a mistake, he left the cue-ball in a position where our best player could bank our final ball into the corner pocket. “Don’t worry they won’t risk shooting that shot.”
All we had to do was pocket the ball and draw the cue ball back about three inches for a good shot at the eight ball. The bank was successful but left us with an awkward angle on the eight ball. If we missed the eight, the cue-ball would break out the two balls on the spot and lead to certain defeat. Charley slowly walked to the table and said, “Go for it”.
As our teammate lined up the angles he said, “Eight ball in the corner pocket”. He stroked the cue into the eight ball ever so gently. The eight ball rolled slowly down the rail. It rolled straight and true. it got right to the edge of the pocket and then it disappeared off the table. The tavern erupted with cheers, all were happy Ted had lost. | |
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Posted: 7/18/2009 7:26:55 PM | I wrote this just now. Which Wednesday is the deadline? And is there a prize? Here's a story with 500 words, no more, no less, as counted by my word processor, WordPerfect 11 for Windows.
“Granddad, tell me again the story about your heart transplant fifty years ago.”
“Okay. I was driving down on Interstate 95, and I saw a blur in the distance. It was just a blur, a tiny one, so I did not give it much thought. I stopped at a truck shop to buy some cigarettes, and a six-pack of Coke. Back in the cabin, and back on the road, I noticed that the blur was getting larger.
Soon I was up to within a mile of it. I could see it better this time. It was a well-defined blur, a blur of many colours and shapeless blobs. I could not focus on it, so I knew it was a Type Three blur. I stopped on the side of the road, and lit up a Camel. I knew if I rested my eyes the blur would eventually disappear.
I put the baby into gear and merged back on the road off the shoulder, and when I looked up ahead, glancing away from the side-view mirror, I saw the blur. It was more grayish-brown this time, and it had moving dots in it, which were in plain colours, flaring up on the occasion for a short time.
When the blur had grown enough to occupy sixty-eight percent of my field of vision, I pulled off the road, into the ditch and got the trailer to jack-knife, and had myself engulfed in cement dust.
Three minutes later the fire department’s trucks arrived, and doused the smoke with water and other fire-retardants. Little did they realize that there had been no fire; the smoke effect was created by the burst cement bags and by the billowing powder, made of small cement particles.
When the whole thing was over, they found a man in the middle of the wreck, grabbing his own throat, apparently trying to free his larynx. He was wide-eyed and his face showed horror. He did not move, strangely; he just stood there. The first man to reach him touched him and realized the guy had been covered in cement dust, then in water, and then the mixture set.
They rushed him to the hospital, and I could see the entire proceeding from about ten-twenty feet above the events as the unfolded. As you could have guessed from remembering the story from all the previous times, it was me in the cement dust and the cement shell. It sort of cemented my fate: There was a young woman at the time in the emergency, who needed a change of heart, because she wanted to marry the other guy after all, way after the invitations had been sent out for the wedding with the first guy. She had stabbed herself through the heart.
So this is how I became a heart-transplant man: My heart is beating in the chest of a living person, so now go and brush your teeth, Johnny, soon it’s bedtime, and I’ll come in when you say your prayers.” | |
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Posted: 7/19/2009 2:06:20 PM | To me the words "creative writing" and "rules" don't apply and are at opposite ends of each other. That's why there are folks called editors...to rope in the more creative types. With rules you get stagnation...thus the end of creativity.
Peace | |
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Posted: 7/19/2009 7:15:49 PM | | Shan, that was good, I knew you could do it. | |
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Posted: 7/19/2009 7:17:34 PM | | DFB, this challenge was issued two weeks ago, and is ongoing. I don't think anybody really took the deadline seriously, the stories just keep coming, which is fine. The only prize is success. | |
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Posted: 7/19/2009 7:26:48 PM | | Wyatt, if anybody here is seriously interested in writing, it's best to learn before hand that there are rules. You can be as creative as you like as long as you don't plan to submit anything anywhere. I learned the hard way after pouring my heart and soul into a piece and submitting it, only to get a stinging rejection because it was 300 words over the alloted space. Or because it was 15,000 words under the required length. Books have word limits, articles have word limits, columns have word limits, plus they often require special formatting. It's fine to be creative, the challenge is finding a home for what you create. | |
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Posted: 7/20/2009 5:42:30 PM | | Managing to convey an idea with a beginning , middle and end, and keep within the word restriction. | |
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Posted: 7/20/2009 8:17:49 PM | "Managing to convey an idea with a beginning , middle and end, and keep within the word restriction."
Are you talking to me, Cindi? How would I know? Do as you wish, but I really need inobscurity and inambiguity. It's a trademark of people with Aspergers, and I wear that diagnosis with pride. You do as you wish, but if you need a reply from me, please make sure I understand you're writing to me. | |
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Posted: 7/21/2009 1:40:06 AM | DFB ...
"The only prize is success."
Which is measured how?
By managing to convey an idea with a beginning , middle and end, and keep within the word restriction. In this particular instance, that is how success is measured.
Sorry for not making that clearer. | |
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Posted: 7/21/2009 2:16:52 PM | "Wyatt, if anybody here is seriously interested in writing, it's best to learn before hand that there are rules. You can be as creative as you like as long as you don't plan to submit anything anywhere. I learned the hard way after pouring my heart and soul into a piece and submitting it, only to get a stinging rejection because it was 300 words over the alloted space. Or because it was 15,000 words under the required length. Books have word limits, articles have word limits, columns have word limits, plus they often require special formatting. It's fine to be creative, the challenge is finding a home for what you create. "
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Hey sorry cindiloo for my negative reply in your thread. I always hated rules per writing but you bring up very valid points. Bottomline it's the ones who show up, abide by the rules and try that make it. You can be the most creative person on the planet but like you said, if they don't abide by the rules, they get cut out.
I agree with you that finding a home for our writing is very important.
Peace | |
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Posted: 7/22/2009 5:23:38 AM | Hi Wyatt,
The first column I ever wrote was about 1200 words. The average column is 500 words, and in some papers with the space, 800. I got the column back along with a note that if I could whittle it down to 800 words they might consider running it. There was not a single word in that column that I wanted to give up. So I found a shorter one, and sent it back, and they published it. The longer one was entered into a contest and won $1,000 Canadian, which was $800 + for me after the exchange rate.
After that I started writing for that 800 word goal, and started wooing other newspaper editors, and before it was over I was writing a weekly column for about 15 different newspapers. I lived that way for 3 years, what's the next column going to be about? Every day, especially for the last year, I struggled for new material, and then one day, it ended. I bowed out and stopped the column, and started searching out places for longer material, contests, magazines and even novels. One day I will ressurect the column, when my life allows for it and the inspiration comes again.
My first novel was around 60,000 which is short, by publisher's standards. It came out this past Monday. The second had a page count, could not be anymore than 144 pages and I had to leave big blocks in the text for illustrations. It's coming out the end of August. The third is written but is way too short at 45,000 but has already been accepted for publishing, I just have to flesh it out. That's going to be tough but do-able.
So this is why I am such a stickler for word counts. Word counts are the great equalizer in the publishing world, no matter how well we write, if we don't fit into the requirement we are passed over. I finally learned that no matter what the word count, with luck and diligence I could find a place for whatever I wrote, so I started saving everything and watching for opportunities.
It is my dream to live on earnings from my writing and one day I will. If you are interested do a Google search for CJ Mouser and you will find some of my past work.
Take care. | |
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