Writing Challenge Winners: The Travel Scene Challenge10:59
Thanks to everyone who submitted to the Travel Scene Challenge. We enjoyed reading your entries, which took us everywhere from across a kitchen floor, down an open road, through the time space continuum, and into the next life.
We didn't quite hit the 250 submission mark, so we'll still be announcing the standard three winners. However, the same offer stands for The Autobiography Challenge, which is sitting cool at 112 submissions right now—if we receive 250 submission, we'll award six authors PageToFame coupons.
Little Wing by Coll
To a Friend's House by DaisyBug
The Great Escape by KaileyWhite
Bangkok Killing Zone by CM_Swanson
Ima Lake by CJHendricks
Congratulations, you will receive your PageToFame coupon via direct message.
If you're new to the challenges, feel free to cruise through some past winner authors here. Once you've gotten your fill, head over to The Autobiography Challenge to get some non-fiction muscles working. Some details:
Write an EXTREMELY short autobiography, max 75 words.The goal here is to convey the essence of your life in a very short space (yes, Twitter inspired this challenge).
Full sentences and proper grammar are not required. A long period of inner reflection to determine what life experiences were most important to your formation as a person may be required.
Start a new chapter on this project to submit. Before you go, give Coll's lyrical travel scene a read:
Stevie Ray Vaughn replaces his guitar for the taught chord of my pickled aorta, strumming relentlessly to "Little Wing." My car's wheels beat a steady tattoo over the yellow reflectors in the road. I wait for my all-seeing, all-knowing headlights to steer me back to plumb. I panic, realizing that's not what they do. I do. I jerk the wheel with a terse, obedient bark of rubber.
Concentrate. Have a point of reference. Something to repeat, to continue. The soothing yellow, undulating line of the breakdown pulls at me. I list toward it, tickle its underside with my hood ornament. The sharp Pontiac symbol rips the road like a razor, rending it in two behind me like so much dark fabric. Lights against my back. An engine roar mounts, passes, screams gear in my ear, mid-curse. My yellow line splits and fluctuates on a lever. A pair of calm chop sticks plucking something in its own vanishing point.
Has it been raining all along? Lightning conducts a flashcard geography quiz, impatiently pointing out this and that feature of the landscape, flashing its electric pointer against the broad slate of the sky, and thunderously grumbling at the lack of response.