The fourth annual Arizona Western College 100-Word Short Story Competition Is brevity really the soul of wit? Here’s a chance to find out. Submit your very best short story composed of 100 words or less. That’s right, 100 words! Your challenge is to distill a story down to its essence, without sacrificing its narrative impact. Eligibility: The contest is open to all current AWC, U of A-Yuma, and NAU-Yuma students, faculty and staff. Deadline: Wednesday November 18th, 2013 by 5 p.m. Winning Submissions: • Two first-place winners (one from both the Student and Faculty/Staff categories) will receive a prize of $50.00 and publication in AWC’s student newspaper, Western Voice. • Two second-place selections will receive gift packages and publication in Western Voice. • Honorable mention stories may also be selected and will appear in Western Voice. • Winners and honorable mentions will be announced at 6 p.m. September 26 in the Schoening Conference Center (Prior to the event featuring Pulitzer Prize winning novelist Adam Johnson.) Submission Guidelines: • Story submissions must total no more than 100 words, not including the author’s name and the story’s title. • Stories must be original, unpublished works of fiction. • Each author is limited to two submissions. • Hardcopy submissions can be turned in at the front desk of the Humanities Office (LR-068) or through email at [email protected]. Attach your submission as a word file. Manuscripts will not be returned. Authors should keep a copy for themselves. • Entries must be written primarily in English, although brief passages in another language are acceptable. Format: • Stories must be typed and double-spaced. Use 12-point Times New Roman font. • Manuscripts must include the following: 1. The writer’s name, email, and telephone number. 2. The writer’s designation (student or faculty/staff) 3. An original title. • Judging: Submissions will be considered blindly, with the author’s name removed. The judges for the 2012 competition are AWC English Professors Ann-Marie Thweatt, Bree McGregor, and Terri Brown. Sample 100-Word Stories Back by John Crick We woke that last morning, broke, in the Amsterdam train station, warm under our small blanket, our backpacks as pillows. We sat up and smoked cigarettes, watching the trains and the people “It’ll be different,” she said. “Once we get back.” “Yes,” I said. “Different.” “We’ll eat slower. No more fast food.” “Yes. Fresh baguettes. No more Wonder Bread.” “And long walks, every day. Don’t you think?” “Every day.” She smiled, her eyes still swollen from sleep, and I remembered us walking along the Seine together, holding hands, past the sunbathers and artists, happy, an ocean between us and home. Respect by Lindette Lent Three generations spread ever northward: East and west to the oceans, covering America in giant pyramidic steps. A fourth is born, eats, and flutters its little three inches all the way from Canada to Mexico. No brain to speak of. Prismatic scales though. Pretty cool. Caterpillars build pupae, liquefy themselves, reorganize their genes, and emerge WITH WINGS, tasters on their feet, AND an ability to get from here to there without getting lost (all of which I seem to be completely lacking). So, if you see me weaving down the Imperial Valley highway I’m not drunk. I am butterfly dodging. Siblings by Wayne McDonald “Pickles! Nobody puts pickles on a turkey sandwich, you stupid cow. Go make me another one! No pickles this time!” Mona’s one good eye…dark and smoky, fixed her brother with a venomous stare. “Watch your mouth little boy. You remember the last time you smarted off to me?” “Yeah, but you caught me off guard. It won’t happen again, Cyclops.” The ketchup bottle landed perfectly in the center of Clive’s skull with a muffled crack. His eyes rolled up as he slumped into the potato salad. Mona exhaled. “Dad always said I had the reflexes of a Yankee shortstop.” White Patent Leather Alligator by Nancy Gilkey We saw the alligator grinning by the couch in the living room. “He’s friendly,” I said. “He’s special,” Pam said, as we marveled at his white skin. “It’s shiny, like patent leather.” His tail slithered; his eyes locked on mine. Pam tossed a pillow, he snapped, and we fled. “Don’t look back!” she warned. “But he’s so vulnerable.” I returned to check on him and felt the hair rise on the back of my neck. I slammed the door and ran to Pam. “You can never pet an alligator,” she said. And the truth sank like teeth into my heart. His Mom and Cesar Chavez by Moses Camareno As a teen in the summers of the 1960’s, his family of 12 would go to California to pick prunes. His dad would have them picking before the crack of dawn because the child labor laws dictated children stop by 2:00 pm. His mother would wake them at 2:30 am to sit on the toilet till they went. She said “NO CHILD OF MINE IS GOING TO GO TO THE BATHROOM IN THE FIELD LIKE AN ANIMAL!” Now as he sees all the labor busses with bathrooms behind them—he remembers two of his heroes—his mom and Cesar Chavez.
Posted on: Thu, 22 Aug 2013 15:15:58 +0000
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