Friday, July 22, 2011

The NAUGHTY contest!!!

**WINNER announced ASAP! Thanks everyone!!**

I've had a real crummy (and not cookie crumbs) week. What better way to turn things around than to start an exciting contest.

Sign up by posting your entry in the comments section of this post! DEADLINE - August 5th! HURRY!!

Your entry must include...

Wordcount of entry
Where you passed this info along (Twitter, Blog...)
(And you must follow this blog)

Your entry should be an excerpt from a completed MS. A scene where your character is doing something they shouldn't. Basically, your character being NAUGHTY! Feel free to get creative with this! (A max of 750 words)

The Prize!
The winner (I will be the judge) will receive a free copy of Elana Johnson's astounding debut novel, POSSESSION! (Where the characters are masters at being naughty rule breakers) It's addicting, fun, and adventurous. And it's a beautiful book that will look great on your shelf.

Let's have a lot of FUN with this one guys!

Now, WOWZA me with your work!


  1. This sounds like an interesting contest! I'm not sure now, is an exerpt required? I'd love to win a copy of Elana's book, which I've heard a lot about but haven't read yet.

  2. Ellie Burmeister
    "How To Get a Literary Agent in Two Murders Or Less"
    Dark Comedy

    “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Goodsnuff.” Then he looked away. “Would you mind if I went over there and used the nozzle on the other end of the shower area? To rinse off? I can wait if you’d rather.”
    I shrugged. It was charming to see a guy this good-looking act so shy, “It’s a public shower, go right ahead.”
    He walked over and turned on the water and tested it with his hand. Then, to my utter shock and amazement, he unzipped his spring suit and peeled it down to his waist, revealing a perfect set of pectoral muscles and six-pack abs.
    I felt my legs go weak and I had to stagger back against the wall of the shower to keep my balance. Fortunately, he didn’t notice, since he had his eyes closed as he arched his back to rinse his face under the jet of the shower. To me, adultery was one of the most evil things in the world and certainly something I would never engage in. Even so, it was all I could do to keep from pulling that zipper down the rest of the way and tugging that suit around his ankles while he still had his eyes closed.
    Fortunately, I’d regained both my footing and my composure by the time he opened one eye.
    “So, Mrs. Goodsnuff. What is it that you like to do?”
    “Huh?” I said, feeling myself blush.
    “You know, for work, or for a hobby...”
    “Oh, I’m a writer, just like my husband.”
    “No kidding?” he said. “So am I.”
    “Really? Which genre?”
    Now it was his turn to blush. “I’ve gotten about eighteen books published under the pen name Prudy Newcastle. Perhaps you’ve heard of them?”
    Of course, I’d heard of Prudy Newcastle. I’d even read a few of her books. They were the sort of chaste romances with all the good parts ellipsed out and left as an exercise for the reader. I’d always thought she must be a white-haired lady in a chintz dress and a purple hat, not some strapping young buck who was making me think impure thoughts while we shared a shower.
    “You’re Prudy Newcastle? No way.”
    “I’m afraid so. I never really set out to be a romance writer. I wanted to do thrillers, just like your husband. But I couldn’t sell anything, so my wife suggested that I do a formula romance to get my foot in the door. The trouble with having your foot in the door is that you sometimes end up getting stuck there.”
    My face fell. “Oh.”
    “It’s not so bad. I have a huge following of great fans who buy my books as soon as they come out. Besides, my job makes people very happy, and not everyone can say that. So really, it’s all for the best.”
    I didn’t tell him that I was more disappointed that he was married and off the market. But then again so was I. So he was right, it was all for the best.
    He shut off his water and retrieved his board. “It was very nice meeting you, Mrs. Goodsnuff. Oh, and if you ever need to shower in private, you’re welcome to come over and use one of mine.”
    “Really?” The mere suggestion of it made me tingle.
    “Sure, and bring your husband. In fact, you should tell Jonny that the two of you have an open invitation for dinner at Lance Archer’s place. I’m an excellent cook and it will be nice to have company for a change. I tend to be very introverted and melancholy, and if I don’t make an effort to be social I end up retreating into hermit mode.”
    “I thought you said you were married?”
    “My wife and I are going through a rough patch right now…” He sighed. “Who am I kidding? She’s left me. I only found out about it by the note she left and the empty closets. It seems that I’m too boring for her. She went where the action is.”
    “I’m sorry.” I didn’t ask if there was anything wrong with her eyesight, but that was certainly what I was thinking.

  3. **Post 1 of 2**
    Title: Heads Up
    Genre: Noir
    Wordcount: 748

    “**** me!” Lenny laughed and pulled the Mercedes to the curb.
    “Get in,” he called as the tinted window glided downward.
    The scruffy man on the corner squinted into the dark interior. A nervous smile creased his five o’clock shadow. A frigid wind blew, piercing the frayed tweed coat Custer held together at the collar. He blew on his chapped hands and shifted from foot to foot.
    “My ol’ lady’s gonna be pissed when she finds I ain’t here, Lenny.”
    “You’re breakin’ my heart, Custer.” Lenny turned the car into the deserted town dump. “Smells like death, don’t it?” Lenny swung the car behind a mound of twisted metal embedded in chunks of concrete.
    “I hear they got wild dogs roaming the place,” Custer croaked, straining his eyes into the inky recesses of the night as he slowly exited the car.
    “Dig.” Lenny jabbed a spade against Custer’s ribs, all traces of levity gone from his voice.
    “Dig? Christ, Lenny. The ground’s nearly frozen.” Custer’s sphincter tightened at Lenny’s glare.
    Lenny disappeared behind the raised trunk lid.
    “I don’t hear digging,” he sang.
    “What if somebody sees us?”
    “Number one, anybody who’s here is probably breaking the law. And B, so what? They gonna ticket me for litterin’?”
    “Lenny, I just remembered that bouncer at Lanky’s said he knew where Frisbee lived.” Custer jammed the heel of his worn shoe against the spade. “Soon as we’re finished, I’ll go talk to him.”
    “Come here.”
    Custer rested the spade against the grill and walked around the car to Lenny. He saw a lumpy mound beneath a green chenille bedspread that looked familiar. He dragged deeply on his cigarette, looking at Lenny’s smiling face then back to the bedspread.
    Lenny grabbed the fringed end of the bedspread and yanked it off.
    “Golf clubs?”
    “What the **** you think it was?” Lenny lifted the golf bag out of the trunk.
    “Your game that bad?” Custer joked nervously.
    “You think I drove all the way to the Bronx to bury my golf clubs? Guess again.” He pointed a Luger at Custer’s chest as he lifted a carpeted floorboard.
    “Jesus, no!” Custer cried, staring at the still form of his wife, her hands bound behind her back. “You son of a bitch!” He leaned into the trunk to scoop her up. Custer reached out a shaking hand to brush a lock of graying hair from her forehead. Matted with recently clotted blood, it refused to move from the entry wound, as though hoping to conceal a blemish. Custer buried his face in his wife’s neck and wept.
    “I know. I almost cried myself.”
    “Why’d you do it?” Custer’s running nose mingled with his tears.
    “’Cause I messed up with Frisbee?” Custer spat. He wiped his nose on the back of his chapped hand and tugged the housedress down to cover his wife’s bare thigh. He settled her back down gently and noticed the shiny residue on her inner thigh. “You raped her?!”
    “I’d have to be pretty ****ed up to do that, wouldn’t I?”
    “You are that ****ed up!” he lunged for Lenny but Lenny dodged him. “You may as well shoot me right now, ‘cause I’m not going to make it easy for you and bury her.”
    “Too bad you couldn’t muster up this amount of balls when you were supposed to deal with Frisbee. The grapevine tells me you sent him scurryin’ with a warnin’. That’s not what I wanted!”

  4. **Post 2 of 2**

    “You can’t kill everybody who crosses you, Lenny,” Custer said, carelessly defiant.
    “No?” Lenny whispered, his eyes wild. “Your fingerprints are on the spade and the car. And her,” Lenny sneered inches from Custer’s face. “The cops always suspect the husband first.”
    Custer spun and ran blindly around the mound of debris toward the entrance to the dump. He slipped on a patch of damp brown grass, then tripped over a rain-soaked cardboard box, sprawling spread-eagle on the patchy winter grass.
    “You’re a pathetic excuse for a man!” Lenny called as he closed the space between them. His custom-made Italian leather shoes squished in the mud.
    Custer scrambled to his feet and ran toward the lights of the tollbooth beyond a curtain of tall swamp reeds, waving his arms to attract attention. He turned to see how close Lenny was.
    “Peek-a-boo,” Lenny sang.
    “**** you!” Spittle dangled from the corners of Custer’s mouth.
    “**** me?” Lenny asked incredulously and pulled the trigger, striking Custer’s forehead dead center.

  5. Thanks so much for the giveaway! I would love to win this book :) Please count me in if it's open to Canadians.


  6. Sonja Yoerg
    You, Me and the Fireflies

    I’d been carrying the diaphragm in my handbag for nearly a year when my mother found it.
    She was standing on the stairs that led into the living room. I was in the dining area on the other side of the room. My father was lying on the couch, halfway between my mother and me.
    “Sonja,” she said sternly. “We have to have a talk. What is this doing in your purse?!” She held my diaphragm case in the air.
    “Inge!” my father said without taking his eyes off the TV. “The news is on!”
    “No, Adi, this is more important than the news. Look!”
    He didn’t. “Will you shut up?!”
    “Mummy,” I said in a stage whisper. I mouthed “Come here” and beckoned her over. While she was crossing in front of my father I was simultaneously praying he would not take his eyes off Dan Rather and concocting a plausible story. Telling my mother the truth—that I was trying to be mature and responsible, that having a diaphragm in my purse was the same as having a jack in the trunk of the car—was out of the question. She wouldn’t care about that. She also wouldn’t care that I had been deceiving her. What she did care about was keeping all unpleasantness at psychological arm’s length, or in another universe, if that could be arranged. Here the unpleasantness wasn’t the revelation that her daughter was having sex, but that her daughter was carrying evidence of having sex around with her as if it were a pack of tissues. Someone might see.
    At long last she reached the dining area. Fearing further reprimands from my father, she was forced to whisper. “So what is this doing in your purse, Sonja?”
    “It’s Helga’s.” Why did I say that? My sister Helga lives in Jamaica! Think! Think!
    “Why do you have it? It’s not a thing for a young girl to have.”
    “Helga sent it to me. It has a hole in it. She wants me to get her a new one.”
    My mother stared at me, wheels turning. She weighed the improbability of this story against her desire for a smooth surface to things. I held her gaze, almost wishing she’d tell me I was full of it.
    “Well, Sonja,” she began, exhaling a little.
    She’s going for it!
    She continued, “When you go to the doctor you make sure you explain to them that this is for your sister. Your older sister who is married. That it’s not for you. It’s not a thing for a young girl to have.”
    “Okay. I’ll be sure to let him know.” My sister was not married, but I let it go. My mother was entitled to her own lies, especially if they were wrapped inside mine. I put out my hand for the diaphragm case and she gave it to me. Then she went over to watch the news with my father.

  7. Elizabeth Newmeyer
    Redemption for Liars
    Romantic Suspense
    280 words
    Passed info along on to FB group of new writers

    “You had to go blabbing, didn’t you, Uncle Leroy. That is what she calls you, right?”

    Leroy looked around the room at the boss and his disciples, all holding pipes or bats. “No boss, I swear. I didn’t say a thing.”

    “So who were you gabbing with at the diner? Ya sure looked chummy to me.”

    “Nobody, sir. Just some guy trying to grill me about checking out a car but I swear I didn’t give anything up.” He tried to hide his nerves but inside he was quaking. He should have high tailed it out of town like the boss wanted. Hanging around was a stupid move.

    “That’s not what I heard.”

    “I swear boss. It’s true.”

    “I also heard you were spotted getting cozy with our widow. Maybe wanted to tip her off?”

    Our Father, who art in heaven.

    “You got to believe me. This isn’t what it looks like. I was trying to get her to give me money. For you.” His voice was reaching a fevered pitch, tinged with an unbecoming whine to it.

    “Did it work?”

    Leroy shook his head. Hallowed be thy name.

    “I didn’t think so. Smarter men than you have already tried that.” Vinnie waved his gun around, motioning to the other men to come closer.

    Thy kingdom come.

    “Boys, this here is what I like to call a f*** up. He done f***ed up when he put his nose in my business. He f***ed up when he came to me demanding hush money. And last, but not least, he F***ED up when he failed to set fire to that bitch’s house. Say goodbye to Uncle Leroy, boys.”

    Thy will be done.


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...