Readers, we have a problem.
I think I mentioned that Mario and I NEVER agree on anything. Well, he didn’t disappoint me this time either. We could NOT choose a winner.
So, we took all the entries to an impartial panel of reader/writers. They only saw the entries, no contestants’ names (just in case our fabulous cache of valuable prizes was so tempting, they convinced their best friend or second cousin twice removed to enter so they could share in the spoils.) We came out with four finalists, though there were many others who garnered a vote or two as well. Our judges were amazed/delighted at the caliber of entries. As Mario and I were, as well.
Here’s the deal. Below are the four finalists; the number refers to the order in which the entry was received. It’s your turn to help us out. Vote for your favorite. Vote by email (firstname.lastname@example.org) or comment. One vote per person. As Mario points out, if you choose to vote via comment, you can sway other voters with your arguments (he actually said: incendiary
arguments—but no flame wars, please.)
All four finalists will receive a prize. YOU will determine who gets the GRAND prize.
So here, drum roll, are the finalists:
When he sat down in the confessional, I knew he would be my next meal. Something about the way he sighed when he looked at the wooden screen. He'd done something very naughty. His sin oozed from his features. It was weighing on him deeply, his crime. I would hear his confession, give him penance, and then grant his wish for "salvation". They don't call me Church for nothing.
The first thing I can suggest if you want to become a fashion model is don't. The hours are lousy, the pay is worse, and there's always, always someone younger and prettier than you if you have the misfortune to be heard complaining about either. If nothing else will butter your pancakes, however, there's one tip I'd strenuously advocate and that's to get yourself vamped. Dead girls don't have to count calories.
"I had a dog once," Robyn said conversationally. "He pulled tampons out of the trash and chewed them. Because of the blood."
"Yeah?" said the vampire in the Hawaiian shirt. He didn't look up from the newspaper. "That's fairly disgusting."
"I just want to know if it's safe to put tampons in the trash, or if they're like tasty blood popsicles for you."
"I'll try to control myself," he said, and turned the page.
Being undead sucks. At least that’s what my teenage son would say, and he’d be right. Granted, it’s better than the alternative, being completely dead, but it’s not nearly as glamorous as it’s made out to be. First, there was no mystical change that turned me into a walking sex goddess. I look basically the same, which is kind of disappointing. Maybe I can get an upgrade if I’m very good and eat only vegetarians.
Congratulations to the finalists and thanks to everyone who entered. There are a lot of really good writers out there just waiting to be discovered. Maybe this will be a first look at a book destined for greatness. Enjoy.
PS Votes must be received by midnight, Thursday, June 28, to be counted.