Welcome to Biting-Edge, a blog shared by authors and vampire experts, Mario Acevedo and Jeanne Stein. We’ll cover urban fantasy, vampires, pop culture, and all things Joss Whedon. Unlike other fantasy blogs, we don’t insist on body cavity searches (unless you ask politely). Snarkiness is most welcome...though we won't promise not to bite back!

Thursday, November 29, 2007
  We have a winner! Ho, ho, ho!

Here is the winning entry for our ghetto-fabulous Bad Santa Contest. Pour yourself some yuletide cheer and enjoy:


On Ice

Sunlight on ice. Ow. He squinted against the glare, but that made his head throb. His brain felt like it was trying to escape. Escape sounded good.

He shaded his eyes and unexpectedly scraped his forehead. He squinted again. Long, yellow, fingernails curled from his reddened fingers which met raw-skinned hands and peeling arms and thick torso. Shit! He was naked! His body looked like it had been scalded with greasy wax, and what the fuck was he doing outdoors in the snow naked?

A log cabin with broken, green shutters interrupted the frozen, empty landscape. Icicles hung in thick curtains from the roof, glittering in the sunshine, but smoke rose from the stone chimney. Footprints, his own he assumed, led from the cabin to where he stood. He retraced them at a run, shuddering from the cold.

The plank door opened into a single dim room. A huge wooden tub steamed with hot water, and a low table held a bowl of soft soap, a scrub brush, and towels. He stopped, his hackles rising.

A tinny chuckle came from a dim corner. "Every year ye bolt before ye be fully awake. When will ye learn?"� The elf stepped forward. "The year of sleep is over, Mr. Claus. Scrub off the year's filth and don the red suit."� The little creature slapped the control wand against his leg, creating a shower of lavender sparks. "Now," it barked. "The reindeer arrive soon."

Santa obeyed his warden.

So who is the author of this prize-winning gem? Who knows? Our mystery writer sent an email address but no name! Come out of the closet, Jeanne won't bite (hard).
 
Comments:
*opens closet door slowly*
*mumbles*
Dammit. Gotta oil those hinges before I open this door again.

*blinks in the daylight*

*waves to the pretty people*

Hi. Er, I did it. I let Mr. Claus out of my head. He shouldn't be any trouble now that he's mindful.

Me? Oh, I'm one of those awful wannabe writers that never finishes anything. I have this one short story that I started twelve years ago; I'm now halfway through Book III.

So writing to a word limit was, erm, interesting. And fun. And ... ZOMG!!!! I REALLY WON????? WOOOT!!!

*snatches demeanor back, smacks it into submission*

I'm middle aged, live in the midwest, have one indulgent husband, one feisty adult daughter, one gorgeous retired horse, and three cranky cats. I wrote computer software for decades. I want a puppy. I'm short, plump, have very long straight hair, and I wear glasses.

Jeanne, do you recognize the description? I met you at RTCON: you and I and Vicki had breakfast together Sunday morning. Hence the anonymous story submission. I didn't want to influence how you read the story. (ANN?? Wasn't she that weird woman who tried to bribe me with food to give her my agent's name? And it wasn't even chocolate?)

*frowns* What do you mean, Jeanne won’t bite?
 
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