Tag: #ouatwriting

Behind the Curtain Flash Fiction Contest

In vain have I struggled, but it will not be denied. I swore 9 times sideways of Tuesday that I would not run another flash fiction contest. After Fairy Ring, Once Upon a Time Writing Contest AND Faerypin, I vowed I was done with contests for the year.

#lies

Instead, I found myself awake at midnight AGAIN with a brain buzzing with suppressed creativity. And then someone must have cried havoc and let slip the dogs of war. Not one or two but over a half-dozen of my friends started poking and prodding me about when my next contest will be. So you have Ruth Long, Kern Windwraith, Jo-Anne Teal, J.B. Lacaden, Jeff Tsuruoka, Angela Goff, and Lillie McFerrin to blame, along with the countless other Fictionlings who’ve been baying for another chance to enter one of my eccentric pen-fests.

So be it. Too late to back away now. #MOOGHOOHAH

Methinks this contest needs a darker twist, a jagged edge, a crooked seam to counterbalance the beauty and light of the other contests.

My friends, it’s time to go dark. All Hallows Eve is nearly upon us. A chill wind blows, dead leaves rattle past, and good people everywhere lock their doors and light a candle against the dark.

Hear that distant music playing? It’s time to go Behind the Curtain.

Behind the Curtain Flash Fiction Contest

Greasepaint and floodlights and cheerful music out front, but behind the curtain sometimes darker dramas unfold. Whether theatre or circus, pantomime or ballet, there is the world presented…and then the world hidden.

Too often, a gorgeous, painted stage facade conceals dry rot and warped wood. The clown’s smile wipes away to reveal bitter rage. The ballerina’s twisted foot, the leading man’s alcoholism, the abuse of performing animals, all carefully hidden from the audience. For the price of just a ticket, the artifice is yours.

Yet I challenge you to pull it aside, to peek behind the curtain. Who do you see, what do they feel, and most importantly what do they hide?


The prizes are better than ever and will be announced later. Gotta keep you reading, don’t I?

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National Flash Fiction Day and #OUATWriting WINNARS!

 HAPPY NATIONAL FLASH FICTION DAY!

Although this is a UK based website, National Flash Fiction Day (#NFFD on Twitter) has gained traction worldwide. You can click here to find international recognition of the winners.

To celebrate NFFD, I teamed up with renowned British Flash Fiction writer SJI Holliday to bring you the Once Upon a Time Flash Fiction contest.

To be a winner is pleasant, but a WINNAR is a consummation devoutly to be wished.

To select the WINNARS of the Once Upon a Time Writing Contest was akin to finding your favorite puppy in a kennel. Some of them bark loudly to get your attention, some nip at you, some have big puppy eyes and…okay, enough with the simile. It was tough.

After a great deal of consultation with my lovely co-host, SJI Holliday, we FINALLY narrowed it down to three authors.

To see the full and magnificent details of the prizes offered, go here. Thanks again to the generosity of Jessica Gray and Diane J. Reed!

And without further ado, here are the WINNARS of the Once Upon a Time Writing Contest!

* The winner of the AWAKE Prize Package (Best Adaptation of an Existing Fairytale)

ANGELA READMAN

You can read Angela’s reboot of The Little Mermaid, entitled A Mermaid in Texas.

* The winner of the TWIXT Prize Package (Best Original Fairytale)


MCKENZIE BARHAM

You can read Mackenzie’s original tale here.

* The winner of the Grand Prize Package

OLIVER BARTON

You can read Oliver’s story, Pink Bells.

Much thanks and congratulations to all who entered, who made it impossible for us to decide!

Once Upon a Time Writing Contest: Anna Meade

This is my non-eligible entry for the Once Upon a Time Flash Fiction contest. Of course, the linky is closed, but hope you enjoy it regardless.

The Ice Maiden

Greta traced small flowers in the window frost, “Mother, may I have some cocoa?”

Inge was accustomed to her daughter’s formal way of speaking. It’d been a mistake to read Greta poetry, but she hated how mothers gibbered at their babies. As a result, Greta was all precocity at six.

Inge stirred in milk as the wind blew ceaseless at the shutters. After Erik left, she’d scorned moving to her parent’s flat in Reykjavik, opting for country solitude. She’d raise her daughter in peace, without interference or superstition.

“A story, please,” Greta had the golden braids and command of a Nordic princess.

“I told you all the stories I know.”

“Tell me the Ice Maiden.”

“On dark, starred nights the Ice Maiden comes, robed in velvet black and crowned with icicles. If you do not leave her a tribute at the hollow tree, she steals under your sill and kisses you with frozen lips.”

Inge knew the words, but was hopeless at the rich cadences her father once infused in them.

Greta didn’t mind, listening rapt, “Then what happened?”

Inge scooped her up, “Then they lived happily ever after, because it was past their bedtime.”

Once she deposited Greta in bed, Inge snuck to her bedroom for a secret cigarette. She cranked the window open an inch, watching the ash blot the snow on the eaves. Stupid of her to tell Greta that story; she needn’t fill her head with dark-edged tales.

The stove was turned too high and Inge nodded off in her chair.

Outside, snow whirled wildly, like they were encased in a glass globe.

Inge woke abruptly. Something had burned – cocoa! She hurried downstairs, pulling on her thin robe. Uneasy, she switched the stove off. Didn’t she turn it off before? Then she saw the open door.

She ran, bare feet crunching unfeeling through ice crust.

“Greta, Greta!” she cried, wind stealing her words.

She found her at the foot of the hollow tree, mug of cocoa clenched in ice-rimed hand, an unclaimed offering.

Inge kissed her daughter’s frozen lips, to keep from screaming.

Photo by Suzanna Glaze