Lost on the Rock Contest - 2nd Place

Denise Covey, or L'Aussie as she is often referred to in cyberspace, hails from Brisbane, Australia. I have become familiar with her over the past several months due to her regular contributions to the #fridayflash scene where she posts her stories at http://flashquake.blogspot.com. Some  may even consider her a 'prolific' blogger as she also posts travel stories/photos at http://laussiestravelblog.blogspot.com and has a blog devoted to her French travels, stories and book reviews. You can find that at http://pichetsinparis.blogspot.com .

Be sure to drop over to Laurita's blog, Calling Shotgun, where you can find our interview with Denise. Without further delay the Lost on the Rock team presents the second place story Lost, by Denise Covey.

LOST  

Her black hair is wetly plastered on her forehead; her dark robe pulls around her ankles like a shroud as she stumbles along the slick sidewalk, a forlorn figure in the misty rain.

I scrape my chair closer to the window and watch. Flowing like rivers around the woman is a multitude of people – tall Africans in technicolour caftans, blue-swathed Afghani women, dark-robed Muslim gentlemen.

Looking out from the café window, I can imagine myself in Baghdad, Beirut or Nairobi.

Anywhere but Paris.

                                                *  *  *

The sky was black and starless, heavy with the thought of rain when I shut the door to my little pensione in the Marais district. My aimless wandering has brought me again to my favourite square in Belleville where it’s market day. More like a Moroccan souk than a Parisian square, I think, with its hodge-podge of wares and rowdy jostling.

I watch turbaned African women elegant in striped boubous, children chattering at their skirts. Tourists weighed down with cameras jostle sober Orthodox Jews heading to the synagogue. North African men, tall and stately in jellabas, enter the mosque on the corner. Turkish men drink their java in the open wooden tea-house across the road, their cigarette smoke sending smutty curls into the grey sky.

The woman is at my window. I see black eyes sunken and mouth gaping. My God! I start to my feet. She jumps back, tosses her head and wails, her keening sharp in the sopping morning air.

I fall back into my chair.

‘Oh my God,’ I groan. I hang my head while the woman sobs. I reach a shaky hand toward the cold glass where her gnarly fingers clutch at her face.

‘You poor thing,’ I whisper. I stay where I am, pressing my cheek against the damp pane, remembering...

I remember the day the bomb fell out of the muggy midsummer sky…

                                                *  *  *

I see the Arab woman turn the corner, stumbling towards hell. She covers her face with her hands, sobbing raggedly, gulping the acrid air. As the searing heat and pestilential dust find her, she drops her hands from her face and stares.

Cement columns lean at strange angles; blocks of wall twist grotesquely like a miniature World Trade Centre, bolts and steel exposed. Where the floor once lay there is a gigantic hole from the mortar, filled with debris, the toxic dust rising in grey filthy puffs.

The debris includes her two children, left at the table, reading, only moments before.

The crowd watches as she throws herself into the smouldering heap, her lips quivering, her arms outstretched, her robes spreading over the monstrosity as if to shield her darlings from the unspeakable sight.

She begins to scrapple in the debris, oblivious to her ripped and scorched fingers, her torn knees, her blood mixing with their precious blood. She chants as she digs, frantically pushing cement chunks aside with super-human strength. Suddenly her frenzied digging stops, she gazes downward, blinks. An unearthly sound erupts from deep inside her.

Men in the crowd step forward at last, their garments flapping as they fight her, drag her bodily, her legs jerking, incomprehensible garble spilling from her mouth. Her scarf falls into the grey pit; her long black hair escapes its bonds and trails behind her in the putrid dust. Her screams get louder, piercing the gritty afternoon air. Mothers turn away, rushing home to their loved ones, to smother them in kisses, to breathe in their baby smell, to hold them safe in their arms.

The woman is hauled away. She looks back. The puddle of blood, dismembered arms and legs, a smouldering tiny leather boot are her last sight of her precious ones. Does her crazed stare register the foreigner clutching notebook and camera stepping from the crowd, reaching out?

                                                 *  *  *

How did she end up in Paris? Perhaps she arrived in Paris’ safe haven via Syria or Beirut, facing further danger on her road towards freedom, but how she would have hated to leave her children.

Their dust lies somewhere in Baghdad.

I sip my coffee with shaking hands, tremble and wonder. When I look at her she jerks away, eyes downcast. She stands erect, walks alone into the crowd, daughter of Ishtar, dignity restored.

‘S’il vous plaît.’ I call the waiter for more coffee.

I reach into my bag and stare at the tatty photo of my family.

The backdrop is the gigantic columns of the World Trade Centre, splendidly piercing the sky. I can still hear them laughing as I joked around with my camera. I gently kiss the darling glossy faces.

I remember afresh the terror of that day when the plane that was flying them home veered off course and crashed into the very same building. My loved ones became part of the debris that floated to the ground, that toxic shower.

Did my little ones cry for me? Did my husband feel relief that my work compelled me to catch a different plane, a plane to my Baghdad assignment? I can only imagine his final thoughts in his final minutes, as he held our children close to his beating father’s heart.

I reach for my press card, tap it on the table, remembering. I fumble in my bag again, retrieve my blank notebook and flip it open.

‘Merci.’ I thank the waiter who brings my coffee. I click my pen and slap it against the page, rhythmically, tap, tap, tap…

My hand shakes as I begin to write:

An Arab woman
Lustrous black hair…no…

Try again…

Dust to dust, dust to dust…oh God…oh God…no…

Suddenly the pen races across the page as if propelled by another source:

The bowels of the earth
Are filled
With pestilential dust
That was once
Flesh and bone

I cover my face with my hands. I begin to scream.

Denise Covey published her first short story at eleven when her dog saved her from being bitten by a snake. She was delighted when it won a competition and so she was bitten by the writing bug. After studying Arts, she taught High School which gave her endless story scenarios. She now tutors English, and writes constantly. She has written two novels and has short stories and travel features published.

Denise loves to travel and dreams of writing a travel narrative. If she’s not at her laptop you can find her reading, researching or running. You can find her at her writing blog.

http://laussieswritingblog.blogspot.com/.

Interview With Angel Zapata

The Lost on the Rock team are pleased to present this short interview with contest winner Angel Zapata of Georgia, USA. If you have not done so drop over to Laurita Miller's blog, Calling Shotgun, to read Angel's 1st place story Keeners.

Have you ever been lost? Physically? Emotionally? Grammatically?

I was raised in a big city, so getting lost in a place with numbered streets was next to impossible. Emotionally? Don’t get me started. I’m always a bit lost at sea. Hell, I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up. Grammatically? I’m very comfortable using my own compass. I never worry about syntax rules or utilizing completely logical structure. My experience tells me that most of us really don’t “speak well,” we just “talk good.” And that’s okay. It’s a realistic outlook I never want to lose. Of course this never excuses the avoidance of editing or use of spell-check.


Tell us about your writing. What is your favorite genre? Do you have a favorite story or character you’ve written?

Since most of my writing is flash fiction, there’s no time for drinks or appetizers. I begin at the meat. And by the end, my goal is to leave you happily sucking on the bones. In regards to genre, the horrific stands predominant, but I don’t mind it served alongside any sub-genre. And my favorite story I’ve written thus far is probably “The Mouth of Babes.” Who doesn’t like dead women with man-eating tattoos on their abdomens? Hmmm, there seems to be an odd food theme going on here…


Where is your writing space?

Unlike other writers I know, my writing space is a constantly moving island. At home, I have a dark corner in the bedroom; sometimes I move to the kitchen counter or my recliner. At my day job, I create outline after outline at any free moment. I can make myself comfortable anywhere. All I need is a flat surface and some sort of fluid or ash.


Are you working on anything right now?

I’ve been clocking in a mess of hours on a poetry chapbook. Short stories have only been in my life for about four years. Poetry has always been my first love. It feels good to return to her. I’m hoping to have it completed by this fall.


When you think of Newfoundland, what pops into your mind?

First thought is Discovery, which is a fitting irony for the “Lost” theme. New found land. It sounds like my writer’s paradise…only colder. Next thought would be Canada, immediately followed by Miller and Davidson. O Canada…you have been so good to me.

Angel Zapata respects the dead. His horror short story collection, The Man of Shadows is available in paperback or eBook through Panic Press and Amazon. He also edits 5x5 Fiction: 25-word stories told in 5 sentences of 5 words each. Visit his blogs A Rage of Angel and 5x5 Fiction.

Lost on the Rock 2011 Contest Winners

I suppose we have waited long enough to announce the winners for the Lost on the Rock 2011 flash fiction contest. We have stalled so long that even I am dying of suspense. I know that everyone is giddy with excitement. It's as if it was Christmas morning...or something like that.

As I noted in my last post, the competition was tight and Laurita and I wish we could put ALL of the stories up here this week. Alas, there can be only four (and two honourable mentions). I should note that the top four represent three different continents. This Internet thingy is really something.

Without further ado, the winners are...(Drum roll, please):

• 1st place is "Keeners", by Angel Zapata
• 2nd place is "Lost", by Denise Covey
• 3rd place is "Oubliette", by Susan Harding
• 4th place is "Where is Esther?", by Mike Jackson
• Honourable mentions go to "Simply Lost", by John Wiswell and "Numbers", by Gerard Smith.

Many thanks to everyone who entered. A thousand blessings to you all and those who live in your tent. I'd also like to thank my writing buddy Laurita Miller for co-hosting this contest. Sharing a contest can be something of a challenge but it's well worth the pay off. A shout out to the lovely 'V' who acted as intake secretary and official bartender for the contest, allowing us to judge the contest 'blindly'. I hope you enjoy the line up of stories and interviews Laurita and I will present this week. Here is the schedule of what will appear here at Conversations From Land's Edge:

Monday-      Interview with contest winner, writer Angel Zapata
Tuesday-      Presenting 2nd place story "Lost", by Denise Covey
Wednesday- Presenting 3rd place story "Oubliette", by Susan Harding
Thursday-     Interview with 4th place writer Mike Jackson
Friday-         Presenting Honourable mention story "Numbers", by Gerard Smith


Over at Laurita Miller's blog, Calling Shotgun, you will pretty much find the opposite arrangement:

Monday-      Presenting contest winning story "Keeners", by Angel Zapata
Tuesday-      Interview with writer Denise Covey
Wednesday- Interview with writer Susan Harding
Thursday-    Presenting 4th place story "Where is Esther?", by Mike Jackson
Friday-        Presenting Honourable mention story "Simply Lost", by John Wiswell

Judgement Day

The fine people at Google have decided 6 days of non-blogging activity was punishment enough for 'breaking' blogger. They have let me come out to play. I just wish they'd give me that missing post back. You remember the one? There were two videos: one where a guy is teasing a dog and the dog is talking back to him. The other had guys trying on an electric dog collar....just for fun. High times.

I won't dwell. I'm prepared to move on to more important things like judging for the Lost of the Rock 2011 flash fiction contest. The lure of wine and nibblies was enough to bring the judges together to rank stories and participate in hand-to-hand combat.  We had it all: 15 flash fiction stories, cheese, crackers, two pairs of
boxing gloves and white wine dispensed from a box in the fridge.

Wine and nibblies on a fine ceramic plate

The stories covered quite a range of subject matter: from death of a loved one, to loss of a relationship. From the loss of moral fibre to the loss of innocence. Coming to think of it, the 'Loss' theme lead to some good stories, but some downer subject manner. *gulps back more wine* Perhaps next year we will run a contest with a more upbeat theme such as "euphoria on The Rock" or perhaps "cuddly animals on The Rock".

The contest was 'blind judged', meaning that we didn't know the names of the writers ahead of time. Surprisingly, the judges seemed to be on the same wavelength as six stories grabbed our attention from the start. The major challenge was putting them in proper order and declaring a winner. We have sent out email notification to the top finishers. These folks will also be given a few interview questions to answer and will be asked to supply a link to their web pages or blogs and also a photo of themselves. Remember...if no photo is supplied, I'll be forced to break out the purple crayon of doom and draw a likeness of that person to run with their interview...



Ripping open the hermetically sealed envelope of authors

Many thanks to all who participated in our contest this year. We appreciate your involvement at every level. Writing and submitting stories, Twittering about the contest, blogging and linking to our posts about the contest...it was all great and we're thankful for such a group of online friends. As usual, it's difficult to narrow it down and we thank ALL of you who submitted stories and wish we could run them all. You're all winners in our books.
We will be waiting for some feedback from the four prize winners over the next couple of days. We will announce the those names, and the names of two honourable mentions, on Sunday, May 22nd along with a schedule of when the stories and interviews will appear here and at Laurita's Calling Shotgun blog.

In other news... I would be remiss if I didn't give a shout out to Cathy Webster and her review of #fridayflash regular G.P. Ching's book The Soulkeepers at her blog. Drop by and check it out.

Savage Beatings. And a Joke

I was going to post this entry yesterday but somehow I broke blogger.

I am sorry.

This week was a fairly regular routine of eating, working, sleeping and reading contest entries. I’ve gotten through a first read and am about to go through them a second time. I have four that stand out as superior stories for me. That being said, I’m sure that Laurita will have four different ones that SHE likes and Ellen will have four different ones for which she will emphatically support and administer savage beatings until we agree with her.

This is not me.

To counter this, I have been hitting the treadmill to build up stamina for what I’m sure will be a spirited debate with my associates to pick a winner for the Lost on the Rock Contest for 2011. I recently signed up for Tae Bo classes in a local gym, thinking it would help me get the upper hand on the lovely ladies. Sadly, when I arrived at the class I discovered it was Tie-Bow…a class where elderly gentlemen get assistance and training on how to create a proper cravat. The women will probably kick my ascot...but at least I will look simply maaaavelous (said like Billy Crystal, of course).

The chuckle of the day yesterday goes to Cathy Webster at her blog Life on the Muskoka River where she presents her “Ode to Lost Dryer Sheets.” If you missed it, it's hilarious and a must read.

And speaking of funny tales…corporate HQ back in Ontario recently held a contest to submit the best joke. The winner was guaranteed extra rations of bread and water. I didn’t bother to enter because I can’t compete against the combined wit of the drafting office. Besides, I could stand to lose a bit of weight. I present the winning entry below.


“For several years, a man was having an affair with an Italian woman. One night, she confided in him that she was pregnant. Not wanting to ruin his reputation or his marriage, he said he would pay her a large sum of money if she would go to Italy to secretly have the child. If she stayed in Italy to raise the child, he would also provide child support until the child turned 18. She agreed, but asked how he would know when the baby was born. To keep it discrete, he told her to simply mail him a post card, and write 'Spaghetti' on the back. He would then arrange for the child support payments to begin.


One day, about 9 months later, he came home to his confused wife. 'Honey,' she said, 'you received a very strange post card today. 'Oh, just give it to me and I'll explain it later,' he said. The wife obeyed and watched as her husband read the card, turned white, and fainted. On the card was written: 'Spaghetti, Spaghetti, Spaghetti, Spaghetti, Spaghetti. Three with meatballs, two without. Send extra sauce!!!!”

And That's a Wrap

The deadline has now passed for the Lost on the Rock Contest 2011. Many thanks to those of you who entered. We had a little flurry of entries on the last day. In fact, one snuck in just before the deadline.

I would also like to thank those of you who helped get the word out via your blogs and Twitter, etc. Every little bit helps. For those keeping score, we ended up with 15 story submissions. I have read four and see that the bar has been set high. Laurita, Ellen and I will meet next week to champion our favourites. I will come prepared this year with boxing gloves and mouthguard. As I recall, Ellen has a nasty right cross...

We will be sending interview questions to the top four finishers late next week and hope to post the winning names on Saturday, May 21st.  The top four stories and interviews will be posted both here and at Calling Shotgun the week after that (ie. the story will appear at one blog, the interview at the other). Perhaps there will even be an honourable mention or two posted as well.

Just to pad this post out a little, I shall provide you a link here to an article at a travel website called Gadling. Perhaps the world's ten creepiest abandoned cities will provide inspiration to the horror writers in the crowd. There's a cool photo of each...from Taiwan to Turkey or Italy to the USA. There's apparently no shortage of places where people just up and left for reasons both natural and man-made.

The Back-up Post

I'm really annoyed with myself this week. To be more precise, I'm really annoyed with my computer. More specifically, my Word program.

A few months ago a had worked on a lengthy post and somehow lost my work. I then started to type out my lengthier posts in Word and then cut/paste them into my blog. On Wednesday I was working on a post about reality television. I finished it after about 1 1/4 hours and then did a spell check. For some reason the program locked up on a paragraph. I was then given an option to retrieve my work, and I did. Now, you'd think that the Fez Guy would hastily move that story to his blog or at least save the dickens out of it. Nope. I tried the spell check again and it locked up again on the same paragraph (it must have thought that it was complete crap). I tried saving the document but this time I must have done something different and then Poof, it was gone.

Those who know me well will attest to the fact that I don't often swear (I leave that up to the boy). He swears enough for all of us. In fact, he swears so much that when he goes to interview with the Canadian navy when he hits 18 they will admit him right away. He could be the profanity instructor to the entire Atlantic fleet. He'd probably make admiral in a few weeks...OK, so I'm off on a bit of a tangent.

Me as a boy...

My reality TV post is now 'Lost' in Cyberspace. Speaking of 'Lost'...the deadline for the Lost on the Rock 2011 flash fiction contest is the end of day tomorrow. You may already know this as Laurita, myself, and our friends have been Tweeting the heck out of this in an attempt to get more entries. It's a mere 1000 words. Give it a try. Take next week's #fridayflash story (if it's already written) and send it to us! (as long as it fits the 'Lost' contest theme). You can read the contest information here. The post about the prizes is here. We will take a couple of weeks to read, re-read and then rank the stories. The top four will be sent a few interview questions to answer and return. The interviews and writer's photo will appear at our blogs the week after the Canadian Victoria Day weekend. If you are selected in the top four and don't want to include a photo, that's OK too...I'll just sketch up a likeness of that person with my handy drafting crayon...

Yeah, the death of my last blog post had me a bit bummed out this week, but my friend Cathy Olliffe sent along this video from tooshocking.com to cheer me up. The cute dog video then led me to this video which, as a former dog catcher who had to deal with obnoxious owners, really put a smile on my face. I don't think that I need to say that alcohol and dog collars don't mix...

Contest Prizes!

Lost on the Rock 2011 Flash Fiction Contest



There are only 7 days left to get your entries in for the Lost on the Rock 2011 flash fiction contest. For those of you still pondering this, you can link to my earlier blog here with all of the contest rules. We are expecting a varied selection of story genres on this ‘Lost’ theme from our combined circle of friends. We're really looking forward to how some of you worked this theme of things 'Lost'.

Laurita Miller and I have had some discussion about prizes and decided on the following four (in no particular order). We're thinking that the story selected as the Contest Winner will get first choice from this list, second place gets second pick, and so forth.

A copy of 52 Stitches horror anthology, edited by Aaron Polson. Strange Publications, 2010. Trade Paperback, 129 pages.This collection of 52 flash stories come in bit-sized pieces of 750 words or less by horror writers from Canada, the United States, Great Britain and Australia. You will find frightening tales from established writers such as Alan Baxter, Cate Gardner, Jeremy Kelly, Jonathan Pinnock and Laura Eno.

A copy of The Cuffer Anthology: Volume II, edited by Pam Frampton. Killick Press, 2010. Trade Paperback, 152 pages. This anthology of 34 short fiction (1200 word max.) features stories of local flair by both new and established writers from Newfoundland and Labrador. This is a collection that varies from literary fiction to science fiction, humour and horror. The feature story is Holes to China by Cuffer winner Chad Pelley. Also included are stories by Jillian Butler and Gerard Collins, not to mention Fledgling by my friend and writing buddy Laurita Miller. My story The Inscription also lurks somewhere within the anthology.

A copy of Haunted Shores: True Ghost Stories of Newfoundland and Labrador, by Dale Jarvis. Flanker Press, 2004. Trade Paperback, 208 pages. Dale Jarvis is a writer, researcher and story teller who lives in St. John’s, Newfoundland. He has searched archival sources and taken first-hand accounts of mysterious lights, ghost ships, headless pirates and other unexplained entities and weaved them into dark tales from all parts of this historic province.

And finally, a $15 gift card from Amazon to get whatever the heck you like...Woot!

We'd like to remind everyone that not only do the top four stories selected by the judges get their stories published either here or at Calling Shotgun, they will also be interviewed by us and have the interview posted on the same day. Think of the crazy things one can say. Think of the promotional value. Does it get any cooler than that? (Don't answer that...)

We would also like to give the prizes a personal touch and perhaps include a load of moose droppings an item or two with each book that screams 'Newfoundland'. Have no fear...there will be no Jiggs Dinners, cod tongues or seal flippers sent out with the prizes...