Mary Shelley, The Synergy of Writing, and oh yeah: I am a finalist in a flash fiction contest!

During my art history research the day before yesterday, I paused to enter a flash fiction contest sponsored by Janet Reid, literary agent.

Here was the assignment: Write a 100 word or less flash fiction piece using these words:

ratline

swords

bond

lodger

asylum

This was a challenge, for sure, but I love a challenge, so I gave it a go.  And I just found out that I am one of the seven finalists!  The winner will be announced later today.  Of course I’d love to be the winner, but being a finalist is awesome, too.

The link is here, if you’d like to read my entry: http://jetreidliterary.blogspot.com/2013/01/ratlines-contest-winner-finalists.html

This reminded me, by the way, a bit of the competition Mary Shelley and her friends had one stormy night that resulted in, of course, the birth of Frankenstein.   Not that my entry is to be compared with her story, but I was thinking of the results of such challenges: would Mary Shelley have ever written her story at any other time, under any other circumstances?

The brain writes about what preoccupies it at the moment, of course, even if in twisted ways.  I, for one, am thankful for that sleepless night Shelley spent, and for that group of bright minds that lit one another.

I am likewise thankful for the opportunity to combine words in a way I wouldn’t have without this contest.  I didn’t even know what a ratline was when I first read the word, but I will never forget what it is now.

To synergy, to Shelley, and to contests.  Happy New Year!

 

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One thought on “Mary Shelley, The Synergy of Writing, and oh yeah: I am a finalist in a flash fiction contest!

  1. P.S. I did not win the flash fiction contest, but it was fun. Here is the entry, in case Janet takes it off her website any time soon:
    Looking down from my window ledge, I judged the ground fairly friendly, compared to the confused collage of my life. The fire department offered a ratline asylum, and as I slipped a bit, I clung to it. How could I feel so ambivalent? No job, no love, a petty crime sure to mean time. Betrayals, his and mine. No! I would no longer be a life lodger: with both the swords I had threatened my would-be saviors with, I cut the bond, and with a triumphant yell, I fell.

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