ANNOUNCING: A New Writing Contest

As you may have noticed, once a month we do a column about writing awards. Starting in 2010, we’ll try something new: instead of talking about other contests, we’ll conduct one of our own.


Out of the Slush Pile: The Novel Journey Fifteen Minutes of Fame Contest

Here’s how it will work:
•Beginning in January, 2010, we’ll have twelve monthly mini-contests. See schedule below.
•Each month’s winning entry will be published in this column on the 2nd Monday of the month.
•In January, 2011 we’ll announce the Grand Prize for Best of the Year. The winning entry will be submitted to a panel of agents and editors, and the author will receive an original Muse created especially for the winner.
• No money will exchange hands; no entry fee is required, and no monetary prize will be awarded. This is simply an opportunity for unpublished writers to bring attention to their work. If agents or editors reading these entries want to see more, they can contact us and we will get them in touch with the winning author.

Who can enter?
Any unpublished novelist not affiliated with Novel Journey who has a completed manuscript ready to pitch.

How does an interested writer enter? Download the entry form here. Fill it out and email it, along with your complete first chapter and a synopsis, to NovelJourneyContest@gmail.com. Please do not send the entire manuscript; only the first chapter and synopsis will be read. However, we do ask that the manuscript be complete, so if an agent or editor is interested, you will be prepared to provide it.

What categories will we have to choose from?
• Historical Fiction (WWII era and before) – this includes all historical fiction, including romance
• Suspense/Crime/Mystery/Cozy Mysteries
• Contemporary Fiction/Women’s Fiction (from 1950 to the present)
• Middle Grade/Young Adult Fiction
• Contemporary Romance (NOT historical)
• Science Fiction/Fantasy/Horror

Can I enter in more than one category?
Yes, if it’s a different novel. You may enter a novel only once – a story may not be submitted in two different categories (that is, you cannot submit the same story as both Mystery and Contemporary Romance); and it may not be submitted again in the same category later in the year.

Why are you taking entries for each category twice?
To give writers a chance to complete their WIPs. If you miss your category the first time around, you’ve got six more months to catch the second deadline.

I’m ready now! When can we enter?
You may submit at any time – yes, even today. However, it's not first come-first serve, so there’s no big hurry.

Here is the schedule for entry deadlines and the announcement of winners:
In January, we’ll judge the first round of Historical Fiction (WWII era and before). Entries must be received by December 10, 2009; winner will be announced on January 11, 2010.

In February, we’ll judge the first round of Suspense/Crime/Mystery/Cozy Mysteries. Entries must be received by January 10, 2010; winner will be announced on February 8, 2010.

In March, we’ll judge the first round of Contemporary Fiction/Women’s Fiction (1950 to the present). Entries must be received by February 10, 2010; winner will be announced on March 8, 2010.

In April, we’ll judge the first round of Middle Grade/Young Adult Fiction. Entries must be received by March 10, 2010; winner will be announced April 12, 2010.

In May, we’ll judge the first round of Contemporary Romance. Entries must be received by April 10, 2010; winner will be announced May 10, 2010.

In June, we’ll judge the first round of Science Fiction/Fantasy/Horror. Entries must be received by May 10, 2010; winner will be announced June 14, 2010.

In July, we’ll start over with Historicals. Entries must be received by June 10; winner will be announced on July 12.

August: Suspense/Crime/Mystery/Cozies. Entries must be received by July 10; winner announced on August 9.

September: Contemporary Fiction/Women’s Fiction. Entries must be received by August 10; winner announced on September 13.

October: Middle Grade/Young Adult Fiction. Entries must be received by September 10; winner announced October 11.

November: Contemporary Romance. Entries must be received by October 10; winner announced November 8.

December: Science Fiction/Fantasy/Horror. Entries must be received by November 10; winner announced December 13.

January, 2011: Grand Prize: Best of the Year. Winner will be selected from the previous winners and will be announced on January 10, 2011.

Who are the judges?
The Novel Journey staff.

Can I bribe them?
Though chocolate will never be rejected, it won’t put your entry at the top of the heap. It will only make us fat and happy.

Suppose I’m a winner. How many people are likely to see my chapter when it’s posted? Do you have a lot of agents and editors in your readership?
We can't give you an exact figure, but we can tell you that a lot of people in the business read this blog. So whatever the numbers, you can be assured that winning entries will get exposure. Moreover, the Grand Prize winner will be guaranteed review by a panel of agents and editors. So this is a free opportunity to get your name and your work out there where it will be seen by industry professionals.

I drafted a novel some time back and I think it might have potential. Should I make revisions, polish it up and get it ready to submit?
What are you waiting for? Sit! Write! Send!

We’re looking forward to seeing your entries. And don’t forget the chocolate.

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First Choice for General Fiction Winner

This month we have the privilege of announcing the second category winner of our Launch Pad Contest: Boosting You Out of the Slush Pile.

The category is General Fiction, but there was nothing mundane about the entries. We had several excellent ones, and the judges had to get very picky in order to choose a winner.

After going through each submission with a fine-toothed comb, the judges came to the conclusion that there is, in fact, one that stands out from the crowd.

The winning entry this month seemed to both judges to be ready for publication just as it is. The story has depth and is well developed. The characters are three-dimensional. The action sucks in the reader immediately and the plot is layered with subtext. This is just plain good writing!

It's our pleasure, therefore, to announce the winner of the General Fiction category: The Last Resort by Kerry Ann Morgan of Altamonte Springs, Florida.

You'll find Kerry's submission below. One thing I should mention: the manuscript isn't targeted for a Christian audience, but this blog is read primarily by Christians. In the opening scene, the protagonist is under a lot of stress and responds in a believable, natural way. Because of the makeup of our audience, however, we were concerned that the language in a couple of places might turn off some readers; so we've taken the liberty of changing a word here and there. We're not suggesting the author change the manuscript; we're merely editing it for publication on this blog.

That said, we're sure you'll be impressed with the first chapter. Enjoy!

The Last Resort

by

Kerry Ann Morgan

One year, three months, and two days ago my husband wrapped his BMW around a tree trunk, forcing me into the role of an underage widow and single mom. Though at times my heart still wrenched inside-out missing him, most days I yearned for him to drive back into my life so I could kill him myself. This morning, as I ripped the final foreclosure notice from our hand-carved mahogany front door, I dreamed of slipping cyanide into his single malt scotch.

            Sweat trickled down my dusty face as I plotted how I'd maneuver the hefty boxes inside the three-car garage into the storage trailer clogging the driveway.  If we'd moved two years ago, the front yard would have been filled with a team of movers and a couple of eighteen wheelers. Now, except for the small stash of plastic bins and suitcases  lingering in the foyer, the remnants of our life could fit into a single twelve-foot box.

            Maybe I should have waited for my brother to handle the heaviest lifting, but Dave wasn't off until Saturday, and the bank ordered me out by Friday at five. My parents offered to drive cross-country to help, but I couldn't allow my dad to throw his back out cleaning up my mess. Mom would have chatted about their travels while labeling boxes, her Jean Nate perfume scenting everything she touched. I wanted my mom. I wanted to rewind my life.

            Squeezing my eyes shut,  I pictured Mom, feather duster in hand, belting out “I Am Woman” in her version of '70s housewife karaoke. Yes, I could do this. Since I sang like a goat, I hummed while I hoisted an oversized stack of boxes from the ground and sidestepped towards the trailer. I could do anything. I was strong. I was invincible. I was— caught on a weed rising between the pavers. Before I could spit out a swear, I toppled face first to the ground.
            Technically, I crashed box first.
            “Cuss!” I pushed myself up, careful not to place my hand on any fragments of my great-grandmother's china, now decorating the driveway with sprays of delicate roses and gold leaf. My grandma had bestowed this set upon me at my bridal shower. While I'd sold our fancy Wedgwood to catch up on the electric bill, I'd dreamed of eating turkey dinners with my own grandkids off this set someday. Not anymore. As I lifted a busted box corner, a dozen smashed dinner plates spilled from their tissue wrappings to the ground. I cradled a teapot, now resembling a cracked egg. A gallon of superglue couldn’t put it back together again.

            Spinning away from the annihilation, I diverted my fury towards a boxwood topiary edging the drive. “Consarn it all.” I kicked at the shrub with my calloused food, savoring the adrenaline surge each time it snapped back like a punching bag. “Must. Every. Thing. I. Love. Be. Destroyed!” Each word was punctuated with a kick worthy of a Tae Bo instructor's praise.  Realizing I wasn't going to knockout the bush anytime soon, I whipped back around, flinging the ruined teapot hard enough to decapitate a lawn gnome. The crash granted me an all too brief release before I realized I'd created yet another mess to clean up.

            My glare tempered as I glanced towards to the front windows. No cherubic child's face stared at me in shock, thank God. My six-year-old son, Brady, must still be plunked in front of my laptop watching a Wild Thornberrys DVD, unable to hear a thing over the cacophony of cartoon animals. Not that it would have been the first time he'd watched me melt down, but I was supposed to be past this anger phase and accepting my new reality. And he could do without the swearing.

            As I stomped back towards the garage to fetch the broom and dustpan, I spotted Melinda Rogers― reigning Magnolia Creek Country Club Queen Bee―with chunks of china at her feet.  Melinda wiped the astonishment from her face and picked her way through the debris. I longed to melt  between the driveway pavers.
            “Ivy, honey―any particular reason you're slinging tea sets at me?” As Melinda placed her hand on her hip, the glare from her diamond ring flashed like heat lightning.

             Everyone had expected me to channel Jackie Kennedy's elegant facade of mourning and moving on. Instead I'd gone the Courtney Love route, and emotional exhaustion and financial ruin proved far from flattering. My so-called friends disappeared before the last sympathy bouquet wilted. Melinda and I had shuttled our kids to swim lessons and story times together, even escaped for girl-time cocktails at the club faithfully. Yet I'd heard from her once in the last six months. I couldn’t let her get the best of me.

“Why I do apologize, Melinda,” I drawled. “It seems my aim is off today.” Yes, I should have nailed her. “Just loading up a few boxes. Care to lend a hand?”

            She snorted like a pig―a petite, pampered pet walked on a leash, of course. “Now there's that sense of humor we've all missed. Sorry, but I've got a tennis match in ten, and I need all my stamina to knock Tish Jones on her bulimic behind. Plus, I don't think they'd let me through the club gates all mussed up.” Melinda blatantly assessed my hot mess style. “Well—at least you're thin.”
            I wiped the sweat from my upper lip, smearing a dirt mustache across my pale skin. My frizzy ponytail sprouted from a NASCAR cap I'd dug out of the garage. Dirt striped my tank top and my cut-offs sported a glaring hole in the rear. I hadn't bothered with  makeup or razor blades for weeks, and blood oozed from my stubbly knee.
            “Yeah, well, forget the Divorce Diet. The weight of widowhood can whittle any woman down to the nub.”

Click here to continue.

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