From the category archives:

3: The Contest Entries

Craig Smith’s Contest Entry

by moonwise on March 30, 2010

By Craig Smith

It’s a funny thing when you are asked what you are passionate about. I mean really passionate about, not just care about, or like, love or even love deeply. That isn’t passion, they are other emotions, no less valid, but not passion. So I had to sit down and think about it. Life goes so fast, there is no time to really sit down and think, contemplate life; yet with this question it meant I must.

I love writing, well I think I do. When I get into the swing I’ll write a few thousand words and it’s a breeze, even when I don’t want too. I like my job; fixing things and finding solutions the best way in resolving an issue, without the issue, itself, becoming an issue. I use to love my sports; but never became passionate in it, regardless of how good I was. Why? Because, it probably became too easy. Not too easy to win, but to easy to stop caring if I won or not. That, I think is the start of what passion is about (or isn’t). Its starts by caring. The love of my life; well that is one person who I care about, stirs my passions and to a degree am passionate about, but that passion is again different to what we are talking about here. My children, of course I am passionate about and would die for in an instant (let’s hope we never have to test that one). I am very passionate about their learning and development. I want them to succeed in everything they do, so to that point I am passionate about them and their successes. But that is passion for them, not for me. To see my little female protégées come to fruition is a wondrous thing, but is it passion or pride?

So, I sat back and stared at the ceiling. I went for a walk. I lay on the couch and stared down at my widening girth. It doesn’t look so bad standing up, but lying down we see the flab oozing over the couch, a waterproof covering with no need for Scotchproof. Still, it didn’t help answer my now evident burning question of what stirred my emotions, what I was so passionate about that I would chain myself to a tree and so ceasing the mindless slaughter of innocent rooted beings; or driving headlong into the path of a whaling ship terrorising its research; or maybe just standing up, putting my hand out and just saying “Stop, I don’t like that”. I mean, really, what drives someone to be that passionate?! It made me stop and think. Had I become that lethargic in life that I no longer really cared? Has life gotten that monotonous, the hum drum of city suburbanisation that I had ceased to really care about anything other than where my next meal was coming from? I suppose I had.

Don’t get me wrong, I have read self improvement books, educated myself to a decent level, and even gone to wealth creation seminars, but really at the end of the day, what good has it done me? I have a Blog set up, with nothing written, I have ideas to run my own business, but failed to build a business plan, I have opportunities to make more money, but I haven’t acted upon this information, yet, yet writing this here and now, stirs something. No wait, it’s my coffee. Instead I’m sitting at a computer typing for a competition to get a fictitious character into a book that I would have no control over! Its like a naming competition for a new baby elephant. Do you really think anyone really cares that much? From the classic line in The Matrix “Do you think that’s air you’re breathing?”

So, is it really air that I’m breathing? Staring deep into a now empty mug I have to admit that it’s not. To be truly passionate about something you need to raise it on a pedestal above all else. Without it you would cease to exist, cease to have meaning in life, and cease to add value, not to humanity, but to yourself (I hope I have enough commas). If you believed in Karma, you’d be coming around to have another go next reincarnation. If you are lucky, you either meet someone you lives the same passion, or supports your passion and to some degree will live their life through your passion. If you are indeed lucky enough not to meet anyone that meets your tough rigorous requirements, you will be free to live your life through your passion unfettered. Everyone has a passion in life, but not everyone finds it, and for most, if they do find it, lack the courage to pursue it. I have definitely been reading too many self improvement books!

The last announcement that was on the webpage was that there were 21 correct entries (as of the 25th March). You were expecting thousands…..so what does that say about peoples passion. Either you have a very minute following, or the entry aspects are too difficult to follow. Only dimwits like myself have difficulty following the entry requirements, so we can be assured that entry requirements are not the issue. I cannot believe (contrary to the fact of only 21 entries) there is a small following; can it be people are not passionate? I can’t believe people are passionless, or that they do not truly see what they are passionate about. I do consider that people don’t have belief in themselves to make their passion breathe. They need inspiration, and courage to not only take that first step, but also the next one and the next one, until they can they see their passion, and live it. This is my passion.

http://smithie65.blogspot.com/

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Katja’s Contest Entry

by moonwise on March 30, 2010

in 3: The Contest Entries

SHADOWS

Writing is such a powerful thing. To create a new world, out of nothing, and shape it in any way you like – powerful! You can make it a place you would want to live in, and you can equally easily make it a place no one would want to live in. Black letters on an empty page make up a life under your control.

‘A strikingly purple animal was flying through the air, clearly visible on the deep blue sky of another world. Muscles moving with enchanting speed under the thick smooth skin of the wings, strong… yet so vulnerable.

Ash leaned forward, hastily linking his hands around the dragon’s wide neck, before she dove into a dizzying spin towards the floor. “Aaaaaaaaa!” he screamed. He will never get used to this.’

Addictive as it is, one would think it is also easy. However, it is but the contrary – the hardest thing. Pouring your thoughts and inner images on paper is one of the most interesting processes; so much is written about it, it has been so many times discussed… But weirdly, at the end of the day, it stays something you cannot put into words. It must be experienced in order to be understood.

‘He indeed never got used to it. Because in the next moment, he felt something crash heavily into his chest and a pure white arrow pierced his thin jacket and his dark skin, plunging itself deeply between the two of his ribs. When the metallic point reached his heart with expected precision, his hands slipped silently off the dragon’s neck, no longer feeling the polished surface, and he fell.’

And because of that, you cannot learn how to invent a new world and characters that live in it. Not from a book, not from internet, and not from anywhere else. You can read about it all you want, but you will never be able to write it if it does not come from within you. The stories live inside you, and they are you. It is a part of you that you can give to the world, the part of you that changes our world.

She looked away from the computer screen. “You’re not crying, are you?” he asked, and only then she noticed him standing there, abruptly pulled out of her story. She shook her head and started sobbing. “Who is it this time?” he asked, his voice carefully gentle. He sat down on the bed and took the laptop from her. “Don’t read it!” she pulled the computer back. “No one is supposed to see it!” Tears were still running down her cheeks, making the collar of her shirt wet, but he saw the determination in her eyes and let it go. She set it aside and crawled into his lap. “I had to,” came the barely audible whisper as he pulled her closer.

Even more important than writing, is making your stories available for others. With your own mind, you can create wonderful things. But only when other people believe in them and love them too, those stories really come to life. When someone reads what you’ve written, it begins to grow inside them and it makes them a different person.

In the end, she gave up and let him read it. He knew she would, she always did. Her stories had no meaning without him as a reader – he was the one she wrote for.

But when he finished, he wished with all his being she hadn’t allowed him the privilege this time. It was horrible! His hands were clenched into fists as he paced the room. How could she?! How could she kill Ash? He felt the emptiness inside him, and when a single tear escaped from his eye, he realized he was crying for a boy who was born inside his wife’s head and only existed on paper. Not even that actually, he was a mere compilation of letters on a computer screen.

He seemed real enough to him.

Which is exactly why it is so important what you write about. Supposing you make a world of fear and horror and never give readers any light, what starts inside them is equally dark. And with every person who reads your work, the world becomes a bit more menacing.

‘Lying on the floor was the broken body of a young man. His skin dark and bloody, his features barely recognizable. Despite that, she knew the moment she saw him in the midst of all the other bodies. She would know him anywhere. She braced herself and walked the short distance, her steps steady and her eyes dry. She’s cried enough. She sat down on the floor beside him and brushed her fingers lightly over his eyes, closing them. Then her voice rose to the sky, pure and piercing, singing the song with no words. His body lit up from within, and the light consumed him, as it has done with his life hours ago.’

The worse part, however, is not the darkness, but the fact that you cannot fight pure evil with pure light. Not one person has lived their life in complete purity and innocence, so they cannot believe in a world with no night.

“Here,” she pushed the printed papers across the table. “You have to forgive me,” she said with a slight tremor in her voice. Without a reply, he took the papers in his hands and started reading.

After, he looked up at her, standing there. “I’ve forgiven you a week ago,” he whispered. “You had to.”

Our only chance lies in balance – to create a world where there is good and there is bad, there is love and there is hate. Where destruction is already a new beginning. A world with murder, rape, war… But also a world with creation, where sex is about making love, with peace, writers, actors and dancing. A circle with predators and prey. Shadows.

Mood:accomplished

http://aura55.livejournal.com/613.html

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Alexis’s Contest Entry

by moonwise on March 30, 2010

in 3: The Contest Entries

Text and image entry.

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Lena Champlin’s Contest Entry #2

by moonwise on March 30, 2010

in 3: The Contest Entries

Go here to see her second entry, a Sribd document.

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Lena Champlin’s Contest Entry #1

by moonwise on March 30, 2010

in 3: The Contest Entries

Click here to view her video entry.

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Felicia Fredlund’s Contest Entry

by moonwise on March 30, 2010

in 3: The Contest Entries

The Pain Dreamer

I am Felicia Fredlund – the Pain Dreamer.
I dream dreams of pain, of suffering, of angst.

Pain. The feeling of hurt.
Suffering. Soul deep pain.
Angst. Emotional pain.

Am I a sadist? Do I want to hurt you? Do I want to make you suffer? Do I want you to feel angst?
No. No. No. No.
I never wish pain on anyone. I never want anyone hurt. If I could take away everyone else’s pain by taking it myself, I would.
I dream – daydream – pain. Pain for my characters, for me, to overcome. Pain, suffering, and angst so crushing I wouldn’t be able to survive it in reality.
I suffer through the angst ridden daydreams to let go of pain. To let loose all bottled emotions I carry tight to my chest. A weight if left unchecked makes me so unstable I lash out at anything, and everything.

Pain for release.
Suffer to let go.
Angst to be free.

Those are my dreams at night, my conscious dreams. They are not light; they are not kind; they are not for you or for anyone else. They are not to be told, because I don’t wish to darken the day.
I must think darkness to balance my love of people, of places, of things. Not darkness on you, not darkness on anybody, but darkness for me. It makes me feel good; it gives me release; it makes me free.
Free to love by day. Free to hold family and friends close and strangers closer. Everyone has the potential to be good, to laugh, to love. I want to nurture that to make it grow.
I have empathy for everyone. Love for everyone. It tears the soul, fills it up with darkness. A darkness that needs to be released at night.

Balance.
Yin and yang.
Gemini.

I am a Gemini. It is said I have two faces; two masks. One mask of light and one mask of dark. Two faces to show the world – two potential personas to mould the world with. One I choose to shape my environment and one I shape my dreams with.
Yin and yang. Yin – the mask of night. Yang – the mask of day. They are the balance. Both exists, one would not be without the other. Love and Hate. Pain and Pleasure.
Pain is for night, for bottled emotions, for me; Pleasure is for day, for everyone else, for me. I am light by day, because I am dark by night. I need to be dark by night, because I choose to be light by day.

I dream dreams of pain, suffering and angst to live a life of light, love and empathy.

I create pain, soul deep suffering, and emotional angst. I create it with dreams. I create it with words. Words are the portal to emotions. Emotion is what it’s all about.

I am the Pain Dreamer. I write and dream darkness. It is not a darkness to destroy; it is a darkness to strengthen, to heal, and to create.

http://www.feliciafredlund.com/2010/03/29/the-pain-dreamer/

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Nancy January’s Contest Entry

by moonwise on March 30, 2010

in 3: The Contest Entries

This is an audio entry, so click on the link to hear her entry:

http://nancyjanuary.multiply.com/video/item/1

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Raven Snow’s Contest Entry

by moonwise on March 30, 2010

in 3: The Contest Entries

Introductions Need To Be Made

The walls are a soft blue and the grey carpet reminds you of a storm at sea.

Opposite the doorway you’re standing in, there’s a small bed with crisp white sheets and inviting pillows, but you move your attention on and your eyes rove across the blank walls landing on the light wood of a circular table that has an elegant shining sword balanced across it.

The light, from the windows behind the table, dances and shimmers over the surface mesmerising your mind until a soft “hmm” distracts you.

Your gaze locks onto a pair of honey brown eyes, surrounded by heavy lashes which add to the pure intimidation in that gaze, which clearly states that you’re here by invitation only … and that could be revoked.

As your mind again becomes your own you realise that you have advanced into the room and that it’s more than what it seemed from the innocuous doorway. It’s now larger, with weapons and armours mounted upon the walls, shelves upon shelves of books and yet more items whose purpose eludes you; but the bed and table with matching chairs have stayed the same.

“This weapon is dangerous, but less so under sunlight” the strong yet strangely smooth voice that matches honeyed eyes reaches your ears and draws your attention back to the character before you.

Distracted from the mystical lure of the sword you’re able to study this woman intently and she bears your scrutiny with amused patience that makes her eyes dance, and her bow shaped mouth seem to smile without moving.

At first glance there’s nothing extraordinary about her, however the longer you stare the more aware you become of a secondary layer and the presence about her that demands respect. You once again study the, almost familiar, eyes which are a subtle almond shape framed with lashes that match the waves of black hair that rests around her face and falls gently down her back. Her cheek bones add a soft curve to her face but the jaw’s strong and her long neck’s adorned with a simple sapphire pendant. The strange woman has a well proportioned hourglass figure and although she’s sitting back in her chair, her generous frame gives the impression that she’s too tall for the table set.

She’s dressed in a purple shirt of a warm cotton-like material, and the long sleeves nearly cover her hands which are folded on the table, content to let you finish your note taking.

She knows you need this. You need to see that her dark trousers are made from a strong fabric, like leather yet softer than velvet, which has never been seen before. She knows that you need to notice the inch of heel on her boots is hard enough to resist many miles of travelling over harsh ground; as you finish your inspection and return your gaze to hers you can see the reluctance enter her gaze, but she sighs.

She knows that you will need this also.

“This sword was forged over many hours using pain, anger, hatred, joy and peace as tools to shape it” she pauses, still reluctant, but you wait her out, now filled with a patience that echoes her own.

“The blade is constructed from a shard of my soul, and when it was created I endured many hours of torment and pain … many die when consenting to this process, and I heard the screams of my sisters fade, but I knew you would need me, this … and so I clung to life, and came through with one of the most dangerous weapons I know”

“What is this?” you ask, indicating the sword, and the woman before you

“I’m a Spirit Warrior, my Soulblade responds only to me, but if I kill with it, I must see and momentarily endure the life I have taken” she pauses, “To commit an act of darkness, I must see the light in the life I have taken … one defines the other do you see?” For a moment you believe her mad,

“Why do I need this? Need you?”

“To fight a war, to save a world”

“What world?” at last she laughs a true laugh, a deep rich laugh, the madness recedes from her eyes and you can’t help but smile with her

“That is not for me to decide … that is your choice”

I frown and sit back, glancing out of the number 9 bus window and sigh. I sort of love and hate it when characters introduce themselves this way. I’ve had elves leap from trees, seers greet me at the doorway of their farm’s and now, apparently, a spirit warrior who wants me to help her battle a war and save a world.

A spirit warrior who appears remarkably like my mirror image; Just healthy, and without the glasses … and with a ‘Soulblade’.

She hasn’t told me her name, which is unusual, so for now I’ll call her Spirit. It seems to suit her somehow.

I start paying attention to the bus I’m on, rather than the page before me; and notice a young mother in heels, jeans, and a white shirt, who’s half-heartedly trying to stop her child screaming.

Ah, that would explain my abrupt re-entrance into reality then…

Glancing out of the window again, I drag my MP3player from my bag, and drown out the world. I’ve got an hour, and that’s enough time to grill Spirit about all that she may know.

This is my craft. My home. This is where I am safe, untouchable. Within my stories and tales, with my characters and spells and unique weapons, I am guarded. I do not ‘aspire’ or ‘hope to be’ a writer. I AM a writer. I may not be the best, most fluent, or original at what I do, but every one of my worlds proves that’s what I am and every character in my heart will fight for me to protect themselves.

http://talysmanacontest.weebly.com/entry-1—introductions-need-to-be-made.html

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The Contest Entries

by moonwise on March 29, 2010

in 3: The Contest Entries

Rebecca here.

I just wanted to let everyone who has submitted an entry (that fits within the parameters) know that I think you are all incredible. Each of you has obstacles, whether you have written about them in your entries or not, and you’re working towards what you love despite them. So many of you have touched my heart, made me laugh and inspired me.

It would be a honor to design a piece of jewelry to reflect any one of your personalities. Deciding on a winner is not going to be easy at all.

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