Contest Results AND Guest Feature Alyson Schroll!

I'm doing a double today - combining my contest results with a fun interview featuring Alyson Schroll from over at Pages From My Journal, a fellow teen writer who attended the Greater Philadelphia Christian Writer's Conference at the same time I attended Realm Makers.

So, first, the contest results, since I know you're all dying to hear about them. I had a total of 28 entries - eight more than I hoped for originally! - from 15 different authors. I never understood the whole thing about contests being so hard to judge until now. Thank you for making it nearly impossible.

But, I still had to choose a winner. Much as I hated to. As much as I would love to give you all the prize you deserve for buckling down and entering such amazing stories, the random number generator (a.k.a. my mom, who had no idea what was happening) has spoken, and the winner of the drawing for the (now signed) copy of Plot vs Character is...

J. Grace Pennington!

Grace, who not only entered the limit of five times, had the first-place entry and one runner-up that I couldn't bear not to post. I was very glad the random number machine a.k.a. mom picked her, and I felt wonderful about packing up the book today and scrawling her address on the front in Sharpie. Fantastic job, Grace!

In addition to the winner of the drawing, the three winners are:

1st: J. Grace Pennington - All My Tomorrows
2nd: Kitra Skene - The Magpie
3rd: Meaghan Ward - Don't Let Go

I'm going to publish these, starting with the first-place winner and going down, once a week. In addition, there were five runners-up I couldn't bear not to publish, so I'm going to go through those in no particular order. Those are a surprise; you'll have to wait and see whose are going up. ;) See, I really am the Queen of Torture. (I'm going to soften things a bit, though, and email the person whose entry is going up so they don't miss it.) I'm also going to critique every entry using my book review system, saying what worked for me and what didn't. So keep a watch out for Grace's All My Tomorrows and my critique sometime between tomorrow and Friday. I can't wait for you guys to read it!

And now, Alyson's interview. (I will also be answering the same questions, except about the Realm Makers conference, soon, except on her blog, so look out for that too.)

1. What made you decide to attend the conference?

I had heard about the conference through an author who had attended it and suggested I go to the teen day. Many people told me that going to a conference was the best way to get an agent or editor to read my work, so when I had a full novel ready, I chose to attend the entire conference.

2. Meet anyone special?

I met Ruth Samsel, who is a fellow agent with Rachel Coker's agent. Rachel and I have met and keep in touch so that was special. I also met Dina Sleiman who works for Whitefire Publishing and has posted on Go Teen Writers a couple times. It was nice to have connections with some of the people.

3. Did you do anything embarrassing?

In one of my appointments, I met with a man who didn't take fiction. This was embarrassing to me because I spend hours doing research and overlooked that major fact. But, I am very proud of myself that I didn't get lost. I am directionally challenged.

4. Were you as exhausted as I was?

I commuted to the conference, so the early mornings and late nights made me very tired. The first day was the day for teens and there were nine lectures right after another not including the morning and evening keynote.

5. Are you an introvert, and did that affect how you interacted with the people there?

Depending on the people I'm around, I can be very shy, but my confidence got a huge boost. Once I had my first professional conversation, I was good. I asked God to give me courage to talk to people about my story, and he did. I think I told my mom after that I didn't know where the extrovert in me came from. It sort of just happened.

6. Did you come home with any special encouragement or insight into your writing?

Many people complimented me on my professionalism, how prepared I was, and how I presented myself. One editor loved my writing style and one said that I communicate my ideas well. I was able to take their tips and immediately formulate a way that I would apply it. I think that helped. Agents and editors are looking for people who are teachable, and that's what I presented myself as.

7. Did you take lots of notes?

I took notes in every class. Some on my laptop, and some on paper.

8. Can we have a sample? ;)

One thing that really struck me as interesting was when an author explained the strategy behind length of paragraphs. When you begin every chapter with short paragraphs and slowly move into longer ones, the reader will begin to read it and then get hooked into reading the rest. I had never thought of it like that before.

9. Was there an assumption about conferences you had prior to going that was proved right or wrong?

Going into the conference, I had assumed that everyone was there to get their book published. I had not thought about the people who were there to learn how to write a book to begin with.

10. Would you go again?

I would love to go again. Hopefully, next time, I'll attend as an author.



Thanks so much, Alyson! (See, my first guest post and my first contest - I didn't do too bad, did I? ;)
E

Day 3

Left to right: Me, Meaghan, and Kathy Tyers.

The next morning, I cry for no reason.

"Okay, what's the matter, kiddo?" Kaitlyn asks. Even this early after a 1 AM bedtime, she's jaunty as ever.

I could say it's my nausea or my nerves or my lack of sleep or my fried brain. But it's not. "No reason," I whimper. "I'm serious. There's really no reason. I just felt like I needed to cry."

I skip breakfast, wondering if it will help. It doesn't. By the time we pull out of the parking lot on the way to the conference center, I think I've composed myself enough to get through the day, but the sight of a gray Honda van puts me over the edge. I sit in the backseat and snuffle, half-hoping they will notice me and half-hoping they'll leave me alone. Because it really is ridiculous that a van that looks like ours would make me bawl.

Inevitably, Kaitlyn wants to know what's wrong.

"There was a van -- l-like ours in the parking lot." I swipe at the tears gathering in the dark circles under my eyes. "I'm sorry. This is stupid."

Kaitlyn takes a deep breath and snaps into tirade mode. Or maybe it's a pep talk. I'm not sure at this point. Perfectly reasonable is the running theme. Because it's perfectly reasonable that I should be a tear-stained mess this morning. I happen to disagree, but the glimpses of Kaitlyn's dramatically black-outlined eyes in the rearview mirror hearten me a little.

"But it shouldn't have to make my face look so awful," I manage. I hope it won't still look awful for my mentoring appointment with Kathy Tyers this afternoon.

"Oh, honey, you should see when I cry."

Funny. I'm usually the one calling people pet names. And this is the part of the conference I was dreading, and it really isn't that bad. I think I can make it.

Then I go into the conference hall. Almost everyone is there. I walk by Kat Heckenbach and poke her in the arm. She whirls around and the first thing she wants is a picture.

I hold up my hands. "No, not now," I protest, trying to laugh. "I look awful - I've been crying. Homesick."

"Aw, I'm sorry," Kat says, her eyebrows furrowing and her lips drawing together into something that is part grimace and part smile. "Later?"

"Yes! Definitely, I want a picture later. Just not now."

Kaitlyn makes me sit in the front row. I hold my head in my hands while Bryan Davis prepares his slideshow and think about how ridiculous it is that I can cry on command just now. If Meaghan told me to start sobbing, I would. For no reason.

I've never been this exhausted.

But as Mr. Davis starts talking, my pencil scribbles draw my attention. At the end of a particularly fascinating class about the hero's journey and some sudden insight about my main character that I hope I can thank him for later, I realize that I'm fine. Though the morning's escapades seem no less pathetic.

I sit through the next few classes with Meaghan on one side and Ness Treskillard on the other. We're all wearing plaid and we tell Kaitlyn she missed the memo. Kat gets the picture she wanted at lunch. She seems so approachable and I sit at her table through the rest of the meal, surprising myself with my boldness. Yesterday it was Bryan Davis and Jeff Gerke, today it's Kat and Grace Bridges and Robynn Tolbert.

Grace says she didn't expect me to look so young. "Really?" I ask, longing to imitate her accent - a round, slippery kind of sound like a greased rubber ball, sliding out of my mouth as easily as it slides in - but not sure if mimicking your international acquaintances' accents over lunch is something that will gain you friends or lose them. "So is the food much different here than in New Zealand?"

"Yes," Grace says, going back to her broccoli.

Beside her, Robynn bursts into laughter. "Now, see, I'll show you. You can't ask open-ended questions; you have to say something like, 'Now Grace, tell me about the different food in New Zealand!'"

"Ahh." I grin. Grace doesn't look offended, just smirks at her plate, then looks up and tells me about the fish and chips shops. She sounds a little more like me than I expected.

I get jittery when we leave lunch to return to the conference center. At 2:45 I have my appointment with Kathy Tyers, and it's one thing I've been looking forward to, not dreading. Back in class, I watch the clock and doodle flames at the top of my schedule page. I'm almost falling asleep - by no fault of the teacher, because even though I don't write comic books, Matt Yocum is fascinating - but because exhaustion always seems to catch up with me about 1:30 PM. I finally understand the cliche about eyelids being too heavy to keep open.

When I take another look at my schedule, trying to remember how long the class runs, I jump. Meaghan looks over at me, baffled. "My appointment," I whisper-hiss, since we're still in the front row. "I missed it. I had one at 2:45 with Kat yesterday - the one for today was 2:15, not 2:45, and I missed it!"

Once the comics class is over, I pace the hallway, regretfully missing the presentation on Splashdown Books, occasionally looking into the room at the end of the hall where Kathy is now busy with another girl. I find Becky in the bookstore and ask if Kathy has any more slots open today. Becky says she does, but the mentors work on their own schedule so she might have filled them up again already. Pace, pace. I read everything on the bulletin board twice and sit for two-minute chunks on the sofa in the sun at the other end, so I won't look too anxious.

Finally, I look back into the room and she's talking to Bryan Davis. "Mrs. Tyers?" I venture. I can almost feel the enormous weight of the Firebird trilogy in my arms. She turns. "I, um, missed my appointment because I mixed it up with the one yesterday, because I had one at 2:45 and today's was at 2:15 -" I really am babbling. I shut up.

"You want to come in now?" she asks, looking up at me from behind the rims of her round glasses.

"Oh - yes! Just let me get my notes." I race back down the hallway at the fastest allowable pace, hearing my mom's voice in my head about not running in the house. Meaghan, sitting on the sofa in my place, raises her eyebrows.

"YES!" I scoop up my notebook and pencil. "She's open for an appointment now!" Without waiting for a response, I dart back to the room and slide into a chair opposite one of my favorite authors.

I had a list of questions, but somehow they get buried and we just chat. She talks about her book. I talk about mine. Kathy is intense but funny, seeming interested in everything I have to say, and very flattered when I drop a hint about how much I love her books. She strikes me as someone who really loves her work. Not only as a writer will love it, but as a mother will love a child. There's a sense almost of detached pride when she beams and thanks me for telling her.

At the corner of my mind I see that Jeff Gerke is sitting across from us. When his client gets up to leave, I glance over and find him looking at me. Very slowly, as if it's the most normal thing in the world, he makes a face at me.

I burst out laughing mid-sentence.

The rest of the day somehow seems perfect. Even after I miss supper, lock myself out of my room, and aim a good-natured barb at L. B. Graham, which gets uproariously laughed at. The book signing downstairs has a slightly sad air to it - it's the last time we'll be together for at least a year. No one knows. I lug my copy of Firebird around until Kathy is free, then introduce her to my mom and plunk the huge trilogy down on her table for her to sign.

She signs it To E.

Day 2

Day 1
Day 3

It's 9:09 AM. Meaghan and I are running on 5 and a half hours of sleep and the streaming adrenaline. Kaitlyn is running on chocolate-covered almonds.

I keep looking around for people I know, but the nametags are mostly hanging below the level of the tables. I get an idea for the first line of my blog post and write it on a mostly-blank advertisement in the handout. The conference room is cold and I'm made of nervousness.

But I know the keynote speaker. I've looked up his website three times in the last six months just to read through the beautiful requirements for submitting. So eloquent. So...so fitting of his vision. And I have so many connections I'm buzzing to explore.

Jeff Gerke - Jeff Gerke himself - starts walking by the tables and handing out shiny pamphlets with newsletter information on them. He reaches our table and says in a casual way, "I'm looking for the young author who drew a picture of me on their blog. Did any of you..."

I shake my head, thinking of a pencil portrait or something. Then I see out of the corner of my eye that Meaghan is pointing at me. "Wha -"

"You did it?" Mr. Gerke asks, his eyebrows rising in light brown half-circles.

"No," I say, jerking my head back and forth. I'm jerky when I'm nervous. "She's making fun." I shoulder Meaghan. "Stop it."

Mr. Gerke moves on. I turn to my quietly mischievous friend. "What was that for?" She shrugs, grinning.

Then my hands fly to my mouth. "Wh - um - I think - did he mean my stick figures?"

Kaitlyn shakes her head, vaguely. "I don't...think so."

I see him coming past our table again. "Mr. Gerke!" I call. The clamor of voices buries mine like dirt over a seed. Oh well. Just the thought of yelling over that crowd makes my heart rate spike.

Becky Minor traipses up to the front of the hall in a geometric purple dress. She looks a lot like she does on Facebook. I'm wishing I hadn't eaten so much breakfast, even though I didn't eat much at all. After the opening announcements and her acknowledgement that we're pioneers (I'm a pioneer in a different way - the hermit converted) she gives the mic to Mr. Gerke.

Practically the first thing he asks, after the perfunctory welcome, is for whomever drew the picture of him on their blog to identify themselves.

My right hand comes out from under my leg and creeps up on its own, barely to the level of my face, the cold air buffeting it and making my fingers tremble. My hand wants to be seen, but the muscles of my arm keep it low, hoping it won't be.

Mr. Gerke must have sharp eyes. "You did it?" he says, incredulous, holding his hand out to me.

"Th-the stick figures?"

"Yes! But you said -" He gestures to Meaghan in confusion.

"I forgot!"

People are starting to chuckle. My head whirls, but my breath is coming surprisingly clear, tinged with sharp adrenaline like the sparkle in mineral water.

"Well, she said her mental image of me was in a suit, and -" he looks down at his slacks and his Marcher Lord Press T-shirt, eliciting a real, full-out laugh from the audience. "But you guys should go see it, or we should post it for everyone to see. But later she's going to pass out business cards and everyone's going to be like this." He crouches on the floor in an imitation of the frightened stick figures.

By this time my face is hot and I'm laughing with the audience, harder than I can ever remember, except that time at Thanksgiving dinner when, giddy and full of food, I lay on the floor and laughed so hard I knew I would fail if I tried to get up. The lack of sleep is probably contributing. Not now. Please, don't let me end up on the floor.

I cover my face with my hands and try to compose myself. Fortunately, Mr. Gerke soon moves on into the rest of his speech, with no further mention of the stick figures.

I scribble my way through two more classes, determine to write a flash fiction entry even though I'll most likely have to do it at midnight, which is probably when we'll get back to our dorm. I've never written at midnight and want to try it.

Then, lunch. Kaitlyn drives us back to Provincial House. The topic of the stick figures is unavoidable.

"Your face got so red," Kaitlyn says, stopping at yet another of the unnecessary stop signs.

"It did? Oh, no."

Meaghan turns around, her hair swinging against her chin as the van jolts forward again. "I thought you were going to pass out."

I lean forward, gripping the seat handles. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

We enter the cafeteria. Kaitlyn and Meaghan head for the table where we ate breakfast, but I hang back, scanning the room. I'm not sure I can do it after this morning. I'm not sure I can do it anyway. But my feet, propelled by the threat of regret and Jill Williamson's limitless wisdom, creep toward Jeff Gerke's table.

The published authors seem to group together. Not through any desire to exclude us, I'm sure, but all the same it's daunting to walk up to Bryan Davis and ask if he minds if I join them. Bryan Davis.

"Sure," he says.

I walk around to the only empty chair at the table. Right across from Mr. Gerke. I shut my eyes briefly. Really, God? It would be so much easier if there weren't any chairs empty or - something! 

I sit down. From Mr. Gerke's smile as he looks up from his conversation, I can see he recognizes me. "So, you going to give me a business card?"

Something takes over from there. To my relief, it's something calm and rational, something that knows the lines I rehearsed much better than most of my brain does. Something that steadies my voice and my hands as I reach for the business cards in my pocket and say "I wanted to ask, you gonna let me make my dream come true?"

I hand it across the table. He takes it and tosses his arms up. "There! Now you've fulfilled your comic!"

The rest of lunch is a blur. I eat flavorless green beans and don't notice. We talk about my book and the conference and middle names. When Kaitlyn leans over the back of my chair and says it's time to go, I realize I've eaten almost nothing but green beans. "I just - have a few more bites," I protest, realizing I probably didn't spend as much time eating as I should have. How could I? I was busy with more important things.

We file out of the lunchroom with a trickle of other late attendees. A wave of warm, humid air envelops me as we walk to the car. Meaghan and Kaitlyn look at me expectantly.

"He has my business card." I clench my fists and grin, so hard my face hurts. "Jeff Gerke has my business card! I am so freakishly excited!"

Day 1

It is currently 11:00. I am exhausted and full of words.

We made it to St. Louis (with a small side trip on the way to meet Grace of fantasy photoshoot fame and climb in her amazing trees.) We drove in circles around the college, found the conference building, drove in more circles, and finally found our dorm. Then we went through a bunch of scanners and lasers and brain readers ... or at least it felt like it. Really, we just sat outside until we got put in touch with the right person in the right building and then they let us in.

So now I am making myself at home in the dorm, which is rather stark. I wish I had some markers to scribble on the walls with. That would make it so much more cheerful.

 

 There is a nice older lady in the fourth room of our suite. I feel sorry for her. 

This is not the nice older lady. This is Kaitlyn, pretending to be Cousin Itt.

Also, Kaitlyn pretending to be a ninja. The black pants really help, don't they? We all decided to sleep in the same room (and wake up at 6:45. Can't wait to see how that's going to turn out.)

Anyway, my bed is the only one not set up, and we are all very slap-happy. You wouldn't want to be here in this explosion of fun right now. You really wouldn't.

Hopes and Dreams

You can't go for months anticipating one of the larger events you've ever been to without a certain degree of imagination of events. At least, I can't.

So here are a few of my goals...hopes...whatever you want to call them.


1. Meet Jeff Gerke, possibly give him a business card and talk about my novel. Maybe get a book signed.

 Apparently my mental image of him is in a suit. And that's me in my costume, although I have no doubt he'll be in costume as well. And far too many stars.


 2. Meet Kathy Tyers, possibly give her a business card and talk about my novel. Maybe get a book signed. Or two.

If you were wondering, that's my best Jennifer Lawrence impression. And those things on Kathy's feet are flip-flops. She's also notably confused because I'll probably be babbling. (I will also probably be wearing shoes, but I was tired of drawing shoes.)

3. Pass out twenty business cards.

 Yeah. That one is pretty self-explanatory.

4. Stay up late.

This one is mostly a lie (I really really hope I can sleep) but will probably end up happening anyway. And those things sticking up past the back of my head? Those are my legs. And I hope we're all fairly accurate - that is, Kaitlyn still has energy enough to tell us a long story at the end of the day, while Meaghan and I watch in enthralled exhaustion.

5. Learn stuff

 This one is probably inevitable too.

See you afterward!
With fear and trembling,
E

Six days...

"Chances of survival are dwindling into single digits now..."

Needless to say I'm starting to get frantic. But no need to worry! A certain conference faculty member has assured me that she'll have smelling salts handy. *goes to get a paper bag to breathe into*

May I remind you all that six days to the conference means that you have eight days to submit to my contest? That's right! A little over a week left, and I have a pretty decent pool to pick from. I am super excited.

In that note, I have something to show you...we went to town today and were very pleasantly surprised when the business cards were neither as expensive nor as time-consuming as we expected. We had a hundred of 'em printed for $25 in a couple hours - would have been sooner, except that I had to move the text around a bit so the words didn't get chopped off, and then we were fascinated by all the neat old machines in the print shop. Man.

 So here's the design (left is front, right is back):

And here's the finished product:

I am pumped to start handing these out. But I suppose that'll have to wait at least until tomorrow, because 10:30 Friday night isn't exactly the best time to promote a novel.

E

Official Giveaway Post

Ok, so I'm tired of directing people to the post about the giveaway with all the clutter in it, so I'm going to make an Official Giveaway Post. Yes, this is two posts in one day. You're welcome.

Here is the original post, for those of you interested.

The reason:

I'll be attending my first ever writer's conference on August 2-3. The keynote speaker will be Jeff Gerke, so I'm giving away a copy of one of his books.

The prize:

Plot Versus Character by Jeff Gerke

"What's more important to a story: a gripping plot or compelling characters? Literary-minded novelists argue in favor of character-based novels while commercial novelists argue in favor of plot-based stories, but the truth of the matter is this: The best fiction is rich in both.
Enter Plot Versus Character. This hands-on guide to creating a well-rounded novel embraces both of these crucial story components. You'll learn to:

• Create layered characters by considering personality traits, natural attributes, and backgrounds
• Develop your character's emotional journey and tie it to your plot's inciting incident
• Construct a three-act story structure that can complement and sustain your character arc
• Expose character backstory in a manner that accentuates plot points
• Seamlessly intertwine plot and character to create a compelling page-turner filled with characters to whom readers can't help but relate
• And much more

Filled with helpful examples and friendly instruction, Plot Versus Character takes the guesswork out of creating great fiction by giving you the tools you need to inject life into your characters and momentum into your plots." (That's from Amazon, by the way. No need to thank me. ;))

Each participant will also receive an optional critique from me on the entry of their choice.

The rulez:

You may enter up to five stories (fiction, prose), as long as they are inspired by pictures from my Pinterest boards Waiting For My Pen or Souls.
Lower limit is 100 words, upper limit is whatever you like (just so long as it's not a novel. Yipe.)
You can write in any genre or even in no discernible genre at all.
Send your story/ies and attached picture/s to elizabeth liberty (at) hotmail (dot) com by Friday, August 2nd.
Include "Contest Entry" as your subject line.

The winners:
I will choose the three stories I like best (criteria are good writing, good characters, originality, uniqueness, and all that jazz) but I will also randomly pick three stories to go in with them. I will then randomly choose the final winner from that pool. The three best stories will go on the blog.

I got my first two entries today. YES! There are 35 days left, guys - plenty of time to pick out a picture (or two or three or five), write, and polish a little. And if you're tired of hearing about this already, well, too bad. ;)

I'M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE!

Yes, you heard me. After deliberations and exhortations and affirmations and quite a few confrontations....I am going to the conference.

I never in a million years expected everyone to be so supportive. Nevah-evah. And then things started happening...like my dad never even questioned that I should go, when I expected to have to explain things favorably to him. And it turned out that I wasn't going alone after all. And God kind of intervened.

I debated about posting this here, but I finally decided to. It's an excerpt from a notepad file I spill all my guts into when I feel like I can't hold them in any longer or I'll yell at someone. So I go yell in text. It works.

    So here I am again, because I need to think.
    Play the heroic music. Type whatever comes to mind. I would do this more often, if it didn't depress me so much.
    So. The conference.
    There's so much tied up in it. So many emotions, so much promise.
    There's not really anything to be afraid of. There isn't.
    Oh, that feels good. There's nothing to be afraid of, Elizabeth. E. My beloved.
    Is this my answer?
    Oh, God. Before I even ask. I'm going to cry. Before I can even bring out all my fears, untangle them and leave them in neat piles, You comfort me. I guess You don't need things neat and tidy, do You? Look at me. I'm a mess. And You love me.

That was when I really did start to cry. This is copied directly from that file, where I typed it as it came to me. It's not been touched by my red pen.

        My hands are shaking. I can't see the screen now but I touch-type, instinct guiding me. Instinct. My first instinct was to go. Isn't that what You gave them to me for? Trust your gut. Trust Me.
    My face is slick, tears and sweat. I wipe the dust off my keys in one shaky motion and reach for a kleenex, then almost laugh. I'm out of kleenexes.

    Let not your heart be troubled.
    That sounds like a choice.
    I choose. I choose.
    I choose not to worry about this. I choose to trust.
    What if the peace leaves me? I can remember. I can still remember.
    Even this could be a message. This gift I have for putting things into words, neat black characters across a neat white page, with all my emotions spilled across them like a shimmer you can see if you tilt it the right way. I have a talent. And I'm pretty sure I'm using it right. But this could be - this could be big.
    So.
    A decision here seems so final. I can't write it out. I can't.
    Can't I?
    I'll go.
    I'll go to Realm Makers.
    Don't think about it any more. Don't stew or fret or worry. Dinna fash yourself.
    I'll go.

As for not going alone...not only do I get to go with THIS lovely person (Kaitlyn/Airianna from The Rainbow in the Storm:

But THIS amazing person is coming as well (Meaghan from over at Within the Writer's Wardrobe, formerly from The Patriot's Call)!

So I'm still alternating between terror and feverish excitement, but since it's all set and final now, I'm going to celebrate with my first giveaway. Yes! A real one! With a real book you can hold in your hands! None of that e-book garbage. ;)

Turns out Jeff Gerke is going to be the keynote speaker at said dreaded and highly anticipated conference. In honor, I decided to give away a copy of his writing book, Plot versus Character, sure to appeal to any fellow writer. But this isn't any lazybones giveaway - you'll have to work for it.

I have here a link to a Pinterest board. Not just any Pinterest board - my Pinterest board, with all my writing prompts on it.

To enter, go to the board and choose a picture. It can be anything on the board. You don't even have to follow me (though you might get extra points if you do. Then again, maybe not.) Then write about it. It can be as short as 100 words or as long as 1,000. Even longer if you like. It should be prose, fiction, and can be any genre, as long as it's about that picture. You may enter up to five times, using five different pictures.

Now before you protest that you're not a very good writer, let me say that won't be the only criteria. For the final pick, I will choose three stories I like best - I'll be looking for good writing, good characters, originality, uniqueness, and all that jazz - but I will also randomly pick three stories to go in with them. I will then choose the final winner out of that pool.

But wait! There's more! Each entree will also get a critique from me on an entry of his or her choice, and the three best will have their stories published right here on this blog.

Just send your story/ies and attached picture/s to elizabeth liberty (at) hotmail (dot) com - no spaces - by Friday, August 2nd. Please include "Contest Entry" in your subject line and your name (or pen name) in the email.

I cannot wait to see what you all come up with!

The Zone

       Once upon a time there was a hermit. But this was no ordinary hermit. She lived out on a prairie covered with corn and soybeans and could count seven houses and a highway from her front yard. She smiled and laughed with neighbors and family when they came to call, ran her siblings in a wagon along a driveway so old the rocks had snuggled into each other and grown rims of fluffy moss and clover like old ladies' hair.
        But mostly, she listened.
        To people. To their sorrows, their joys. To birds and wind and water, and the precise sound the motorcycles made when they rumbled past the house on a soft spring evening.
        Then, she described.
        To herself, in her mind. Or jotted down carefully in one of a dozen notebooks. Or murmured like a charm when there was no one else to hear. Tapped out on the keys of her precious, battered laptop, or shared with her mother, who understood those things.
        But never had she gone out.
        She had heard of others who had. Scattered across the many thousands of miles of her land, others of her kind had emerged here and there every so often in a flurry of crazed activity - cicadas, making a lot of noise and a lot of bustle for a few weeks before everything quieted down to normal again.
        That's nice, she thought, watching them from a distance. Maybe I'll go when I'm ready.
        But it came too soon.
        Realm Makers.

         Those two words were enough to strike dread and fierce exhilaration into her little hermit heart. Her own people, gathering, this summer, less than two hours away. Imagine the opportunity. The enlightenment. The fellowship.
         "They're having a costume dinner," she whimpered.
         But her quiet, devious brain whispered doubts to her quiet, timid heart. What if they don't like you? What if you embarrass yourself? What if you can't think of anything to say?
          "What if your head explodes," her mother said practically. "If you want to go, go."
         "But -"
         "No."
          She woke up early one morning two weeks later with those two words pounding around in her head.
         Realm Makers. Realm Makers.
         She looked at her calendar.
          Less than two weeks left to sign her life away.
         Or at least, two terrifying days of it.
         She scribbled out her thoughts in frustration, alone in the half-light but for the birds and her purple pencil and her trusty thesaurus. Because even now, she wanted to get the words right.
         She laid down her paper and stared up at the ceiling. Her sister rolled over and threw an arm over her. She smiled. She was happy here.
         But weren't people always saying to get out of the zone?
         Your comfort zone?
         She wondered what it was like out there.
         She clutched her thesaurus to her heart and whispered, "What should I do?"

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