Stupid Thing of the Week

Well, I am a dumbass.

But no big shock, I've realised that for a long time.

I heard about this fiction-writing contest the other day, and it really got my imagination off its arse. Amazingly, instead of just thinking about the story, I wrote it in longhand in my bed at 5:00 in the morning Wednesday night.

Can you say "in the morning Wednesday night?"

So, I typed it up the next day, and sent it to two of my friends to have them proofread it. I didn't really think I would win the contest, but I was absolutely sure that no one would write a story like mine. I'm almost arrogant that way.

Well, even though I knew I'd not win, I wanted the story to be good, so I did two other drafts of it. Just to be sure.

Tonight, I ran through it one more time, and formatted it to send to the contest.

I checked the website to make sure I had the right address, and--you know where I'm going with this--the contest had closed.

Not only that, the fuggin' thing had already declared a winner.

Now, I'm practically a fiction editor myself, so I know that for a winner to have been declared on the website, the actual contest must have closed days ago, maybe even weeks, to give the judge(s) time to read the entrants and evaluate them, maybe vote, maybe sacrifice a neighborhood child to the god of the spring thaw.

In other words, perhaps before I even wrote mine on Wednesday, the gates had been closed on me.

So, I'm a little disappointed. A wee bit upset. I wasted my time.*

But it ain't the end of the world. I didn't expect to win, like I said. And look at the bright side: I guess I wrote another story, beginning to end.

That and a dollar will buy me a chicken sandwich at Wendy's.

Rish Outfield

*And yours, if you're reading this.