FLASH CHALLENGE: November '08

[kailhofer]

The "Discount Magic" Challenge:



Personal growth.

Self-help books and magazines promise to teach it to you, but of course, they can't, really. You have to figure out how to do that in your own way, because everyone is different. If you can achieve it, you become a better person.

Characters need growth, too. That need to develop gives them a path to follow, a set of wants and goals that tells the writer how they should react in future situations, especially dire ones.

For example, take a hallmark character in the Fantasy genre, Gandalf, from The Lord of the Rings. Everyone loves images of him locked in combat against the Balrog. It’s a titanic struggle, good vs. evil. Both are top notch, ready to “bring it.”

But what if Gandalf wasn’t at the top of his game? What if he met the Balrog when he was still just a novice? Or, put more directly, what would a character you are writing have done? Maybe he or she just isn't very good at magic, or is perhaps even a charlatan, pretending to be a wizard. What would they do?

Here’s a chance at real character tension and development. Does your magic user turn tail and run, or do they stick and fight? What’s this person made of? Have they found something worth saving from the threat, or is it an urge to prove themselves? Is it pomposity, or a glimmer of greatness yet to come? Will they "grow" to meet the test?


I challenge you to craft a fantasy story with a witch or wizard that is not skilled or powerful enough to handle the situation they’ve agreed to face. See the story at the end of this post for an example.

Come on, give it a try.


REQUIREMENTS: (1) The main character in your fantasy story must be an underpowered “magic user” under an obligation to face a serious, strong threat; (2) Include a wooden duck decoy; (3) 1,000 words or less; (4) This is a Rated 'PG-13' challenge; and (5) The characters and setting must be new, or not previously published in Aphelion; (6) Give your story a title and include a byline for when I post the list of authors. Do not bother sending me a bio. I won't use it.

If, in my judgment, any requirement is missed, I won't post the story for voting. Sorry, but rules are for everyone.

HOW TO ENTER: Stories should be submitted to me by PRIVATE MESSAGE, and NOT posted into the thread. If you've never sent a PM, all you have to do is log into this forum and click the 'PM' button at the bottom of this post. That will take you to a special message board, a kind of Aphelion-only email, where you paste your story into the body of the message and then send it to me. You are responsible for doing your own formatting, and for the sake of uniformity, leave an extra line between paragraphs, just like when you see them in the 'zine. I'm allowing different colors for now, but I'm not going to allow changed fonts or sizes, artwork, or any other embedded or external links. I want all the stories to display the same on everyone's computer. DO NOT send a regular email to me--I don't want to risk a spam filter blocking someone's hard work.

NOTE: ONLY REGISTERED MEMBERS who have posted at least one message may submit a story. Without that one post, the system will not let you send a PM. So if you wish to join the challenge, post a hello or introduction, or just put your two cents worth in on any of the discussions going on anywhere in the Forum. We'll be glad to meet you.

DEADLINE: Stories should be in by 10 p.m. Central Standard Time, Thursday, November 20, 2008. The stories will then be posted for voting. Voting will close at 10 p.m. C.S.T. on November 26.

VOTING: Stories will be posted "blind"--without the author's name on them, and the vote results will stay hidden until the poll is closed. This is to make things as fair as they can be, without favorites to be played, and allows for anyone to enter, from newbies to editors. Names won't be on the poll for voting, and all the story titles are literally tossed into a hat and chosen at in random order. When I close the poll after the voting week, I'll post a list of the stories and who wrote them.

If more than two stories are tied at the end of voting, there will be a succession of one-day runoff votes until a single winner is chosen or the number of winners is reduced to two.

WHAT YOU WIN: Pride and the knowledge that your story was voted by your peers the best against strong competition--there are some outstanding stories each time. Writers get improved short fiction skills, increasing their chances in the marketplace, without the lengthy investment in time a longer story would take. When the challenge is completed, all entries will be reposted in the Flash Archive with the author's byline.

If the challenge can stay in good graces, winners will once again be published in the annual "Best Of" issue in February. Many thanks to the Editors for that.

GUEST ACCESS: No guest votes are allowed. You must register to vote.

An example of what may be done follows.


Example story, not eligible for entry:




Deathmatch

By:
N.J. Kailhofer



Carl put his hand on the door and took a deep breath. The Butcher was not forgiving. Timidly, he knocked.

No one answered, but the torches beside the door were lit, so someone had to be within. The circle of their flickering light made the rest of the grounds that much more foreboding in the moonless night.

"C'mon," he told himself. "She's depending on you. You can do this. It's your time."

Shaking hands opened his thin book and found the spell for opening doors. He placed one trembling hand on the knocker. The high-pitched squeak that was supposed to be his voice read, "Agor!"

Except it didn't. Sometimes when he read things aloud, the letters jumbled up. What came out was something that sounded like, "Broga!"

The door jumped in its hinges. The boards wiggled & writhed in place, shaking themselves apart. The massive door fell towards him, and he dove to the side.

When the dust subsided he saw himself watched by two enormous eyes. The eyes were attached to the body of a giant frog--a frog made of wood. It was a frog as tall as he was, made out of the door.

Carl said, "Oh, good grief!"

Its mouth opened a little, and he saw teeth and what looked like a tongue beyond. Carl felt uncomfortably like an insect in front of the wooden creature, and he grabbed one of the torches off the wall. He brandished it in front of himself.

The frog reacted instantly to the flame, leaping away into the darkness, higher than the trees.

Carl walked into the vestibule.

A voice called from a passageway, "Are you here about the decoys?"

"M-Mr. Schwartz," Carl stuttered. "You're home."

The Butcher walked in, patting his pouches of spell components impatiently. Carl knew there things in those pouches that could kill him in grotesquely painful ways. Schwartz wasn't called the Butcher because of his love of meat.

"Decoys, sir?"

Schwartz frowned. "You don't remove pests?"

Carl swallowed hard. "Um... no. Actually, I was hired by your housemaid, Drewetta, to... uh..."

Schwartz's voice boomed loud enough to shake the windows. "To what?"

Carl's squeak returned to his voice. "To get her old job back or to..." Carl's voice lost the last of it's potency and the next words came out barely stronger than a whisper. "Or to defeat you in magical combat. Sir."

There was a pregnant pause.

Schwartz howled in laughter. He doubled over and slapped his knees. "That's a good one!"

Carl laughed too, wondering how far he could get if he ran. All the way to the gate, or only two steps? Will they even find my body?

Schwartz wiped tears from his eyes. "I haven't laughed that hard in years." He pointed to his right. "They're in my workshop. I want them gone tonight!"

Carl tromped what he figured would be his death march down the hall with the Butcher close behind, grumbling.

"They can't be removed! Can't be disintegrated! Not any amount of my magic can get rid of them!"

Inside, Carl could hear crashing, breaking, and strange quacking. He leaned into the door, pushing it inward just a little. Inside, something moved. It was small, the size of--

A wooden bill jabbed at him though the opening, trying to bite his fingers. Lifeless eyes on the head burned with hatred. Stiff wings flapped furiously, holding the beast at the crack. Another joined it, then another, trying to get out, to get at them.

Carl slammed the door. "Duck decoys? How'd you get them?"

The Butcher frowned ominously. "I made them. They're for a duke who loves to hunt. These would move as real ducks."

Carl swallowed. "And you've been unable to destroy them? Did you try fire?"

The Butcher snorted. "Ha! If it were only so easy! They have wards to protect them from the elements. Every scrap of wood in my house has them. All of it could withstand the strongest inferno, worst rain, or even lightning."

The wizard twitched. "The Duke was going to trade me a recipe for the perfect mayonnaise."

Carl blinked. "Mayonnaise?"

The Butcher clenched his fists. "I have perfect meats. I have perfect breads. I will have perfect mayonnaise to go with them in the perfect sandwich, or someone will die. Maybe someone who won't remove the decoys."

He's insane. Carl bit his lip. The contract. I must not run. I should... I should--

"Can you transport an object within those walls? Any object, regardless of how far away it is?"

"Of course! Anything within five leagues!"

Carl put on his boldest face. "Then if you agree to return your housemaid to her position, we have an accord."

The Butcher's eyes narrowed to slits. "Fine."

Carl smiled what he hoped wasn't a nervous grimace. "Then if you would be so kind as to transport your front door inside that room, I can remove the ducks."

"The door?"

"Yes. Right now."

The Butcher glowered at Carl, then removed a small piece of shiny metal tightly wrapped with a wick, which he lit. He threw it in the air and shouted, "Trawsgludo!"

The fire flashed so brightly Carl had to look away for a moment. When he glanced back, the metal was gone.

"Well?" The Butcher asked.

Carl swallowed. "Wait for it."

The sudden commotion beyond the door surprised them both. Objects shattered and ducks wailed. It grew silent.

Carl relaxed. "Just like they were insects."

"What? What did you do?"

What do I tell him? He'll kill me if he knows the truth. "See for yourself."

The Butcher opened the door and stepped inside. Carl slammed it shut and threw the lock.

Thankfully, the Butcher's screams were short.

Carl decided, "The maid can't get her job back, but this should technically count as magical combat. Therefore, the contract is fulfilled."

I beat him.

He grinned. "Wonder where he kept his spellbooks. He won't be needing them... And I can raise my rates, too!"


[align=center]The End[/align]

[kailhofer]

This is just to move this topic back to the top of list.

Sometimes I'm not sure if readers notice there's a new challenge when an old one is still being discussed. The view count was pretty low for being posted Friday afternoon.

[kailhofer]

I received this question privately, but I thought a public response would be more helpful to anyone wishing to enter.

The 1,000 word count does not include your title, byline, or "The End".

Good luck!

[kailhofer]

Ah, well. I'm sure Robert will love it as a submission.

Good luck!

[kailhofer]

If she floats she's a witch or is it the other way around?

Oh, that's funny. Quacks me up.