FLASH CHALLENGE: July '08

[kailhofer]

The "Where Have all the Spoons Gone?" Challenge:



Suspension of disbelief.

It's an important tool for every successful writer. Somehow, some way, that author gets the reader to throw out all the rules of the world he or she knows and instead accept absurd ones in its place: A ring gives the power to rule the world and only one hobbit can save us all by chucking it in a volcano. A man from the planet Krypton, who looks exactly like us and has nothing better to do, will use his superpowers to save us all... even when we don't deserve it. Immortals live among us, but chop each other's heads off when we're not watching. Professional wrestling is real.

All these things are highly unlikely without suspension of disbelief.

Robert asked to see if I could work this into a challenge: Spoons are disappearing from Melbourne at a rate of 18 million a year. http://www.torontosun.com/Lifestyle/Lif ... 19666.html True or not, it sounded like a great opportunity to hone this important skill.

Stats and theories are all well and good, but can you create your own reason for the disappearance? Can you make us believe it?

I challenge you to do just that. We'll suspend our disbelief, and pick the best. Come on, give it a try.


REQUIREMENTS: (1) Your story must provide a reason for the spoons disappearing in Melbourne, Australia; (2); 1,000 words or less; (3) The "Douglas Adams" option of the spoons slipping away through wormholes to live on some spoon homeworld will not be allowed. Douglas Adams already did it with pens, and Robert already suggested it; (4) This is a Rated 'PG-13' challenge; and (5) 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, July 24, 2008. The stories will then be posted for voting. Voting will close at 10 p.m. C.S.T. on July 30.

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.

If you feel a second story deserves a vote, you may legally vote again as a guest, but you'd need to do it from a separate network, say from a library or your workplace. Votes are tracked by IP address only, so a guest vote from your same network will change your previous vote to the newer one. Voting for yourself a second time is just tacky, so don't do it.

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.

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: Guest votes will be allowed again, so feel free to tell friends and neighbors about the contest and encourage them to read all the stories, not just yours.

An example of what may be done follows.


Example story, not eligible for entry:


[right]1000 Words[/right]

[center]Wanting

By:
N.J. Kailhofer[/center]



Harold was a spoon.

He spent most of his days in a drawer, away from public scrutiny, and he liked it that way. Harold didn't want anyone to know about the rough nick all down the back of his handle. That flaw hurt most people's hands when they held him and prevented him from stacking quite right, so he usually sat at the bottom of the pile, year after year. He didn't mind the lack of use, but he couldn't stand the snickers and aloof attitudes of the other spoons, calling him a second. Still, the spoons that came back to the drawer boasted of their experience: warm teas, bitter coffees, yogurts... In spite of his fears, Harold longed to try these things.

***

Barry Levovich stole spoons.

Swiping the odd spoon from work now and then didn't really seem like much of a crime to Barry, at least at first, so he went along with it. He'd never seen his shadowy "extra" employer clearly, but he knew his name was Stapleton. In the end, Barry didn't care what a man who paid for spoons--obtained legally or not--looked like, as long as the money paid to him was always in focus. To that end, he took a number of part-time jobs across Melbourne that afforded him broader choice.

***

Harold felt a gentle nudge when the drawer opened. He observed the spoons above him lifted out then heard the clatter as they were tossed into the drawer's other compartments. He saw the hand reaching for him, and felt himself lifted from his resting place. He'd been out of the drawer before, but had always been put back.

"Vinecrest stamp," Barry mumbled.

Shortly after taking on his mildly illegal task, it became obvious his employer was looking for a particular spoon, but didn't know which it was. Incorrect spoons paid a little. Some paid more. However, the tremendous compensation for the right spoon had been made very plain, so Barry became a spoon expert.

Harold's proverbial heart was in his throat when Barry flipped him over, for a person so versed in flatware would surely be aghast at a flaw as obvious as his. Harold steeled himself for the toss back into the drawer or even the waste bin.
He felt small. He felt unwanted. He felt like everything the other spoons had said, mocking him, was true. He felt... wet.

Harold realized that he had fallen into a cup of coffee. He could scarcely believe it. This person, this expert, had chosen him, despite the gash in his finish. And the flavor! He never imagined how good it was to take in the coffee, to feel it throughout, to be warmed by it. It was heaven.

***

Sunset painted muted tones across the dark park. Stapleton stood in the shadow of a Eucalyptus tree, a black silhouette to Barry. There were no lights near the picnic bench where Barry waited with his garbage bag of spoons. Harold lurked near the bottom.

"My finest huntsman," Stapleton croaked, "the others have failed miserably this week. What do you have for me?"

Barry sat upright. "What others?"

Stapleton's retort was raspy. "It has been years, and still you have not obtained it for me. I was forced to widen my search. Open the bag and step aside."

Barry moved back. Stapleton lurched to the bag as he always had, grabbing a handful. He examined each of them. One he set on the table, the rest were tossed on the ground. He reached for another handful, then another, until the bag was emptied. Ten spoons lay on the table, the rest on the ground.

"Not there," Stapleton moaned. "I'll give you ten dollars each for the ones on the table, and twenty for the rest and your trouble."

Barry nodded. Not bad extra income for the week. He grabbed the bag to pick up the mess.

Harold trembled at the bottom of the bag.

Forgotten.

Unwanted.

Unwelcome.

"Wait!" Stapleton shouted. "There's still one in there."

His dark employer came close enough for Barry to see his face. It was twisted, marred by a jagged white scar that ran diagonally across to his empty eye socket.

Barry gasped.

Stapleton glared. "Now you know. Give me the bag."

Harold felt rough fingers yank him from the plastic.

Stapleton paused, running his fingers quickly over Harold. "Vinecrest. Yes, that was one of ours, I remember. New Excelsior modern. I worked on that line. Did we do those that day?"

Barry thought Stapleton said it oddly, as if discovering the truth as he said it.

Stapleton stroked Harold's flaw. "The fash!"

"What?"

"Fash," Stapleton replied. "Fitzhume was removing the fash from the blank with his lynisher. He was nearly done when a shard cut his face. I stepped to help him. He lost his balance. The machine came up into my face and hands. The blank fell into the pile for the dies that make the bowl of the spoon. The only one I missed."

"How's that?"

"I was the inspector. Old Penberthy promised that if I could catch 100% of the seconds in a half million run, he'd leave the factory to me in his will. He watched it happen."

Barry gaped at him. "He still wouldn't leave you the factory even though another worker injured you?"

"Ha! He wouldn't pay the medical bills and fired me, but the lawyers saw to that. In the end I got the factory and his fortune, too."

Stapleton held Harold in front of his face. "But I didn't have the one that got away, and I couldn't let go of that. I spent half that fortune on this. I had to have it, to find it."

Harold was flabbergasted. He had never once thought of himself as wanted.

Stapleton handed Barry five thousand dollars. "This spoon is exceedingly comfortable in my mangled fingers. I think I shall never need another."

Harold felt warm and loved... and always would.


[center]The End[/center]


PS--Robert, since this was your suggestion, I expect to see one from you...

[Robert_Moriyama]

Okay, I'm in... I didn't account for 18 MILLION spoons per year, but I did account for some.

Any other takers?

RM

[kailhofer]

Robert is the first so far, but I hope there's more. As for the 18 million, perhaps his main characters were more successful than he thought.

Everyone else will understand later.


Nate

EDIT: Another entry came in. It's no longer a one-horse race.

[kailhofer]

Now 4 entries! Pretty darn original ideas, too. Gotta give props, if I use that term correctly.

Anyone else care to give it a try?? You have until Wednesday night.

Nate

[Robert_Moriyama]

Robert is the first so far, but I hope there's more. As for the 18 million, perhaps his main characters were more successful than he thought.

Everyone else will understand later.


Nate

EDIT: Another entry came in. It's no longer a one-horse race.

Damn. And here I thought I had a chance.

(I suppose I should be grateful that Nate referred to me (or my story) as an entire horse, instead of just one end of a horse, or a horse byproduct.)

RM

[kailhofer]

Anyone else care to give it a try?? You have until Wednesday night.

Oops! That should have said Thursday, the 24th. That's what I put in the original announcement, so that's what I've got to stand by.

(I had it all ready to post, too. :-[)

Six entries! Any more?

Nate