Monday Mixer Entries & Awards

"Monday Mixer"

hosted by Jeff Hollar (@klingorengi)

I tried this for the first time on 25th February 2013. Below are the rules as stated on the site and which are to be followed when writing your entry. There are four categories of award; Winner, Over-achiever and Best Prompt User and also Honourable Mentions. Below are my entries listed under the award if they won one.

Rules

1.      Monday Mixer is a flash fiction challenge. All entries must be 150 words. (no more & no less) If the entry is titled, the title is not considered part of the word count.

2.      The contest will run on Mondays beginning at 00:01 AM EST with a deadline of midnight EST. Challenge words will be posted on the preceding Sunday at an unspecified time (just to keep things interesting). All decisions will be published no later than Wednesday at 08:00 PM EST.

3.      All entries must incorporate a thing, a verb and an adjective (one from each group) and the prompt word MUST appear in the story as the part of speech listed in the prompts. The prompt words may appear anywhere in the submission and do not need to be used in any particular order. Verbs may appear in any tense desired. Entries failing to meet these criteria may be disqualified. Entries may be in any genre but NO graphic sexual content will be allowed. Entries containing such will be disqualified and deleted.

4.      Entries will be posted via the InLinkz click button below. Entrants who do not have either a web page or blog are solely responsible for finding someone to host their entry.

5.      The judge will select an Overall Winner, Best Use of Prompts and up to two Honorable Mentions. Overall Winner (This is self-explanatory), Best Use of Prompts (The entry that, in judge's opinion, incorporated the prompt words most skillfully) and Honorable Mentions (These are the "close but no cigar") entries.

6.      The judge will additionally have the OPTION to select an Over-Achiever  (an Over-Achiever is defined as an entry incorporating five or more prompt words.) Entries wishing to be considered for the Over-Achiever win must identify their entries as such at the conclusion of the entry. NOTE: The judge does not HAVE to choose an Over-Achiever if, in the judge's opinion, the quality of the entry suffers from the effort of shoe-horning in too many prompts.

7.      One entry allowed per entrant per week. No entry may win in more than one category.

Over Achiever…

Entry: Earnest Ernest

Ernest liked living a reclusive lifestyle. He hated that the government wanted his land for development.

Ernest’s home was located precariously atop a hillock that was notable only as a marker point equidistant between the Metroplex he shunned and the firth he adored.

He was self-sufficient; grew his own vegetables, made his own rolls, crostini and pasta, kept some livestock and had skill enough to be a haberdasher and made his own clothes. He needed little electricity, but what he used, came from a wind turbine standing beside his house; interrupting the skyline like a caltrop in the clouds.

Ernest worried about cities encroaching on a once magnificent landscape. With the City braying at his door his existence became nocturnal, with no desire to be a profligate man he grew more pensive by the day as he feared that he would be swallowed whole by City officials and lost forever.

Results

From experience, I can attest working all nine of my prompt words into 150 words is not an easy task. I sometimes try it myself, just for fun, and this week wasn't any easier than other times I've tried. Kate managed to accomplish this with consummate aplomb. Her tale of an unassuming man and the things he so loves being inexorably swallowed up by progress has a universality understandable by readers anywhere. His angst is genuine and palpable and left me nostalgic for simpler, less-evolved times. Well done!

Best Prompt User…

Entry: Manatee

It was cold in the playhouse. A draft blew through the cracks sending a shiver up her spine. She stretched her sleeves over her knuckles and hugged her knees tight to her chest. From her position she could just make him out, a shadow in the window, occasionally disappearing but returning every half an hour to check if she had moved.

She was comforted by the fact that she didn’t have to sit on the floor with the spiders but was instead precariously perched on a stuffed manatee. Even with that to sit on she knew that she would have to leave soon as her fingers had turned to ice and her teeth were chattering.

She would try and wait him out and then sneak in later. She couldn’t understand why he got so sanctimonious about it, it wasn’t even a moral issue, everyone knew that Goofy was a cow.

Results

Another first-time participant, Kate delivered excellently. The descriptive imagery that Kate employed was perfection, almost leaving me feeling as cold and miserable as her tale's character. Amongst all of that vivid descriptive magic were sprinkled three prompt words that held their spots in the overall product without the least hint of being forced. Extra nods for daring to explore the relationship dynamics of one of Disney's iconic characters.

Honourable Mentions…

Entry: No Regrets

Slumped, barely breathing on the craggy moraine, a gentle breeze washed over him. He opened his eyes, the planes remnants laid out like puzzle pieces, the canard intact, and gazed at the obsequious gulls as they floated on air.

Shuffling to lean against a mound resembling a tumulus, the thought chilled him, and he chose to think of it instead as a settee.

Friends had told him he was too old to fly, but he was an audacious character and had spent 92 years grasping life with both hands.

No regrets.

As his body shut down, his brain coped by creating a visage, a busy bazaar filled with his family and friends, some long gone. Scanning the crowd for her face, he heard the unmistakable sound as each stiletto trip trapped behind him, penetrating the hum of the crowd. Turning quickly to see her, he followed her into the light. 

Results
This was a wonderfully complex little tale that managed to work all nine prompt words into a single offering. It was an excellent story of fighting the odds to follow a dream and, sadly, paying the price for that dream when you fail. I wanted to rate this story much more highly, but the use of the word "visage" when I suspect what was intended was "vision" threw things off track for me.

Entry: The Carousel

The sun beamed down illuminating the fairground, the metal and plastic shimmering under its gaze, fair goers glistening in the heat and the air thick with the aroma of candyfloss and beef burgers as the cacophony of joyful squeals and dance music drowned out the Wurlitzer.

A siren rang out, a portent to all that the Carousel would soon begin, the young boys and girls standing to natter, faces refulgent in anticipation as they waited for their turn. Clambering aboard, they would surreptitiously lean forward to whisper a name into their horses’ ear as the Wurlitzer rang out. Their imaginations transporting them; racing in the Derby, a country trot, riding their steed into battle as they lived their equestrian dreams.

When it ended, some would reluctantly alight, some would jump down to race to the next ride and some would sit, frozen in time, longing for their adventure to continue.

Results

This time is county fair season throughout the area where I live and this story took me back to the carefree days of childhood summers. The sights, the sounds, the smells and, of course, the rides were all brought back to me in wonderful clarity. I liked the way Kate employed a series of long sentences to set a pace that rushed me through the read much as young children rush hither and yon to not miss a single thing...especially the carousel.

Entry: Skullectra!

The excitement built in the pit of her stomach as she stood amid a repository of Skullectra fans. Scanning the crowd in the arena she smiled at the number of middle-aged, balding, leather-clad rockers there.

The stage had been set, the instruments were poised, a long walkway protruded out splitting the crowd like a portmanteau. Her skin began to tingle as silence settled on the crowd.

The still sexy lead singer strutted onto the stage carrying his trademark concertina. As usual, he was voluble as he thanked the fans for their support, and for a moment she worried they would disappoint.

The lights flashed, the drum corralled and the guitar began to wail as Skullectra began their comeback tour.  The music roared and rallied as it had in ‘83, the band effulgent as they played their original hits. The middle-aged, balding, leather-clad rockers head banged in unison as did she.

Results

Having attended more than a few concerts myself as one of those middle-aged, balding, leather-clad rockers, this story hit close to home and brought some fond memories of glory days along too.

Entry: Archie Rules

“Hindsight is a beautiful thing” sighed Archie, one shandygaff too many and he went from a recluse to a revolutionary.

The alcohol fuelling his passion led him to protract the inevitable results of insobriety in the most tortuous of methods for those present. Having clambered atop a nearby fence, bottle in hand, he dropped his trousers to gain attention and began reciting his panacea interspersed with profanities. Coming under obloquy only served to incite him more as he took a gambol along the fence.  Regardless of his mingy manhood on display, he felt invincible both physically and mentally, believing he alone could verbally flense the government. He was sure of his nascent, and less sure of his footing as his arms flailed to grab air and he fell onto the unreceptive concrete pavement.

“Hindsight is a beautiful thing” sighed Archie as he lay staring up at the stars above him.

Results

Having spent more than one night as Archie I truly identified with this story of drunken abandon and unwise choices. It had a realistic feel to it that even someone who has never overindulged can appreciate. With this story, there were also prompt words that appeared as other parts of speech, and so, placed it into Honorable Mention as well. 

Other entries that were not awarded…

Entry: Slain

He awoke; peeping through eyes held shut by congealed blood and sweat and unabashed tears, he was surprised to find that he was still alive. Moving was almost impossible, each time he tried a pain seared through his ravaged body rendering him unconscious, and so he lay unmoving on the hummock and watched the day drift away.

He could only think of how much he wanted to move, to go somewhere far from the stench emanating from the marshland, far from whatever still lurked beneath the water’s surface, far from the insects that were banqueting on his open wounds, far from circumstance.

He still had a choice; to take the cyanide capsule and end his life now and be free from this pain or to keep fighting until he won. The only thing he knew was that his body would not be able to withstand such a truculent beating again.

Entry: Play it again Sam.

He stood, triumphant in the moonlight, looking down into the ossuary.  He was able to cast a shadow like no other and he wielded this power now as he beamed hungrily at the sight before him.

As each year passed he never grew tired of this ritual, if anything he had begun to thirst for this, and the wait had grown too long.

With his left foot he gently kicked the ladies reticule and watched as it tumbled down to join her where she lay, instantly drawing in the blood that lay in pools around her severed torso.

He gazed, enthralled, as he recollected the symphony he had conducted from her screams; as the pitch had altered with her shock, her fear, her terror and her despair.

He was getting close to perfect and he relished the prospect of further rehearsals until he would be ready for the main act.

Entry: Fly Away

Tom stood, unabashedly, outside the postern. They couldn’t ban him. 

Friends warned him of a bruit circulating, that if he made an appearance then he would be forcibly removed, for fear he may get obstreperous. Having run the full gamut of emotions already he sobbed, “I have always been there for him. This day will be no different.” 

Anguish bubbled in his throat as he made one last check of his kludge, relieved it was copacetic, he entered the church, kneeling beside the coffin to say his final goodbye.   John had sculpted his instrument for him, and Tom had surprised him by producing a sound that mirrored their love; strong, vibrant, tender and pure. 

Spraddling it, he pulled back the bow, each string began to ululate. Tom’s gasps of sorrow barely muted by the music, as every cell (tremulous with grief) throbbed with the emptiness of a life without John. 

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