July 23, 2014
Wilde Oats have a drabbe competition. But you need to be quick, deadline in end of July.
A drabble is a piece of very short fiction. 100 words exactly. There are some fine exponents (think of Lois McMaster Bujold’s five interlocking drabbles at the end ofCryoburn)
Wilde Oats is having a drabble contest. The winners of the contest will be published in the next issue of Wilde Oats in August.
What’s in it for you? Fun, mostly. Writing drabbles is entertaining – though harder than you think! Paring down a story to its bare essentials is a good way to improve your writing, just as writing flash fics (1000 words) is. And the results can be surprisingly moving, funny or perceptive.
But it’s also a chance for our readers to get to know you. As with all our authors, you’ll get an author page with links to your published novels and short stories and to your website. If your drabble links to a novel, perhaps because it involves characters in your novel, we’ll have a picture of its cover and a buy link. Remember, though, that the drabble must stand on its own, even if it is linked to one of your novels.
Please send us your drabble sub (or subs – you can enter up to 10 drabbles if you feel up to it) before the end of July (to firstname.lastname@example.org)
June 16, 2014
(c) 2014 Joe Russo
The clock strikes down.
Ten, Nine, Eight
We get the glasses out,
Fill them with the sparkling
We gather around
Five, Four, Three
The couples hold hands,
They look each other
In the eyes
Except for me, still waiting
New Years Kiss.
Joe Russo is a writing student.
Contact | Contact 2
June 7, 2014
I dive into the water feeling its warmth along my naked body. I come up 100 yards away from shore. I turn back to look at Rik lingering by the waters edge ankle deep in it. I shout smiling, “It’s warm you don’t need your shorts!” He steps out of the water. He takes off his shorts exposing his white briefs. Very brief! I think. I can see his bulging crotch even from this distance. He stands there. I yell shivering with anticipation, “Just slip them off!” The sun is setting behind me, casting an orange glow on Rik. He resembles the mythical sea god, Poseidon. I hold my breath as he puts his hands in the band of his briefs. Longing to see it all. His long dreads hang over his shoulders, years of growth. His lean tall body bronzed by summer and his African roots. He looks up at me. Teasing me. I wait. Then I dive back under the water and head further from shore. I surface. I look to where he was standing moments ago. My god is gone. I can vaguely make out his white briefs on the brown sand. I look around for air bubbles or rippling of the water. None. I stop. I tread water. I turn to see if he is coming up from behind. There’s only the sun dipping into the water. Leaving only a trace of color and light. I look up toward the sky taking in the whole vista of stars slowly appearing. I can begin to make out constellations, The Big Dipper! Orion! Penis!* Rik is not behind me. He is still nowhere to be seen. I begin to swim back to shore. Worrying. Maybe he didn’t know how to swim. Maybe it was too soon after we ate. Maybe my mother was right! I swim faster thinking he’s dead. I killed him; I led him to his death. I was the last one to see him in his briefs standing like a god in front of me. I get to the shore I find his briefs I hold them up to my face taking in his musky scent. Suddenly his hands are on my shoulders. I startle as I turn around. His face is so close to mine I feel his breath warming my skin.
“Ithoughtyoudrowned. Ididntseeyouafter Iwentbackunder. Iwasscared.” I blurted.
He laughs. “I had to take a shit. He takes my hand pulling me into the water.