They've since posted a bunch of entries from this contest (mine isn't among them) and I can see that I was right. So, NOT MY STYLE. It reminds me a little of Top Chef. I LOVE watching the competitors run around like crazy people trying to get everything cooked to perfection under the wire and I'm not above learning about a new ingredient/new dish, but it doesn't mean I'll ever eat it myself. (Does anybody really think cow tongue makes a good dinner?) That's how I felt while skimming through a lot of the entries for this writing contest. Everything just felt so contrived/worked over and forced. I found the descriptions to be completely over the top and nothing really "hit" me on any level. It was all entirely forgetable for me.
I'm a straight shooter, what you see is what you get and it was clear that my style had little place in the competition so I'm really glad I hadn't already spent the grand prize of $1000 because well, let me just say it right here, so NOT going to happen! LOL.
Big thanks to the CBC for letting me enter for free and helping me see that the $25 fee for the next short story contest is better off in my wallet.
Here's my essay for those of you who might be interested and just to clarify, no I'm not a "hockey mom." Poetic License rocks!
Hockey Mom
Winter has always been my nemesis. Swirling gusts of frosty wind, icy fingers, clawing at the back of my exposed neck. The fur-lined hood I try so valiantly to keep snug against the sides of my face sliding back and down at the first opportunity.
Traitor.
The sneakers on my feet are no better. I can feel them giving away under the demands of the slippery surface. The boots at the bottom of my closet are sharing a laugh. “Can you believe she left without us this morning?”
Sadly, they’re right.
My shoelaces are untied and soaked, dangling precariously, two limp, wet noodles, threatening to trip me at anytime. I jam my hands into the two side pockets because, of course, I forgot my gloves. They are sitting on my kitchen table, right next to the forgotten house keys. It’s that kind of day.
I board the bus, only to be met with streaks of messy, gray slush on the rubber of the narrow aisle. Not a seat to be had. I grab for the loop over my head, praying that it’s enough to keep me upright. I don’t think the man on the seat behind me would appreciate someone falling onto his lap. I squeeze the loop harder, determined to push the tumbling image from my mind.
I make it to stop in one piece. I send up silent thanks to whoever might be listening and make my way to the already opening door of the bus. For a split second I am grateful to be away from the crush of bodies, until I see what’s directly in front of me. As I walk down the two steps in my still undone runners, I find myself face to face with a huge snow bank. The plow beat us here so I am forced to walk down the side of the road until I finally spot a small opening and make my way up to the cleared sidewalk. At least I avoided the public humiliation of trying to climb a six foot mountain in my already battered shoes.
The sidewalk is my friend until I walk about thirty feet, only to discover a serious coat of black ice. I needn’t have worried about falling into the arms of a stranger; instead, I am content to fall on a hard slab of concrete. I hear the crack of my wrist before I feel the throbbing ache. I stand up quickly, not wanting to draw attention to myself. Even in pain, I felt the hot rush of embarrassment stain my cheeks.
I can see the arena from where I stand. I’m not going to let him down. It’s my son’s first hockey game. He had been ecstatic when he made the team, the look on his face when he slipped that jersey over his head for the first time, was pure unadulterated joy. Cradling my arm, I rush forward, determination in every step. My son is waiting.
Here's the link to some that have been posted. It looks like they are from authors who have previously won contests with the CBC so they aren't technically "entries" for consideration, but you can feel the tone/direction for each piece and I clearly didn't go anywhere near the right vicinity. I'll be over in the kiddie section where I might stand a chance next year...:-)
http://www.cbc.ca/books/canadawrites/fea
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