Tiny the Turtle, for the 8th Annual Valentiny Writing Contest

February 12, 2023February 12, 2023Chel Owens 29 Comments

Tiny, the turtle, had a not-so-tiny fear
That nobody would be his friend for Valentine’s, this year.
His teacher, Mrs. Elephant -with not-so-tiny ears-
Had said he would get lots of cards from someone very dear.

“It’s Valentine’s,” she’d trumpeted, as elephants will do,
“A holiday of fun and treats, and cards with hearts for you!”
But Tiny -in his tiny shell, and tiny heart- just knew
That, out of all the animals, he’d get but one or two.

“I’ll have a bunch!” barked Douglas Dog, as sure as he could be.
Chirped Betty, quite the happy bird, “You won’t get more than me!”
And Cora purred, as cats like to, “I want three-hundred-three,
“From all my friends -and candy, too! Oooh! Just you wait and see!”

Tiny made some cards with hearts, to sadly give away.
With not-so-tiny fear, he thought, No one will care; will say,
“Thank you, Tiny. How’d you know? Come be my friend; come play!”
Poor Tiny, in his tiny heart, feared Valentine’s that day.

But Tiny’s doubts and Tiny’s fears; his not-so-tiny cares
All flew away, like Betty Bird, when he got to his chair –
For, at his desk, and on the floor, and falling everywhere;
Were valentines and candy hearts, from everyone. They cared!

Written for Susanna Leonard Hill’s Valentiny Contest. Entries are due soon! You can play along as well!

All images created using MidJourney

The Cay-ote Killer (Kerry Black’s Contest for Carrot Ranch)

November 18, 2020November 18, 2020Chel Owens 8 Comments

Swirled campfire gunsmoked ’round old Ernie’s head. His eyes shone in the firelight, two August moons ‘gainst a desert sky. “An’ that,” he whispered, “whers th’ last any cowboy heard o’ The Coyote Killer!”

“Wee-yoo!”

“Ah’ll be!”

The talk still swam ’round the camp like Loui’zana fireflies when a shadow fell ‘cross the nearest cactus; when a howl yipped ‘cross the open sky. “Aowhoooooo!”

Scramblin’ to horse, rock, cactus; no man dared admit what he clearly saw: a baying, skulkin’, fur-dressed man, jus’ like what Ernie’d said.

An,’ like’n old Ernie said, no man lived to tell it still.

Photo by Tomu00e1u0161 Malu00edk on Pexels.com

This’n was mah entry fer the contest what Colleen won. Hers were fantastic so’s I reckon I don’t feel so bad fer not even gettin’ an honorable mention. 😉

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Butcher (Carrot Ranch TUFF Rodeo)

December 1, 2019November 28, 2019Chel Owens 21 Comments

TUFF is a contest where the story goes through a first draft of 99 words, a parsing down to 59 words, a butchering down to 9 words, then a revisit to 99 words again.

99 Words

Jacqueline studied the tiny, harmless beans in her palm. Was it her imagination that they glowed, or did she need a hand-washing as much as Mama always said?

“I tell ye,” the old peddler said, “They’s magic!”

Magic or no, she couldn’t keep staring. Jacqueline pocketed her treasures. Yanking at Bessie’s rope, she headed on to the butcher’s.

Mama wouldn’t be impressed by anything short of a month of food, Jacqueline knew. She shrugged to herself. At least she’d haggled the peddler down to a tongue and brisket. Who knows what mama would’ve said about losing a whole cow?

—–

59 Words

Jacqueline studied the beans. They rested against her dirty palm, seeming to glow.

“They’s magic,” the peddler insisted.

Mama wouldn’t agree, any more than she would to strangers or dirty hands. Jacqueline sighed, pulled at Bessie’s rope, and headed on to the butcher’s.

At least she’d haggled down to a brisket. Mama’d never agree to losing a whole cow.

—–

9 Words

Jacqueline wondered if beans were magic enough for Mama.

—–

99 Words, Final

Jacqueline studied the beans in her dirty palm. Was the peddler right? Were the beans glowing? Maybe Mama was the honest one, and all she needed was a good hand-washing.

“I’m telling ye,” the old peddler insisted, “They’s magic.”

Magic or no, she couldn’t stand around staring. Jacqueline pocketed her dubious treasures and took up Bessie’s rope. Mama wouldn’t be impressed by anything if they were late for the butcher’s.

Jacqueline shrugged to herself. At least she’d talked the peddler down to a tongue and a brisket. Who knows what Mama would have said about losing a whole cow?

—–

Typed and entered for Carrot Ranch’s TUFF Rodeo competition: Beans.

Ye Olde Ennui (Carrot Ranch Rodeo Contest #2)

November 30, 2019November 28, 2019Chel Owens 10 Comments

“Space: the midlife-crisis frontier.”

“Oh, Nose Bender, you were as bored as I.”

The long-faced android spared 1.356 seconds on his companion before returning to navigation.

“Not that we’ve seen much diversion,” the human assented, “But-”

*Pew!* *Whoosh!* A flash of light and jarring of stabilizers drew both to the porthole. There, defying taste and physics, wobbled a space-worthy Merchantman.

“Avast, ye dogs!” cackled over their speakers. “I be the Heartbreak Kid. Prepare to be-”

Android and man exchanged glances.

“…Thee next contestant on ‘The Plank is Right!'”

“It appears, Captain Bodacious,” his companion noted, “You have your diversion.”

—–

Typed and entered for Carrot Ranch‘s third Rodeo Contest: pirate game show with three specific bull names. I’m not sure why they were also in space, but why not add one more thing to 99 words?

Young Will for Prezident (Carrot Ranch Rodeo Contest #1)

November 29, 2019November 28, 2019Chel Owens 10 Comments

They say Young Will came tearin’ into this here world like a bolt a thunder. His mama woulda agreed; ‘ceptin’ she’d add that he were more like bulls through china once his legs growed and ‘e started runnin’.

And run Will did! He just about run everyplace -walls notwithstandin’.

No; nothing or nobody stood in his way. I reckon that’s why ‘e didn’t ‘llow somethin’ as teensy as impossible to slow ‘im. When ‘e heard anyone could be prezident, he went right home and ‘nnounced he were next.

That’s why, on ‘nauguration day, his mama was the least surprized.

—–

Type and entered for Carrot Ranch‘s first Rodeo Contest: tall tale.

Ellie’s End: My Winning Entry

November 28, 2019Chel Owens 22 Comments

Last year, I helped judge one of the contests for Carrot Ranch. Reading through the entrants taught me two things:

People don’t read instructions very well.
More people ought to enter!

I therefore challenged myself to enter all of the contests Charli posed for 2019. Imagine my surprise when she posted one of my stories as a finalist. I thought I’d place in all of them!

In all seriousness, entering contests is difficult and subjective and …wait. You all know this because of my Terrible Poetry thingie every week. Charli knows. A superhuman in her own right, she posted a spot-on description of writing, contests, revisions, and letdown.

Read it.

Oh, and here is my ONE entry that ‘won.’ I’ll schedule one contest entry for each of the following days, now that we’re allowed to.

—–

Ellie prided herself on her independence. Nothing, no one could affect her -certainly not internet whispers or radio station warnings.

She left for work with her earbuds in. She returned to her lonely apartment in the same way. She never listened to the wind, the silenced birds, nor the ever-increasing beeping of impending doom.

In fact, one might say that Ellie was the least prepared for the aliens when they came. No matter -hers was a quick and painless death, immediately decomposing in the stomach of Earth’s attackers. It was those silly survivalists who dragged out humanity’s inevitable demise.