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Here you will find contests I’ve entered and how to enter them.

Thursday Threads Winner

Every Thursday, Siobahn Muir hosts Thursday Threads, a flash fiction contest. It’s a lot of fun and always gets my writer’s brain thinking. Enter each week for a shot at a badge from the contest. The following flash fiction pieces have been awarded as a Winner in Thursday Threads:

ThursThreads Winner

Prompt: “Shut up, that’s not true”

All 6’7″ of me towers over my husband. Tucked into a corner of the couch, blood dripping from his lower lip, his chest heaves with every breath. I rear my fist back, teeth clenched, eyes narrowed.

“Take it back.”

He shakes his head, sweat beading on his forehead. “No. You’re using again and I want you to stop.”

My fist slams into his cheek. “Shut up, that’s not true.”

I grab his phone, throwing it against the wall. He bolts from the couch, but I’m faster. I glare at him, spittle flying when I grind out my next words.

“I’m not using again.”

I swing, connecting with air. The back door slams. I run down the stairs, the back door crashing against the house. The world spins for a moment before I spot him.

“Jack!” I roar.

Gravel flies behind my shoes as I run for him. Foolishly, I left my gun in my truck. Dirt filters through my nose and down my throat. Facedown on our gravel drive, a knee drives painfully into my back. The cold metal of handcuffs yanks my hands behind my back.

“I’m sorry.”

Jack stands by as I’m dragged to a police car, the lights on top too bright. Someone in a brown uniform shoves me in the back. I don’t listen as my rights are recited. I focus on Jack as another man embraces him. My head bows as one single tear rolls down my cheek.

Thursday Threads Honorable Mentions.

Every Thursday, Siobahn Muir hosts Thursday Threads, a flash fiction contest. It’s a lot of fun and always gets my writer’s brain thinking. Enter each week for a shot at a badge from the contest. The following flash fiction pieces have been awarded Honorable Mention in Thursday Threads:

Thurs Threads HM

Prompt: “I will feast on your blood.”

“I will feast on your blood.”

He straddled me, fangs bared, and dipped his head to my willing neck. As the points grazed my skin, I sucked in a breath, arching my back. He lightly nipped my neck, licking the area. I bit my lower lip, as he moved to kiss me, his fangs catching the light. His blue eyes bore into mine as our tongues danced. I grazed the tips of his fangs, his breath hot on my face. He sucked in a breath as I trailed kisses down the left side of his neck right to his sensitive spot; he howled when I sucked on the tender flesh.

“Fuck me.”

As his fangs once again brushed my neck, I stroked his erection. My eyes closed as he sucked my neck; the tips of his fangs were sharp, but drove me wild. He bit my neck as I stroked his erection faster and faster. His head fell back as he screamed, cumming into my hand.

Without warning, he flipped me over, his fangs grazing the back of my neck as he grabbed the lube. He barely prepped me before he was inside me. I grasped the brass bedposts moving in time with his thrusts. When he hit my spot, I howled with pleasure. Finally, I collapsed on the bed, pulling him into my arms. Smiling and spent, my husband popped out the cheap plastic fangs and kissed me.

“We should send the kids on overnight Halloween parties more often.”

Prompt: “As far as I’m concerned we’re God”

Being a God isn’t easy. There are ‘things you have to do’. There are ‘things you want to do’ but can’t; it would be an abuse of power. Being immortal is nice, but you can only take so many years of your mother’s nagging.

Perhaps the worst part about being a God is when someone has to train the next generation. And that job has fallen to Thor, God of Thunder. Standing in front of a small group of students, he’s ready to put his hammer to his head.

Having had enough disorder in his classroom, he pounds the desk with his hammer, thankful the desk hasn’t broken yet. The Gods-in-training stop their chatter and look at him, wide-eyed. A couple of startled lightning bolts whiz past his head, and he catches them with ease.

“You are not Gods yet,” he shouts, shaking his head. “And if this keeps up, you never will be!”

“As far as I’m concerned we’re God,” a spunky young teenager named Achilles smirked, causing the class the burst out laughing.

“Funny. Now, we must proceed with the lesson. First, who set the forest fire last night?”

The class fell into resounding silence and Thor sighed. He was trying to figure out why he was being punished. Yes, it was his fault Loki’s cat died but if he wouldn’t let the thing wander, it wouldn’t get struck by lightning. Thankfully, his punishment was almost up; two weeks to go…

Prompt: “Silly to feel anything at all after so long.”

Locking my office door, I took a box from a hidden shelf in the closet and sighed, popping the lid. It’s strange the things you remember sometimes. I remember the exact day I bought this particular pair of tennis shoes, the exact store and exactly how much I paid for them. But what’s clearest in my mind is what’s in this box.

Extracting a wedding photo I sighed. Her dressed was so perfectly white. It was in the popular style of the times, 1996, puffy, silky, and plenty of sequins had been sewn onto the bodice. She’d worn a gauzy white veil attached to a beautiful diamond tiara.

I was happy then. Marissa and I thought we were in love. But two years later, all we did was fight. I had a good job and was thinking about going back to school for another level of EMT or maybe even my paramedic certificate. But then I realized that I was gay and she didn’t appreciate being married to me anymore.

Now, as I sit in my office, waiting for my husband to get home from work, I look at this picture: a happy couple, about to start their new life together. Really, it’s silly to feel anything at all after so long. She’s married to another man, I’m married to a man. But here I sit, pining for that which I lost, wondering why I still feel some little spark of love for her.

Prompt: “All around him mindless souls wandered.”

All around him mindless souls wandered. Dark souls, lost souls, restless souls, they all wandered. He wandered among them, searching for a home, somewhere to sleep forever. He wanted his soul to rest.

Jimmy Hannover had no one. He’d run away from home at sixteen and his money got him as far as Omaha, Nebraska. He’d met a lot of people in Omaha, but no one he could call a friend for life. If he didn’t have money or drugs, he wasn’t their friend. He used a different name for every person he met; no one knew who he really was.

Now, sitting in his favorite old hang out, where the bartender let him drink underage, he sighed, slamming back another shot of Jack Daniels. He had to meet someone in half an hour; someone who could put his soul to rest forever.

“Thanks Bob,” he said, with five minutes to go. He stood, wobbling out the door. His savior wasn’t there yet, but he’d come.

Without warning, someone grabbed him and punched him. As the blows landed against his face, as his attacker started ripping his clothes off, he closed his eyes, hoping to rest his soul forever.

Prompt: “Doesn’t matter, I’m the only one left.”

“It’s hard to talk to you when you won’t talk back.”

I shrugged, keeping my back turned. The bed I was on was comfortable and the blankets were warm. I didn’t need them, even though I was shivering; this is the hell of withdrawal from drugs. Besides, what does Jacoby care? He’s only being nice to me because I have no family left.

“Come on, Jimmy. What made you relapse this time? The first two times, it was because you couldn’t control your cravings. What’s wrong this time?”

I shrugged again; he wouldn’t understand. He has a family. I sighed, curling into a tight ball, trying to bite down the bile coming up my throat.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I muttered, wiping my mouth and shoving the trashcan away from me.

He placed a hand on my shoulder and I shuddered. Normally, I’m not allowed visitors during detox, but they always make an exception for my husband. Rubbing my hands up and down my sweating arms, I licked dry, cracked lips and tried to get comfortable again.

“Jimmy, I have to leave soon; they limit my time. What’s wrong?” I listened as he stood and didn’t turn away when he came to stand in front of me. “I love you. And I know what’s wrong. You have my family, Jimmy.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m the only one left.”

“No, you’re not. Your family is out there and we’ll find them. I love you.”

He kissed my forehead, lingered a moment, then left.

Prompt: “Maybe tomorrow I’ll give her one”

My daughter, Priscilla, is standing before me, all six feet four inches of her staring into my soul, her fifteen year old brain on fire with anger; all because I denied her a night out with friends. There’s a blizzard going on out there! I’m not turning her out on seven miles of gravel.

“Hell no, Priscilla,” I repeated, unflinching when she stomped her foot. “There’s a blizzard on out there. Your father can’t even make it home from Omaha, so there’s no way in hell you’re going out there. I value your life, even if you don’t.”

“Fuck you!” she shouted and ran upstairs, slamming her door.

“That’s a dollar you owe the swear jar!” I hollered after her, as the house shook. “I’ll make it two if you slam that door again.”

I listened for a second; I would give her time to simmer down. Her older sister came downstairs, glancing warily at her sister’s room.

“What’s her problem this time?” she asked.

“I denied her a night out with friends. But there’s a blizzard on and Jimmy said the medical helicopter is grounded, the interstate is closed, and no one is leaving Omaha tonight, let alone Mondamin.”

Eliza shook her head, starting back upstairs with a snack. “Maybe you should give her a crash course in winter driving.”

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll give her one,” I told her, grinning.

“Wear a crash helmet,” she advised, closing her bedroom door.

“Good advice,” I chuckled, turning away from the stairs.

Prompt: “Unless we have them removed”

I pulled my phone from my pocket as I carried my five year old daughter to my truck. She laid her head on my shoulder, wheezing and sniffling; it’s the pits when your kids are sick. I carefully lowered her into her purple booster seat, then dialed my husband and prepared to give him the bad news.

“Hey. What’d the doctor say about her tonsils?”

I buckled Eliza in and kicked the door shut “This is going to keep happening unless we remove them.”


I nodded, climbing into my truck. Eliza coughed and I flinched; she sounds like a two-pack-a-day-smoker.

“Yeah, pretty much. I scheduled surgery for next Friday, since we’ve got the weekend off work.”

“Isn’t she a little old to have them out?”

“Nope. She’s about the target age, actually. Her adenoids will come out, too.”

I listened as Jacoby sighed on the other end of the line. I faintly heard our one year old daughter start to cry in the background. Apparently, nap time was over.

“Might as well do it all at once I guess. I gotta get Cilla, but we’ll talk when you get home.”

I put the phone in the cup holder, then headed for the interstate. We’ve got to pick up an antibiotic on our way home and some pain medication for her throat. Glancing in the rear view mirror, I was relieved to see she’d fallen asleep. Maybe we can kick this stuff before we have a long fall with sick kids.

How to Pitch Like a Rock Star Pitch Contest

Need help with your pitch? Click the link to sign up for this free contest. Posting starts on 11-05-12, so hurry and enter before today is over!!

Spread LGBT inclusiveness!

Win $500 or $250 Visa Gift Cards or a manuscript crit if From the Ashes reaches the Amazon top 100!

Contest Rules / Entry Page | Buy on Amazon | Add to GoodReads


I recently entered the Menage Monday flash fiction contest. I was shocked to learn that I’d earned the title of Champ for this week! Be sure to head over and read all of the amazing entries.

The story:

Looking around, Medusa blinked; the road to nothing seemed to be exactly that. The pieces of tumbleweed rolling lazily across the highway should’ve been a clue, she supposed. Sighing, she pressed the accelerator a little harder; she didn’t want to miss Sunday dinner with her mother.

Naturally, they had cautioned her about taking the back roads. But the interstate was so boring and she liked the scenic route. This time, the scenic route was less scene and more ‘I’m going to be late’. Her ringing phone emphasized this point; it was her mother.

“Hey mom. Yes, I know, I’m late. No, I’m not lost. Yes, I love you, too.”

Hanging up, she smiled, hurrying around the curve and finally saw the sights of home in the distance.

“Shit.” Looking in her rearview mirror, she spotted a state patrolman and pulled over. She started thinking of her defense, then smiled. Straightening the snakes she called hair, she put on her most charming smile and rolled down her window.

“Hell—“ thunk. The officer fell, completely turned to stone. Smiling, Medusa rolled up her window and continued home; that was the fifth speeding ticket she’d gotten out of this week.

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