Tag Archives: writing
The Summoning – A Silly Short Story – Competition Winner!
Recently I entered a writing competition put on by a fellow writer over at her self-titled blog Ksenia Anske She has a massive following with a growing collection of self-published novels. She’s a great writer. But don’t take my word for it. Check her out.
Anyways, I entered this contest on a whim and for a challenge. I didn’t expect to win really. But I said what the hell, it will be good for me. I need a kick in the ass every once in while to get me writing the way I should. So I entered. The criteria for the contest was to write a 800 -1000 Word story. And not just any story. It had to be funny and it hand to contain the following. It had to have something do with magic and you had to reference five things: a tutu, beer flavored lollipops, an elephant, a Breathalyzer, a brick and a purse. YES, no easy task in 1000 Words.
But I did it. I entered and I won on top of that! So please take a moment and read my short story below. Also check out the other competitors stories here as well.
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The Summoning
This was a fuckery of the highest magnitude as her grandmother used to say. The demon was too damn powerful to hold it in the circle for much longer.
He (and I say he loosely because you never really know for sure) was wearing a fedora with a raven’s feather stuck into it. She saw two small horns sticking out through either side of the hat. Silk black pants and a red silk shirt, with oddly enough a small yellow smiley face button pinned to it that simply read “Shit Happens” finished his ensemble. And boy was he handsome. He smiled at them as he had been doing for the last thirty minutes not saying a word. She could feel him pushing at the boundaries of the trap that had been setup in their backyard, testing for a weakness and still sucking on that damn lollipop.
There were no weaknesses.
Susie, one of her other sisters in the coven, had done a beautiful job with the lawnmower. The cut patch of grass was a perfect cut circle with another design of a pentagram cut within and then traced with human blood (their own of course). Other rune symbols ran near the inside perimeter of the circle and within the pentagram itself. A weed-wacker and hedge clippers had been used for the smaller symbols.
I wondered idly what flavor lollipop the demon was sucking on.
“Margaret! Stop your day dreaming and shore up your point.”
“Yes, Mother,” Margaret said, looking over out across the circle at the woman she called Mother, who was not her truly her Mother at all. Mother was naked as the day she was born wearing only a silver necklace which held at the end of it a ruby as red as blood which dangled between her breasts. Margaret was naked as well, along with her three Sisters who all wore the very same necklace. Each of them stood just outside at one of the five points where the Pentagram touched the circle. Margaret bent her will through the red jewel.
“Much better daughter. Be diligent. No meandering of the mind if we are to…”
“Its beer flavored my dear.” the demon said, interrupting the Mother. “Pabst Blue Ribbon I believe. I do so love a good beer lollipop at a summoning.” The demon turned a wicked smile at Margaret and she shivered. He can read my mind?
“Well of course my dear witch. I wouldn’t be much of an all powerful demon if I couldn’t, now would I? In fact I am getting stronger by the second. Isn’t that right Mother, you feel it don’t you?” the demon said, sneering and turning to her in the circle.
“Shut up, you vile thing…” she started to stay before she couldn’t say any more since she had suddenly turned into an elephant, a small elephant mind you, but still an elephant. And wearing a yellow tutu with pink polka dots. It actually looked rather flattering.
Her other sisters were aghast. Dark short haired little Susie’s eyes went wide and looked ready to run and leave the circle. The two tall blonde twins, Monica and Harmonica, were besides themselves, both wringing their hands in unison. Margaret had to take charge of the situation. It was up to her now. She was the eldest next to Mother in the circle.
“It’s just an illusion sisters, be strong. Repeat the binding incantation, now.” Margaret knew the spell itself would do nothing more than it already had, but it would distract the sisters and give them a focus for the real power behind it. It was all about the will. Always.
“Thrice inter orbis, reus subsido totus, malum pessum…” they all began to chant together.
Which essentially meant get the hell back in your cage you evil piece of shit…more or less.
Mother suddenly popped back into view, gone was the small elephant and tutu. Margaret found herself missing the little elephant already; it had actually been an improvement as far as she was concerned.
“Thank you daughter for your strength, you others had best take lessons.”
Margaret couldn’t help but swell with a little bit of pride from the compliment. She was thinking being an elephant for a minute or two had taken the edge off her a bit.
“Oh, how I tire of this farce. Let’s be done already. And shut up already with that chanting.” The demon bemoaned, rolling his eyes with arms crossed.
Margaret suddenly found she couldn’t’ talk, as did her other sisters. For they all had lollipops stuck in the mouths. Beer flavored lollipops. They weren’t half bad actually.
“Mmm…mmm.” Margaret tried to say to the demon.
“What’s that my dear I can’t quite hear you?” He smiled wickedly again.
Margaret spit out the lollipop. “Fuck you! By the way, I have something for you.” Margaret cleared her mind totally so the demon could not read it. She bent down and picked up her purse next to her feet.
“We have been saving this for just this moment.”
“What in the nine hells are you talking about witch!”
“Why this, my good handsome demon,” Margaret pulled from her purse a small white brick and held in front of her. “It’s a binding brick”, she said.
“Frances Sebastian Cavanaugh Cornelius Plumpkin, I command you to do our bidding.” with that she hurled the brick directly into the face of the demon hitting him squarely in his handsomely square jaw.
“You found my true name?” the demon whispered looking frightened for the first time.
“Yes Francis.” Margaret said as she smiled wickedly back.
Later that night the police left, being satisfied with the results from issuing all of them a breathalyzer test. It seemed a neighbor had called the cops, accusing them of being drunk and disorderly. They then pulled the oh-so-powerful demon out of the closet and got down to business to ask for some serious witch wishes.
By Philip Wardlow
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I was entered
Spinning – A Poem
Spinning –
The little blue eyed blond girl told
me it made her smile
to see the top spin.
A thousand colors coalescing and mingling
in infinite layers
as it made this little blonde girl grin.
Broader than the Milky Way
with pearls of white undamaged
yet by tooth decay.
Gloriously it stretched across her face and
there was no finer secret to be had in the universe
that day.
by Philip Wardlow
The Power In Me – Excerpt of Short Story by Philip Wardlow
The Power in Me
Three Ping Pong balls revolved in midair, each one following the other in a tight circle as they flew.
*
“I shouldn’t be able to be doing this, Carl!” she yelled at the bald little man sitting across the table from her in the dining room of her house. Carl was wearing a smug little grin on his face that annoyed the hell out of her. He was always full of himself, today more than usual. He obviously knew more than her. Shit! She was losing her concentration. One of the balls slipped out of it’s rotation and fell.
*
“True and not true,” Carl replied back glibly to her as he deftly caught the falling ball with his left hand, inches before it hit the table.
*
“What the hell is that supposed to mean!” she said, her eyes staring ahead at the two remaining balls still rotating in front of her. She thought of a figure eight, and immediately the balls begin to swirl in that configuration. It was equally cool and frightening at the same time, she thought, but Carl didn’t have to know that.
*
“Angela, you have taken to this extremely well. It seems you are a natural. I have to give our co-workers credit. They were betting you would do well the first time right out the gate. Not many can pull off even one ball this quickly, let alone three. Guess I will have to pay up when I get back to the office.” Carl chuckled to himself, rolling the little white ball he had caught back and forth between his hands on the dining room table still smiling at her smugly.
*
Angela took her eyes from the two remaining balls, which spun and looked directly at Carl.
*
“You mean there are others who can do this? Out with it, Carl, I’m sick of the games. You’ve been playing them too long, first with my husband, now with me. Be straight for once, or for god sakes I’ll shove these balls down your goddamn throat.”
*
Carl’s smile slipped a little her under dark stare. He involuntarily swallowed when he suddenly realized the balls were still continuing to spin in their figure eight pattern without her looking at them. Damn, she’s good, he thought, and arrogant. A lot like him more or less, he thought, but still soft.
*
“Well.” Angela said to him, more of a command than a question.
*
Carl ignored her tone. “You remember that project three years ago that kept Scott away so many hours at night?”
*
She remembered all too well, the late nights, and all the arguments that followed, telling her he couldn’t discuss his work with her because she didn’t have the clearance. It still rankled her a little to this day. Angela only nodded as she looked at him as the balls continued to spin, so Clark continued.
*
“We had found something amazing. To be more exact it found us. One of the lab geeks directed to synthesize some of the proteins from a plant brought back from Brazil accidentally combined two cultures in the synthesis we were working on with the lot. The other plant was from an older expedition we had done years ago in the Congo in Africa. Scott had pulled it himself from the incubator a few days later. Lot Forty-Two.”
*
Angela noticed Carl’s eyes dilating and his hand gestures became more animated as he spoke. This disturbed her for some reason and she didn’t know why.
*
“Oh, the things Lot Forty-two revealed to us, Angela!” Carl found it hard to contain himself as he talked.
*
“We didn’t know how much until we began the human trials. You did not know this, but Scott, was one of the first volunteers. The committee had been paranoid of it getting out to the general public so everything was done in house; very hush hush.
*
“I am sorry to say this ,Angela, but he was a fool.” Carl said flatly to her from across the table.
*
An invisible force compressed against Carl’s chest, to send him flying and to go slamming into the wall behind him. Plaster crumbled around his head and tumbled off the nice black suit coat he wore. Now I am going to have to go to the dry cleaners tomorrow, he thought idly.
*
“Release me, Angela.” Carl said quietly. She indeed is a natural. In front of her the two balls still wove their figure pattern in the air. If only it could be different.
*
Angela saw no fear in Carl at what she had just done to him. More so, a calm demeanor seemed to settle into him, like a mask had lifted. She herself was scared at what she had just done. Where had it come from? This was so much different than revolving balls in the air. This new power seemed to have welled up inside her and she had just let it go all at once at him in a stream. It was still flowing; like a fire hose turned wide open at the hydrant.
*
“Why say such a thing about Scott?” Angela’s dark eyes seemed to glow as she stood up and walked slowly around the table to him. Carl just stared at her, not blinking. The force increased upon his chest as he sank even deeper into the wall.
*
Because he knew the initial trials were unstable, he knew it could possibly kill him. But he went ahead with it anyway. He wanted to be one of the firsts. His vanity won out and it was his undoing in the end. ” Carl gasped for breath from the pressure she was exerting on his chest.
*
“The drug he and the others had taken was unrefined, the levels too high for their system. The power consumed him; it drove him to lash out violently with the power for no reason. You must have suspected.” Carl looked at Angela challenging her to disagree as he fought to breathe.
*
“You should remember his dark moods when he came home. He had to be put down! Now let me go!” Carl controlled his breathing. This game is at an end. The committee be damned, he thought.
*
Angela ignored him. She pushed harder and the power flowed from her like the heat from the sun. Along with the power, anger filled her. Anger at this little man who had taken her husband away, anger at the lies he now spouted about him. Her power escalated as her anger took a foothold in her, each resonated and drew upon the other. They were feeding each other.
*
Continue reading The Power In Me – Excerpt of Short Story by Philip Wardlow
Punching Water – A poem
Punching Water –
If I had to describe what life was like
I would say it’s like punching water.
I flail with fists at this simple concoction of
wondrous matter with wild abandon.
Yet it feels no pain, no emotion
Bruised knuckles connect to its surface
breaking the stream,
It simply cascades around my skin.
Surface tension, caused by its bi-polar nature
reforms the flow after my useless flinging
of flesh has ceased.
My presence barely felt.
Strength is spent, muscles on fire,
breathing labored
I give up the fight
and cup my hands to take a drink.
by Philip Wardlow 2014
The Books & Authors that shaped my writing…
I went to my library of books and pulled all the ones out that I thought shaped me as a writer in general. These are ones by certain authors, which I am sure, my subconcious mind draws upon when I write my own stories and poems.
The authors range from Ray Bradbury, Robert E. Howard, Julian May, Anne Rice, Magaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, Isaac Asimov, Douglas Adams, Stephen King, Fritz Leiber, David Eddings, Robert Jordan, J.K. Rowling, J.D. Salinger, Brandon Sanderson,Harry Harrison, Ayn Rand, Fred Saberhagen.
I also snuck in a picture of a Comic book as well because I have been reading those ever since I can remember, so how can they not have shaped how I write on a daily basis?
Let me know what books and authors have shaped you as a writer or even if you are reader of many books in general.
I have read much Fantasy ranging from low to high, Conan The Barbarian anyone? And ‘The Wheel of Time’ – an EPIC Series by Robert Jordan. Oh, and don’t get me started on the wonderful series of J.K. Rowling’s – Harry Potter. And there are so many more fantasy writers that drive me.
How about the beautiful poignant literary novels such as Ayn Rand’s – “The Fountainhead” , “Life of Pi” by Yann Martel, J.D. Salinger’s – “Catcher in the Rye”, or Cervante’s – “Don Quixote”
Are you a science fiction fan? How about Isaac Asimov’s – “Foundation Series”, L. Ron. Hubbard’s – “Battlefield Earth”, or Harry Harrison’s – “Stainless Steel Rat”.
Fancy some Horror?…. Stephen King, Anne Rice (even Ray Bradbury dabbled in it a little) ?
And lastly Comics…..Spiderman, X-men, Daredevil, Avengers, Hulk, X-force,Thor, Teen Titans, Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash, and the list goes on…:)
I am discovering new ones as I speak. To me that’s the most fun part of reading…finding that new favorite author.
What do you read…and what are your favorite stories?
Sexism in Writing and how we can all learn from an 8yr girl
I recently have been reading various articles on sexism in the literary world. I have been learning alot and may, at a later date in another post, write my own opinion on the subject matter when I have fully researched it. I mainly began my research in to this subject matter so I would NOT become a sexist writer.
I wanted to avoid the many pitfalls I see in the writing world in the way they treat the women characters in a story. In my research, I also found we do the male character in the story a disservice as well at times. In our sexism, we consciously or unconsciously pigeonhole women and men in stereotypical roles because we have found it to be acceptable and a “given” in our minds in how that sex should act according to the “normal laws” of societal convention. I won’t even tell you what we do to women writers in how unfairly they are treated until I have all my ducks and facts in a row. But I will tell you this, I am a male writer and I already have an advantage over them just for that reason alone sad to say.
Here is an article originally featured on the website www.today.com . The original story was written on Oct 3rd, 2013 on there website and can be found HERE
I think you will find this story interesting. I am also sure it is just the tip of the ice-burg for what goes on in the literary world at large. I would love to hear your opinions on the article after you have finished reading it.
Constance Cooper’s daughter, KC, is no shrinking violet. In fact, Cooper describes her 8-year-old as articulate, passionate and a great reader, qualities parents hope their children exhibit as they grow.
So it was not a huge surprise to Cooper when, this past summer, KC became upset after an ordinary trip to their local bookstore, Half Price Books, in Berkeley, Calif.
“We were browsing around in the bookstore, and suddenly I heard my daughter calling out, ‘Mama! You have to look at this!’” recalls Cooper. “So, of course, I thought she’d found something she wanted to buy, but it was completely the opposite. She was looking at two books that had made her so enraged she was actually in tears.”
The books, titled “How To Survive (Almost) Anything,” included a boy version and a girl version. In the boy version, the chapters covered topics such as “How to Survive a Shark Attack,” “How to Survive in a Desert,” and “How to Survive Whitewater Rapids.”
The girl version addressed such issues as “How to Survive a BFF Fight,” “How to Survive a Fashion Disaster,” and “How to Survive a Breakout.”
“The one that got to my daughter the most was ‘How to Survive a Camping Trip’ because she loves camping,” Cooper said. “It was sad to read ‘camping may not always be a girl’s top choice of activity, but here’s how to make the best of a bad situation and survive in style.’ The picture had a girl dreaming about lounging on a beach. Later it said, ‘Besides, fresh air is excellent for the skin, and a brisk walk is a marvelous workout.’”
KC was so upset at the sexist nature of the books that a bookstore employee took notice and asked her what was wrong.
“After looking through the books, the employee agreed they were offensive and pulled them from the shelves! She said if she had seen them first they wouldn’t have been there to begin with. She was great because she took action and validated my daughter’s feelings.”
Joshua Lynn, a manager at Half Price Books, has clarified to TODAY Moms that the books were not removed from the store, but rather were moved to a “less prominent area of the children’s section.”
“While we certainly understand why the books upset her and commend the girl for speaking out against stereotypical portrayals of gender roles in books, I would like to stress that we are strong advocates of First Amendment rights and do not advocate censorship or removal of “objectionable” books from circulation,” Lynn said.
Cooper, a science fiction writer, is proud of her daughter for drawing attention to the books, and took this experience as a lesson learned for both KC and herself.
“I saw this as an opportunity to explain to my daughter that it’s not always girls who are hurt by sexism, but boys too. For instance, the boys’ version of the book implies that all boys do is fight and deal with disasters. In reality they might actually benefit from a lot of the advice in the girls’ book, like ‘How to Survive Shyness’ or ‘How to be a Brilliant Babysitter’.”
And what would have normally been a simple irritation to Cooper became a much more meaningful reminder thanks to her daughter’s persistence.
“If I’d seen those books on my own, I probably would have just shaken my head and gone away without saying anything and felt angry when I thought about it later. As adults we see so much of that sort of thing, and we get worn down. I hope my daughter will continue to think critically about the messages she’s given in our culture and speak out when she thinks something is not right.”
Of course not everyone agreed.
Cooper said she posted the experience on her writing website, http://www.constancecooper.com, and submitted the link to boingboing, one of her favorite blogs, “because I knew from reading it that the editors are concerned about issues of gender and culture and also how to raise kids to think critically.”
“Unfortunately it triggered a somewhat nasty flurry of comments about censorship, which I feel really distracted from the point of the post,” Cooper said.
Advice to Poets – Three Quick Rules by Philip Wardlow
I don’t mean to offend. But a lot of the poetry out there sucks. I can freely admit that some of mine sucks lemon peels.
I can’t say I’m qualified to give advice to poets or would be poets. I have been writing poetry since I was in high school and have taken many creative writing and English courses regarding the subject. Still, I think there are a lot better poets out in there in the word than me past and present. I am not going to get technical on you. But just give you three quick down and dirty lessons on the subject matter. From there you can grow I believe to be a better poet.
I just know what I like to read as a poet and what I like to write as a poet. To me, when reading a poem, the subject matter is less important than how it is actually handled by the person writing it. You can take a great concept you wish to write a poem about; be it love, life, an adventure, or erotica and fuck it up quite easily.
I have read many blogs and I have read some very good poetry. On the flipside I have read some VERY bad poetry. In those instances I do not push the LIKE button or comment on the poem unless they wish a serious critique.
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Rule #1 –
Example: I see the world flying from me , never to return, why must I be denied., why oh why, it’s so unfair, this world that I live in. I feel down and out. Woe is me oh woe is me. I’m in such pain why oh why…blah blah blah
The biggest problem with BAD poetry is that the Poem just rambles on and on with no clear resolution at the end. Give me something I can grab on to. Some epiphany you learned, a realization of life, a CLEVER way of stating the obvious… and wrap it up…Don’t take 20 Lines to say the same thing you could have said in 10 lines.
So Rule #1 Don’t Ramble on and on with no Point and repeat the same thing twice.
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Rule#2 –
Example: The night is cold, and I feel very bold. I love you so much and I miss your touch
Secondly unless your a fifth grader and newly starting out in writing poetry…don’t rhyme just to rhyme. It makes me insane to read poetry where I can predict the words in every other next line. It’s like slow water torture for me. Basically do it when its appropriate. When in doubt if you think it’s too much then be rest assured it probably is. And have you ever heard of alliteration and all the other forms of poetry writing, as an alternate to the normal rhyme scheme? If not look them up. Get Educated,
So Rule#2 Don’t Rhyme so damn much
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Rule #3 –
Example: She/he hurt me in that way. Because I did that thing. And I hurt. The pedantic ethereal winds kissed my cheek and I let out long sigh as the rockslide engulfed my being that encapsulated you. (wtf!)
And lastly I hate when you give me your direct feelings in vague ways or you explain an experience in a much too abstract or technical way. both ways hide what you are really trying to get across and feel inside that head of yours. Sure YOU may be getting it out of YOUR system..but it does nothing for ME the reader of your poem. So don’t be lazy and don’t hit us with super symbolism or the dictionary of words hardly ever used by 90% of the English speaking community.
Rule #3 – Don’t keep what you really wish to say a secret with vague or abstract writing. Still be creative but don’t hide behind the words.
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OKAY DONE with my lesson…now go out and play.
Kava Writers Collective – My Writing Group
Meet Kava Writers Collective!
Approximately a year ago I joined a writing group in my local area to better hone my skills as a writer and to feel not so alone in my desperation to want to be a writer….misery loves company…write? (I mean right?)
I kid actually…I think we all have potential in our own separate goals to want to be writers. Actually the founding member of the group, who goes by the name of Susie, who we all hail as the Supreme Dictator (I mean Leader) of the group was published and is soon to be published again in March I believe on her second book and who is already hard at work on her third. She’s a powerhouse of wordum and knows her stuff…she’s definitely got the chops.
The group consists of nine people – of course people – what did you think they were? Magical unicorns. Shh….one actually could be….don’t tell him I said so though…we’re not to supposed to let on like we know.
Anyways, we meet every first and third Sunday of the month – weather permitting of course…dammit you foul beast called snow that seeks to keep me from my destiny!
The group consists of five men and four women. It’s a pretty balanced group of individuals in the genre that they write to and in the way they may critique something you have written. I love their feedback and think of them as invaluable coaches in editing and fixing what I can’t see that’s wrong sometimes with my writing.
In the last year, I feel I have grown under there honest feedback and response to my work. Besides that, they have inspired me to keep going at times when I get discouraged with setbacks that may happen in my own writing .
Their energy in their own work makes me want to push through, get the work done and be proud of a product that I can call my own.
How about you guys? Any of my followers or fellow bloggers belong to any writing groups or attend any workshops? If so, what do you get out of it?















