I had an excellent run of success with short-story competitions in 2021 and 2022, winning or shortlisting in just about everything I entered. I’ve been concentrating on my novels this year but I’ve missed the zing of writing short stories. I love to experiment with format and like to challenge myself to use various writing devices.
I also try to write upbeat stories.
As a judge for the GCWA Short Story Competition two years running, I can honestly say that most of the stories we receive are trauma stories filled with pain and anger. I don’t want to write trauma. I’ve had enough of it in life. I journal that stuff. I’m not interested in putting it out there for the world to read.
So, this past year I have only entered the Right Left Write competition through the Queensland Writers Centre a few times and had no luck there. I decided early on in the year to focus on manuscript competitions. I submitted my crime manuscript in the Banjo and Richell prizes and had no takers there either but then Holly Ringland’s Lost Flowers of Alice Hart was unsuccessful in the Richell too, so I’m not giving up hope.
In October, to have something to take to our new critique group, I decided to enter the Marj Wilke short story competition. I received the email this morning and you guessed it, my story failed to make the long list. A minute later I opened the newsletter from the QWC and my excerpt from Circle of Ashes didn’t impress the judges this month. (You can read the winner here… To understand why your story didn’t make the grade, it helps to read the winner.)
With my writing partner, Jane O’Connell, we did win the Art of the Title Competition which was pretty amazing and my story A Good Man will be published in the Rainforest Writing Retreat annual anthology. I wrote in the ‘secret baby’ trope because Charmaine from RWR said she wasn’t sure how someone could have a secret baby. Considering I was a secret baby, I felt I had something to bring to the genre.
I’ve had other kinds of wins this year. I bought a house. I pretty much retired. Hubby and I did some travel and planned more. After years of not really speaking, I’ve reconnected with my brother who is also writing a book. He’s just sent me the first 22 chapters to read. I feel so privileged that he trusts me to read it and thrilled to have another writer in the family.
I found an excellent writing partner for my non-fiction title, the aforementioned Jane. I’ve remembered that I’m not a crime writer and I am returning to my first loves – magical realism and contemporary romance. I’ve conducted some great interviews with authors and arranged for other writers to do their first author interviews, too. I was recognised by my peers for my work for the local writing community which was lovely. I attended a conference in Adelaide, saw my favourite band at the Sydney Opera House and swam at Bondi Beach.
I hope to be teaching more in the new year after talks with our local art gallery. Big things are coming. Nice things. Fun things.
I’ve had some big losses this year too. I lost my mum which I still can’t believe. I have to keep saying it because I keep forgetting. How can that be real?
My uncle Tom died and aunties Maureen and Sylvia. My son’s girlfriend left our lives with no warning and no reason given and we have been mourning that, too.
So in the scheme of things, not getting the nod from a judge somewhere isn’t that important. The win is in the writing.
Losing story #1 – Circle of Ash – excerpt
Shelagh’s gloved hands moved expertly, every action visible to the camera. She placed the fleck of ash in a labelled vial and sealed the lid, the distinct pop audible in the silent tent. Picking up a scalpel with a long blade, she slid it between two layers of ashes, one the palest white, its neighbour almost charcoal.
‘The difference in composition between these layers has proven in the past to guarantee…’
She stared at the blade buried half-way in the sample. A large crack appeared and ran the length of the core. The sample cracked where the light ash met the dark and crumbled on the tray. Shelagh held her breath and glanced up at the director. Beside him stood the formidable Dame Isobel Lane, the academic who wrote the textbooks Shelagh and her colleagues referred to daily. The Dame took a small step, stopping just off-camera, her eyebrows raised. Shelagh clenched her fists but smiled at the camera. She signalled for a closeup.
‘Quite the find here today. We have what appears to be a human finger and oh, see here, bring the camera right in. A beaten gold ring that would have fit well, but now…’ Shelagh gently lifted the ring with the tip of the scalpel. Her pulse pounded in her temples. ‘This withered flesh once belonged to a living, breathing human… buried for centuries, millennia, here at New Henge.’
The camera held its position, as the director called ‘cut’. He glanced first at Dame Isobel, then back at the gathered crew.
‘Okay, who’s the bloody comedian? This, just in case anyone here is too stupid to know, is not funny.’
The cameras, lights, and every eye were on Shelagh, hands raised as if in surrender. Why would someone would sabotage their work? That someone in her trusted crew would contaminate a site so sacred…
‘Maybe the experimental team…’ Shelagh said, not believing her own words. But she had seen enough old corpses to know the finger was real.
The director slapped his hand on the table in front of him, making everyone flinch. ‘Fake or not, it’s still a bloody waste of time and money.’
The cast and crew lining the walls slipped from the marquee. Shelagh paced. Dame Isobel put her reading glasses on and peered at the director’s monitor.
‘This is no hoax.’
Shelagh turned and glared at the legendary academic, whose own hand was reverently touching the on-screen image of the withered finger. Her stomach churned. Once again, her grandmother would steal the show.
‘Shelagh, you were very young, but do you remember the dig in Brittany?’
Shelagh gave a single nod of her head. Of course, she remembered Carnac, the famous dig that propelled her grandmother to the top of the field.
Dame Isobel picked her way through the equipment and joined Shelagh at the specimen table. She peered down at the discovery and smiled. ‘Well, dear, I do believe there’s a corpse in France missing a finger.’
Losing Story #2 – Vision Board
A quake of anticipation shook Maria awake.
My new life starts today, she thought. She wished she could shout it to the world. She took the small canvas panel from its hook behind the door and slipped it into her tote. It was the last thing she saw at night and the first thing she looked at in the morning. Allowing herself a moment of excitement, she ran a finger across her new suitcase on the way to the bathroom, but before she could close the door, her daughter appeared at the end of the hallway.
‘Mum, Bingo took off when I opened the door.’
Maria’s heart sank.
Why did you open the door, she almost said.
The cat knew something was up the minute she’d arrived home with her new suitcase. He didn’t realise he was starting a new life, too. Maria headed for the front door.
‘Bingo,’ she called sweetly. ‘I’ve got treats.’
She dashed along the footpath, and Renée went the other way. Dew soaked the hems of Maria’s pyjamas.
‘Bingo,’ she called.
Aware of the time ticking away, she trudged back towards the house. It wasn’t a fancy place, but she loved it. It was the only home her kids had ever known, and she always thought she’d be carted out of it in a pine box one day far in the future.
Renée appeared, shaking her head.
‘Silly cat,’ Maria muttered as she stomped up the stairs. How could she start her new life without her buddy? His picture was the first thing she’d put on her vision board.
‘You’ll have to postpone your flight,’ Renée said.
Maria stopped, took a breath, and turned back to look at her daughter. Tears glazed her big hazel eyes.
‘You know Bingo is important to me, but I start work tomorrow.’
‘That’s heartless, mum,’ Renée said.
‘The pharmacy in Petrel Beach can’t open without me. The owners can cancel my contract if I’m not there by eight tomorrow.’ She didn’t say…and I need to get out of here. ‘You can send Bingo up when he comes home.’
Maria squeezed her daughter’s shoulders and headed to the bathroom. She wasn’t heartless. There had been enough tears. The love of her life had a new love, and they were getting married on Saturday. It was time to move on.
She showered, did her makeup, slipped on the new silk pantsuit and smiled at herself in the mirror. The girls at the salon had been surprised by her request to ‘do something different’ and the choppy, deep burgundy waves made Maria feel powerful. If she’d known a hairstyle could do that, she might have done it years ago.
She went back into the room that was no longer hers, stripped the bed, and bundled the sheets into the washer. Renée would make the space hers over the coming days. Rollers and buckets of pale pink paint waited in the garage.
Maria slipped out the handle of her suitcase and trundled it down the hallway. It might have felt like she was going on a holiday if she knew what that was like. Years of juggling kids and an unrelenting business with a workaholic husband had meant holidays were rare. Of course, he had gone to all the conferences. Maria stopped herself. Bitterness didn’t help. At least he’d eventually agreed to relinquish his claim on the house and let her give it to the kids.
The empty cat carrier sat on the porch as Marie and Renée drove off into the early morning sun.
‘Take the bypass,’ Maria instructed her daughter. She didn’t want to drive past the business they had built or through the town she loved. It no longer felt like hers, and by the end of the day, she would live in the tropics.
‘What’s that?’ Renée said, tapping the tote bag on her mother’s lap.
‘Photo frames. Pictures of you and your brother. Nanna and Pop. My graduation photo.’
‘No. That.’ Renée said. Eyes still on the road, she ran her finger along the teal-painted side of the canvas panel sticking out of the bag. Maria’s face warmed a little.
‘Nothing.’
A smile played on Renée’s lips.
‘It’s your vision board. I saw it in your bedroom.’
Maria took a breath and slid the canvas out, angling it towards her nosey daughter.
‘Is that a beachfront mansion?’ Renée laughed. ‘Dream on.’
‘Nothing wrong with dreaming,’ Maria said, indignant.
She touched each pasted-on picture. A pristine beach. Women laughing around a table. A plane flying off into a clear, blue sky. The photo of Maria, laughing, her eyes bright, holding Bingo as a tiny kitten. Stacks of cash in a bank vault. A beachfront Bahamas-style home with a hammock slung between two palms.
‘I heard about it on a podcast and thought…’ she shrugged. ‘It’s all the things I want in my new life.’
‘Us kids aren’t on there,’ Renée said.
She wouldn’t have said such a thing to her father. Maria slid the panel back into the tote. The next turn off was for the airport.
‘You kids don’t need me anymore. You’ve got good jobs, lots of friends, a home.’ She didn’t say it’s time for me now.
Renée sulked as she pulled up into the airport drop-off zone, but she lifted Maria’s suitcase from the boot, opened the handle, and angled it towards her.
‘I will miss you, mum,’ she whispered, through her tears.
Maria pulled her daughter into a hug.
‘I love you. I’ll text you when I land.’
The flight was as turbulent as the morning had been. Maria almost kissed the ground when they were finally expelled out onto the tarmac. Landed, she texted to Renée, adding a row of blue love hearts. Three dots appeared for a moment, then disappeared. Appeared and disappeared.
A light wind carried salt and other promises from the vast ocean she had seen from the plane. Maria followed the other passengers to collect their luggage. A young woman held a printed sign that read: Dr Alicia Jenkins and Maria Rosen. Maria grabbed her bag and rolled it over.
‘Maria Rosen,’ she said and offered her hand to shake.
‘Our new pharmacist!’ Her smile lifted Maria’s spirits. Another woman joined them.
‘Hi, I’m Alicia.’ More handshakes and smiles.
‘I’m Fiona.’ The young woman ushered them to her waiting car. ‘My parents are the doctor and the pharmacist. I’m about to head off to uni. They really need a holiday.’
As she drove, Fiona told them about the small town, pointing out the medical centre and pharmacy they would work in, the little shops, bakery, and the pub. They were old friends by the time Fiona nosed the car into a sandy driveway and stopped beside a freshly painted cottage. Maria trundled her suitcase into the cottage in a dream, taking in the cosy living room, light-filled kitchen and two ensuite bedrooms. She checked her phone. Still nothing from Renée.
‘I’ll make tea,’ Fiona said.
‘You want the front room?’ Alicia said, ‘Or this one.’ They turned and took in the blue painted walls, the deep green gauzy curtains.
The room complemented her bag and her silky pantsuit. Alicia smiled and disappeared into the pale-yellow room. Maria left her suitcase in the walk-in robe and freshened up in her new ensuite. She pulled the vision board from her tote and rested it against the mirror.
What’s the catch?
She pushed away thoughts of her husband’s, ex-husband’s, wedding on the weekend and touched the picture of Bingo. Did she always have to lose before she could win?
Fiona was on the back veranda, afternoon tea laid out on the round table. Maria was rendered speechless by the blue expanse of ocean framed by two palms. Alicia appeared beside her, eyes wide, a huge grin on her face.
‘What’s the catch?’ Alicia said, mirroring Maria’s unspoken thoughts. She laughed and nodded her head.
Fiona shrugged.
‘You’ll be very busy. We’re the only medical centre for two hundred clicks. The town is full of backpackers, grey nomads, hypochondriacs, and nosey parkers. You’ll have a full calendar of lunch and dinner invitations before the end of the week, but only to check you out. The gossip will start in week two.’
‘It’s worth it,’ Alicia said, laughing. She gestured at the view.
A message popped up on Maria’s phone. An unimpressed-looking Renée holding an equally surly Bingo. Maria smiled with relief.
‘Back in a jiffy,’ she said. She went to her new bedroom and returned with her vision board. All her shyness gone; she showed the panel to the other women.
‘We need a hammock,’ Alicia declared.
‘And the stacks of cash.’ Maria laughed. ‘The cat will be on the next flight.’
