Hampshire Writers' Society

Tag: winners

  • June Competition Winners 2014

    ‘The First Page of a Historical Novel’

    I’d like to start by giving a big thank you to Becky Bagnell for being our adjudicator. Of course Becky is no stranger to the HWS; her first visit was September 2012 when she was the judge for ‘Create an Amateur Detective Character’.

    Becky founded the Lindsay Literary Agency in 2008. She has been a commissioning editor for Macmillian and worked alongside authors such as Max Hastings, Robert Service and John Simpson. The Lindsay Literary Agency represents a wide range of authors; Becky said that finding new authors and that all important initial publishing deal is what makes the agency tick.

    Becky’s Adjudication:

    1st Prize: Louise Taylor, The Gardener’s Boy

    “This is a strong and confident piece of writing that engages the reader from the first sentence, offering multiple layers of complexity in the narrative. The touch, feel and taste of monkey nuts seems to pervade the entire page whilst at the same time disguising the sexual tension that lingers just beneath the surface.”

    He waited by the side gate, the one that was beneath the head gardener’s dignity. A paper bag holding the remnants of sixpence’s-worth of monkey nuts was scrunched into his pocket and rested warmly against his thigh. Eva liked monkey nuts. She cracked the shells between her teeth and spat the pieces out onto the ground. None of the other young ladies did that.

    Here she was. He heard the swish of her skirt and the soft clack as her feet kicked one stone into another. ‘Jack,’ she said, as she rounded the little bend in the path and saw him standing there, scuffing up clods of grass and earth as casually as he could manage. ‘Anyone would think you didn’t have work to do.’

    He grinned with a mouth punctuated by as many gaps as teeth. ‘I’m turning over the mulch heaps, dontcha know?’

    She winked. ‘Looks like hard labour.’

    ‘It is. Pa’s conked out in the greenhouse.’ He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the paper bag. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘I saved these. Want some?’

    He watched as she cracked the nuts between her teeth and used lips and tongue to send the pieces skittering to the ground. She was a good spitter; he’d like to see how far she could get a cherry stone. When she’d finished and had wiped away the tiny fragments of shell that clung to her lips and besprinkled her chin, he said, ‘Off home then?’

    He wanted to ask to walk with her but he knew that wouldn’t do, even if she might have said yes. If only he hadn’t eaten so many nuts himself, she might have stayed a minute or two longer. But, just as if she’d read his mind, she looked at him with the sort of quizzical look in her eye that a magpie gets when it spots something shiny. She was about to share a confidence. His face flushed with excitement and he felt himself stand taller with the importance of it all. ‘What is it?’ he asked, watching as she picked up the books she’d placed on the edge of the path and hugged them to her with a kind of fierce possession.

    ‘I’m going to university,’ she said. ‘Cambridge. To Girton.’

    Jun 14 Louise Taylor Linda Welch

    2nd Prize: Elizabeth Wald, Sultan’s Shadow

    “‘Sultan’s Shadow’ stood out from the others because of its exotic setting carefully portrayed through the use of small detail like the, ‘thin porcelain cup in its silver filigree holder’. The narrative is intriguing and full of suspense, I’d like to know what happens next!”

    Isfahan, Persia 1888

    When the sultan offers you a cup of coffee, etiquette demands you accept; but when you know the cup is poisoned, refusal is impossible.

    This was the problem facing Mahmoud as he sat nervously on a pile of cushions amid the opulence of the sultan’s drawing room. It was a fine room but he had little time for it. Besides, he had seen it many times before and was only dimly aware of the lofty room with its creamy white marble and tall columns that soared to the ceiling.

    They had eaten a fine supper with pleasant company. The other men had been friendly and the conversation had flowed as freely as the wine. Now then other guests had left and the two men were alone. The sultan called for fresh coffee and the kalyans, the water pipes, so that they could smoke and talk in peace.

    But Mahmoud was not at peace. He looked at the thin porcelain cup in its silver filigree holder. The dark liquid within it rippled slightly, catching the light. He could imagine drinking it: thick and gritty with the consistency and flavour of sweetened mud. The poison, if it was present, would be totally undetectable, but he knew what to expect: the pain in the stomach, the vomiting, the distinctive smell of garlic on the breath. ‘Qajar coffee’ they called it, popularised by the royal family, with whom this was a favourite assassination method.

    Now the second most powerful member of that family sat in front of him: the Zillu’s-Sultan, the Shah’s Shadow, and governor of southern Persia. And his dark, penetrating eyes were studying Mahmoud.

    Mahmoud shifted uncomfortably, fingering the hose on his kalyan. A narrow band of sweat appeared on his upper lip. In a moment of absent-minded weakness, he wiped it away. Then, worried he had betrayed himself, he quickly drew on the pipe. The blue smoke hung in the air like a coiled snake before drifting upwards to the ceiling.

    Yet still the sultan stared at him. The sultan’s mouth, fringed by a fashionably dyed blue-black moustache, widened into a slight smile. There was no doubt in Mahmoud’s mind now: the coffee was poisoned.

    ‘Well, are you going to drink your coffee?’ The sultan’s voice was edged with impatience.

    The cup shook as Mahmoud picked it up with his thumb and forefinger and the dark liquid splashed over his hand. When the moment came, he drank quickly so that the tepid liquid slid down his throat without him even tasting it. Then he placed the cup down again, slowly and deliberately.

    Now there was nothing left do except wait. Wait and wander if he would still be alive at midnight.

     

    3rd Prize: Linda Welch, Hall of Mirrors

    “The opening page is immediately redolent of its First World War setting using descriptive clues rather than spelling everything out. Very quickly the narrative opens up lots of questions for the reader making the story more compelling.”

    Southampton was not the end of the line, but it was as far as Eleanor Woodford could afford to go. Picking up her basket and pulling her suitcase from the rack above her head, she moved slowly along the crowded carriage, trying to avoid the people who had been forced to stand in the aisles. She turned to apologise to the man whose foot she had trodden on and her heart seemed to stop for an instant when she saw that he was in uniform.

    ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

    ‘Don’t mention it!’ he laughed. ‘I’m sure I shall suffer more than a bruised foot where I’m going!’

    Eleanor wanted to ask him which regiment he was going to join, where he would be stationed, did he know Anthony? but the guard was already slamming the doors shut, so she only had time to wish him luck before alighting. As the train pulled out of the station, she stood on the platform and watched the soldier, laughing with his friends. Give him my love, if you get to Flanders, she thought and, as if he had heard her, the soldier looked out of the window straight at her, smiled, and sketched a salute. As the train picked up speed, Eleanor lost sight of him, but she remained on the platform until it was deserted.

    ‘What the Dickens shall I do now?’ she wondered aloud.

    It was one thing to walk into a public house on Anthony’s arm, quite another to enter one alone. Eleanor walked past the door seven times. Had it not started to snow she would doubtless have walked past it seven times more before the cold forced her inside.

    Conversation stopped. Eleanor fought down the tears and walked up to the bar.

    ‘Yes?’ A woman in her middle years put down the glass she was polishing and looked at her with some disdain. Women alone in a public house invariably spelled trouble.

     

    Highly Commended: Anne Eckersley, A Union Man

    Highly Commended: Louise Morrish, All Earthly Things

     

    The prizes were signed copies of Lady Carnarvon’s books, together with a signed Certificate of Adjudication by Becky Bagnell.

    Becky said that she had really enjoyed doing the adjudication because all the entries were of such a high standard. Writing the first page of a novel is a very difficult task and many submissions are discarded because the writer doesn’t explain where the action is taking place or even identify the characters clearly, but Becky said that there were no such problems with any of the HWS entries.

    The competition secretary, Jim Livesey thanked Becky for doing such a great job of adjudication and announced that the next competition will be at the start of the new season – Tuesday 9 September 2014 – The Stripe, Winchester.

  • May Competition Winners 2014

    ‘Write a Letter to a Literary Agent – 300 words’

    As well as being the main speaker, James Wills very kindly took on the duties of adjudicator. James is a Literary Agent at Watson Little and has a BA in English and Italian, which he said was very useful as he has just come back from the Turin Book Fair. James said that he was passionate about reading and good writing, and urged members to read, read, read.

    James’ Adjudication:

    1st Prize: Louise Morrish, All Earthly Things

    “An extremely good letter and, in my eyes, the obvious winner. It does everything a good covering letter needs to do and does so with ease. Clear, concise and professional in tone but just enough intrigue to make me want to read more. It’s a good title, a nice set up and a great setting for a story. Most importantly, the letter makes me want to read this book.”

    Dear Mr Wills

    I am currently seeking an agent for my novel, ‘All Earthly Things’. The novel is set in the First World War and tells the story of a young woman, Mary, who disguises herself as a soldier in order to follow her twin brother who has been conscripted. The novel follows Mary’s experiences in the horror of the trenches, her struggle to survive the Battle of Messines, and her subsequent escape.

    In 2012 I completed the Faber ‘Write A Novel Online’ course, during which I wrote my first novel, ‘Beyond the Pale’, which I am currently self-publishing. I have recently finished another Faber course: ‘Exploring Genre’. A few years ago I wrote a series of non-fiction children’s books in collaboration with another author, which were published by Wayland. I have also twice won first prize in the Alton Wordfest short story competition.

    I have attached the first 10,000 words of my novel and a synopsis for your consideration. I am submitting my novel to a number of other selected agents, but I will of course inform you if I receive any interest.

    I look forward to hearing from you soon,

    Louise Morrish 1st and Louise Taylor 3rd
    Louise Morrish & Louise Taylor

    2nd Prize: Michael Mortimore, The Troll Patrol

    “A lively, fun letter that neatly captures the off-beat nature of the title. It seemed evident to me you enjoyed writing this letter and that made me want to read it too – well done”

    Dear James Wills,

    You requested an off-beat, quirky, and thrilling character driven story – I am delighted to present you with just that – The Troll Patrol. The book is 37,000 words, aimed at middle readers (8-12 years), and ends in such a way that it could form the basis for a series.

    The novel is loosely based on The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen – a story of what it is to be free and to be able to choose how to live … but there are no beautiful mermaids in this modern twist … Becky is a troll. She’s the new girl at school, different, cool – Pete, Harry, and Johnny like her immediately. She gives them a new theme for their secret club. She gives them ‘The Troll Patrol’. This is a story of friendship, but will anyone want to be Becky’s friend when they discover her secret? The slime, the snot, the warts … not to mention all the bogies!

    My previous writing experience is The Karma Kid (2nd Prize Writing for Children 2012, Winchester Writers’ Conference) and a YA novel, A.D.A.M. I have worked for a small publisher on another project recently with respect to illustration and also designed the official website – including all the non-fiction material on mythology, original artwork, and the very popular ‘Goblin Maker’ game.

    I believe that children’s books should have a moral or defining quality that excites the imagination – even books with lots and lots of snot!

    It goes without saying that I would be delighted should you wish to read the full MS and I very much look forward to hearing from you.

    Yours sincerely

    3rd Prize: Louise Taylor, How to Cook on Safari

    “A good letter that clearly demonstrated your passion for the book and for East Africa. For future reference, I’d try to keep to your covering letter to one page, but that’s easily fixed – well done.”

    Dear James,

    I was hoping you would read the first 10,000 words of my novel, HOW TO COOK ON SAFARI.

    In colonial Kenya, during the decades spanning its 1920s heyday to the Mau Mau rebellion of the 1950s, Cecilia, a young British woman, acquires a female friend and lover, a husband and, ultimately, a child. But who are the child’s parents and why does Cecilia reveal their identity only through the pages of a memoir she leaves behind after her death half a century later?

    An earlier draft was long-listed in Mslexia’s 2013 competition for novels by unpublished female writers. The book, which I think falls into the historical literary genre, grew out of several visits to east Africa. As well as the game reserves, I spent many fascinating hours visiting Karen Blixen’s house, now a museum; getting sunburnt on a boat on lake Naivasha while trying to spot some of the old colonial houses that can still be seen in the area; and learning about the Mau Mau uprising at the Nairobi national museum.

    Although a lawyer by profession, I have an MA in Creative Writing from Winchester University. One of my short stories was short-listed in the 2012 Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook / Arvon short story competition and, in the same year, a travel piece set in Africa was third in BBC Wildlife’s travel writing competition. My poetry has appeared in various publications, most recently in the May 2014 issue of Synaesthesia.

    I enclose the first 10,000 words and a single page synopsis as Word attachments to this email.

    Thank you for your time.

    Highly Commended: Gill Hollands, Slingshot

    “A good, clear letter. I like the fact that you acknowledge that this could be a series but do not presume so, and that it works as a standalone book. This is my pick for “highly commended” letter since you sent two letters and it’s always best to pick your strongest work when submitting to an agent.”

    The prizes were books supplied by P&G Wells, together with a signed Certificate of Adjudication.

    The competition secretary, Jim Livesey thanked James for doing such a great job of adjudication, and we know that getting this kind of feedback is something our members very much appreciate. 1st prize winner, Louise Morrish said that this was only her second visit to the HWS, and she was thrilled to have won and thanked the committee for all their hard work.

  • April Competition Winners 2014

    Report by Celia Livesey

    ‘Write a Maximum of 20 Lines’ – Blank Verse

    Brian Evans-Jones works as a full-time lecturer of creative writing, teaching both for Winchester University and the Open University, and has held many writing workshops at the Discovery Centres in Winchester and Gosport.

    Brian of course is no stranger to the HWS. He was a guest speaker in April 2012 when he described his work as the Hampshire Poet Laureate for 2012. During his term of office he developed the popular ‘Writing Hampshire’ website, mapping the county through poetry.

    Brian’s Adjudication:

    Before Brian gave his adjudication, he read aloud Hazel Donnelly’s entry for April as a tribute to a very talented writer who will be greatly missed. Those members and friends who wish to give donations to Asthma UK can find details on this blog page.

    The first criterion Brian used to judge the entries was whether they were true blank verse. Blank verse is poetry written in regular metrical but unrhymed lines, almost always iambic pentameters. Unfortunately, most of the entrants didn’t follow the brief. Brian said that he had to put those that did follow the guidelines ahead of the rest.

    Clive & Sue
    Clive & Sue

    1st Prize: Sue Spiers, Wiping the Slate Blank

    This poem builds steadily to a really excellent ending – a final stanza that rises and rises in quality to a knock-out image in the last line. The impression left by just that stanza was easily enough to make it a strong contender, but it also does the technical side of blank verse well, and has plenty of memorable lines along the way.

    So can you tell me what went through your mind

    about the crash that crushed your cranium

    at eighty miles per hour into a wall?

    What made you risk your life and loss of limb?

    A surgeon drilled the holes to make some space

    for swollen tissue, limbic gland damage

    that makes remembering the time too hard

    and leads to rage or disruptive changes.

    Medulla responses keep heart and lungs

    in rhythm. Motor skills; finger to thumb,

    some words to name your wife and basic needs.

    The slow recovery of smile and frown

    at appropriate times as you discern

    correct responses. Wonder how you look

    to other patients, do the scars stand out?

    The ones you hold inside and can’t recall.

    In dreams you grasp what consciousness restrains.

    The man who hovers in the corridor;

    that want-of-death was stronger than her love,

    than frontal lobe perception of her faith.

    2nd Prize: Sue Spiers, (pseudonym Lillian White) The Everywhere Woman

    Although the iambic metre sometimes wobbles in this poem, the quality of the observation and the images are very good. The experience the woman is sketched out with precision and moving understatement.

    She’s seen and unseen, an old crumble-sac

    who everyone thinks they know but never

    saw before. Her face is familiar

    and easily forgotten. The white hair –

    a trademark nobody recognises.

    More passive to bland into the background

    behind the loud and strident women who

    demand attention, she sits in her skin,

    occasionally smiling and nodding,

    listening intently to the voices

    rising above her own mouse-beige whisper.

    She remains mute for her own amusement,

    content not to contend ‘don’t I know you?’

    One minute here then gone like a shadow

    at midday whose shape you’re sure you recall

    but can’t bring to mind, an outline that’s made

    of mist. She will never be missed or mourned

    for long but thought of as a dear old kind

    you often met but can’t remember when;

    the everywhere woman without a name.

    3rd Prize: Clive Johnson, The Dancing Floor

    This was the best entry in terms of getting the blank verse technically right. It presents a nightmare dance with images that are fun to decode.

    Before a conflict that would scar me and

    Destroy so many lives, I dreamed each year

    I entered different rooms until I reached

    The last, a fearful place of sacrifice

    As yet unknown to me, inside a hall,

    A dancing floor where flappers and their beaux,

    The damaged of the first war and their friends

    Unheedful of the next, tripped to a beat

    That might have been a devil’s dance, the make-

    Up on the women’s faces devils’ masks

    That stirred in some a superstitious awe.

    The partnering – a frantic sport to vie

    For men among the suitors that were left –

    Might be a satyr’s ritual to them.

    It would enrage their forebears and provoke

    A band of witchfinders to prick our skins.

    Instead, a new and heartless creed beset

    Us with its notions of normality.

    We caught a fever in that long weekend

    That spread from age to age to addle us.

    Highly Commended: Jenny McRobert, Quill

    This poem is a sensitive interpretation of Jane Austen’s craft. Its best images, such as the ‘corseted words’, are surprising at first but then come to feel ‘right’.

    Highly Commended: Rebecca Lyon, Fossils

    I like the understatement and restraint in this poem. It gives the feeling that beneath the apparently simple statements of each line, something of much greater significance in hidden, like the fossils themselves.

     

    The prizes were copies of Fleur Adcock’s poetry, together with a signed Certificate of Adjudication.

    In Conclusion: The competition secretary, Jim Livesey thanked Brian for the splendid job he did in adjudicating the April entries and presented him with a small token of our thanks.

  • March Competition Winners 2014

    ‘Write a Scene Between a Mother and Daughter’ – 300 words.

    Barbara Large introduced Catherine King – our adjudicator for March. Catherine said she very much enjoyed reading the entries which were of a very high standard.

    It is very encouraging that we had 20 entries for this competition, many from ‘new’ members.

    Catherine is a full time author, currently working on her 14th novel and 9th historical saga. Her second saga, Silk and Steel, was shortlisted for the Romantic Novel of the Year in 2008. Her latest title is ‘The Secret Daughter’, published in November 2012 and is tonight’s prize for the 1st, 2nd and 3rd competition winners.

    I asked Catherine to say a few words on the criteria that she used to assess the entries.

    Catherine’s Adjudication:

    ‘The standard of entries was high and I was impressed by the variety of themes that members used for this piece. However, several needed more than 300 words to do justice to their selected ideas. I believe it is more difficult to write a well-rounded piece in 300 words than it is to write a novel! The novel, of course, takes much longer.

    To decide on the winners I looked for a rounded piece of writing with a beginning, middle and satisfying end. In one or two, the ending was rushed or contrived, indicating that the idea was more suitable for a longer piece. The writing, also, had to communicate something to the reader in the form of a premise or message. Many did this very well but, again, needed more words to round off in a satisfactory way. Finally, I wanted to see a clear

     

    1st Prize: Rosie Travers, The Gremlin

    A sharp observation of the barriers between a mother and her anorexic daughter. This was an original interpretation of the difficulties of communication; well rounded, beautifully written, and delivered within the requisite limitations.

    Half a Weetabix has gone from the packet. It’s a token effort, meant to appease me.

    She is watching Breakfast TV, wrapped in a baggy sweatshirt. The Gremlin sits benignly on her shoulder. He nestles there, quite comfortably.

    ‘We need to talk,’ I say.

    I have tried broaching this subject before. Now I recognise the softly, softly approach will not work with the Gremlin.

    ‘I have to go to school,’ my daughter says. She flicks off the TV. ‘Can’t it wait?’

    ‘No. I’ve had enough of hoping this is just a passing fad. I think you need to seek professional help.’

    A scared, haunted look fleetingly appears on Becki’s face and I feel of glimmer of hope. This is the Becki I want to reach; rational, sensible Becki, who knows her behaviour is spiralling out of control.

    In an instant the Gremlin responds to the threat. He hunches his back and bares his ugly, jagged teeth. He is greedy, grasping, grotesque and very clever.

    Together he and Becki have calculated the minimum amount of calories she needs to get through the day. Half a Weetabix is a token gesture because the Gremlin knows I’m on his case. This evening he will sit at the table, egging Becki on to another Oscar worthy performance of pretending to eat, while chopping, slicing and manoeuvring her dinner around on her plate without actually consuming anything.

    I want to reach out and reassure my daughter that we can, we will, work this out. Instead the shutters come down.

    ‘I’m fine, mum,’ Becki says. Her face is set in a stubborn glare. ‘Don’t fuss.’

    She tugs at the hem of her sweatshirt and pulls it down to conceal her ever-decreasing frame.

    The Gremlin settles back down upon her shoulder, grinning at me triumphantly.

     

    2nd Prize: Hazel Donnelly, A Chink of Light

    An exploration of a mother/daughter relationship focusing on the contrariness of a teenager. This was a light-hearted bitter sweet piece that raised a smile and was delivered almost wholly in dialogue.

    “That green eyeliner is lovely, darling.”

    She heaves a sigh, pushing the untouched toast around her plate, “It’s turquoise.”

    I had hoped today would be a better day.

    “Well, then your turquoise eyeliner is lovely. It matches your sage shirt.” I’m trying too hard.

    “It’s grunge green.”

    “It suits you.”

    “What? You mean grungy colours suit me?” Her dark eyes flash.

    “I mean, that sage suits your colouring.” Feel fraught, sound calm. I have learned to perfect the art.

    We sit in silence. It chokes me. When did we lose that easy chatter?

    “Are you doing anything after college, today?”

    “Why?”

    “Just making conversation.”

    “So, you’re not really interested.” Flat. A statement. Not a question.

    “Of course I’m interested.”

    “You said, you were just making conversation. You don’t need to.” She turns the radio up.

    We resume our silence.

    “If you might possibly be interested, I have a netball match.” She has actually volunteered the information.

    “I didn’t know you were in the team.”

    “Why would you?”

    “I would if you told me.”

    She shuns the temptation of an acid retort. I can see a chink of light.

    “Can I have some money? The match fee is three pounds.”

    I open my purse.

    “I’ll have the brown note.”

    “Nice try. You’ll have the green one.” I hand her a blue five pound note. It’s not lost on her and I cherish the hint of a smile.

    “It should be a good match. They’re a tough opposition.”

    “Worth watching?” I hold my breath.

    “Well the sun’s out. Spectators won’t get cold.” She doesn’t look up. She is cautious. Uncertain.

    “I’ll be there.”

    She stands up and hefts her sports bag over her shoulder. “It’s gonna be a lovely day mum,” she grins, “the sky is a beautiful bright green.”

     

    3rd Prize: Linda Welch, Mother of the Bride

    A ghost story that takes place as a bride is about to leave for the ceremony. This was a well-crafted emotional short story that tugged at the heartstrings. It was a clever idea that was delivered skilfully within the word limit.

    This was a day I never thought I would see: my daughter Nicola’s wedding day. I stood in the doorway to her bedroom and watched as she sat at her dressing table, surrounded by her bridesmaids, sipping champagne. She looked radiant, although she had lost weight in the past few weeks, and her dress had been taken in twice. There were shadows under her eyes. She had hidden them well with make-up, but I knew they were there.

    ‘The cars will be here in a minute,’ my husband said from the doorway. ‘Ladies, can you give me a few moments with the bride, please?’

    He sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Nicola opened the jewellery box he and I had given her one Christmas and took out my gold charm bracelet. She counted each charm as if counting rosary beads and my lips moved in time with hers.

    “Tiny pram, tiny me inside, for the day I was born; little dog, for the puppy you gave Mum for the first Christmas you were married; Cornish pixie, because that’s where you went on your honeymoon; gold abacus with amethyst beads, that you gave Mum to congratulate her for passing her accountancy exams …”

    I listened to her recital of each charm, each milestone in my life, some entwined with her own, some just for me. Her father fastened the bracelet around her wrist and kissed her cheek.

    “I wish your Mum could have been here to see this day,” he said, and there was a quiver in his voice. Nicola held his hand and gave it a squeeze. She glanced towards the door and for a moment her eyes met mine.

    “She is here, Dad,” she whispered and she smiled, right at me. “She is.”

     

    Highly Commended: Dorothy Collard (pseudonym E C Grace), Nolene

    A role reversal short story comprising dialogue between a school age girl and her mother, one of whom is possibly pregnant. This was fun to read but I found the clarity was reduced because the voices were occasionally too similar.

    Highly Commended: Tristan Warner-Smith, Untitled

    A role reversal piece where an elderly mother becomes the child. This writing had a refreshingly light touch which I enjoyed. The story was delivered in an imaginative yet concise way.

     

    The prizes were Catherine King’s The Secret Daughter, together with a signed Certificate of Adjudication.

    In Conclusion: Catherine King said she thoroughly enjoyed doing the adjudication and the events of the evening.

  • February Competition Winners 2014

    ‘Write the first four pages of the opening of a stage play – any period. ’

    Cecily O’Neill Artistic Director of the Chesil Theatre was the adjudicator for the February competition. This served as a preliminary to the one that the Chesil Theatre is launching with a deadline of April 30. (Chesil 10 x10 Drama Festival).

    A renowned authority in Drama in Education, Cecily works with students, teachers, directors, and actors throughout the world; leading drama workshops, speaking at conferences, and carrying out research.

    Cecily’s Adjudication:

    1st Prize: Anne Eckersley, A Family Affair

    Anne Eckersley skillfully sets up the opening of a very funny piece of theatre. Within the first four lines of dialogue she establishes the situation, clearly indicates the tone and the relationships of the characters and makes a joke. She rapidly sketches in an increasingly bizarre past and has the audience anticipating equally intriguing future events. I look forward to reading the rest of the play.

    A one act play in three scenes. Setting is Gran’s house: Small sitting room, still decorated in 1960s style. There are flying geese on the wall. Old fashioned large television occupies corner of the room. Net curtains at the windows. Furniture is dark and heavy, with white anti-macassars on all chairs. There is a large knitting bag by the fireplace and the floor is covered with a heavily patterned rug or carpet. In the centre of the room is a table covered with plates of sandwiches and cake.

    Scene One

    A telephone can be heard ringing in another room which is answered and on the television is a news bulletin that sets the scene as very much in present day.

    Father enters, looks at the television, turns it off, then wipes his hands on his trousers and helps himself to sandwiches, picks up one in each hand.

    Mother comes in carrying another plate of food, looks for somewhere to put it down, tutts, tries to pass it to him to hold. He thinks she is offering him more food, stuffs the

    rest of a sandwich into his mouth and reaches out for another sandwich.

    Mother Just take the bloody thing.

    (Pause. Father holds tray while mother makes space for it on the table.)

    Mother And where have you been all morning?

    Father Garden with George from next door. He’s quite upset.

    Mother {Taking the tray} Don’t sound so surprised.

    Father He said he’ll miss her and I don’t think he was joking. Wanted to know whether we were having her buried or cremated. I said we weren’t taking any chances, we were doing both. {He picks up a piece of cake)

    Mother You don’t think she’ll mind being cremated?

    Father When it comes to your mother, I stopped thinking a long time ago.

    Mother I did ask her once what she wanted us to do.

    Father What did she say?

    Mother I don’t know dear. Why don’t you surprise me?

     

    2nd Prize: Mike Rawlins, Happy Families

    Effective and witty dialogue in this piece by Mike Rawlins presents the family conflict very subtly and economically. The characterization is clear and having raised our expectations he subverts them in the final lines.

    Cast:

    Anne – 33, wife of Colin

    Belinda – 58, mother of Colin

    Colin – 35, himself

    A KITCHEN. A TABLE IS CS AT WHICH ANNE IS SEATED FACING DS. SHE IS READING A NEWSPAPER. BELINDA ENTERS SR. SHE IS CARRYING FRESHLY CUT FLOWERS IN A BASKET. SHE PLACES THE FLOWERS ON THE TABLE, RETRIEVES A VASE FROM A CUPBOARD AND SEATS HERSELF TO ANNE’S LEFT.

    Belinda: (She begins to arrange the flowers in the vase) Are you fond of Peonies, Anne?

    Anne: Between you and me, I think they’re pretentious; a bit overdone and blousy. They try too hard.

    Belinda: Colin has always liked them (beat) ever since he was a boy. He used to call them Mummy’s Flowers.

    Anne: Such insight in one so young.

    Belinda: Indeed. Where has it gone, I wonder?

    THERE IS A SHORT SILENCE

    Belinda: Did you not enjoy the salmon? I couldn’t help but notice that you’d hardly touched your lunch.

    Anne: The salmon was fine, really.

    Belinda: Are you sure. It can be a bit rich for some tastes. Perhaps I should have laid on something a little less (beat) refined.

    Anne: Thanks for your concern but it’s ok; I’m just not eating much lately.

    Belinda: You’re not unwell are you?

    Anne: No. I’m fine, (pause) thanks.

    THERE IS THE SOUND OF A DOOR SLAMMING AND COLIN IS HEARD OFFSTAGE

    Colin: For goodness sake, Ziggy! Will you please sit … good boy. Now, stay. Ziggy, stay.

    COLIN ENTERS SL. HE IS REMOVING HIS COAT AND APPEARS HOT AND FLUSTERED.

     

    3rd Prize: Niki Wakefield, PTA

    This play begins very promisingly, and the characters of the likeable but disorganized Hailey and the kind but rather pompous head teacher are effectively established. I enjoyed the amusing dialogue, but the lack of any real forward momentum makes me wonder if this is meant to be a one-act play.

    Act One, Scene One

    Lights up. The stage is set up as a headteacher’s office, with a desk and three chairs.

    There’s a small bin and various items on the desk, including a phone and an ugly trophy.

    Mr. Sharpe, a Headteacher in his mid-fifties, writes at his desk. There’s a knock at the door.

    Mr. Sharpe: Come in.

    Enter Hailey Reeves, early thirties, wearing a coat, loud pyjamas and novelty animal slippers. She looks nervous, like a naughty school girl.

    Hailey: Good morning, Mr. Sharpe.

    Mr. Sharpe: Bad morning, Mrs. Reeves?

    Hailey: Huh?

    He points at her pyjamas. She looks down. Horror! She quickly covers them up with her coat and sits down.

    Hailey: Headmaster, if it’s about the pet Ed brought in for animal week… we didn’t know it was an alligator.

    Mr. Sharpe: Seven children and a teacher had to see the school nurse, don’t you know?

    Hailey: I’m really sorry. The guy at the car boot said it was a newt.

    Mr. Sharpe: Don’t you know the difference? An alligator’s a brutal animal, part of the reptile family, native to China and the U.S. The Newt’s a member of the salamandridae family. We have several endangered natives here in the UK.

    Hailey: So the difference is one’s a protected species and the other you need protecting from?

    Mr. Sharpe: Well, yes… I suppose you could say that.

    Hailey: We thought something was up when it ate all the goldfish.

    Mr. Sharpe: Alligators are fascinating creatures. Fascinating. Their ancestry dates all the way back to the dinosaurs. They’ve been found in fossils, don’t you know? But they don’t belong in an infant school. (Pause) Anyway, I didn’t ask you here about that. I asked you here because… well…

    He picks up the phone.

    Mr. Sharpe (cont.): You can let them in now. I’m sorry about what’s going to happen next.

    Feb 14 Nikki Wakefield Mike Rawlins Anne Eckersley
    The Winners

    Highly Commended: Karin Groves (pseudonym Georgie Jensen), Trench Truce

    Georgie Jensen has set her play in the trenches of WW1 where two wounded soldiers from opposing sides encounter each other. Our sympathies are engaged by these likeable characters, although Heine’s perfect English is not explained. The challenge for the playwright will be to keep these two characters connected in spite of wounds and wartime.

    Highly Commended: Sally Russell, (pseudonym Erin Clay), The Visitors

    There is some lively dialogue in Erin Clay’s play and a growing sense of menace as one couple plan to take over the home and lives of the other older pair. Although the exposition could be clearer, this is an ambitious attempt to handle quite a complicated plot.

     

    The prizes were journals, together with a signed Certificate of Adjudication by Cecily O’Neill. The opening page of the first, second, and third competition winners is shown as follows:

    In Conclusion:

    Cecily O’Neill said that she very much enjoyed reading the entries, and that the standard of work was so high, she wished she could have given everyone an award.

  • December Competition Winners 2013

    report by Celia Livesey

    ‘Write a new beginning for Pride and Prejudice: It is a truth universally acknowledged… 200 words.

    We were very pleased to welcome Sandra Cain as our adjudicator. Sandra is a Senior Lecturer in creative and media writing, communications and public relations at Southampton Solent University, and has published eleven books, the latest being Media Writing, A Practical Introduction (with Dr Craig Batty) and Key Concepts in Public Relations, both published by Palgrave Macmillan.

    Sandra’s Adjudication:

    1st Prize: Sally Russell, New Boy in Town

    A satirical, contemporary take on the opening lines of Pride and Prejudice with a bold and exciting use of the vernacular … resulting in a written piece bubbling with enthusiastic glee.

    This tells the tale of a mother looking for a suitable match for her daughters, in a veritable honey-pot hot spot favoured by ex-pats of dubious character.

    ***

    It is a truth universally acknowledged that a mother wants the best possible match for her daughters.

    “’Ere, Jase,” said Candice, “told ya someone’d bought the Chateau. Saw a Maserati drivin’ up the hill.”

    “..an’ a Corsa, Ma,” added Tyler, scratching a pimple. “’ad a bangin’ spoiler.”

    “Guess who it is,” urged Candice.

    Jason dangled his arm over the side of the sun lounger and grabbed a beer from the ice bucket, the water droplets sizzling in the heat as they hit the patio. He took a slurp then swiveled his cap round so the peek pointed forwards, and lay back, his head resting on the air pillow.

    “Tell me if you must,” he mumbled, beer leaking from the side of his mouth. He stroked the long dark hairs on his fat belly and belched.

    “Barnaby Smith,” she announced excitedly.

    “Geezer who did Lloyd’s in Chelmsford?”

    “That’s the one,” said Candice, and squeezed her hands together in anticipation. “He’s loaded.”

    “So? Didn’t do so bad ourselves.”

    “No, but Ellie-Mae or Chantelle’d be made up if they got wiv ‘im.”

    Jason sighed.

    And that’s how Barnaby “Smiffy” Smith, the blond, bronzed, medallion-wearing new boy in town, became a person of interest.

    Sue and Sally
    Sue and Sally

    2nd Prize: Gill Hollands, (untitled)

    A fun and flighty piece of writing with a quip on the name of Bingley. True to the original but with a modern twist to a classic story.

    It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a Porsche must have the time of his life. However little we know about him, the car clearly shows his status and intentions. This truth is so well fixed in modern minds that girls will be drawn to him as a bee to honey, despite the frantic attempts at restraint by their families.

    ‘Ben,’ said his wife as she twitched down the curtain one day,’ the perv with the Porsche is back.’

    ‘Is he a perv?’

    ‘Lily told me all about him.’

    Ben went back to his copy of The Sun.

    ‘Don’t you want to know who he is?’ Cried his wife, impatient.

    ‘You want to tell me. So, get on with it.’ Sighing, he laid down his paper.

    `Well Lily says that he’s the son of an antique dealer from the north of England; that he comes down on Mondays to chase the girls. She heard that the car’s on HP. Mr. Morris at the Bradford& Bingley is to take possession before Christmas, unless he coughs up by the end of next week.’

    `Hmm. If he keeps the Porsche, I’ll have to watch he doesn’t take a fancy to you then…’

    3rd Prize: Sue Spiers, (untitled)

    An accomplished piece of writing written in the style of nineteenth century prose, sustained with wit, charm and elegance.

    It is a truth universally acknowledged…that a beautiful woman is more acceptable as a wealthy man’s wife than a woman who has wit as her first accomplishment. A beautiful woman will grace the home of a duke as easily as a man of her father’s rank. A witty woman requires a husband of equal intellect lest she be thought a shrew by his relatives. A woman of wit may choose not to marry if her choices are limited to dullards but this has its own difficulties if her father is unable to support a spinster. A beautiful woman may have no need of needlecraft or musicianship because her admirable figure and amiable company will be enough to keep a line of suitors at her door. Wit rarely allows a plain woman to ascend the steps of enviable matches unless she is wise enough to make the best of her meagre attractions. It is a rare man who favours book learning over charming coiffeurs and a rarer woman who prefers to see her sisters married before she has received any man into her affections.

    Highly Commended: Sally Russell, Day of the Peahen
    A quirky re-telling with a clucking mother hen desperate to secure a good catch for her chicks. Plenty of shrieking, ducking and scurrying to set the scene.

    Highly Commended: David Eadsforth, (untitled), pseudonym Geoff Stuart

    A fast-paced piece written a la Austen but from the more masculine point of view of Mr Bennett. The well-placed military references to strategy and skirmishes foreground the romantic battles to come.

     

    The prizes were a selection of signed paperbacks by John Mullan and a Certificate of Adjudication signed by Sandra Cain.
    In Conclusion:
    Only ten entries were received for the December competitions, and it is possible that the subject did put some people off. However, Sandra said she had enormous fun pondering the competition entries, and also enjoys helping writers to get their work noticed, talked about and sold.

  • November Competition Winners 2013

    ‘Write a Soliloquy for a Dramatic Character in Blank Verse – up to 20 lines’

    We were pleased to welcome our adjudicator Dr Mark Rutter, a lecturer at the University of Winchester. Mark is no stranger to the HWS: founder members might remember him as one of the ‘Three Poets at Work’ at the December 2011 meeting. As well as being a poet he is active as a visual artist and fiction writer, and also a member of the British Haiku Society and the Haiku Society of America.

    Mark’s Adjudication:

    1st Prize: Celia Livesey (Pseudonym Joanne Ward) Soliloquy of One of the Trolls from The Hobbit

    ‘I enjoyed the use of an unconventional, “unpoetic” voice in this poem. A lively and original poem.’

    I could’ve been anyfink – yes I could,

    There’s loads of jobs an’ fings at wot I’m good.

    I could’ve been a chef; it’s not my fault

    They don’t like stew with slugs and lots of salt.

    I could’ve been Pri-minister, but then

    I’d ’ave to learn to write and spell – an’ it’s

    All very well, but with snot on my chin

    My image was wrong – I’m not even thin!

    It’s tasty though, snot is, so I don’t care,

    But I’ve got a feelin’ that life ain’t fair.

    I tried to be an astro-nut, they sent

    Me into space, but the helmet gave me

    Allergies – an’ bumps all over me face.

    I could make it big on telly, but I’ve

    Always bin too smelly – but trolls can dream.

    Now rooted to the spot, and turned to stone,

    Far from the Misty Mountains, far from home,

    I curse that Bilbo Baggins, he really

    Is to blame, for since the sunshine hit me

    I’ve never been the same. An’ that’s a fact!

    2nd Prize: Robert Brydges Lines from 1594

    ‘I liked the way the poem managed to pack in a great deal of literary history and speculation about authorship without sounding like an essay. The rhythm never becomes bogged down and sounds convincingly like a voice.’

    Wm. Sh: Blank verse, you say? I’ve had a go. My lines

    Plod carthorse-like uphill: ka-PLONK-ka-PLONK.

    But Marlowe’s soared! We heard his Tamburlaine,

    In High Astounding Terms, defy the gods!

    (He went to Cambridge, Kit did – not like me).

    He’d had a string of hits, then – odd, this was –

    He asked to ghost some Histories in my name.

    Of course I see it now: he’d always planned

    To ‘die’ and go abroad! Well, can’t complain;

    I take the credit, so I keep the cash.

    His Muse was killed in Deptford though, and now

    He’s mostly doing chick-lit – that and farce.

    He’s gone from writing Faustus and The Jew

    To The Comedy of Errors and The Shrew!

    Love’s Labours Lost! I ask you! Poppycock.

    The man has lost his mojo. So perhaps

    The brand of ‘Shakespeare’ needs another ghost?

    Like Thomas Kyd? Or better still – George Peele!

    A butcher’s feast of vengeance, rape and blood;

    Say –Titus, for a title? That’ll do.

    3rd Prize: Gwen Hobbis Dionysus Ponders the Cuts

    ‘This just struck me as an original take on the subject of the cuts, both amusing and to the point.’

    I would never have believed it. The government’s last decree

    on austerity. It applies to us deities too. Cuts all round.

    I, Dionysus, God of wine, how can I make cuts? See,

    junkets, festivals, civilization, happy eternal youth,

    perpetual raving and more. It’s here in my job description.

    I scarcely can make merry on vin ordinaire or breakfast tea.

    And then there’s Zeus with his mighty thunderous boilings,

    and Poseidon too. Must he also curb his awesome rages?

    Are their displays to be confined to blustery showers

    and volcanoes which erupt in well controlled displays?

    Ares, God of manly courage, war and bloodlust,

    Will his tumult shrink to mere argument and fracas?

    As for Apollo, God of archery and music, I trust he won’t be asked

    to cope with only peashooter and maracas.

    Pluto, God of this world’s hidden wealth, he should be aware

    the underworld of darkness is at risk.

    And Hera, Queen of marriage, women, childbirth, must reject

    pressure to downsize to hasty assignations or one night stands.

    And so Zeus, King of Gods, I hope he’ll tell them ‘Nuts, it’s mere mortals,

    the little folk, they are the ones who always get the cuts.’

     

    Highly Commended: Sally Russell Tom’s Turmoil

    Highly Commended: Sally Russell Demise of a Family Man

     

    The prizes were signed copies by Ros Barber of The Marlowe Papers, and a Certificate of Adjudication signed by Mark Rutter.

     

    In Conclusion: Our thanks to Mark for his adjudication – very much appreciated by the winners, and to all our contestants, 19 competition entries received in all – a tremendous response.

  • October Competition Winners 2013

    by Celia Livesey

    ‘Write a Pitch on any Subject for a Radio Programme – 200 words’

    Our Special Guest and Competition Adjudicator for the evening was Sasha Twining. Sasha’s career started in local radio, and currently she regularly presents a Saturday Breakfast show on BBC Radio Solent. She has also worked on television as a news anchor and correspondent on international and national news channels for the last six years as well as being an announcer on the BBC for a number of years before moving on to ITV. Sasha has also presented a number of high profile daytime shows, including Sunrise with Eamonn Holmes and Sky News Today with Dermot Murnaghan.

    Unfortunately the BBC changed her work schedule at short notice and so she was unable to be with us last night. Copies of the competition entries were, however, forwarded to her last Wednesday, so she was able to judge these and send in her adjudication.

    Sasha’s Adjudication:

    Thank you very much for all your entries, they were all really interesting, and I especially liked that everyone had written about something that meant something special to them. Radio is a very, very personal medium. It relies on emotion and connection, and any radio show HAS to have both to stand any chance of gaining an audience in today’s market. I judged the entries on the following criteria.

    • Could I imagine listening to this programme.
    • Could I place the programme in a particular time of day/type of radio station/audience.
    • Was there enough information in the proposal to interest a prospective programme maker.
    • Did the entry include any information about HOW the programme would be made (length, time of day, cost implications, legal considerations, audience profile etc.)

    While most people touched on the first three criteria, I’m afraid hardly any mentioned the logistics of a programme. Most programme producers want to be given a rough idea of HOW a strand will be made in a programme pitch.

    Having said that, I enjoyed reading the pitches – and there are a couple that I could easily imagine being slightly re-worked to become useable on radio.

    1st Prize: Alternative Realities – Olivia Stephenson

    I like this idea, and could imagine it working in the 6.30pm comedy slot on Radio 4. In essence it is a slightly changed version of Room 101 (the television show) but nicely re-worked for radio. I thought Olivia had picked a great example of a starting topic, which would easily spark the interest of a producer. However, like many of the entries it lacked the logistical information. Time, audience profile, length of show, suggested panellists etc. Having said that, I feel this entry overall had the best idea for a prospective show.

    Congratulations!

    The main premise for the radio programme is the idea of removing something seemingly insignificant from our world, thus creating an alternative reality where the object, creature, mineral, etc. does not exist. Each half hour programme would be hosted by the same presenter, joined by a panel of three guests, each with a varying degree of knowledge concerning the removed item. For example, the host could introduce the alternative reality of life without cherry pie. This would lead to a discussion of how the world would differ if cherry pie did not exist, with varying opinions from the seemingly futile consideration of what it could mean for the popular nineties TV series, Twin Peaks, to how radically different our reality could be, and even to a voice which argues that we could do without it. The programme would then conclude with the host asking each guest whether they would choose to live in the alternative reality or to remain as we are. The purpose of the programme, besides the light-hearted notion we all often play, that of “what if such and such didn’t exist?”, would be to challenge the way we experience the world whilst gaining a deeper understanding of the hypothetically removed object through the program’s guests.

    02_ Oct 2nd Prize Gill Hollands2nd Prize: Endless Story – Gill Hollands

    I picked this idea as I could imagine it being used as part of a BBC local radio late show. I particularly liked that Gill had included the website in her pitch. Radio these days has to be multi-platform, and involve other types of communication, particularly the web. I liked the idea of a strand that would run over a week – and could imagine this building a real following. I personally would open it out to anyone sitting at home (not just writers’ groups) as the BBC Local Radio late night audience would love to listen and get involved.

    Congratulations!

    This is a programme for writers and listeners, a two-way entertainment. Each week we join a different writing group who start the story. For example:

    ‘In the chill silence, all she could hear was dripping. The smell of mould had invaded her sinus. Her numb hands dangled from the rusted shackles. She licked long-dried tears off her cracked lips, taking a deep breath. Agony seared her shoulders as she yanked the anchors from the rotting wood. Her arms wrenched forward, dragging her down. The damp flags were hard to her stiff knees. Her dry sobs echoed off the dim walls…’

    The public then ring in with the next sentence and the writing group would then follow in turn with the next, which gradually builds into a whole new story. Prompts can be sound effects which are used in the background.

    The aim would be to recap at the beginning of each day, offering pointers along the way, with a view to finishing it on the Friday. The finished story could then be published to the radio website for everyone to enjoy. The aim would be to give exposure to creative writing and local writers’ groups.

    03_ Oct 3rd Prize Sara Sims3rd Prize: Talking to Myself – Sarah Sims

    I have given this entry third place because I think there’s a real gem of an idea in there. I feel with a bit of work, this could be a nice idea for a ten minute ‘pause for thought’ type piece. I imagine it more along the lines of writing letters, and each participant starts the segment with a brief explanation of who they have written to (that they no longer speak to) and then reads a letter that they have written to the person. I could imagine this as a short feature series in Woman’s Hour in Radio 4. What we call a ‘stand alone’ feature. Well done – I liked it, and I think with a good producer, and some excellent choices of participant, this could make an excellent piece of radio.

    This documentary is about talking to someone who isn’t there. All of us have people in our lives to whom we can no longer talk, in the real, face-to-face sense. Someone we love dies, or moves away, and the thread of conversation that interwove our daily existence is snapped.

    That is painful enough. What’s equally – some would argue, even more painful – are those people we cannot talk to because they will not talk to us. Perhaps there’s been a sudden rift, following a blazing row. Or perhaps the rift was more gradual, a slow attrition, the relationship worn away by accreted misunderstandings. Either way, these people may be physically gone, but very often, we still talk to them. We might fantasize about winning that last argument. Or, in our more gentle moments, we may appeal to them for clues about what went wrong. We may even discuss everyday things with them, so that, without their volition, they remain enmeshed in the fabric of our lives. Six people let us into these one-sided conversations, revealing enduring sadness, anger, and hope.

     

    Highly Commended: Pardon Them for Living – Andrea Stone

    I’m giving this a Highly Commended because the subject choice is superb. BBC radio stations are increasingly aware of the need to produce programmes to challenge preconceptions about the elderly, and indeed about their care. However, I didn’t award this entry a place in the competition because I felt it was not sufficiently well-formed to be a proposal. It lacked all logistical information, and didn’t explain what sort of programme the idea would form. Having said that, Andrea used some wonderful phrases, and it was very evocative.

    Highly Commended: Sound Bite – Celia Livesey (pseudonym Susan Shaw)

    I awarded this a Highly Commended because this entry came the closest to looking like a proper proposal. It explained the format of the panel quiz, and gave a few examples. I could imagine this idea forming part of a Radio 4 comedy quiz show. It narrowly missed out on being placed – so many congratulations.

     

    In Conclusion:

    On behalf of the HWS I’d like to give our thanks to Sasha for such a wonderful job of adjudication, which was very much appreciated by the winners. Many of our contestants said they found writing a pitch for a radio programme quite challenging, but 16 entries were still received, so it was a tremendous response.

    Finally, Sasha has agreed to come back as a main speaker and bring her recording team for a workshop – definitely an evening not to be missed.

  • September Competition Winners 2013

    By Celia Livesey

    The new season of the HWS had a fantastic start with 19 competition entries from members and guests. An evening of unbridled gore and crime was promised, and delivered with the choice of crime weapon ranging from death by breast milk to a grapefruit knife. Truly a recipe for murder…

    We were very fortunate to have Lindsay Ashford to adjudicate, eminently qualified as the first woman to graduate from Queens’ College, Cambridge in its 550 year history where she gained a degree in criminology. Don’t miss a great opportunity – Lindsay’s latest book Where Death Lies is available as an e-book on Amazon for 98p – a terrific introductory offer for a limited period.

    And follow the link to Lindsay’s blog for her top tips on writer’s block

    Lindsay said the winning entry hooked her from the very first sentence, and as a reader, she felt immediate empathy with the protagonist. She thought it had the feel of a very promising crime novel. The second prize winner’s entry was atmospheric with a good sense of pace, and Lindsay liked the writer’s use of ‘smell’ to create this. The third prize winner’s entry turns a scene of domesticity between a brother and sister on its head. The very ordinariness of the setting makes what happens feel very sinister.

    The three prize winners were thrilled to receive the adjudication from Lindsay, and Barbara Large said that to a writer, this kind of feedback is like gold dust, and very much appreciated.

    The winners are as follows:

    1st Prize – Susan Piper – Death by Pin

    She’d thought that she couldn’t possibly be any more scared. Surely after months of dreading every ring, flash and beep, she’d reached the limit of how frightened she could be. But they’d found her again. It turned out that until now she had only dipped her toe in the acid bath of insinuation, ridicule and hatred that she honestly had no idea what she had done to create. Why? she had asked the policewoman who had taken her old ‘phone. The woman had only been able to shake her head. Sweetheart, there are bullies out there – cowardly bullies – and the answer is probably just because you’re there. We’re going to try and find them and help sort this out. Now her new ‘phone was flashing cheerily in its friendly pink case; her new ‘phone with its new sim, new pin and new number. But they’d still found good old her. Keeping the traitor at arm’s length and holding her breath, she pressed ‘read’. The actual words were quick and clever and pretty. No matter the actual words, the meaning was clear, ‘Gotcha’, ‘Hate ya’, and ‘This will never stop.’ She let the ‘phone slip from her hand back onto the bedside table and her fingers moved a few inches to curl around the small bottle that should be safe in her mother’s handbag. The tablets will help you keep calm, love, just until we get to the bottom of this – we’ll keep you safe. But they couldn’t. Only she could keep herself safe now. The top of the bottle was tricky but she did it in the end. LOL.

    ©Susan Piper 2013

    Susan & Dorothy
    Susan & Dorothy

    2nd Prize – Griselda Grimm (Dorothy Collard) – Dying for Love

    Someone had thrown a buckled bike wheel into the garden. It was a sign – a gift. Grace picked it up and took it indoors.

    Each night that week she shut the blinds in her bedsit, locked the door and checked the tracery of her own rib cage. Then she would switch on the television and do her crafting.

    By Saturday she was ready.

    Strolling with no obvious purpose after their restaurant date, she led him towards the riverside path. The air was exhilarating, warmed by pungent aromas from Stave Hill brewery. They ambled, beguiled by gloom at the end of the walkway. It was so quiet they could hear the breeze rustling through trees and the river rippling and swirling below. Stars dotted the sky. Lights sparkled on the full-tide Thames. Their dark, secluded corner was a place for lovers.

    He nestled against the railings and drew her to him. She reached in under his shirt. His skin was soft and smooth. He giggled with pleasure to feel her fingers exploring. She counted ribs, put her other hand behind his head and enticed him down in an anticipated kiss of blinding passion.

    “Oh, Grace,” he murmured, “stay with me tonight.”

    She uncurled her middle finger, ringed with a curious strip of metal that drew, unseen, a skewer concealed up her sleeve. She drove the spoke home.

    He wheezed as his lung contracted and the sharpened point burst through the pericardium and into his heart. His dark eyes stared at her in disbelief, his mouth open, as if trying to frame a question. He collapsed forward onto her. She staggered under his weight but held him up, like a drunken dance. Then she kicked his feet from under him and pushed him backwards over the railing.

    The river closed over him.

    ©Dorothy Collard 2013

    3rd Prize – Paul Beattie – Smoking Kills

    another 3rdDerek’s eyes followed Sally as she walked through the beaded curtain that separated the lounge-diner from the cramped and slightly squalid kitchen beyond. The beads swayed and clacked marking her passage. As Sally started to clatter about filling the kettle and trying to find a couple of semi-clean mugs Derek knew he only had a few moments. He picked up her bag from the coffee table. He was always astonished at the weight of his sister’s handbag, she must have a gun or brick in there to weigh so much. He paused briefly but he could still hear Sally in the kitchen. The craving for tobacco and a complete absence of cash clearly meant it was okay to filch a few cigarettes from your sister. Carefully he unzipped the bag watching for any signs of his sister’s return. Glancing down at the contents of the bag he could see a disorganised mass of half-opened packets of tissues, an over-stuffed purse, old rail tickets, gloves and God only knew what else. He couldn’t risk trying to empty the bag so thrust his hand in hoping for the familiar feel of an open packet of fags. His hand brushed against something cold, metal and solid. Curiosity got the better of him and his fingers curled around the object as he pulled it out. Derek sat back in surprise at the sight of the large grey automatic pistol that he was now holding by the barrel. His surprise turned to fear as he looked up into the impassive flinty stare of his sister watching him from the kitchen.

    ©Paul Beattie 2013

     

    Highly Commended

    Gwen Hobbis – A Bit of Stick

    Robert Brydges – Recipe for a Murder

     

    Finally, a surprising connection between the winner of our competition, Susan Piper and Andrew Taylor.

    ‘Last evening was particularly important to me as Andrew Taylor presented me with a book prize for work I had done in his workshop at Writers’ Conference in 2001!! I took the book along that he gave me then and he signed it a second time. What a treasure. I told him that if I was ever lucky enough to be nominated for something, I had better have him there – he obviously brings me luck!’ Susan Piper.

  • June competition Winners 2013

    by Hermione Laake

    Dr Laura Hubner, senior lecturer with The University of Winchester, was the adjudicator for our very special Gala Evening in June, which rounded off the year of competitions. Laura has been with Winchester University for 12 years. She currently supervises research students at Winchester with their research projects on Comedy, scriptwriting and Fairy Tale Horror.

    June Competition: Write a comedy Sketch. No more than three pages.

    Laura spent some time summarising the pieces and giving very thorough feedback on each script. However, our writers did not get off that easily, as we forced them to read their pieces, which was made all the more illuminating by Dr Gary Farnell’s (senior lecturer at The University of Winchester, and Barbara’s Right Hand Man), animating and amusing delivery of Karin Groves’ character, Barry. Anyone who has resorted to internet dating would be able to relate to Karin’s dialogue. Keep writing, Karin. We are looking forward to the book, and the film!
    This month it is worth drawing attention to the very creative titles of the pieces.

    1st place: Grounds for Murder: Louise Tegerdine

    2nd Place: Internet Match: Karin Groves

    3rd Place: Toggles : Janet Cranham

     

    Highly Commended (in no particular order)

    John Quinn: Emma and Melanie

    Joanna Graham: Any Incidents

    Celia Livesey: Where There’s a Will