That one time when I read to you

The winner of the short story contest I entered was announced today. They spelled my name "Deb Atwood". Sometimes I get "Gen" or "Jenn" or "Bi..." but this is the first time I've seen it spelled it that way. Silly geese. 

Someone (unfortunately not the judges) told me that they very much enjoyed my story and would like for me to develop it into a novel AND could totally see it as a movie. I didn't even have to pay or threaten violence upon this person to make them say that. (Fine, it was my sister. But I think she really, really meant it.) 

Before I begin the novel, I'd like to share the short story here in it's entirety. I want feedback. Even if you hate it. The only feedback I got on the contest page was "haunting". Yep. One word. I assume she meant that she found my story haunting. Not that she was planning to die and then haunt me for wasting minutes of her life on my terrible story. 

I'm going to read "The First Dissidents" to you. On video. Just listen, don't watch - it's all talking head. I like to hear authors read their words. I read "Bossy Pants" but I still want to listen to the audio book because I'm interested to hear Tina Fey read it how she wrote it to be read. If you would like to read the story but really don't want to listen to the awkward child voice that comes out of my 30-year-old mouth, you may read it on this page.

Here goes nothing. Or something. We'll see.

Writing Words: The First Dissidents

I'm participating in the May Show Off Writing Contest over at The Write Practice. I posted my entry today and my heart is beating really fast at the thought of letting other people judge my writing. 

I wrote a story called "The First Dissidents". I mostly stick to humor here on Whitfield Awesome. This story is not funny. No way around that. But. I figure since "Writing Words" is in my blog header, I should share it here as well. Look up. Boom. Writing Words. Unless you are reading this through a feed. Boom. You can't see my header.

"The First Dissidents" is a short story, but a short story is a really long blog post AND if it wins (I can hardly allow myself to believe that is a possibility), I'm supposed to allow The Write Practice to publish it exclusively on their blog and in a book of twelve short stories (a book!). So here's an excerpt...

“I must get to my station.” Her station was inside a large room where She and others like her connected one piece to another while They watched. They watched from behind mirrored helmets. They watched with electrically charged devices in their hands. Always scanning. Always ready. 

“Yes, you will go to your station. Today. Tonight we will leave. But you must listen and do as I say.” His voice had grown slightly louder. 

“No thank you,” She said as She tried once again to move. 

This time He grabbed her. With his left hand full of her elbow, his right waved a small vial under her nose. “Snap out of it!” His voice was too loud this time. The green darted about again as a soft whirring came from outside the cube. A familiar whirring that They made. 

She and He stood very still and kept very quiet until the whirring retreated. “What is in that vial?” She was beginning to think more clearly. 

“We make it at my station. It is called Truth."

If you want to read the entire story, check out the comments section of this post.