Happy Hallowe'en!! Remember a couple of years ago when I changed my whole blog to orange and black? That kind of hurt the eyes a bit. So today I am just using orange words. Only hurts half as much!
Here is Homie Bear's Hallowe'en Roundup- I already gave you a Hallowe'en poem a few days ago, so now we will go round the web for some more spooky goodness.
Homestar Runner usually has great Halloween cartoons, and it sounds like they are working as fast as they can to get something done today. In the meantime, check out this classic.
Whiskey River has a fun ghost story called "Four Chaps in the Library".
Deviant Art is full of Hallowe'en treats for your eyes. Ooh! Eee! Aaw! Guh!
1313 Magazine is horror-themed all year round, which makes me happy.
Today's Pearls Before Swines has some insightful critique into cultural isolationism vis a vis trick or treating.
Mothercorp has this game for kids.
And, uh, that's about all I can find for now. I guess you could look up "scary" on Google for more.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Can we call it a poocast?
The Gathering uploaded my talk on fear from last week. You can have a listen if you like. I don't think it has been translated from the original Bear, so who knows if you can understand it.
(PS- if you follow the link from the G's front page, you will be lead to the erroneous assumption that I am George. But in fact I am Homie Bear.)
The Gathering uploaded my talk on fear from last week. You can have a listen if you like. I don't think it has been translated from the original Bear, so who knows if you can understand it.
(PS- if you follow the link from the G's front page, you will be lead to the erroneous assumption that I am George. But in fact I am Homie Bear.)
Here is gabrielle's contest entry. As you probably know, she is one of my best friends ever, and she still talks to me even after I abandoned her in New Zealand almost a year ago- somewhere around Pukekura if I recall. She is currently residing in Wellington, where there are many kiwis.
This Tale.
By Gabrielle
There is a lot of beauty in the world. Most of it is contained in one box. That box is guarded by a Mexican Walking Fish who is only called “Ooee”. Sometimes he lets beauty escape. It dissipates on the wind and envelopes the world in a fine mist, gathering in drops that look like dew and bouncing off window panes. Everything beautiful is forgotten unless Ooee remembers to share the beauty.
“That’s absurd.”
“Don’t read over my shoulder.”
Justin shrugged and left the room muttering to himself. He had told her to write a story about a Mexican Walking Fish, not some philosophical rant on the nature of beauty. Women. The front foyer of the theatre was deserted. The dying sun glinted off the marble tiles at perverse angles. It felt old. Huge and old. Justin sighed. And empty. He settled into the swivel chair and stared bleakly at the ticket screen. Only as good as the demand. Nobody to buy, nothing to sell. Nothing to do. The minutes dragged by. He felt his brain would implode. His head drooped. Then a scraping sound on the counter. He snapped to attention. A man of middling height stood there. Middling age, graying hair, stern but nondescript features. Justin offered a smile and the man said this:
“My name is Rudolph Metzger.”
Worlds spun dizzily out of control. Justin gaped.
“No you aren’t. He’s not… real.”
“Oh I am, Justin. You made me up and now I’m here to claim my girl. So go get Tiff.”
Back into the office. Justin’s heart pounded. The story sounded even dumber out loud. Predictably, she scoffed.
“Justin, amuse yourself by cleaning something. I am not ‘Rudolph Metzger’s girl’, I am your boss.”
“What if I said I wasn’t lying?”
“I’d say you’d better be.”
Something about the look on Justin’s face told her things were complicated. She narrowed her eyes. He looked solemn and rather white. She followed him out to the front box office. Nobody was there. The sun glanced hard off the tile. The foyer looked lost without tumbleweeds. She turned on him with a quirked eyebrow. He opened his mouth to defend himself. And the sun suddenly filled the foyer. As mid-day. And on the rays floated pale pink blossoms. They blanketed the foyer. The fragrance was unbearably heady. The tile disappeared under a frothed mass of blossom petals. And the sun was a liquid thing laughing among them.
“Well, back to work,” said a voice like bubbles.
A swath appeared between the blossom waves and a path cut slowly towards the door. A glimpse of pink tail here, a glance of pink gills there.
“Ooee!”
He was gone before she could finish gasping. And the story found it’s end.
This Tale.
By Gabrielle
There is a lot of beauty in the world. Most of it is contained in one box. That box is guarded by a Mexican Walking Fish who is only called “Ooee”. Sometimes he lets beauty escape. It dissipates on the wind and envelopes the world in a fine mist, gathering in drops that look like dew and bouncing off window panes. Everything beautiful is forgotten unless Ooee remembers to share the beauty.
“That’s absurd.”
“Don’t read over my shoulder.”
Justin shrugged and left the room muttering to himself. He had told her to write a story about a Mexican Walking Fish, not some philosophical rant on the nature of beauty. Women. The front foyer of the theatre was deserted. The dying sun glinted off the marble tiles at perverse angles. It felt old. Huge and old. Justin sighed. And empty. He settled into the swivel chair and stared bleakly at the ticket screen. Only as good as the demand. Nobody to buy, nothing to sell. Nothing to do. The minutes dragged by. He felt his brain would implode. His head drooped. Then a scraping sound on the counter. He snapped to attention. A man of middling height stood there. Middling age, graying hair, stern but nondescript features. Justin offered a smile and the man said this:
“My name is Rudolph Metzger.”
Worlds spun dizzily out of control. Justin gaped.
“No you aren’t. He’s not… real.”
“Oh I am, Justin. You made me up and now I’m here to claim my girl. So go get Tiff.”
Back into the office. Justin’s heart pounded. The story sounded even dumber out loud. Predictably, she scoffed.
“Justin, amuse yourself by cleaning something. I am not ‘Rudolph Metzger’s girl’, I am your boss.”
“What if I said I wasn’t lying?”
“I’d say you’d better be.”
Something about the look on Justin’s face told her things were complicated. She narrowed her eyes. He looked solemn and rather white. She followed him out to the front box office. Nobody was there. The sun glanced hard off the tile. The foyer looked lost without tumbleweeds. She turned on him with a quirked eyebrow. He opened his mouth to defend himself. And the sun suddenly filled the foyer. As mid-day. And on the rays floated pale pink blossoms. They blanketed the foyer. The fragrance was unbearably heady. The tile disappeared under a frothed mass of blossom petals. And the sun was a liquid thing laughing among them.
“Well, back to work,” said a voice like bubbles.
A swath appeared between the blossom waves and a path cut slowly towards the door. A glimpse of pink tail here, a glance of pink gills there.
“Ooee!”
He was gone before she could finish gasping. And the story found it’s end.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Another contest submission, this one by my good friend and ex-roommate, Tom! Who I call Tom Orley-o. He is from Saskatoon, where there are many ignorant primates. Though he doesn't blog for some strange reason, his wife does. His submission is a sequel to last year's winning entry. Although you can certainly enjoy this on its own, to enhance your reading experience even more, I think you should check out Pukekura's website.
The Pukekura Chess Club's Wonderfully Magnificent Sunday Outing
or
Berg Finds A Hobby
The excitement began with a game of chess. Or, rather, many games of chess; all of which ended terribly. At first the whole idea had seemed grand to the members of the Pukekura Chess Club, and it was quickly voted in by the group who heralded the adventure as: The Pukekura Chess Club’s Wonderfully Magnificent Sunday Outing!
“What sport this will be!” was Charles’ response when he had first heard the suggestion.
“Wicked awesome!” delighted Peter, mischievously using the word ‘wicked’ despite his parents disdain for its employment outside of purely religious doxology.
Franklin (who was still only sipping noodle soups for lunch as a result of the massive dental headgear recently mounted to his abnormally shaped cranium) squealed with dungeon-and-dragon-like enchantment.
And so the approval swept through the rest of the club’s membership, until it fell, like so many socially inept dominoes, toward the head chair. For a moment the club became silent, all eyes turning nervously in the direction of Florence. Florence, the local chess champion and club viceroy, stood to his feet and in brilliant neglect of his asthmatic condition bellowed one word in Klingon: “HIja'!!!” YES!!!
(read more)
The Pukekura Chess Club's Wonderfully Magnificent Sunday Outing
or
Berg Finds A Hobby
The excitement began with a game of chess. Or, rather, many games of chess; all of which ended terribly. At first the whole idea had seemed grand to the members of the Pukekura Chess Club, and it was quickly voted in by the group who heralded the adventure as: The Pukekura Chess Club’s Wonderfully Magnificent Sunday Outing!
“What sport this will be!” was Charles’ response when he had first heard the suggestion.
“Wicked awesome!” delighted Peter, mischievously using the word ‘wicked’ despite his parents disdain for its employment outside of purely religious doxology.
Franklin (who was still only sipping noodle soups for lunch as a result of the massive dental headgear recently mounted to his abnormally shaped cranium) squealed with dungeon-and-dragon-like enchantment.
And so the approval swept through the rest of the club’s membership, until it fell, like so many socially inept dominoes, toward the head chair. For a moment the club became silent, all eyes turning nervously in the direction of Florence. Florence, the local chess champion and club viceroy, stood to his feet and in brilliant neglect of his asthmatic condition bellowed one word in Klingon: “HIja'!!!” YES!!!
(read more)
Please tell me that you read Virgina Lee Burton's Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel
when you were little? Now that I run a slightly more advanced version of a steam shovel myself, I'm kind of interested in locating a copy. You'd think it would be easy to find one around, but not really. At least, not in the cool cloth hardcover I remember. You can find a cheapo paper cover version, but it's just not the same. Today I was in a bookstore and they had the cheap version, complete with a cassette tape (anyone remember those?) so I decided no to buy it. But right above it was an intriguing poster of a gobliny creature, so I asked the lady what that was from, and now I have this book, and its companion story, which actually I know nothing about, but it just looked pretty cool. Have you heard of it? I'll tell you how it is when Michelle and I read it.
when you were little? Now that I run a slightly more advanced version of a steam shovel myself, I'm kind of interested in locating a copy. You'd think it would be easy to find one around, but not really. At least, not in the cool cloth hardcover I remember. You can find a cheapo paper cover version, but it's just not the same. Today I was in a bookstore and they had the cheap version, complete with a cassette tape (anyone remember those?) so I decided no to buy it. But right above it was an intriguing poster of a gobliny creature, so I asked the lady what that was from, and now I have this book, and its companion story, which actually I know nothing about, but it just looked pretty cool. Have you heard of it? I'll tell you how it is when Michelle and I read it.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Here is another contest entry. I know my actual bloggiversary was yesterday or today or maybe two days ago, but I am in no hurry- submissions are still open. This one is a little long, so I will just put the first two paragraphs, then link you to the rest. It is by my friend Seraphim Bonavarius de'Angelo, a saintly ole mystic from Charlottesville, where there are many . . . ummm, mice?
The Prophet sighed -- A Bear Story
The Old prophet sighed. As he was walking thru the woods he came upon the corpse of a young bear. Not killed for food, or in self-defense, but for sport. Killing just for the meanness of killing something smaller than you, because you could.
The prophet took a cloth and wiped his head, with a cloth for just such a purpose, he’d carried it since he lost his hair. The sun was shining down on him. He paused and said a brief prayer, asking God for mercy.
And here is the rest
The Prophet sighed -- A Bear Story
The Old prophet sighed. As he was walking thru the woods he came upon the corpse of a young bear. Not killed for food, or in self-defense, but for sport. Killing just for the meanness of killing something smaller than you, because you could.
The prophet took a cloth and wiped his head, with a cloth for just such a purpose, he’d carried it since he lost his hair. The sun was shining down on him. He paused and said a brief prayer, asking God for mercy.
And here is the rest
Another one of the unforeseen joys of marriage is introducing your wife to some of Johnny Cash's more obscure songs, like the hilarious Chicken in Black.
Looking forward to the Walk the Line movie coming out next month.
Looking forward to the Walk the Line movie coming out next month.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Rapunzel was soooo much fun! Craig and Deb joined us, and Deb observed that we were the only four adults there who didn't have kids with them. Which is really too bad because as an adult I thoroughyl enjoyed the songs, the jokes, the acting and the set design. It was fantastic. And having so many children in the audience was cool too, because they are so uninhibited in their reponses- laughter, screams, whatver. Afterwards the actors and pianist let anyone join them on stage and just answered questions and talked with all the kids who crowded around them. Very, very cool. Makes me want to write a children's play.
But it wasn't really an opera,in the sense of sopranos and tenors and all that. More of a normal musical. Which is fine. I just had the impression it was an opera for some reason. So Michelle and I will still be looking for our first opera to go to.
Know of any?
But it wasn't really an opera,in the sense of sopranos and tenors and all that. More of a normal musical. Which is fine. I just had the impression it was an opera for some reason. So Michelle and I will still be looking for our first opera to go to.
Know of any?
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Another submission for the contest! What contest you say? This one!
This one is by my good friend Lydia, an Ohioan who currently resides in Toronto, where there are many hogs.
"why i gave her my subway seat"
she's last week's shopping
list folded over, bent backwards
with damp fingers until the
crease cracks with middle age,
its belly spreading into an ever-
increasing bulge of soft yield
too worn to uphold the top half
of the list. when the breeze comes
eggs and milk and bread crash
into the current, letters ping
against each other. and both
g's and an h are lost forever
underneath tomatoes and an apple
pie at the very end of the page.
This one is by my good friend Lydia, an Ohioan who currently resides in Toronto, where there are many hogs.
"why i gave her my subway seat"
she's last week's shopping
list folded over, bent backwards
with damp fingers until the
crease cracks with middle age,
its belly spreading into an ever-
increasing bulge of soft yield
too worn to uphold the top half
of the list. when the breeze comes
eggs and milk and bread crash
into the current, letters ping
against each other. and both
g's and an h are lost forever
underneath tomatoes and an apple
pie at the very end of the page.
Monday, October 17, 2005
So Michelle and I are avid patrons of the Symphony, and getting more into the Ballet, but neither of us has ever been to an opera. There's just something a little daunting about opera. But Fringe Theater Adventures is putting on a children's opera about Rapunzel. It sounds like the perfect intro to the world of opera for us. Especially since tickets are only $18.12. If they were $18.14 we probably couldn't afford it. We're going to the Saturday evening show if you want to join us.
From last night's talk at the G, a tone poem of sorts:
Monsters are primal predators
freaks of nature
genetic mutants
bizarre hybrids
scaley slime slingers
invading aliens
robots running amok
creatures of the night
undead aberrations
denizens of hell
outcasts from heaven.
And we are just soft pink things.
Monsters want to eat us
dismember us
mutilate us
take over our bodies
kidnap our children
suck our brains
raygun us
turn us into one of them
perform . . . bizarre experiments on us.
Basically, they want to do us harm.
They are bad.
Monsters are primal predators
freaks of nature
genetic mutants
bizarre hybrids
scaley slime slingers
invading aliens
robots running amok
creatures of the night
undead aberrations
denizens of hell
outcasts from heaven.
And we are just soft pink things.
Monsters want to eat us
dismember us
mutilate us
take over our bodies
kidnap our children
suck our brains
raygun us
turn us into one of them
perform . . . bizarre experiments on us.
Basically, they want to do us harm.
They are bad.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
I forgot to mention I'm speaking at the Gathering tonight and the next two Sundays. Tonight's topic is Monsters! Rarrrrghh! Next week is Fear. Eek! Then the Fear Slayer. Or something like that. I don't want it to sound too much like the satanic love spawn of Tom Araya and Dino Cazares.
And even better than me speaking is Seven Devil Fix providing the Araya-ish soundtrack. Kick ass! Word on the street is they might even be performing my theme song! Hey hey hey Homie Bear! (Yeah, they wrote a song about Homie Bear! Kick more ass!) See you there.
And even better than me speaking is Seven Devil Fix providing the Araya-ish soundtrack. Kick ass! Word on the street is they might even be performing my theme song! Hey hey hey Homie Bear! (Yeah, they wrote a song about Homie Bear! Kick more ass!) See you there.
Speaking of contests, Canadian author Yann Martel is holding a contest to illustrate Life of Pi. Yay for tigers lost at sea! And islands that eat people! He's offering a trifle more than a $25 gift certificate (did I mention that it was for the online retailer of your choice? Yup). But I suspect the competition might be a little stiffer. And you kind of have to be able to draw.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Whiskey River featured this poem by Nicholas Christopher last year when I was in New Zealand. I liked it so much I copied it out in my trip journal, right after the entry about the Levin hoodlums that bombarded Wedge with fireworks and unidentified projectiles. Anyways, I couldn't find it in the Whiskey archives, but (s)he let me know where (s)he found it. It's got a cool Hallowe'eny feel to it. Enjoy!
I'm listening to Lou Reed's New York CD, which has the thematic song Halloween Parade. And the lyrics to Last Great American Whale are really cool too, even if they have nothing to do with Hallowe'en.
Since these guys don't really qualify for my bloggiversary contest, I am looking to you to send me your entries!
I'm listening to Lou Reed's New York CD, which has the thematic song Halloween Parade. And the lyrics to Last Great American Whale are really cool too, even if they have nothing to do with Hallowe'en.
Since these guys don't really qualify for my bloggiversary contest, I am looking to you to send me your entries!
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Yay! Here is the first entry for my bloggiversary contest, details of which you can see by scrolling down a bit to October 2. This one is a poem by Phil of Introspection's Lair, and Calgary, where they have many cows:
Calving Season
‘Twas the witching hour
Of a cold February night
The wind would make any man dour
The chill would seep his might
In my father’s coat
I rode the great Ram
In the snow it could float
It would pull any dram
‘Twas a 4 x 4
The grey hulking thing
Through the field it would roar
In diesel octaves sing
Outside snarled the blizzard
Through which I would trek
And though it blew terrible hard
Ne’ertheless, cows I did check
For ‘twas a task of mercy
For patent motherhood
In wind-chill minus forty
Exposed, outside, the cattle stood
And life’s little miracle
Would often thus begin
Into this howling debacle
Calves quietly slipt’ in-
-to this harsh chilly world,
And heard their mother’s lows
Anxious frosty breath curled
And mixed with fatal snows
I stepped off the great beast
Over drift, fence and into corral
And sought a small sign, the least!
Of new life in this cold hell.
And lo, I did indeed see
Weak wet and shivering
A tiny new calf in the lee
Of the wild wind moaning
I knew what to do, exactly
I grabbed the calf sled
Thus my father taught me
I pulled towards a warm bed
The precious new cargo
And behind me was the mother
Worried, she would bellow
As we neared the barn’s cover
We came out of winter’s frosty maw
Into warm heated air
The barn smelled of fresh straw
It smelled righteous fair
Under the heat lamp in the pen
I briskly rubbed the calf
With bunches of straw in hand, then
Stepped back, let mother do her half
And care for her new baby
I had done all I could
I pulled the calf to safety
With pride there I stood
I knew I did a good job
On this cold lonely night
No calf’s life it would rob
Since I did my job right
Now it was back to bed
Safe from the frozen night
I could rest my own head
And wake to morning’s light
Calving Season
‘Twas the witching hour
Of a cold February night
The wind would make any man dour
The chill would seep his might
In my father’s coat
I rode the great Ram
In the snow it could float
It would pull any dram
‘Twas a 4 x 4
The grey hulking thing
Through the field it would roar
In diesel octaves sing
Outside snarled the blizzard
Through which I would trek
And though it blew terrible hard
Ne’ertheless, cows I did check
For ‘twas a task of mercy
For patent motherhood
In wind-chill minus forty
Exposed, outside, the cattle stood
And life’s little miracle
Would often thus begin
Into this howling debacle
Calves quietly slipt’ in-
-to this harsh chilly world,
And heard their mother’s lows
Anxious frosty breath curled
And mixed with fatal snows
I stepped off the great beast
Over drift, fence and into corral
And sought a small sign, the least!
Of new life in this cold hell.
And lo, I did indeed see
Weak wet and shivering
A tiny new calf in the lee
Of the wild wind moaning
I knew what to do, exactly
I grabbed the calf sled
Thus my father taught me
I pulled towards a warm bed
The precious new cargo
And behind me was the mother
Worried, she would bellow
As we neared the barn’s cover
We came out of winter’s frosty maw
Into warm heated air
The barn smelled of fresh straw
It smelled righteous fair
Under the heat lamp in the pen
I briskly rubbed the calf
With bunches of straw in hand, then
Stepped back, let mother do her half
And care for her new baby
I had done all I could
I pulled the calf to safety
With pride there I stood
I knew I did a good job
On this cold lonely night
No calf’s life it would rob
Since I did my job right
Now it was back to bed
Safe from the frozen night
I could rest my own head
And wake to morning’s light
Monday, October 10, 2005
Hallowe'en is only a few weeks away and I'm getting excited- what's your favorite monster? Or the one you are most scared of?
I've reprinted an old essay that was sort of about monsters which I originally wrote for some other website that I think is gone now. It answers my second question, though not the first- my favorite monster would be some sort of giant zombie bear with bat wings and glowing green robot eyes.
(PS- Happy Thanksgiving to all my Canadian and expatriate friends!)
I've reprinted an old essay that was sort of about monsters which I originally wrote for some other website that I think is gone now. It answers my second question, though not the first- my favorite monster would be some sort of giant zombie bear with bat wings and glowing green robot eyes.
(PS- Happy Thanksgiving to all my Canadian and expatriate friends!)
Thursday, October 06, 2005
C is for hockey! Hockey starts with C! Hockeyhockeyhockey starts with C! Or something like that. I always sing a bastardized version of Cookie Monster's song this time of year. Oh wait, I didn't sing it last year, because hockey started with "No!" But that's okay- all was forgiven when the Oilers signed Chris Pronger and Mike Peca on the same day. Plus the new rules mean that Edmonton can actually compete with the megamarkets. And when they come out blazing like they did last night in the opener, well, it's gonna be a great winter!
Hey Selkie, are you going to go to any Coyotes games to see Wayne Gretzky? Not that he'll do much, mostly pace the bench. Maybe his daughter Paulina will sing the anthem from time to time.
Hey Selkie, are you going to go to any Coyotes games to see Wayne Gretzky? Not that he'll do much, mostly pace the bench. Maybe his daughter Paulina will sing the anthem from time to time.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Contest!
Pooing in the Woods is nearing its third bloggiversary! Yay! For a humble blog that started out as a depository of endless jokes involving the word "poo" to, well . . . not much has changed I guess. Still, there is now a whole Homie Bear universe, and there has been tons of characters, stories and poems along the way. It's been a lot of fun, and I am very happy with the direction this old blog has taken. So. Three weeks to go- enough time for a contest, n'est-ce pas?
I talk about all kinds of things here at the Woods, but when you boil it down, I think I celebrate two things: wonder and whimsy. With maybe a touch of irreverance. So for the Third Annual Pooing in the Woods Bloggiversary Contest, I am inviting you to submit . . . anything. Well, a story, a poem, artwork . . . anything creative. It doesn't have to be about bears, but it can be. Or it can be about Martians or robots or your neighbour or anything. But what I am looking for is something with a sense of wonder, something whimsical and fun. Cause that's what it's all about.
Anyone can enter, even if you're a lurker I've never heard of. But be aware that your entries will be poosted here for all to see (though I reserve the right to not poost it if it is mean or vulgar or anything like that). The prize will be a $25 gift certificate to Amazon, or Bestbuy, or CafePress, or whatever- winner's choice (as long as it is online). Deadline is October 23rd, the actual anniversary date I believe, and I will announce the winner shortly after that.
To get some ideas, here are some examples of previous winners, and my own writings that sort of epitomize what I mean:
Last Year's Winner
Two Years Ago Winner
A fun story- The Robot and the Devil
A non-rhymey poem- E=mc²
A rhymey poem: The First Annual Forest Animals Forum
So there you go. Enter at nwaddell (at) gmail (dot) com . And keep in mind Halloween is fast approaching, so ghosts and ghouls are of especial interest right now. The most important thing is to have fun, and celebrate your creative side.
Pooing in the Woods is nearing its third bloggiversary! Yay! For a humble blog that started out as a depository of endless jokes involving the word "poo" to, well . . . not much has changed I guess. Still, there is now a whole Homie Bear universe, and there has been tons of characters, stories and poems along the way. It's been a lot of fun, and I am very happy with the direction this old blog has taken. So. Three weeks to go- enough time for a contest, n'est-ce pas?
I talk about all kinds of things here at the Woods, but when you boil it down, I think I celebrate two things: wonder and whimsy. With maybe a touch of irreverance. So for the Third Annual Pooing in the Woods Bloggiversary Contest, I am inviting you to submit . . . anything. Well, a story, a poem, artwork . . . anything creative. It doesn't have to be about bears, but it can be. Or it can be about Martians or robots or your neighbour or anything. But what I am looking for is something with a sense of wonder, something whimsical and fun. Cause that's what it's all about.
Anyone can enter, even if you're a lurker I've never heard of. But be aware that your entries will be poosted here for all to see (though I reserve the right to not poost it if it is mean or vulgar or anything like that). The prize will be a $25 gift certificate to Amazon
, or Bestbuy, or CafePress, or whatever- winner's choice (as long as it is online). Deadline is October 23rd, the actual anniversary date I believe, and I will announce the winner shortly after that.To get some ideas, here are some examples of previous winners, and my own writings that sort of epitomize what I mean:
Last Year's Winner
Two Years Ago Winner
A fun story- The Robot and the Devil
A non-rhymey poem- E=mc²
A rhymey poem: The First Annual Forest Animals Forum
So there you go. Enter at nwaddell (at) gmail (dot) com . And keep in mind Halloween is fast approaching, so ghosts and ghouls are of especial interest right now. The most important thing is to have fun, and celebrate your creative side.
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