For the first three weeks of March, this blog will host its very first writing contest! All entries will be posted to the blog and voted on by blog readers. The winner gets a $20 gift card to Barnes & Noble or Amazon and their winning entry posted here and on the UT Children's Writers email group. We also have a signed copy of VS Grenier's picture book and two writing reviews/edits by Scott Rhoades and Julie Daines.
Just added! Scott will review your MSS *or* he will turn your book into an e-book!
Here are the requirements:
-write a short story or poem, any age, any genre
-500 words or less!
-use the phrase "he had it coming to him" in the writing (you can change it to she/her)
-post your writing as a comment to this or the previous blog post
-check back to read others' entries
-vote for your favorite story
All comments must be submitted by 11:59 pm on Saturday March 26th. Voting will take place the last week of March. Winner(s) will be announced on April 1st.
**if you have any questions, please leave a comment below.
**if you would like to add something to the prize collection, please let me know!
10 comments:
He had it coming to him;
You know he really did.
I should have bopped him in the nose
Or kicked him in the shin.
Instead I used some self control
And flashed him my best smile
Then turned and walked away
Leaving him to think a while.
He never should have said
The things he said to me
Those nasty,ugly, vulgar things
That others might believe.
But if I tried to give him
Everything that he had earned,
I'd be stooping to his level
And he still would not have learned.
So I walked away with head held high,
The winner of the game.
While he just stood there wondering
What in heaven's name.
The Hero’s Choice
By Kimberly Kay
He tied the string around his thumb,
And lifted it high and proud
Then leaned to kiss the one he loved
“I’ll always be here,” he vowed.
The two best friends mounted his horse
A steed of shining white
By their hearts they set their course
And rode towards falling night
Some said he’d had it coming
Some said they’d surely known
Praises all did gloriously sing
That fate had claimed its own
They called him greatest hero
They said this was foretold
That destiny had struck once more
To give the good his gold
But I stand here to witness
With his hand clasped in mine
That though he went through trials and tests
And his choices proved divine
If he had chosen different
And never stood for right
Destruction then would have rent
His heart in two that night
It’s choices that create us
It’s not what we are but who
And if destruction claims us
There’s no self to blame but you
You want to be a hero?
Desire to be a knight?
Then what you want you must now know
Choose to do what’s right
He Had It Coming
By Trisha Brimhall
On the roadside he stood idly thumbing;
Tattered sign: "down and out" his state summing.
Through speech sometime slurred,
He'd share rich-toned word.
"Yes, to him", all scoffed, "he had it coming."
Then fate cracked one day and on a whim,
Passerby rolled down car's window rim.
Amid viral sensation,
His voice melted a nation.
He had it - finally - coming to him.
I Wanted to Write
by Mary Ann Duke
I waned to write. I believed that I could
I put pen to paper, and I thought it was good.
With my brain in gear to the computer I sped
I typed up my story 'till my fingers bled.
I shot it off to a publishing house
The editor rejected it--the big ugly louse.
So, I boarded the bus that went to the train
That took me to the airport where I got on a plane
To New York I flew
Then a taxi, a subway and a city bus,too
Brought me face to face with the editor of choice
(I'd seen in the parking lot, his shiny Rolls Royce.)
Mr. Editor, I said with a tear in my eye
If you don't publish my story I think I will die.
Go ahead; drop dead on the floor at my feet
I'm very busy with clients to meet.
This made me angry, this made me mad
The feelings I had were evil and bad.
I balled up my fist, I raised my arm high
I socked him hard
Right in the eye.
This tragic scene was dismal, yes dismal and grim
But--eveyone knows, HE HAD IT COMING TO HIM.
The snow started to fall at evenings last light
It fell harder and faster and kept up all night.
The kids around town could hardly wait
This day of playing was gonna be great.
For every child loves to play in the snow
And every boy claims to be the snowball pro.
The boys all ran to the big open field.
Where they packed and stacked and started to build.
First came the snow forts, big and wide,
So each kid was protected on every side.
They worked hard to build up their ready supply
Of snowballs that could really hit and fly.
The biggest kid's name was Tough Tully
He was also the towns infamous bully.
Just as soon as the snow forts were built,
Tulley kicked at the forts with no guilt.
Each boy had a horrible story to share,
Tulley was just mean, and he didn't care.
What he didn't know was that the other boys,
Were scheming up some uproarious ploys.
But before the boys could show off their skill,
Everything was quiet, everything was still
And like the shot heard round the world
One snowball suddenly ripped and whirled.
The field erupted with flying snowballs
And every child dove behind fort walls.
It wasn't long before their supplies ran dry
The boys grabbed at the snow that was nearby.
Perfectly sculpted snowballs became
Fist fulls of snow that they didn't aim.
But as the snowballs flew fast and furious,
Something happened that is still curious.
All the balls and chunks of snow flew
And pummeled mister you-know-who.
Tulley was suddenly under attack
As many snowballs hit him with a whack!
For once in his life, he turned tail and ran,
He got home much faster than other boys can.
So as the words ring out, the words rang true,
“He had it comin' to him,” but HE never knew.
Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow
I kissed Dimitri softly on the lips. "Please don't go," I whispered.
"I must. But you know that. The vampire hunters will find me. They have a Blanaa."
"Oh, why? Why can't they leave you alone?" my breath was coming out in little puffs in the crispy cold winter air. The ebony night wrapped itself around me like a silk blanket.
"All matter else seems weak. They are convinced I am evil incarnate. Sweet Jamila, I promise to find you again." Dimitri held me in a tight embrace, his scent enveloping me.
He gently moved aside my jet black hair, and left a trail of kisses in it's wake. He kissed one spot, then extended his fangs into my neck. I prepared myself for the moment of brief pain, yet I still cried out. Then I felt myself in the sweetest bliss.
It ended too soon for me, but I knew Dimitri had to leave. "Don't forget me," I murmured into his shirt.
"Never," he promised.
A wave of sadness came over me, and I turned away. Then I heard a sound of a struggle. "Dimitri!" I yelled.
We were too late. The vampire hunters had found my eternal love, and in a split second murdered him.
One hunter came up to me and said, "He had it coming to him, as do you. Guilty by association."
My last thought before my death was, Parting is such sweet sorrow.
For T. Lynn Adams:
He had it coming to him and he knew it. Most of all, he knew he deserved it.
.
Sure, some teachers would say it was about time, that he had it coming to him for a very long time. Friends who knew him would try to downplay everything by saying it was all an accident, a chain of coincidences. The principal and his parents had both told him many times, ‘you will get exactly what you earn.’ Even his girlfriend had her own opinion of the whole thing…but he really didn’t want to dwell
Right now, he had people to face--a lot of them. They were all looking at him waiting to hear what he had to say, waiting for him to come up with some reasonable pronouncement that would allay their doubts in him, soothe their fears, and give them some hope for the future.
Taking a deep breath, he then let a long cleansing exhale erase all his nerves. Earned or accident, long-time coming or surprise fluke—as his high school’s Valedictorian, he had a graduation speech to give and people were waiting.
A Narrative To Remember
By Joseph Ramirez
“If only you and I were in love,” whispers my date, as she adjusts my tie.
I take in the vast ballroom, the elegant swirl of dancers in tuxedos and evening gowns, the live jazz music, the fragrance of her perfume.
“In love,” I muse, “and upset.”
Her eyebrow raises. “Intriguing.”
We enter the dance floor, her dark dress shimmering with movement.
She continues. “In love and upset... mmm-hmmmmmm... that would introduce dramatic tension. We could argue, while we dance...”
“Yes,” I say. “Brilliant! But to avoid conformity, the livid lovers danced the foxtrot while everyone else did a slow swing!”
“Splendid,” she says. We switch to foxtrot with a twirl.
I continue. “As they argued, their fervent anger – fueled by their emotional stakes in this already intense relationship – only burned brighter... dangerously brighter... perhaps even brighter than the flame of their love!”
She places a hand on my chest. “A great wedge grew between them with every step, neither willing to acquiesce!”
We cease dancing. I speak. “Their argument stopped, but didn't end, as the words he didn't mean to say spilled forth from his impassioned lips.”
She pulls away from me. “Dramatic silence ensued while she stood, haughty head held high, too proud to consider the pleading apology already in his eyes.”
I grin. “This is great.”
“It gets better.” She stops a server laden with a tray of full wineglasses.
“Of course,” I say. “Classic. With a splosh of wine to the face, she left him spluttering and without a shred of dignity... as she walked away without a second glance!”
“He had it coming to him,” I say.
She poises her arm for sploshing, but hesitates. “Hmm. Too easy.”
She returns the wineglass to the server, who gives us both a funny look and continues on his way.
We both search our minds for something, anything.
“Got it!” she says. She raises a trembling hand as though to backhand me. “She shook a little...”
I narrate. “And he said 'smite me, if you must... but I am alREADY smitten with you, which pains me more than your blow ever could!'”
“Oooh, good,” she says.
“Yes, I know.”
Her hand falls to her side. “And she said, 'This hand... could never harm you.'”
“Poetic,” I say.
“Appallingly so.” Then, she slaps me with her other hand. “'But this one could!' She cried. 'For the typing induced carpel tunnel in it is far less advanced!' ”
I smile, rubbing my jaw.
She sniffs. “Blighter.”
“No,” I say. “Writer.”
She gasps. “You too? I knew it!”
We pull close.
“You're incredible!” I breathe, “What a twist on cliché! Introducing a health problem... thus thickening the plot!”
“And your dialogue...” she murmurs, stroking my arm. “Scintillating. We must co-write.”
“Indeed. We must.”
He Had It Coming to Him
By Maren Warner
I opened the newspaper, scanned and read,
Let out a sigh and shook my head.
Mr. Thomas, age eighty-eight,
Died suddenly on Saturday late.
“He had it coming to him,” is what I said,
Of him who was gone, buried and dead.
He was an old man, crusty and mean,
The most unpleasant person I’d seen.
I won’t send flowers with a ribbon and bow.
I won’t say goodbye or put on a show.
“What’s this,” I scoffed, “an Eagle Scout?”
A very good one, I doubt.
Oh, he served in one, two, three wars,
Earned honors, medals and more.
He lost his wife early on
Along with his only son.
I didn't know.
I didn’t try to get to know.
If I’d looked closer, would I have seen
A light of sorts that once had been?
What were his memories of days gone past?
Happy times that he hoped would last?
Did he have times of contentment and fears?
Did he have times of laughter and tears?
All tucked away inside his mind,
Hid away for no one to find.
He had it coming to him, but in a kind way.
A friendly "Hello, how are you today?"
Did anyone try to build a trust?
I should have tried to get through the crust.
Making a difference starts with me.
I know now that's how I ought to be.
“He had it coming to him,” some may say.
Good or bad it’s coming some day.
How do you vote for favorites?
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