Literati!

I thank you all for being soooo patient as we brought this one in for a landing.  The Second Annual Victor Villasenor  First Sentence Contest comes to an end, and we can get on with our summer! The whole idea of the contest was to stress the importance of your first words to your readership, your one and only first impression, your chance to seduce, cajole, bully, persuade, or otherwise entice your reader to go further. It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.  Call me Ishmael. In the beginning, there was the word. December tumbled out of storm cloud passing over the island on its way to Los Angeles.

All instantly recognizable first lines to great works. I still remember the first line to Macho, Victor Villasenor’s first published novel, after of course it received 265 rejections before it was taken by a majot publisher. “They, the family, lived in a house built of mud and sticks.”  (Fact checkers out there–you know who you are– I have not seen that book in thirty years.  Tell me if my memory serves me well.) Victor, our neighbor here in Oceanside and best seller of works including Rain of Gold, The Wild Steps of Heaven, and The Thirteen Senses, is the inspiration for this contest, which of course we will repeat next year.

So this exercise was intended to bring home the importance of that first line, and when we had so many that were so good, it seemed reasonable to have a write off for finalists, and give them liberty to expand the first line into a story.  For those of you just coming to us for the first time, the hitch was that the first line the finalists used had to be someone else’s first line, someone  else who had entered the competition other than a finalist.

We have started a tradition here at A Word with You Press. Although it means Derek and I are no longer in a position to accept bribes (loved the chocolate, by the way) we now have each new contest judged by the winner of the previous contest. That means that the man who accepted offers of cash, a job, chocolate booze, or a date with you, your daughter, your son, your wife, your husband, or your German shepherd was Jon Tobias.  We have no idea what won him over. Perhaps it was just damn good writing.

And here are his conclusions:

I don’t even know where to start. I have read these so many times I think I might have memorized them. So before I get any further in explaining my experience as judge, I am just going to jump into it.

Mike Stang-Thief- Your story takes us through the darkness of another man’s soul. More importantly it leaves us feeling guilty for wanting to know more about that darkness, wanting to go on that journey with him. Then there’s the man in the traffic, is he the narrator’s old self, perhaps the old self that never came to be? There is so much mystery to it I want more! That is what good writing does to us.

(here is the link to his story:www.awordwithyoupress.com/2011/06/26/take-away-my-heartachetake-away-my-grief-take-away-my-sorrow/

Maleeha Ahmad-Criminal, Geeks and Starbucks- It’s always interesting to see where a first line can lead the imagination and this version is no exception. In these times I wouldn’t be surprised to see a headline “Wanted Criminal Caught thanks to Starbucks Obsession”. It is quirky and strangely believable.

(here is the link www.awordwithyoupress.com/2011/06/26/kyle-katz-is-a-sentence-donor/

Janet Klise-The Shard- This is hauntingly poetic. It breaks my heart every time I read it. Every time there is a little more. First I just noticed the way the words flowed, then the story, then the story behind the story. How this is about a woman who lost a child and she is “fighting back the cold” to keep a garden alive with the blankets. Then there’s the double meaning when she speaks about all the repairs that still need to be done. And the line, “Was it like another naked place?” is just beautiful. The subtlety is heart wrenching and the imagery is beautiful. Then the end, with her weapon in hand, we have just enough idea to see what she is going to do, and my heart finally breaks. Just amazing.

(and the link:www.awordwithyoupress.com/2011/06/30/the-dog-ate-my-homework/)

Paige Adams Strickland-Untitled- Did you not title it on purpose? Maybe to add to the frustration I felt when I was only allowed to see the date on the envelope. I mean talk about cliff hangers. You knew what you were doing the whole time, and somehow I think you’ve been there, with the bottles and the cokes and the box hidden behind them. You captured a moment I think all of us have been to. And for that reason I am truly fine with not knowing what is in that envelope. You captured a moment in time, when we were all breathless, trying to get to something we were never supposed to see. It never mattered what happened when we finally peeled back the label and at the same time caught our breath because it was always the same feeling. Only writers who have truly mastered their craft can do that and get away with it. You are one of those writers.

(the link to her story:  www.awordwithyoupress.com/2011/06/26/prerogotives-caught-exercising-at-hq/)

And finally, what you all have been waiting for, the winner.

I chose Peggy Dobbs’ story. One of These Days starts off as a dream, then becomes a memory, then it also becomes an inevitable future. Your story spans 2 generations. We saw a man who rode a bull and died because of it. This man’s son is destined to do the same at any cost. The man’s wife, the boy’s mother, we know will be forced to watch them both die. The reason that I chose this story was actually because of the last line. It suggests a much longer story where we already know the ending. These characters are so real and so strong in their intentions we might have seen this story unfold a hundred times. It is strong and tightly woven from beginning to end. There is no mystery or unanswered questions. It is perfectly rounded and for me does exactly what a story should do. Even though I know what’s coming, and am still glued and sucker-punched anyway.

Congratulations.

A Word with You Press will be sending Peggy a signed copy of Victor Villasenor’s latest work Beyond Rain of Gold and a Barnes and Nobel Gift card for $50.

Here is her winning story, based on a first sentence submitted by Gary Clark.

ONE OF THESE DAYS

“You son of a bitch! You’re not going to beat me. I’ve been beat by a few of the best but your’re not one of ‘em.”

Cody didn’t know whether he had actually yelled the words or just thought  ‘em  as the rodeo crowd rose to their feet in anxious expectation, some yelling for the rider, some yelling for the bull. Cody didn’t care. Today, he was a Cowboy  Gladiator and he was the center of attention in the middle of the dust filled Coliseum, wanting to give rodeo groupies enough thrills so they would remember him, “Cody Hayes”, when he swaggered off in his skin tight, faded jeans that never hit the ground and his snug fitting, Justin Ostrich boots. He’d be grinning and waving the winning purse in the same rope bound hand that kept him and this tormented bull tied to each other like a cow with a calf whose umbilical cord was wrapped around its neck, not breathing, birthing breech.

The crowd was now hollering, “Cody, Cody, Cody”! They could see day light between him and the bull each time “Damnation” invented a new way to get rid of this foreign thing on his back. Cody was sure he could feel the fire from snot flaring out of the bull’s nose and he knew most of the rodeo crew had odds bet on Damnation winning this mortal battle. But they were going to lose! “O, God, please let them lose!” he prayed, as Damnation dug in his front hoofs and Cody was air borne, the ground coming up to meet him and blood everywhere!

He woke tangled in the sheet and the quilt his grandma Hayes had made him for Christmas. Laying on his back between his bed and the chest-of-drawers, his feet were frailling the air groping for ground, anything solid, anything real!  He was just realizing where he was when the door opened and his mother rushed toward him crying, “Cody, Cody, you alright, Hon? What happened? Here, let me help you get up!” He slapped her hands away and the minute his thirteen year old brain realized what he had done, he threw his arms around her, apologizing for his rough response.

She sat back on the floor, leaning against the wall, realizing what he must have been dreaming. It had happened before. The love of her life, Cody’s Dad, had been a prize winning rodeo rider who gave his life on a blazing hot day when Cody was six years old. Cody had been there with her when her husband had been crushed under the hooves of a bull named, Damnation. Her worst fear was that her only child would follow the same, dusty, endless trail and there was nothing she could do about it. Sighing, with tears on her cheeks, she brushed the familiar black hair out of his sky blue eyes, so like his Dad’s, as he whispered to her, “One of these days, Mom.”

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