While hundreds of stories we've received for the latest Wild Atlantic Writing Awards (WAWA) competition on the theme of ‘danger’ are being read and evaluated by our jury with winners being announced later this month, here are three finalist stories from our previous WAWA on the theme of ‘change.’
Describing herself as ‘a couch potato who runs,’ Annie Percik, 46, lives in London where she writes novels and short stories, works as a freelance editor and hosts a media review podcast.
Annie also publishes advice and meditation videos featuring her popular teddy bear character, Stanley, as well as a blog on writing.
Her story ‘Making An Impact’ was a finalist in the flash fiction category of the ‘Wild Atlantic Writing Awards’ competition on the theme of ‘change.’
“I was thinking about how people can make worthwhile change in the world through small acts of kindness and I liked the idea of a child wanting to do that,” she said, describing the origin of her story. “I wrote the first draft in a couple of hours, then went back to read through and tweak it a couple of times a few days later."
Like many other entrants, Annie’s most difficult challenge was keeping to the 500-word limit. “I got attached to the characters and what they were doing and didn't want to tell them to stop.”
A previous winner in the the flash fiction category of WAWA on the theme of ‘hope’ with her story ‘The Outer Shell’, Annie said she was “tremendously pleased” to be a finalist. “It’s always gratifying to get external validation for my writing.”
Making An Impact
By Annie Percik
“I have a genius idea,” Timmy announced. “I’m going to make an impact on the world.”
“That’s nice, dear,” his mother, Elaine, said, barely looking up. “Could you tidy your room first, please?”
The next day, Elaine was hailed by their next door neighbour.
“Tell Timmy I said thank you,” Mrs Henderson called out.
By the time Timmy got home from school, Elaine had forgotten all about it.
The day after, Elaine met the postman on the driveway.
“That boy of yours is a marvel,” he said with a grin.
It was a busy day, and the encounter slipped Elaine’s mind.
The following day was Saturday, but Timmy was up and out of the house before Elaine had even finished getting dressed.
“Where’ve you been all day?” she asked him later.
“Out, doing stuff.”
Sunday morning was more normal, with Timmy still soundly asleep as Elaine got ready for church. She was surprised, however, when the vicar hurried over to her, beaming.
“Timmy’s grown into such a thoughtful boy. You must be very proud.”
“Of course,” Elaine replied. “Why, in particular?”
“He turned up here yesterday. It was just when the flowers arrived, and he carried them all into the church for me.” The elderly vicar put his hands on his hips and swivelled them with a satisfied expression. “Usually, the day after a flower delivery, I’m in agony, but today I’m fit as a fiddle!”
When Elaine got home, she called Timmy downstairs.
“The vicar told me what you did at the church,” she said. “Did you do something for Mrs Henderson, too?”
“Yes,” Timmy said, looking embarrassed. “I saw her struggling with her bags so I carried them back from the shops for her.”
“And the postman?”
“Oh, he was over at the estate - you know, where they have letter boxes in the individual doors. So I took the letters and ran up and down all the stairs for him.”
“That was very nice of you,” Elaine said. “But what’s brought all this on?”
A look of triumph gleamed in Timmy’s eyes. “It’s a project for school. I’m really enjoying it, so I’m going to make it a regular thing. Don’t you remember? I told you the other day - it’s my genius idea to make an impact on the world!”
Elaine looked at him fondly. It seemed he really was making an impact - one good deed at a time.
When not improving her pickleball game, KT Ryan, a finalist in the creative non-fiction category on the theme of ‘change’ with her story ‘A Chemical Reaction,’ writes mainly about motherhood, divorce and facial palsy.
Born to an Irish parent from Tipperary, she lives in California and says she is “old enough to have kids and young enough to still chase my dreams.”
Her essays have appeared in publications such as Newsweek, The Sun and Lunch Ticket and as a second-time finalist in WAWA she described her selection as “an incredible confidence boost.”
Describing how her story about anxious feelings involved in new relationships evolved, she said, “I thought about the intense heat around a fire-pit, how it reminds me of the tension involved in the ‘will I, won’t I’ leap of faith into another relationship, especially after been burned by a messy divorce. The colorful, reactionary and sometimes explosive nature of chemistry experiments gave me the language I needed to express the excitement, wonder and risk around taking the next step with a new man.”
An innovative aspect of KT's writing is her use of rhyme. “I wanted to hear and feel a rhythmic beat to the tension, which is why I grouped rhymes of three at the end of each paragraph," she said. "Most came easily to me but a few took a great deal of pacing and fine-tuning.”
A Chemical Reaction
by KT Ryan
Months of bite-sized conversations lead us here to my backyard. Finally. We sit across a fire pit. The heat is building, crackling, then roaring, the depth of our conversation a source of constant fuel. Something is happening. Our words are slipping and sliding towards the main course. If we cut that first slice, juice will rush forth in full-bodied flavor. It’s risky behavior. I’m starting to waiver.
His silky baritone lulls me back to our fire. Naked truths and ancient wounds are carefully traded, further igniting our connection. It’s now ablaze with reds, oranges, and yellows, the splendor of which I’ve never known. We’re composing a melody. Our own aural choir. An internal fire. Long-held desire.
We inch closer to what burns between us. His buttery skin shimmers across the heat haze. I’m drunk on him. Then he goes for it. Lays bare the unspoken. Says we have chemistry. I think of colorful solutions and magmatic crystallization. Pyrotechnic fireworks emblazing within. Herbal oils for our skin. Invite it all to begin.
But wait. What can chemistry beget? Explosive reactions. Shattered beakers. Skull and crossbones stickers imparting hazardous warnings. Or, the other extreme, the silent implosion. We could become a failed synthesis. A single open parenthesis. Or each other’s nemesis.
Chemistry can be simple, though. Sodium and chloride make salt, the lattice of ions we massage into meat, curing its flavor. If salt takes a star role in my kitchen, what takes a leading role in my heart? I say, I thought I was done with love, just so you know. Maybe we take it slow. See if there’s still a glow.
Then, the embers begin to dance, their beauty reminding us to take a chance. He adds a new piece of wood to the fire; the flames climb its shaft. Maybe our atoms will bond into something sweet. Carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen make sugar. An energy source with a kick. But that rush may be quick. Be gone in a flick.
I’m rambling now about anatomy, which taste buds identify all things sweet. He licks his lips. Sugar is my lifelong weakness. How I want his tongue devouring my sweetness. Stop. Let’s get back to our hearts. Are they ready? Could we take it steady? I’m already heady.
I hold his gaze, but the fire’s heat roasts my face. He leans forward, asks me, your eyes—are they dry? Yes. But elsewhere I’m wet. Dry and wet. Opposites, like yes or no, which will we choose? We sit atop a fulcrum. Seesawing between friends or lovers. It is there we hover. What’ll we discover?
One long soothing blink, and he’s gone. The fire illuminates nothing. I’m suddenly cold. Then suddenly certain. His warm hands squeeze my shoulders, he was there all along. My breath quickens. Come, he says. We tilt—no, we run—towards a chemical reaction. Bodies intertwined; our hearts begin to loudly pound. Playing in our molecular playground. Hoping to reach for the profound.
A solicitor for more than 30 years, Jacqui Kelly earned her finalist position in the creative non-fiction category of WAWA on the theme of change’ with her story featuring the quirky title, ‘Life Goes On Until It Doesn’t.’
Now in her mid-60s and nearing retirement, Jacqui said her interest in writing has grown slowly over the years as she began attending writing classes and submitted her work in various competitions.
As for her WAWA story, “I wrote the piece fairly quickly while the event that triggered it was still fresh in my mind. I didn’t edit it a huge amount as it was a fairly straightforward description of what actually happened and my preoccupations at the time.”
Interestingly, Jacqui said the most difficult thing about writing her story “was the sense I was exploiting something real. Was I so devoid of feeling that I could record and then submit to a writing competition as if it was happening to someone else?”
As for her title, “I thought it expressed the suddenness of change, which sometimes happens when you least expect it.”
Life Goes On Until It Doesn’t
by Jacqui Kelly
Christmas is over and it’s a relief to get back to watching TV on our own without judgement.
‘She looks like Judy Dench.’
‘No, she doesn’t.’
‘Your mother had hair like that.’
I go to make a cup of tea.
‘The screen’s moved,’ he says.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘It’s over there,’ he insists as he points to the curtains.
He looks odd.
‘What day is it?’ I ask.
‘It’s local authority day.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean,’ and then he stops. ‘I think my eyes are funny.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Why are you asking me that?’
‘Where do you live?’ I persist.
‘Where do I live?’ He looks at me for a moment, his face full of anxiety. ‘I don’t know,’ he replies.
I ring for an ambulance.
‘We’ll get someone out to you shortly. If you have a dog you need to lock it outside before the ambulance arrives.’
It’s a cold evening and the dog is asleep by the radiator. She doesn’t take kindly to being put outside and scratches at the door to get back in. I grab my keys and bag, check for my phone and credit cards then position myself by the window, willing the ambulance on, watching the minutes drain away, aware of the importance of timely intervention in suspected stroke cases.
Once in the hospital we are ushered through to the emergency ward and work begins attaching him to machines and putting cannulas in place. Panic abated but then just as the medics have left, it happens, a loud animal groan followed by fitting. Within the space of a few seconds a scrum of medics are on top of him pumping him with anti-seizure medication and oxygen. It happens a second time. There is talk of an induced coma.
It’s gone midnight and I think of calling the children and decide against it. Best they sleep in advance of the approaching storm.
I head home at six to let the dog in. She’s never had to spend the night outside before and looks reproachfully at me. I feed her and allow her upstairs to sleep on our bed hoping that will restore her trust in me.
I look at my husband’s laptop which he had left open and the lamp which is still on and I wonder about the bins and the household bills and the passwords that I never took much notice of and left him to worry about. Who’s going to do all of that now?
Eight o’clock. I take out my phone and WhatsApp the children knowing that if I try to speak I will break.
Comentarios