I want to hear your story. I will be rewarding three different awards. The first is for the coolest story, the second is for the most well-written, and the third is for the best ending (or moral of the story).
The only requirement is that you remain completely true! Please don't make up a story! A good writer can construct even the most boring story to become something beautiful and eloquent! Impress me but not at the cost of lying. So this is non-fictional and about you :) Some my call it a testimony or all the reasons you are who you are. So make me cry, make me laugh, make me speechless in the most beautiful and articulate of ways :)
There will be a first place for all three sections and each one will have the same prize.
Each winner will recieve rates on all their work that I have time to read and comments or criticism on every story, poem, etc, that they request.
You have until July 15th! Now go forth unto this new and mysterious thread and conquer the world of captivating and enthralling storytelling!!
I really really really want to enter this one... but I can't think of some of my favorite stories!!!! I'm gonna go ask my mom...
I am a horse whisperer. Not completly, but I can connect a lot more than many people can. I have many stories on this but let me bring you back to when I was eight.
I was riding with a friend of mine at our barn. We both tacked up our horses and went out to ride. My horse was a chesnut, a dark drown, and she had a white blaze down her face. This horse's name is Lucy, and everyone loves to ride her.
My mom teaches leasons and my friend and I was having a leason. As soon as I got on I knew. Lucy had so much energy, she could have taken me across the country! I told my mom this but as she didn't believe me, I had to keep riding. Lucy was a perfect angle for the whole leason, but I kept crying and wanted to get off. At the end of the leason I got off and an older, more experienced girl got on Lucy. I went off and played with my friend.
After the older girl was done riding, my mom came to me told me what happened. Lucy had ran off with the other girl, spooking*, bucking*, bolting*. She was bad enough that they couldn't ride her.
Well that got my eight year old self ego going, but I was a little bit afraid to ride Lucy still. Now I am over that fear, but I still remeber all of that. I could just feel the engery she had.
*spooking is when a horse gets scarred by something and jumps to the side. Sometimes can get a less experianced rider to fall off. It is like a person jumping when someone scarres them. *Bucking is when a horse rises both hind (back) feet in the air and kick out. Many riders fall off. *Bolting is when a horse runs very fast for a short period of time. Ussualy happens when they get scarred, have a lot of energy, or want to go back to their food. Some riders fall off at it.
Woah, lots longer than I thought! Um, I wasn't sure about entering that, hope it was enjoyed!
Okay so I'd really love to see more entries here before I judge this! So I'd just like to wait til I have a couple more if possible! Please submit :)
I would like to enter "I Killed a Monster", and "The Girl and Miho" Those were really my real experiences. I hope you like it!
((This is an article I wrote to my sister, a sort of thank you for everything she has done for me :) It hasn't been approved by the editors yet, so I'll just copy and paste it here. Sorry if it's long! Fingers crossed that the formatting isn't wacky, and my apologies if it is.))
It Was You
You were always there.
From day one, you cradled me in your arms and thanked Mom for my existence. You were the voice slipping me stories when language was a mystery. You explained how I had to kick my legs back and forth to get the swing moving and that, if you look close enough, any stone can be a dragon egg. We played with unicorns and conquered gravity with string and balloons. While parents assumed us asleep, we would watch episodes of cartoon animals where you played the cat and I had to be the goose, talking in our beds as we assumed the new roles. For the first few years of my life, you were Kay-ay, my favorite toy. You became the best friend I would ever know as we jumped between states, unable to find other alliances.
When we settled down, things changed. We began to grow up. You became a hermit in your room, saying that you couldn’t play anymore without explanation. Reality overwhelmed the dreams. The dragon eggs were just rocks, the clans of animals just plush toys, the cartoon cats and geese just images on a screen. I missed you. Whenever I could persuade you to be the brilliant dog inventor or to build Lego ships with mismatched pieces or sword fight with sticks in the front yard, I loved you, Kay-ay. The more reclusive you became, the more I cherished those moments.
Even as toys became irrelevant, you still guided me. You would sit down and tap the keys of a plastic piano with me, later selecting the trumpet as your instrument. Soon enough, I fell for music’s splendor and started taking piano lessons only to dedicate myself to the violin. Then you began to scribble down stories, even letting me in on some of your schemes. I already appreciated writing, but the idea of creating a substantial story in elementary school seemed impossible. You proved me wrong. For years that followed, I poured my heart onto a page. Even as you dropped both music and writing to pursue other hobbies, you first exposed the ones that would define me.
During my bleakest year, I looked to you for help. Unsure of myself, I adopted your fashion and wit, hoping that if I was just like my sister I could regain my confidence and be comfortable in my skin, just like you. I wasn’t. Unknowingly, you taught me the greatest lesson of all time; be yourself.
Later, as middle school progressed, we would chat over a shared sink about new romance and petulant irony. You would trust me with the hardest secret you kept, and I would hinge on every word spilling from your mouth. Then we would share a smile, and I would share my darkest fears while you listened with a lopsided smirk and the perfect answer.
We might fight over the music volume and how clean the sink is and regret words spoken in bursts of frustration, but that isn’t what I will remember from you. I will remember my sister, my best friend. Kaylee. I will remember the dragon eggs, the stories we concocted, the legacies, the secrets. I will remember Kay-ay cradling me in her arms before I even knew her name.
It was you who made me who I am.