The Cleveland Free Times is looking for entrants for "LOVE IS GRIND: Free Times' Second Annual Valentine's Day Writing Contest."
That's amoré!
Call for entries: If you've concluded that Valentine's Day is nothing more than a fiendish plot by the international greeting-card cartel to cash in on lovers' failure to meet impossible expectations, we're here to help. Or at least to exploit you a little further. Tell us your tale of unrequited — or all too requited — love. Change names if necessary, but otherwise keep it real. If we're moved to tears or laughter (or even better, both), we'll share your pain with other readers in the February 14 issue.
The rules: Essays must be original works written by the entrant, and 1,000 words or less. E-mail entries as an attachment (Word or RTF file) to Frank Lewis. Include the words "Valentine's Day Contest" in the subject line. The body of the email should include your name, age (21 and over please), address and phone number. Deadline: 5 p.m. January 31.
Here is a link to last year's winning entries.
Last year's prize was a romantic package for two at the Cleveland Play House. This year's prize has yet to be announced.
Good luck you lovebirds.
Note: Today's photo is the Goat and me right after the God Guy said, "You may kiss the bride" on Nov. 28, 1992. Erf.
13 comments:
A truly delightful photograph.
Regarding the grind, I shall be submitting my most lurid attempt.
Shit, I always have guests in that weekend for the after market dealers show. Why they have it this time of year I do not know but I am sure it has cost many a relationship. If you are in Indy the Sat of the week of St Valantines we are having a party at the Stutz Building (Stutz Bearcat) a very old car manufacturing wearhouse which is now a artists den and a collectors paradise. We all sudden became sophistcated. Everyone is welcome, its not a party unless everyone is invited...JW
Winters: It was a truly delightful moment if I remember correctly. I'm sure the temperature in the Free Times office will go up ten degrees when your entry lands.
JW: Thanks for the invite, baby. Be my Valentine?
OH! Hooray!
HAPPY DAY!
(smiling!)
~d heart love!
(sigh!)
The entries were amusing. Then again, love is always amusing from an outsiders point of view. First Place gets a tip of the hat for at least recognizing she had an asshole magnet implant...she detected it and got rid of it before it became malignant...even amused herself with a trifling revenge. Good for her.
Entrant Number Two is surely a closet psycho. I think she's a stalker. The poor dude is in for Hell. A broken oosik sez she still has the t-shirt and wears it to bed.
The desperate occupant of storage unit number three is currently a vicious maneater. Very vicious. Her tits have teeth. Futute trailer park trash, or as a future Mrs. Donald Trump.
Any-which-way...Toby sez you don't bite...so what about the shoes?
Hi ~d: It took AGES to comb my hair out of that do!
Dear Fool,
At least they sign their work instead of hiding behind a fool's cloak.
Writing. Takes. Balls.
Now then, the shoes. They belonged to a woman from Austria. She was killed when she fell from her horse as she scaled a mountain to attend a tryst with her lover (she was married to another man). Her body was not found until the following spring thaw. The rigorous winter had left her oddly intact. She was still quite beautiful.
The man who discovered her stole the shoes and her jewelry (one emerald ring and a string of black pearls).
The lover never stepped forward. He later dissolved into drink and died alone and desperate. The husband remarried an unremarkable woman. They had three children, the last of which died during childbirth along with his mother.
Do you ever play Dominoes?
Totally agree. Writing takes cajones. BIG FUCKIN' CAJONES. Yup.
And. I'm. Sure. You. Have. 'Em.
I am not hiding. Ask vs. assume, please. I have tried to remove all trace of "profile" for duo reasons. Firstly, removal of ego and desire for credit from my process. Secondly, freedom for readers and writers at my post. I am a middle-school teacher, and a bit against the grain (pushing string in the english/lit arena). It's politics...separation from teachers and students...check further into the posts and you'll discover why.
And don't take me wrong, it's just typical of introductions. My comments were not a slam against the "writers" or "women" in any way. Men are much stupider in both writing and love; they just don't know how to express themselves. The entries were entertaining and quality writing. Thanks for the link. My reflection was simply on psychologies and the whirl that's love. I might even submit a yarn from the files regarding my own insane wanderings in the backwoods.
Hello. ;)
Cool on the shoes...but how did you get the shoes? Are they really the emerald slippers? I want to know what happened to the pearls. Black pearls is cool. They look great with a Harley. Howard Hughes once passed through Fairbanks in 1938 on his record-breaking flight around the world. The plane was loaded with ping pong balls (for flotation in case the plane went down over the ocean). He unloaded the ping pong balls during his stop in Fairbanks. I want to know what happened to the ping-pong balls too.
Yes, I play with Dominoes, but rarely the game.
The imagery of the water up the nose hurts. Ouch. But thanks for stopping by.
You've a great blog, Erin. And I'll check your book.
I think it's a conspiracy, but I go along with it anyway.
JY (aka The Fool): Olive branches all around. I surely understand reasons for anonymity and it seems to me Alaska has a good man/teacher in you.
That said, let me explain myself, if you have a minute. Here is one reason I get so prickly about anonymous comments. And here is an example of how comments can be hurtful to a writer.
As for the ping pong balls. I have them (of course) and am using them to construct an airship in order to fly them back to Fairbanks thereby returning them to their rightful home. Let's you and me get a burger when I'm in town. Will there be mooses walking around like that old TV show? Is that the correct plural for moose?
Oh hell. Here is more Erin than anyone should ever have to see.
And now that I know you're a teecher, I'm freacking about my grammer, and; punctuashun?
No problem, Erin. Aren't intros fun? I can be a tad (okay, a big, major, fucking T-A-D), tactless at times. It took me most of the day to figure out that perhaps I had made a crack about someone you know personally (men ARE slow). But I wasn't really making a crack about anyone personally...reread the tales, especially the endings...blank out anything personal...and consider the templates of love left. I know, anyone who takes this long to explain themselves should just keep their mouth shut.
Fave? Can I have my anonimity back? Would you please delete the revelation posting? Before a current troop or one of their 'rents discover it? Chances are slim, I know, but some folks I would prefer to be paid money to have to talk nicely to. ;)
I'll get to the vids later today. I'm dial up at home. I take it they're on 'slips from rejects,' or is that reject slips? Those can be rich. Eff 'em. Save the worst for framing next to the accolades and awards, and use the rest to wallpaper a room.
The ping pong tidbit's true. There has to be a story in there.
Yes, moose shit in my back yard. They take to the streets to nibble on our trees for easy pickings in the winter. They are also the local gardener's nightmare. Cool beasts. People's freezers are full of them. You can also sell tourists "moose-nugget" earrings. No shit. Tourists are that strange.
The plural of moose is moose. I really want to tell you it's "moosi," like octopi. It should be.
I've never seen "that old tv show." I'm probably blessed.
Gram-mar was invented by people who couln't understand common folk in order to try and control 'em. Stupid notion. It's a 500 year experiment gone awry. It doesn't work. Punctuation? I talk in semi-colons; why not use 'em?
Alright. Peace is made. Branches all around (make a bonfire, break out the beer). And you can have your column back I have my own to write.
Nice to meet you, Erin.
And Toby's in trouble! He said you wouldn't bite.
And can I quit with the water up the nose image? I'm still trying to think of a third prime number?
Fool: Am I the only one scared by the fact prime numbers are infinite? After 37, I'm already starting to freak. These mothers go on forever?
Whoa.
Thanks Denny. But I think there might have been a can of soup in my Dearly Beloved's pocket.
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