New Writing Contest! If this looks familiar, that’s because it is. The One Sentence story competitions are back! We’ve simplified the rules and changed a few things around to improve the format and accommodate a larger audience, and we’re excited to see what you can come up with. The genre theme for this contest is: Horror.
One Sentence One Story
When you’re an authorial superstar, maybe you can throw sentences out with natural flair and have every word mean something new and astounding. Writers who are still learning, however, have to be very aware. Casting aside the bloat of a story and laying bare the essential organs can be painful, but the end result is worth it. Nietzsche, author of Beyond Good and Evil and the Anti-Christ, wrote in Twilight of the Idols: “It is my ambition to say in ten sentences what others say in a whole book.” This Halloween season, we want you to try to do the same.
Tell us a story in a single sentence. The entry can be in any style, prose or poetic, but the piece should fall within the Horror genre or use themes and symbols closely associated with it.
Scary stories should be emailed to firstname.lastname@example.org or submitted here with the headline “[Your Title] by [Author] (Horror Contest)” by Midnight EST on October 30th. In order for us to send out fanmail about the contest and results, you must be following the blog to win. Under the cut are specific rules and prizes. Three random followers who reblog to promote the contest, regardless of whether they entered or not, have the chance to win a prize. So, help us get the word out!
"Louisiana, the most common way to visualize the state’s existential crisis is through the metaphor of football fields. The formulation, repeated in nearly every local newspaper article about the subject, goes like this: Each hour, Louisiana loses about a football field’s worth of land. Each day, the state loses nearly the accumulated acreage of every football stadium in the N.F.L. Were this rate of land loss applied to New York, Central Park would disappear in a month. Manhattan would vanish within a year and a half. The last of Brooklyn would dissolve four years later. New Yorkers would notice this kind of land loss. The world would notice this kind of land loss. But the hemorrhaging of Louisiana’s coastal wetlands has gone largely unremarked upon beyond state borders. This is surprising, because the wetlands, apart from their unique ecological significance and astounding beauty, buffer the impact of hurricanes that threaten not just New Orleans but also the port of South Louisiana, the nation’s largest; just under 10 percent of the country’s oil reserves; a quarter of its natural-gas supply; a fifth of its oil-refining capacity; and the gateway to its internal waterway system. The attenuation of Louisiana, like any environmental disaster carried beyond a certain point, is a national-security threat.
Where does it go, this vanishing land? It sinks into the sea. The Gulf of Mexico is encroaching northward, while the marshes are deteriorating from within, starved by a lack of river sediment and poisoned by seawater. Since 2011, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration has delisted more than 30 place names from Plaquemines Parish alone. English Bay, Bay Jacquin, Cyprien Bay, Skipjack Bay and Bay Crapaud have merged like soap bubbles into a single amorphous body of water. The lowest section of the Mississippi River Delta looks like a maple leaf that has been devoured down to its veins by insects. The sea is rising along the southeast coast of Louisiana faster than it is anywhere else in the world.”