RIMSHOT PLEASE...

Our second place goes to...

DIANE! WOO HOO!!!

Here is her piece entitled "Life is Just a Cakewalk!"

Life is Just a Cakewalk!
by Diane Viere

On a crisp, fall evening in October, our eight-year-old son came beaming through the front door, proudly holding a cake. It was an ordinary cake…you know the kind, triple-layered, creamy whipped frosting with decorative roses encircling the edges. He had been to a church party and won this ordinary cake at the Cakewalk. We set it at the center of our kitchen table and, soon, he was off to play with his more exciting toys.

Why did this ordinary cake stir such emotions within me? Why was I so overwhelmed with joy and happiness that he won this ordinary cake?

It had been many years earlier while in fifth grade that I first heard of Cakewalks. Fifth grade--Mr. Johnson--the best teacher, ever! In Mr. Johnson’s class, there always smiles and encouraging words. At home, things never seemed safe. In Mr. Johnson’s class, it was a certainty; we would learn and grow. At home, life was never certain. This was a special week in Mr. Johnson’s class. We were preparing the school gym for the Annual Roosevelt Elementary School Carnival to be held on Friday night. All of the proceeds would be used for our new gym equipment.

Daily, we would do our required class assignments and then rush to our carnival plans. We were excited and proud as we planned, decorated and made sure everything was in just the right place.

I was on the Cakewalk Committee. Each day we would make tickets, decorate the rope to encircle the cakewalk area, and cut out footprints from colorful construction paper to be placed on the floor for people to walk on while the music played. We were proud of the tablecloth we made from an artist roll of white paper, which would feature our original artwork and hang over the long lunchroom table. This is where we would display the prizes--the beautiful, donated cakes. By Thursday, we could hardly wait to see the cakes that would be delivered the next day. Friday would soon be here!

It was hard to sleep that Thursday night. Finally, as I faded dreamily away, I could hear the music on the phonograph spinning, as our carnival guests would walk the cakewalk. When the music stopped, the lucky winner on the special footprint would choose a cake. An ordinary cake. Maybe, just maybe, I would win one of those beautiful cakes. As I slept, I dreamed of how it would taste.

Stepping into the gym that Friday afternoon, I could not believe how beautiful the cakes were on that long table. I hardly noticed the tablecloth our committee had decorated with such care. They gym never looked so festive…and the Carnival was ready to begin.

My plan was to race home, do my homework and chores and then I would hurry back to our Cakewalk and buy a chance. My mom saved a dollar from her "ironing money" so that I could go to the carnival. I was determined to spend the entire dollar if I had to, just for a chance to bring home a beautiful cake.
Alcohol changed my chance that Friday afternoon. It didn’t matter to my Dad that we had proudly worked so hard all week long on that special school event. Some small thing had gone wrong in his day, and I wouldn’t be going to the carnival after all.

An ordinary day.

That Friday afternoon, I learned there are many footprints in our life. Some will make us stumble. Unlike a carnival cakewalk, the cakewalk of life is not always magical. There are storms. There are trials. There is hurt and there is pain. But there are also the prize footprints--the footprints of hope, of determination, of perseverance, of forgiveness and of love.

Just as the decorated rope circled the cakewalk that carnival night, a circle of life happened on that chilly evening in late October. Our son brought home an ordinary cake from a church carnival. To me, it was a cherished cake, a blessed reminder of the many prized footprints in the cakewalk of my life.

DRUMROLL PLEASE...

And the Winner is...

DUN DUN DUN!

JENNIFER!! WOO HOO!!!

Her short story entitled "Haley's Justice" was a wonderful little interaction of a father and daughter. What I liked about it was that there was going to be a court proceeding of some sort that involved the young girl, but it was never spelled out. I gathered that it was going to be a custody hearing. By the end, you know that everything is going to work out just fine.

I liked it a lot.

So without further ado, here is "Haley's Justice" by Jennifer:


Haley’s Justice
By Jennifer (Architect by Day, Writer by Night)

"Daddy?" A little girl tugged on her Dad's arm. Her eyes were wide with curiosity at the statue before her.

"Daddy?" she said again, tugging a little harder.

"What is it Haley?"

"Why are her eyes covered?"

"Who?"

The girl lifted a finger and pointed to the statue standing tall in the lobby of the courthouse. "Her. She can't see Daddy. How can she help you if she can't see?"

The man knelt down next to his daughter and marveled once again at the inquisitive nature his daughter had. He couldn't lose her. She's what made his life bearable. "That's Justice. She's wearing a blindfold."

"But why?"

"She wears that so she makes sure she's fair to everyone. A lot of times people can't see past the differences we each have and are judgmental because they see only what's on the outside. Justice doesn't do that. She's fair."

"You mean she can't see if someone is a boy or a girl. Or if they're tall or short?" Haley asked.

Such a simplified version of a complex topic, he thought. He wish he could capture her innocence and share it with the world. "That's right. She can't see if we're black or white, if we're rich or poor. She listens to the facts and makes her judgements based on them."

"So it's her job to make fair decisions?"

"Yup. She isn't prejudice against anyone."

"That's what the jury is going to do?"

It came out more as a question. He smiled at her. He didn't know how else to reassure her. She was being so brave. She was a strong girl. She was his girl and they weren't going to take her. Not if he could help it.

"They're going to listen all the facts and make a decision without pre...predujuice?"

He smiled at her mispronunciation. "Prejudice sweetie, and yes that's what they'll do. Just tell the truth Haley.
You don't have to worry." He stood up and took her hand. "Ready?"

Haley looked a Justice again. "One second Daddy." She ran over to the statue and whispered something to her.

She came back and gave him a hug. "It's okay Daddy. I talked to her and she promised she wouldn't take her blindfold off. We can go in now. I'm ready."

The Contest...

Hello everyone, I just wanted to update you on the contest. The extendo-deadline passed yesterday with four submissions.

Those in the running are:
Diane
Lisa
Jennifer
and Alessandro

My own entry fell short, DOH!

Over the next couple days, the entries will be evaluated and a winner chosen.

Jill posted first and second place for her contest, but I am thinking that it would be nice to post every0ne's efforts this time.

Jennifer's first attempt grew and grew, and announced that it wants to be a novel, not a short story. I think that is excellent.

So stay tuned, and I will announce the winners, and post the entries.

Thanks for the great response. It was great to see all the enthusiasm. I know several of you mentioned that you would like to participate, but life and circumstances were in the way.

Remember this is an open forum, so if any of you have an idea for a story trigger, please share it.

Happy Writing!

Dave

Maybe Later

I've been putting off writing that fictionalized version of a childhood event. After much soul searching, I've come to the conclusion that my fiction is about me getting as far removed from myself as possible. When discussing my work in progress with my sisters yesterday, one commented to another, "She lives in a fantasy world." And though I felt a little wounded by the statement, I replied, "All good writers do."

Perhaps there are some great stories begging to emerge from my childhood. It was a mixed bag of blessing and horror. I came from a dysfunctional family. The dysfunction arising when my father's free spirited, compulsive, addictive personality melded with my mom's, which was solid, traditional, and disciplined. I have both the fairytale childhood and the nightmare childhood. When my father was sober, my life was a Norman Rockwell painting. When he was not, it was hell. I have spent many years in trying to put pieces of my past behind me. I have forgiven him many trespasses and hurts. Seldom do I dredge up the painful things that shaped my cynical views of life. Lately I have tried to focus on the beautiful heritage that was left by my mom. You can ready my tribute to her here.

I have tried to imagine a scenario from my childhood that I could adapt into a short story. Inevitably the pain grips me, and I am rendered useless for writing. It doesn't matter if I try to think of the happier times, because with the memory of the happy days comes the knowledge that my parents are gone. I am an orphan. I no longer have the luxury of having either of them in my life. At this moment, my chest is pounding with anxiety as I finally remind myself to breathe. I exhale in a long, deep sigh. All that was good is gone. All that was bad is gone. For now I must rest content to build my stories from worlds a million miles away. For right now, Dave, I find my childhood to be just a tad to close to home.