Alice Dryden (huskyteer) wrote,
Alice Dryden

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A Tenner Well Spent

A friend told me about Writers' Village a few months ago. The website offers writing tips by email - some free, some you pay for - and quarterly short story competitions. Entry to the competition is £10, but every entrant receives a critique of their work.

This sounded a pretty good deal to me, so I entered a story I'd recently finished and wanted some feedback on.

At this point it would be traditional to say 'and then I forgot all about it', but that would be telling whoppers. I anxiously watched my inbox for my critique, and checked the site daily so that when the winners were posted I could compare them unfavourably with my own effort.

But I didn't need to do that, because I got a phone call telling me I had won first prize in the spring competition. (There was an email too but it had gone into my junk folder, probably because it contained the words Congratulations, you have won.)

The Philosopher and the Weasel

Socrates was sitting cross-legged in his cell when the weasel bellied in through a gap at the base of the wall.

It was a beautiful little beast, with soft, russet fur fading to cream on its belly, and bright black eyes. Its slender tail was tufted at the end, and it travelled with a liquid, looping motion. To Socrates, it seemed such a perfect creation that it might have been the original Form or Idea of a weasel on which all other weasels were modelled. The philosopher sat still as a marble statue, watching his visitor sniff and scurry its way to the crust of bread in his clay bowl.

Kaire, Big Beard!” said the weasel. “Mind if I take this?”

Read the rest, if you wish.
Tags: writing
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