FREE Contest: The Second Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Welcome to the second Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. I am your hostess, Chelsea Owens.

Please, please read my wonderful blog post, How To Write Terrible Poetry, then note the following rules:

  1. The topic is sour grapes.
  2. It’s shorter than the last contest. Keep your poem below 150 words but above 5. That means anywhere from 6-149 words.
  3. To rhyme, or not this thyme? Again, up to you.
  4. And remember: the poem needs to be terrible. I want your high school poetry club teacher to pat you on the back for how many ways you failed to write the word ‘love’ or ‘agony.’ (Please do not literally use ‘love’ and ‘agony’ 50 times, assuming it’s a requirement.)
  5. Keep it PG-Rated.

Think you can do it? You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (November 23, 2018) to submit. Write it early ’cause I don’t want to see anyone coming here instead of to their family’s house for Thanksgiving.

Post your poem or the specific link to it in the comments.

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Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Welcome to the very first Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. I am your host, Chelsea Owens.

Your first contest has the following rules:

  1. The topic is elective surgery.
  2. It’s short. Keep your poem below 200 words but above 4. That means anywhere from 5-199 words.
  3. To rhyme, or not this day? Up to you.
  4. And remember: the poem needs to be awful. I want to cringe. I want to scrub my eyes and go lick something to clear my artistic palate. -though, G-Rated.

Think you can do it? You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (November 16, 2018) to submit. Post your poem or the specific link to it in the comments.

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Poetry Contest Writing Thingie

I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I want to start a poetry writing prompt contest thing on my site.

Yes, here.

Yes, I still intend to randomly have a caption contest as well. -In fact, I had intended for that one to be monthly or quarterly, but got a bit sidetracked in keeping my children alive over the summer.

On to the poetry:

Every week, I will announce a topic and parameters. People may enter by posting their entire poem in the comments, or a post-specific link. I will read through the entries and pick my favorite. Said favorite is the winner and gets his/her post listing his/her poem and announcing that he or she is The Grand Poet Master of the Week.

The best part?

This will always be a contest for the very worst poetry you can write. *Ahem* And G-Rated. I’m not gonna want to tread through some of my reader’s minds (you know who you are)….

So…. Every Saturday at 8 a.m. MST (UTC-7, though UTC-6 during Daylight Savings), I will post the rules and prompt. Every Friday of the following week at 8 a.m. I will announce who won. You’ll have that week to write something.

Are you game? I am. Tune in tomorrow and let’s have some fun!

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Word-Pruning

I wrote something Saturday for a writing competition.

If you, like me, sometimes need a little kick (or, very large boot) to start your writing engine, then you know that 100 word stories are a great motivation.

Properly nudged, therefore, I began my little story.

“Hey, this is turning out well,” I complimented myself. Gears turning, I added details. I named my character. She did cute little gestures with her face.

Then, I remembered my limits. I stopped, counted. I was at 88 words and little Sadie was still on the couch. I was not going to fit my planned end dialogue from a candy corn man in just 12 words.

I began trimming. Sadie’s lips no longer pursed thoughtfully as she scowled impatiently. Her comforter didn’t swish to the floor; then, it was no longer mentioned at all. The candy corn people originally came from a dish of various confections, but “Mellowcreme pumpkins” was two extra words too many.

Like a manic killer, I slashed adjectives, actions, and prepositions. Two descriptive sentences became one of a somewhat less interesting run-on sentence.

There! I counted again. Argh! 115 words.

I pored through any possible excess, one word at a time. Initially happy at the prospect of creating a workable masterpiece, I now cursed the word limit in frustrated whispers.

Finally, I gathered my remains, stuffed them into a somewhat-coherent form, and clicked Publish.

Staring round at the dismembered body of my original story, I vowed to never again write such a restrictive theme -at least until tomorrow.