150 Word Contest

Go Teen Writer (which is not only for teens), had a writing challenge/contest last week. We were supposed to write a 150 word (no more) opening to a story that started with the words “I’m not the type of girl to say…” Or you could substitute the word ‘girl’ for ‘boy’. Since these kinds of contests are fun and help you learn to write a catchy first 150 words, I entered. 

And… I didn’t place in the finalists. Which is fine, I still had fun. Anyway, I thought I’d share my entry with you. So here it goes: 
I’ve never been the type of girl to say “when pigs fly”. After all, who says that pigs can’t fly? What makes anyone think they’re smart enough to decree a negative verdict on the soaring abilities of swine? 
Ok, so I’ll be the first to admit, they don’t have the most aerodynamic-looking body, but that really doesn’t mean anything. You can’t judge a book by it’s cover, a pig by it’s lack of wings, or a cup of coffee by it’s plainness. 
Goodness, who would look at a mug of coffee and suppose it could create a monster out of me? The black liquid looks harmless enough, right? 
“You’re asking too many questions, Jenny.” That’s what my mama would be telling me right now.
“Wagging your tongue off as normal.” That’s what my pa would be saying. 
“Can you prove it?” Isaac would be asking, his smirk in place.

A picture that has absolutely nothing to do with the post. I just think it’s pretty. 

So, what would you have written? Feel free to add your own entry in the comments. Just remember not to go over 150 words. =) 

2 thoughts on “150 Word Contest

  1. Anonymous says:

    That was interesting, Aidyl! 😀 Wasn't it a neat idea? I entered too, though I wasn't a finalist either. Here was mine:

    I've never been the type of girl to say no to an adventure. It's why I'm here in the back of this steam train, hidden behind crates on their way to New York. It's why this dime journal's in my hands – because Pap believes every memory ought to be recorded. “Memories live when they're written, Jo-girl. I can't remember your memories, and you can't mine; but the whole world remembers a story that's put down on paper. It becomes everybody's memory.”
    I try to do him proud – I write about the fire; losing Mama, custody of Jonathan. Being homeless. I only fear I won't do the memories justice. Maybe others will read our story, but they'll never feel it like we did.
    I look up at Pap. He's dirty and tired, but underneath I see what I watch for every hour – watch to make sure it hasn't left; his determination.



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