And now, an excerpt or two from our SiWC 2008 Contest winners in the Writing For Young People category. But first, here's a word about our judges:
Shelley is the best-selling author of 8 books for teens. She has released two new books this year, Gotcha! and Sister Wife. Shelley lives and writes in Deep Cove. She is this year’s recipient of the SiWC Surrey Board of Trade Special Achievement Award.
Growing up on the icy plains of Manitoba, James McCann spent most of his time as a teen reading comics and playing Dungeons and Dragons. Both of these hobbies taught him his storytelling tools that he now uses as an author and creative writing instructor. He is the author of Rancour (first released in 2005 with a second edition due in
2008), Pyre (2007), and Dawn (Christmas 2008).
Before turning to mentoring youth in creative writing, he worked in children’s bookstores for seven years. Unlike the creatures of the night of which he writes, he lives peacefully in the daylight with his Shih Tzu, Conan. You can learn more
about him at www.jamesmccann.info
And now -- the excerpts!
by Hélène Boudreau
“Cripes, Logan. What the hell were you thinking?” Logan’s father slapped his hat into his hand.
A patient in the nearby bed looked up from his tray table. Logan sunk deep into his pillows and brought the sheets up to his chest. The harsh scent of industrial laundry soap caught in his throat and threatened to overwhelm him.
“Bastien, please,” Logan’s mom said in a hushed tone. She pulled the curtain around Logan’s hospital bed and busied herself arranging the stiff linens around him.
Logan’s sister, Martine, sat in the chair next to his bed. Her bangs fell like a sheet over her eyes as she studied the previous patient’s forgotten gardening magazine a little too closely, almost disappearing behindits pages. Disappear. Exactly what Logan wanted to do. If only it was that easy.
Secret Friends Club
by Dana Remillard
Jordyn clutches her notebook to her chest as she walks through the doors of the nursing home. The smell of hospital cleaners greets her. The harsh odor isn’t quite strong enough to disguise the underlying scent of despair that suddenly makes Jordyn’s heart heavy. She hopes this social studies report is worth the
Jordyn treads quietly past a cluster of white haired residents staring blankly at a television set above the foyer fireplace. She stops for directions at the nurse’s station, and then walks past a line of weary expressions in wheelchairs parked along the hallway to room fourteen…Mr. Reiner’s room.
by Stasia Ward Kehoe
Sometimes when I lie in bed, I think I can feel my body growing. Feel the cells splitting and multiplying. There’s heat on my skin and things are stretching. It terrifies me. I want to grow up but—breasts and hips and thighs? Ballerinas aren’t women. Ballerinas are girls.
So I lie there, still, trying to will the cells to stop splitting. Wishing everything would freeze just as itnis, where I am thin and lithe and perfect. And when I stand I know where every inch of my body will be.I want to be like this forever, a fairy tale princess preserved in a book where nothing can ever change.
Want to read more? Anthologies are still available. Contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org and we'll send you one for $12 plus postage.
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