Here are the results!

The 2016 RCLAS WRITE ON! CONTEST WINNERS

First Prize: $100 • Second Prize: $50 • Third Prize: $25

POETRY Contest Winners (Poetry Judge, Alan Girling)

First Place: Chelsea Comeau’s Second Coming Second Place: Alan Hill’s To My Children Third Place: Juliane Tran’s Medication

Honourable Mentions: Annette LeBox’s Attachment

Franci Louann’s Berliner Suite, A Shaped Poem Lilija Valis’ My Bio

NON-FICTION Contest Winners (Non-Fiction Judge, Christina Myers)

First Place: Bryant Ross’ Lost in the Forest Second Place: Carol Narod’s Jerez de La Frontera Third Place: Monika Forberger’s Shoeless in Halifax

Honourable Mentions: Julia Schoennagel’s A Problem of Breeding

Rick Carswell’s Sitting on the Stoop William Crow’s The Birth of Lizard Boy

FICTION Contest Winners (Fiction Judge, Elizabeth Schofield)

First Place: Alvin Ens’ Pumpkins

Second Place: Susan Cormier’s Metaphor for an Apple Third Place: Marion Iberg’s They're All Up in the Hills

Honourable Mentions: Valerie Adolph’s Masterpiece Brie Wells’ Hallowe'en '65 KT Wagner’s Moving On

Congratulations to all the winners! Thank you to everyone who submitted.

NON-FICTION Contest Winners (Non-Fiction Judge, Christina Myers)

First Place: Bryant Ross’ Lost in the Forest

Second Place: Carol Narod’s Jerez de La Frontera

Third Place: Monika Forberger’s Shoeless in Halifax

Honourable Mentions:

Julia Schoennagel’s A Problem of Breeding

Rick Carswell’s Sitting on the Stoop

William Crow’s The Birth of Lizard Boy

To all those who “threw their hat in the ring” – first of all, thank you for the

bravery in telling your stories, and in sharing them with us. Non-fiction writing can

be treacherous territory: we can’t hide behind complex characters or complicated

dramas – except those which really and truly exist. More often than not, this means

writing about our own lives, our own experiences, both joyous and grief-filled and

there are few things as frightening as our own honest vulnerability.

The stories that jumped out for me were not just well written but also those which

revealed personal truths (including complex characters or complicated dramas at

times) but also truths which go beyond the personal into something universal. This

is the heart of creative non-fiction writing: a delicate balance of the internal and the

external, the self and the world.

First Place Lost in the Forest by Bryant Ross

This piece was a pleasure to read: clear, sharp honest language, a strong sense of

place and time, and a main character that allows the reader to “come along for the

ride” (or the walk, as is the case here.) The whole story takes place on one day, but

it’s not just any day: it’s one of THOSE days, the sort of day that stays with a

person for a lifetime. The twist here – that the lesson actually learned was quite

different than the lesson intended – reveals that all too common conflict that exists

between what children and parents need and want from each other. Well done.

Second Place Jerez de la Frontera by Carol Narod

With only a few hundred words and a handful of paragraphs the writer brings us

fully into a new and strange place with details and colour that grab a reader and

keep them till the end. We feel like travellers quietly alongside the writer, waiting

our turn to dance as well. The revelation of the dance, the culture, the geography

and the meaning of all these things at the end brings the writer and the reader to a

new place than where they began. A lovely read.

Third Place Shoeless in Halifax by Monika Forberger

This story is a gem because it is a small, personal and fascinating glimpse into the

arrival of one child – one among thousands, no doubt - from Europe to Canada at

the end of the Second World War. The joy with which the child responds to a gift

of shoes (and later, a gift of chocolate) says so very much about the world they

have left behind, what they (like so many) have done without till now. It is a

chance for the reader to experience this moment like a window into another time.

- Christina Myers

FICTION Contest Winners (Fiction Judge, Elizabeth Schofield)

First Place: Alvin Ens’ Pumpkins

Second Place: Susan Cormier’s Metaphor for an Apple

Third Place: Marion Iberg’s They're All Up in the Hills

Honourable Mentions:

Valerie Adolph’s Masterpiece

Brie Wells’ Hallowe'en '65

KT Wagner’s Moving On

First Place Pumpkins by Alvin Ens

A clever, gentle, sleight-of-hand story that marries pragmatism with inspiration.

The narrator learns to 'feint' in his games of checkers with his dying grandfather,

and employs his newly-found skills in confounding his grandfather's neighbour and

pumpkin-growing nemesis.

The story is well-written, subtly understated and powerful in it's message of love

and the hope of a kinder life.

I carried this one around in my head from the moment that I finished it, playing

with the possibilities, wanting to know more about the characters, their lives and

their losses. It moved me.

Congratulations, Thank you for submitting.

Second Place Metaphor for an Apple by Susan Cormier

Wickedly clever, subtle and delightful, a new twist on the Adam and Eve debacle,

and a pondering on the cause of the plight of womankind in this patriarchal world.

Short, but very sweet. I wanted more.

Well done. Thank you for submitting

Third Place They’re All Up in the Hills by Marion Iberg

I don't like snakes or outhouses, and I really don't like the ones in this story. Well-

written, pacy and full of positive craft points.

A good story. Thank you for submitting.

Thanks to RCLAS for giving me this great opportunity.

- Elizabeth Schofield

POETRY Contest Winners (Poetry Judge, Alan Girling)

First Place: Chelsea Comeau’s Second Coming

Second Place: Alan Hill’s To My Children

Third Place: Juliane Tran’s Medication

Honourable Mentions:

Annette LeBox’s Attachment

Franci Louann’s Berliner Suite, A Shaped Poem

Lilija Valis’ My Bio

First Place Second Coming by Chelsea Comeau

Powerful and original imagery, mystery that bears reflection and surprise are for

me key elements in a strong poem, and Second Coming has all three. We have a

prayer here and it does what a prayer does not normally do, right from the start—

praying to be deceived. It raises so many questions and as a reader drives me

forward. Then, the defensive tension of the breakwater and the evocative image of

an abandoned seashore, and again we wonder why, as if the poet seeks salvation

but doesn’t want it to be easy for anyone. The poem itself is not easy but it stays

with me. It ends finally on a very satisfying note, though I can’t say I know

entirely what I just experienced. It bears reflection.

Second Place To My Children by Alan Hill

To My Children is clear as a bell and at the same time complex in its tone and

emotional impact. We are in allusive fairy tale mode, just right for the child

listeners, bringing the bittersweet regret, love and acceptance, even self-pity,

common to the parental experience. What charms more than anything is the wry

and self-deprecating humour it’s all wrapped in, startling and vivid. Parents will

see themselves here, non-parents those who raised them, and both will laugh and

maybe gain perspective. I enjoyed it very much.

Third Place Medication by Juliane Tran

A poem titled Medication gives me pause. Medication is something I don’t want,

hope I don’t need. It’s invasive, and in a poem with this title I might expect a dose

of right thinking, not a message that empowers. But this one takes me there as only

a fine poem can. We turn through a series of speculations that attempt to answer a

child’s question. The question has an answer but it’s far from a cure. On the way,

we are connected to the deeply familiar in new ways with striking examples and

metaphors. We do learn what the medicine is, but it comes only without a

prescription. It’s the key to what’s good for us, like a fine poem.

Thank you.

- Alan Girling

https://rclas.com/awards-contests/write-on-contest/write-on-2016-contest/

RCLAS WRITER OF THE MONTH

d.n. simmers

d.n. simmers is a special online editor with Fine Lines. He is in six current

anthologies and was in the international anthology Van Gogh's Ear, Paris,

France. He is on line in riverbabble, Wilderness House Literary Review, and the

potomac. He is in upcoming issues of Nerve Cowboy, Paper Nautilus,

Mockingheart Review and Red Savina Review.

He is a graduate of the Writers Studio and has a two year certificate in writing

from Simon Fraser University.

Visit his Facebook page here: d.n. simmers

“Indeed you may. I have a copy here on this card prepared specially for you!”

I handed it over to him. He read it whispering to himself. He looked up and smiled. We

shook hands. As I was turning to leave, he said his final words on the subject.

“I’ll keep it under my blotter!”

THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHILD © Julia Schoennagel

It was raining as usual when she awoke on that November morning.

“Darn!” she thought. “What to do today?”

Then she snuggled deeper into the blankets, smiling in anticipation,

remembering. This was to be a Most Special Saturday. Tonight her auntie was taking

her to see Cinderella. She knew the story, of course; she’d had the Disney movie for a

long time. But this was to be so much more special than just going to a movie—they

were going to see the ballet. The ballet! She shivered in excitement. She’d never seen

a ballet before, not really. Sure, she’d seen some dancing stuff on TV, where a good-

looking guy in tight pants lifted a girl in a frilly skirt up and down in time to the music, but

somehow she just knew this was going to be different, not like anything she could ever

imagine or that she’d ever seen before.

The ballet! Auntie had explained to her that it was a story set to music, where

the actors danced out the story instead of speaking it. It was hard to imagine how

anyone could tell a story without words, but she knew it would be simply wonderful just

to hear the music. Krystle had always loved music, all the sounds of it, and she was

eager to hear real people really playing on real instruments. Auntie had told her, too,

that there would be a whole orchestra with all the bright shiny horns and squeaky

violins, and the conductor waving his baton so that all the players would keep together.

Ooooooh! It was going to be a truly wonderful day!

Of course, the day couldn’t go fast enough. Krystle rushed through breakfast,

rushed through lunch, rushed through some shopping with her mum. And when she got

home, she couldn’t wait to have a bath and change into the beautiful, new, black velvet

dress with the pink rose on the bodice. She felt like a princess as Mummy helped her

zip it up and then brushed her hair until it shone.

Krystle was fairly dancing herself by the time they got to Auntie’s. Auntie’s

apartment was a special place to visit, for Auntie always had neat things to do and

yummy things to eat. And Auntie always listened. Krystle knew she could tell her

auntie absolutely anything, without getting into trouble, which came in pretty handy

sometimes.

Auntie was almost ready to go, dressed in a lovely blue suit made of shiny fabric,

but said she couldn’t decide which earrings to put on. She held out her hands towards

Krystle. Diamond pendants lay sparkling in her right hand, and blue sapphires gleamed

in her left. Krystle chose the diamonds, and when Auntie had put them in her ears,

clapped her hands, saying, “Oh, Auntie, they look so pretty!” Auntie hugged her tightly.

She said that Krystle looked very pretty, too, and they went to put on their coats.

The theatre wasn’t very far from Auntie’s house, and Krystle was very excited to

see the crowds of people lining up to find their way into the auditorium.

Taking her by the hand, Auntie led her straight up to the front towards a funny

black wall. Krystle was most surprised to look over this wall and see rows of empty

chairs, some with instruments leaning against them, and wire stands with music open

on them. Truly, the orchestra pit was a curious thing.

It was a disappointment, though, when they sat near the back, right on the aisle.

“I can’t see anything,” she complained. “I can’t see the stage. I won’t be able to

see what’s happening.” She wiggled and stood up and sat down and wiggled some

more.

Auntie put an arm around her. “When the show starts, my love, you must be very

still and very quiet. You will be able to see, I promise. But other people will be very

cross if you talk all the way through.”

Krystle flounced in her seat. She’d wanted to sit right near the front, but she

understood that they had to stay where they were, because Auntie had said so. Then

she noticed that people were hurrying to their seats, and there was something thrilling in

the air. Looking down towards the funny wall, she could see the tops of some people’s

heads. The orchestra was coming in! Abruptly, the lights dimmed and the theatre went

quiet. She moved to the edge of her seat. Why were people clapping?

At the front, a spotlight shone down on the funny wall and a man’s head

appeared. “The conductor,” Auntie whispered, and the music began with a loud crash

of cymbals.

As the curtains opened and the first characters danced on to the stage, Krystle

knew Auntie was right. She could see perfectly; there was no one in front of her and

she hadn’t realized how high the stage actually was. She had a perfect view. She slid

back against her seat. Auntie smiled.

The music soared and swelled and filled the rafters. The dancers whirled and

spun. It was easy to follow the story. Then poor Cinderella in her rags was left alone by

the cold fireplace as her ugly stepsisters went off to the ball with their horrible mother.

Now the music softened and sweetened, its sound all tinkly. The shivery harps

and the piano resounded as the coloured lights turned the stage into a mysterious

forest. Krystle didn’t realize that Auntie heard the sigh of complete enchantment when

the pink-and-white-and-silver good fairy fluttered en pointe on to the stage. The child

sighed softly, almost reverently. “Oh,” she breathed, “a real ballerina.”

The magical evening was a complete success.

------------------------------------------------------------------- copyright Julia Schoennagel

Janet Kvammen, RCLAS Vice-President/E-zine janetkvammen@rclas.com

Antonia Levi secretary@rclas.com

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May 2016 Wordplay at work ISSN 2291- 4269

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