GRAY DAY

 

I’m thrilled to shout from the treetops my story, “Gray Day,” made the Long List in Globe Soup’s 7 Day Writing Challenge Contest. Globe Soup is a highly respected writing community that offers both free and paid writing contests and challenges that are judged anonymously. I’ve rarely entered my work in contests. This year, as I fruitlessly scoured the planet for my one true friend, aka a literary agent for my debut novel, ECHO THE BIRD’S CALL, I decided to enter a smattering of contests for the hell of it. I budgeted a few bucks and entered my work in legitimate publisher-sponsored contests. The fees started at around $3.00. A pittance you say? Well, a fee for every submission adds up mighty fast, pal. I splurged on a few ten and fifteen-dollar entry fees as well. Turned out, entering my work in contests was just another form of rejection—only now I was paying for the “privilege.”

Throughout my months and months of researching the traditional path to publication, I discovered Readsy.com. Their YouTube channel is stellar. The Readsy.com blog curates legitimate contests, which is how I discovered GlobeSoup.net and their free 7 Day Challenge with a 500-pounds-sterling prize for the winner. That’s $667.16 American-dollars, according to today’s exchange rate. Globe Soup’s Facebook group, of which I am a card-carrying member, offers critiques and other goodies. I applied to their 7 Day Writing Challenge #2 and lost in the Crime Genre I was assigned. Undeterred, I entered their 7 Day Writing Challenge #3 and was assigned to the Romance Genre. Today I discovered I was long-listed, which put me in the top 11% of entrants. (I did the math. They had nearly 1000 entries, of which 110 entrants were either finalists, honorable mentions or long-listed.) The long list honor is akin to fourth place, which I consider a huge success, especially since I actually wrote the 944-word story in seven days. Validation at last. I’m a writer!

I know you’re dying to read my story, so here it is. Enjoy!

 

 

GRAY DAY

 

The man of my dreams was sharing a suite with me and my best friend, Kat. The seminar rooms were overbooked, and his room wouldn’t be ready for another night. Two nights with Anthony, the Adonis, snoring in the same room as me, was more than I could bear. He was in his bunk, fiddling with his phone under the covers. Kat was already asleep.

I plopped onto his bed. “What’re you up to, roomie?” I coyly fidgeted with the covers, hoping it wasn’t porn; because, the last dude I fell for, couldn’t escape that addiction, which had crippled our relationship.

He handed me the phone and showed me what he’d been researching. Pilot stuff. He was a pilot? “What kind of phone is this?” I asked.

“iPhone 9.”

“It’s too big. I want one I can operate one-handed.” I stretched out at the bottom of his bed and we lay talking until we drifted into sleep. But how could I sleep in such close proximity to a man whose presence kept me wide awake with anticipation? I felt his breathing, his movements, his arm reaching towards me, his hand holding mine beneath the covers as he slept. I couldn’t quiet the snare drum in my chest for what seemed like hours.

The next morning, the Nevada sun was a desert yellow in a cloudless blue sky, and we all headed to the sessions we’d signed up for. Kat and Anthony were taking the same session and locked arms like mates. Over their shoulders they chimed, “Bye Anna.”

I nearly collapsed from what felt like a blow to my solar plexus. My feet carried me into the tide of people flowing into a large, shell-shaped, multi-tiered seminar room. I passed a frumpy man, with a week’s worth of whiskers on his face and curly, gray hair. I nearly snubbed him, after the casual disregard I’d just received from Kat and Anthony. I did a double-take. This man’s face was kind and handsome, despite his resigned expression of invisibility. I turned to him. He immediately sensed my heartache and offered me his arm. His touch was personal, gentle, giving, and invited an immediate trust. I collapsed into his body like a broken child. He led me down to the front of the room and found us seats. I was on the verge of crying, when he folded me into his torso, hugging me like a father.

“Kiss me,” I said to Gray. He kissed me ever so lightly.

The room’s lights extinguished for the presentation, and we were left in momentary darkness. “No. kiss me. Like a lover. A real kiss.” And he did. And it was wonderful. Soothing. Made me feel sexy and appreciated like a goddess. I’d never get enough of a kiss like that. A surreal trust like that was nothing but a fairytale. Right?

#

The next time I ran into Anthony, he was standing like an army general in front of me, chuckling. We joked around and before we parted, he’d said, “Someday, I’m going to marry you, Anna.” His statement confused me, thrilled me to the core. A man, such as he, was clearly accustomed to getting anything he wanted. Movie star handsome. Smart. Confident. Sexy. What the hell did he want with me?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gray, with dashed hope plastered over his face. His posture, dejected. My gut wrenched for Gray, yet also yearned for Anthony in a way I’d been dreaming of my whole life.

#

A few days later, I asked Anthony, “What do you make of Gray?” We were sitting at the top of a stairway leading to the beach. No answer. He gazed at me and then the ocean.

So, I asked a different question, “What should I make of you?”

Without a word, he tucked me into his body like a loyal partner does, until my muscles relaxed and my breathing slowed.

Gray was perched on a knoll down the beach, staring into the ocean. It made my heart ache, to see him so alone. I longed to wash away his sadness, like the woman in the original Star Trek episode, “The Empath.” I stood. “Excuse me, Anthony. I’ll meet you at the café in an hour.” I walked down the steps and over to Gray. Anthony was watching us at first, then turned to go.

“Gray? I—’

“My dear, Anna. You look so much like my beloved wife, Anthony’s mother, who died of cancer when he was only seven. That is why I kissed you…reluctantly…yet, wantonly. Do you understand? I’m happy for you and Anthony. You are marrying him? Yes?”

“But why? Why haven’t either of you said anything until now? I’m done.” I stormed off.

#

Driving to the airport in a brief and sudden downpour, Kat said, “You know, Anna, I think Anthony loves you, but…he’s got a lotta growing up to do, and I’m not talking age.”

Kat and I dissected each other’s encounters with Anthony all the way to the airport. Kat admitted her attraction to him. But instead of being jealous, I was relieved. Freed, even. How could that be?

We returned the rental car and proceeded to the departure gate.

Kat placed her hand on my shoulder, “Anna? You may want to change your flight.”

I looked in the direction in which she was gesturing. An infinite compassion coursed through me as if I’d been shot with an EpiPen. I gave Kat a warm, confident hug and strode over to my new life—that would soon include a loving man who would never break my heart, ever again.