Last week, our writers worked with Critique Partners (CPs), both lending and receiving additional sets of eyes to help level up each other’s second drafts.
This week, our winners got to send their revised drafts to the editors for a final critique. Armed with valuable feedback, our authors completed the final step in the revision process, polishing their awesome short stories to a shine!
Sneak a peek at the results below and visit the links to read the rest, along with thoughts on processing editor feedback. Then join us in congratulating the authors for their transparency and hard work by leaving comments on their blogs and tweeting about their stories using #WriterInMotion.
Kindred
Anthony Eden
Once upon a time, not very long ago, a changeling-prince returned to the halls of his parents. Fifty years had passed since he was placed in the crib of his human family, like a cuckoo in a garden warbler’s nest.
Berekvam
Natasha Watts
“Come on, Shelby. You’re bumming me out.”
Dylan’s plea wheedles its way into my skull like a worm taking to soil. I shudder and look up. He’s across from me at the table, countryside flying by out the window of our Flåmsbana train car.
Putting the Tertiaries to Rest
Izzy Varju
Jesse appears, screaming. Her hands are knotted in her hair, frantically grasping at her head as if to keep it on her shoulders, and you don’t remember it being that red. It might have been the blood matting it, but upon closer inspection you decide it’s just auburn. The color settles.
Pros & Cons
Amber Roberts
It was supposed to be an easy job. Get in, get the goods, deliver, done. One final gig: The last hurrah before my retirement, a job to get The Life out of my system. Then, something…different. The whole deal: New name, new city, new gig. Maybe a security guard post at a London museum. Or Paris. Crepes and café au lait instead of firearms and felonies.
The Bear’s Breeches Smell Slightly Sweet As They Rot
Maria L. Berg
I had never seen a man’s face change so fast. He stepped through the door, blocking our view, still laughing with his son. Then he saw me. “You,” he said, then closed the door on Josette and me.
“Who is it, Daddy?” the child said from inside.
“That rude trespasser from the other day,” the man said.
Ethereal Child
Antoinette Van Sluytman
There was something timeless about this place.
An elysian stroke of twilight upon a canvas, abandoned by an ancient civilization that had become muddled, its violent directions streaking like beautiful disorder across a world living in constant dichotomy of time and existence. Change and consistency.
A coexistence.
Rescue me from the mire, do not let me sink
Sifa Poulton
You approach the cabin with the setting sun. It’s always setting when you arrive; a place frozen in time, needing witnesses to fall back into the march of hours, days, seasons. Thighs cramping from the long climb, you pause with the sun on your back. The air is chill with approaching night, your shadow lengthening before you, darkening the gorse.
Shining Palais on the Hill
Maya Darjani
Four months after the attack, parts of the Ivory Palais still smoldered blue.
The soft light of evening added an orange cast to the unearthly glow. Sarai passed the checkpoints, one, two, three. Coffee in hand, she traversed the threshold into the stately office of the leader of the world.
The Magic Jar
Kay S. Beckett
“Put. It. Down.”
“Googling directions will only take a minute, Luce.”
“I’ve rode with my parents a million times Ray… don’t you trust me?”
Ray trusted her oldest friend with a lot of things, but riding wasn’t the same as driving.
Another Woman
Neta Q
Three years after Danny created a Facebook profile, I filed for a divorce. My husband was a married man in the throes of a midlife crisis at the ripe old age of thirty-five.
Headhunters
L.E.E. Persons
Prism was in the middle of polishing her head—an inverted glass pyramid which floated two inches above her neck—when a new hit flashed across her vision. She paused, Q-tip in hand, to take in the details.
Elastic Mallard. 30s. Male. Boss of the up-and-coming crime syndicate Gold Crown.
She snorted then accepted the job.
The Right Wrong Path
Nicole Vane
It was supposed to be an hour-long hike—keyword supposed to. Quinn had managed to stray off the well-marked path and climb a completely non-beginner friendly hill. That was what her quads were screaming at her, at least. Lifting her phone, she checked for a signal. No luck.
Unicorn Tracks
Erika F Rose
Cambriea crushed a sweet raspberry against the roof of her mouth as she stalked the woods, foraging along the ground and bushes. Berries were abundant, along with hazelnuts and mushrooms. What she couldn’t find was animal tracks. She needed to hunt, but the forest was still today. The wind lacked its normal multitude of smells.
Deep Networks
Oliver Elwood
Space. Emptiness stretching endlessly away, blanketed by an infinite number of stars. No planets, no moons, no suns. Just stars, forever out of reach, and the dense field of anomaly portals that her lost research vessel was drifting through.
When Lewis felt nervous, she became parched. Her throat a desert, dry and cracked. She sipped a bulb of water. It tasted dry. She watched as the Enco probe delicately approached the anomaly field, searching for the target portal. A few seconds later, it entered and disappeared. The experiment began.
Never Look Back
Layton Turner
Bodee hiked up the mountainside, one arm wrapped around me, the weeds slapping against his bare knees. Even after the three-mile uphill trek, I’d be willing to bet his buns didn’t even burn. Stupid personal trainer glutes.
Universe of Time
Amber Scott
It didn’t matter if I never returned to my own people. I was an old man by now. I had nothing left but the sun and the rain, the stars and the earth beneath my feet. My trek to the old shack in the mountains had taken much labour, much soul searching, much questing over the years. I clutched my battered journal in my hands as I made my way to the lowly shack. This book had magically appeared at my door when I was but a lad. It had been a constant companion through the years to my journey’s end here.
Smoke and Fog
Fariha Khayyam
The lull of the raindrops on my roof wrapped me in a nostalgia. But those memories were painful now. I was far, far away from the ones who jumped in the puddles with me and the ones who dried my hair after I’d become fully drenched.
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