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The Prompt
The Final Draft
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 ten lucky raffle winners got to send their revised drafts to professional editor Jeni Chappelle for a final critique. With more than ten years of editing experience, Jeni provides skilled objectivity honed by industry insight, going beyond surface-level changes and addressing overall strengths and weaknesses to help authors better shape their stories.
Armed with Jeni’s 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.
Rainey’s Painting
by PJ Powell
Amadeus, a fluffy orange cat, nestled into a blanket on the airship’s deck, his tiny nostrils flaring in the breeze, the perfect subject for Rainey’s cloud portrait.
“Finders, keepers,” Rainey had sung when the cloud painter’s wand had fallen from the sky. Now, she imagined herself a famous cloud painter—diving into the depths below the ship, pulled back by the connecting bungee, steering and braking with a beautiful swath of red nylon.
Homecoming
by C.M. Fick
The radio crackles, speakers buzzing to life for the first time in eighty-six days. I sit bolt upright, my breath catching in my throat, and I reach for the dial to hone in on the interference.
Dale.
We’d given up hope. But not me. He’s still out there—he has to be. He knows we won’t survive the winter without a decent scavenge, and he promised he’d make it home no matter what.
Sometimes Our Skies
by Clari
The Giant climbs the mountain one narrow stair at a time, carrying in her arms a dying spirit of the skies. She pushes against the chilling wind and raindrops swirling before her face, her heart drumming the rhythm, almost there, almost there.
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On the eve of the equinox, the Spirit fell from the skies by a lonely child’s wish for a companion, and to make way back home concocted a plan to trick her.
The Drowning Game
by Kristin Record
He was gone. There was no denying it any longer. Days of expecting my brother James to walk through the door began bleeding into one another, staining our denial until only the truth remained. He was dead.
Our family’s traditional grief ceremony had begun. Flames from the bonfire leaped high into the night sky, flirting with the stars and casting crimson shadows across the still lake.
The Painter or Endless Blue Nothing
by Tyler Zeoli
Rayne climbs one rung at a time into the endless blue nothing.
Beneath her, the colony shrinks to a small, perfectly organized grid. The sweat from her palms makes the metal slick; her arms shake with fatigue.
She’s been stuck in bed the last three days, with a rattling cough and drenched in cold sweat. All Rayne wants to do is sleep; the warm embrace of her bed calls out to her from a thousand feet below.
La Capitaine
by Dani Frank
Margot levels her pistol at the man at her desk, the sound of it cocking stops his search.
“Bonsoir, mon petit lapin,” she says. A little rabbit. She chuckles at the lie. He is a shark, circling for blood.
“Margot,” he coos, drawing out her name. “Where is the map?”
“That’s Capitaine Margot, Guy.” The French of her homeland molds his flat English name into something almost forgotten.
Found and Lost
by Monique Ocampo
The four-poster bed was broken and fragments of iron shackles were left on the bed. The chill of an enemy nearby slipped up my spine.
My partner, Andy, had just rescued his ex-girlfriend, Katherine. She was emaciated; a week without blood was an eternity for a vampire. I stared into the empty room. Connor, my ex-boyfriend, must have escaped their captivity.
The Beacon
by David Neuner
Someday I’ll die alone on this deserted island. But not today. My lover’s sacrifice assures me that I will once again see the sun make its long trek across the sky before plunging the world into darkness.
Below me, waves break on the rocks of the protected cove where blood still stains the turquoise water where we pressed our flesh against each other for the last time.
Untitled Witch’s Story
by Jen Davenport
“Black as night. Light as day.” Azami choked on her tears as she draped her upper body over the lid of her mom’s casket. She whispered the coven’s prayer, a group she’d never met. “Extinguish the candle of the past. Today we celebrate the present and prepare for the future of tomorrow. We protect our coven, we love our family, and we care for those who cannot care for themselves.”
Aunt Charlotte’s arms wrapped around Azami’s waist and tugged. “It’s time to go.”
Read more final short stories in our Forum!
We’re beyond delighted to have so many brave souls from the writing community join us in this round of Writer In Motion. Be sure to visit our Week 4 Forum and check out everyone else’s final, polished pieces!