Thank you to our contest sponsor:

Thanks to our guest judge:

Author, Editor, Creative Writing Instructor Tom Bromley

WOW! was honored to have guest judge Tom Bromley choose this season’s top winners. Thank you, Tom, for sharing your time and efforts to choose this season’s winners.

Tom’s bio:

Tom Bromley is an author, editor, creative writing instructor, and ghost (not the scary kind). He has published twelve books of both fiction and non-fiction, and ghostwritten fifteen more, including prize-winners and international bestsellers. As a commissioning editor, publisher, and freelance consultant, he has edited and commissioned over 150 titles. Tom has also taught novel writing for over a decade at institutions including Falmouth University and Faber Academy. He holds an MA in Creative Writing from Bath Spa University.

Tom is the creator and course instructor for Reedsy’s online writing course, How to Write a Novel. Combining everything he’s learned from working in publishing and teaching writing, the course helps writers accomplish their dream of completing a novel.

Visit Tom’s website at www.tombromley.co.uk.

-----

A Special Offer From Reedsy Learning:

Reedsy Learning is offering contestants 10% off Tom Bromley’s course How to Write a Novel with the code WOW2024. Valid until the end of November 2024.

To learn more about the course and what to expect, you can read our editor’s review. To find out more about the course’s instructor, read WOW's interview with Tom Bromley.

Emily’s Bio:

 

Printable View

 

Sorry Do I Know You

By Emily Shipman

 

The tub of butter is pristine. If it weren’t half empty and missing soft dollop marks, it could be brand-new. You hate to gouge the smooth, crumb-less surface, but your hangover demands food. As you raise the knife, floorboards creak behind you.

“Morning…thought you left.” Handsome Stranger from Last Night stands shirtless in his kitchen doorway, and you hear the implication that you should have already left.

Shit. 

Scrambling to justify your mistake, the words rush out in a jumble. “Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you. Just thought I’d brew coffee and grab toast before I split.” 

He leans in. “What?”

You clear your throat and say loudly, “I need to get to work.”

His eyes drop to your outfit, and you regret the unnecessary detail. You don’t remember what job you claimed (definitely not your actual job as a receptionist), but you cannot imagine it allows a sparkly bra top, bare midriff and jeans so tight you must only take tiny shallow breaths. What felt sexy last night now feels cold and constricting.

More lies spill out of your mouth. “Anyway, in a bit of a rush since I need to change at the…office.”

Dimples flash and he shrugs. “No problem. Thanks for making coffee.”

Dreamy Man Whose Name Eludes You turns to grab a mug and you watch his arm muscles flex. His floppy hair looks styled, and he smells like crisp clean citrus. Thank God your roommate dragged you out to McGillicuddy’s. You want to high five your last-night self for managing to get this hottie to take you home. He will be the perfect fit in your life…not like Brad, the dickhead, who decided to recommit to his wife, and demanded you stop texting him at 2 a.m. 

Before Gorgeous Rebound Who Will Make Your Former Fling Jealous catches you staring, you turn back to the counter and scratch a few layers of Land o’ Lakes on cold toast.

“Dude! What are you doing?”

Still holding the knife in one hand and the tub in the other, you spin around. His face is scrunched in disgust. You are a) confused and b) offended he called you “Dude.”

“Uhh…buttering toast? I’m sorry. Is this special?” You peer into the tub.

“Double-dipping contaminates the butter with crumbs!” He moves towards you, eyes bulging and grabs your hand holding the knife.

Another apology hovers on your lips when fuzzy fragments snap into focus. Shouted curses when you walked on the hardwood in heels. Spritzes of sanitizer before you gave him a hand job. Barked orders to shower immediately after sex. Blinded by lust, desperation, and Absolut, you saw roses instead of a gigantic bouquet of red flags.

Creep-o Formerly Known as Fucking Fit squeezes tighter.

You drop the knife, the butter, and the desire to please. When he lunges for his precious condiment, you grab your purse, sprint down the hall and out the door. Your jeans protest, but you do not stop running until you hit a coffee shop spilling the safety of a crowd onto the sidewalk. Concrete shreds your bare feet, but you sacrifice your roommate’s shoes. You will beg forgiveness with mimosas and avocado toast. 

 

***

What Emily Won:

• $600.00 Cash Prize
• Reedsy’s How to Write a Novel Master Course with Tom Bromley ($1249.00 value)
• $25 Amazon Gift Card
• Publication of winning story on WOW-WomenOnWriting.com website
• Interview on WOW!’s blog The Muffin

Dawn’s Bio:

Dawn Rae is retired and shares her home with Honey, a cat-of-great-character! She loves books and has been an avid reader all her life, dipping into her mother’s ‘Book Club’ books from a young age. Dawn has written many poems and short stories over the years. In 2007 she self-published in print a children’s book, ‘Rory’s New Coat’. Since then, she discovered the international writing event NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and became an addict, creating first drafts for several of her novels. Currently Dawn has six ebooks available on amazon.com and kobo.com and another one or two waiting in the wings. Dawn also enjoys Sudoku and word puzzles, jigsaws and board games but avoids domestic stuff whenever she can. Sadly, so far she has not managed to train the cat to cook or wash dishes. Connect with Dawn by email at dawnrae.author[at]gmail[dot]com, on X (formerly Twitter) @DawnRae1611, on Instagram with dawnrae1611, or on Facebook - Dawn Melodie Rae.

Printable View

 

Fifty Ways

By Dawn Rae

 

Lorna cradled the frozen peas as she listened to Paul Simon on the radio.

Damned stupid song really, saying there were fifty ways to leave your lover and then only giving – what? Eight? What were the other forty-two? She sure could use one of them. Idly, she googled the lyrics and was disgusted to find there were only five and they were so bland they hardly counted.

“Huh!” she said aloud to no one, “That’s a pretty shitty list. I can make a better one.”

She fetched a notepad and pen to the kitchen table and started writing, thankful the peas were on her other hand. He was usually more careful, this was a first.

Lorna listed Paul Simon’s five ways, doodling tongue-out emojis to show her disdain, then began adding her own. Around number ten she realised she needed extra columns so she turned over and started again. If nothing else, it was distracting.

At seventeen she floundered and started to get creative. By thirty she was actually having fun. Forty-two was her personal favourite. By then the peas had defrosted. She tossed them in the freezer and took out the other bag. She always kept two. Then she trudged off to bed, leaving the notepad on the table.

***

Bruce returned a good while later. He stumbled on the doorstep but managed to get his key into the lock, smirking as always to find she hadn’t locked him out. Seemed she did know what was good for her, after all.

There was no dinner waiting but that was to be expected, what with her hand and all, but he had a pie at the pub so he was okay. He vaguely conceded he had lost the plot this time, really needed better control.

Grabbing a can from the fridge, Bruce flopped down at the table for his nightcap and saw the notebook. He laughed, thinking she had left him a written apology, but then he started reading. Soon the comfortable buzz he had acquired at the pub dissipated.

No. 15, he read, Poison his favourite meal. Pro: It was quick and she could manage it. Con: Easy to trace, difficult to explain. Column 4, titled ‘Dispose of Body’, said, Don’t bother, make it look like an accident.

No. 23 had her tying him up in the basement and starving him to death while telling everyone he left without a word. That had lengthy notes about how it could be accomplished and what to be careful of, with an NB to re-watch some episodes of Death in Paradise and avoid the mistakes their criminals made.

The ways Lorna was planning to get rid of him became more and more gruesome, culminating in cutting up his body with a chainsaw – which he had in the garage – and barbequing him in the backyard on a Sunday afternoon. Remembering to clean the chainsaw with bleach, of course, before using it to cut down a troublesome tree, thus destroying the evidence.

Suddenly, Bruce didn’t want his nightcap. In fact, he was having difficulty hanging on to his barroom supper.

She wanted to kill him. More, she was planning to kill him.

And she had so many ways to do it – forty-two to be precise – how could he avoid it if he didn’t know which one she would use?

But you know what? Lorna had made a ridiculous mistake leaving her notes here for him to find. Because now he knew. And he knew what he had to do.

He picked up the pen, stilled the tremble in his hand, and wrote, in capitals, at the bottom of her page.

***

Lorna woke to find Bruce had not come to bed. She fully expected to find him passed out on the couch as usual, but the whole downstairs was empty. He wasn’t there.

She made coffee with one hand because the other was swollen and bruised, and sat at the table to drink it. Idly she flipped open the notebook and saw that Bruce had indeed been home.

She started to laugh, tears rolling down her cheeks.

On the last page Bruce had written:

YOU CRAZY STUPID BITCH, YOU MESSED UP AND NOW YOU LOST YOUR CHANCE. I’M OUT OF HERE AND YOU’LL NEVER FIND ME. I’M GONE, YOU HEAR? GONE!!

The exclamation marks had shredded the page and she ran a fingertip over the gashes in the paper.

Well, she thought, that was easier than I expected.

 

***

What Dawn Won:

• $300.00 Cash Prize
• $25 Amazon Gift Card
• Publication of winning story on WOW-WomenOnWriting.com website
• Interview on WOW!’s blog The Muffin

Alyssa’s Bio:

RUNNERS UP (In no particular order):