Read the winners of our July Writing Challenge
Write about a vacation gone wrong...
We're excited to announce the winners of the SCWC's July Writing Challenge--and to let you read the wonderful submissions below.
The challenge? To write a story about a vacation gone wrong.
The challenge? To write a story about a vacation gone wrong.
(Want to participate in our monthly challenges? We announce them first in the Southern Christian Writers Conference Facebook group. Join us if you haven't already!)
Congratulations to the following winners for July:
1st place: Julie Williams
2nd place: Gail Stevens
3rd place: Fe Rosal
Congratulations to the following winners for July:
1st place: Julie Williams
2nd place: Gail Stevens
3rd place: Fe Rosal
Enjoy the submissions below.
We were going to take the ferry through North Carolina’s Pamlico Sound, going from Swanquarter to Ocracoke. It sounded like fun!
But was there even a motel in Swanquarter? We’d have to spend the night in order to catch the early ferry. That was well before Google. My intrepid Mom called Information in Swanquarter and asked if there were any motels there. “Oh, yes,” the operator bubbled, and started listing them.
“Stop! Give me the number for THAT one,” Mom said after the first name on the list of A’s.
Mom called the number for that A-lister and asked if they had a room big enough for five of us – Mom, Dad, me, my little sister Jan, and our littlest sister Anne. The A-lister said they did have such a room and put our name on it.
We girls were teenagers or nearly so, and let’s face it – we were maybe a little territorial.
The territorial attitude reared its possessive head when we set out. Mom turned around from the front seat and told us, “Girls, our motel room has two double beds and a single bed.”
Anne may have been the baby of us, but she was also quickest. Before Mom got to the “d” in “single bed,” Anne hollered, “I call the single bed! I call the single bed!”
“No fair!” Jan pouted.
“I called it fair and square!” Anne pointed out.
“Anne called it,” Mom ruled, sounding tired already.
We arrived in Swanquarter well before the advent of GPS and tried to find the motel. It was getting dark. Very dark. Darker. I spotted some teenagers slightly older than me making out beside a car in a driveway. Dad was looking for a gas station, but good luck finding that or any business open after dark. Finally I said, “Uhhhh… I saw a couple out in front of a house.”
“Where?” Dad barked with relief, and we wheeled around and interrupted the lovers to find out where our motel was. Fortunately, they knew.
We finally drew up to the motel, which turned out to be a ramshackle, overgrown fishing shack. Dad went inside and magically got the key, even though the place looked dark.
We opened our room – our sparse, echoing room that sported the promised two double beds and Anne’s single bed. “I call the single bed!” she reminded us.
I headed for the bathroom in my bare feet. When I got there, I saw that the bottoms of my feet were now black with grime. I reached up and grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed the grime off. At that point, I realized we had two washcloths among the five of us, one now blackened and one that came pre-covered in rust.
“Girls,” Mom said. “It’s late. We have to get up early tomorrow.”
“I call the single bed!” Anne sang out again.
“No fair!” Jan grumped again.
Dad went into the bathroom so we teen girls could change in peace, and, incidentally, so he could do the same.
Just as Dad was opening the bathroom door, Anne flipped back the covers of her much-coveted single bed. In the middle of the sheet was a big, fat spider, complete with hairy legs.
Anne screamed a blood-curdling yell. Dad, thinking she was changing and knowing his place as the father of teen girls, slammed the bathroom door back shut.
Anne kept screaming. The poor spider flattened itself and then tried to run in eight directions at once, following each leg. “DAAAAAAAD!” Anne screamed. Finally Dad realized he was being called, not screamed about, and he rushed out, sized up the situation, and heroically put the spider out of its misery.
Mom and Dad crawled into their bed, dirty feet and all. Jan and I crawled into our bed, dirty feet and all. “I don’t want the single bed!” Anne howled.
Mom turned off the light and Anne stood there in the dark, ghostly looming over her single bed. “The spider’s friends will come get me!” Anne wailed.
Dad mimicked her: “I call the single bed!”
Anne begged, “Julie, switch beds with me!”
“No way!” I replied.
“Jan, pleeeeease trade with me!” Anne pleaded.
“You called the single bed,” Jan reminded her. “You called it fair and square!”
I think Anne would have stood there in the dark on the dirty floor all night, but Dad started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Mom asked.
“There’s water dripping on me from the ceiling,” he said.
As I said, Anne was quick. “You can have my single bed!” she enthused, as though selling a used car. Dad bought. He happily took the single bed and Anne happily got dripped on.
The moral of that trip was, “Thou shalt not covet the single bed or anything that belongs to a spider.”
It was a hot late July day in 1967. My family had completed the front end of a four day, 2200 mile driving vacation pilgrimage to Alabama from our home in Washington State. During the two weeks after arrival, we visited with relatives - grandparents, aunts and uncles, plus cousins including firsts and seconds and even thirds. Much time catching up was spent sitting under a big shade tree in my grandparents’ front yard in aluminum framed folding chairs with non matchy-matchy plastic webbing. Homemade ice cream and fresh sliced watermelon with plenty of seeds and plenty of salt were the frequent outdoor afternoon fare.
We loaded up to return home after trading extended family hugs and promises to write letters frequently. As we headed down the road from my grandparents’ home, my dad announced, “We will be driving home to Washington State via Mexico. We have taken this trip to see family for three years and I have driven a different route each leg of the trip so we can all see the USA. I have decided that this is the only route left we can use to get home to and to experience new sites.”
My silent reaction was internal horror. My eighth grade math mind estimated that was at least adding over a thousand miles and two days of driving. Being in the same back seat additional days with my 10 year old brother meant declaring “War!”
Why? You need to understand that as the oldest child in the family at the age of 13, I sat in the backseat of a 1965 Oldsmobile on the right hand side which was “my side”. The left side was owned by my 10 year old brother. The car seat upholstery had vertical lines. The middle line was the line of demarcation between my brother and me. If either of us crossed over to the other sibling’s backseat territory, an intense silent war commenced. We dared not cry out in pain as the other delivered an intense pinch or maybe a scratch that yielded blood. If we did, we both got in trouble with punishment threatened from the front seat.
The driver was my dad and my mom was copilot despite having no sense of direction. She kept the Rand McNally Atlas at her feet on the floorboard, ready to at least try to figure the next turn to reach our destination. There were no federal seatbelt laws for adults and kids. Mandatory seatbelts for my brother and I would have at least established a neutral zone for us backseat siblings.
After we drove the first two days and crossed into Mexico on the third day, we finally headed north. And then it happened. The transmission went clunk and we had no way to put the car in reverse. And we had no air conditioning. The car limped home over the next three days. Restaurants restaurants, rest stops and motels were selected based on whether we could park the car much like a trucker parks an eighteen wheeler where he does not have to back up. While the situation caused my brother and me to declare a truce in the backseat war zone, it still today makes for a good “war story,” complete with laughs.
Childhood sweethearts Connie and Bobby were known for their individual commitment and determination. Coming from humble backgrounds, they set to complete their education prior to tying the knot. Their wedding was very intimate held at the garden of Connie’s grandmother with only family and closest of friends invited, and after college Bobby became the town’s pharmacist and Connie an accountant.
With two days to take off, no one was ill. The plan was moving perfectly in a straight line, Connie told herself. And as the day arrived, she celebrated: They did it! A dream comes true!
"Be Careful What You Covet…"
by Julie Williams
But was there even a motel in Swanquarter? We’d have to spend the night in order to catch the early ferry. That was well before Google. My intrepid Mom called Information in Swanquarter and asked if there were any motels there. “Oh, yes,” the operator bubbled, and started listing them.
“Stop! Give me the number for THAT one,” Mom said after the first name on the list of A’s.
Mom called the number for that A-lister and asked if they had a room big enough for five of us – Mom, Dad, me, my little sister Jan, and our littlest sister Anne. The A-lister said they did have such a room and put our name on it.
We girls were teenagers or nearly so, and let’s face it – we were maybe a little territorial.
The territorial attitude reared its possessive head when we set out. Mom turned around from the front seat and told us, “Girls, our motel room has two double beds and a single bed.”
Anne may have been the baby of us, but she was also quickest. Before Mom got to the “d” in “single bed,” Anne hollered, “I call the single bed! I call the single bed!”
“No fair!” Jan pouted.
“I called it fair and square!” Anne pointed out.
“Anne called it,” Mom ruled, sounding tired already.
We arrived in Swanquarter well before the advent of GPS and tried to find the motel. It was getting dark. Very dark. Darker. I spotted some teenagers slightly older than me making out beside a car in a driveway. Dad was looking for a gas station, but good luck finding that or any business open after dark. Finally I said, “Uhhhh… I saw a couple out in front of a house.”
“Where?” Dad barked with relief, and we wheeled around and interrupted the lovers to find out where our motel was. Fortunately, they knew.
We finally drew up to the motel, which turned out to be a ramshackle, overgrown fishing shack. Dad went inside and magically got the key, even though the place looked dark.
We opened our room – our sparse, echoing room that sported the promised two double beds and Anne’s single bed. “I call the single bed!” she reminded us.
I headed for the bathroom in my bare feet. When I got there, I saw that the bottoms of my feet were now black with grime. I reached up and grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed the grime off. At that point, I realized we had two washcloths among the five of us, one now blackened and one that came pre-covered in rust.
“Girls,” Mom said. “It’s late. We have to get up early tomorrow.”
“I call the single bed!” Anne sang out again.
“No fair!” Jan grumped again.
Dad went into the bathroom so we teen girls could change in peace, and, incidentally, so he could do the same.
Just as Dad was opening the bathroom door, Anne flipped back the covers of her much-coveted single bed. In the middle of the sheet was a big, fat spider, complete with hairy legs.
Anne screamed a blood-curdling yell. Dad, thinking she was changing and knowing his place as the father of teen girls, slammed the bathroom door back shut.
Anne kept screaming. The poor spider flattened itself and then tried to run in eight directions at once, following each leg. “DAAAAAAAD!” Anne screamed. Finally Dad realized he was being called, not screamed about, and he rushed out, sized up the situation, and heroically put the spider out of its misery.
Mom and Dad crawled into their bed, dirty feet and all. Jan and I crawled into our bed, dirty feet and all. “I don’t want the single bed!” Anne howled.
Mom turned off the light and Anne stood there in the dark, ghostly looming over her single bed. “The spider’s friends will come get me!” Anne wailed.
Dad mimicked her: “I call the single bed!”
Anne begged, “Julie, switch beds with me!”
“No way!” I replied.
“Jan, pleeeeease trade with me!” Anne pleaded.
“You called the single bed,” Jan reminded her. “You called it fair and square!”
I think Anne would have stood there in the dark on the dirty floor all night, but Dad started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Mom asked.
“There’s water dripping on me from the ceiling,” he said.
As I said, Anne was quick. “You can have my single bed!” she enthused, as though selling a used car. Dad bought. He happily took the single bed and Anne happily got dripped on.
The moral of that trip was, “Thou shalt not covet the single bed or anything that belongs to a spider.”
"The Long Way Home"
by Gail Stevens
We loaded up to return home after trading extended family hugs and promises to write letters frequently. As we headed down the road from my grandparents’ home, my dad announced, “We will be driving home to Washington State via Mexico. We have taken this trip to see family for three years and I have driven a different route each leg of the trip so we can all see the USA. I have decided that this is the only route left we can use to get home to and to experience new sites.”
My silent reaction was internal horror. My eighth grade math mind estimated that was at least adding over a thousand miles and two days of driving. Being in the same back seat additional days with my 10 year old brother meant declaring “War!”
Why? You need to understand that as the oldest child in the family at the age of 13, I sat in the backseat of a 1965 Oldsmobile on the right hand side which was “my side”. The left side was owned by my 10 year old brother. The car seat upholstery had vertical lines. The middle line was the line of demarcation between my brother and me. If either of us crossed over to the other sibling’s backseat territory, an intense silent war commenced. We dared not cry out in pain as the other delivered an intense pinch or maybe a scratch that yielded blood. If we did, we both got in trouble with punishment threatened from the front seat.
The driver was my dad and my mom was copilot despite having no sense of direction. She kept the Rand McNally Atlas at her feet on the floorboard, ready to at least try to figure the next turn to reach our destination. There were no federal seatbelt laws for adults and kids. Mandatory seatbelts for my brother and I would have at least established a neutral zone for us backseat siblings.
After we drove the first two days and crossed into Mexico on the third day, we finally headed north. And then it happened. The transmission went clunk and we had no way to put the car in reverse. And we had no air conditioning. The car limped home over the next three days. Restaurants restaurants, rest stops and motels were selected based on whether we could park the car much like a trucker parks an eighteen wheeler where he does not have to back up. While the situation caused my brother and me to declare a truce in the backseat war zone, it still today makes for a good “war story,” complete with laughs.
"All Things Pink and Purple"
by Fe Rosal
After a few years, the couple raised the downpayment for their first house they found just outside of town. Connie figured that the mortgage of 25 years was more than doable as both are frugal people. The big house had a manicured garden in front and at the back. The outside, while not an architectural wonder, was simple. The inside of the house was equally uncomplicated but neat. The furniture and ornaments were gathered from thrift shops, but delicately put together. You could see Connie’s eyes on the details in all corners of their home.
After several years--always planning for a big family--they had four boys. They wanted to stop after the fourth child, but after one more try, they finally welcomed a baby girl, Rosie!
Rosie was a breath of fresh air. As the only girl in the family, she brought all things purple and pink into a sea of blue in their household.
Years passed. Education, check. Big house, check. Big family, check. No derailment, no tragedy. The life plan was moving in a straight line, but one big dream remained unchecked. Since young, Connie and Bobby set to see the Serengeti. They prepared for this dream for over three years.
To finance the big trip with a big family, they had to scrimp. And as always, the plan was in perfect shape.
An ace accountant, Connie tightly ran the household and could now afford this grand vacation.
The vacation represented many firsts for the big family: first long vacation, first time to travel overseas, and first time in Africa; there were many weeks of preparation which were all led and driven by Connie.
Accommodation, airline tickets, vaccinations, passports and visas, travel insurance, and travel medicines. And Rosie, her youngest, was all set. She had coached Rosie on what to do prior to travel--including having a packing list to be shared with the whole family.
Connie had to remind the four boys to start packing using the packing list, but 9-year-old Rosie had prepared her packing well. She could almost hear the boys giggling as Rosie made it a point to let them know she would be bringing all of her pink and purple personal effects: shirts, pants, socks, hats, PJs and sunglasses.
With two days to take off, no one was ill. The plan was moving perfectly in a straight line, Connie told herself. And as the day arrived, she celebrated: They did it! A dream comes true!
Lined up in the hallway were seven suitcases. All the same sizes, all black, all with a tag that said “Jones." One for each family member. Each one had their own backpacks to put their book companion, sweater for when it gets colder in the plane, candy bars, and snacks.
After the plane took off and landed later that day, they walked to the immigration line. They were greeted with a warm “Welcome to Tanzania!” They could not believe it; everything just went so smoothly.
But then.
After an hour at the baggage carousel, none of their bags came out. After another hour, there was good news. They found one bag. The other six, they could not locate ... yet.
Connie still wore her “can-do attitude," as she realized they could share among themselves the clothing inside this sole baggage. She was sure it would be enough to share until the rest of the baggage have been found.
The four boys looked sad and sullen hoping for their bags to show up. Connie cheered them up: “Count your blessings. We are in Africa; it is a dream come true! What else could go wrong?”.
They opened the suitcase and to their surprise, it was the bag with all things pink and purple!
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Want to submit to our next SCWC Writing Challenge?
The challenge for August is this:
Write about a pivotal turning moment in your life. What moment or experience changed your life? It can be serious or lighthearted; spiritual, professional, relational, experiential; big or small. (Be creative!) Write about it and keep it to 1000 words or less, then send it to scwritersconference@gmail.com with "August Writing Challenge" in the subject line.
We look forward to hearing from you!
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