Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Flash Fiction Competition: Lucy N. DeSky

Two Possible Winners this Time! 
Write a story about Lucy N. DeSky and Win one of the Drawings on the Right 
This contest closed Wednesday November 24, 2010
Dee Turbon and Lorri McDole were the winners.

Lucy N. DeSky 
10"x8" oil on masonite panel 

Lucy N. DeSky 12"x9" graphite drawing on paper 

Lucy N. DeSky 14"x10" charcoal and wash drawing on paper

Click on pictures to enlarge.

The story you write should be a "Flash Fiction" which is a complete story in one thousand or fewer words.  Please post the story in the comment section, you will have to provide your name and an email address in order to be qualified to win or you can e-mail me at with your info.  There is a problem with how many characters can post (only about 4,000) so if you cannot post it.  
E-mail it to me at

Go to my website for more contests:

Winning flash fiction stories will be integrated in with an exhibit in San Francisco at ArtHaus Gallery (April 8th for the reception).

The show is called:
Renovated Reputations: 
Paintings and Fiction inspired by Vintage Portrait Photographs
The exhibit will include a series of 20-40 paintings and mixed media works ranging in size from 8”x10” to 18”x24” framed with thrift store and vintage frames.  In addition to the exhibited works ArtHaus is publishing catalogs signed by me and as many of the authors as possible.

Catalogs/books will consist of image of the painting with the text of the “flash story” surrounding the image.  If I can get the authors to come to a book signing/party, authors would sign their pages for some of the printed stuff.

We're going to have a photobooth for the show for participants to play with and vintage costumes.

Of course I'll send the authors free copies of the catalogs. I will announce the winners the day after the closing deadline for the competition. I'm planning on doing one flash fiction competition a week every Monday from now until April. 

(If the conditions in the side bar are not to your liking, I'm totally flexible.  Send me a contract that you like and I will mail it back to you.  I just don't want to chase people for signatures when I publish the catalog!)

Go to my website for more contests:


This one was sent by e-mail:

Diamond Girl by Lorri McDole

John’s pretty much a grab-the-Kraft-bottle-and-squeeze kind of guy, into all those so-called ‘improvements,’ so when he brought home the jar labeled ‘Bar-B-Q Sauce’, I gave him my eyebrows-up look.  

“Just read it already,” he said. 

“Bar-B-Q Sauce,” I read, trying to figure out what part to emphasize.  “So?”

“So, Bar-B-Q.  Bar-B.  Get it?” 

My name isn’t Barbara, but John started calling me Barbie after his niece showed him that new doll she got, because of my blonde hair I guess.  I know it sounds silly—I’ve always been the serious one, first about school and then my career, if you could call it that, as a nurse—but I was kind of flattered.         

“Hey Blondie,” he said.  “Hey Barbie.” And it stuck.   

After John brought home that jar, I was never just Barbie anymore.  Barbie Queen, Barbie ‘Q’tie—I was surprised by the little thrill I got from the names he came up with.  By the time he got to Barbie Q-ball I was usually laid out on the kitchen table with him brushing whatever he’d put in the jar that night—whipped cream, honey, chocolate sauce—all over my body and licking it up.  I didn’t have a lot of experience at it, being sweet or sexy.  I kind of liked it. 

At parties, he introduced me as ‘my girlfriend, Barbie Q,’ as if the Q actually stood for something, and after a few drinks, he’d start joking about how he liked me ‘done,’ how messy I made his face, things like that.  It got awkward when he and Paul would disappear into the garage to play their music.  Their friends would stand in the corner, drinking beer and whispering and looking over their shoulders at me.  Who knows what they were saying.  But then one day John called me Celia in front of everyone (“Seal ya up and ship ya off,” the kids used to tease me at school), and just like that, Barbie was gone.

So was John. 

When I found out he had a new girlfriend, names started buzzing in my head—Angelica, Isabella, Theresa—and I couldn’t help imagining the little trinkets he’d bring home to them:  angels that leave glitter all over your hands when you touch them, oxidized bells, nuns with ‘nasty’ habits that fly up when you push a button.  I thought about cupboards all over the city filled with these souvenirs, just like my Bar-B-Q Sauce jar.     

But then I heard John’s new song on the radio—Lucy N. DeSky with Diamonds—and damn if I can think of what you could give a girl who seems to have everything, or how you could ever leave her.