Competition Open

****COMPETITION CLOSED****
#WinterScribbles150words is here.

Our first flash fiction competition is here. Please read the complete caption so that you know how to enter.

*PRIZE*
One winner will be chosen to have their 150 words published and illustrated in Winter Scribbles: January 2022.

*TO ENTER*
To enter #WinterScribbles150words you need to write 150 words based on the prompt ‘COLD’ set by @rebecca.schiller author of ‘Earthed’.
Buy here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Earthed-Memoir-Rebecca-Schiller/dp/1783965495

Comment below this post with your 150 words. There will be tips and ideas on the website over the weekend…subscribe to blog posts if you don’t want to miss out.

*RULES*
Follow @rachael_scribbles
Like this post (share if you’d like to)
Comment below with your 150 words (max)
You can enter as many times as you like.
This is not affiliated with Instagram or WordPress.
The competition ends at 10pm on 17th December 2021 (UK time). This post will stay open for a couple of extra days to make up for the delay!
You do not need to include the word ‘cold’.
The winner will be announced in January 2022 when Winter Scribbles is published.
The winner’s 150 words will be illustrated by an artist chosen by @rachael_scribbles
The winner will be chosen anonymously by a qualified, impartial judge outside of the Scribbles community.

Enjoy! I can’t wait to see your entries.

Rachael xx

#amwriting#scribbles#WinterScribbles150words#writingcommunity#flashfiction#ezine#cold#winter#illustrated#writingcompetition #

One thought on “Competition Open

  1. New Year

    He sat in the all night cafe, waiting. Hands clad in fingerless knit gloves clasped around a mug of oat milk latte, enjoying the warmth. The oat milk made no difference of course but the irony of veganism amused him. He raised the chipped mug to his lips, blew across the frothy surface, pretended to sip. A poster on the wall invited him to “Try Veganuary” He chuckled, if only. As a child he’d probably eaten a vegan diet most of the time, only back then they’d called it poverty. 24 years of hard bread, gruel, vegetable stew… meat or watered milk a rare treat. Then 300 years of blood.
    The fireworks outside awoke him from his reminiscing, the raucous shouts of people spilling out onto the pavement. He ran his tongue over the sharp points of his teeth. The time was ripe, drunken revellers made the perfect meal.

    Liked by 1 person

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