The reward was an immense stack of WoW cards, an epic flying mount (the thing I really wanted) and gobs of loot.
Gobs of loot is not something I get to say often enough, by the way. Well, and have it be in context as opposed to just being weird. Can you imagine standing near me and I just turn to you with a grin and say "Gobs of loot!"
...See? Weird when it's not in context. But I completely digress.
So I thought I might give it a shot. There were 3 prizes being offered. And I actually thought that would increase my chance, at least in the back of my head.
Anyway, I cautiously and hopefully profered up my entry to the cartoon-creating gods with the hopes that it might win their hearts, and thus the gobs of loot. My entry, all 10 words of it, ran thusly:
"Morning in Shattrath. Already Alliance QQ-ing over Horde-won AVs."
(for non-WarCraft players, that translates in to, the other team is crying because we won against them in a battle)
Now...I thought that was pretty good. It evoked an image. It brought out several qualities of WoW. It made fun of the Alliance. I liked it overall.
The judges...did not.
But what DID win, were the following:
Overlord Saurfang is only afraid of one thing... Mrs. Saurfang.
Naked they run, level 1 banks: Clark Kents of Azeroth.
The gunshot echoed like a ghost with nobody to haunt.Now in my head that's lacking a few very basic things....plot, summary, and atmosphere. Except the last one. The last one fucking rocked.
I would say that mine was probably up there as not bad, but I just could not compete against that last one and some of the honorable mentions.
Still, it was an immense pleasure to see the creativity of human beings displayed in such brief and very readable quips, all concerning my favorite game.
And I can also tuck this in to my belt, claiming to have entered a writing competition. I've decided when all else fails, the written word is a true friend that likes to hang out with me and be glib, and so we get along well.
It tugs at the part of me that wants to do more with it. Hang out. Dance a bit. Sit under the stars and watch, describing what the whole thing looks like in grand, glorious detail.
Who knows. Maybe some day I can look back on a grand writing career and blame it on losing the contest. That's the kind of serendipity that I love.
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