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Super Challenge #25 is Underway!

by | Aug 5, 2022 | Fiction|Poetry, Kickoff, micro challenge, microfiction, Microprose, Super Challenge, YeahWrite

Round One Closes in:

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Big stories, little spaces

Hi, and welcome to YeahWrite’s second official microfiction challenge. We used to run micros all the time on our free grids – folks seemed to get a kick of telling big stories with a very limited number of words. And so here we are again, ready to cram as much story into as few words as possible. Are you ready?

Let’s remind you what you could win at the end of all this:

First place: $150
Second place: $100
Third place: $50

Now that the best part is over, let’s talk about the remaining good stuff: prompts! For this summer’s microfiction contest, we will give you a ballad, and you will retell it in 75-85 words. That’s right – we’re giving you a range, not an exact word count! That means you don’t have to give up that perfect word or phrase to make wordcount… probably.

You should already have received your email with your group assignment, but before you check your number again and dive in, let’s cover some general guidelines.

General guidelines:

  • Your retelling must be prose, not poetry. Yes, even if you hit enter a lot. Yes, even though the original is a poem.
  • Your retelling must be at least 75 words but no more than 85 words. Properly hyphenated words (willy-nilly, a ten-year-old child) count as one. (Need help with hyphens? Here’s an article that should clear things up.) We recommend that you count your words manually instead of relying on your word processor’s wordcount feature, because we most assuredly will.
  • Some of the original texts for your retelling may have multiple versions. The versions we have provided below should be considered the canonical texts for the purpose of this contest. These are the versions we will provide to the judges, and against which your story will be compared.
  • In order to get the highest scores from our judges, the storytelling principles of the original text should be recognizable in your retelling.
  • You may make changes to the original story in your retelling (setting, narrator/POV, character attributes, etc.), so long as the original story is readily discernible. (Hint: find a beta reader on the YeahWrite Discord server!)

What do we mean by “readily discernible”? Your version of the story needs to include enough of the original plot and character elements to be recognizable to readers who are familiar with it. Tip: Figure out which elements of the original story are absolutely necessary, and use these anchor objects, situations, or events to connect the reader to the original story, so that even if your version is wildly different from the original, you won’t lose (or confuse) your reader.

If you’re at sea with the prompt you’ve been given, why not check out the post written by the people who wrote your prompt? The prompt style you’ll be working with this weekend is covered in our post on retellings from our 2021 Navigating Prompts series. And microfiction is covered here.

A quick primer on microfiction, for those who aren’t up to reading a WHOLE OTHER POST.

  • It’s not a poem, although it uses a lot of poetic principles like metaphor and active verb choice.
  • Don’t drop articles or verbs to make wordcount; your sentences should still flow cleanly.
  • The story should read “bigger than its wordcount” – it can imply as much or more than it says explicitly.
  • The story shouldn’t be an excerpt or summary of a longer story.
  • Words shouldn’t be wasted, but the story shouldn’t be crammed into its space–the prose should flow comfortably in the space it’s in.

As always, if you need clarification on a prompt, don’t contact our general email! That means don’t use the contact form, don’t email or DM the editor you’ve talked to personally, just use superchallenge@yeahwrite.me. You can also get in touch with us using the Super Challenge channels on our Discord server. Please don’t use any of the other channels, as our judges are on the server and may accidentally see your post. We don’t let the judges into the Super Challenge channels, though, so you should feel free to discuss the prompts, ask for beta readers and editors, and chat about your story ideas in there. We’re there to clarify whether you’ve understood the prompt correctly, but not to help you workshop your ideas or tell you how close or far they are from the prompt.

Ready for your prompts? Let’s get to it.

Remember: A ballad is a story in verse form. There are characters, a plot, etc. Read your story carefully. Figure out its genre and setting, like you would with any other story. We’re including the full text of your ballad in your group prompt to ensure that everyone’s working from the same version. And then make it yours. Don’t just tell the same story in the same plot with the same setting. Take the important elements and make them uniquely yours. Think of Wicked or Pride and Prejudice and Zombies or The Lion King or Romeo + Juliet. Now do that in… 75-85 words. Good luck!

Group 1 - Annabel Lee

Annabel Lee (Edgar Allen Poe)

It was many and many a year ago,
   In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
   By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
   Than to love and be loved by me.
 
I was a child and she was a child,
   In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
   I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
   Coveted her and me.
 
And this was the reason that, long ago,
   In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
   My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
   And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
   In this kingdom by the sea.
 
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
   Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
   In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
   Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
 
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
   Of those who were older than we—
   Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
   Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
 
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
   In her sepulchre there by the sea—
   In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Text credit

Group 2 - Rising Sun Blues

Rising Sun Blues (arr. Doc Watson)

There is a house down in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it’s been the ruin of a many poor boy
And me, oh God, I’m one

Go tell my youngest brother for me
Not to do the things I’ve done
But to shun that house down in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun

Oh, well, the only thing that a rounder needs
Is a suitcase or a trunk
And the only time he’s satisfied
Is when he’s on a drunk

So fill up your glasses to the brim
Let the drinks flow merrily ’round
And we’ll drink to the health of a rounder poor boy
Who goes from town to town

Now, boys, don’t believe what a bad girl tells you
Though her eyes be blue or brown
Unless she’s on some scaffold high
Sayin’, “Boys, I can’t come down”

They’ll take me back down to New Orleans
To face the crimes I’ve done
And they’ll tie me to a ball and chain
Until my race is run

Text credit

Group 3 - The Highwayman

The Highwayman (Alfred Noyes)

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
         Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
 
He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
         His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
 
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
         Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
 
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord’s daughter,
         The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
 
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
         Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”
 
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
         (O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
 
PART TWO
 
He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
         Marching—marching—
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
 
They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
         And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
 
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!
“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
         Watch for me by moonlight;
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
 
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
         Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
 
The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
         Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.
 
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding—
         Riding—riding—
The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.
 
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
         Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
 
He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
         The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
 
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
         Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
 
.       .       .
 
And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
         Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
 
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
         Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
 
Text credit

Wait, wait, there’s more!

Don’t post your story anywhere on the Internet until after our judges are done and you get your feedback! But if you want to talk up the competition or live-tweet your writing process, use the hashtag #YWsuper. Just remember not to include identifying details about which story is yours! If you’re dying to chat about your WIP, our Discord Super Challenge channel is open! Just remember to STAY IN THERE so our judges don’t have even the slightest chance to see what you’re working on. If you’re going to need a beta reader for your SC material, remember to arrange it ahead of time and trade contact info so that you don’t end up posting in the main channels!

Your stories are due Sunday at 10pm US Eastern Time. Remember to check the rules for formatting, including all those fiddly details like title page, font, and filename. Don’t get disqualified on a technicality! We know it seems really useless at times, but all those rules have a purpose, from helping get your file where it needs to be to making sure you’re read anonymously and fairly.

Your title page should be a separate page and should include: title, group number, prompt (title of the work you’re retelling), and any applicable content warning. Your title page info does not apply to your word count total.

Email your questions to superchallenge@yeahwrite.me or post your question in the private (judge-free) Super Challenge Discord channel—we will not be reviewing other email addresses or social media for your questions over the weekend and we want to make sure you get the answers you need! (Also, we don’t want you to accidentally email your questions to a judge; it’s happened! Don’t be that guy! We felt so bad for that guy!)

You’ll receive your feedback on Wednesday, August 24, and we’ll announce the shortlist that day around noon US Eastern Time. Shortlisted writers will receive additional feedback on their story from YeahWrite’s Editor-in-Chief, and winners will be announced on Friday, September 16.

We hope you have as much fun with the prompts as we had picking them out. Good luck, and good writing!

SUBMIT YOUR ENTRY HERE

About the author:

Rowan submitted exactly one piece of microfiction to YeahWrite before being consumed by the editorial darkside. She spent some time working hard as our Submissions Editor before becoming YeahWrite’s Managing Editor in 2016. She was a BlogHer Voice of the Year in 2017 for her work on intersectional feminism, but she suggests you find and follow WOC instead. In real life she’s been at various times an attorney, aerialist, professional knitter, artist, graphic designer (yes, they’re different things), editor, secretary, tailor, and martial artist. It bothers her vaguely that the preceding list isn’t alphabetized, but the Oxford comma makes up for it. She lives in Portlandia with a menagerie which includes at least one other human. She tells lies at textwall and uncomfortable truths at CrossKnit.

rowan@yeahwrite.me

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