What would a product description sound like if wrote it?
After reading through 200 entries, some good, some great, some wow, we whittled the entries down to 10 finalists. Your entries were incredible. They were so good in fact, that we've decided to run contests like this much more frequently. Look out for more creative contests soon to come!
He struck a match, observing the sulphur flash and burn away.
"Tonight, I chose my clay pipe. Do you know why?" He circled a flame above the black shag tobacco in the bowl, then took three staccato drags before answering his own question.
"Because the proper instrument inspires your best work."
"Consider the GEN3," he leaned back to exhale ribbons of white smoke. "It's sleek, pragmatic and nimble-the right tool for preventing tawdry and extraneous distractions…"
His eyes caught the light.
"Why, this smart machine could spark true brilliance in even an average mind…such as yours, dear Watson."
2ND PRIZE GOES TO:
Fabrizio De Zuani in the style of Stephen King The Smart Typewriter is lit on the desk. I place my hands on it. Suddenly, a barren landscape around me, arid and thick with lava and steam. I retract my hands, scared. I touch the keys again. Again, the world changes. A dense forest, where ghostly tree silhouettes cast creepy shadows. I flinch. A deep breath and I return to the keyboard. The sky is gloomy, a damp steppe opens before me. Far away, a stormy, windswept sea. I begin to write. I hear sounds, gasps and a low, but constant growl. But now I can't stop anymore.
Other Incredible Entries:
Sabrina Yam in the style of Jeff VanderMeer In the gloom of the half-moon she sneaks out to write, the typewriter square and sturdy at her back. Inspiration struck like a creeping vine, trailing gently into her brain and coaxing her out into the cool of the yard. She found her usual perch under a halo of porchlight, pulled the typewriter out, rested her hands on the keys. The chirring of night creatures rise and fall around her. Cocooned in the murmur, her typing threads a heartbeat. Her thoughts flow onto the screen and shape her story into existence.
Claire McCully in the style of Jack Kerouac Her polite father, a typewriter, had grown soft around the waist from too much drink and from being anchored to his rolltop desk. The daughter, a third generation American and now all grown up, was anxious for the Promise Land of endless pages, for beautiful bevies of sentences that made love under mountain starlight. She yearned for the sound of her brown box heels clicking over streets, through the storied nights and mad days. Free of distractions and with a battery better than Benzedrine, she danced out a music of words, her keystrokes exploding into a nebula of paragraphs.
James Wilson in the style of Emily Dickinson A curious thing this box. Cast heavy and black, solid like some great and mysterious artefact from a time yet to pass. A visitation. Look at it. Feel it. Will it to speak, perhaps, but no voice shall issue there. The voice is yours, yours alone, yours to impress upon sturdy and immutable keys, to render pixelate. Not so silent these keys. Words manifest in percussive crescendo. The sound of freedom. Had we the wings, the poet wrote, many would fly. Words, words. Expunge them from memory, and send them to the clouds. Let the birds think what they may.
Thank you to all participants, and look forward to more creative writing contests coming very soon!