So this week is the Writer's Voice blog contest. I was in it last year and it was an incredible experience! It opened up a whole world of blog contests and amazing twitter community with awesome supportive writer's (All the love!)
This year, they randomly picked the 150 entries and I wasn't picked :-(
BUT, I've decided since the entries aren't officially up yet, but some people are posting links on twitter, I'll join in there. One of the best parts of this contest is showing everyone what you've got and the support that abounds. I don't need to be in the running for the agent round to get that. So, read and enjoy and please leave me a comment (and follow if you want ;-)
So here it is-- the Writer's Voice entry that wasn't. (And because I have no rules, here's the fun cover I made for it for no reason at all)
Dear awesome Writer's Voice contestants (and other random (also awesome) readers)!
When sixteen-year-old Anna ran away from home she just wanted a little freedom, she didn't plan on becoming a prostitute. That just sort of happened.
She would do anything for Luis, her pimp, anything for a life with him-- until they both get busted.
Luis goes to jail and Anna is sent back home to the suburbs and the parents who hate her. To Anna, that’s more terrifying than dark alleyways and threats of STDs. She can’t even pretend to be normal when everyone knows her secrets.
Anna feels more naked now than she ever did as a prostitute.
Then she meets Arney, a geeky boy who teaches her to eat honey suckles and climb trees. He's the only one who doesn't look at her like a prostitute. Just when she is beginning to separate Anna from the hooker, an old John finds her and attacks her in the parking lot after homecoming. Now the whispers get louder, the stares get bolder. Anna must face her controlling parents, the nasty rumors, even her old pimp, if she’s ever going to gain control of her own life.
I look into the familiar blank eyes that stare back at me from a Missing Person’s poster. The name reads: Anna Rodriguez.
The name’s familiar, but it’s not me. Not anymore.
I turn away from the innocent thirteen year-old in the poster, with her pony tail and pearls around her neck. Now I just find myself wondering how much I could cop out of a necklace like that. Three hundred?
Every time I pass this poster I stop and stare at the girl I used to be, but that just brings attention. I’m not allowed to bring attention.
So I keep walking and make a plan to go the long way around Bleecker Street so I won’t ever see my parents attempt at finding me again. A few cars fly past. I cross my arms, and breathe out to see if I can see my breath. It’s getting cold, I hate cold.
I shake my head. I mean, it’s been three years, I don’t see why my parents still try to find me. I’m not their little girl anymore.
You’d think they could at least find a better picture, you know? No one would guess that girl was me. Why not use a picture like that one from Halloween when I dressed up like Cindy Lauper but really just looked like a hooker? That might catch someone’s eye.
I smile at my stupid joke, but know they want to cling to the ideal, pristine daughter they always thought they had. Too bad I was never that girl.