The GOB Writing Competition

 There are old people roaming the street, ringing doorbells. They are in pairs, wearing gingham and tweed and they look quite frightening. My dad is huffing and puffing for no particular reason. I wonder if they are connected. 

Maybe they’ve come to take him away….Or maybe that’s just a good place to start a story.

As I’ve been away for a bit, I thought the best place to pick up again would be to have a writing competition.

And so here it is: Ta-Daaaaaaa!!!!

The Great Opening Bits Competition (or GOB comp for short)

You should know by now that all good stories have a strong opening hook which makes the reader read on.
Your mission, dear friends, is to write the first four sentences of a story that people will want to read. You can go scary, mystery, lovey-dovey, erotic, chaotic…the choice is yours.

But, my favourite Feckless Goblin, what will I win?

The GOB competition is open until the end of June and the person who writes best opening bit will get a £30 (or exchange equivalent) Amazon Voucher to spend on what they want.

How do I enter the GOB writing competition?

The competition is FREE to enter.

Just write your entry in the comments section below as per usual. You can enter as many times as you like. Remember, you only get 4 sentences per entry to entice your reader…

Once you have entered, and this is important peeps, Tweet your followers about the competition and include the hashtag #GOBcomp.

Who’s going to judge the GOB writing competition?

I dunno yet! Okay? I’ll find someone…maybe not someone famous but…definitely someone who’s still alive. I’ll update soon with a name (not one I’ve just made up).

32 thoughts on “The GOB Writing Competition

  1. No one knows exactly why the sun never rose again. Well, that’s not entirely true. Some knew the reason but they are all dead now. They were quite delicious.

  2. I stared as the boys’ eyes twitched in perpetual motion, side to side as he lay unresponsive. Beads of sweat rolled down his face to his soft, curly black hair. He had been climbing in trees, playing and laughing with friends when he fell, hitting his head. That was how the demon entered his body.

  3. They try to break in when everyone is asleep. I know they’ve come when my neighbor’s dog starts barking. *This* time I peeked through the curtain and saw the invisible creatures trying to slip in via the mail slot. The mother f**ker’s are after the kid!

  4. I could tell by the gurgling noises he was making, that he needed help quick. The mangled car encased him. He wasn’t dead. But, as I hovered above, I realized, I was.

  5. When good people die, they go to heaven and take a form of snails. Snails with wings, halos and all the holy glory. When bad people die, they land up as snails in an ethereal French restaurant. I’m a cook here and I can’t wait to see you.

  6. What would you do if you were given the ability to see things exactly as they are? You’d do the same damn thing I’m doing, and that’s why you don’t have the sight. It was stolen generations ago from your ancestors because they knew it was the only way to keep you ignorant humans from fighting back.I’m the only man alive that truly knows the reason you don’t hear stories about seeing beautiful faeries and magnificent unicorns flitting and playing around in the forest is because you don’t live to fucking tell about it.

  7. A tear trickled down her face as she stood holding the phone to her ear. The word ‘they’ was ringing round her head like a fairground waltzer. No it couldn’t be, could it? Months of self doubt could no longer be denied but where could she turn for help now she knew the truth?

  8. He wasn’t gonna show. By now, Annie knew it, the preacher knew it, everybody in the whole god-damned church knew it. Tears began to trace their way down her cheeks to drip from her clenched jaws, that famous Princess Annie poise and grace crumbling under such a devastating humiliation. It was all I could do to keep from giggling over how perfectly this was working out.

  9. Whoever was running Hell these days had a sense of humor. The line for the entrance zigzagged back and forth like a popular amusement park ride. Each of us sat in our own handbasket.

  10. He sat in the small grass hut reading news off his dim laptop screen when the rumbling began. Villagers outside could be heard yelling his name. As the rumbling grew more intense, a chill ran through his spine, but only for a moment. He calmly stands, and walks out of the hut with his hand resting on a sheathed sword.

  11. Don’t know why it put it as anonymous. Above comment was mine.

  12. London sprawls across the horizon, taunting us with its rude, bustling health, drawing us in with coy insinuations, with promises of revenge. Whatever they shot us full of is rotting our insides away; I can feel it in spikes and jabs of bright pain, in a growing, pervasive ache. We are the walking dead, but our symphony is not finished yet. We were trained to fight, and we have brought the war home with us.

  13. Taken figuratively, the three constructs, which no one knew but him, ruled him like a tablet: a bullet, cancer and his wife’s puffy hands. Her sister required the body be clad in an outfit suited for a retired librarian, a floral print with specks of yellow, over which the morgue crossed her swollen embrace. Leathery water balloons. A syringe might have been useful, if, in fact, the swelling could have been drained, which it couldn’t, and if, by fortune, it could inject a helpful sedative to numb the personal cannibalism about to begin.

  14. Breathing is the most natural part of being alive. I do not breathe. The luxury of simply parting my lips and sucking in oxygen has long since become a distant memory. Then again being human and feeling human is hardly a loss to someone who is damned to wander the night for eternity.

  15. Adrenaline slicks through my veins and I grit my teeth as the sting of unshed tears tugs at the corners of my eyes. I don’t even know him, this man whose life is draining away beneath my fingers. He takes another shuddering breath and I wonder if it will be his last.Dear God, I don’t want to be the last person to see him alive.

  16. ‘These are the only prophets’ eyeballs we have in stock,’ the shivering apprentice explained, yawning, and thrusting a jar into the watchman’s outstretched hand. The old man regarded its contents wordlessly, twisting it in calloused fingers so the contents glooped and swobolled, swish-swushing against the sturdy glass. Before sighing gently and replacing it on the counter.The apprentice blushed and shook her bandaged head, warming her fingers in the candle-flame. ‘Sorry ’bout that,’ she murmured.’I realise they may not be quite the right size… But the cat ate our last delivery.’

  17. The severed head of a past player with missing eye lay propped on the slowly spinning wheel. The metal ball was pushed through the eye and spun around the track leaving a gruesome trail. Men didn’t play this heinous game of roulette with chips but by cutting off their own fingers and placing them on the desired numbers.Henry took his finger and placed Ellen’s birthday: seven.

  18. She probably hates me. Hell, I’d hate me if I were her. I’m one of those people- you know the type- the ones who have everything, get everything, the ones everyone wants to be. Yet, no one would envy me if they knew the real reason for my so called “charmed life”.

  19. Who says serial killers have no souls? The numbers of lives I’ve taken don’t matter nearly as much as the eternities in Hell they’ve chained to my soul. I fear my ultimate fate more than anything, but I will keep killing if it means no one else has to suffer it.

  20. I haven’t slept for forty four days straight. Not a wink, not a catnap, not a doze, not a siesta, not a slumber and not even a little snooze. I haven’t got insomnia or any other sleep disorder that I know of and I’m not even ill or slightly stressed. The plain simple fact is, I don’t need to sleep.

  21. From my bedroom window in the house where I grew up, I used to watch the hayfield sway with a gentle wind. Gusts like angels raced through the grass. I wished I could run with them, follow them to whatever heaven they called home, but the house is gone now, the field fallow, and I’m fairly sure I’m dead. I’m not breathing, anyway.

  22. When I wake up, it’s dark and it’s cramped. I feels like I’ve been removed from everything, like I’m in a void. Some folks say that’s what Hell really is: a void. But, for me, I think Hell might be knowing who put me in this grave, buried alive.

  23. As I stared down the barrel of the gun at my assailant, I thought: If I hadn’t tripped over Luc in the waiting room, none of this would have happened. Blood dripped on the floor from the wound in my hand, and I gripped my wrist, trying to stanch it before I lost so much I got dizzy. I met his emotionally-dead black eyes and waited for his verdict. A life seemed like a lot to pay for such a simple mistake.

  24. He stood over where he saw her body collapse to the ground, mouth open, chest heaving, eyes drinking in the sandy indention that mirrored her frame. He dropped to his knees, raising over his head the knife dripping his and her blood. He stabbed the sand, burring the blade again and again, sinking it into the wet beach as the waves came ashore and kissed his bare feet. He stopped, hearing the faint sound of laughter over his shoulder; the voice coming from the sea, belonging to the outline he was destroying.

  25. I pride myself on not being overly emotional. In the geek circles I travel my propensity for logic and my red hair have earned me the nickname “The Flaming Vulcan”. It took me a while to embrace the name, but after a while its use had become so pervasive that it was only logical. Apparently newspaper editors prefer a good chuckle to a logical title though, because all the headlines today proclaim: “Flaming Vulcan Screws the World in the Ass”.

  26. Arnold glanced down upon the pool of spunk in his belly button. Instead of wiping it away with a tissue, he inserted his index finger and began to swirl around the gloppy contents. A new and compelling sensation covinced him to drive his finger faster, harder, deeper and deeper. Arnold closed his eyes, losing himself to the moment, until he felt an awful penetration burst through the skin of his umbilicle pit.

  27. Lightfoot Osolage July 12, 2011 — 2:55 pm

    What happened to the contest? I was so excited . . .

  28. It’s running to the end of next week, then I’ll get drunk and announce a winner…don’t fret Lightfoot

  29. My biological clock, which I keep at all times on a strap about my wrist, tells me that I am precisely 21 years, 3 months, 15 days, and 2 hours old. A handy piece of information when you’re adrift in time. Being born in 2405 and being raised in the 1990s is confusing enough, but finding yourself in Victorian London on top of that, well… Anything that helps keep you sane is welcome.

  30. It was usual Monday morning, I got up at seven o’clock, had shower and went downstairs to meet my friends and walk to school together. After walking bloody 2 kilometers and discussing yesterdays football match between Manchester United and Chelsea we approached to front yard of our school. I saw 4 police cars near the entrance and 3 police officers approaching towards us…

  31. I stopped the car outside my uncle’s house and stared at the dashboard, trying to collect my thoughts. Uncle Fitz was now the last surviving Finnegan, the only remaining member of my mother’s family who had been born bearing the Finnegan name. He was now the only one who could activate the Finnegan Curse.My job was to convince him to do it for the first time.

  32. Sorry, for some reason this contest came up on my blogroll today and I entered, didn’t see that the closing date was the end of June. Hope you enjoyed the read anyway 🙂

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