Short, sweet and to the point. We have a winner in my latest fiction contest!

Congrats to Kristen with a whopping 16 comment votes! You’ll see her story printed below for your literary enjoyment.

Now – a teensy Bitch Slap for the rest of you: the voting had rules. Some of the entries had quite a few people who clicked on “LIKE” by your post. That was not the ticket. Your voters had to leave a comment with WHY they liked your story. There was a method to my madness and I’m not just being bitchy.

When I started writing and submitting content, I didn’t realize that submissions had to be in a certain format. I kept getting no answers or rejections. Sad writing panda, was I.

When I started reading submission guidelines and adhering to them…well, I’ll be damned – I started getting targeted rejection letters (“Loved this piece -it’s not for us, but submit again”)…and some acceptances, too!

If you’re going to make an attempt to break into any industry, you have to follow the rules. And for those who received comments on their pieces, isn’t it COOL to find out what people liked/didn’t like/felt? That’s better than money in the bank for a writer – when you know you’ve hit a chord. Agents, managers and editors will appreciate that you presented your materials in the format they requested – it’s a show of respect, that you did your homework and you appreciate in advance the time they will take to consider what you have to offer. It’s the same with resumes, interview requests and new connections in the business world. Submit humbly. Be grateful when others grant you their time. I was VERY grateful when each of you granted me the privilege of reading your words, all prompted by a dilapidated bus stop photo.

So if ya thought you SHOUDLA won, you didn’t. You can review the rules here. And then leave a comment below for Kristen who dotted her I’s and crossed her T’s – and hit one out of the park with you, my readers.

Kristen – you’ve won a $150 VISA gift card. Use my contact form to ping me. Please spend it on something ridiculous like a pair of Charles David strappy sandals or a brand new pot-bellied pig.

And now, HER story:

Cry.

Please cry. No one will see you if you don’t cry.

Noah stood across the street from the desolate bus stop. Window busted out. Weird graffiti spray painted on the plexiglass.

No one there. Well, that wasn’t true.

CRY! Dammit, cry!

He knew he’d done the right thing. Sarah would know this was the right decision when she woke up. She loved him and said she trusted him. They weren’t ready to be parents. She knew that. Hell, they’d already talked about it. They’d made plans to give the baby up for adoption. Found a couple that said they’d wanted their baby but didn’t want to go through the hassle of using an agency.

They seemed serious.

But when Sarah went into labor at frickin’ 3:00 in the morning, they couldn’t be bothered to come and get the baby. Said they’d had a change of heart. Probably didn’t have the money.

Noah knew he’d acted in the moment. Made a rash decision. But it was the right one. Right?

The birth had been quick. But hard. Sarah screamed bloody murder.

Bloody. Noah had to clean all that crap up while he tried not to look at the squished up face of his baby girl. No. Not HIS baby girl.

A baby girl. She’d be someone else’s baby girl.

“Just cry,” he whispered.

Sarah had passed out after the ordeal. She didn’t see him wrap up the product of their behind-the-football-stands encounter of last fall. Didn’t see him place the bundle under the busted out panel of the bus shelter wall. Didn’t see him kiss the little forehead.

But she would know this was the right thing to do.

He’d keep vigil until someone came. It was almost time for the early commuters to get to the bus stop.