Garden Rant Short Fiction Contest

My mom and I both entered this contest, hosted by Garden Rant. The rules stated that one simply had to write a 99 word or less short story and post it to the comments of the blog posting. We each had a couple and entered them, hoping for the books about roses, but to no avail. The winners of the contest can be found here.

Since neither of us won the contest, I will post our entries here for everyone to read. They kind of get lost in the large number of comments on the contest blog - not to mention the comments about the stories that were submitted.

The Recipe (my own entry, found on page three of the comments)
With excitement he viewed the recipe that called for Rose Sugar and Rose Petals - it would be perfect for Valentine’s Day. He shook his rose petal sugar jar every other day and dried rose petals. On Valentine’s Day, he cooked all day, preparing a lovely feast for his beautiful wife. A rack of fresh lamb with rose syrup, salad garnished with sugared rose petals, and his “piece de resistance” – the rose tart, made with rose sugar and dried, chopped rose petals. It’s too bad he didn’t know the florist treated the roses with chemicals to guarantee blemish-free flowers.

Obsession (my own entry, found on page three of the comments)
The obsession was two fold. The mother gardened, constantly tended a dazzling bed of roses. They flourished and bloomed. The daughter stood there for hours; a rare bird, they called her. She would study the roses, each bloom frozen in growth and time, held captive by a Canon 75-300mm. Petals were caught just so, dewdrops were examined, buds were investigated and watched by both of them. Obsession or not, people wondered at their talent, for the mother won coveted awards for her roses, while the daughter won prestigious awards for her portrayal of her mother’s pride and joy.

Confusion (my own entry, found on page three of the comments)
Her garden was the pettiest around. What was her secret – how did she grow such lush roses? She had lost three husbands and two stepchildren – you’d think she couldn’t dwell on roses with so much death in her life.

Dang!!! I really like where this is going. Five dead people under a gorgeous bed of roses. See, that’s the problem with seeing other people’s entries in a contest you plan to participate in. They addle your brain and you can’t remember if the idea was yours or someone else’s. Unfortunately, dead bodies beneath roses belonged to someone else.

The Dog (my mom's entry, found on page three of the comments)
Thank goodness for the dog – she should have gotten one a long time ago. The neighbors used to think she was strange – wandering around the rose garden at all hours of the day – and even night – muttering to herself: need to move this, that needs trimming, ought to get more of those. But now she had a dog – now she wasn’t crazy – she was a pet owner. The neighbors didn’t realize that while she “walked the dog” and “talked to the dog” she was really saying: need to fertilize, there’s a patch of aphids, time to weed.

Halloween (my mom's entry, found on page three of the comments)
She doesn’t “do” Halloween but the grandkids want her to decorate. Won’t scarecrows and pumpkins work? No, the boys insist there must be witches and ghosts and bats. “I’ll think about it,” she promises. The next day she waits in anticipation for them to get home from school. She has decorated the porch for Halloween – pots of Ghost Fern and ‘Goblin’ Gaillardia set next to a Witch Hazel bush. Other pots hold Devil’s Backbone, Skullcap and Deadnettle. A Devil’s Trumpet and a Voodoo Lily tower over the other plants. And the final touch – a completely black kitten named Midnight.

Checking the Mail (my mom's entry, found on page three of the comments)
“I’m going to check the mail,” I told my husband. I started towards the mailbox. The roses needed pruning; I got the pruners and trimmed them. As I took the pruners back, I spotted weeds in the perennials; I stopped to pull them. After I put up the pruners, I saw some annuals I needed to pot. I found some planters and took them to the patio. The furniture was dirty; I got a rag and cleaned it. All that work made me thirsty; I went in the house for a drink. “Where’s the mail,” my husband asked.

And that's it. You would think out of six entries, we would have managed to win something, but it just wasn't meant to be. Maybe next time. :)