Our Here's Looking at You contest ended September 15. The act of looking at oneself from the outside wasn't an easy thing to do, but 174 writers took the challenge. Many chose to delve into the craft of writing itself, and dropped in on their characters. Others showed up in spooky thrillers, rip-roaring comedies, poignant literary pieces and one even incorporated herself into the current trend of IM-ing, which as you'll see below, was a hoot. But you know what? I don't recall one entry that contained an errant POV leap. And don't get me started on the vibrant voices and the tight dialogue. Why, they were simply the stuff of future classics. 

Here are some of the lines that leapt out at me when I read. Enjoy!

     He closed his eyes and began to pray. The words came slowly, hesitantly - half-forgotten and rusty - but gaining momentum as he continued. 
     "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women ..." 
     You never forget, not completely. The words are burned into your soul and there is comfort there. 
     "... blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus ..."
     Gavin had never prayed so hard in his life. With every fibre of his being he begged for a miracle, longed for it until it was an almost physical sensation – a tingling of the nerves and rictus of the muscles. He willed God to come as though He could be psychically forced to comply. 

COME THE DAY
Gavin J. Carr

     Fred stopped writing for a moment. He was confused by what he had just written. What did Bill mean by that? What did he mean by that?
     “I don’t know, you wrote it.” Bill was a compunctious little bastard. The writer described how Charlie gouged Bill’s eye out with his thumb and smashed the gooey thing in front of his literary companion like something out of King Lear. That will show the smart ass who’s boss, thought the writer, and had Charlie start stomping Bill’s face in with a dirty boot.

AN IMMOVEABLE FEAST
Frederick Schroeder

    “I thought we came here to see if some of that J.K. Rowling cafe writing magic worked for us."
     "Susanne Rose doesn't work without caffeine and sugar."
     "I've noticed. You could stand to lose five or ten pounds."
     "And you might want to consider investing in some moisturizer. Would you look at the way that mirror magnifies every little line and wrinkle?"
     "That's brutal."
     "If I don't tell you, who will? I'm taking out my notebook and my purple felt pen. Barista McDreamy over there is going to be the hero in my next romance. Will you order already?"

TWO SUSANNES AT STARBUCKS
Susanne Shaphren 

      Tamra and the other stranded travelers formed a human barrier, forcing the taxi to stop. Before the driver could bark hani they were climbing into any free space available. The two drivers exchanged curt words while Tamra climbed on top with the goats and luggage. The driver informed her that toubabs were not allowed up there. She informed him that if the boy next to her could do it, so could she. The driver shrugged.

THE LONGEST SHORT TRIP
Tamra Wear

     This is how it was for Jeff Dunne. After years of struggling to win some ephemeral, unnamed contest, he realized that, in fact, he was no further along than the day he was born. So he stopped. Stopped running, stopped chasing, stopped fearing that he was falling behind. And then, amazingly, the absurdity stopped too. Could that be coincidence?

THE GAME
Jeff Dunne

     Paula doesn’t have a boyfriend, doesn’t want one, she said. "Not worth the trouble, he’s not worth the trouble, Glor. Believe me, you’re better off without him." 
      That made Gloria’s back straighten; her chin rise. "So right," she told me, "so not worth the trouble." Strange then that the very next Saturday, there Paula was dancing with him, John, at the Cricket Club. In Gloria’s face, the pair of them, arms clinging, lips pressed tight, the overhead lights framing them in a soft glow.
     "Some friend she is," I said. "Been after him for weeks … funny how you never noticed."  
     Made her think, that did.  

FRIENDS
Gloria Watts

     They could only try to decipher what Tom wanted by reading their new books. It seemed that the main goal of all stories was to get to the end. Until that happened, the author would still have to sit around and write, which seemed rather difficult. If finishing was Tom’s goal, the Erids were fine with it. Since encountering the others, they had discovered new emotions to feel about themselves, which the others taught them was “boredom,” and to feel towards other people, especially foreigners, which their books taught them was “hate.” They prayed, by loudly asking each other questions. “Oh, Tom, will you please get this over with already?” This seemed much more reasonable than not talking, as the others seemed to do.

RELIGION
Tom Stone

     She steps back and smiles at him. It’s a smile all for him. A thrill of love crackles through him. She summoned him from the whiteness, and she is pleased with him. She blows eraser crumbs across his face. 
     She plucks the pencil from behind her ear, scribbles a signature across the bottom of the page: “Laura Bickle.” He wonders who she is, what thought caused her to pull him from the ether. 

THE SUMMONING
Laura Bickle

     She was never very good at goodbyes, so she guessed it was fitting, a blessing actually, when Megan Nochi realized she would be the first of her family to go. In all the possible scenarios she’d imagined would end in her death—heroic, tragic, accidental—she never in all her wildest dreams would have guessed it would be due to a jar of pickles.  Or rather, one pickle in particular.

IN A PICKLE
   Megan Nochi 

     Carol and David Reynolds had a lifestyle and a seemingly idyllic marriage that were the envy of all their friends. On this warm spring Sunday they cruised out beyond the bay. They dropped anchor, had a lazy lunch and did some fishing while soaking up the sun and taking in the sea air. 
     As was their habit, with the sun descending and the shadows lengthening, they went below deck. They did not have a water bed at home, but the gentle rocking of the boat was the next best thing …

DEADLY NIGHTSHADE
David Reynolds

     The phone rang. Joyce moved around the desk and pushed the speaker. "Laird Investigations," she said. "Joyce speaking. How may I--" 
     "You are a genius darling! It was exactly as you said. I should have noticed how low the table was. I found it in little Jeffrey’s overalls. He does so love little sparklie–warklies. I'm sending you a fat check just for saving my sanity!" The woman hung up before Joyce could speak.
     "What was that about?" Joyce said, staring at the phone.
     Tiffany shrugged innocently.

A FIFTEEN MINUTE MYSTERY
Joyce Laird

AN AUTO BIOGRAPHY
Rachel Landis

     Finally, exasperated, Donna muttered, "I just can't bear for them to see that we have no life."
     "But we do have a life, honey," Craig told her. "Look." He pointed at photos around their bedroom. "There's us with the kids at Disneyland. There's the one of Kelly's pony ride at the fair. Remember this one, of Kenny at the pumpkin patch?" He pulled the picture off the dresser and put it in Donna's hands. 
     "It's not that," she told Craig. "There's a big world out there, and we haven't seen any of it."
     At that, Craig threw up his hands. "Well, I don't know what to do about that." 

AROUND THE WORLD IN A DAY
Donna Getzinger

     It's the usual story of syrupy sacrifice and martyrdom. You don't feel special any more. Every rejection slip that drops into your inbox tells you how crowded the ocean is. Your only hope in a thousand is to get trawled up in a net among similar hundreds, to be served together in a blend of spices, consumed and then forgotten …
     He got a batch of visiting cards made, with "Rumjhum Biswas" and "Writer" written in sloping serif type below that, with your email and phone number and address on the reverse. You shrugged and put them away in a drawer. He bought you a pair of solitaires. You wore them. Then you told him flintily that you could have bought them yourself, if only … Later on you'd made up for it by cooking a good meal and doing nice things to him.

THE DOOR KNOCKS
Rumjhum Biswas

     A dark shadow loomed over Star's bed. Startled awake again by a growing sense of fear she sat up to stare the darkness down. If someone found a way into her new home … 
     The fan in the corner of the room masked all noises but those of the rattling vertical blinds over the window. Even that sound was masked by the midnight blue throw she used as a curtain.
     Clutching the comforter tight, Star looked to the side of the room opposite the window. The sliding closest door stood open, revealing pitch black beyond the outer edge of the hanging clothes. Nothing appeared out of order.
     Across the room from the bed a huddled black figure waited as still as a statue. Squinting hard-she had such a hard time seeing without her glasses-Star was happy to discover the figure was nothing more than her dresser.

A RESTLESS NIGHT
Star Davies

     The police and the insurance adjuster arrived at about the same time, and together with Jim and Sally went through the house listing what was taken. What baffled Jim the most was the things that were not taken. The bed was still in the bedroom, although the antique tapestry used as a bedspread was gone. Most of their clothes were still there, but Sally's designer gowns and Jim's Armani suits were missing. It seemed that whoever had done this had taken all the valuables, all the collectibles, all the luxuries, but had left them the basics for living. 

BREAKING AND ENTERING
James Hartley

     Susan felt unable to move from her computer or stop her fingers from typing. With Thanksgiving coming, she couldn't understand why she was wasting time IM-ing the neighbor who'd chosen such a dreadful screen name for herself. HatesHousework? Was she proud of her laziness? …
     HatesHousework: I got in-laws and outlaws coming ... HELP! 
     DecorDiva: Anything accomplished? 
     HatesHousework: No, hubby's hunting!
     DecorDiva: How many you expecting? 
     HatesHousework: 20? 
     DecorDiva: Do an authentic Pilgrim's feast. It'll be a snap. Need a carving knife?
     HatesHousework: I'm mad at him … but not ready for murder yet. ;o)
     DecorDiva: To dress out the deer Rufus brings home for a divine venison roast.
     HatesHousework: 1 deer feeds 20 hawgs?
     DecorDiva: Whip up costumes from the hide. Notch the antlers to insert candles for a centerpiece. 
     HatesHousework: Ya mean put the deer head on Little Rufus? LOL
     DecorDiva: Angie Ledbetter, it's a golden opportunity to involve children. They can gather fall foliage - pinecones, sugar gum pods ... 
     HatesHousework: You nipping sherry? I have 2 melted storm candles and 5 pieces of construction paper. 

NEIGHBOR NIGHTMARE
Angie Ledbetter

     There was a rumble of impatience through the crowd of nearly a hundred. When the last of the magic had died away from the girl's fingertips, everyone looked into the neatly drawn octagon on the floor. A figure materialized, organs first, then muscle and bone until finally she stood before them fully formed and dressed. 
     "Are you Wen Wen Yang?" asked a tall man who wore simple clothing. 
     "Hmm?" She rubbed her eyes wearily. "What do you want?" She looked around her at the mass.
     "Do we not look familiar?" The red haired man stepped forward. "I am Phoenix, from three of your stories. Everyone here is from your stories. We brought you here to plead with you."
     "I am never drinking coffee again," replied the girl in the octagon. 

CREATE, ERASE, REPEAT
Wen Wen Yang

     Alicia opened the file she'd been working on. It was a romance in which the two characters, Chase and Sara, were fated lovers who disguised their feelings as animosity. That is, until a world-renowned matchmaker, Alicia Blade, had taken them under her wing as an experiment for her next self-help book. Thus far, Alicia-as both writer and matchmaker-had been unsuccessful. The characters were being more trouble than they were worth. 
     But that was about to change.

THE MATCHMAKER
Alicia Blade

     Jonathan raised his hand. Immediately one of the testing proctors approached. "Excuse me," whispered Jonathan. "Is there different tests for males than for females?"
     The proctor looked confused, "No, why do you ask?"
     "It's just that this question seems to be all about emotions and stuff. I thought I might have been given the female leadership test by mistake."
     "It's all the same test, just answer the questions." 
     The proctor seemed to be annoyed. This bugged Jonathan. What was the point of having a test proctor if you couldn't get legitimate test clarification without getting attitude? … 
     Jonathan answered the question. Hello? I'm a guy. I don't worry about all that emotional crap. If someone is sick, then they are sick. They better have a doctor's note. 

LEADERSHIP TEST
Jonathan Harvey

     Since Julie enjoyed bragging so much, Justin rather hoped that she wouldn't be able to do it. Then again, he would rather have one of the three of them win than the other nine, so he remained silent.
     Aries got to go first. Julie decided to take the oil and made such a show out of lathering her body that Justin averted his eyes in embarrassment. Then she slowly descended toward the floor until her feet touched the blocks.

ZODIAC ARREST
Julie Soul

     Prince Deutchmark Koenigsburg Malthus of Malkenhaus, an Austrian Alpine Shepherd, was a long-legged, barrel-chested Grand Champion. He had been a gift from Marian, Joseph's step-mother, who found homes for unwanted show dogs after they retired. She had wanted Joseph to call him Prince. Joseph called him Dutch ….
     Marian was a problem-solver. That's how she saw herself, anyway. Joseph didn't know if it irritated him more when her solutions were totally off-target or when they were exactly right. He imagined her on the other end of the phone call, frowning slightly as she tried to insert the thin end of a wedge of fix-it into the situation.

DOG SHOW
Marian Allen

     Beggars can't be choosers. That's one statement Mary has chosen to scratch from The Book of Useful and Enduring Clichés. The worn paperback lay like a lap dog on Mary's knees, begging to be petted. Why she'd ever purchased this book was beyond her, except that maybe in her previous incarnation as a hopeful-though-cynical writer, Mary had a brief moment of masochistic enlightenment pass over her. And, unfortunately, this distasteful episode occurred as Mary perused the writer's corner at Barnes and Noble, just when her eyes lingered on the top shelf filled with books dealing with writing do's and don'ts. 

THE BREAKDOWN
Mary Chapman

     The younger version of herself was holding a boy's hand. She looked to be in love, which made Carol smile, suddenly remembering such a feeling. Then, the smile vanished when it occurred to her that same love couldn't stand the test of time. Carol wanted to stop the girl she once was to warn her that it's going to go by in a mad rush even though at times-like trying to soothe a colicky baby or waiting for a wayward husband to come home in the late of evening-it would feel like a crawl. She wanted to rest her hand, the skin loose and dotted with aged spots, on the girl's thin, tanned arm and whisper in her ear, "Savor each day." But, the younger version of herself continued on her way, tossing her head back, her hair windblown, while allowing her young companion to keep a tight grip around her waist.

STOPPING FOR NO ONE
Carol Hoenig

     As she screamed herself awake, Cassie found herself slumped over her note pad, drool pooling around her cheek and smearing the ink of the words she had scribbled before she fell asleep.  She lifted her head, wiped her face with the palm of her hand, and stared at the dictionary and thesaurus on her desk, and the pile of crumpled poor starts lying on the floor in a circle around her chair.  Chapters jutted out from reference books, a dozing computer droned idly beside her, and a cup of cold coffee showed a distinct ring of evaporation.   

SOMETHING TO BE THANKFUL FOR
Cassie Simmons 

     Jennifer herself didn't know what made her snap. All she knew was that somehow she ended up swimsuit-clad, waving a gun in the mailman's face.
     "Morning!" he called. 
     "In the house," she said. "I've snapped."
     "Thursday already? My wife swears by Midol."
     "Take your shoes off. I just mopped." 
     "Got any iced tea?" he asked, heading for the kitchen. 
     Jennifer held the gun above her head. "Hell-o! Murderous rampage, remember?"
     "Sorry. Just parched from delivering your mail on time."
     "Fine. But I can't guarantee you'll finish it before I kill you. Cookies?"

THERE'S ALWAYS NEXT THURSDAY
Jennifer Brown