FICTION- Fresh-Faced Fiction: Contest winners bring raw talent to the table
Charlottesville has always boasted a healthy community of interested cultural connoisseurs and their events: the Virginia Festival of the Book, the Virginia Film Festival, numerous art galleries, the University's arts programs. But this year, a curious thing happened: The Hook's ninth annual short story contest saw an increase in entries– from approximately 80 entries in past years to 150 stories submitted in 2010, to be exact. Perhaps literary interest has been re-kindled in the new decade by the surge of electronic readers on the market? Perhaps the economic recession sparked a flooding of aspiring novelists to enter the growing fiction business? Perhaps the life of a writer still has romantic allure?
But despite the upped ante, the winners of the Hook's 2010 short story contest weren't old hats at the art of fiction. In fact, two of the top three used the contest as their very first attempt at writing for an audience, just to see if they had what it takes. Apparently local literary star and contest judge John Grisham thought they did.
"I'm just really grateful that somebody at that talent level had read two words I put together," says second-place winner John Davidson.
While 2009's round-up of winners all credited a close-knit writing community as instrumental to their writing, this year's finalists were refreshingly untapped in the literary scene. All brought previously unheard voices to the table and were rewarded with the confidence to plunge unhindered into the fray.
The winning short story: 'Pockets'
John stands apart from the others. His sweatshirt hood up and over his forehead, zipper firmly closed, he shifts his weight from one foot to another, his thin frame turned inward. His eyes stay focused on a spot on the ground before him, until a man in a windbreaker makes his way to the front of the crowd.
The man smiles and waves at those in the front as he announces to the crowd, "All ready?" He waits for a response, seems to deliberate if he should press for a more enthusiastic one, then decides against it and lifts the rolling metal door with a flourish.
The faded light of early morning slowly exposes the contents of the storage unit. The press of people move inside, shining flashlights into corners, jumping to see over crumpled boxes and leaning around bent mattresses to peer into dark corners. Couples whisper to one another– phrases become clear, "picked through," "could be vintage," "organized boxes."
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