So, due to the enormous popularity of our published serial, we’re partnering up with the Derelict Voice to put on a writing contest. The Derelict Voice is a group of writers that meet weekly at the Jesus Center and have published their own collected works. We’ve decided to make it interesting by giving you a prompt to work with:
“I stood on the corner of 5th and
Cherry in Chico, CA—a city I knew
only from the labels on beer bottles.”
So start there and work your way into a story with a 300-word maximum. Four winners will be chosen by a panel of judges at the Derelict Voice. Winners will get to participate in a 4-part serial with a twist that will be published in the Synthesis! For more information and to submit your entry, email firstname.lastname@example.org or email@example.com. Deadline for entries is June 17th! So fire up your nugget, send us your genius, and let’s generate and nurture a robust local author scene around this town! I look forward to reading your entries; winning entries will be published as well. It’s a win-win. If you’re interested in joining the Derelict Voice writing group, check out their blog and drop them a line. http://derelictvoice.blogspot.com/
Also, let’s talk about public breastfeeding. Nichole Avery, breastfeeder and lunching lady, was asked to cover it up while nursing her infant at the Pour House in Chico last week. That’s not cool and I’ll tell you why—not just because it’s the law, but because we’re mammals. Mammals = mammaries = boobs that make milk for feeding babies. Science. If you’re squicked out by the sight of a breast squished up against a baby’s little noggin while he chug-a-lugs his own lunch, you might have to ask yourself, “why am I oversexualizing a situation that we are evolutionarily designed for?” And then I’d say go ahead and blame the Victorians for making you so uptight. If your personal choice as a breastfeeding mother is to cover it up, that’s great, I support you. If you don’t want to cover it up because having a baby on top of you in 100 degree heat with a blanket on top of both of you sounds like a sweaty evil nightmare, then I support you too. Uptight Victorian throw-backs? I support your right to eat lunch—at home.