ESPAN

Afternoon Tea at Nationals, Update

admin — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 02:39:57 +0000

It’s hard to believe that two weeks tomorrow we will be holding this first ever ESPAN get together. I’m so excited!

The hotel sent me confirmation that we are in Europe 4 at The Dolphin and we will, in turn, send confirmation out to all who signed up for this event. If you haven’t signed up, you can’t get in. Have you signed up? Last I checked there was only two spots left.

We have a tasty menu, Angela James is our guest speaker (and you know she has great information about our industry), we have other fantastic guests attending, great door prizes and we our handing out the finalists certificates for the Page One contest. Oh yeah, we’re also announcing the winners!

Can’t wait to see you all there!

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ESPAN Afternoon Tea at Nationals

admin — Thu, 17 Jun 2010 23:28:51 +0000

We have now opened up the ESPAN Afternoon Tea at Nationals in Orlando to all RWA members who are interested in seeing our chapter in a fun light.

Here are the details (as on our AGM/Afternoon Tea page):

AGM/Afternoon Tea at RWA Nationals in Orlando

Date: July 30, 2010

Time(s):

3-3:30pm AGM – Members only

3:30-5pm Afternoon Tea – Members and Invited Special Guests UPDATE – We are now opening this up to other RWA Members who are curious about ESPAN and want a fun way to see who we are.

As an ESPAN Member you are invited to join us for our AGM and 1st Annual Afternoon Tea at Nationals. We will hold a short meeting, followed by the tea with special guests.

Special Guest Speaker: Angela James – Executive Editor, Carina Press

Other Special Guests who have confirmed attendance at this time are (alphabetically by last name):

Raelene Gorlinsky – Publisher, Ellora’s Cave/Cerridwen

Deidre Knight – Author/Senior Agent & President, The Knight Agency
(Deidre has other obligations, but does hope to pop by)

Marty Mathews – Author Liaison/Review Coordinator, Samhain Publishing
Lindsey Faber – Managing Editor, Samhain Publishing (Maybe)
Christina M. Brashear – Publisher, Samhain Publishing

PLUS, all ten finalists in the Page One contest will be invited to attend if they are at Nationals.

Our Menu includes:

Assorted Open Face Crustless Tea Sandwiches to Include: Smoked Salmon Sandwich, Cucumber Sandwich, and Sliced Chicken Sandwich

Assorted canapés-cherry tomatoes filled with a whipped goat cheese and cucumber with salmon mousse

Variety of Scones, Crumpets, and Shortbread Cookies

Tea Biscuits Served with Crème Fraiche and Assorted Jams

Chocolate Dipped Strawberries

Freshly Brewed Starbucks Coffee and Decaffeinated Coffee, Selection of Tazo Teas

Please go to our AGM/Afternoon Tea page to sign up. We will only take registrations until the end of June/first week of July 2010, or sooner if we hit our maximum numbers.

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Page One Contest Finalists

admin — Fri, 21 May 2010 16:00:40 +0000

Please join us in congratulating the following Top Ten finalists whose entries will be forward to to our Editor judges:

2	Youll never find a knot you can't unravel. The soothsayers words mocked Azurha more loudly than usual tonight. She strained against the hemp ropes that bound her wrists and ankles to the thick wooden posts, reviving new trickles of blood down her copper brown arms. She whispered a string of curses, taking care to speak softly so she wouldnt wake her master and his friends. First, she cursed the Deizians, whose ships appeared in the sky centuries ago and used their magical technology to form the Empire. Then, she cursed the Elymanians like her master, who shook off their yoke of slavery and saddled it on her people, the Alpirions, two generations before. And finally, she cursed her master for subjecting her to this treatment. If she ever got free, shed show him the meaning of torture. The first birdsongs of dawn filtered in from the courtyard, and she cringed. How much longer would the wine dull their senses and leave them adrift in their drunken slumber? For three days, shed been forced to stand in the center of the room like this, a naked plaything for her master and his friends. For three days, shed endured whatever sick fetishes they wanted to satisfy using her body. Now, covered in blood, sweat, and other fluids she didnt want to think about, only her plans for revenge kept her spirit from breaking. Footsteps shuffled outside as the other slaves started their chores. Would one of them come to her aid?	Crista McHugh
4	Bloody hell. Analise Warrington cringed. Would God strike her down for blaspheming in church even if it was in thought only? Ignoring the collective gasp of the congregants over the initial announcement, the vicar, Mr. Anderson, continued speaking in a voice that was at once calming and strong. "It is the intention of His Grace's family that due to the Cold Bath Field Riots and the persisting tension and unrest within London, to transport His Grace to Staverton Park where the funeral will be held one week from tomorrow." Analise quickly discerned what the result of the vicars innocuous announcement would be, and she nearly bent double as she absorbed its impact. She must have made a sound of distress, for Paul Brigand, the foreman at the textile mill, turned and gave her an odd, speculative look, sliding his glance over Analise and her four nieces. With an insolent wink and a smug smile, he turned back to face the altar. An imposter of piety. Analise stopped breathing. Brigand couldnt suspect could he? She ignored the thought and strove to regain her composure. Brigand and his suppositions were insignificant compared to what was coming. The ton was going to descend en masse on New Mills. And my charade is going to be over.	Elizabeth Walls
7	Vivid dreams of sinking ships still played in his mind, but hed slept all he would this night. The rumbling of falling stones had woken him from fitful slumber. He rolled in time to see the wall of his home fall onto the pile of moss that served as his bed. Yngvi exited the remains of his shelter and walked to the crumbled side. Ruined. If he did not repair the damage, tonight he would sleep exposed. Though months remained before the icy winter winds began, the thought of laying prone against the rocks, with nothing between him and the sky, sent shivers of unease through his belly. He had carefully stacked the stones, secured them with a mortar of moss and sand, created a cave, a place inside the earth. No reason existed for them to give way in such a manner. Yngvi dragged his hand over his face and settled his tangled beard. In the east, low on the horizon, sat the sun. But the sky's bruised purple told him midsummer night still draped the earth. For the third time this moon his sleep had been interrupted by falling stones. He circled his home; the rest stood firm. Stones and oaken planks of his once proud ship, piled into what could only be called a hovel. But it sat far enough from the village that none would bother him. Bending down, he sorted the rubble at the base of the ruined wall. "You should not stay here."	Seeley deBorn
9	William Battencliffe wagers five thousand pounds that Miss Julia St. Claire will become the next Countess of Clivesden. Unable to believe his eyes, Benedict read the lines in White's infamous betting book again. His fingers constricted about the quill just shy of crushing it. At the moment, he could no longer recall what he'd been about to set down in the book itself. Some idiocy, no doubt. Hardly worth the bother now. The book's most recent inscription, scrawled out in such a casual hand for all the world to see, had quite driven the notion from his mind. In gold ink, no less. How fitting. Gold ink for Battencliffe, the ton's golden boy. His friend nudged him. "What's the matter? Your feet coming over icy all the sudden?" Lead blocks would be more accurate, but Benedict wasn't about to admit to that. He laid the quill aside and jabbed a finger at the heavy vellum page. "Upperton, have you seen this?" He peered over Benedict's shoulder. "Clivesden? Thought he was married. And what's Miss Julia got to do with any of this?" "I've no idea, but I intend to find out. Appalling how so-called gentlemen will lay bets on young ladies of good reputation." Benedict turned on his heel and exited the club. A glance at his pocket watch told him it was ten minutes past eleven, still early by the ton's standards. That was something. At least he knew where he'd find Julia at such an hour.	Aislinn McNamara
11	Seth didn't know which was worse. Spending eternity in hell or working his way out of damnation by becoming a murderer. Okay, in his defense, he wasn't technically a murderer, at least in the terms mortals used. He had, however, been responsible for the termination of more lives than he could count-and all in the name of finding redemption. And no, the irony wasn't lost on him, but he didn't have time to contemplate his penance at the moment. He was on the clock. Franklin Michaels jogged around the bend. Each step brought him closer to Sethto death. The park was practically deserted, and Seth was grateful. Not because he feared his target might see himterminations were easier if Seth didnt think of his victims by namebut because this assignment necessitated solitude. Why? Because his bosses, The Angels of Death, deemed it so. And Seths job wasnt to question but to do. To fulfill his obligations without emotion and with as little deviation as possible. Simple as that. Simple? Ha! There was nothing fucking simple about taking a persons life, even a scumbag like this one. For reasons Seth didnt understand, the bastard hadnt been slated for termination after hed suffered his first heart attackhed have another tonight. No, fate had allowed him an additional two years of blessed breath. Time hed used to see his daughter get married, to see his son welcome his own child into the world. To rape four more women.	Brandi Evans
12	I’d been on my share of boring stakeouts during my career but watching toenail polish dry would have been a titillating distraction right about now. For the past five hours, I'd done nothing but sit on my nearly frozen ass while my target worked Sudoku puzzles-and here I thought my life was pathetic. The only thing keeping me from slipping into a coma of boredom were the violent shivers wracking my body. God, everything from my brain down was numb. Served me right for volunteering to take point on the surveillance while the FBI gear-greasing began. I, Samantha Martin, am a complete idiot. I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands up and down my arms. “God, I’d kill for another cup of coffee.” Or maybe a shot of antifreeze. “Well,” my partner said, sitting his binoculars on his lap, “relief should be here at midnight, which means we have about two more minutes to listen to each other’s teeth chatter.” “We always get the shittiest assignments.” I turned to face him. “Remember the freak with the toenail fetish? I still have nightmares about being buried alive in one of those vats we found in his basement.” Mark’s low-rumbling laughter filled the car, and he swiveled his head in my direction. His green eyes drew me into their alluring web. Again. And, suddenly, I didn’t feel so cold. “Sometimes, I don’t get you, Martin. You have no qualms about facing down madmen with guns, but toenails freak you out.”	Jordyn James
16	Life should not be allowed to bitch-slap you in the middle of summer -- it is too hot, too muggy, too stultifying to prepare for any kind of blow. Unfortunately, I've yet to figure how to bend it to my will, so there I was, living it, hoping for an easy day at work. It was August in Los Angeles; the air hung heavy with heat and smog, and I was grateful for the state-of-the-art air conditioner in my new office. Mid-snort from the latest Daily Show episode, the door jangled open, exposing a female profile and letting in the thick outdoor air. A quick jab to the spacebar paused the ep and I stood to greet who I hoped was a seriously lost woman. Work and I werent getting along today, even as much as I normally love my job. It was just too bloody hot, and the last case was too bloodybloody. Ironic sentiments coming from a Fury who'd resided in hell for centuries, I know. But Id been on earth too long, and my heat tolerance had gone the way of Madonna's American accent. The woman -- she was actually more of a girl, on second look -- was half-propped on my closed door, heaving and gasping for breath. Forgetting my desire for a day off, I grabbed a chilled bottle of water from the mini fridge and brought it over to her. Two steps from behind my desk, I smelled it. Blood. Shit. Another messy case.	Skylar Kade
20	The dim purple light above the emergency exit cast a faint glow over the alley and the pair coupling against the brick wall. Barely twenty feet away, hunkered down in the shadows, a darker shape watched, thinking about the merits of killing them both, or waiting for the girl to be alone. The bar catered to the darker element- mostly men- who came to drink, drug, and fornicate. Dangerous men. Men who committed violent crime as easily as breathing. Few women frequented this establishment; most of the females present worked there as waitresses with extras- for a price- for the men with sex on their minds. Management took a cut on everything- the liquor, the drugs, and the sex. The figure in the shadows also knew the management dictated who did what to whom and when, so it had been just a matter of time before a pair left the bar for the privacy of the alley. The guy from inside the bar was clean, well-dressed in something other than biker gear and blue jeans, and wasn't drunk or high. Which was better than usual. The figure watched the man finish and disappear back inside; the girl lingered. A match flared as she lit a cigarette; she began walking in circles near the back door. He knew she wanted a customer who didn't come from the bar. A quickie. She didn't realize she'd sealed her fate. It would be a quickie, all right. A hell of a quickie.	Kelly Whitley
21	No doubt about it, she was going to have to kill Marissa Keeley. The spawn from hell teenage daughter of the Senator from the great state of Wisconsin had come to the boutique where Mary Katherine OConnell worked--Papillons of Georgetown--tried on every size four outfit in the store and then bought nothing. Nada, zilch, bupkus. Not a blessed thing. Once the spoiled brat had left, it had been Mary Katherines responsibility to return the outfits to the racks which meant she was going to be late for her Conflict Resolution class. Again! Once done, she snatched her backpack and ran out the door. Noting the slow-moving traffic, she dashed unto 35th Street. Headlights sped toward her from the wrong side of the road. She froze. A hard, masculine body slammed into her. They hit the ground with a sickening crunch. The acrid smell of asphalt invaded her nose. Dimly, she registered screeching tires and darkened taillights disappearing in the distance. Something shifted beneath her. Something big and warm and . . . Holey Moley! She was spread eagled on top of her rescuer, her breasts crushed against his chest, her girly part nestled against his groin as if it had every right to be there. Girly part, Mary Katherine? Really. Mother Superior had a nasty habit of popping into her head at the most inopportune times. Well, it beats calling it what you taught me. You couldn't go soft on Mother Superior. Shed walk all over you then.	Amy Villalba
26	Sean Raleigh threw his shoe at the idiot womans retreating head. When she popped back into his bedroom to protest, he chucked the other shoe at her. Like the first, the second shoe crashed against the wall where her head had been and thunked onto the floor. If Jake didnt stop letting these women in the house, he might consider some light homicide. Just to get started. Jake! Sean rumbled. When silence greeted him, he yelled again. Still nothing. He stretched out on his bed and groped around the top of his desk. If his roommate wouldnt answer his yells, he would try the phone. Before Sean could dial, Jake's tall frame filled the door, blocking the dim light from the hallway. Still dressed in a suit and tie, Jakes imperial reserve came across as fatherly, but a bemused smirk softened his severe appearance. "At least tell me you didn't throw anything at her." Sean snapped his phone closed and shot Jake a sharp look. "I asked you not to let these women in the house anymore."	Rebecca Lynn

There is nothing left for you to do. We will send each of the above entries to our three editor judges. Our winners (Top 3) will be announced at our AGM/Afternoon Tea at Nationals in Orlando.

All of our ten finalists are invited to this event as ESPAN RWA special guests, so if you are planning to be at Nationals, please email us to RSVP.

We thank everyone who entered and wish you all the best in your writing!

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Top 15 Page One (Week 3) Results

admin — Fri, 14 May 2010 16:00:35 +0000

We’re heading into the final week of the Page One Contest and it’s been very interesting to see the favourites change from week to week as additional lines/paragraphs are entered. The final entries will be voted on next week and those will move on to our special Editor judges.

Here are the 15 entries that are moving on to Week 4 in our Page One Contest:

2	Youll never find a knot you cant unravel. The soothsayers words mocked Azurha more loudly than usual tonight. She strained against the hemp ropes that bound her wrists and ankles to the thick wooden posts, reviving new trickles of blood down her copper brown arms. She whispered a string of curses, taking care to speak softly so she wouldnt wake her master and his friends. First, she cursed the Deizians, whose ships appeared in the sky centuries ago and used their magical technology to form the Empire. Then, she cursed the Elymanians like her master, who shook off their yoke of slavery and saddled it on her people, the Alpirions, two generations before. And finally, she cursed her master for subjecting her to this treatment. If she ever got free, shed show him the meaning of torture. The first birdsongs of dawn filtered in from the courtyard, and she cringed. How much longer would the wine dull their senses and leave them adrift in their drunken slumber? For three days, shed been forced to stand in the center of the room like this, a naked plaything for her master and his friends. For three days, shed endured whatever sick fetishes they wanted to satisfy using her body. Now, covered in blood, sweat, and other fluids she didnt want to think about, only her plans for revenge kept her spirit from breaking.
4	Bloody hell. Analise Warrington cringed. Would God strike her down for blaspheming in churcheven if it was in thought only? Ignoring the collective gasp of the congregants over the initial announcement, the vicar, Mr. Anderson, continued speaking in a voice that was at once calming and strong. "It is the intention of His Grace's family that due to the Cold Bath Field Riots and the persisting tension and unrest within London, to transport His Grace to Staverton Park where the funeral will be held one week from tomorrow." Analise quickly discerned what the result of the vicars innocuous announcement would be, and she nearly bent double as she absorbed its impact. She must have made a sound of distress, for Paul Brigand, the foreman at the textile mill, turned and gave her an odd, speculative look, sliding his glance over Analise and her four nieces. With an insolent wink and a smug smile, he turned back to face the altar. An imposter of piety.
7	Vivid dreams of sinking ships still played in his mind, but hed slept all he would this night. The rumbling of falling stones had woken him from fitful slumber. He rolled in time to see the wall of his home fall onto the pile of moss that served as his bed. Yngvi exited the remains of his shelter and walked to the crumbled side. Ruined. If he did not repair the damage, tonight he would sleep exposed. Though months remained before the icy winter winds began, the thought of laying prone against the rocks, with nothing between him and the sky, sent shivers of unease through his belly. He had carefully stacked the stones, secured them with a mortar of moss and sand, created a cave, a place inside the earth. No reason existed for them to give way in such a manner. Yngvi dragged his hand over his face and settled his tangled beard. In the east, low on the horizon, sat the sun. But the sky's bruised purple told him midsummer night still draped the earth. For the third time this moon his sleep had been interrupted by falling stones.
9	William Battencliffe wagers five thousand pounds that Miss Julia St. Claire will become the next Countess of Clivesden. Unable to believe his eyes, Benedict read the lines in White's infamous betting book again. His fingers constricted about the quill just shy of crushing it. At the moment, he could no longer recall what he'd been about to set down in the book itself. Some idiocy, no doubt. Hardly worth the bother now. The book's most recent inscription, scrawled out in such a casual hand for all the world to see, had quite driven the notion from his mind. In gold ink, no less. How fitting. Gold ink for Battencliffe, the ton's golden boy. His friend nudged him. "What's the matter? Your feet coming over icy all the sudden?" Lead blocks would be more accurate, but Benedict wasn't about to admit to that. He laid the quill aside and jabbed a finger at the heavy vellum page. "Upperton, have you seen this?" He peered over Benedict's shoulder. "Clivesden? Thought he was married. And what's Miss Julia got to do with any of this?"
11	Seth didn't know which was worse. Spending eternity in hell or working his way out of damnation by becoming a murderer. Okay, in his defense, he wasn't technically a murderer, at least in the terms mortals used. He had, however, been responsible for the termination of more lives than he could count-and all in the name of finding redemption. And no, the irony wasn't lost on him, but he didn't have time to contemplate his penance at the moment. He was on the clock. Franklin Michaels jogged around the bend. Each step brought him closer to Sethto death. The park was practically deserted, and Seth was grateful. Not because he feared his target might see himterminations were easier if Seth didnt think of his victims by namebut because this assignment necessitated solitude. Why? Because his bosses, The Angels of Death, deemed it so. And Seths job wasnt to question but to do. To fulfill his obligations without emotion and with as little deviation as possible. Simple as that. Simple? Ha! There was nothing fucking simple about taking a persons life, even a scumbag like this one.
12	Id been on my share of boring stakeouts during my career but watching toenail polish dry would have been a titillating distraction right about now. For the past five hours, I'd done nothing but sit on my nearly frozen ass while my target worked Sudoku puzzles-and here I thought my life was pathetic. The only thing keeping me from slipping into a coma of boredom were the violent shivers wracking my body. God, everything from my brain down was numb. Served me right for volunteering to take point on the surveillance while the FBI gear-greasing began. I, Samantha Martin, am a complete idiot. I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands up and down my arms. God, Id kill for another cup of coffee. Or maybe a shot of antifreeze. Well, my partner said, sitting his binoculars on his lap, relief should be here at midnight, which means we have about two more minutes to listen to each others teeth chatter. We always get the shittiest assignments. I turned to face him. Remember the freak with the toenail fetish? I still have nightmares about being buried alive in one of those vats we found in his basement. Marks low-rumbling laughter filled the car, and he swiveled his head in my direction. His green eyes drew me into their alluring web. Again. And, suddenly, I didnt feel so cold.
15	Earthshine 0620 hours, Day 252, 2079, Lunar City, Moon K.C. watched the beautiful blue planet called Earth drop below the horizon. Although the same sequence had been shown on the hotel wall screen at 0600 daily for the whole four months, two weeks, and two days she had been in Lunar City, she couldnt ignore it. Just like she couldnt ignore the sound of her new heart. The strong steady rhythm was a miracle. An extraordinary, extravagant, wondrous miracle. Incredibly, at the age of thirty-five she had a second chance. Instead of sitting, dancing. Instead of stillness, liveliness. Instead of loneliness, a companion? Laughter gurgled. Blinking quickly she banished the moisture before tears formed. She had choices now. But could she change? The time shown on the wall screen brought her back from that vital question. Taking the last sip of her morning tea, she mentally reviewed her new assignments. She shouldnt have complained about being bored. Her manager told her if she wanted something to do he had a couple of audits she could start. She felt trickles of unease although she hadnt identified anything specific. Yet.
16	Life should not be allowed to bitch-slap you in the middle of summer -- it is too hot, too muggy, too stultifying to prepare for any kind of blow. Unfortunately, I've yet to figure how to bend it to my will, so there I was, living it, hoping for an easy day at work. It was August in Los Angeles; the air hung heavy with heat and smog, and I was grateful for the state-of-the-art air conditioner in my new office. Mid-snort from the latest Daily Show episode, the door jangled open, exposing a female profile and letting in the thick outdoor air. A quick jab to the spacebar paused the ep and I stood to greet who I hoped was a seriously lost woman. Work and I werent getting along today, even as much as I normally love my job. It was just too bloody hot, and the last case was too bloodybloody. Ironic sentiments coming from a Fury who'd resided in hell for centuries, I know. But Id been on earth too long, and my heat tolerance had gone the way of Madonna's American accent.
17	Birds. She could hear birds, dammit! Allis head hurt. Actually, everything hurt. She reached to pull the blanket over her head to hide away from the intrusive light and sounds of morning. Her hand searched the bed beside her. No blanket. Only leaves. Leaves? What the hell? She sat up with a start, squinting. Pain shafted through her eyes and into the back of her skull, a heavy throbbing drilling into her brain. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to physically push the pain away. Pushing her long, scarlet hair back from her eyes, Alli stood and turned around. Trees. They were everywhere. She seemed to be in the middle of a glade. Do we even have glades in Central Park? Well, this is different. And dangerous, she muttered. The last thing she remembered was running to catch a cab to take her home from training. She had been nowhere near Central Park. Alli glanced at her watch. Five-thirty. She would have plenty of time to go home and get ready for work. She looked around for her sports bag, then shook her head in disgust. "Great. Not only have I spent the night in the park, I've been mugged, too. I hope they like sweaty socks and track suit pants! Her hand grasped at her chest and the air left her lungs in a rush.
18	No longer needed. Gabriel gazed down at the sleepless city below from his seat on the crown ledge of the US Bank Tower, unseeing. Thousands of years of loyal service, dealing justice and fighting for freedom, never losing sight of why he was doing what he did. And just like that, gone. The war was over, transferred from his world to this planet, transferred to the humans. His military services were no longer wanted. But the humans were unprepared for what was coming. Most believed evil was a state of mind, a thing someone did. They did not understand that evil was alive. It inundated the soul, was the individual. It could be a choice, but most of the time they were simply born that way. Or created that way. Gabriel sighed and stared down at the late night traffic far below. The situation on Earth was worsening, it had not reached critical point yet, but it was close. So many years hunting demons. Chasing shades and anything else they thought to throw at them. He narrowed his gaze and stared at the humans scurrying about like ants. So involved in their own lives, thinking themselves so superior, invincible even. His massive wings ruffled and flexed the feathers, reacting to his annoyance, settling back into place with a calm thought. If only they knew. Turning his head, he scanned the sprawling metropolis that was Los Angeles. How ironic, the City of Angels.
20	The dim purple light above the emergency exit cast a faint glow over the alley and the pair coupling against the brick wall. Barely twenty feet away, hunkered down in the shadows, a darker shape watched, thinking about the merits of killing them both, or waiting for the girl to be alone. The bar catered to the darker element- mostly men- who came to drink, drug, and fornicate. Dangerous men. Men who committed violent crime as easily as breathing. Few women frequented this establishment; most of the females present worked there as waitresses with extras- for a price- for the men with sex on their minds. Management took a cut on everything- the liquor, the drugs, and the sex. The figure in the shadows also knew the management dictated who did what to whom and when, so it had been just a matter of time before a pair left the bar for the privacy of the alley. The guy from inside the bar was clean, well-dressed in something other than biker gear and blue jeans, and wasn't drunk or high. Which was better than usual.
21	No doubt about it, she was going to have to kill Marissa Keeley. The spawn from hell teenage daughter of the Senator from the great state of Wisconsin had come to the boutique where Mary Katherine OConnell worked--Papillons of Georgetown--tried on every size four outfit in the store and then bought nothing. Nada, zilch, bupkus. Not a blessed thing. Once the spoiled brat had left, it had been Mary Katherines responsibility to return the outfits to the racks which meant she was going to be late for her Conflict Resolution class. Again! Once done, she snatched her backpack and ran out the door. Noting the slow-moving traffic, she dashed unto 35th Street. Headlights sped toward her from the wrong side of the road. She froze. A hard, masculine body slammed into her. They hit the ground with a sickening crunch. The acrid smell of asphalt invaded her nose. Dimly, she registered screeching tires and darkened taillights disappearing in the distance. Something shifted beneath her. Something big and warm and . . . Holey Moley! She was spread eagled on top of her rescuer, her breasts crushed against his chest, her girly part nestled against his groin as if it had every right to be there.
25	It's not the end of the world. The words confused Seffy for a moment, but were lost in a sudden whirl of explosive noise and flashes, not unlike bad disco lights and smoke machines from an 80s nightclub. She felt a tremendous force pulling on her, hurtling her backward, then a terrifying weightlessness which could only end badly. Her head swam as she sailed through the atmosphere. Suddenly the velocity of her descent increased. She threw out her hands to break her fall as the ground whooshed up to meet her. Crunching her eyes closed, she let out a keening cuss word and braced for a long future of chiropractic visits. WHUMP! Seffy landed hard and felt the breath rush from her lungs. The pain made her eyes water. Too winded to groan, she coiled herself up in a ball and gulped for air. Did the salon explode? There had been that fraying tanning bed cord and spilled diet Rockstar at Verity's feet. < em > Verity. What in the world had she been talking about? And how could she try to steal Gareth out from under our noses? I could kill her. Maybe I did. Her and me both. Oh crap. < /em >
26	Sean Raleigh threw his shoe at the idiot womans retreating head. When she popped back into his bedroom to protest, he chucked the other shoe at her. Like the first, the second shoe crashed against the wall where her head had been and thunked onto the floor. If Jake didnt stop letting these women in the house, he might consider some light homicide. Just to get started. Jake! Sean rumbled. When silence greeted him, he yelled again. Still nothing. He stretched out on his bed and groped around the top of his desk. If his roommate wouldnt answer his yells, he would try the phone. Before Sean could dial, Jake's tall frame filled the door, blocking the dim light from the hallway. Still dressed in a suit and tie, Jakes imperial reserve came across as fatherly, but a bemused smirk softened his severe appearance. "At least tell me you didn't throw anything at her."
27	The barely-clothed giant grunted in protestation as the slave master wheeled him into the Avantine square, shackled to the back of the cart like a prize stallion. Cydda stood alone in the midst of the rancid crowd of posturing slave owners, but at the sight of the foreigner, silence rippled around her. A short, fat man stood on the edge of the cart with precarious balance and shouted across the square. "Next is the famed barbarian, captured by the hand of Marc Antony himself. Brought to you, from the distant shores of the North, he can outwork ten Egyptian slaves. He can pull the weight of a donkey, and lift the imperial litter single-handedly." Cydda had heard the whispered fears of these northern savages from her mother since she came of age. They cut out men's entrails at the slightest whim to tell the future. The men have a special fondness for young virgins, and would as soon cut off your head as look at you, my little girl. This man looked as though he could cut off her head with the swath of a dull sword. His body corded with muscle, thick and strong as the trees he was said to worship. His loose red hair hung down a rippling back as broad and beautiful as an Arabian horse. Even his movements were quick, and foreign. Frightening, but thrilling, as though he possessed a power from the sacrificial blood that rivaled Jove himself.

If you see your entry above, then please send us an EMAIL to pageone@espan-rwa.com and include your entry number (the number beside your entry above), your name, your email, your first paragraphs exactly as above and your FOURTH and FINAL paragraph. You have until Sunday, May 16, 2010 at 5pm Pacific to get the updated entries submitted. Please note that no late entries will be allowed in this final, very important, week. The rules have been the same the entire contest, with entries due into us by 5pm on the Sunday. These are just like submission guidelines, if you can’t follow them, your entry will be rejected.

NB: For any entries that use italics please use the code < em > and < /em > after it (without spaces) as some of the italics are getting lost in the transition.

Please remember that the entire page at the end of the fourth week is to be no more than 250 words long (in other words the total word count of all four paragraphs cannot be longer than 250). This is a Page One contest. Any entries longer than 250 words will not be considered.

For those that did not move on, we wish you the best of luck. This is only one contest and, as in all such things, is very subjective. Keep on writing!

Here is our contest schedule:
Week 1 – bottom 4 entries eliminated (leaving 24 entries), announced April 30, 2010
Week 2 – bottom 5 entries eliminated (leaving 20 entries), announced May 7, 2010
Week 3 – bottom 5 entries eliminated (leaving 15 entries), announced May 14, 2010
Week 4 – bottom 5 entries eliminated (leaving 10 entries to be forwarded to the final Editor judges), announced May 21, 2010

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Top 20 Page One (Week 2) Entries

admin — Fri, 07 May 2010 16:00:01 +0000

The following entries will move on:

2	Youll never find a knot you cant unravel. The soothsayers words mocked Azurha more loudly than usual tonight. She strained against the hemp ropes that bound her wrists and ankles to the thick wooden posts, reviving new trickles of blood down her copper brown arms. She whispered a string of curses, taking care to speak softly so she wouldnt wake her master and his friends. First, she cursed the Deizians, whose ships appeared in the sky centuries ago and used their magical technology to form the Empire. Then, she cursed the Elymanians like her master, who shook off their yoke of slavery and saddled it on her people, the Alpirions, two generations before. And finally, she cursed her master for subjecting her to this treatment. If she ever got free, shed show him the meaning of torture.
4	Bloody hell. Analise Warrington cringed. Would God strike her down for blaspheming in churcheven if it was in thought only? Ignoring the collective gasp of the congregants over the initial announcement, the vicar, Mr. Anderson, continued speaking in a voice that was at once calming and strong. "It is the intention of His Grace's family that due to the Cold Bath Field Riots and the persisting tension and unrest within London, to transport His Grace to Staverton Park where the funeral will be held one week from tomorrow."
6	Sheri knew better than to open her door without checking the peephole first, but common sense faded, crowded out by todays bitchiness. Two tiny babies and very little sleep did that to even the mildest-tempered person. The doorbell pealed again, followed by an impatient knock. She wrenched the door open, hoping her effort screamed attitude. Charlie, for heavens sake, Im trying to rest.... The tanned, good-looking man leaning against the doorjamb wasnt Charlie. This male was well over six feet, and looked to be pure trouble.
7	Vivid dreams of sinking ships still played in his mind, but hed slept all he would this night. The rumbling of falling stones had woken him from fitful slumber. He rolled in time to see the wall of his home fall onto the pile of moss that served as his bed. Yngvi exited the remains of his shelter and walked to the crumbled side. Ruined. If he did not repair the damage, tonight he would sleep exposed. Though months remained before the icy winter winds began, the thought of laying prone against the rocks, with nothing between him and the sky, sent shivers of unease through his belly.
9	William Battencliffe wagers five thousand pounds that Miss Julia St. Clair will become the next Countess of Clivesden. Unable to believe his eyes, Benedict read the lines in White's infamous betting book again. His fingers constricted about the quill just shy of crushing it. At the moment, he could no longer recall what he'd been about to set down in the book itself. Some idiocy, no doubt. Hardly worth the bother now.
11	Seth didnt know which was worse. Spending eternity in hell or working his way out of damnation by becoming a murderer. Okay, in his defense, he wasnt technically a murderer, at least in the terms mortals used. He had, however, been responsible for the termination of more lives than he could countand all in the name of finding redemption. And no, the irony wasnt lost on him, but he didnt have time to contemplate his penance at the moment. He was on the clock. Franklin Michaels jogged around the bend. Each step brought him closer to Sethto death. The park was practically deserted, and Seth was grateful. Not because he feared his target might see himterminations were easier if Seth didnt think of his victims by namebut because this assignment necessitated solitude.
12	Id been on my share of boring stakeouts during my career but watching toenail polish dry would have been a titillating distraction right about now. For the past five hours, Id done nothing but sit on my nearly frozen ass while my target worked Sudoku puzzlesand here I thought my life was pathetic. The only thing keeping me from slipping into a coma of boredom were the violent shivers wracking my body. God, everything from my brain down was numb. Served me right for volunteering to take point on the surveillance while the FBI gear-greasing began. I, Samantha Martin, am a complete idiot. I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands up and down my arms. God, Id kill for another cup of coffee. Or maybe a shot of antifreeze. Well, my partner said, sitting his binoculars on his lap, relief should be here at midnight, which means we have about two more minutes to listen to each others teeth chatter.
13	Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Cowboy piloting Warthog FT537. Have lost power. Am going down. Emergency locating beacons active. Horizon lost. Preparing to eject. Request evacuation; over. Kelly stared into the Afghan darkness seeking clean air, breathing borrowed time. I have to go, please radio. Speak. Heavy fingers squeezed the exit handle. And froze with a radio crackle, FT537 this is Widow onboard Sentry. We have you on screen. Your glide path is clean. Ride it down Cowboy. Ill count you out. Kellys heart lifted. She recycled the engines and silently mouthed, You can do this. No response. She punched the canopy and felt her energy crash. Smouldering despair thoughtlessly kidnapped her speech, Widow, Im frightened.
15	Earthshine 0620 hours, Day 252, 2079, Lunar City, Moon K.C. watched the beautiful blue planet called Earth drop below the horizon. Although the same sequence had been shown on the hotel wall screen at 0600 daily for the whole four months, two weeks, and two days she had been in Lunar City, she couldnt ignore it. Just like she couldnt ignore the sound of her new heart. The strong steady rhythm was a miracle. An extraordinary, extravagant, wondrous miracle. Incredibly, at the age of thirty-five she had a second chance. Instead of sitting, dancing. Instead of stillness, liveliness. Instead of loneliness, a companion? Laughter gurgled. Blinking quickly she banished the moisture before tears formed. She had choices now. But could she change?
16	Life should not be allowed to bitch-slap you in the middle of summer -- it is too hot, too muggy, too stultifying to prepare for any kind of blow. Unfortunately, I've yet to figure how to bend it to my will, so there I was, living it, hoping for an easy day at work. It was August in Los Angeles; the air hung heavy with heat and smog, and I was grateful for the state-of-the-art air conditioner in my new office. Mid-snort from the latest Daily Show episode, the door jangled open, exposing a female profile and letting in the thick outdoor air. A quick jab to the spacebar paused the ep and I stood to greet who I hoped was a seriously lost woman.
17	Birds. She could hear birds, dammit! Allis head hurt. Actually, everything hurt. She reached to pull the blanket over her head to hide away from the intrusive light and sounds of morning. Her hand searched the bed beside her. No blanket. Only leaves. Leaves? What the hell? She sat up with a start, squinting. Pain shafted through her eyes and into the back of her skull, a heavy throbbing drilling into her brain. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to physically push the pain away. Pushing her long, scarlet hair back from her eyes, Alli climbed shakily to her feet and turned around. Trees. They were everywhere. It looked like a glade. Do we even have glades in Central Park?
18	No longer needed. Gabriel gazed down at the sleepless city below from his seat on the crown ledge of the US Bank Tower, unseeing. Thousands of years of loyal service, dealing justice and fighting for freedom, never losing sight of why he was doing what he did. And just like that, gone. The war was over, transferred from his world to this planet, transferred to the humans. His military services were no longer wanted. But the humans were unprepared for what was coming. Mortals believed evil was a state of mind, a thing someone did. They did not understand that evil was alive. It inundated the soul, was the individual. It could be a choice, but most of the time they were simply born that way. Or created that way. Gabriel sighed and stared down at the late night traffic far below. There was no use in thinking about such things, it would only cause him loss of sleep. The situation on Earth was worsening, it had not reached critical point yet, but it was close. So many years hunting demons. Chasing shades and anything else they thought to throw at them. He narrowed his gaze and stared at the humans scurrying about like ants. So involved in their own lives, thinking themselves so superior, invincible even. His massive wings ruffled and flexed the feathers, reacting to his annoyance, settling back into place with a calm thought. If only they knew.
19	Justin Fancher was furious. For the third day in a row, he had ridden into town to meet the woman. And still she had failed to show. He shoved his way into the Big Buffalo Saloon, determined to claim a shot or two of something stiff for his wasted effort. Ignoring the wary stares from people he'd known all his life, he stomped over to a shadowed corner and slumped into a chair, only removing his hat when he was satisfied that he could see the room better than the occupants could see him.
20	The dim purple light above the emergency exit cast a faint glow over the alley and the pair coupling against the brick wall. Barely twenty feet away, hunkered down in the shadows, a darker shape watched, thinking about the merits of killing them both, or waiting for the girl to be alone The bar catered to the darker element- mostly men- who came to drink, drug, and fornicate. Dangerous men. Men who committed violent crime as easily as breathing. Few women frequented this establishment; most of the females present worked there as waitresses with extras- for a price- for the men with sex on their minds.
21	No doubt about it, she was going to have to kill Marissa Keeley. The spawn from hell teenage daughter of the Senator from the great state of Wisconsin had come to the boutique where Mary Katherine OConnell worked--Papillons of Georgetown--tried on every size four outfit in the store and then bought nothing. Nada, zilch, bupkus. Not a blessed thing. Once the spoiled brat had left, it had been Mary Katherines responsibility to return the outfits to the racks which meant she was going to be late for her Conflict Resolution class. Again! Once done, she snatched her backpack and ran out the door. Noting the slow-moving traffic, she dashed unto 35th Street. Headlights sped toward her from the wrong side of the road. She froze. A hard, masculine body slammed into her. They hit the ground with a sickening crunch. The acrid smell of asphalt invaded her nose. Dimly, she registered screeching tires and darkened taillights disappearing in the distance.
23	He stood within the shadows of the forest and followed Evelyn Taylor's movement in the house by the order in which she turned out the lights. Hurry up lady and go to sleep. The evening sky with its billion points of light divvied enough radiance for him to see a cloud of warm air, combined with smoke from his Kool, billow from his nostrils. Damn. It was cold. A chill started with a rapid head shake and shimmied its way past his shoulders then left his body by way of his fingertips. He took a final draw off his cigarette before rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. After the cherry dropped off, he pushed the brown filter into his pocket and scuffed the ashes in the snow.
24	Detective Nick Hunter rubbed the Razor on his leg in the manner Aladdin rubbed his lamp. Please this time be one of those bullshit messages the guys at the station send back and forth to one another. The phone signaled its impatience. He ignored it, choosing instead to continue down the path of wishful thinking. Let it be a woman with tits the size of basketballs or one able to get the tassels on her nipples twirling in opposite directions. Big tits. Tassels. A picture of a woman doing something obscene. Hell, a man with tits doing something obscene would beat the last message he received.
25	It's not the end of the world. The words confused Seffy for a moment, but were lost in a sudden whirl of explosive noise and flashes, not unlike bad disco lights and smoke machines from an 80s nightclub. She felt a tremendous force pulling on her, hurtling her backward, then a terrifying weightlessness which could only end badly. Her head swam as she sailed through the atmosphere. Suddenly the velocity of her descent increased. She threw out her hands to break her fall as the ground whooshed up to meet her. Crunching her eyes closed, she let out a keening cuss word and braced for a long future of chiropractic visits. WHUMP! Seffy landed hard and felt the breath rush from her lungs. The pain made her eyes water. Too winded to groan, she coiled herself up in a ball and gulped for air. Did the salon explode? There had been that fraying tanning bed cord and spilled diet Rockstar at Verity's feet.
26	Sean Raleigh threw his shoe at the idiot womans retreating head. When she popped back into his bedroom to protest, he chucked the other shoe at her. Like the first, the second shoe crashed against the wall where her head had been and thunked onto the floor. If Jake didnt stop letting these women in the house, he might consider some light homicide. Just to get started. Jake! Sean rumbled. When silence greeted him, he yelled again. Still nothing. He stretched out on his bed and groped around the top of his desk. If his roommate wouldnt answer his yells, he would try the phone.
27	The barely-clothed giant grunted in protestation as the slave master wheeled him into the Avantine square, shackled to the back of the cart like a prize stallion. Cydda stood alone in the midst of the rancid crowd of posturing slave owners, but at the sight of the foreigner, silence rippled around her. A short, fat man stood on the edge of the cart with precarious balance and shouted across the square. Next is the famed barbarian, captured by the hand of Marc Antony himself. Brought to you, from the distant shores of the North, he can outwork ten Egyptian slaves. He can pull the weight of a donkey, and lift the imperial litter single-handedly. Cydda had heard the whispered fears of these northern savages from her mother since she came of age. They cut out men's entrails at the slightest whim to tell the future. The men have a special fondness for young virgins, and would as soon cut off your head as look at you, my little girl.

NB: For any entries that use italics please use the code < em > and < /em > after it (without spaces) as some of the italics are getting lost in the transition.

For those that did not move on, we wish you the best of luck. This is only one contest and, as in all such things, is very subjective. Keep on writing!

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Page One – Week 2 Entries

admin — Thu, 06 May 2010 18:01:04 +0000

Here are the entries that have been up for vote by the ESPAN members:

1	Ranealya smelled death. It called to her from the body of an old man lying in the road ahead, over-powering the stench of unwashed bodies that clung to most humans. She approached it with caution and stared into his dull blue eyes. Freshly dead. The corpse remained in pristine condition otherwise, signaling she was the first person to stumble across it. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadnt eaten in days, but she refused to feast on the bounty before her. Let the other beasts have him. She refused to sink to their level, despite her current four-legged disguise. There were far more civilized ways to scavenge.
2	Youll never find a knot you cant unravel. The soothsayers words mocked Azurha more loudly than usual tonight. She strained against the hemp ropes that bound her wrists and ankles to the thick wooden posts, reviving new trickles of blood down her copper brown arms. She whispered a string of curses, taking care to speak softly so she wouldnt wake her master and his friends. First, she cursed the Deizians, whose ships appeared in the sky centuries ago and used their magical technology to form the Empire. Then, she cursed the Elymanians like her master, who shook off their yoke of slavery and saddled it on her people, the Alpirions, two generations before. And finally, she cursed her master for subjecting her to this treatment. If she ever got free, shed show him the meaning of torture.
4	Bloody hell. Analise Warrington cringed. Would God strike her down for blaspheming in churcheven if it was in thought only? Ignoring the collective gasp of the congregants over the initial announcement, the vicar, Mr. Anderson, continued speaking in a voice that was at once calming and strong. "It is the intention of His Grace's family that due to the Cold Bath Field Riots and the persisting tension and unrest within London, to transport His Grace to Staverton Park where the funeral will be held one week from tomorrow."
5	Majestic oaks, fields of tall corn and rambling farm houses flew past as Max Holt drove his black classic Mustang convertible down an unfamiliar rural road. Frustrated with his job, aggravated at the way his business meeting had gone, Max had decided a drive was what he needed to clear his head. He turned his Bob Seger CD up loud and hit the gas. Distracted by his thoughts, Max almost missed the For Sale sign. He turned up the drive as if an invisible force were pulling him forward. His pulse quickened as the once-grand three-story Victorian home came into view.
6	Sheri knew better than to open her door without checking the peephole first, but common sense faded, crowded out by todays bitchiness. Two tiny babies and very little sleep did that to even the mildest-tempered person. The doorbell pealed again, followed by an impatient knock. She wrenched the door open, hoping her effort screamed attitude. Charlie, for heavens sake, Im trying to rest.... The tanned, good-looking man leaning against the doorjamb wasnt Charlie. This male was well over six feet, and looked to be pure trouble.
7	Vivid dreams of sinking ships still played in his mind, but hed slept all he would this night. The rumbling of falling stones had woken him from fitful slumber. He rolled in time to see the wall of his home fall onto the pile of moss that served as his bed. Yngvi exited the remains of his shelter and walked to the crumbled side. Ruined. If he did not repair the damage, tonight he would sleep exposed. Though months remained before the icy winter winds began, the thought of laying prone against the rocks, with nothing between him and the sky, sent shivers of unease through his belly.
9	William Battencliffe wagers five thousand pounds that Miss Julia St. Clair will become the next Countess of Clivesden. Unable to believe his eyes, Benedict read the lines in White's infamous betting book again. His fingers constricted about the quill just shy of crushing it. At the moment, he could no longer recall what he'd been about to set down in the book itself. Some idiocy, no doubt. Hardly worth the bother now.
10	The stitch in Laras right side stabbed like a shiv. Fear propelled her and she kept runningno mean feat in her over-the-knee Christian Louboutins with the four-inch heels. Damn you, Brannigan. As if any of this was the sexy fed's fault. She knew she only had herself to blame. Keep running, keep running. The flash drive shed hidden inside her bra jabbed her breasts like an icicle as Lara heaved in a gulp of frigid air. Her lungs burned, despite the cleansing snow falling over the deserted factory district that concealed the safe house. The breath shivered through her. Bracing. But nowhere near as delicious as the undiluted blast of pure, sizzling sensation that slammed her whenever Brannigan trained his cool gray eyes on her.
11	Seth didnt know which was worse. Spending eternity in hell or working his way out of damnation by becoming a murderer. Okay, in his defense, he wasnt technically a murderer, at least in the terms mortals used. He had, however, been responsible for the termination of more lives than he could countand all in the name of finding redemption. And no, the irony wasnt lost on him, but he didnt have time to contemplate his penance at the moment. He was on the clock. Franklin Michaels jogged around the bend. Each step brought him closer to Sethto death. The park was practically deserted, and Seth was grateful. Not because he feared his target might see himterminations were easier if Seth didnt think of his victims by namebut because this assignment necessitated solitude.
12	Id been on my share of boring stakeouts during my career but watching toenail polish dry would have been a titillating distraction right about now. For the past five hours, Id done nothing but sit on my nearly frozen ass while my target worked Sudoku puzzlesand here I thought my life was pathetic. The only thing keeping me from slipping into a coma of boredom were the violent shivers wracking my body. God, everything from my brain down was numb. Served me right for volunteering to take point on the surveillance while the FBI gear-greasing began. I, Samantha Martin, am a complete idiot. I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands up and down my arms. God, Id kill for another cup of coffee. Or maybe a shot of antifreeze. Well, my partner said, sitting his binoculars on his lap, relief should be here at midnight, which means we have about two more minutes to listen to each others teeth chatter.
13	Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Cowboy piloting Warthog FT537. Have lost power. Am going down. Emergency locating beacons active. Horizon lost. Preparing to eject. Request evacuation; over. Kelly stared into the Afghan darkness seeking clean air, breathing borrowed time. I have to go, please radio. Speak. Heavy fingers squeezed the exit handle. And froze with a radio crackle, FT537 this is Widow onboard Sentry. We have you on screen. Your glide path is clean. Ride it down Cowboy. Ill count you out. Kellys heart lifted. She recycled the engines and silently mouthed, You can do this. No response. She punched the canopy and felt her energy crash. Smouldering despair thoughtlessly kidnapped her speech, Widow, Im frightened.
15	Earthshine 0620 hours, Day 252, 2079, Lunar City, Moon K.C. watched the beautiful blue planet called Earth drop below the horizon. Although the same sequence had been shown on the hotel wall screen at 0600 daily for the whole four months, two weeks, and two days she had been in Lunar City, she couldnt ignore it. Just like she couldnt ignore the sound of her new heart. The strong steady rhythm was a miracle. An extraordinary, extravagant, wondrous miracle. Incredibly, at the age of thirty-five she had a second chance. Instead of sitting, dancing. Instead of stillness, liveliness. Instead of loneliness, a companion? Laughter gurgled. Blinking quickly she banished the moisture before tears formed. She had choices now. But could she change?
16	Life should not be allowed to bitch-slap you in the middle of summer -- it is too hot, too muggy, too stultifying to prepare for any kind of blow. Unfortunately, I've yet to figure how to bend it to my will, so there I was, living it, hoping for an easy day at work. It was August in Los Angeles; the air hung heavy with heat and smog, and I was grateful for the state-of-the-art air conditioner in my new office. Mid-snort from the latest Daily Show episode, the door jangled open, exposing a female profile and letting in the thick outdoor air. A quick jab to the spacebar paused the ep and I stood to greet who I hoped was a seriously lost woman.
17	Birds. She could hear birds, dammit! Allis head hurt. Actually, everything hurt. She reached to pull the blanket over her head to hide away from the intrusive light and sounds of morning. Her hand searched the bed beside her. No blanket. Only leaves. Leaves? What the hell? She sat up with a start, squinting. Pain shafted through her eyes and into the back of her skull, a heavy throbbing drilling into her brain. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to physically push the pain away. Pushing her long, scarlet hair back from her eyes, Alli climbed shakily to her feet and turned around. Trees. They were everywhere. It looked like a glade. Do we even have glades in Central Park?
18	No longer needed. Gabriel gazed down at the sleepless city below from his seat on the crown ledge of the US Bank Tower, unseeing. Thousands of years of loyal service, dealing justice and fighting for freedom, never losing sight of why he was doing what he did. And just like that, gone. The war was over, transferred from his world to this planet, transferred to the humans. His military services were no longer wanted. But the humans were unprepared for what was coming. Mortals believed evil was a state of mind, a thing someone did. They did not understand that evil was alive. It inundated the soul, was the individual. It could be a choice, but most of the time they were simply born that way. Or created that way. Gabriel sighed and stared down at the late night traffic far below. There was no use in thinking about such things, it would only cause him loss of sleep. The situation on Earth was worsening, it had not reached critical point yet, but it was close. So many years hunting demons. Chasing shades and anything else they thought to throw at them. He narrowed his gaze and stared at the humans scurrying about like ants. So involved in their own lives, thinking themselves so superior, invincible even. His massive wings ruffled and flexed the feathers, reacting to his annoyance, settling back into place with a calm thought. If only they knew.
19	Justin Fancher was furious. For the third day in a row, he had ridden into town to meet the woman. And still she had failed to show. He shoved his way into the Big Buffalo Saloon, determined to claim a shot or two of something stiff for his wasted effort. Ignoring the wary stares from people he'd known all his life, he stomped over to a shadowed corner and slumped into a chair, only removing his hat when he was satisfied that he could see the room better than the occupants could see him.
20	The dim purple light above the emergency exit cast a faint glow over the alley and the pair coupling against the brick wall. Barely twenty feet away, hunkered down in the shadows, a darker shape watched, thinking about the merits of killing them both, or waiting for the girl to be alone The bar catered to the darker element- mostly men- who came to drink, drug, and fornicate. Dangerous men. Men who committed violent crime as easily as breathing. Few women frequented this establishment; most of the females present worked there as waitresses with extras- for a price- for the men with sex on their minds.
21	No doubt about it, she was going to have to kill Marissa Keeley. The spawn from hell teenage daughter of the Senator from the great state of Wisconsin had come to the boutique where Mary Katherine OConnell worked--Papillons of Georgetown--tried on every size four outfit in the store and then bought nothing. Nada, zilch, bupkus. Not a blessed thing. Once the spoiled brat had left, it had been Mary Katherines responsibility to return the outfits to the racks which meant she was going to be late for her Conflict Resolution class. Again! Once done, she snatched her backpack and ran out the door. Noting the slow-moving traffic, she dashed unto 35th Street. Headlights sped toward her from the wrong side of the road. She froze. A hard, masculine body slammed into her. They hit the ground with a sickening crunch. The acrid smell of asphalt invaded her nose. Dimly, she registered screeching tires and darkened taillights disappearing in the distance.
22	Max didn't need the harsh thunder of the automatic-weapons fire that chased the boat through the storm to tell him they might not get out of this alive. The howling wind and bellowing sea had already clued him in. Standing at the helm of the CIA's forty-foot Bayliner, Bold Venture, he tightened his grip on the wheel and braced himself. The boat slammed into a wall of steel-gray water. Shuddering with the force of the impact, Bold Venture bucked like a rogue mare as she surged up the swell. Then, with the aftershocks still echoing through her hull, she plunged down the backside and plowed into another wave.
23	He stood within the shadows of the forest and followed Evelyn Taylor's movement in the house by the order in which she turned out the lights. Hurry up lady and go to sleep. The evening sky with its billion points of light divvied enough radiance for him to see a cloud of warm air, combined with smoke from his Kool, billow from his nostrils. Damn. It was cold. A chill started with a rapid head shake and shimmied its way past his shoulders then left his body by way of his fingertips. He took a final draw off his cigarette before rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. After the cherry dropped off, he pushed the brown filter into his pocket and scuffed the ashes in the snow.
24	Detective Nick Hunter rubbed the Razor on his leg in the manner Aladdin rubbed his lamp. Please this time be one of those bullshit messages the guys at the station send back and forth to one another. The phone signaled its impatience. He ignored it, choosing instead to continue down the path of wishful thinking. Let it be a woman with tits the size of basketballs or one able to get the tassels on her nipples twirling in opposite directions. Big tits. Tassels. A picture of a woman doing something obscene. Hell, a man with tits doing something obscene would beat the last message he received.
25	It's not the end of the world. The words confused Seffy for a moment, but were lost in a sudden whirl of explosive noise and flashes, not unlike bad disco lights and smoke machines from an 80s nightclub. She felt a tremendous force pulling on her, hurtling her backward, then a terrifying weightlessness which could only end badly. Her head swam as she sailed through the atmosphere. Suddenly the velocity of her descent increased. She threw out her hands to break her fall as the ground whooshed up to meet her. Crunching her eyes closed, she let out a keening cuss word and braced for a long future of chiropractic visits. WHUMP! Seffy landed hard and felt the breath rush from her lungs. The pain made her eyes water. Too winded to groan, she coiled herself up in a ball and gulped for air. Did the salon explode? There had been that fraying tanning bed cord and spilled diet Rockstar at Verity's feet.
26	Sean Raleigh threw his shoe at the idiot womans retreating head. When she popped back into his bedroom to protest, he chucked the other shoe at her. Like the first, the second shoe crashed against the wall where her head had been and thunked onto the floor. If Jake didnt stop letting these women in the house, he might consider some light homicide. Just to get started. Jake! Sean rumbled. When silence greeted him, he yelled again. Still nothing. He stretched out on his bed and groped around the top of his desk. If his roommate wouldnt answer his yells, he would try the phone.
27	The barely-clothed giant grunted in protestation as the slave master wheeled him into the Avantine square, shackled to the back of the cart like a prize stallion. Cydda stood alone in the midst of the rancid crowd of posturing slave owners, but at the sight of the foreigner, silence rippled around her. A short, fat man stood on the edge of the cart with precarious balance and shouted across the square. Next is the famed barbarian, captured by the hand of Marc Antony himself. Brought to you, from the distant shores of the North, he can outwork ten Egyptian slaves. He can pull the weight of a donkey, and lift the imperial litter single-handedly. Cydda had heard the whispered fears of these northern savages from her mother since she came of age. They cut out men's entrails at the slightest whim to tell the future. The men have a special fondness for young virgins, and would as soon cut off your head as look at you, my little girl.
28	The great Underwater City faded in a haze of green. Kais long dragon tail propelled him toward another degrading assignment, this one perhaps the most humiliating yet. He glanced over his shoulder at the spired and turreted majesty that held the seat of the crumbling republic. More than half the empires colonies had been lost to revolt. The newly-elected Council Chair was sending Kai, a top general in the Councils private guard, simpering on a political mission to regain control over a single, measly, mere-ruled island. Schools of fish scattered as the reptile cut through the water. At least the creatures of the sea knew their place. The currents soothed Kais foul mood. As always during long journeys by sea, he imagined music. First Chopin, then Vivaldi, he played through the most famous dragon composers before allowing that human hack Mozart to enter his mental concert.

Tomorrow we will find out which 20 move on!

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Bob Mayer’s Heart of Your Story Workshop May 3-13, 2010

admin — Sun, 02 May 2010 02:27:37 +0000

May 3-13, 2010 The Original Idea – The Heart of Your Story and Key to Selling Your Book Workshop by Bob Mayer

Can you say what your book is about in 25 words of less? This is essential to both writing a tight book and then selling it. We’ll discuss ways to find and state your original idea so that you stay on course while writing the book and with which you can excite those you tell it to when trying to sell it.

Bob Mayer Bio: Bio – NY Times bestselling author Bob Mayer has 40 books published. He has over three million books in print and is in demand as a team-building, life-change, and leadership speaker and consultant. Bob graduated from West Point and served in the military as a Special Forces A-Team leader and a teacher at the JFK Special Warfare Center & School. His latest book is Who Dares Wins: The Green Beret Way to Conquer Fear & Succeed. He teaches novel writing and improving the author via his Warrior-Writer program. He lives on an island off Seattle. For more information see www.bobmayer.org

The course will be $10 for ESPAN RWA members, $15 for non-ESPAN RWA Members and $25 for non-RWA Please go to http://www.espan-rwa.com/workshops to sign up.

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Results from Week 1 – Page One Contest

admin — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 18:41:52 +0000

Sorry for the delay in posting these (I drove 19 hours straight to get home and didn’t quite hit the posting deadline).

Here are the entries moving on from week one of ESPAN’s Page One Contest:

1	Ranealya smelled death. It called to her from the body of an old man lying in the road ahead, over-powering the stench of unwashed bodies that clung to most humans. She approached it with caution and stared into his dull blue eyes. Freshly dead. The corpse remained in pristine condition otherwise, signaling she was the first person to stumble across it.
2	You'll never find a knot you can't unravel. The soothsayer's words mocked Azurha more loudly than usual tonight. She strained against the hemp ropes that bound her wrists and ankles to the thick wooden posts, reviving new trickles of blood down her copper brown arms.
4	Bloody hell. Analise Warrington cringed. Would God strike her down for blaspheming in church-even if it was in thought only?
5	Majestic oaks, fields of tall corn and rambling farm houses flew past as Max Holt drove his black classic Mustang convertible down an unfamiliar rural road. Frustrated with his job, aggravated at the way his business meeting had gone, Max had decided a drive was what he needed to clear his head. He turned his Bob Seger CD up loud and hit the gas.
6	Sheri knew better than to open her door without checking the peephole first, but common sense faded, crowded out by today's bitchiness. Two tiny babies and very little sleep did that to even the mildest-tempered person. The doorbell pealed again, followed by an impatient knock.
7	Vivid dreams of sinking ships still played in his mind, but he'd slept all he would this night. The rumbling of falling stones had woken him from fitful slumber. He rolled in time to see the wall of his home fall onto the pile of moss that served as his bed.
9	William Battencliffe wagers five thousand pounds that Miss Julia St. Clair will become the next Countess of Clivesden.
10	The stitch in Lara's right side stabbed like a shiv. Fear propelled her and she kept running-no mean feat in her over-the-knee Christian Louboutin's with the four-inch heels. Damn you, Brannigan. As if any of this was the sexy fed's fault. She knew she only had herself to blame.
11	Seth didn't know which was worse. Spending eternity in hell or working his way out of damnation by becoming a murderer. Okay, in his defense, he wasn't technically a murderer, at least in the terms mortals used. He had, however, been responsible for the termination of more lives than he could count-and all in the name of finding redemption. And no, the irony wasn't lost on him, but he didn't have time to contemplate his penance at the moment. He was on the clock.
12	I'd been on my share of boring stakeouts during my career but watching toenail polish dry would have been a titillating distraction right about now. For the past five hours, I'd done nothing but sit on my nearly frozen ass while my target worked Sudoku puzzles-and here I thought my life was pathetic. The only thing keeping me from slipping into a coma of boredom were the violent shivers wracking my body. God, everything from my brain down was numb. Served me right for volunteering to take point on the surveillance while the FBI gear-greasing began. I, Samantha Martin, am a complete idiot.
13	"Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Cowboy piloting Warthog FT537. Have lost power. Am going down. Emergency locating beacons active. Horizon lost. Preparing to eject. Request evacuation; over." Kelly stared into the Afghan darkness seeking clean air, breathing borrowed time. I have to go, please radio. Speak.
15	Earthshine 0620 hours, Day 252, 2079, Lunar City, Moon K.C. watched the beautiful blue planet called Earth drop below the horizon. Although the same sequence had been shown on the hotel wall screen at 0600 daily for the whole four months, two weeks, and two days she had been in Lunar City, she couldn't ignore it. Just like she couldn't ignore the sound of her new heart. The strong steady rhythm was a miracle. An extraordinary, extravagant, wondrous miracle.
16	Life should not be allowed to bitch-slap you in the middle of summer -- it is too hot, too muggy, too stultifying to prepare for any kind of blow. Unfortunately, I've yet to figure how to bend it to my will, so there I was, living it, hoping for an easy day at work.
17	Birds. She could hear birds, dammit! Alli's head hurt. Actually, everything hurt. She reached to pull the blanket over her head to hide away from the intrusive light and sounds of morning. Her hand searched the bed beside her. No blanket. Only leaves. Leaves?
18	No longer needed. Gabriel gazed down at the sleepless city below from his seat on the crown ledge of the US Bank Tower, unseeing. Thousands of years of loyal service, dealing justice and fighting for freedom, never losing sight of why he was doing what he did. And just like that, gone. The war was over, transferred from his world to this planet, transferred to the humans. His military services were no longer wanted. But the humans were unprepared for what was coming.
19	Justin Fancher was furious. For the third day in a row, he had ridden into town to meet the woman. And still she had failed to show.
20	The dim purple light above the emergency exit cast a faint glow over the alley and the pair coupling against the brick wall. Barely twenty feet away, hunkered down in the shadows, a darker shape watched, thinking about the merits of killing them both, or waiting for the girl to be alone
21	No doubt about it, she was going to have to kill Marissa Keeley. The spawn from hell teenage daughter of the Senator from the great state of Wisconsin had come to the boutique where Mary Katherine O'Connell worked--Papillon's of Georgetown--tried on every size four outfit in the store and then bought nothing. Nada, zilch, bupkus. Not a blessed thing. Once the spoiled brat had left, it had been Mary Katherine's responsibility to return the outfits to the racks which meant she was going to be late for her Conflict Resolution class. Again!
22	Max didn't need the harsh thunder of the automatic-weapons fire that chased the boat through the storm to tell him they might not get out of this alive. The howling wind and bellowing sea had already clued him in. Standing at the helm of the CIA's forty-foot Bayliner, Bold Venture, he tightened his grip on the wheel and braced himself.
23	He stood within the shadows of the forest and followed Evelyn Taylor's movement in the house by the order in which she turned out the lights. Hurry up lady and go to sleep.
24	Detective Nick Hunter rubbed the Razor on his leg in the manner Aladdin rubbed his lamp. Please this time be one of those bullshit messages the guys at the station send back and forth to one another.
25	"It's not the end of the world." The words confused Seffy for a moment, but were lost in a sudden whirl of explosive noise and flashes, not unlike bad disco lights and smoke machines from an 80s nightclub. She felt a tremendous force pulling on her, hurtling her backward, then a terrifying weightlessness which could only end badly. Her head swam as she sailed through the atmosphere. Suddenly the velocity of her descent increased. She threw out her hands to break her fall as the ground whooshed up to meet her. Crunching her eyes closed, she let out a keening cuss word and braced for a long future of chiropractic visits.
26	Sean Raleigh threw his shoe at the idiot woman's retreating head. When she popped back into his bedroom to protest, he chucked the other shoe at her. Like the first, the second shoe crashed against the wall where her head had been and thunked onto the floor. If Jake didn't stop letting these women in the house, he might consider some light homicide. Just to get started.
27	The barely-clothed giant grunted in protestation as the slave master wheeled him into the Avantine square, shackled to the back of the cart like a prize stallion. Cydda stood alone in the midst of the rancid crowd of posturing slave owners, but at the sight of the foreigner, silence rippled around her. A short, fat man stood on the edge of the cart with precarious balance and shouted across the square.
28	The great Underwater City faded in a haze of green. Kai's long dragon tail propelled him toward another degrading assignment, this one perhaps the most humiliating yet. He glanced over his shoulder at the spired and turreted majesty that held the seat of the crumbling republic. More than half the empire's colonies had been lost to revolt. The newly-elected Council Chair was sending Kai, a top general in the Council's private guard, simpering on a political mission to regain control over a single, measly, mere-ruled island.

Please remember that the entire page at the end of the fourth week is to be no more than 250 words long (in other words the total word count of all four paragraphs cannot be longer than 25). This is a Page One contest. Any entries longer than 250 words will not be considered.

For those that did not move on, we wish you the best of luck. This is only one contest and, as in all such things, is very subjective. Keep on writing!

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Page One Contest Entries – Week 1

admin — Sun, 25 Apr 2010 23:04:21 +0000

Here are the 29 entries for our first week of the contest:

Ranealya smelled death. It called to her from the body of an old man lying in the road ahead, over-powering the stench of unwashed bodies that clung to most humans. She approached it with caution and stared into his dull blue eyes. Freshly dead. The corpse remained in pristine condition otherwise, signaling she was the first person to stumble across it.

You’ll never find a knot you can’t unravel. The soothsayer’s words mocked Azurha more loudly than usual tonight. She strained against the hemp ropes that bound her wrists and ankles to the thick wooden posts, reviving new trickles of blood down her copper brown arms.

Darrel put his paper route money in a sandwich bag and stuffed it down his pants next to his whitie tidies. On his way out the door, his mother yelled from the kitchen and demanded to know where he was going; he yelled something unintelligible back and kept going. When he climbed onto the seat of his ten speed, the bag made an uncomfortable lump, especially as anticipation caused his normally small penis to swell in the limited space.

Bloody hell. Analise Warrington cringed. Would God strike her down for blaspheming in church—even if it was in thought only?

Majestic oaks, fields of tall corn and rambling farm houses flew past as Max Holt drove his black classic Mustang convertible down an unfamiliar rural road. Frustrated with his job, aggravated at the way his business meeting had gone, Max had decided a drive was what he needed to clear his head. He turned his Bob Seger CD up loud and hit the gas.

Sheri knew better than to open her door without checking the peephole first, but common sense faded, crowded out by today’s bitchiness. Two tiny babies and very little sleep did that to even the mildest-tempered person. The doorbell pealed again, followed by an impatient knock.

Vivid dreams of sinking ships still played in his mind, but he’d slept all he would this night. The rumbling of falling stones had woken him from fitful slumber. He rolled in time to see the wall of his home fall onto the pile of moss that served as his bed.

“Hurry, Sarah!” shouted Ethan. “Cover yourself in mud! We’re moving into enemy territory.”

“What mud? There hasn’t been any rain!”

Ethan pointed to the stinky, soggy area behind my house, the ‘forbidden place,’ and mother’s warnings echoed in my head. “Uh-uh, NO!”

“This is war!” he yelled. “Don’t be a girl.”

William Battencliffe wagers five thousand pounds that Miss Julia St. Clair will become the next Countess of Clivesden.

The stitch in Lara’s right side stabbed like a shiv. Fear propelled her and she kept running–no mean feat in her over-the-knee Christian Louboutin’s with the four-inch heels. Damn you, Brannigan. As if any of this was the sexy fed’s fault. She knew she only had herself to blame.

Seth didn’t know which was worse. Spending eternity in hell or working his way out of damnation by becoming a murderer. Okay, in his defense, he wasn’t technically a murderer, at least in the terms mortals used. He had, however, been responsible for the termination of more lives than he could count—and all in the name of finding redemption. And no, the irony wasn’t lost on him, but he didn’t have time to contemplate his penance at the moment. He was on the clock.

I’d been on my share of boring stakeouts during my career but watching toenail polish dry would have been a titillating distraction right about now. For the past five hours, I’d done nothing but sit on my nearly frozen ass while my target worked Sudoku puzzles—and here I thought my life was pathetic. The only thing keeping me from slipping into a coma of boredom were the violent shivers wracking my body. God, everything from my brain down was numb. Served me right for volunteering to take point on the surveillance while the FBI gear-greasing began. I, Samantha Martin, am a complete idiot.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Cowboy piloting Warthog FT537. Have lost power. Am going down. Emergency locating beacons active. Horizon lost. Preparing to eject. Request evacuation; over.” Kelly stared into the Afghan darkness seeking clean air, breathing borrowed time. I have to go, please radio. Speak.

The eerie percussion of the aircraft door closing found Marge gripping the armrest. Leaning closer, John quietly whispered. “Your nervous? If you want to pullout speak quickly. We’re about to rollback.”

The reassuring male tone spoke louder than his words. Marge eyed the man in the seat beside her and shook him a no. Verbally adding, “No. Yes, maybe a little.”

Earthshine 0620 hours, Day 252, 2079, Lunar City, Moon

K.C. watched the beautiful blue planet called Earth drop below the horizon. Although the same sequence had been shown on the hotel wall screen at 0600 daily for the whole four months, two weeks, and two days she had been in Lunar City, she couldn’t ignore it. Just like she couldn’t ignore the sound of her new heart. The strong steady rhythm was a miracle. An extraordinary, extravagant, wondrous miracle.

Life should not be allowed to bitch-slap you in the middle of summer — it is too hot, too muggy, too stultifying to prepare for any kind of blow. Unfortunately, I’ve yet to figure how to bend it to my will, so there I was, living it, hoping for an easy day at work.

Birds. She could hear birds, dammit! Alli’s head hurt. Actually, everything hurt. She reached to pull the blanket over her head to hide away from the intrusive light and sounds of morning. Her hand searched the bed beside her. No blanket. Only leaves. Leaves?

No longer needed. Gabriel gazed down at the sleepless city below from his seat on the crown ledge of the US Bank Tower, unseeing. Thousands of years of loyal service, dealing justice and fighting for freedom, never losing sight of why he was doing what he did. And just like that, gone. The war was over, transferred from his world to this planet, transferred to the humans. His military services were no longer wanted. But the humans were unprepared for what was coming.

Justin Fancher was furious. For the third day in a row, he had ridden into town to meet the woman. And still she had failed to show.

The dim purple light above the emergency exit cast a faint glow over the alley and the pair coupling against the brick wall. Barely twenty feet away, hunkered down in the shadows, a darker shape watched, thinking about the merits of killing them both, or waiting for the girl to be alone.

No doubt about it, she was going to have to kill Marissa Keeley. The spawn from hell teenage daughter of the Senator from the great state of Wisconsin had come to the boutique where Mary Katherine O’Connell worked–Papillon’s of Georgetown–tried on every size four outfit in the store and then bought nothing. Nada, zilch, bupkus. Not a blessed thing. Once the spoiled brat had left, it had been Mary Katherine’s responsibility to return the outfits to the racks which meant she was going to be late for her Conflict Resolution class. Again!

Max didn’t need the harsh thunder of the automatic-weapons fire that chased the boat through the storm to tell him they might not get out of this alive. The howling wind and bellowing sea had already clued him in. Standing at the helm of the CIA’s forty-foot Bayliner, Bold Venture, he tightened his grip on the wheel and braced himself.
He stood within the shadows of the forest and followed Evelyn Taylor’s movement in the house by the order in which she turned out the lights. Hurry up lady and go to sleep.

Detective Nick Hunter rubbed the Razor on his leg in the manner Aladdin rubbed his lamp. Please this time be one of those bullshit messages the guys at the station send back and forth to one another.

“It’s not the end of the world.” The words confused Seffy for a moment, but were lost in a sudden whirl of explosive noise and flashes, not unlike bad disco lights and smoke machines from an 80s nightclub. She felt a tremendous force pulling on her, hurtling her backward, then a terrifying weightlessness which could only end badly. Her head swam as she sailed through the atmosphere. Suddenly the velocity of her descent increased. She threw out her hands to break her fall as the ground whooshed up to meet her. Crunching her eyes closed, she let out a keening cuss word and braced for a long future of chiropractic visits.

Sean Raleigh threw his shoe at the idiot woman’s retreating head. When she popped back into his bedroom to protest, he chucked the other shoe at her. Like the first, the second shoe crashed against the wall where her head had been and thunked onto the floor. If Jake didn’t stop letting these women in the house, he might consider some light homicide. Just to get started.

The barely-clothed giant grunted in protestation as the slave master wheeled him into the Avantine square, shackled to the back of the cart like a prize stallion. Cydda stood alone in the midst of the rancid crowd of posturing slave owners, but at the sight of the foreigner, silence rippled around her. A short, fat man stood on the edge of the cart with precarious balance and shouted across the square.

The great Underwater City faded in a haze of green. Kai’s long dragon tail propelled him toward another degrading assignment, this one perhaps the most humiliating yet. He glanced over his shoulder at the spired and turreted majesty that held the seat of the crumbling republic. More than half the empire’s colonies had been lost to revolt. The newly-elected Council Chair was sending Kai, a top general in the Council’s private guard, simpering on a political mission to regain control over a single, measly, mere-ruled island.

Juan didn’t know yet that his sister’s baby had just died. Paula had cuddled the cold little body, thinking of the fragile life nestled within her own womb. Would her child be too weak to nurse or even to cry, like her sister-in-law’s child? A cry of denial burst from her.

This is an ESPAN member-only voted contest (therefore only those that are ESPAN members can get on our forum to vote for their favourite 25 for the first week of the contest). All entries are posted on the forum anonymously so no one should no what they are voting on (unless it is their own entry, but we are allowing that, because you can’t double vote).

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Page One Contest – First Round Voting Underway

admin — Sat, 24 Apr 2010 16:11:41 +0000

A little later today we will be posting the first paragraph entries from the start of our Page One contest.

Voting has already started, so if you are an ESPAN member get thee to the forum and vote. All entries have been posted there (anonymously, of course).

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