If it's a writing competition, it is not fair to seek assistance.
Please can you HELP? I'm entering my first writing competition. My editor has let me down, the deadline is 27th September.
Your help is much appreciated.
Please note - the piece is unfinished.
Redundancy Wreck to……………………?
Paragraph 1: What’s a girl to do?
What was Miss Jones to do? Now, that her redundancy from what once, promised to be a dream International Marketing career with Britain’s most endeared retailer had ensued?
A) Run away with The Cotswold’s Clifford Circus in pursuit of perfecting her acrobatic party piece, B) Sail the Seven Seas selling luxury lotions and potions onboard an Italian cruise ship, or C) Grab her Platinum card, in attempt to alleviate her worthlessness with yet, another frivolous self indulgent fix, only to sober, insolvent?
She’d swallowed the bait, hook line and sinker, convincing her self, a corporate career would be/was ‘the sensible, sure thing.’ Now, having sunk, her ambitious wanderlust, in-scripted/scribed on the pages of her end of school Yearbook in avid response to: ’Where do you see yourself in 10 years time?’ caused her to shrivel/wither humiliated/embarrassed/deflated
It read: ‘Vanity Fair draped over one hand, cavorting, a Blossom infused Bellini from the other, smoldering in St Bart’s, contemplating/writing captivating content for magazine articles,’
In hindsight/retrospect, she excused her conjured dreamy foresight proclaiming; ‘it was born out of/from simply not knowing what life would hand me/what cards I’d be dealt’. (170)
Now. No wiser. That same high school inquisition disturbed/preoccupied her
Whilst, friend’s careers flourished, she’d failed, her destiny was yet to make itself known.
Paragraph 2: Curiosity killed the cat
Down, out, and doll seeking, desperate for someone to tell her what to do she curiously confided Madam Zoya and her crystal ball.
En route Miss Jones’ clapped out 1983 edition mini collided with a black cat. Her hands gripped the wheel, her head bowed, sorrowed with guilt, she panicked a curse of seven years MORE bad luck would be hold her, convinced her mystic ‘curiosity had ‘literally’ killed the cat’.
Madam Zoya’s garden grotto
More to add
From The Hierophant, A Juggler and Wheel of Fortune Madam Zoya indicated Miss Jones’ creativity had been stifled but destiny was at hand, heralding a journey of self-discovery. Option B) boats, oceans and the unknown were on her horizon.
Paragraph 3: Regazza del Oceana Travel Memoirs
Miss Jones lay cushioned in her cabin window cove. She’s mesmerized by the gentle rocking of the waves, reflect a quivering sunset, her chameleon colored eyes flitter indecisively, between her view and the page of her book, ‘spoilt’ she can’t decide which captures her attention more, a token to/of the amazement she now never fails to feel from life’s freebies.
Therapeutic qualitites to the sea – healed her anxiety and obsession with finding her destiny preferring to take small steps towards
It’s 2 years since Madam Zoya’s prophecy. Having embarked on her maiden voyage 6 months later, with Surreal*, a luxury liner carrying 294 guests and 196 crew life was different – The 94 countries marked by red pen on her wall atlas, validated/verified/authenticated new found international status.
The confined space of her 4m by 6m abode, which, initially annoyed, now, relieves/d her. Having cleared her life of clutter, each necessary/essential possession is neatly arranged in a wardrobe and 3 drawers.
Similarly, her primary complaint; ‘the crew galley food options are either bland or cater unfairly for an eastern palette with dishes like ‘Balot’ a Filipino delicacy of nearly fully formed chicks has been replaced with an inventive appetite for mixing salad dressings using ingredients traded from Provisions on the black market ‘2 avocados for a sample of Bvglari Aqva’ Deal…Done. ‘Welcome to ship life, ruled by its own conflicting codes of conduct: unofficially; Crew Command and ‘officially’ Ship’s Command.
Even, Captain Corsaro’s perverted nature and rehearsed admission; ‘Corsaro’s, Italian for pirate’, a symbolic reiteration of his fearsome power to make crew walk the plank, no longer fazed her.
Next to Miss Jones sit her Travel Memoirs. Titled ‘Regazza del Oceana’ each protruding page layered with various memorabilia; ‘shabby shells, torn bus tickets, pressed/flattened flowers’ is a cherished sentiment to where she’d been, and lessons learnt
There’s the midnight speedboat ride under Rialto Bridge with Venetian Captain Scaramouche, a local Venetian hero, Hitch- hiking in Moorea at sun down – racing back to the ship in time, avoiding disciplinary action. Turkish fishermen A close shave with a Columbian cocaine cartel, proved her instincts to be reliable, The time she was ripped off by an Italian grape merchant, only to be gifted a bunch by another – documented with the grape sticker .
Paragraph 4: His nod meant no
A lover, an Engineering Officer nick-named GEEK, for his: Gigantic-ly extraordinary engineering knowledge.’
Deck 9 forward, star gazing, ‘meet you after watch’ notes pushed under cabin doors, magazine cuttings covered the cabin’s industrial light-bulbs, romancing the mood, mid-night galley feasts of fudge flavored ice cream ‘strictly forbidden, were a favourite pass time’ passionate liaisons down in the engine, ‘worth a written warning if caught’. A treasure hunt led her to Sydney Opera house. Her prize; a pauer shell charm, A Valentine’s message ‘For you’ carved in Bora Bora sands
But in the end, the spell bound magic that entranced was broken when Miss Jones’ objected to when the reality of a life together on the land faced
Being Bulgarian his nod of the head meant ‘no’ and shake, ‘yes.’ This minute cultural distinction caused incredulous confusion when trying to agree. Resolving to part Miss Jones took comfort in the knowledge that chasing the exotic taught her to appreciate her boy back home.
Miss Jones was a façade for me to fit in, disguise, camouflage
So here and there I am, in Capri’s cute harbor, on Santorini’s sheer cliffs, by Korcula’s calming waters giving it my best shot, writing this piece.
There’s just one question I’m irresolute to answer; Is ‘Ship Life’ to/for me, what ‘Hotel California’ is for ‘The Eagles’ ‘I can check out any time I like, but can I ever leave?’
After all, every writer needs a story?
If it's a writing competition, it is not fair to seek assistance.
There is no rule stating it is not allowed.
Even writers at a professional level use editors.
I am a writer, not an editor.
I don't believe it's unfair to have somebody edit and improve the body of text.
Thanks for your view point.
I am closing this thread- whether it's stated or not, it goes against the spirit of a writing competition for me. It's a competition and getting outside help is cheating in my book.