Next Great [American] Novel

Next Great [American] Novel

Next Great [American] Novel

The Winners!

Mama Called Me Money. First Place in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge.
Mama called me Money. She’d scoop me up and say she had all the money she’d ever need in her arms. We were poor. Never had enough money to buy nothin’ new. My clothes came from thrift shops and donation centers. My food was bought with State money or donated from local churches. I ain’t ever seen a bill larger than a ten before I was twelve. Never had a television, never went to see movies, or went out to eat. It was just me and Mama in our small apartment, stuffing the windows and vents with towels or spare clothes to keep the heat from leaking out during the winter.
By M. Fritz Wunderli3 years ago in Fiction
Crying Wolf. Second Place in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge. Content Warning.
I stepped out of the coroner’s office and onto the sidewalk. Into the dark. Into the wind. October in the city of angels. Headlights bled by on the street, a bleach-like shock to my pupils. Wind kicked up soot from the gutter. I squinted. Turned my head so I wouldn’t taste it. My face felt swollen. The inside of my head, a deafening thud. An anchor sinking from ribs down into my gut.
By Jen Parkhill “JP”3 years ago in Fiction
Color, Cross, and Culture. Runner-Up in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge.
In unison, the church sang. "When the praises go up, then the blessings come down" When the praises go up, then the blessings come down"
By Daysean Higgs3 years ago in Fiction
Living Behind Easy Street. Runner-Up in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge.
Marty I held the cardboard out in front of my shoulders. At the same time, I hung my head low, looking down at the ground so not to see the faces who would not look at me. I was actually proud of my words even though there was no pride for where I was or what I was doing. The unabashed simple vanity came from my spelling. I was always an awesome speller in school and even won junior high spelling bees. Even now it was something I felt that set me apart. My sign that day stated:
By C. H. Richard5 years ago in Fiction
The Kindling. Runner-Up in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge.
Jacob drew the blue bandana from his back pocket, wiped the sweat from his brow. The air was cool and crisp this late in Autumn, but busting firewood was hard work. He’d forgotten how hard, and he'd been at it for a while.
By Adam Patrick3 years ago in Chapters
Ash Land. Runner-Up in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge.
The world had shrunk to the alternating whine and thrum of the engine, the endlessly scrolling road illuminated by the bouncing cone of light ahead. Now it showed smoother dirt and gravel to the right, deep rocky ruts to the left. On the margins shrubs and Douglas-fir branches were growing thicker with every mile. The press of cover to hide their fleeing pool of light felt reassuring, no matter how unlikely they were still being followed. Not since they had veered off Dead Indian Memorial Highway onto the gravel of Shale City Road and the battered Dodge had continued straight with a Doppler-shifting descent to the horn's blare. The flag whipping behind its cab matched one of three Loni had stashed in various hidden pockets in the forward frame bags, in the unlikely event whichever nation they ran afoul of next might be so easily appeased.
By Gina King3 years ago in Chapters
Dear Leonardo. Runner-Up in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge.
One must accept the 1990s as a formative decade in the fabric of Americana. As American as the Elk, so too is the tale of a young midwestern girl writing fan-mail to her favorite actor. Written from Fiona's perspective, reading and reliving those memories as an adult.
By Abbey June Schwartz3 years ago in Chapters
Islands Reappear. Runner-Up in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge.
Journal Entry #444: Lately I have been thinking about what doc said: so stupid but maybe I’ll try it. Reminder that he said maybe I should try writing my journal entries from an outside observer perspective, maybe so I can be more kind to myself? I don’t think it will work, especially since who can actually be objective about themselves?! That seems like an exercise in futility. Honestly though, I have had the most crazy week so maybe it would be beneficial to slow things down and be as objective as possible about everything that has happened (from an outside perspective). Exclusive, this just in: news with what perhaps reveals some other things that you all don’t know about me? Stay tuned and buckle in:
By Kate Kastelberg 3 years ago in Fiction
Putting Down Roots in Dystopia. Runner-Up in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge.
Fiona holds the hen tenderly in her small arms. The bird is calm with her, its golden eye regarding me impassively. "Fluffers is acting kinda funny, Papa. You think she's egg-bound?"
By Pete Gustavson3 years ago in Fiction
The Lies of Bracken Hollow. Runner-Up in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge.
“Sexpot,” Alice whispered, raising her blond eyebrows. The half-sisters took their places on a braided rug that smelled faintly of cat pee. But Harriet wasn’t trying to be a sexpot. What was a sexpot anyway? Was it someone who tried to be like Madonna or Cindi Lauper? The Bracken Hollow Elysians would have none of that kind of music. Harriet had to listen secretly on her Walkman in the small room she shared with Alice while her mother listened to Bulgarian choral music in the kitchen.
By April Cope3 years ago in Fiction
Tippecanoe and Telemischief Too. Runner-Up in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge.
Will Harrison looked around the grounds of old estate. It had been - what? Two decades? Twenty-four years since he had last taken his leave? The grouse still called and drummed from the copses of trees nearby, but the landscaping had not been well-maintained and the brush was overgrown. However the brick façade upon which he had insisted, with its double layer of graceful columns, still cast its spell, speaking of power and privilege just like the aristocratic homes of his native Virginia.
By Michael Dilts3 years ago in Fiction