Nancy´s Bio:

Nancy Wick has been a writer and editor for 30 years, working in newspapers and magazines, and has won both regional and national writing awards. She holds bachelor’s and master’s degrees in Speech and Drama from the University of Missouri and is a former film and theater critic. She also earned a doctorate in communication at the University of Washington. Now that she is nearing retirement from her job as editor of the faculty/staff newspaper at the UW, she has started a small editing business, EnLightened Edits. She enjoys working on many kinds of writing, but is especially fond of character-driven novels (both genre and non-genre), psychology/self-help books, essays and memoirs.

Contact Nancy at wicknb@juno.com.

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Cookie Magic

By Nancy Wick

The bank teller called my name just as I reached the sidewalk. I’d trudged over there on my lunch hour because I really needed some cash, and was about to return to work when she stopped me.

"I’m sorry," she said when I answered her summons. "You don’t have enough funds in your account to cover this." She was holding the check I’d just written. It was February of 1983, my first year in Seattle.

"What?" I couldn’t believe it. I pulled my checkbook out of my purse to look at the balance, feeling like a second grader who’s been caught stealing lollipops.

"Come inside," she said. "We’ll figure it out."

I followed her back into the bank, wondering if I had a neon sign saying "Overdrawn" emblazoned on my back. After we’d conferred, I could see I’d made a simple error in subtraction, leading me to think I had $100 more in my account than I did. I was sure everyone was looking at me as I opened my wallet and handed the teller the money I’d so recently received. Payday was coming soon, but still…. I slunk out of the bank with my head down.

That night at home I faced facts: I couldn’t afford the apartment where I was living. In fact, the only way I could afford to live anywhere in Seattle other than a garage would be to share it with someone else. Back in the Midwest, I’d lived alone quite comfortably for ten years before Bob came into my life. I’d left there almost a year ago after our breakup, hoping for a new start. I was thirty five, but now I felt like a little girl trying to keep up with the big kids. How was I to support myself and my two-year-old on what I was making in a city where everything was so expensive?

I looked at Ian, contentedly sitting on the floor with his toys, and wished I could be him--depending on someone else to take care of me. But there was no sense indulging in those kinds of thoughts. I needed a new place to live, and I desperately needed to get my rent deposit back when I moved out of my current apartment, so I sat down and wrote my 30-day-notice letter to the landlord, not knowing where we would go when the 30 days was up.

The next day, I picked up the alternative weekly newspaper that carried ads for shared housing and began my search. I turned up several possibilities that I followed up on, but they all seemed to end the same way. I’d be sitting in the prospective house, gazing at the polished, hardwood floors, the fabric wall hangings, the lush plants in pots on the floor, and I’d know this was no house for a two-year-old. Or I’d visit a house where the kitchen floor was sticky and loud music blared from bedrooms occupied by college students fifteen years younger than I was. Or I’d be talking to a prospective housemate on the phone, asking if she’d consider a child, and there would be a long pause before she’d ask, "How old is your child?" Toddlers and teens, I learned, were equally undesirable.

Two weeks went by and I began to panic. So, when Ian and I were doing our Saturday errands, I knew I needed a treat. Money might be tight, our future uncertain, but surely I could afford to have one of those big chocolate chip cookies they sold at a place near the grocery store. I enjoyed the rich aroma of the place as we stood in line, and when we sat down at a table there was a newspaper there, left by the previous patron. Capitol Hill Times, the masthead read. Capitol Hill was my neighborhood, but I’d never bothered to read the paper before. I picked this one up and thumbed through it, then noticed it had classified ads. And there it was, under "Shared Housing":

"Single professional woman seeks same to share Central Area house. Non-smokers only. Call Brenda, xxx-xxxx."

The neighborhood the ad mentioned wasn’t the greatest, but as soon as we got home I dialed the number, and one of those cheery, "I’m having a great day, aren’t you?” voices answered.

"Is Brenda there?" I asked. "I’m calling about the ad."

"This is Brenda."

We talked about her house, which she said had two stories, with three bedrooms and one bath. She’d been living there alone after purchasing it, but now had decided she wanted someone to help pay the mortgage.

Then I asked the fateful question: "Would you consider sharing with a child?"

"Well," she answered with no hesitation, "I’m a pediatric nurse."

I went over to her house that afternoon, taking Ian with me. We entered through a large, nearly empty living room that extended across the front of the house, then went through some glass doors into the dining room, where Brenda had her living room furniture. This smaller room had a wood stove, she explained, allowing her to stay warm more cheaply. We sat there and talked, while Ian alternately sat on the floor with toys I’d brought or toddled up to the sofa where we sat. Brenda talked to him and admired his toys.

When I asked her about her life, it became clear that Brenda was about my age. A rather buxom woman with curly, light brown hair that she wore quite short, she’d used her nursing career to travel--taking a gig on the hospital ship Hope and working for a while in an Israeli kibbutz, even though she wasn’t Jewish. Despite her obvious love of children, she’d never married and had none of her own. I liked her immediately, and more importantly, so did Ian.

Then she took us on a tour of the house. I learned that the downstairs bedroom was empty, as was one of the two upstairs bedrooms. And the rent would be about half what I was currently paying. I offered to move in at the end of the month and she accepted.

Ian and I ended up living in that house for more than two years--two years during which Brenda gave me sage advice on childhood illnesses and injuries, babysat for Ian on numerous occasions, and eventually adopted a child of her own. I felt lucky to have found her, and wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t stopped at the cookie shop that day, or hadn’t found that abandoned paper I’d never looked at before. No doubt I would have found someplace for Ian and me to live, because I had to. But with Brenda, we found a home.

***

What Nancy Won:

• $200.00 Cash Prize
• Publication of winning story on WOW-WomenOnWriting.com website
• A Prize Pack from skirt!
• $50.00 certificate to spend at the WOW! Boutique
• A Year’s Subscription to Premium-Green Markets
• Interview on WOW!’s blog The Muffin

Pam´s Bio:

Pam Hawley lives, works and loves life in Baltimore, MD. She has been addicted to the craft of writing since childhood, and spends much of her free time writing short fiction, creative non-fiction, and content for her blog at https://sixweasels.vox.com. Pam earned a BA in English and a certificate in writing from the UMBC in 1994. She currently earns her living as a project lead and manager at the same university, and is hoping to make her break in the world of fiction writing. She shares her home with her boyfriend and two ferrets, Vinnie and Ginny.

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The Pink Dachshund

By Pam Hawley

That first job out of college is tough for anyone. My own transition from student to professional involved not only adapting to office life, but to a boss who should have been a drill sergeant.

The truth is I don’t think I would have made it without the clown suit and the balloon animals.

When I wore heels, I was taller than my boss, Bill, but he still made me feel small. He was large, spherical in a way that couldn’t be disguised by the square cut of his pin-striped suits. His silver-white hair was slicked back with something that made it look like a streaked and bristly paintbrush, and his face was craggy.

A brand-new graduate, I’d landed work as a job placement coordinator at a local trade college. I spent my days on the phone, finding jobs for other recent graduates and avoiding Bill. Most of my co-workers did the same. The other job placement worker kept a Bible on hand and was sometimes heard praying in the women’s room after her talks with Bill. The computer guru strode about red-faced and sputtering when Bill was out, but stood ramrod-straight and called him "sir" when he inevitably returned. We came in early, stayed late, and rarely took days off. We accepted that we’d never make him happy anyway.

Bill critiqued everything, from the fact that my trendy boots weren’t as professional as plain black pumps to the sloppy stack of papers on my desk. He’d tromp to me with a printout of some document flopping ominously in his hands, and tell me to rewrite it. Trapped in my uncomfortable chair, I’d try to meet his frustrated deep-set gaze, but would inevitably resort to counting the nose hairs protruding from his beak to keep from dissolving into tears.

He stormed to my desk one Friday, as I was leaving. I was a bridesmaid in a friend’s wedding, and my own fiancé was waiting outside with the car to go to the rehearsal. Bill raged over that week’s employment stats and sent me fleeing the office. I had to make my fiancé pull into a fast food restaurant on our way, so that I could duck into the restroom and scrub the streaks of mascara that had flooded down my cheeks. I had cried and ranted for the entire hour-long drive.

I learned about the balloon animals on a Monday. My Sunday night had featured a raging headache and a stomach full of nervous knots. I yearned to go back to being a college student, and hated the 9-to-5 grind. I was furious that it was Monday again, and that my world was controlled by a temperamental, hard-nosed boss.

Things got worse when I got to work and learned that Bill wanted to see me. His office was down the hall, removed from the busy public area where his staff worked. As I shuffled down the corridor I received sympathetic glances from the others who were clacking away at their keyboards. Being called to see Bill was never good.

His office door was slightly ajar. From where I was standing, I could see him, twisting a bright pink balloon into something resembling a dachshund as he paced near his desk. His phone was cradled on his shoulder.

"Pick up another hundred or so balloons, Honey, and don’t forget about the helium tank," he was saying. He was quiet for a moment, as "Honey" rambled on about something, and then said he’d get the clown suit and makeup himself.

"No, sweetheart, you know that old suit doesn’t fit anymore. Too many desserts. I’m due for an upgrade anyway."

Bill turned then, and his jaw dropped when he saw me standing in the doorway. The pink balloon dog in his hand gave a strange squeak as he squeezed it and told the person on the other line that he had to go. He hung up and put the dachshund on his gleaming, orderly desk, still staring at me.

"Yes?" he said, furrowing his brows in what was supposed to be a menacing look. Standing as he was behind the little balloon dog, the effort failed.

"You wanted to see me," I replied. My knees were shaking just a little, and I was fighting back a giggle.

"Yes … yes ...," he said, and started shuffling through one of the neat stacks on his desk. "Just let me find that letter I wanted you to tweak, and we’ll talk …"

"You have a clown suit?" I interrupted his train of thought. The words flew from my mouth before I could stop them.

He stopped shuffling, tried to glare at me again, and then slumped into his chair. He tried raking a hand through his hair, but whatever he used to make it look so bristly made it impossible. I stared pointedly at the balloon dog to give him a moment.

"Yes," he said finally. "I put myself through college as a clown. You know, the ones who dress up and go to kids’ parties or festivals, and give out balloon animals. The wife and I still do it now and then for charity. It’s kind of a hobby of ours." By the time he’d finished, his cheeks were almost as pink as the dog.

I walked over to his desk a bit timidly, and picked up the dog. I studied it for a second. "He’s really cute," I said finally, setting the balloon dachshund back on his desk. "You’re good."

Bill furrowed his brows again, and then laughed. With a sigh, he said we’d talk about the letter later, and asked if I wanted to go get an ice-cream cone instead.

After that day, Bill seemed to mellow a bit. He still glared and blustered at all of us, but he smiled and joked now and then, too. He still tapped his watch when we were late on Monday mornings, but was just as likely to pop in at four o’clock on a Friday and tell us to "scoot on out." There was praise as well as criticism in our performance reviews. And every now and then, we’d come back from lunch to find a green balloon frog or a purple balloon parrot sitting on one of our desks.

The last thing Bill wanted was for us to know about his out-of-the-office life as a balloon-making clown. I guess planting that image in your employees’ heads makes it tough to be the stern, commandeering boss. I think it surprised him that being forced into sharing that human, off-duty side with me actually made me work harder and better. No longer as afraid of his penetrating glare, I was finally able to approach him with questions before I made mistakes, instead of just making them and feeling his wrath.

I left for a better-paying job a year later, and have had several since. Every now and then, I find myself face-to-face with another boss who seems like a humorless drill sergeant. When I do, I just take a deep breath and think of pink dachshunds.

***

What Pam Won:

• $150.00 Cash Prize
• Publication of winning story on WOW-WomenOnWriting.com website
• A Prize Pack from skirt!
• $50.00 certificate to spend at the WOW! Boutique
• A Year’s Subscription to Premium-Green Markets
• Interview on WOW!’s blog The Muffin

Dianne’s Bio:

Dianne has been writing for fun and no profit for many years. The WOW! writing contest was the first essay contest she ever got up the nerve to enter. She has a completed first novel, currently entered in another writing contest, and hopes to complete a trilogy from that women’s fiction title. Dianne lives in beautiful Port Jefferson, New York, with her husband, son, 2 dogs and 2 cats (in that order).

 

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It Could Be Angels

By Dianne Greco

It was the Monday night before Thanksgiving, and I, like millions of other Americans, was headed to the supermarket in preparation of the upcoming feast. My grocery list was long, filled with the vegetables, the sweets, the turkey and all the trimmings that make our celebrations so special. I love Thanksgiving: the cooking, the baking, the family and friends gathered together at a table set with special linens and china, and most of all, the eating. I could work up an appetite just thinking about it. So, I parked my car and grabbed a cart from the parking lot and made my way into the supermarket. Once inside, the blast of fluorescent light showed me a wallet sitting in the child seat of the cart. It was a lovely black leather designer affair, sleek and stylish, but bulging. I heard myself gasp and I shook a little, almost hesitant to touch it. I felt like an intruder. I thought about giving it, unopened, to the customer service desk, but who knows what they would do with it, or perhaps leaving my name at the desk in case someone should come looking for it. I decided to look inside, see if there was ID, and take it from there.

When I opened it, I could see a thick wad of twenties and fifties. Dear God, I thought. There must be hundreds in here. My fingers nervously touched the cash. I couldn’t count it. It was as if I had counted the cash, I would have officially violated this woman’s personal affairs. The driver’s license in the plastic window showed an address just down the block from the store. Should I do my shopping first? I had so much to get, it could take a while. Or just run over there and get this over with? I decided to get the wallet back to this woman, imagining her frantically looking everywhere for her wallet stuffed with cash.

I left the cart, returned to my car and made my way over to the street on the license. While looking for the house number on mailboxes, I spotted a woman searching her car with a flashlight, groceries littering the driveway, and I knew I had found her. I pulled over at the curb and got out of my car. As I approached her, she stopped, looked me in the eye and said, "You found it, didn’t you?" I asked her if she meant her wallet, and she said, "Yes. I’ve been looking for it. But all this time I had a feeling that someone was going to bring it to me. I think my angels were telling me that…"

Angels? Okay, whatever.

I was happy to reunite this woman with her wallet, and she went on to tell me that she was leaving the next day to pick up her son from school so that he could be home for Thanksgiving, and that’s why she had so much cash on her. I said I was happy to get it back to her, wished her a good trip and turned to leave.

"Wait!" she said. "I have to give you some kind of reward. You saved my life here!"

"Oh, that’s okay." I said. "I would hope someone would do the same for me if I’m ever in this position. Keep your money. Have a great holiday."

With a wave, I turned to walk to my car and I felt a tug on my arm. "Then at least let me offer you this. Tonight, I will pray to my angels to keep you safe always. It’s the least I can do."

"Um, sure, whatever…" I said, not sure about this whole angel thing. But I didn’t think being watched over and kept safe by anyone was a bad idea.

"That would be great. Thanks."

"You got it." She said. "It’s my pleasure. Oh, and thank you so much. Thank you, thank you!" She grabbed me and kissed me.

"Uh, you’re welcome." I stammered. "Take care."

I returned to my car, taken aback by the kiss, and went back to the supermarket. I did my shopping, feeling kind of good about what I had done. I think I walked a little differently, maybe just a little taller, knowing I did the right thing.

When I was checking out, I handed the cashier my coupons and customer card and waited for her to tally the order. "This is cool," she said, sounding surprised. "You’ve got double coupons. Every one of ‘em! Wow, you just saved a lot of money. Oh, and wait, your turkey is free. You’ve earned enough points shopping here to get a free bird. Congratulations!"

When I saw the total, I was shocked. My total had almost been cut in half, between the double coupons and the price of the turkey. I wrote the check, handed it to the cashier, took my receipt and ran out of there, feeling like I had just robbed the place.

A fine, misty rain had started to come down while I was shopping, so I hurried to my car, which was parked at the end of the lot. As I ran, I heard the squeal of brakes and tires on wet pavement, and then a crash. I turned to see a runaway cart, exactly where I had just been, that had been hit by a car. The cart was mangled, hanging on the now dislodged bumper of the car, and that driver looked pretty P.O.’d. If I had been a minute later, that could have been me. Hey, maybe it was that angel thing? Were they really looking after me? Or maybe I had just created some good karma, whatever that is? Nah, I thought. Just a coincidence. Bad timing on the cart’s part.

So, I drove home, reflecting on the series of events in the course of the last hour. The wallet, the coupons, the turkey, the cart. Coincidence. That’s all. Some nights are just weirder than others, right?

Right before I pulled into my driveway, a car came speeding around the corner, skidding on the now very wet asphalt, and was headed right for me. Before I could even think, I flew into my driveway doing about sixty and jammed on the brakes, stopping just in time to not hit the fence. After a few deep breaths to calm myself and trying to quiet the adrenaline rush that made my head ache, I realized what had just happened.

"Okaaaaaaay," I shouted out to the sky. "I get it.

Thanks. And keep up the good work!"

***

What Dianne Won:

• $100.00 Cash Prize
• Publication of winning story on WOW-WomenOnWriting.com website
• A Prize Pack from skirt!
• $50.00 certificate to spend at the WOW! Boutique
• A Year’s Subscription to Premium-Green Markets
• Interview on WOW!’s blog The Muffin

It is the sincere desire of skirt! Books, that each writer will keep his or her focus. Be wholesouled, and never give up. Because here’s your proof that there are many, many people who want to see you succeed.

As much as we all value words, the right ones, we acknowledge that actions speak louder than words. So, as each of you receives your gifts, listen carefully to the encouragement and write, write, write.

Special Thanks goes out to Jaclyn Wilson of Globe Pequot skirt! books

Thanks Jackie!

Congratulations to the runners-up! It was very close, and these stories are excellent in every way. Enjoy the read!

Click on their entries to read:

Ferry to the Snow by Julie Anderson Slattery, Pennington, New Jersey

How I Became a Published Writer by Sangeetha Narayan, Sugar Land, Texas

A Quest For Answers by Stephanie Haefner, Depew, New York

Scrounging for Schillings by Marketa Oliver, Des Moines, Iowa

A Teddy Bear Prayer by Maria Chythlook, Kasilof, Alaska

Time Together by Ellen Murphy, Fort Mitchell, Kentucky

A Flicker in Time by Sheryl Winters, Fort Myers, Florida

What the Runners Up Won:

• Publication of winning story on WOW-WomenOnWriting.com website
• A Prize Pack from skirt!
• A Year’s Subscription to Premium-Green Markets
• Interview on WOW!’s blog The Muffin

HONORABLE MENTIONS (In no particular order):

Congratulations to the Honorable Mentions! Your stories stood out and are excellent in every way.

The Journal by Kelli Wheeler, Sacramento, California

"The Power of Twenty" by Gail Dickert, Woodbridge, Virginia

Coolangatta or Bust! by Pauline Flavel, Queens Park, Victoria, Australia

The Christmas Closet by CJ Mouser, Cortez, Florida

Everything that I Know about Life I Learned (‘Overheard’) at the Beauty Shop by Carol L. Gee, Stone Mountain, Georgia

For Maggie by Susan Tornga, Oro Valley, Arizona

It’s All His Fault, Sort Of by Kelley A. Swan, Londonderry, New Hampshire

Lucky Move by Willma Willis Gore, Sedona, Arizona

That Lucky Penny by Laurie Strucke, Lumberton, New Jersey

Do Not Disturb by Peggy Emhardt, Spring Hill, Florida

Safety Check by Carol E. Ayer, Hayward, California

Family Secret by Pamela Cosel, Monument, Colorado

Lost and Found by Carole G. Creekmore, Loganville, Georgia

Listening In! by Joan Leotta, Calabash, North Carolina

Permanent Alimony by Joanne T. Lewis, Fort Lauderdale, Florida

Infinite Revenge by Lori A. Kennedy, Magalia, California

Elle’s Hair Style by Tina Weaver, Happy Valley, Oregon

A Grandmother’s Goodbye by Vickie Clasby, Franklin, Tennessee

Larger than Life by Dana McLemore, Gulfport, Mississippi

The Most Serendipitous Night of My Life by Gretchen Allison, Port Washington, New York

My Unfortunate Gift by Marie Cortez, Solana Beach, California

Along the Way by Pamela Maddin, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada

The Coincidence of Fate by Melissa Ohden, Sioux City, Iowa

Mr. Right and Kitty Karma by Jan Coad, Bonney Lake, Washington

Unintended Conversation by Felicia Smith, Marysville, Washington

What the Honorable Mentions Won:

• A skirt! Prize Pack

IN CLOSING:

This brings our Fall 2007 Nonfiction Essay Contest officially to a close. Although we’re not able to send a special prize to every contestant, we will always give our heartfelt thanks for your participation and contribution, and for your part in making WOW! all that it can be. Each one of you has found the courage to enter, and that is a remarkable accomplishment in itself. We’re looking forward to receiving your entries for our/your Winter 2008 Contest, which returns to our classic flash fiction style. Thanks, again.

Check out our new Winter Contest,
sponsored by W. W. Norton & Company:

https://www.wow-womenonwriting.com/contest.html

Back to Flash Fiction!

** A big heartfelt thank you goes out to editor, Sue Donckels, for giving our contest organization, voice, and special care.