Hey there! Do you write funny? Have you got a funny scene of 350 words or less in your WIP? Can you whip one up in a matter of minutes (or even hours)?
You're in luck, because Uber-blogger and MG-Writer Extraordinaire Nathan Bransford is hosting a JACOB WONDERBAR Funny Writing Contest Spectacular Happening Event over on his blog, which you can find HERE. HURRY! It closes at 6PM PST today! And if you scroll down to the 186th comment, you can read my entry! Or, you can just read it below:
Bartholomew Ophelia Treebottom IV was bored. He swung his legs, heels banging in time with the bonging of the clock tower. Bored...Bored...Bored...
Tuesday was always a boring day. It was the day his parents reserved for their weekly trip to the taxidermist’s shop. His father was a world-renowned specialist in stuffed dead tarantulas, and was always on the lookout for a new specimen. His mother accompanied him, because the taxidermist’s wife made excellent omelettes. Bartholomew never went; dead tarantulas were boring.
Just then his neighbor Mandy tripped by, her eyes gleaming. “I’m breaking into the haunted Whaley House.” She cocked her head. “Want to come?”
Bartholomew considered. Haunted houses never really were. They were always just full of old junk. And dust. Dust made him sneeze. Bartholomew hopped down. “Alright, then.”
The door was locked, but the window opened easily, so they clambered in. It reeked of rot, and Bartholomew gagged. The room was covered in an inch-thick layer of dust, and stringy cobwebs stretched from corner to corner. His father would have loved to see the spider that had woven those webs. Bartholomew reached out to touch one, when a loud moan rolled down from upstairs.
Surprised, he fell forward, grabbing at the web - which was much more rope-like than he had expected - and bringing it, and a nearby lamp, crashing down. The lamp snagged on the curtains, which tore from their rod and landed with a whump upon Bartholomew, setting off a sneezing fit as he flailed about in a frantic attempt to free himself. Mandy screamed. Bartholomew jerked his head free just in time to see Mandy, covered in fake cobwebs and stuffed tarantulas, careening backwards into and over the side of an overstuffed armchair, upsetting a basket of something that, Bartholomew belatedly realized, looked like eggs. Peals of cackling laughter drifted in from the hallway.
As he sat, rumpled curtains hanging from his shoulders, rotten egg dripping down his forehead and off his chin, it occurred to Bartholomew that his parents, and Tuesdays, were not as boring as he had thought.
Also, don't forget to enter to win a copy of THIRTEEN REASONS WHY, by Jay Asher, HERE.