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Sledgehammer Seattle Winding Down

Seattlites are early birds! It’s barely 10:30, and we already have all of the submissions (all two!). I think I’ll hang out at the coffee shop till midnight just to carry out the spirit of Sledgehammer.

Join us tomorrow night for the reading and voting event:

Monday, September 21, 6 p.m.
Louisa’s Cafe & Bakery, 2379 Eastlake Ave. East, Seattle

Here’s a huge thank-you to Laura and Jennette for coordinating Sledgehammer Seattle. You did great!

And of course, thanks to all our sponsors and participants. Keep in touch as we start planning for Sledgehammer 2010!

The Word Millers

The Word Millers

Misanthropes

Misanthropes

And the Portland Finalists Are…

After a week of voting, readers have elected Portland’s top three stories:

1. “One Stone Stands Out” by Lani Jo Leigh
2. “Dead Air” by Ignatius and Myrna
3. “In Passing” by Alan Dubinsky

Sledgehammer Seattle, you better get ready! The top three stories from each city will compete for the grand prize package.

Congratulations, Portland finalists!

For Ecological Reasons Alone

2009 story submission by “Insolence” (Jason Rizos)

Jackie said that her mother would “simply adore” a bike tour of downtown Portland. I wondered why Jackie picked these words, and why she articulated them with a Southern drawl, but upon meeting Sheila, it made perfect sense. She flew in from Austin along with Jackie’s geeky young brother Steven, ostensibly to see Puget Sound, but the true agenda was obvious–meeting her only daughter’s now serious boyfriend. That would be me. I brought the rental bikes, along with my trusty, custom Quixote three-speed touring bike, to the Silver Cloud where Jackie’s family was staying. After waiting a full forty minutes for Steven to get out of the shower and dress, we embarked down 23rd Street.  Jackie left the Bicycle Tour trip planning to me, seeing I was commuted through the metro area just about every day, en route to my job at the Oregon Public Broadcasting PSU annex. This happened to be the very topic of conversation at our first destination–Rose’s Bakery.

“Who would have ever guessed radio stations would hire writers?” Sheila asked as we sat outside eating delectable pastries. She had the impeccable, rock-solid manner of a true Midwesterner and the quaint naiveté to match.

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The Mysterious Grilled Cheese Left in the Night

2009 story submission by Amber Hatt

Carol Johnson eyes the clock and closes the link to KGW.com. Today’s high is a predicted 82 degrees; perfect sleeping weather.

At two minutes past seven, Sue enters the vast maze of cubicles. Carol squints her eyes against Sue’s perky morning energy.

“Morning Carol,” Sue sing-songs setting her BIG GULP diet Pepsi down on their shared desk, “anything good happen?” she teases.

Carol works the graveyard shift at the Multnomah County Mental Health Crisis Line. The day shifters never get the good calls. They mostly get people asking for referrals and phone numbers. The overdosing, bridge jumping, knife wielding calls happen during the grave yard shift.

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Catch the Blues

2009 story submission by Bob Ferguson

My windows were down on a balmy August night. I’m ecstatic that my critique group finally liked something that I submitted. I had just left St. John’s Pub and was headed east on Lombard going home to the Couve to tell my wife of four decades, Karla about the groups reaction.

“What was that incredible sound,” I say out loud to no one.

The breaks on my ’97 Camry squeak as I round the block. This time I’m looking for where that sound came from. The music of a mandolin, guitar, harmonica, and bass blend into a heavy beat that rushes out the open front door of the Mock Crest Tavern.

The outdoor blackboard sign reads, “Johnny Ward and the Eagle Riding Pappas.” With a name like that I expected to see a motorcycle gang playing music. The Pappas consist of an old timer wearing a newspaper boy hat, Hawaiian shirt black shorts and sandals. He plays the steel guitar with a harmonica frame around his neck. He sings the male vocals and plays the jug for some of their tunes.

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