The Iron Writer Challenge #69 – The 2014 Iron Writer Championship


The Iron Writer Challenge #69

The 2014 Iron Writer Championship

Four Authors!

Four Elements!

Four Days!

500 Words!

The Authors:

Steve Harz – 2013 Summer Solstice Champion

Don Corcoran – 2013 – Autumn Equinox Champion

Dani J Caile – 2013 Winter Solstice Champion

Danielle Lee Zwissler – 2014 Spring Equinox Champion

The Elements:

Acquired Savant Syndrome

A Letter to your older self

A pet Fairy

Use as many homonyms as possible

Note: the acquired savant element is about the syndrome, not Jason Padgett who is mentioned in the linked article and who drew the image above. To read his remarkable story, simply click on the link.

Two My Few Chair Auld Err ShelfDani-J-Caile

Dani J Caile

Deer auld err shelf,

Ewe May knot bee ahh wear of dish fact butt aft her hay seer ear us head inn jury sum months ergo, ewe whirr die hag nosed ash having ahh Kwai erred savant sin Drome, tern inn ewe, awe mi two bee maw presize, inn two ahh gene ears arm mung gnaw mole men. Dish ahh loud mi two soul ver grey test of manse Miss tear Reese hand have Dee ahh Billy tree two hex plane any Conan drum awe die lemurs play stir bee four mi. Ewe wood have fought that dish was urghh give cent from Heaven, butt unfought tune nut Lee their ahh two May jar sighed arf hex. Dee thirst is that Dee dam midge left mi para lies duh, inn prismed inn err pie love Flash hand bones, un ehh bell two feed mi Drew ling Mao fur, clove my limp body ore why purr my own awe rei Fiss, hand second that eye yam ehh bell two sea bee yawned Dee use ewe all Hugh man die men shun hand inn two udder Hi err realms unknown two mi bee four now field with ghouls, mon stairs, inn queue buy hand udder strange hid ears creed chairs that wood make ball loon Annie malls Luke Kwai nor mole.

Hat dish mow meant, eye yam un ehh bell two right buy my own hand, eye yam act chew all Lee Dick dating dish let err two my own purse urn all pet ferry, who, ash eye have now orb served, Khan knot spell four sheet. Butt sea inn ash his favourite pass thyme is play inn Han inn stew meant witch resend bells Dee bag pipes inn sow end hand that he all wheys where’s ehh stew pit Luke inn Kit shin ehh prawn with Dee werds “eye yam cleave fir” writ ten on Dee front hand ehh rhinestone tea are err on his head that he sir wears blind awe ridge inn ate id from Dee sub urged sit tea of Atlantis, eye think that dish is Dee leased of his war Reese.

Aft her living ehh shore ter wile with inn dish hex tend id vee ewe of Dee were auld, eye fee eel eye Khan knot go on. It is knot ahh pleasure twit Ness these fen Omm miner, it is err curse. Eye yam trapped inn sighed err glass how sir, err Vic Tim of fete, of sir come stances bee yawned my con troll. My vee ewe of reality has bean Shatnered hand eye can know longer go on dish whey. Eye must rei verse Dee stayed us eye find my shelf inn buy rei peet inn Dee pro sess witch brought mi two dish fire rei Hell. Eye yam sore rei.

Pea lease bee shore two sir round yaw bed with salt bee four go inn two sleep. Hand all wheys put yaw pants on back two front.

Yaws sin seer Lee,

Me (ewe)

For GlendaDanielle Lee Zwissler

Danielle Lee Zwissler

The little boy lay in the coffin surrounded by stuffed animals and action figures. His favorite conductor’s hat was placed carefully on his head and he wore a Thomas the Train tee-shirt along with blue and white striped jeans.

It was a quick death, finding out only a month before that he had Cancer. Jackson never complained, he always smiled, he loved playing with trains, talking to his imaginary friend, and smashing dandelions on his sister’s nose.

Only one more day until Michael Crawford’s son would be lowered into the ground. What he would do without Jackson?


Michael startled and turned fast. “Jackie?”

“It’s okay, Daddy; I’m okay…I’m with Grandma now.”

Michael’s body shook, and he covered his mouth with his hand as he went toward the coffin where his son was. “But you—”

“Don’t cry, Daddy…Remember your promise.”


Michael sat up, sweat pouring off his face. His son had been dead 27 years. Since then, his wife had passed, and his daughter had moved away. He spent most days locked up in his office, figuring out new algorithms, and reading Jackson’s old school papers.

Later that afternoon, Michael read a letter from Jackson to his future self. It was filled with misspelled words and homonyms, but it was a prized possession to Michael.

“What’re you doing?” Janie, Michael’s fiancé, asked as she walked into the office.

Michael looked up, startled. “Nothing…just work.” Michael put the letter down and stood, stretching. “I’ll be back,” he said, excusing himself to the restroom.

Janie walked over to the desk and picked up the piece of paper. It was a letter. The spelling was horrible; Janie knew that writing wasn’t a strong suit of Michael’s. She loved him and his quirks anyway.

…Glenda is so butiful. She has great hare and a small waste, and brite blue eyes. I love her.

Janie’s eyes watered, angry at Michael’s betrayal. When he walked into the room, she crumbled up the paper and threw it at him. The expression on Michael’s face was that of horror.

“What are you doing?”

“Who’s Glenda!”

“Why did you do that?”

“Answer me; who’s Glenda?”

“Jackson’s pet fairy.”


“My little boy, Jackson…I promised him that I would take care of her, that I would keep her alive for him.” Michael pointed around the room and Janie looked distraught from what the letter said, hand drawn portraits of a pixie were scattered all over the place.


Michael nodded. “It’s why I don’t want you in here.” Tears poured from Michael’s eyes as he unfolded the crumbled up paper.

“I’m so sorry, Michael. I…I didn’t know.”

“Glenda is very special to me,” he said softly, patting his pocket. “I keep her safe in here, next to my heart.”

Janie cried, “I’m so sorry.”

Michael nodded and sat back down at his desk, working on more algorithms.

A few minutes later, Janie came back in with two coffees, and pecked Michael on the cheek before walking toward the door.

“Aren’t you going to join me?”


“But there’s two cups here.”

“For Glenda, Michael. Now I’m taking care of her, too.”

LetteredDon Corcoran

Don Corcoran

‘Whatcha’ writing?”

“You’re writing wrongs?”

“Oh, I see what you did there. Wait… ? Which ‘right?'”

“The Rite?”

“The very Sam one.”

“Don’t you mean ‘same?'”


“Who’s it to?”

“You know whom.”


Wren cringed. He hated being called that. He hissed between clenched teeth.

“Wrong you.”


“Tell it to the horse!”

“That’s not fair.”

“Sure it is. Payment for my long suffering.”

The beastly thing shut up for a moment and thought.

“When did you get so good at this game?”

Sheepishly, Wren glanced up.

“Last week.”

“Last week? When you went to the meet?”

“Don’t talk about her like that?”

“Like what?”

Sam was frustrated.


“Okay, so maybe I was.”

Yes, at the race.

“Where you went to get your fix?”

“My fix?”

A moment passed.

“Fix. Yes, my heroine.”

Sam rolled in the air, holding a belly gorged with flies, guppies, and perogies.

“So you went to the races and met the love of your life, your everything… .”

“Don’t say it.”

“Your whole.”

Wren plucked the cigar from between Sam’s lips and twisted the embers into his mottled flesh until it became a smoking brown stain. Sam screamed and zipped in loop-d-loops around the room. Rubbing the wound, Sam scowled at Wren.

“Okay, I deserved that one. So what happened?”

“That point when you thought it would be funny to trip me and send me sprawling into her, mustard and hot dogs first?”

“Hehe! Classic.”

But she was too fast. I ended up taking a header over the railing.

Sam winced.


“Yeah. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck.”

“Dude, you wouldn’t have died or anything. That’s why I’m here.”

“Well after a two week stay in the hospital, I woke up with words doing somersaults in my head.”

“Dude! That’s so cool! A little spill and you’re the heir.”

“I’d rather the air. You couldn’t make me fly? You and your stupid word game.”

“I had nothing to do with it, hombre. This is the universe’s own special kind of chaos.”

“Well, now, I don’t need you.”

“Back rubs were always optional. So wait, you’re mad ’cause you think I gave you super powers?’

“No, Sam.”

“What then? We’ve been like bros since you were like this tall!”

Sam sank a few feet, hand flat before him, his wings beating furiously.

“And I fit in an acorn, for Oberon’s sake!”

Both considered his girth and realized a diet of woodland insects and Ding-Dongs may not have been the best choice. Wren sighed.

“What a waist.”

“Come on! That little stunt made your relationship. She spent the next two weeks nursing you to health.”

Wren finished the letter written on ancient parchment and penned in rare ink. He signed his name at the bottom – just as he had addressed it – and sealed the envelop with red wax.

“Wait! What’s-her-face isn’t replacing me, is she?”


“Her name – Di.”

“Oh shit!”


The Intended Length of Ever After

Steven Harz

Finding a way to keep alive the

allusion of your illusion

is more difficult than finding a

desert island treasure map X

And if I thought I could see you again

just once

I would hit the ground running


Your death was an extinction level event

for me

And in order to reverse the traumatic stress

that has turned me into a savant that

doesn’t count scattered toothpicks but instead

now sees the world through the lens of sorrow

I perform pocket knife open heart surgery

peeling away my flesh by the layer

In order to somehow discover

where you are now

or the intended length of ever after

and when these fail I lay down a line

of last week’s breadcrumbs

that lead me to the first place I discovered you


To complete the journey

I navigate a yo-yo string tightrope to a

forgotten beneath-the-stairs toy box

and search among Raggedy Andy

with his one remaining eye

a frayed copy of “Kate the Kitten Fairy”

that told of her epic battles with Jack Frost

and her refusal to bow to his icy arrow and bow

and a Bozo the Clown chalk board, on which

your name was written repeatedly in

fading yet determined 6th grade penmanship

to find yesterday’s letter to tomorrow’s me

written on the day after the first day of school

when we first met


Unfolding the papers and smoothing them against my thigh

it all rushed back bringing that day then to right now

And although they all felt that I was too young to know

that you were the one to find

I refused to give in and believe their lie

so I now sit and read my foretold story of us

and each morn I mourn and with a

single tear I tear out each page after it’s read

and implode quietly for these few minutes each day.

8 thoughts on “The Iron Writer Challenge #69 – The 2014 Iron Writer Championship

  1. Danielle, You had me welling up in the middle of Starbucks. Could hardly see to vote, through the tears.

    Tears too, for the other story spinners. Each an intimate tragedy dealt with, but not really.

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