THE FIRST MHR KNOCK OUR HATS OFF CONTEST

THE FIRST MHR KNOCK OUR HATS OFF CONTEST

 

Mad Hatters’ Review will consider submissions in FICTION or POETRY commencing on MARCH 1ST, 2010 (12 a.m. USA EST) and ending on June 30th (11:59 p.m.).

First prize winners in both genres will receive $250 (each) plus publication of their entries in Issue 12. The winning works of 5 runners-up in each genre will also be published in Issue 12.

All winning entries will be published in a print anthology called “Knock Our Hats Off: A Little Book of Curious Delights.” Each winner will receive a copy of this deluxe collector’s item.

The terms “fiction” and “poetry” may be interpreted broadly. Take a walk on the wild side through our pages. Take liberties. Governments are taking them away from us, so we’re giving them away free.

Our honorable judges:

Cris Mazza, Fiction
www.cris-mazza.com

Sheila E. Murphy, Poetry
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sheila_Murphy


Our entry fee and modus operandi:
$12 per entry via PayPal to madhattersreview@gmail.com.
Poetry: 3 poems max per entry.
Fiction: 3000 words max per entry.
By all means, enter as many times as you wish.

All submissions must be sent to madhattersrev@yahoo.com with the following information in the subject line:

• Your Name
• Genre (Fiction or Poetry)
• Title/s of submission
• Word Count

Submitted works should be copied and pasted into the exquisite corpus of your email AND attached as an RTF Doc. If you’re submitting visual poetry or visual fiction, attach your entries as jpeg/s or gif/s. If you absolutely MUST, submit these offerings in PDF format.

Pages of texts should be titled, but your name should only appear on the subject line of your email, as submissions will be read blind. We’ll ask for your bio and optional pic if you’re a first place winner or runner-up.

Simultaneous submissions are expected. Just tell us immediately if some other lucky editor has grabbed your gem/s. But please realize that we won’t refund entry fees.

Winning entries will be announced by September 15th. Please address queries to madhattersrev@yahoo.com (subject line: QUERY).

A Sample of Absolutely Atrocious Poetry

by our new celebrity judge of poetry entries in the UNOFFICIAL MAD HATTERS'REVIEW ABSOLUTELY ATROCIOUS CLICHES CONTEST

A Mystical Moment

By Stephen Morse

The diaphanous butterfly in the night's rose-garden
fans lightly the faery blessed stem of some foreign

flower planted lustfully in a random miasmatic fitfulness
by the heavy thighed, scaly man, confident in his loathsomeness.

The almost tumescent butterfly remembers the heaving of oceans
the dark waters dragged fitfully by unending moons and delicate
notions,

the nascent moments unjoyously heralding the fall of infinite Edens,
the heaving and falling of many delicately penetrated maidens.

The echo of pollen laden wings beat softly, mourning the beast lover
who posed as a friend until the sated Unicorn within sighed, "it's over"

The heart broken butterfly beats a delicately silent pantomime of
loneliness
in the night rose-garden's sweet, erotic, dark crystal of shattered
fantasies.

You will always be remembered in the dark times ahead.

ANNOUNCING THE UNOFFICIAL MHR ABSOLUTELY ATROCIOUS CLICHES CONTEST

The Unofficial MHR Absolutely Atrocious Cliches Contest

Submit one micro flash (under 500 words) or poem (under 500 words) to madhattersreivew@gmail.com, subject line: Absolutely Atrocious Cliches Contest.

We gotta raise some money in order to continue publishing our out of this cyberworld mag, so I'm asking for $3.00 per piece to enter (via paypal to madhattersreview@gmail.com) if you want your entries to be considered for publication. Send no money if you simply want me to post your stuff on my blog here, at my whim and wish.

One absolutely atrocious poem and one absolutely atrocious fiction/whatnot will be chosen by an undisclosed judging committee of one, two, or three (whomever we can get). There may or may not be Honorable Mentions. MHR reserves the right to decline from publishing any entries if none of them meets the abyssmal standard set by the undisclosed judging committee. Editors of MHR (past, future, and present) may not enter the contest. Barking dogs, spitting, forni*at**g, and sm*king are not allowed.

Deadline: January 1, 2008

Here's a sample of an AAC fiction.

Satisfaction

By Carol Novack (original version published in Skive a long time ago)

We walked along the beach, holding hands. The sun was descending into the sea, offering a rosy fingered, late summer sunset that promised an autumn of shiny red apples and colorful, dappled, falling leaves. Nicole and I had met only hours before and already we knew that we were destined to be together forever. Her long golden hair gleamed in the rays of the sighing sun; her hand was feverish in mine. She stooped to pick up a clam shell and smiled as she brushed off the tiny dots of ancient mountains.

“Oh, Maurice,” she exclaimed. “This will be our first shell. We shall keep it on the mantelpiece and guard it as a legacy to our grandchildren.”

I smiled as I gazed into her blue eyes, the color of the western sky back in Arizona, where I was raised. I thought of those days of hardship, my poor, skeleton of a mother, cook, laundress and tender of pigs. And my salesman father, with his callous hands and birch canes. I remembered his sour whisky breath, how he’d return from his trips, cursing. Me and my six brothers and sisters would attempt to flee the minute he entered the house, bellowing for his dinner and his whiskey. Mom would stand by the door, meek as a mouse, her tongue caught by Tom, the housecat.

“Oh mamma, oh mamma,” I would plead, “don’t let the dog in, please, oh mamma.”

I would crawl on the ground and clasp her spindly legs in my arms. But she wouldn’t listen. She’d brush me off like a fly. Like she was in a trance, she let the dog of my father in and gave him whatever he wanted, which never satisfied the old man. Nothing satisfied him. So he killed my mother one day. But they could never find him.

Nicole sensed that I wasn’t altogether there, by the sea. She squeezed my hand so hard I had to laugh. And then suddenly, without warning, she stripped off her nifty Ralph Lauren jeans and diaphanous, gossamer Calvin Klein top. I gazed at the bursting brown bud nipples of her opulent breasts as she pulled me down onto the warm sand. A gull screeched happily as we kissed deep and long as eternity. I knew then that I was nothing like my old man. I was satisfied as the sun disappeared beneath the pounding waves.