We have a winner of our “Tell us a story” competition.
Congratulations to Jessica Lohmann with her winning entry:
Upon landing in Frankfurt, 7416 kilometers away from ‘home’, I felt nauseous because my life as I knew it was about to change.
A huge thank you to all who took the time to enter and also to vote.
We will be posting our next competition in a couple of weeks time so keep a look out!
We all love a good story, whether reading or listening to one, or writing or telling one ourselves.
This month we have thrown the gauntlet down to really challenge you guys.
We are asking you to write a short story, in 25 words or less.
This was inspired by a picture we posted on our FB page a while ago.
We felt that if a college student could do such a good job, then you gifted and talented copywriters could do even better!
The criteria of the competition is as follows:
– You must use 25 words or less.
– Each story must reference an emotion, a location and one fact.
The Grand Prize
We have also made a change to our prize. This month we will be giving the lucky, sorry talented, winner The Essential George Orwell Boxed Set.
We’re also running a Copywriter of the Year competition, with cash prizes, and the winner will automatically be entered into it.
Rules of the ‘Tell us a story’ copywriting competition
You can enter as many times as you like – but every entry must be your own work. We will ‘Google test’ entries by running them through the search engine to see if the story has been used elsewhere.
The closing date is the 02/09/2015, so you have until then to post your entry.
We will then make a selection of the top three and post them on our social media channels (Twitter, FB and Linkedin). Whichever entry gets the most likes/retweets/comments within a week wins.
How to enter?
It’s easy, just scroll down to the comments box below and type in your entry. Post your personal details as well so we can contact you and link to you at the end if you win. You can also comment on other people’s entries if you like their ideas.
Get your thinking caps on, let the creative juices flow and good luck.
Thank you to Grammarly for their constant inspiration.
I loved New York. Until yesterday.
Lost in quiet desperation, knowing that Foxwoods Casino wouldn’t give me a mulligan, I was petrified. I couldn’t fucking believe I did it again.
Darn it Gerogia, the food’s cold again!
Houston, we’re loving the amazing view!
Upon landing in Frankfurt, 7416 kilometers away from ‘home’, I felt nauseous because my life as I knew it was about to change.
Saddness lingers at the airport gates of Paris.
I removed the final padlock from the door of 42 Ermine Street and stepped inside. Raw fear flooded my body. He was still alive.
Simone, unconscious and bleeding in the back seat, still clutches her camera. Five unmarked cars fill the rear-view mirror. Finally—the border!
“Silence is often our hearts pretending to cope,” realization echoed as he gazed on from atop the 2440m peak of Chimanimani mountain. He missed her.
Far away in the backside of my
mind lie the throttles of fear and threat. Defeating thought oppression, my drive forces position action that shines.
The word position should be “positive” — my phone incorrectly autocorrected that word and I do not know how to correct it on my post.
I searched my heart for happiness. But it wasn’t there. My gut told me, “I have a feeling that’s found in the brain.”
As the box opened my photographs drifted to the ground, whispering words from my past that should have stayed hidden. I felt broken, once again.
Tears flowed down her face in the kitchen when she told me, “Next time you chop an onion.”
I overcame my fear of crossing the road on holiday in Vietnam. There are 4 million scooters in Ho Chi Minh, yet I felt safer.
With every birthday that passes I feel braver. I don’t need to occupy just one location I am free to expand my horizons.
I didn’t expect the life that I have but this one, right here, works just fine. Where it will go next, no one knows.
Desperate to rejoin her astronaut husband, the ship carrying their first child ran out of fuel at 235.5 billion miles halfway from Earth to Pluto.
There were no fistulas in Delaware before my war. Like tears and the pain of the years, it all leaks out of her towards me.
Damn, I’m here.
I like this one, very smart!
I avoid staring because I’m afraid of drawing its attention. The Honolulu dawn breaks and the ghost continues to pray at an old mango tree.
Featherless parrots plummet rather than fly. Disraeli was moulting when his ladylove sang from across the street. Five floors and Bond Street traffic below. Bugger!
This is a story with 24 words.
Writers love a 25-word-or-less challenge, especially when writing on the beach.
It’s now finished.
Running for the bus the man tripped and fell into the arms of a woman. They smiled. Soon romance blossomed. The end.
London! Reality turned to fiction as it was turned into a story and sold as a fact. It wrongly accused and affected many.
Once again his heart spoke first and then the brain stopped it. You owe me a kiss, the one you didn’t give me in Jerusalem.
Cecil the lion is dead. Don’t feed sad, his great spirit looks down on us from the stars.
Knowing she was in Fertile, she began to smile. Love was only one state away.
“Go for it son. Just like I did.” The baby smiled. He slowly stretched out for his first step. Joyful tears warmed their home.
She had it all. A bad job, a broken relationship, responsibilities. All things needed to brake free from your home and start over.
It’s 6 o’clock. She’s hungry. She will be married soon, leave the city… But, she is still hungry.
It’s 7:30. Silence. Where is she?
I woke up in Athens today with superpowers. I could move things. I moved my heart a bit too much though. Time to move on.
Right here, right now, he’s facing a blank page and the judges of a contest who he knows he’ll probably disappoint.
She cried, screamed and was driven insane by those four walls before becoming silent. Now she realizes death isn’t for everyone.
I was born inside this website, nice to meet you. And you are…?
Right here, right now, a nine-year-old is facing a blank space and the judges of a contest who have the power to change his ordinary life.
An emotion, a location and one fact. That’s all his less than 25 words had.
In late afternoon sun I’m lying in a chair on a Bordighera beach that recalls the atmosphere of Amarcord. Expecting the sighing ‘vuole una donna’
No longer excited to read short stories in that bright, crowded room. ¨Wake up¨, his conscience told him, ¨it’s time to choose¨.
Standing at the bar, he saw the ice sculpture melt, fading away like the perspective of a happy, anonymous life. He had become someone.
He’s happy to be right where he wants to be.
¨Write from your heart¨, she thought before fainting in the threshold. She had read the best short story ever written in a piece of flesh.
¨Awesome! A second chance!¨, a first chance said. Another patient at the hospital then whispered in my ear ¨who’s he talking to? No one’s there¨.
Monday is here, that’s why tears become real.
Freefalling down the cliff, he wondered how many would be alive if he hadn’t said it would be named after the last person to jump.
OMG, WHAT’S THAT THING STANDING BEHIND THE GUY WHO’S READING WHAT I WROTE????
Monday is here, that’s when tears become real.
5 years passed… a surprise visit to parents in Brazil: tears, hugs, kisses, caipirinhas, tanned and extra kilos in the belly back to London.
This mornings light returns the memory of winter, but it is August.
Stop laughing and get down from that ledge. I’ve told you, humans can not fly.
I’m relieved this story ends here.
His name was Barry and he worried why the fortune cookie in this dive knew it already.
The water dripped from her ears, forgetful that tears live in the eyes.
I went to your website for the competition, but i was very disappointed when i saw the message that no posts were found.
He was in a city, his thighs wet, unsure if he should be embarrassed yet.
He awaited impatiently to get out of bed but it hadn’t been 9 months yet.
The world is round she said, calm as water, watching her foot slip off the edge of nowhere.
It took only one grenade to annihilate the screaming kids in the courtyard. My guilt pieced them back together again.
“Don’t jump!” Screamed the cop, holding a base jumper at gun point. The guy laughed and yelled: “YOLO!”, as he fell from the rooftop.
My fingers linger on the bell button. It feels so cold. Coming home will never be the same again.
I went to your website and was very disappointed to see that no posts were found.
Behind him, the office door closed with a bang. Strange how nine long years can fit in a cardboard box.
A boy gets lost in the dark, calls out to his father. Father replies, jump into my arms, son. The boy jumps.
Cold chills got hold of the postman as he looked over the envelope once again. Stangray Avenue in Plymouth was actually missing the number 24.
‘I was sad I had lost the Copywriter Collective London tagline contest but I promised myself I would never give up.’
The survivors couldn’t shake the feeling of panic. Lined up on both banks of the 3,730 km long Mississippi river were hordes of zombies.
Mount Fuji towered over Honshu Island, but even IT was dwarfed by the terrifying giant.
Home, at last.
Heaven? But that must be a mistake…
I’m finally home, inside your hug.
My world went up in flames. When he failed to call my name.
I wait by the door. I worry. Door opens. He is home. I wag my tail. I am happy.
Whale and Tide. Frolic they did in the Arctic blue. The environmentalist watched in awe. Committed to this noble cause for planet and humanity.
As dawn broke, I threw the last of my pills into the Delaware River. I’m dancing without a net and it feels strangely exhilarating.
Clouds in the Tuscan sky shield the full moon from the last heat wave of the season. Olive trees weep at the summer’s passing.
You know, on this planet, you’re the only version of you, and still you’re not happy.
A normal heart beats about 60 times per minute. But since you went away, mine is silenced in a resin of pain.
Like trying to squeeze blood from a stone, I’m driven crazy chasing a woman who won’t be mine, won’t be loved. I’m lost.
Two nights ago in Tripoli, a longboat with 57 refugees and one dapper skipper set out for sea. God forgive me, I was that skipper.
Poor old Ricky Carter fell in love and lost his head. He’s on his way to heaven cause the silly bugger’s dead.
Perspective. So what if I blew my top—I didn’t do a Tambora: tomorrow the sun will still shine even without your smile.
We are the smallest of parts. Speck, speck, speck-ulators carrying wrecking balls inside our heads and punching holes in hearts.
2am on a Saturday with a back beat. Brown eyes blue choke on a promise in a rented room til dawn and call it phenomenon.
Private Mail Bag CT51, Accra, Ghana, is my address. Notify me when you send in the George Orwell’s please. I can’t wait!!!
Just a few words to get a George Orwell set! I’m really happy to be here!
This is Hell!
In 1984, a clergyman’s daughter, feeling down and out in Paris and London, fled to an animal farm on the road to Wigan Pier. (Fiction)
Even with 468 square miles, it’s hard to imagine how Los Angeles has packed so much heartache into itself.
Competition Time This months copywriting competition is a particularly challenging one. We are looking for a short story, by short we mean 25 words or less and you have to incorporate 3 things, an emotion, a location and a fact.
You are the lines to my bedtime story and I will lose myself in you… maybe there I will find myself too.
Yes! Eating my mind for five minutes, I finally entered in the contest organized by a blog started in Amsterdam.
The sky took her away from me. Oklahoma keeps the soul fearful. Keeps a man hoping gravity won’t quit pulling him down.
Perspective. So what if I blew my top? Get over it! I didn’t do a Tambora: tomorrow the sun will shine even without your smile.
Katrina means “pure”. Those in New Orleans might disagree, unless “hell” is added.
The writing competition deadline was unexpectedly extended. Even Eric Arthur Blair (aka George Orwell) rolled over in his Sutton Courtenay, Oxfordshire grave, disgusted.
I’m bored to death inside this coffin.
At the cemetery, tears poured down as the plot thickened.
I love London. It’s my home. But where to next?
To be continued.
I looked around the restaurant, again, certain that everyone must know that I was waiting for someone who was never going to arrive.
I clutched my dripping wet boyfriend under the door frame. “Screw San Fran!” he cried. “I knew there’d be an earthquake and I’d be naked!”
The boy looked at the girl longingly. The girl looked at the blackboard intently. They were juniors now and she still didn’t know he existed.
whoops – forgot the fact! :(