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Why I don't enter writing competitions

A few people have read my blog and asked me why I don’t become a writer. When I told them I can’t write unless I’m inspired, they have shrugged it off as an unsatisfactory answer. Well here is proof that I can churn out absolute bull, which will put even Christopher Paolini and Yann Martel to shame.

I entered a CREATIVE writing contest in Fergusson once, for want of better things to do on a Wednesday afternoon. The topic was “ A digital mouse meets a real mouse”. So I decided to go all out on the creativity. I really thought I deserved extra points for that. If you dare, and have nothing better to do in the next 10 – 20 minutes, depending on your speed of reading, then scroll down.

Since I am shameless enough to post this and torture you with the read, I beg you to go ahead and criticize and comment to your heart’s content, and basically exact revenge on me.

A Digital Mouse meets a Real Mouse

It is brown, hairy and scouts around in damp corners. I will not call it smelly, but I wouldn’t want to spend too much time with it. And then it met another, and they fell deeply in love. They married and decided to have a big family. (Guess they were inspired by the Jolie-Pitts). The household head dreamt of his own football team, so 16 little mice were conceived.

I speak of a hamlet, far, far away. (I think I was thinking of a galaxy far, far away – for the uninformed – I’m referring to Star Wars.) The King of Town Tinsel had grown impatient. His beanbags kept deflating and his daughters earrings kept disappearing.

One sunny day, the King’s spy Cheshire, informed him that he had some leads on the missing items. The King promised Cheshire a bowl of double toned milk and baked fish if he could find the thieves. “Bring them to me” he said, “and I will hang them by their toes until they… (censored version). Cheshire vowed to meow down every alley until they were made to pay for their crimes.

And so it began, the hunt. Try as he did, Cheshire could not catch the thieves red-handed. The King’s bean bag continued to sag and the Princess’ cupboard was depleted of its treasure. And one cold, dark winter day, the King could not get off the bean bag at all! His face grew beetroot red, and his eyes became as big as saucers. When he called out for Cheshire to be brought before him, the castle trembled and the trees shivered. He banished the cat forever.
A little boy named Pied saw this video on youtube. He decided it was a mystery he wanted to solve. He quickly emailed his bio-data to the King, applying for the recently vacated post. As he waited eagerly for a reply, he formulated a plan.

Meanwhile, the 2 youngest members of the football team, Ratt and Ratter, grew up in prosperity. Their dad and brothers earned good grain with their foot skills. They, on the other hand, spent all their time on their Sony Waio. They loved updating their blog, and their very favourite site was Now Ratt decided that he wanted wi-fi instead of Dial Up. His father told him to earn the money himself. Ratt and Ratter decided to sell off their brothers’ football to unsuspecting novices, and make a few quick bucks.

When Pied boarded the plane, Offer Letter in hand and Visa in his pocket, he was full of hope of improving his fortunes. The King had promised him half a bag of gold if he could catch the thieves. He would finally be able to afford that Odidas Aeroball. He decided to make an advance booking. Poor Pied was about to find out that his gold would be wasted on an old, worn out football. When he received the delivery in the castle of Town Tinsel, he was heartbroken. The King too was displeased with his lack of progress so far.

But Pied had searched google until he finally had clues to follow the trail of bean bag balls. And it led straight to the Jordan family! He knew for sure they had been stealing from the King, but now they had even started infesting the internet and corrupting the sites! They were like pesky little bugs! The net had never behaved like this before.

Pied had one last trick up his sleeve, before he was ready to admit defeat. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and drew out a pipe. It was his great great grandfather’s, a family heirloom. He took this pipe everywhere, earning him the name ‘Pied Piper’. But he had never smoked it before. That night he filled it with tobacco and lit it. For a few moments he looked at it with apprehension. Curiosity and anticipation got the better of him, and he inhaled a tiny puff of smoke. Immediately, he heard the scuffling of tiny feet. Excited, he took a second breath. Within moments, a hundred little mice came out of little holes. Pied knew what he had to do. His grandfather’s magic pipe would only take him so far. (Here is when I got thoroughly bored of writing, and abandoned the pathetic storyline completely) Ratt and Ratter recognised Pied from ‘’. They looked at him with guilt in their eyes, unable to even beg for mercy. They knew death was only a click away.
And so the real mice met the digital mouse.

I was baffled by own writing as I typed this out. There was logic to the end, but I can’t figure it out anymore. But somehow, I still hope it is more entertaining than the story that won 1st prize. It’s a predictable conversation between a damn rat and a mouse. Yawn!


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