Jhohadli Writing Project Workshop Sessions Continue March 4th 2022

Thought I’d share a JWP February evaluation. See if any of it resonates with or inspires you. There’s still time to register for March. Or April or May or June or July or August or September… I’ll be here all year.

*bolds are mine*

Why did you attend this workshop?

I have been paying writing an embarrassing amount of mouth service and underutilizing my fingers. I got really honest with myself and realised that fear and a lack of confidence were part of the problem. So, I vowed to make every effort to boost my capacity as a writer going forward.

It is also a personal goal to master the Caribbean short story and ‘The Other Daughter’ is one of my favourites. Needless to say I was extremely excited for this opportunity!

Are you happy/satisfied that you did?

I am beyond happy that I did and look forward to attending more sessions this year.

If yes, why? if no, why not?

I got more insight into the mechanics of writing dialogue.  It was like seeing the cheat sheet for the test.

What was your favourite and/or least favourite workshop activity?

The discussions were enjoyable and edifying, they reminded me a bit of my high school literature classes where I fell in love with writing.

I honestly can’t bring to mind a least favourite activity.

What goals did you achieve and/or not achieve?

The veil has been lifted on crafting a powerful dialogue and I feel my confidence building a bit.

Would you participate in another JWP workshop?

Definitely!

Would you like to be informed of future JWP workshops?

I’ll appreciate that very much.

Would you recommend this workshop? If yes, why, if no, why not?

Emerging writers can benefit tremendously from Joanne’s wisdom and experience.  This felt like a safe, creative space to learn in my estimation. Time was also well managed, I was a bit shocked how much was accomplished in the hour.

What topics would you like to see covered in future workshops? (*note*: I do listen)

Developing memorable characters and interesting plots.  Scene breaks and formatting manuscripts, as well as combatting writer’s block and doubt when they surface.

Any other Comment.

Do you object to any part of your evaluation being shared publicly (with or without your name)?

No.

For more performance reviews, more on Jhohadli Writing Project, or more Opportunities and even More Opportunities, including workshops by another Team Wadadli Pen member, click the links.

As with all content on wadadlipen.wordpress.com, except otherwise noted, this is written by Joanne C. Hillhouse (author of The Boy from Willow Bend, Dancing Nude in the Moonlight, Musical Youth, With Grace, Lost! A Caribbean Sea Adventure, The Jungle Outside, and Oh Gad!). All Rights Reserved. Subscribe to the site to keep up with future updates. Thanks.

Wadadli Pen 2021 – Video Gallery

“To be honest with you, I literally cried, because it was a difficult year for me, my family, and I had to just take in the moment and say ‘wow, I actually won.’ Because I’d been writing for many years. People know me in some circles for poetry writing. I’ve never written short stories before. It’s my first short story writing that I’ve actually put out to the public and it’s amazing that I was successful. So, I’m elated.” – Kevin Liddie, author of ‘Mildred, You No Easy’, Wadadli Pen 2021 champion on ABS TV June 2nd 2021.

“I’m glad that my story about the hellish year of 2020 was appreciated because it was really a poignant story coming from the heart, especially my experiences dealing with it.” – Sheniqua Greaves, subtheme and main prize honourable mention about her story ‘The Juxtaposed Reprieve’ during the May 30th 2021 awards ceremony.

“This is quite a shocker…the ‘Great Old Woodslave’ was actually inspired by a woodslave that seemingly has taken up residence in my home. I’m not a writer by any stretch.. The whole challenge came from, I’m a member of a social club, and we were one night to write a story about an inanimate object and how it would view COVID…everybody was saying I really enjoyed your story, why don’t you submit it… and I eventually submitted the night of the deadline not expecting to hear anymore about it.” – Jason Gilead, winner ‘2020’ prize and main prize honourable mention.

“I wrote the poem for my school, when we were doing a project for my school, and my teacher said I should enter it and I’m really glad she did because it gave me an opportunity to win something.” -Gazelle Goodwin, author of ‘Beautiful Disaster’, 12 and younger winner. Gazelle is a student at Island Academy.

“What inspired me to write ‘The Blackboard’ is the board at school.” – Eunike Caesar, 9. Twelve and younger honourable mention. Eunike attends Baptist Academy.

“Thank you for the opportunity to enter anything I’ve written in to a competition and be recognized for it in any capacity. Really grateful that you decided to give back in this way, especially to young people. There are really not a lot of opportunities for Caribbean writers especially to enter short form fiction, for recognition, and I think I do better in short anything.” – Razonique Looby, honourable mention for her short story ‘Vixen’. Razonique, 15, is a student at Christ the King High School.

“I just sat at my computer and I just started to write and the story just came. I had been to Canada recently so I just used my experience of the place.” – Ashley-Whitney Joshua (in video above), second placed for her story ‘Hiraeth’.

“All of the stories had good bones which means that we saw a lot of potential in all of the stories; it’s just a simple matter of structure or grammar or feeling out the story more. So I want to encourage everyone that entered to take this as a learning opportunity.” – Floree Williams Whyte, judge, on Why We Chose It

“As I said, I never expected to hear anything else about this story. It was just one of those things. But I’m happy that it has done as well as it has. And would just like to encourage other persons to use such platforms to write and to get their ideas out of their heads on to paper.” – Jason Gilead discussing his Wadadli Pen experience on GMAB the week after the awards

“I was interested in entering this competition as I was looking for some stimulus, in a sense. There really wasn’t much to do at home post-graduating from State College. So I really wanted to take part in something… it has made me feel way more confident in my writing.” – Sheniqua discussing her Wadadli Pen experience on GMAB the week after the announcement

“I got lots and lots of books, I got a cash donation from Frank B. Armstrong…and I’m going to be trained in writing…I’m looking forward to that one.” – Kevin Liddie interviewed on ZDK’s Open Forum

One of the interviews in the roll up to the prize, this one with founder Joanne C. Hillhouse on ABS TV’s Antigua Barbuda Today.

Go to the Wadadli Pen 2021 – Photo Gallery

See Who Won What and read the winning stories

Read About Wadadli Pen

Wadadli Pen 2021 – Photo Gallery

As with last year, we weren’t able to have in-person awards this year. Thanks to Best of Books, management and staff, for capturing some of these images as winners came in to collect their prizes and, of course, the winning plaques that will hang in the store. Thanks as well to Frank B. Armstrong for these first two photographs.

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Long time patron Frank B. Armstrong delivers its EC$500 cash prize to winning writer Kevin Liddie in our first no-age-barrier Wadadli Pen challenge since 2015.

The Alstyne Allen Memorial plaque bears the name of every winner since the Wadadli Pen Challenge was first held in 2004. It is sponsored by the Best of Books bookstore, where it hangs year round.

Long listed writer Latisha Walker-Jacobs with her signed copy of Musical Youth (from her facebook).

Second placed writer Ashley-Whitney Joshua, author of ‘Hiraeth‘ with prizes that include gifts from Rotary Club of Antigua, books contributed by Sekou Luke, cash contributed by Rilys Adams, and a spot in a future Bocas workshop.

12 and Younger honourable mention (for the story ‘The Blackboard‘) Eunike Caesar collecting her prizes which include books from Harper Collins and Barbara Arrindell, gift certificate from Juneth Webson, and gift certificates and other prizes from Rotary Club of Antigua.

Sheniqua Greaves’ ‘The Juxtaposed Reprieve‘ earned honourable mention in both the ‘2020’ subtheme and main categories, and she earned prizes from Bocas (workshop), Peepal Tree Press (Daylight Come by Diana McCaulay), Juneth Webson (gift certificate), Rotary Club of Antigua (various), and Devra Thomas (cash).

Gazelle Goodwin is the first time winner of the Cushion Club Zuri Holder Achievement Award given to the top 12 and younger writer. Her poem was ‘Beautiful Disaster‘.

Andre Warner – honourable mention for ‘The Brave One‘ collecting his prize.

Gazelle Goodwin holding the Cushion Club Zuri Holder Achievement Award which now bears her name. Gazelle is 12 and younger winner for ‘Beautiful Disaster‘.

Aunjelique Liddie collecting her prizes for placing third with ‘The Beach‘.

Main prize winner Kevin Liddie for ‘Mildred, You No Easy‘ with the Alstyne Allen Memorial plaque.

Collecting contribution to the Public Library.

These Collins Big Cat books are at the library. Go get them.

Main prize honourable mention for ‘Vixen‘, Razonique Looby.

Principal of St. Anthony’s Joanne Boulous-Callias collecting her school’s prize.

Click below for:

About Wadadli Pen

Wadadli Pen 2021 press release announcing this year’s winners

Who Won What in 2021

Wadadli Pen 2021 Playlist on YouTube

Wadadli Pen Winners through the Years – Story Links

Thanks to our Patrons

PRESS RELEASE – WADADLI PEN FIRST: FATHER AND DAUGHTER WIN

A Wadadli Pen first – father and daughter in the top 3.

Kevin Liddie’s name has been added to the Alstyne Allen Memorial Plaque, sponsored by the Best of Books, as winner of the 2021 Wadadli Youth Pen Prize Challenge. The writer of ‘Mildred, You No Easy’, benefiting from the opening up of the usually youth-focused Prize, finds himself in company with his 13-year-old daughter Antigua Girls High School student Aunjelique, third placed with her poem ‘The Beach’. Teen, Ashley-Whitney Joshua, author of ‘Hiraeth’, ranks second. Wadadli Pen congratulates them for emerging victorious from among 72 entries. The announcement of winners was made on May 30^th 2021, in the second year of virtual awards.

This virtual shift is not the only way ‘2020’ impacted Wadadli Pen; ‘2020’ was also a subtheme. The subtheme winner is Jason Gilead, whose story ‘The Great Old Woodslave’ is also an honourable mention for the Wadadli Pen 2021 main prize. Sheniqua Greaves, ‘The Juxtaposed Reprieve’, is honourable mention for both the ‘2020’ subtheme prize and the main prize.

Other main prize honourable mentions are last year’s winner Andre Warner, ‘The Brave One’, and 15-year-old Christ the King High School student Razonique Looby, ‘Vixen’.

The other special prize in 2021 is the 12 and younger prize. Gazelle Goodwin, a 12-year-old Island Academy student and writer of the poem ‘Beautiful Disaster’, will be the first name on the Zuri Holder Achievement Award – a new plaque memorializing the former Wadadli Pen 12 and younger finalist who died in a road accident earlier this year. The prize is sponsored by his family.  Nine-year-old Baptist Academy student, ‘The Blackboard’ author Eunike Caesar, is honourable mention in the 12 and younger age category.

The school with the most submissions was St. Anthony’s Secondary School and a couple of their students Aria-Rose Browne, also a finalist last year, and Naeem DeSouza are on the Wadadli Pen 2021 long list.

Reportedly, the school has incorporated Wadadli Pen in to its curriculum. “We are going to do so much better next year,” said teacher Margaret Irish during the awards. “I dare any other school in this country to try to beat us.”

All long listed writers – including former finalist Latisha Walker-Jacobs, Linita Simon, Anastatia Mayers, Jai Francis, Annachiara Bazzoni, Kadisha Valerie, Rosemond Dinard-Gordon, and Noleen Azille – will have the opportunity to participate in development workshops sponsored by US based Jamaican Garfield Linton and facilitated by Wadadli Pen founder-coordinator-patron and Antiguan and Barbudan author Joanne C. Hillhouse.

Rotary Club of Antigua was a first-time major patron in 2021. RCA member Kevin Silston, who attended the virtual awards, explained, “Rotary usually supports the spelling bee (and reading) competition and this year in particular because of the COVID related challenges, we were unable to do that. More broadly, this year, our theme has been opening opportunities by supporting youth development and healthy lifestyle choices. …Us coming on board to be able to provide some support allows us to execute our mandate while at the same time supporting a worthy cause.”

Other prizes have been contributed by past Wadadli Pen finalists Rilys Adams, Daryl George, and Devra Thomas; new patrons the Trinidad and Tobago’s Bocas Lit Fest, Harper Collins UK, Peepal Tree Press (UK), Jamacia’s Poet Laureate Olive Senior, Ten Pages Book Store, Sekou Luke and new local writer Patricia Tully; and long time patrons Frank B. Armstrong, Juneth Webson, and Barbara Arrindell.

Marcella Andre, owner of another first time patron NIA Comms, which ran its own NIA Mentor Award earlier this year, said, “Wadadli Pen is something that inspires creativity and I think that is something that’s very important…I want to support people who want to get their thoughts out in to the world.”

For Awards clips go to the Wadadli Pen YouTube   and to read the stories visit the Wadadli Pen blog. The team members – Barbara Arrindell, Joanne C. Hillhouse, Margaret Irish, Devra Thomas, and Floree Williams Whyte – thank all patrons, media, partners, past and present for bringing the project from 2004 to the present, nurturing and showcasing the literary arts in Antigua and Barbuda.

Main Prize (Wadadli Pen 2021) – Winner – Kevin Liddie

Kevin Liddie, M, ‘Mildred, You No Easy’ (fiction)

About the Author – Kevin Liddie has been writing poetry and short fiction since childhood – most memorably, at age 8, writing a prayer for a priest dying of cancer. Today, he is a pastor, salesman, and avid reader. He has done stints in acting including dramatic presentations. His poetry has been read on the radio and in church. His motto is ‘life is an adventure, so live it’. This is his first entry into a writing competition.

About ‘Mildred, You No Easy’: The story was inspired by personal observations and scenes from his favourite beach Fort James Beach, Antigua.

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‘Mildred, You No Easy’

“Heh, those raindrops look like tears,” said John Mink as he walked toward Fort James beach.

It felt as if he had been walking for hours, though it had only been 10 minutes since he left his one-room wooden house. The rain eased the heat a little, but to John, they were the same. Rain or shine, he trekked to the beach every day.

Today’s walk was sluggish, as he conversed with slow-poke Mildred. “Yes,” she said. “The rain reminds me of tears as well and remind me of when I cried when I broke my big toe.”

John had his usual possessions – the fishing rod and an old crocus bag, but today was special because he had some pepperpot and fungee that his neighbor had left for him. It smelled just like the pepperpot and fungee his ex-wife used to cook.He could not wait to eat it, sitting on the edge of his favourite cannon, looking over the water.

Mildred was chatty. She asked John if his ex-wife used celery to season the meat for the pepper pot and when was the last time he saw the children.

John could feel the blood rumbling through his body. Mildred and her big mouth. She knew he preferred to think about his ex-wife, not talk about her. On top of that Mildred was such a hypocrite. She had never liked his ex-wife. At first the marriage was peaceful, then Mildred turned up the heat. I created a rift and constant arguments became the norm as Mildred was extremely jealous.

“I don’t want to talk about her, and I don’t want to talk about the children with you.

He was marching, now. He was pissed and as usual when he got angry, the Creole, that his socialization and education had repressed, erupted.”Me say me no want talk about them, you def.” A litany of expletives proliferated the air. People who lived nearby came out to see what the commotion was all about.

“Mildred me ah go knock you if you nah hush you mouth” screeched John.

Calm yourself, calm yourself” cried an impassioned Mildred.

His story of loss had always been the tipping point of John’s outrage and again, Mildred’s interference was the catalyst that re-surfaced these memories.

He felt his heart pounding. Oh, he was on a roll now … the people in his peripheral vision began to disappear … he was caught up in the memories.

Fort James was in sight. But the promise of fishing in peace was gone.

Mildred would not shut her mouth. She, too, was on a roll.

“Don’t blame me because your wife left you,” she screamed. “You know, John, it’s your fault that she left you. You are to blame. Look at you now. You still cannot control your anger. That’s how you got in trouble in the first place.

Whap!

John hit Mildred in her mouth.

She screamed at him again, “You are such a loser!”

He gave her another blow. This time Mildred was on the ground.

An audience gathered, watching the man on sand beating and talking to himself.

The rain began to pour and they scattered leaving the deranged man with the fishing rod and crocus bag by himself.

This is one of the winning entries in the 2021 Wadadli Youth Pen Prize Challenge. Please respect each writer’s copyright.

Click here for the full prize break down and remember to support our patrons as they support the arts.

Sub-theme ‘2020’- Winner, and Main Prize – Honourable Mention (Wadadli Pen 2021) – Jason Gilead

Jason Gilead, M, ‘The Great Old Woodslave’ (fiction)

About the Author – Jason declared, “I am not a writer by any stretch of the imagination.  I enjoy travelling, meeting people, eating great food and gaining new experiences.  I have a vivid imagination, but most times the things I imagine remain just there, in my imagination.“

About ‘The Great Old Woodslave’: Jason is a member of a social club, and, for a recent club activity, was challenged to write a story about how any object around their home would view the COVID-19 pandemic. He said, “A few nights before that activity I had what can only be classified as an all-out war with a woodslave I found in my living room (I admittedly have a mild phobia of anything that looks like a lizard). I therefore chose to write my short story from the eyes of that woodslave. The members enjoyed the story very much and challenged me to enter the piece. I never expected anything to come of the submission.” Jason is outside of the usual age range of Wadadli Pen and his is the kind of story that makes us feel good about opening up the Challenge to all ages in 2021.

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‘The Great Old Woodslave’

I didn’t trouble him na! Most times he doesn’t even know I am here. We have lived together, co-existed for years; I don’t bother him, he doesn’t bother me. I stay in the eaves of the house and simply observe.

Oh how life has changed over the past year. He used to be gone all day and back only at night. I had the lay of the land all to myself. I would roam, enjoy the quiet serenity and snack on my favorite morsels that pass my way. I would retire to my spot, before he got home or dart at the sound of the rustle of his keys, so he would not have the chance to see me. But of late, he has been present way too often……always sitting at the table banging away at and talking into that black box with lights….lights that hurt my skin. Oh, and that box seems to be filled with other humans….males, females, with all sorts of accents and they talk incessantly!!! Oh how I miss my serenity!

One day, my curiosity got the better of me. I ought to have known better but what was going on in that black box, the one with buttons and the lights and the many voices…it wrestled my attention. As the human retired to that room in which I am seemingly not welcomed, I came out from my hiding place to investigate.

I don’t know which of the humans in the box told him I was out, but the next thing I knew, I was on the receiving end of a broom. Whap! Whap!. The licks left me so dazed and confused. I scurried back to my hiding place to catch my breath. It was then I realized I had lost my tail in the melee.

Had it not been for this pandemic, I would not have captivated by that box…by those wretched people inside that box, nor would my curiosity have gotten the better of me.

This story was edited by the author, post-judging, prior to posting. It is one of the winning entries in the 2021 Wadadli Youth Pen Prize Challenge. Please respect each writer’s copyright.

Click here for the full prize break down and remember to support our patrons as they support the arts.

Main Prize (Wadadli Pen 2021) – Third Placed – Aunjelique Liddie

Aunjelique Liddie, 13, F, ‘The Beach’ (poetry)

About the Author – Aunjelique LIddie has a passion for swimming and has represented Antigua in the OECS swim championships for her age category. She is an avid student and passionate about her work and desires to have a career in building design. She is pragmatic and self-determined, with a vivid imagination and a desire to explore the beauty and tragedy of life. Aunjelique is a student at the Antigua Girls High School.

About ‘The Beach’: Inspired by Aunjelique’s love of the beach and her deep passion to swim as well as her journey, mishaps, thoughts, and adventures in the water.

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‘The Beach’

Glaze on the deep blue sea
Sun shining as bright as a star
Waves as big as a mountain
Crabs crawling
Fish swimming

Salt in the air emptiness all around me the freshness of trees
Coconut water never taste sweeter

A calm wind, a gentle breeze
Chopping down of milky content fruits
Trees moaning
Birds cowing looking for food

Diving into the big open sea
Struggling to stay above the surface
Gasping for air but the water swallows me whole
Eyes spot me
Feet are stomping
Splash!! Splash!! Splash!!
Hands reach out
A tight grip on my shoulders
Carried away to the sandy shore
Breathed to life
I am whole again.

This is one of the winning entries in the 2021 Wadadli Youth Pen Prize Challenge. Please respect each writer’s copyright.

Click here for the full prize break down and remember to support our patrons as they support the arts.

Main Prize (Wadadli Pen 2021)- Honourable Mention Razonique Looby

Razonique Looby, 15, F, ‘Vixen’ (fiction)

About the Author – Razonique is a fifth form student currently studying at Christ The King High School. When not desperately obsessing over Jamaica Kincaid, she spends her time writing. “Ever since I was very young, words have been my dearest way of expressing my thoughts and feelings.” Razonique’s favourite themes to explore are those that deal with the internal conflicts of women and their relationships with society and the world at large.

About ‘Vixen’: ‘Vixen’ is a story about a woman who, driven by the pandemic, takes on ‘lovers’ and ruins them for her personal gain. Razonique says she likes to work with femme fatales. “I find them to be some of the most complex and rewarding characters. This particular piece was inspired by a quote from one of my favourite feminist books, Margaret Atwood’s Robber Bride which goes, ‘Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it’s all a male fantasy: that you’re strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren’t catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you’re unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.'”

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‘Vixen’

Magdelyne stretched, arching her back and contorting her joints until the satisfactory snaps were heard and reminded her that she was not quite a dead woman yet.

She was not meant to be left alone with her own thoughts; the recent shut down of the country due to the pandemic only serving to exacerbate her many problems. The bustle of St. Johns had always been a necessary distraction, but Magdelyne always knew how to make do.

The man who was currently on video call with her (the fifth that afternoon), was from Britain but far from an English gentleman. Dylan, she thought his name was. Dylan, or Dianthus. He was fifteen years her senior at 37 years old and had the pandemic not gotten in the way of things, Magdelyne was certain that he would have been in Antigua worshipping the ground she walked on by now. This accountant had entered her rotation of ‘lovers’ about six months ago and Magdelyne could tell that poor Dianthus had already deluded himself into believing that he was in love.

After all, how could he not be? The very persona he knew her to be had been perfected to serve that very purpose; ‘Vixen’, a male delusion who never nagged and lived only to please and purr and wear lingerie. For obvious reasons, Magdelyne had neglected to tell Dianthus of the dozens of men around the world who shared his feelings and expressed their love into her bank account accordingly. This was how she lived, how she could afford the luxurious backdrop in frame behind her. Magdelyne was very good at her job.

The young vixen was bored and cold. Lying sexily on satin sheets at 7 PM in the middle of March was certainly not her idea of a good time, but she would do anything for a paying customer. The sinful red of the short robe she was wearing seemed to distract her ‘beaux’ from the dull look in her eyes and the uninterested, outright insincere look sitting on her face. There was not much of a masquerade taking place on either of their sides. Four hours ahead of her in London, Dianthus had called for a late evening ogle and a chance to moan about his sow of a mother. He never mentioned his father.

The more Dianthus spoke, the more disgusted she became. Generally, this was the case with all her marks, but she had long since learned to disassociate her conscience from her body during work. Very seldom did she feel this level of visceral hatred towards any one of her ‘lovers’ at any one point.

Magdelyne did not talk to openly married men. She never felt the need to ask (because she felt it was not her responsibility) but if the topic came up naturally the woman would never directly participate in infidelity. It was, however, explicitly clear that this annoying ‘mother’ of Dianthus’ was his wife- or at least a serious girlfriend. This was her fifth video call that afternoon and Magdelyne was at her wit’s end. Then again, it was not her place to confront him. Not until the young woman had a proper escape plan, at least.

“Sometimes I wonder, Vixen,” Dianthus drawled with a deep, dreamy sigh, “where you were all my life?”

Magdelyne resisted the almost overwhelming urge to roll her eyes and decided to play the part of gracious, giggling sycophant instead. She knew exactly where this was going. Dianthus, focused on the task at hand and keeping to his train of thought mused further, “I mean, I-I’ve never met anyone quite like you.” His breaths were heavy, and it was almost difficult to make out what he was saying over the phone as he was holding it rather unsteadily with one hand but a veteran like Magdelyne could recite this little speech in her sleep. “I w-wish my wife was like you- she barely knows how to have fun anymore…”

And there it was, the truth out in the open. Magdelyne felt like screaming. It was likely his fault that this wife was the way she was. Magdelyne guessed sympathetically that the woman was likely ‘good’, a member of the highly praised yet privately disparaged group of women who did things as society said that they ought to. They had fed from the pie society serves to Every Woman before handcuffing them and sending them into the kitchen (where a woman belongs) to bake the same dish for their daughters. These were the women whose lives revolved around a man as the centre of her universe, who sacrificed their interests and hobbies to be servile. These were the women who found themselves disregarded as ‘boring’ later on when the new girl smell wore off of their bosoms and their men decided to want to ‘substance’ (someone younger and prettier).

That complicit, submissive, eager to please part of Magdelyne had long since died. What was left was a cold, avaricious succubus of a woman. What a stupid man, she thought. An unreasonable, childish man. Couldn’t he tell that any boring woman would be better for him than she was? But alas, none of his lovers would ever be able to compete with Vixen who did not exist.

This character she was playing was an amalgamation of fantasies, barely a person at all. Magdelyne was beginning to get tired of this game.

Vixen performed as she knew how; purring and stroking and pawing and stripping and waited until the man reached his summit to reach for her phone. The end was near. Quickly, she snapped a picture of her laptop screen before grinning murderously, black eyes shining in contempt like a cat having caught its prey. The woman retied the discarded robe around herself.

Dianthus, yet unaware of the misfortune he had just suffered panted. Hard. “That was amazing,” he said.

Sure it was, she thought smugly. Magdelyne held her phone to the webcam and smiled as her newest victim gasped. Dianthus understood what was happening instantly. Tears pricked at his eyes; how could he have been so foolish?

“$50,000 or I send this to everyone you know.”

This story was edited by the author, post-judging, prior to posting. It is one of the winning entries in the 2021 Wadadli Youth Pen Prize Challenge. Please respect each writer’s copyright.

Click here for the full prize break down and remember to support our patrons as they support the arts.

Main Prize (Wadadli Pen 2021) – Second Placed Ashley-Whitney Joshua

Ashley-Whitney Joshua, 19, F, ‘Hiraeth’ (Fiction)

About the Author – Ashley-Whitney, 19, spent her entire childhood devouring book after book. She still reads a lot, but now, writes just as much, using anything and everything as a prompt. She previously submitted to Wadadli Pen at 15, in 2017. She attended the Antigua Girls High School and has since completed an associates degree in culinary arts. She is currently working towards becoming a dietician and/or kinesiologist (whichever comes first).

About ‘Hiraeth’: Ashley-Whitney’s story is about a young woman escaping a less than ideal situation and ending up far from home in a place she never would have expected, then finding herself feeling regret for the home she lost. She explains, “The title ‘Hiraeth’ means, The feeling of longing for a home that no longer exists, or never was. In terms of inspiration, I had just finished raiding my Nana’s bookshelf when I received a call from my irate Godmother demanding to know why I haven’t entered this competition. After not giving a very valid excuse, I was sent the necessary information, and was told to ‘start writing’. I didn’t really need a prompt for this story, thinking back. All I needed was a name for the main character, then the words began to spill out and before I knew it, I was well past 1000 words.” Ashley-Whitney also wrote on her entry form at the time of submission how much she enjoyed writing the story, and requested feedback to improve her writing even if the story didn’t qualify for a prize. Well, it has and she has also earned spots in a couple of workshops to continue to work on her writing.

*

‘Hiraeth’

Emilia opened her eyes and looked around, confused for a minute, as was her routine, every day, since she packed her bags 6 months ago and fled Antigua. Mind blank, she sat up and thought, “what is that incessant beeping?” Looking around groggily, trying to pinpoint the sound, her eyes fell upon her source of annoyance. “My alarm,” she thought while rolling her eyes then froze, suddenly the beeping became insignificant as the events of the previous months flooded her memory. “Well, there goes my moments of ignorant bliss,” Em thought, while dragging herself out of bed and turning off the noise. As she walked passed her window towards her bathroom, she caught a glimpse of the sky outside. It was just 6 minutes past 7 and while she could hear the world waking up and coming to life outside, the sky was still very dark. Yet another stark difference between Antigua and Vancouver. The sun would have been shining in all its Caribbean glory by 6:30 despite being in the middle of January. Here, the sun, when it made the decision to show its face, was simply a decoration; especially at this time of year. Standing in front of the sink, she looked in the mirror, her eyes tracing the now fading scars that scattered her upper body and shuddered. She closed her eyes tightly and chased away the imaginary heat that had settled itself on her shoulders, stretched heartily and began her day.

Donning her mask and stepping out of her apartment building, she made her way down the icy sidewalk to the neighbourhood coffee shop, ‘Nani’s’ in anticipation of what the barista had in store for her today. “Nani’s,” she laughed to herself, “if someone back home only heard th-” she quickly cut herself off, “it wasn’t home anymore,” she reminded herself. Walking in, the upbeat old lady that reminded her of her Grandmother already had a steaming cup with her name on it waiting on the counter. Since she came in a few months ago and asked the lady to ‘surprise her,’ Nani, as she was known, has had a new flavor waiting for her every single day without fail. Today, it was a mango and ‘feevagrass’ latte, the scent making her think of home again. After paying and thanking Nani, she sipped and walked the rest of the way to the dance studio where she worked as a Cultural Dance instructor and began to prepare for her first class. Today, she was teaching African folk, so she tied on her waist wrap, pulled up her drum playlist and waited for her students to arrive. In the middle of teaching her class, she paused to drink some water as her throat was beginning to ache. “These white women have no damn sense of rhythm!” she exclaimed in her head. It was hard enough getting them to keep their distance and loosen up in the beginning but getting them to move in time with the music was an entire nightmare! Looking around at her students, her class mainly consisted of wealthy housewives who either had nothing better to do or wanted to, somehow, regain the attention of their disinterested husbands. “A disinterested husband,” she thought, “must be nice.” Without wanting to remember what drove her to leave her home, she continued her classes throughout the day, still, by the time she got home, the memories replayed in her head like a movie until, after a long hot shower, she laid in bed and allowed herself to remember…

…It never rained that much in Antigua. It was supposed to be ‘isle of sand, sun and sea,’ so when Emilia, left home without an umbrella (as usual!) she never would have guessed that she’d end up under a bus shed, nearly knee deep in dirty flood water. She only needed to get to her car which was parked at least two minutes away, but the rain, traffic and rising water ‘looked at her and laughed.’ Fuming, she only noticed the car that pulled up in front of her when she heard its horn. Looking through the rolled down window, she noticed the handsome familiar face of the customer that visited the small bakery she worked at earlier today and smiled. Thinking back on it now, she should have swam through the flood waters instead of getting into his car that night. And after bringing her home that night and taking her to her car the next morning, it set into motion the events that would shape the next two years of her life: A whirlwind of dates, trips, meeting each other’s families, then a proposal that came not long after. Thinking about it, she cursed herself for her naiveté, because who was even THAT perfect? So, she married him, with her mother’s insistence, and all she wanted, was to be the perfect housewife to the perfect husband and that she was, until he began to change. It started with heated interrogations after she ran simple errands, then he was screaming at her over simple things. “He’s stressed at work,” she remembers telling her best friend Jazz. But her friend wasn’t convinced; no, not when her husband’s “stress” had to be hidden with heavy concealer and eye makeup. He soon put an end to their friendship though, especially after her second miscarriage; and instead of blaming his fists, both he and her mother blamed her and stupidly she believed it. A while after, it was as though he had beaten the sense into her because the next day, she was on a plane to Vancouver with as much of his money that she could carry. Why there? No clue. It wasn’t the tropical paradise she’d known and it was a far cry from where she thought she’d be. “But I’m not a victim anymore” she said to herself. And with that, she closed her eyes and for the first time in ages, as she drifted to sleep, she smiled.

This story was edited by the author, post-judging, prior to posting. It is one of the winning entries in the 2021 Wadadli Youth Pen Prize Challenge. Please respect each writer’s copyright.

Click here for the full prize break down and remember to support our patrons as they support the arts.

Sub-theme ‘2020’ + Main Prize – Honourable Mention (Wadadli Pen 2021) – Sheniqua Greaves

Sheniqua Maria Greaves, 19, F, ‘The Juxtaposed Reprieve’ (fiction)

About the Author – Sheniqua Greaves is a recent graduate of Antigua State College. She loves reading and has a fondness for writing. She, also, enjoys watching animated movies, shows; and listening to music in her spare time.

About ‘A Juxtaposed Reprieve’: The story gives a glimpse into the daily struggles of two best friends during the height of the pandemic lockdown. Greaves said, “This story is inspired by my experience of boredom during the pandemic. As well as the notion of missing out, when in reality things will occur in the intended time.”

*

‘A Juxtaposed Reprieve’

Weary eyes gazed at the orange tinted glare of the computer screen. Shamia Anderson lazily scrolled through her social media feed for prospective job opportunities. Sure, times were hard, but there haven’t been any new job updates for two days and she was feeling antsy.

Deciding to refresh her page one last time, a candy-colored image came into view. “HELP WANTED,” it boosted. Quickly skimming for the requirements, her demeanor soured. More graphic designers? Really?

Tension was high, pandemic fatigue was in the air and she’d caught a bad case. Especially frustrating was the deviation from her plan. It was simple, graduate, get employed and raise money to pay for her degree.

Not sitting idly by while her family struggled to keep the lights on. Sure, it was hard to get a job in Antigua even pre-pandemic, but still… She was-

Ms. Anderson, “the smart one”, she was supposed to wow the interviewers with her personality, not stalk her rarely used Facebook profile like a scavenger.

Damn it. Her frustration and bitter tears welled up to the surface.

Then she let out a weary sigh, a reminder of the time. Wiping away her damp cheeks, she decided to get some sleep.

Declining her family’s request for a round of domino, and ignoring the 50+ messages from Andrea (poor girl, she had her own problems). She flopped on her bed, springs of the weary mattress protesting at her weight. Checking her phone, she scrolled aimlessly through her feed as the blue lights lulled her into a heavy sleep.

—-

The sweet tunes of pan music in the live band blended effortlessly with the other instruments, blanketing her, from the cold of the beachside restaurant, in nostalgic tunes. To the front of her, couples swayed in time with the music.

Yet Shamia, ever the introvert, sat off to the side, sipping on a virgin sunrise. It was well deserved after a hard day’s work, after all.

A tap on her shoulder notified her of Andrea, who took the seat next to her, attired in a blue oxford miniskirt and plain white kimono top. They started the most enthralling conversation about why the formation of the letter “G” was just so peculiar.

When taking another sip, some drizzled onto her pants suit, embarrassed, she looked down only to see that her business attire had been swapped for a multicolored halter-dress, accompanied by a crimson hibiscus in her teased-coily hair.

Something wasn’t right here. She didn’t have the confidence to pull this look off, meaning…

She startled awake, sharply inhaling. The dark, silence of her shared bedroom stood out even more than usual after that vibrant scene.

Despite living in a small house with four occupants, she’d never felt lonely. It wasn’t real.

What even was the purpose?

What joy is there to find that fictitious scene? It must’ve been a particularly emotional night, as tears surfaced again. They were as silent and isolating as ever.

***

Andrea Scholar didn’t live up to her namesake.

Sure, she finished Jennings Secondary with a whooping seven subjects.

Still, she found it hard to find anything outside of her current supermarket cashier gig. Yet, she was thankful for it. She was deemed essential, which was rare for anyone outside of Shamia or her mom to think. At least she didn’t work in the tourism industry, she internally shuddered at the prospect.

Hopping off the company bus, she tugged her mask down marginally. Allowing herself the luxury of some fresh air as she strolled to her humble, single-bedroom abode.

After walking in, she hip-checked the door, unintentionally slamming it.

“Idiot!” She internally berated herself. She proceeded to step lightly in an effort to keep quiet. Yet, any groan of the creaking floorboard was nothing compared to the groan of her awakened ailing mother.

“Andrea, is that you?” she croaked.

“Yes, mama,” Andrea answered, making sure to keep her distance. After a few exchanged words, she allowed her mother to get some more rest and herself, a shower.

After dressing in some fresh clothes, she gently plopped onto the couch. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out her envelope of cash.

Okay, so first she had to make sure funds were put aside so her mother’s medication was paid for. Next the rent, bills, and groceries…

The excess $50 stared at her.

She really was hoping the reconnected the Wi-Fi or at least the cable, so her mom could get some entertainment when she wasn’t home, but it’ll have to wait.

Sigh. She’ll deal with this tomorrow. She just needed some rest, then she’ll start at some dinner for them. Lying on the couch, she stared listlessly at her roof. She hoped Shamia would eventually answer her texts. Poor thing was always so anxious.

Eyelids drooping, the sound of crickets lulled her to sleep.

—

Andrea sat upright on her couch as she sipped on a tequila sunset.

The sounds of Vivaldi spring and Shamia, busing herself in the kitchen, was a welcome deviation from the silence that usually permeated her house.

Shamia bustled as she prepared her specialty of roti and curry. Next to her, mother sat, looking better than she did in ages, enjoying her own cocktail. The designated chief grinned as she was quizzed on her method.

Deciding to help, Andrea got up from her seat and waltzed over.

Only for Shamia, to gently her away.

“Sit, sit. You’ve been working so hard.” She scolded.

“You really have dear.” Her mother added.

“I’m such a bad host,” Andrea protested, a sheepish grin on her face.

The three women broke out laughing at that comment. It really wasn’t that funny…

Gently she roused from her slumber. The muffled sounds of her mother’s coughs served to rouse her awareness.

Smiling to herself as she went to make some chicken soup. Her only hope is that her dream wouldn’t be the last of its kind, and maybe if she was really lucky, it’d even come true.

This story was edited by the author, post-judging, prior to posting. It is one of the winning entries in the 2021 Wadadli Youth Pen Prize Challenge. Please respect each writer’s copyright.

Click here for the full prize break down and remember to support our patrons as they support the arts.