I wrote Waiting for Angie some time ago for a competition and though it didn’t get placed, I kept it because I felt it had something.
It sat on my hard drive for a while before I found another competition for which it might be suitable. It didn’t get placed for a second time.
But I had a soft spot for the story. It owes more than a little to my own teenage years growing up in the 1980s’ Derbyshire, lying on my best friends bed, stocking feet up on her wall, listening to the first Now that’s what I call music album. Having sneaky fags, watching the smoke curl from her bedroom window and vanish over the sooty chimneys.
So I kept the story and it slept a while longer.
Then I found The Writing District’s monthly competition and I remembered Angie and Anita and sent the story on a whim.
It won the competition.
So, I’d like to say thank you so much to The Writing District for liking the story and for showing that I was right for having faith in it.
It just goes to prove that sometimes, it’s the not that your story is bad, just that it hasn’t found its home yet.
To read Waiting for Angie, visit here.