The 50-Word Fiction Competition
Can you write a story in just 50 words?
Each month we’ll provide a prompt to get you started, but where the story goes from there is entirely up to you.
The competition includes two categories, All-Age and Young Writers (under the age of 18). All stories will be judged by the same panel and both winning stories will be published on our website.
A prize will be awarded to a writer in each category:
- All-age Category: A Writing Mug from The Literary Gift Company.
- Young Writers Category: A selection of fantastic books.
Whether you're a seasoned writer or you've always fancied picking up a pen, why not give it a go?
Write a story featuring a cowboy
Click here to see a full-size image on Pixabay.
How to enter
You can submit one entry to either the all-age category or the young writers category. Please read the terms and conditions carefully before entering.
To submit your story, please complete the form below. You will receive a confirmation message on screen after submitting. Please note that we no longer send acknowledgement emails.
We welcome entries in Scots or Gaelic for both categories.
Entries for August’s competition close on Wednesday August 26th.
Due to the high volume of entries received we are unable to give feedback.
You will receive a confirmation message on screen after submitting. Please note that we no longer send acknowledgement emails.
If you have any questions about the competition, please send them to: firstname.lastname@example.org
Submit your story
All-age category winning story by Laura Ogryzko:
Jabbing, jotting, aiming, maiming; the glistening bodies hopped in their pen. They may have been dancing had it not been for the thick blood. Their taut fists encased in swollen red mittens making their arms look like match sticks. Rabid onlookers willed the match sticks to strike. They wanted fire.
Young Writers category winning story by Katherine Laidlaw (aged 17):
You know the thunder of the cheers at the Olympics - the roar in here is no less loud. The unbearableness of it batters my eardrums and the ball slides from sweat-slickened hands as I twist momentarily, scanning the crowd for a face I don't expect to see.