bigups to Adam Roy for winning the ‘one-sentence travel writing contest.’
his sentence can be read here.
notes on contest:
1. there were nearly two dozen entries from people in the US, UK, India, Mexico, Malaysia, and Australia.
2. most of the sentences made me feel as if i knew the narrator somehow–or at least could envision him or her there, but adam’s sentence made me feel like i was experiencing that juxtaposition that happens sometimes when you’re traveling, when situations come up that take you out of being there only ‘in yr own head’ — and you’re forced to bear witness to other people’s lives and stories–and something about it becomes sad and life-affirming and a stoke all at the same time.
3. as promised, as a prize, i made a mixtape based on my interpretation of the winning sentence.
4. i’ve decided to share it with everyone who entered (will be emailing you with it later today).
5. i feel like this first contest was successful in that it got ppl writing in ways they may not have otherwise. several ppl expressed gratitude in having an opportunity to write in this format.
6. therefore i’ve decided to run another contest next week. it will be a different challenge. i’ll announce it on monday.
7. here is the mix i created for this story:
mix:
Bunny Ain’t No Kind of Rider – Of Montreal
Caracol – Tremor
These Years – Lotus Plaza (words by Adam Roy, read by David Miller)
Toxica – Babasonicos
Spring Hall Convert – Deerhunter
Infinita Tristeza – Manu Chao
“Pedrona” excerpt from ZZK mixed tape Vol 7. – King Coya
We Were Born the Mutants Again With Leafling – Of Montreal
I know I will escape – Atlas Sound
[Editor's note: this story is the winner of the "one sentence travel writing contest."]
I’m packing up the last of my clothes to leave Buenos Aires when Marcia calls me into the hallway, she’s opened one of the photo albums on the bookshelf and now she’s showing me Marcelo’s old snapshots, here’s a picture of Marcelo at 22, fresh out of law school and sans the laugh lines that crisscross his face, and here’s Marcelo’s señora, not the mother of his children, about two girlfriends after that one, and three or so before Valeria, here are the children, the daughter who lives in the suburbs with her husband, and the other daughter who lives a neighborhood away but doesn’t speak with Marcelo anymore, and the dead son we don’t talk about, the one who OD’d and collapsed in a supermarket ten-odd years ago, who was born around the same time I was, and I think back to one day early in spring, to Marcelo sitting in the backyard in his shorts, eating breakfast and telling me that he was thinking of moving because of the hijodeputa developers and the condo they had put up next door; houses have lifespans, he tells me, just like people: a couple more moves and he’ll be an old man, and won’t want to move any more.
Adam Roy has been writing professionally since the age of 17. When he’s not traveling or writing about travel, he leads a secret double life at Tufts University in Massachusetts, where he is pursuing a degree in Latin American Studies. He maintains the blog Ill-advised Adventures.