January Writing Challenge

Welcome, Germies, to this month’s writing challenge! This challenge will begin today and will end January 31st. However, you are welcome to come back anytime to complete the challenge and submit it below in the comments section. We will pick a few of our favorites that are submitted during this month, though, and they will be featured in our Lit section.

Writing Challenge:

– A new year brings new beginnings. So, for this month’s challenge, the ending of your story is assigned to you, but the beginning of your story will be of your own creation.

– Your story must be no longer than 600 words.

– Your story must end with these two final sentences:

She looked up at the ash falling from the sky like snow. With a final sigh, she turned and walked away, not looking back at what she was leaving behind.


– Even though your story’s ending is already written, the beginning and middle of your story will determine the interpretation and tone of the above sentences.


Submitting for this challenge is easy. Simply email your story to [email protected]. Put “January Writing Challenge” as the subject of your email, and include your name, age, and country in the body of your message. If you have any questions, or if you’re having problems submitting, feel free to email me at [email protected].

Everyone who completes the challenge will be responded to and informed as to whether or not their piece has been chosen to be featured. Since the deadline for this challenge is January 31st, do not expect an email from us until the beginning of February.

To prevent the possibility of our emails ending up in your spam folder, be sure to add [email protected] to your contacts list.

6 thoughts on “January Writing Challenge”

  1. 18

    The Burden of War

    Iman looked out the window as her mother prepared the family’s dinner. Most of the buildings which surrounded her were rubble or partially standing. The people outside walked cautiously, waiting for the next car bomb to explode, the next bomb to drop on them. The people outside walked around, thin and skeletal, and waited for the days where a ceasefire would take place, allowing the humanitarian groups to bring in food and medical supplies.
    Nabil, Iman’s older brother, turned on the radio to the BBC news, one of the radio stations they enjoyed listening to so they could become part of the world outside.

    “And in the news today, the newly elected President Trump of the United States has signed an executive order banning refugees from seven Muslim countrie;, Syria, Sudan, Jordan …”

    Iman’s mother’s head snapped toward the sound of the radio as the broadcaster delivered the day’s news.
    “Many groups are already criticizing Trump’s decision to ban the refugees ISIS. Jewish organizations are ostracizing this action as today is International Holocaust Memorial Day. Some today are reminded of the controversy of the United States denying the entry to countless Jewish Refugees on the ship called St. Louis in 1939 into the United States, thereby sending most of the passengers to their deaths. In other news….”

    Iman’s mother sighed and shook her head as she returned her attention to making the food for dinner.

    “This is outrageous,” Nabil exclaimed. “I thought America was supposed to be accepting of people in need like us.”

    “It is true,” Iman’s mother said. “We have suffered enough. People who have left the country for Europe have sacrificed so much just to be safe and now they will not be accepted into the most welcoming country in t-“
    The sound of planes which flying overhead stopped Iman’s mother in midsentence as they scrambled for the door. The family ran down the steps as fast of they could, trying to reach the bottom floor before the bombs started to hit. The whistling sound grew louder and louder, and Iman was thrown to the ground from the force of an explosion. She heard screams and shouts as more bombs started to fall around her. Iman cowered in a corner, hands over her head, and tried to think of happier times where there was never a war. She started to shake violently as her body reacted to the chaos of the bombing.

    At last the bombs stopped and Iman cautiously stood up, looking around her. She could see the sky through the top of what used to be her home.

    “Mama!” she called. “Nabil!”

    She heard a voice, masculine, which called from a few feet away. Iman ran toward the voice and started to dig through the rubble. A hand reached up and she grasped it, pulling as hard as she could. They were both crying, Nabil explaining he saw a piece of cement crush their mother.

    They emerged from the rubble, holding each other for support. Iman looked around her, some buildings were aflame, some blackened by the bombs. She was depressed by what she saw. Syria was no longer welcoming to her anymore, and neither was America. Her name Iman meant “faith” and she knew now more than ever it was important to follow her name’s message and promise. With Nabil who followed behind her, she looked up at the ash falling from the sky like snow. With a final sigh, she turned and walked away, not looking back at what she was leaving behind.

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