Writing Contest Money Novels & Stories

"It's conveniently open to mech designers who have just graduated or are in their final years in college. I guess the Republic wants to make sure it hasn't missed any talents." "You should check out the rewards." Ves did, and widened his eyes. 1st Prize - Gold Cup, 1 million bright credits 2nd Prize - Silver Cup, 500,000 bright credits 3rd Prize - Bronze Cup, 200,000 bright credits If he won first prize, then even if he couldn't meet the interest payment, he could at least afford other necessities. The raw materials to build up a mech didn't come cheap. "These aren't even the real rewards, Ves. If you stand out during the competition, you might be able to get an audience with the real movers

"Take a look and see if you want to participate in it. Your short story is only about a few thousand words long anyway." Caroline's eyes lit up, and she said, "I can take part in it?" "Of course. There are no regulations regarding the participants for this contest. You can take part in it as long as you can write. To be honest, the organizers just want to make money off Marietta's fame," said Betty. Sean felt embarrassed when he heard that.

I asked, barely able to contain my grin. “Yeah right! Like you stand a chance, Emo!” Jessica spat at me nastily. “So, how much does the winner get?” I asked excitedly, ignoring her sneer. She counted the money that was in the pile. “Well, there’s two hundred and forty here at the moment, but once people hear of it…. well, I don’t know…. the last time we did this, it was for Chris. It got up to six hundred and twenty, but Liam is way hotter, and by the looks of him untouchable, well, for the moment anyway.” Jessica laughed, folding the money and putting it in her pocket, writing the entrants names onto a piece of paper. I laughed; wow, this is going to be easy money. Kate was laughing her hea

Instead of motivating them to accomplish big things, however, I was motivating them to sell magazine subscriptions. After my opening spiel came the presentation of the “prizes” they could win, based on their sales. Smaller prizes for “Sellers of the Week.” Cheap trinkets, honestly. Likewise cheap trinkets for “Highest Sellers of a Brand.” For example, say one kid sold the most Ladies Home Journal subscriptions? A cheap prize for their troubles. The Sellers of the Month got slightly better prizes, not as cheap as Sellers of the Week, but still lame. Sellers of the Year usually got a cash prize, but I always noticed the kids who won that were from rich families where Mommy and Daddy probably s

“Then why are there so many people?” “Because there is a prize for the winner.” My eyes widen. “No kidding! How much?” “It used to be fifty grand back in the day, but it upgraded to one hundred and fifty grand.” My hands round his arm tighten and I stare at him to see if he’s joking, but there is no humorous trace on his face. “No wonder there are so many people around here.” “I know. Youth can be that way with free things. I can tell you sixty per cent are not even into poetry at all.”

Vera lifted a brow as she explained, "I'm planning to write the tale of my feud with Fleur into a script, and upload it online to the deep web. Then, a reward of 500 bitcoins will be offered to everyone worldwide—anyone who creates a drama series that gains the most circulation and traction will win 300 bitcoins. "Second place gets a hundred, third place fifty, while the fourth to the thirteenth place gets five. Since 500 bitcoins is 60 million USD at the current exchange rate, just five still means 600,000 USD. These days, short video drama series cost around that much but in Oskian dollars—at most a million. Five bitcoins is too tempting.

said the teacher. Hero hesitantly wrote his name on the test paper she gave. "Pass it on," she ordered him. "Alright! I will announce the winners tomorrow. That's all for today," Mrs. Tuazon said before bidding goodbye. Her classmates sighed almost at the same time. "At last, it's over!" said Gretchen, Lisa's seatmate. "I'm glad, too," the latter replied. "I heard they've has got big prizes for the winners." "Really?" "Apart from the medals, there is also a cash prize. As I recall, it's five thousand at the year level, then ten thousand at the department level, and fifteen thousand at the campus tournament..."

I was sure it'd be a hit. It’s due in three more days and I had to give it a compelling ending before I submitted it to the publishing company that held the competition. If my manuscript wins… it’ll kickstart my writing career, plus, I can use the prize money to buy the land where our milk tea shop is. I continued my writing when I noticed the rain getting worse as the minutes went by. The raindrops against our metallic roof and the howling wind were music to my ears. Is there bad weather today? I hope not a storm. I heard early this morning; heavy rain is expected tonight. It might be this. Nevertheless, I resumed writing.

Then I stumbled across a form titled: “Artist sponsorships – NYC 2025.” The application was anonymous. No age requirement. No f*e. No essay. Just pictures of my paintings and confirmations of patent rights z I filled it out without much hope, attaching high-res images of my work.,I sent it. That was all I could do. The next morning, an email arrived. I dropped my coffee. $120,000. Just like that? I stared at the email, re-reading it ten times. Then twenty. It was real. The contract was attached. Legal. Clean. No red flags. I checked the foundation’s website, verified the names. All real.

After I took a few steps, Patrick walked to my side and said, "If I didn't come here, are you going to leave with him?" "Mr. Cowell, you think too much." I shrugged my shoulders, "I was here to see Mentor Ryan off. After all, I'm still an employee of Towering High. Although I only got third place in this competition, I have 100,000 dollars as a reward which I haven't got yet. I dare not to disobey you." "100,000 dollars? Are you indeed in need of the money?" Patrick's voice sounded on my head. Although it was a little cold, I could easily tell that it was mixed with anger.