"Nothing but Bluebirds" by Sarah Law— Our March 2021 Gold Medal Winner
Sarah Law is our first place winner from the contest posted in our March, 2021 issue and her story will be published in the June 2021edition. Congratulations, Sarah!
What the judges had to say:
“A cheerful heart wrenching tale...The reader finds themselves empathizing with the sadness and catches themselves laughing at the relatability of the observations made by our narrator. We do not often read a story that engages all of our senses the way this one does! ”
“I was wowed by this story. So compassionate and mature but also, as a reader, I can trust the author from beginning to end to deliver a good narrative. Great stuff.”
“...heartwarming, sad, funny, and beautifully original. ”
Meet Sarah
Sarah is a reporter for the Gravenhurst Banner newspaper and lives in Muskoka, Ontario. She enjoys writing, running, and playing with her cat, Panda.
Nothing but Bluebirds
an excerpt of Sarah’s winning story
Whenever I smell fire, I think of birthday cake.
I picture mismatched candles stabbed into a thick layer of frosting, wax dripping down the sides and depositing murky flakes between a rainbow of sprinkles.
I once read that our sense of smell is the most powerful trigger of memories. It’s weird to think we associate important moments with whatever tickles our nostrils at the time, but then again, I never was good at science or psychology.
When I smell my daughter’s cherry blossom lotion, I think of kissing my first boyfriend, Andrew, in the snow.
When I smell Pine Sol, I think of the stain on the living room floor that my brother, Jake, convinced himself was the outline of a dead body.
When I smell tropical air fresheners, I think of my mother’s PT Cruiser that I dented bumping into a tree stump.
I used to sleep in my ex-husband’s t-shirts when he went away on business trips, even though they reeked of Player’s Smooth cigarettes masked with fabric softener.
But what was I supposed to say when my son asked me what sadness smells like?
It certainly wouldn’t do him any good to say it smelled like wood chips.
Even in a Grade 1 class, I think that answer would warrant an email flagged urgent from his teacher.
His homework was to write examples of how he used the five senses. I have no idea where the philosophical thinking came from.
I only signed up for woodshop class in high school because my friend, Tessa, didn’t want to be the only girl in it.
There were actually four girls in the class. Tessa dropped out after the first week, but my mother wouldn’t let me follow.
Why? Because she wanted me to make Dad a birdhouse.
…
to read the rest of the story, order your copy of the June 2021 issue.
