I’ve been styling myself as a bard since 2003, give or take. In that time, I’ve had wonderful fun both writing and performing, camp-hopping and standing on stage, and (very occasionally) competing. And while I seem to have a knack for accumulating prizes that other people have won in competition (I think I’m up to four and counting), I have yet to win a competition myself.
That changed last night. Yes, friends, for the first time in my bardic “career,” I actually have a championship to my own name. Last night was the monthly iteration of “StorySlam,” which is like a poetry slam except for storytelling. By a very, very near margin, I squeaked into first place and won some mint fudge, which I promptly gave away in the spirit of paying it forward.
This also means that I’ll be the featured teller at next month’s StorySlam, and should probably start thinking about how I’m going to fill up 20 minutes of stage time. (For the record, last night’s winning piece was Rathflaed DuNoir’s “Beowulf.”)