Dear Whoever Likes Sherlock Holmes or Cares About The September/October Contest,                                                                                               9/30/2011

“Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.” -Sherlock Holmes

     If you’ve been following my blog for at least a month then you know we have monthly contests. This month’s contest is a writing contest full of action, Sherlock Holmes style! There’s a specific scene I want you to rewrite. Here it is:

One night-it was on the twentieth of March, 1888-I was returning from a journey to a patient(for I had now returned to civil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I looked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the blind.

He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. He was at work again. He had risen out of his drug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.

His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I think, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the fire and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.

“Wedlock suits you,” he remarked. “I think, Watson, that you have put on seven and a half pounds since I saw you.”

“Seven!” I answered.

“Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, I fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell me that you intended to into harness.”

“Then, how do you know?”

“I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless servant girl?”

“My dear Holmes,” said I, “this is too much. You would certainly have been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had a country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as I have changed my clothes I can’t imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice, but there, again, I fail to see how you work it out.”

He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together.

“It is simplicity itself,” said he; “my eyes tell me that on the inside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it. Hence, you see, my double deduction that you had been out in vile weather, and that a particularly malignant boot-slitting specimen of the London savey. As to your practice, if a gentlemen walks into my rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinfer, and a bulge on the right side of his top-hat to show where he has secreted his stethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not pronounce him to be an active member of the medical profession.”

I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his process of deduction. “When I hear you give your reasons,” I remarked, “the thing always appears to me to be ridiculously simple that I could easily do it myself, though at each sucessive instance of your reasoning I am baffled until you explain your process. And yet I believe that my eyes are as good as yours.”

“Quite so,” he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself down inro an armchair.

     Rewrite this. Give it a different ending. Throw in a plot twist. Add in a crazy girlfriend…get it? Good. This contest starts today, right now, and will be closed on October 9th, 2011  at 3pm PST. Keep it PG-13 and under 1,500 words. To enter just rewrite that whole thing starting from wherever you want to. Say like the middle or somthing. So rewrite it, then to enter simply post it as a comment on this post. I’ll pick the one I think is best on the week of 9/10/11 and post it. The winner will receive a complete Sherlock Holmes kit including: a magnifying glass, chalk(for a dead body outline), a plastic gun(maybe), and an eshysletters handwritten letter.

     To our July/August winners I apologize because my life took another turn(again) and you won’t be recieving your prizes, however what I will offer is a guest post if you want it. You can guest post about almost anything if you want. I’m so sorry. As for you E.R. I’ll be sending it soon.

                                                 I bid you all good luck and farewell, eshy,

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