THE SORE LOSER FILES

So. Do I Need to Say it?

Hell, yeah. I do.

Straight up: I haven’t read the winning story. Yet. I know nothing about this writer other than she’s into “mindfulness” in a big way, meaning she makes a BIG pile of moolah from it, lives in the rarified air of Los Angeles, and from what I understand, has written two…count ’em, two, stories on this platform.

Perhaps by the time I publish this, it will be two and a half. Who knows?

The second story is a ramble-fest about her winning the MWC with her FIRST STORY. Yes. Not only was she awarded ten grand, but also, the $50,000 grand prize.

YES. You read that right, my equally-skewered friends. One fucking story published on Medium and it wins the MWC.

What can we read into this? Oh, wait, I know. Those of us who’ve been toiling away here for years, puking our guts out to thousands of strangers are clueless assholes. Dupes for the machine.

I can’t tell you how badly this makes me want to get smashed. Like, badly. I want to crack open a bottle of wine, up-end it and suck down the whole thing. Maybe the smell of booze will help staunch the stink of flop-sweat that I feel for believing I had the teeniest of chances for recognition, here.

Stupidly, I entered the challenge in all four categories. What’s worse — I revealed some things about myself and my marriage that I never would have shared if I wasn’t going for “true authenticity.” If I hadn’t intended to give it my all.

(I’ve included links to my four entries at the end of this piece to serve as a reminder to never waste your time and energy, as I did.)

I wanted to bare my soul and instead, bared my ass. Much like the older and allegedly wiser, Fast Eddie Felson (again, the great Paul Newman) in The Hustler sequel, The Color of Money, where he gets crushed on the table by a young upstart in front of his uber-hot, fast-talking protege played by Tom Cruise.

Humiliated because this is far from Eddie’s first rodeo and he should have known better, when Cruise’s character tries to play it off in an attempt to spare his feelings, Eddie half snarls, half cries, “I showed you my ass out there!”

I get it, Eddie. To you, Medium, I say, “I showed you my ass out there.”

And I’m not alone. We bent over, showed you our collective ass, and you shoved a relative newbie up it who only signed on here in order to enter this travesty of a “contest.”

Now here’s the thing, because there’s always a thing, right? If one of my buddies here had snagged the carrot, and there are several who deserved it, I’d be the first to cheer.

But, to be fair, perhaps I should check out this prize-winning piece for myself in an attempt to determine what makes it better, than anything you or I submitted. So hold up for a sec.

(Play “Jeopardy” theme here.)

Okay, I’m back. I gave it a quick read and it’s MEH. Aside from the pedestrian content, there is no subtitle, nor image credit. When did that become legit? I must have missed something. Plus, she used one tag, people. The “death” tag.

That one friggin’ tag certainly put the kibosh on the rest of us, didn’t it?

Funny how some people can get away with things that other writers cannot. What’s up with that? Now, can we all use whatever images we find online? Fuck the original creators? And abandon subtitles? Well, that would certainly be a help to those folks who don’t know how to craft one.

Jay Sizemore delves deeper into the story’s flaws, in his piece that you can easily find, if interested.

But, my take is this: Is the winner’s piece any more compelling, with that “grab you by the balls” twisty deliciousness that so many of the other stories in that category displayed, including my own?

No.

Before the haters here spew their particular brand of inane venom, let me say it first: “Yeah. I got a mouthful of sour grapes and I’m choking on them.”

There you go. I headed you off at the pass. And if you don’t like it, you know what you can do.

Of course, the gushers have come out in full force in support of this writer’s tripe. One even noted the following, after reading the winner’s retelling of her having “written plays in college.”

“Wonderful! A screenplay background explains your vivid storytelling!”

If you don’t think that particular remark makes me want to hurl, you haven’t been reading me.

First off, to the gusher, I say, “Plays are not screenplays. Get it right before you kiss someone’s ass who doesn’t deserve it.”

Holy crap. I’m really worked up over this, yet, I only have myself to blame. What the hell made me do it? I can’t blame this one on TikTok. It’s all on me and I feel like a world-class schmuck.

Lesson learned.

I would love to know the average age, background, and IQ of those “first responders” who served as the gatekeepers to the more “illustrious” judging panel.

“Natalie Portman, I realize you were a judge (allegedly) in the “space” tag, but if you cast your overall vote for this mediocre story to win the grand prize, I am no longer a fan, nor do I want you involved in my fucking great screenplay which is an actual screenplay and not a ‘college play,’ and to that end, will never contact your high-ass reps again!”

Rant over. Again, lesson learned. As usual, the hard way.

If you can handle it, read every one of my stories and those of other fab Medium writers. I’ll get a couple of shekels and you’ll have full access to this whole joint! https://sherrymcguinn.medium.com/membership

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a female-driven, ass-kicking thriller.

Thanks for reading, guys. If you enjoyed this, I’d love for you to check out the following, as well as my newsletter, Sherry Raw.