The writing forum known as The StoryTellers Network has almost a thousand members. Long-timers Wilamina (Wilie) McBride and Evie Gunther considered themselves the keepers of the writing torch.

No one else in the network knows the meaning of the keepers of the writing torch. In truth, members pay little attention to Wilamina and Evie. 

The ladies are neighbors in a mid-rise co-op in Boston. Every so often in the afternoon, around 4 PM, they discuss their fellow network members while drinking copious amounts of Rombauer Chardonnay.

***

January 15, 2024.

“Wilie, you won’t believe what happened to Ellen.”

“Evie, which Ellen, the one in Ohio, New York, Florida, there are two in California, one each in Liverpool, Barcelona, Lisbon, Perth, and Florence.”

“None of them, the one in Texas.”

“Oh, you mean Texas Ellen, the one who wins all those contests and writes all the trashy, smut, sex stuff.”

“Yep, that’s her. She has been banned from the network forever!”

“Wow, what happened?”

“It seems she cheated in all those contests she won.”

“I knew that didn't smell right. Nobody can win that many contests. How'd she rig it to win?”

“Sex.”

“What?”

“Sex, she gave out sexual favors for votes.”

“Evie, something about that doesn’t sound right. How could one person pass out sexual favors and get enough votes to win everything?”

“Wilie, she lives in Dallas. Eight network guys live in Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Louisiana within a five-hour drive from her home.”

“Are you saying the men drive to her home for sex?”

“No, she owns a custom tricked-out Mercedes Benz Sprinter Van. She goes to them. Some of the guys are married. She meets them in a Walmart parking lot.”

“Dang, she was driven to win, no pun intended.”

“Yeah, and two old coots live in an assisted living facility. She’d tell the attendants she wanted to take the fellas out for lunch. She took ‘em to a park for a turkey sandwich and Lay’s potato chips—if you get my drift.”

“Evie, you just crack me up sometimes. So, she had eight votes plus hers, and that’s how she won the contests.”

“Wilie, it gets better. She also had four women on her service route. Two were poets who lived in Houston, one novelist in Dallas, and a scriptwriter in Austin. She could count on Thirteen votes in every contest."

"Unbelievable!"

"Well, believe this. Two of the 'Ladies' and I use the term loosely, and one low-life guy were members of the contest committee."  

“So, that's why that pornographic smut won all those contests.”

“Yep, and it explains why she never got many reviews and still managed so many wins.”

“I, for one, never read that smut.”

“How’d you know it was smut?”

“Let me rephrase: I never reviewed her stories. For the integrity of the site, I thought it important that I read every entry. But I never voted for her.”

“Me either, eh, you know, reviewed and voted for her.”

“All I’ve got to say is thank heavens they caught her rigging the vote and kicked her out.”

“Oh, they didn’t kick her out for rigging the vote. They kicked her out for lying. She labeled all her stories fiction. Turns out they were biographical nonfiction.”

***

January 24, 2024

“Wilie, you need a tish more wine, and I'll top my glass off, too. I need to tell you about Lois Barber. It seems she has been extra nice to her reviewers, so they will vote for her. 

“Evie, Just because you don’t do it. There is nothing wrong with being nice to reviewers."

“No, it's not about the reviews. I heard she's an ex-Avon dealer who's been sending free samples.” 

“Avon? Do they still make that crapola?"

"Sure, you can get it on Amazon, but Lois has a storage locker full of products from the 90s."

"Evie, that would be nasty stuff by now. Who would want it?"

“Wilie, people like free. I heard about it from Karla, and you know she'd never talk about anyone unless it were true.”

“Ummm, Evie, if I tell you something, do you promise not to get angry or tell anyone you know?"

“Of course, I promise!”

“Well, I wasn’t going to mention this, but Karla told me a week ago that you're going through some legal issues regarding a prior arrest. That you had been, how do I say this, caught with your hands in the cookie jar at work.” 

“Wilamina McBride, and you're just telling me this now? Does that mean you believe that hogwash?”  

“Well, Karla said it, and like you said, she wouldn’t say it unless it was true. And besides, she heard it from Betty Biegler, and she's such a lovely woman to almost everyone. You do work in a bank.” 

“Yes, I work in a bank. I’m going to talk with those women. I can't have 'em spreading such lies about me.” 

“Don’t you remember that you promised not to tell anyone?”

“Wilie, that's a technicality. You can't hold me to that." 

“Okay, but only if you tell me how much you took?” 

“I didn’t take anything. I bet you don't know about 'Mrs. Honest Betty Biegler.' She has been carrying on an online love affair with a very important man whose initial starts with B and ends with N?”

“Biden?”

“No, Bannon! George Bannon. The guy who founded and owns Cinnabon.” 

“Ooh, I heard she'd put on weight.” 

“That’s not the point, Wilie. They are both married, and they're secretly sexting.” 

“If it's a secret, how did you find out?”

"The Uber Eats driver who delivers her Cinnabons is also my delivery guy. Let's just say I tip him well."

***

February 13, 2024

“Evie, do you ever think your writing is getting stale?”

“Oh, heavens no. I've been on site for twelve years now. I just hit my Milestone Post number 2500. There are more than ten thousand bird species. I have at least seventy-five hundred more stories.”

“Yes, twenty-five hundred stories about birds are impressive. But when you get past the different sounds they make, and let’s face it, a lot of the feathers have the same color. All they do is poop.”

“Wilie, are you suggesting my stories are stale.”

“Evie, not in the least, you always make them interesting, especially when you give each bird a personal name. I particularly liked the Tweety series, 1-107.”

“People did like those. My favorite was Tweety # 96. Who knew there were so many shades of yellow? Me, of course, and now everyone.”

“The reason I asked is that I’m considering moving on from my writing about relationships.”

“Wilie, you're good at those. Why would you move on?”

“You’re right, I’m good at it. I've always had a natural ability with people. That explains my six marriages. I handled each one uniquely. Friends for life, you know. Except for the ones that are dead and the two who have restraining orders on me.”

“Wilie, don’t forget you have more fans on-site than anyone—four hundred and sixty-two.”

“I know, but some people don’t know how to take constructive criticism in their writing and personal lives. I think that's why four hundred fifty-one have muted me.”

“Wilie, that’s a record too. I think the other nine or ten have left the site, but Shirley and I are still fans.”

“Evie, yes, you're true friends; by the way, what’s the deal with Shirley? I haven’t heard from her lately.”

“Good question. I haven’t either since I told her to get over herself for being named writer of the month.”

"Evie, you've been the writer of the month, too."

"No, Wilie, I've been named the most muted reviewer of the month. It's a high honor because I always tell it like it is. I have to read terrible poems with bad rhymes and meter. Prose that contains way too many commas, tense changes, boring subject matters, and irrelevant messages."

“I think Shirley may have turned into a little bitch.”

“More like a big bitch, you know she’s getting fat. I wonder if she receives free Cinnabons.”