Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Contest Announcement

Gentle Readers of The Sable Arm,

I have acquired an extra copy Jeffrey D. Wert’s new book A Glorious Army: Robert E. Lee’s Triumph, 1862-1863, and thought I'd give the book away in a contest.

Here’s what you have to do to win. I am going to give my readers the chance to be a blogger for a day. All you have to do is answer the following question in 1000 words or less:

Q: In your opinion, what is the single most important contribution made by United States Colored Troops during the American Civil War?


1. Only One entry per person.

2. Limit submission to 1000 words or less.

3. Submit via email to jprice1@live.com with “Sable Arm Contest” as subject heading by April 22, 2011 at 11:59 PM Eastern US Time.

4. One (1) winner will be announced the week of Monday, May 2nd.

5. All contestants agree to allow the use of their submissions as future blog entries.

6. The book will be shipped once I have received the winners address. I will be shipping the book at no cost to the winner.

While the winner will receive the book as a prize, any and all entries that are worthy runners up will be included as guest posts on The Sable Arm throughout the coming months.

Good luck, and get writing!

1 comment:

  1. They change perceptions, terrible perceptions. A poet, I'll explain with a poem. Thanks.

    This poem is from my manuscript Private Hercules McGraw: Poems of the American Civil War.

    Shards of Night

    Them Feds started pouring through
    the wood like a river that run its banks.
    My heart started thunking wilder than a cat’s
    heart after that cat scampered up a tree
    cause a dog done breathed on its tail –

    and sure enough, I was up a tree.
    But, hell – my jaw almost clanked
    the ground when I see that flood
    a might closer. I was perched on top
    a whole cluster of Yankee niggers.

    Shit, I says, Abe sent them damn niggers
    to fight. I first guessed they’d be whooping
    and shucking like a gaggle of monkeys,
    but they clutched their guns like soldiers
    and their faces where all chiseled from stone

    solid as Zion. Our boys started popping muskets
    first and a few of them niggers fell,
    but the others paid no mind to that. They ran
    straight at those pickets like shards of night,
    screaming hell and spitting lead.

    I seen one take three bullets before
    he toppled. Each time blood puffed
    from his belly like a red cloud at sunset.
    And the one swinging the flag made certain
    them stripes never scraped the ground.

    I swear them niggers be men.
    By God, they be men.