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EDIT: I was going to jump right in, but I might lurk a bit first to see if I'd actually survive in this literary environment.
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Dec 10, 2012 19:16
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Meis posted:Also gredgie, please jump right in so that I'm not the only new person. And you'd probably make me look good in comparison! These fighting words taste like bait! Ultimately, where I'm new to SA in general, I wouldn't mind ensuring I don't get lost in a forum sea and forget to submit something here and waste folks time. From what I've read, being that guy in the Thunderdome is not a path to victory.
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Dec 10, 2012 21:39
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I've bookmarked this thread next to the browser bookmark, as well as bookmarking it on SA itself. So I shall give it a whirl! I'm usually swish with commitment, plus I'm unemployed at the moment so I have time coming out of all kinds of orifices. Admittedly, a lot of the trash talk here has made me chuckle, so it's all gravy :>. And self-improvement is always good.
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Dec 10, 2012 22:40
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V for Vegas posted:How good is your prose (how good, how good is your prose) You had me at "this weeks prompt" but by the time you started singing I wanted to take my pants off and throw them towards your glorious stage. I'm in.
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Dec 11, 2012 13:58
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I must confess, I know nothing of Bollywood, NOTHIIIING! I guess I'll have to Netflix educate myself.
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Dec 11, 2012 22:26
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I feel like whatever I write wont be Bollywood enough, which leads me to a need to riddle it with some cliches just to satisfy my mind.
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Dec 13, 2012 04:31
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Without trope or cliche and a firm knowledge of the Hindi language, all I can do is basically, write some flash-fiction where the central characters are Hindi. But this is all part of the Thunderdome learning curve I imagine.
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Dec 13, 2012 17:48
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Song: Iron & Wine - Such Great Heights (The Postal Service Cover) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EKGHkBComjM The Broken Chains Of Oppression - 995 Words The fields stretched out as far as Dayaal could see, the clouds that hung above only served to accentuate the gentle blue gradient of the sky. Every now and then, a tree would interrupt the horizon, casting patterns of shade on the grass below. Why was it then, that Dayaal felt uneasy? Worry seemed like something that would be nigh-impossible to feel in such a place. He looked around desperately, for something, or someone. He began to run forward, towards the nearest tree, his knowledge of such things wasn’t great but he figured it was likely an jujube tree given its size. He searched around the trunk, hoping its form kept what he searched for hidden from him. No luck. Suddenly, his worry twisted into desperation. His eyes scanned in all directions, straining his vision to see if the swaying of branches in the breeze concealed anything. “Nalesh?!” The train jolted him awake, an old man clutching a small cage containing a cat on his lap looked across at him, as did a number of other passengers located in the vicinity of Dayaal’s sudden yelp. “Are you okay?” enquired Nalesh, giving Dayaal’s hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance. A wave of relief washed over Dayaal as he looked to his side, the fear that he was without his soul-mate dissipating from reality. He let out a sigh as he shifted his head from its place resting against the wooden frame of the window. “Absolutely fine, now I’m back with you,” he replied, the pair exchanged smiles and took a moment to enjoy the sight of the other’s face. “Do you know where we are?” Nalesh shook his head. They’d been on so many trains the past few days that time seemed to flow differently whilst they journeyed across the country. What they were seeking, was the start of their new life together, away from the narrow-minded views of their families. The prospect of this new life was almost overwhelming, it could literally be anywhere, they wouldn’t care as long as they had each other. In the end, love is all a person needs in face of the all-encompassing veil of cold dark cosmos. Neither really wanted to leave their friends and family behind, but it was the only thing they could do to live a life of peace. Dayaal wondered how many of his friends and co-workers would discover the reason for his departure, how many would understand his motives? How many would discard his friendship in disgust? Yet as he looked around, at this train car, almost elbow to elbow full with people, none of them seemed to even care that he was holding the hand of another man. His eyes tried to imagine what each person might be on their way towards. One woman he noticed was holding a toddler in her arms as they sat on the floor, if there wasn’t a sea of passengers between them, Dayaal would have gladly offered his seat to them. Nevertheless, the mother and child seemed more than happy with their arrangement. They’d laid a coat across the floor to provide some degree of comfort. The mother held her hands in front of her son, he would tap on her fingers as she spoke into his ear. By the looks of it she was teaching him to count. Another person, a man, had struck up a conversation with an older gentleman. They looked like they were engrossed in a deep conversation but through all the various talking going on around the cabin, it was impossible to decipher what. One young girl rested her back against the door leading to the next carriage with a sorrowful look on her face. What was she attempting to grapple with? Dayaal wondered. So many lives, so many paths, all going to a multitude of different places for a variety of reasons. His intrigue would be the death of him if he thought about the journeys of others for too much longer. Right now, he had to focus on his own destination, the one where he and Nalesh were going to spend their rest of their lives happily. The train pulled up to the next station and came to a stop, its sides throwing out the hiss of steam as if it was glad for the brief rest. “Let’s get off here,” Dayaal declared to his love. “What? But we don’t even know where we are.” Nalesh looked at him with an inquisitive glance. “It doesn’t matter, right? So what’s stopping us?” Nalesh tried to think of some logical reasons, but Dayaal’s smile dragged him into the moment, into the sheer beauty of freedom. “You’re right,” he responded, “let’s go!” As the pair got up from their seats, the old man with the cat gave a gentle nod to them as they slide their suitcases out from under them and began stepping their way in between the floor of people. Their seats were almost immediately snatched up, the unlucky people still sat on the deck quietly content that they at least had a little more elbow room now. The young lovers jumped out of the train carriage and embraced each other, enjoying the luxury of not having to keep their romance a secret any longer. A smartly dressed train official passed by, closing the door they’d emerged from as he made his way towards the steam locomotive. Before hoisting himself back on the train, he glanced back to check all the doors were shut and everyone was safely off. With a sharp whistle, the train huffed its way onward once more. Carriages and clouds of steam whirled passed them. With their hands held together and their suitcases by their sides, they looked across over the tracks as the steam melted away. It was the fields Dayaal had seen in his dream, only this time he had Nalesh by his side. This time... everything would be okay.
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Dec 15, 2012 01:53
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There's an acoustic version Ben Gibbard sings himself, on the B-Sides album, which I felt was a slightly more "softer" version for the story. But searching YouTube, all I found were live clips with evil sound and people that aren't Ben Gibbard covering the song.
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Dec 15, 2012 15:24
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Ahh, sound advice. I remember reading one of C.S. Lewis' tips about exactly that. I shall look out for it more readily next time.
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Dec 16, 2012 02:16
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Pros: I have a crown. Cons: It's the worst of all the crowns.
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Dec 16, 2012 16:40
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I'm in! Cheers for the crit, seb. I shall digest! 
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Dec 17, 2012 10:11
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Look at this sexy crown poo poo I've got on.
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Dec 18, 2012 09:42
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It's quiet in here, perhaps... too quiet?
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Dec 21, 2012 15:10
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I've had to squeeze this in today before I go out. So it's rather rushed and likely all manner of awful. EDIT: I did start on an alternate piece, but it's currently only 467 words and I have to go and be social. If I return before midnight I shall see about switching it. The Tricks of Six - 999 Words  “Why are we here?” It wasn’t like Max Storm to kick off a bust with a philosophical question, often it would be some retort about the selection of women he had slept with the night before, but his partner decided to oblige him as they peered over some crates towards a small warehouse. “Well, that’s a pretty deep question. Ultimately, it boils down to what self-purpose you assign yourself in li-” “No, no,” Storm interrupted, “I mean, why are we about to bust into a succubi ring? Intel says there’s six in there. Six. That’s three for each of us. They’re going to skull-gently caress us literally and metaphorically, amid the most horrific foursomes of our lives.” “You don’t know that, they might be respectful of the law and our badges,” replied his partner. Joseph Jackson balanced Storm out a lot of the time, but not even he believed that this was going to go smoothly. Reports stated that this group of succubi were twisting the minds of government officials to allow the criminal syndicate Ecliptic to get their hooks further into Neo Miami. Getting a succubus to talk was easy, but they would gladly poison your ears with their deceit in a heartbeat without the necessary precautions. Of course, their first task was bringing one back to central for questioning. As the saying went: ‘you can bring a succubus to water, but she will try to rip out your jugular.’ Or something like that. The point was, their bulletproof vests were likely redundant on this one. The duo kept low as they made their way to the front of the warehouse, trying to stay out of the light coming from the windows. Their point of entry was a broken fire-escape door to the side of the building. Peeking inside a window, Jackson could see rusting beds with men handcuffed to them spread all around the otherwise empty warehouse. Concrete stairs lead up to what looked to have been an office when the warehouse was in its prime. There were four men he could see being attended to by succubi. When you’re in their grasp, the appearance of a succubus can be perfection itself. Yet onlookers would see them for what they really are and the sheer sight of it required Jackson to compose himself for a moment before signaling to Storm to move up. They shuffled to the corner of the wall, peeking round to see a blonde woman smoking a cigarette in front of the fire exit, illuminated by moonlight from the cloudless sky. “Succubi wouldn’t really care about health and safety, would they?” Jackson whispered as softly as he possibly could. “She must be a lookout.” “Actually,” a voice from behind them made them both jolt with fright, “my name is Lilith.” The pair spun around and trained their handguns on the blonde woman that had suddenly appeared, both unsure with how exactly to proceed. “The hell did you come from?!” Storm asked angrily. “Which hell indeed,” she smirked. Her blonde locks fell elegantly down her chest as they were swept over her shoulder. She stood dressed in a black lace evening-gown which fluttered in the nightly breeze. “Maybe I’m from paradise?” It was a stark comparison to Jackson’s tailored suit and Storm’s unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt offerings to be sure. Neither let their guard down for a moment. Her blue eyes were beautiful and soulless, every now and then her gaze would flicker to the twinges of muscles in their necks, biting her bottom lip as thoughts ran through her head. “You’re under arrest for the corruption of government officials and perverting the course of justice following the death of Senator Harold Dreplan, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of la-” Jackson hushed as Lilith pulled on the string holding her night gown together. “I want you.” Her words were like silk, sliding into his ears and wrapping themselves around his heart. Thoughts of his wife and kids abandoned the veteran detective as all he suddenly yearned to know was what treats of the flesh lay under her gown. There was a moment of silence before Storm noticed Jackson looked almost paralyzed, he nudged him sharply. “Jackson!” Shaking his head clear, his partner gave him a nod of gratitude as they both turned their gaze back t- Lilith had gone. An illusion! “Quick! They’re trying to escape!” Jackson exclaimed, “it took weeks to track them down here! Go! Go! Go!” They raced around the corner scoping the fire-escape doorway, a half-smoked cigarette still remained lit on the ground in front of it, the only sign someone had been there. Storm readied himself to charge in first as Jackson prepared to open the door, giving a silent countdown before the mayhem. Max would always comically refer to these moments as ‘the calm before the storm’ to sugar his heroic tales with humour when he was conversing with women. The door was thrown open and Storm blitzed inside, gun at the ready, but it was too late. All that greeted them was the sight of the men Jackson had seen from the outside, with their jugulars torn out and showered in their own blood. “drat it, the captain’s going to be pissed,” Storm sighed. “Who?” replied Jackson, pushing his partner onto the concrete floor. Only what Storm fell on was soft. A four-poster bed no less. Before he could even contemplate being confused, he suddenly realized he was in a hotel suite at The Grand Plaza, with the beautiful lady he had been chatting up all night, Mallory. Why would he even think of Jackson or work right now? The sultry vixen climbed on top of him, slipping the straps of her elegant red dress off her shoulders. “You look tense. I bet it’s all those pesky investigation details. Let me share your burden. Tell me your secrets.”
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Dec 22, 2012 18:03
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Max Storm was meant to be an ironic take on 80's era action protagonists. A sort of nod to "John Matrix" from Commando. But yeah, since the fic threw the characters into the thick of it (which was awfully done anyway), I neglected the gently caress out of introductions. So what I was left with was a poo poo intro, a poo poo middle and a poo poo end. At least it fits with The Moon because it's all about deceit, illusions, mindfucks, bad drug trips and such things since it looks like I was under the influence of all of them at once whilst writing. E: I'll try and get my second-attempt up some when later, just to show I recognized the shite I had written but due to Christmas socializing and an impending Thunderdome deadline could do nothing about.
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Dec 24, 2012 21:32
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