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I've been watching a lot of Jonathan Creek lately so I'll throw in.
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Apr 19, 2013 07:16
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Here's two more crits. Sorry I am absolutely plodding along on these because of real life Stuff and Things. Nubile Hillock posted:Ruble Rentboys 848 words (Original Here) Well, you already know you improved on the original by using grammar, spellcheck, and quotation marks. Except, and I never thought I'd say this, it needs more pervy pedo janitor. And by that I don't actually mean a pervy pedo janitor but it needs something. An antagonist. An actual conflict. Everything about these boys' situation is told to us either through their dialog or through Vasha's thoughts. I feel like your rewrite relies too much on our knowledge of the original and your flash rule. In fact, I didn't really like the whole Dead or Alive reference that led to Vasha's outdated worries about being shipped off to Siberia. I would have preferred you show us rather than tell us via expository dialog that conveniently dates the story. And then the ending. Piotr finishes the makeshift bike, Vasha rides it and dies because it's a makeshift bike going down a bumpy hill. Piotr presumably goes back to his life of prostitution and despair. We see little of their situation, and their relationship is really only hinted at a couple of times. The plot is a flat-lined heart patient who cranks out one last haphazard beat just to mess with everyone before loving off the mortal coil. So that's why I say it needs the creepy pedo janitor. Or whatever. Everything resembling conflict is only really hinted at through expository dialog. Did I hate it? No. But it's kind of like the effect of going from a hot tub to a cold pool. My perception of the quality of your story was affected by the fact that I read it just after re-reading Baudolino's effort. It doesn't stand on its own after a few subsequent reads. Did it improve on the original? Yes, but anything you did would have. DO BETTER. Writing: 7.25/10 CantDecideOnAName posted:Original: Voliun's S.O.S. (900 words including title) This is another case where the rewrite improves on the original by virtue of not being a completely confusing mess. That said, the more I read it, the more I noticed things that were unclear. And not a whole lot happened. I'll be honest, this reads like the intro to a TV crime drama. The part where nothing happens and a bunch of characters give us expository dialog to set up what the case will be. Our caring relies (in a TV crime drama)on us knowing the characters, and the fact that most shows are 30-60 minutes long and include things like conflict and action. I think you are still in novel-writing mode. This reads like part of a first chapter, not a stand alone piece, even given that it's a rewrite. I mean, Voliun's piece was kind of a mess but at least there was the implication of the reporter's doom at the end. Regarding the scene itself, I think you have the instinct that your characters shouldn't be floating in space. That they should exist in a setting and do things while talking so that it's not just endless confusing lines of dialog. But the WAY you did it, the endless details of the guy's house and the pacing and dish-doing... And then when I take a look at the story told in the characters' conversation, I have trouble following exactly what happened. So this Edgar guy apparently died in a terrible thruster accident during a routine thruster joyride because a guy named Richard went into his house? Was Edgar doing rocket science IN his house? Did the actual thruster sabotage happen elsewhere? What are these thrusters thrusting anyway? Then the ending. RICHARD'S COAT IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE. We get a vague implication that the alleged thruster saboteur was there all along? Which could be bad for our intrepid journalist I guess? In your next story I want to see a serious arc. Do not mince words. I want to see a complete scene, with tension, that has actual resolution. I want you to only include details that are necessary to propel to narrative forward. Did it improve on the original? Prose-wise, yes. It wasn't confusing. But it doesn't go anywhere. It's just a rewrite minus the weird smart-house stuff. Writing: 6/10
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Apr 19, 2013 20:00
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In.
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Apr 19, 2013 21:22
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Just curious, do we have to wait until after the joining deadline to submit our stuff?
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Apr 19, 2013 22:06
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Fanky Malloons posted:Indeed. The Watch Kimberly didn’t mean to steal it. She never did. It was such a nice watch, a man’s watch. It fit Kim’s thick wrist, though. She had been standing by the Lost & Found at the Natural History, flirting with a security guard, when the watch caught her eye. “Uh, what did you say you wanted, miss?” He was big, bigger than Kim. A white dude; she’d swung that before and wouldn’t mind it again. “I lost my watch.” She flicked her lashes at him, clasped her hands just below her waist and squeezed her pecs together. Her cleavage, professionally enhanced, lengthened accordingly. Big White Dude swallowed and stared at her tits for a second before he recovered. “Right, uh, your watch.” He pointed at the Lost & Found, crooking his elbow just enough to get a nice bicep flex. “Feel free to take a look in the box.” Kim flashed him all her big white teeth and took the two steps to the box. She passed close to Big White Dude, brushed him with her shoulder and let him get a whiff of her Burberry Sport. She reached into the box and grabbed the TAG Heuer. “This is it.” She cooed and held it up. “Thank you so much for your help!” “Well, I just pointed you the right way, but you’re welcome I guess.” His teeth were bigger and whiter than hers. She liked how his smile lines almost reached the angles of his jaw. Watch on her wrist and Brandon’s number in her phone, Kim wiggled her rear end down the steps to Madison Drive. Brandon: typical white dude name, but it suited him. Muscles, tan, thick brown hair combed to the side. And that great smile. Kim played with the watch on the bus back to her apartment on Lamont Street in Mount Pleasant. It was an impulse. Partly to talk to Brandon, but she wanted the watch anyway. He could have been a short dumpy guy who’d never even smelled a gym, and she still would have lied about it. She got off at a stop six blocks from home. It was walking weather. As she rounded a corner, a lanky, lean-muscled man skidded to a stop on his S-Works custom job. “Hey Kimmy, how’s it going?” Jude grinned and squeezed the handlebars to make his forearm veins pop. “Just on my way back from Natural History.” She did her best to smile. “I love that place!” He threw up a long thumb. “Though Fine Arts is my favorite, of course.” “Of course,” Kim said. “Well, I gotta head back and make dinner, ok?” “Sure, sure. I bet it’ll be delicious.” He finally wrenched his eyes from her tits and looked down at her watch. “Nice watch, by the way. Is it new?” “Yeah, just picked it up.” She fiddled with the leather band. “TAG Heuer, those aren’t cheap! Personal trainer must pay better than I thought.” Jude leaned back in the saddle and adjusted his Rudy Project shades. rear end in a top hat. “Figured I could splurge a little, y’know?” “Sure do. Well, I guess I’ll let you get to your dinner. See you Wednesday morning as always?” “As always,” Kim said. “Upper back, biceps, and quads.” “Beautiful. Have a superlative day!” Jude tossed her a salute and pushed off. The Mount Pleasant Farmer’s Market was still in full swing in Lamont Park. Kim stopped to grab oranges, grapefruits, and pecans. She had a citrus salad in mind from last month’s Cook’s Illustrated. It would go perfect with roasted sweet potatoes and leftover grilled chicken. She called Brandon from her kitchen. # “Dinner was fantastic, Kim.” It had been medium-rare New York Strip and a pile of grilled broccoli. “I can never get healthy food to taste this good.” “Thanks honey,” Kim said. That “honey” had just kind of slipped out. It was their third date, dinner at Kim’s like the first one. They still hadn’t slept together. Brandon wasn’t pushing it, didn’t even grab a boob while they made out during Java Heat on Date Number Two. Brandon smiled. Kim flexed her thighs, squeezed them together. “Hey Brandon? Let’s go to bed.” # “Hey Vanessa.” Kim switched the phone to her other ear so she could turn the dryer dial. “How’s what going? Oh, ‘that Brandon thing?’ It’s going amazing, been a month now.” The phone beeped. “poo poo, he’s calling me now. Let me call you back.” Kim tapped the screen. “Hey.” “Hey.” Slight pause. “Can you meet me for lunch?” “Sure. Near work?” “I have just a short break. The café?” “Dinosaurs?” “Right.” “Okay, honey, I’ll be there.” Brandon was sitting at a corner table, looking great as always in his tight black uniform. He stood up as Kim got close with her turkey wrap. “Hey honey.” She kissed him on the mouth. “Hey.” Brandon sat, toyed with his Fiji bottle. “So what’s up? You seem down or something.” Brandon’s dark eyes burned into her. “Kim, I know that watch wasn’t yours.” Her stomach squirmed. “What? Of course it’s mine!” She tried to smile. “No it loving isn’t.” Brandon clenched his fists. “Guy from New York came in this morning. His monthly meeting at his national HQ or whatever, and figured he’d left the watch here last time.” “It’s gotta be a coincidence!” Kim’s blinked tears back. “It’s not. He described it perfectly. Turns out it’s custom. A man’s custom watch.” Brandon’s face was granite. “I’m sorry Brandon, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.” She wiped her eyes. “So you had to steal a loving watch?” “I have a problem, I’m a klepto. I’m so, so sorry.” Kim grabbed his hand. He didn’t push her away. “Those watches cost three or four grand. That’s at least a year if I turn you in.” A year was forever. She’d lose her job, her apartment. No gym would hire an ex-con. He smiled, not a nice one now. “But you know, a husband can’t testify against his wife.”
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Apr 19, 2013 22:26
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CantDecideOnAName posted:Just curious, do we have to wait until after the joining deadline to submit our stuff? Nope, submit when you feel ready. Don't just poo poo it out without giving it at least one pass, though.
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Apr 19, 2013 22:26
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CantDecideOnAName posted:Just curious, do we have to wait until after the joining deadline to submit our stuff? No, you can submit any time. There's no reward for posting early, though, so you're better off using any extra time to polish.
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Apr 19, 2013 22:27
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Dr. Kloctopussy posted:No, you can submit any time. There's no reward for posting early, though, so you're better off using any extra time to polish. Polish? Lord Jesus ain't nobody got time for that!
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Apr 19, 2013 22:36
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Inn
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Apr 20, 2013 03:20
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 sign ups are closed!
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Apr 20, 2013 03:36
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Is it too late to commit? I might be an hour late to commit. I want to commit. edit: gosh dang darn
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Apr 20, 2013 04:29
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Dr. Kloctopussy posted:No, you can submit any time. There's no reward for posting early, though, so you're better off using any extra time to polish. A polished turd is still a piece of poo poo, but I see what you mean.
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Apr 20, 2013 04:31
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CantDecideOnAName posted:A polished turd is still a piece of poo poo, but I see what you mean. Go back to whatever you've written and cut 25-75 words. THAT'S AN ORDER.
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Apr 20, 2013 04:45
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Sitting Here posted:Go back to whatever you've written and cut 25-75 words. THAT'S AN ORDER. YES SIR edit: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED CantDecideOnAName fucked around with this message at 04:57 on Apr 20, 2013 |
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Apr 20, 2013 04:45
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crabrock posted:wait how did this get here Is this real life? Were you like, "those mean judges are gonna give me mean crits anyway, but maybe if I smear my story in poop they won't go near enough to crit it"? I don't think I've ever seen someone try to preemptively roll with the critique-punches via fanfiction. Alternatively, you were trying to be cute which...well you'll see how well that works shortly 
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Apr 20, 2013 05:27
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I want to kill everyone.
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Apr 20, 2013 06:48
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ThunderBrawl: Sebmojo VS Fumblemouse - Ghost Unicorn Summer - 1000 words Clocking in at 1000 words exactly: The sound of hooves I walked up the path with my bag of tricks, passing well-tended flower beds filled with white lilacs and irises, until I reached the large, white house. The front door, also painted white, bore a unicorn door-knocker with a horseshoe hanging from the horn. Cute, I thought as I gave it a rap. After a moment the door opened and there was a surprisingly little old lady. Not so much short as tiny, she wore white spectacles and a white sun-dress and looked as if the slightest breeze would break her in two. She beamed at me. “Summer!” she said. “Please come in - I’m Deirdre. Delighted you could make it.” “Not at all,” I said, smiling back. I stepped inside a clean, white atrium and followed her down a hallway to a sitting room. As I did so, I got the sensation I was being watched; not from any mysterious source, but from the fact that nearly every wall and shelf was decorated with unicorns. Pictures of them, paintings and drawings, as well as glass unicorns, crystal unicorns, clay sculptures of unicorns laying their heads in the laps of clay maidens, even the odd plastic My Little Unicorn. “I’m beginning to sense a theme with your decorations,” I said as Deirdre beckoned me to sit down at a sizeable table, already set out with unicorn-decorated tea cups and a brewing pot. “Oh, the unicorns, yes! Bless me, I’m so used to them now, I suppose they might look a little strange. And me, you might think I’m a doddery old maid, but I’m a firm believer in the truth behind myths.” She picked up the teapot and began to pour. “Mocking the beliefs of others tends to be a poor business decision for a medium,” I said, taking a cup and adding milk. “How can I be of service, Deirdre?” “Well, it’s exactly that. I need a medium because I would like to contact the dead.” “Mmm hmm,” I said, sipping. “In particular, dead unicorns.” A mouthful of tea came close to escaping. I swallowed hastily. “Come again?” “I know. I know. I’m a mad old biddy without a clue,” she sighed. “It’s not that, but, well, I have friends who are more in tune with, um, the animal...” “I don’t need a ‘pet psychic’,” she laughed. “ You know unicorns are mentioned in the Bible, correct? God himself is compared to one in two places! Intelligent creatures of magic, revered throughout history. Why shouldn’t they have souls? And if they do, why shouldn’t you be able to reach them?” Her voice became quieter. “Listen. When I was younger - don’t make me go into details - let’s just say I don’t think any live unicorns are going to want to talk to me. And I’ve always dreamed of speaking with one. Would you deny an old lady a last chance at a dream?” I have always considered that 90% of my job is providing understanding and support where other people had failed to, and Deirdre had clearly been wanting this for some time. “If you’re sure, then,” I said, “and serious. This isn’t a parlour game.” She nodded.. I closed the curtains on the dying afternoon sun, then brought out three candles, two bells and the book of shadows from my bag. I placed them in their appropriate places around the table as Deirdre cleared the tea things. She sat down and I sat beside her, declining to hold her hands. “This isn’t the movies. Just concentrate on whomever you’d like to talk to.” I lit the candles, rang the bells, and turned the pages of the book, looking with my mind’s eye to see if anyone responded to my ritual. Everyday life, I often said, was like being underwater, and summoning a spirit was inviting them to dive in with you from the clear air above. This time I could sense ripples, someone wanting to dip more than a toe in, but unsure or unable. “There’s someone there,” I told Deirdre. “I don’t know if it’s a unicorn.” “Can you talk to them?” “I’ll try.” I sent waves of welcoming thoughts, and just like that he was here, a tidal wave of emotion and pain. Paintings flew from the walls, glass unicorns fell from shelves and shattered, I screamed but I wasn’t screaming, he was. “You damned me!” I heard my voice say, twisted into something ugly and filled with hate. “You damned me, you slut.” I could still see, but my eyes were clouded with someone else’s rage, my body overwhelmed. Deirdre shrank even smaller in her chair. “You?” she asked, visibly trembling. “You can make it right,” I said in a nasty, wheedling tone. “Just forgive me. There’s no joy left, but if you forgive me I’ll have that, something to cling to. Just forgive me.” “but..” “Forgive me!” My voice rose with impatience. “Lie if you have to, I don’t care. There’s always burning but there’s never any light. Just the word would be enough to see by for a moment. Say it, Deirdre. Say. It.” Deirdre looked shocked and confused, but she slowly straightened in her chair. “No Father. drat you and no. After what you did, you dare ask forgiveness? You ruined me. Who would have me after what you did? Who would want to lay their head in my lap? You can rot for all I care.” “Then rot with me, bitch.” I screamed. A piece of broken glass from a fallen picture went flying toward Deirdre as I tried to break our connection. It sliced her neck, and a thick ribbon of blood fell across her chest. The world stopped, even he recoiled in horror, so I breathed deep, collected what remained of my energies and cast him out of me. I went to her, hopelessly failing to stop the red spreading across her white sun-dress until her eyes turned to glass. In the distance, growing fainter, the sound of hooves.
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Apr 20, 2013 08:02
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Thunderbrawl: Sebmojo/Fumblemouse "Ghost Unicorn Summer" The ghost in the garden 973 words I have become aware of dimensions other than our own. No, do not attempt to hide your sneer. I am used to it. Back away if you wish, raise an eyebrow, move your head from side to side in a mocking fashion. I do not care. I am no streetside preacher, consumed with the prosyletising urge. If you wish no further converse on this hot day then I shall not detain you. Ah, but you do not mock? Interesting. Perhaps I should say instead; your mockery is either absent or deeply buried, awaiting the more profitable payoff that an initial appearance of credulity will eventually provide? In either case I shall proceed. I have decided that public exposure is the optimal method of averting an onrushing cosmic crisis. On that scale, as you will appreciate, a modicum of embarrassment is not even perceptible. I am a statistician by trade and training. Numbers are the lens through which I refract the vicissitudes of the world and make what is muddled, coherent. And it is through this clarificatory process that I first discovered these other places. Through police reports. I noticed there were spikes, seasonal spikes around certain crimes. Disappearances to be more exact. Disappearances of young girls, to be as precise as my story permits at this stage of its telling. Coincidentally my own sister disappeared when I was young. She entered an alley from one end and did not exit from the other. We were at the seaside, I can still remember the sticky ice cream on my hand. The voice of the carnival barker. Where was I. Ah yes. Disappearances of young girls would increase, always in summer, always young girls. But the numbers didn’t add up. I investigated further, found more evidence! And more discrepancies! The data would shift, move from day to day, as though my delvings were being shadowed by something… something else. My efforts to notify the authorities were fruitless, embarrassing. One bitter morning twelve years ago, after the chief of police for the region had laughed at me, had me thrown out of his office, I dubbed the problem the unicorn in the garden. You know the Thurber story? Of course, you are an educated man. A man sees a unicorn, feeds it, tells his wife. She calls him crazy, summons a doctor. The doctor hears her story and locks her up. Most instructive! I was being put in a position to display myself as a lunatic and thus be conveniently disposed of. And so I made no further attempts to enlist the machinery of society in my quest. Instead I delved into my studies, further and deeper than ever before. It was on that voyage I gained this hirsute appearance, my friend, and also the fondness for it that has led me to retain it to the present day. Call it protective colouration if you will, the madman in his madman costume is a known quantity. Did I just see... My mind, it starts to... Where, where was I again? Of course. My next step. Having failed in my first endeavour I embarked upon a second. The unkind might have called me a peeping tom, but I was simply following the scientific method. Young girls were disappearing, and so I watched them. Not all of them, of course, but a careful selection of those who I felt were most likely to suffer the depredations of these… forces. Yes, forces. Even at that time I knew them to be unearthly. I was in my fourth week of surveillance of a little tyke named Sally O’Leary, charming in appearance and delightful in manner, when I saw them. Out of the corner of my eye. A flicker, a flash. Angular phantoms that darted from place to place without seeming to cross the intervening space. But always they were circling. I knew I was close. And that night I saw it happen. Little Sally was sent out into the warm summer night to fetch some firewood. I was watching from my favoured spot behind the shed. She stopped, laughed – like the pealing of little bells – and reached out her hand. I saw it happen. The shimmering planes of force, coalescing, interlocking. Quadripedal. Sharp obtrusions stretching forth. It enfolded her and she was gone. That night ended badly, of course – Mr O’Leary leapt to a wrong conclusion when he found me obtaining soil samples from the site of the disappearance and I was forced to curtail my investigations for a time. But I had cracked the code! And I saw them again, these, things, these, kidnappers. They come for the young and the pure, you see. On the hot nights – maybe their world is hot, perhaps it suits them better. The pure, the virginal can see them and touch them and on that touch? Like the popping of a soap bubble they are spirited away. And that is why we must - What was that? My word. Am I? That might be called an impertinent question, sir. But since you have attended me with such grace, I shall give you your answer. Yes. Yes, it is true I am untouched by female hand. I confess I have often thought that is why I could see them and why – oh. I see them. They approach. Oh sweet Jesus Lord of all, they come for me. No sir, do not back away from me. I, I need you to witness this for the torch, that has been my high and solitary burden, is about to pass. I see them though you cannot. They are upon me. Their ghostly, their phantasmal limbs. They shift. They flicker in upon me. Mark this sir. Mark this day. It is on you. It is on YOU. You must sebmojo fucked around with this message at 08:42 on Apr 20, 2013 |
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Apr 20, 2013 08:39
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Little Mac posted:Is it too late to commit? I might be an hour late to commit. I want to commit. The act of a warrior is to slap your story down anyway. Choose your path.
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Apr 20, 2013 09:54
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Sitting Here posted:Is this real life? Were you like, "those mean judges are gonna give me mean crits anyway, but maybe if I smear my story in poop they won't go near enough to crit it"? haha, uh no. the only part that is "real life" is the very end where I was like "maybe I should start over."
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Apr 20, 2013 16:09
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Sitting Here posted:Is this real life?
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Apr 20, 2013 16:32
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twinkle cave posted:I want to kill everyone.
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Apr 20, 2013 16:32
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Caught in a Thunderdome, No escape from the losertar.
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Apr 20, 2013 17:09
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Nubile Hillock posted:ban Sitting Here
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Apr 20, 2013 17:36
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Apr 20, 2013 17:37
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Flash rules: No dashes. Not allowed to write in preexisting story universe. Granny included. Modern Day Monster Hunter (766 words) “Something is killing my goddamn cows, Martin.” Granny Hawn gnawed on her cigar and glared at me. “That’s two this week. I only got a herd of twenty. Can’t afford to lose them.” I sighed. I could see where this was going. “Can’t you get John to do this?” “John twisted his ankle this morning. He can sit with you but he can’t go haring off after poachers or whatever.” “You think it’s poachers?” “I think something’s gone and tore out a couple cow throats, is what I think,” she snapped. “Be at the gate at seven. I’ll pay you for your trouble.” And that was how I ended up sitting in the dark with my shotgun, a flashlight, and my brother John. We were sitting in a pair of old folding chairs by the cow paddock, John with his leg propped up on the fence to keep it elevated. “Just the cows, huh?” I asked. “Nothing else’s been attacked?” “Just the cows.” John shifted in his chair slightly, making the frame squeak. “Didn’t even eat anything, which makes me think it ain’t wolves or any big cat.” “You don’t think it’s poachers?” “Granny don’t. If she did she’d be sitting out here herself. Poachers don’t rip the throat out of an animal and take nothing but blood.” “Blood?” Goosebumps rippled up my arms and across the back of my neck. “Yeah.” “Has anyone else in the area had cows get hurt like this?” “No cows, but last month something was killing goats. Drained five of them straight dry, but everything stopped once they put up some motion sensor lights.” “Did they ever see what was attacking them?” “Nope.” I sighed. “Sounds like a chupacabra to me, John. Maybe a pair.” “Chupas?” John swore. “This far east?” I shrugged. “It happens. Maybe someone’s pet got loose, that’s usually how this sort of poo poo goes. Loose, abandoned, whatever. Look, if it comes tonight, I’m gonna go after it. You keep light on the cows and make sure it doesn’t come back while I’m gone.” John grunted and spat. “You got it.” I ‘turned on’ my night sight, a natural ability that let me see in the dark as easily as if I were wearing night vision goggles. With it on, I could see the cows clearly, as well as the fence around their paddock, the sparse trees, and John. I sighed and got to my feet, picking up my shotgun. “I’m going to patrol around. Keep an eye out.” It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for. We kind of stumbled across each other, and both it and I froze. The chupacabra was about four feet tall on its hind legs, hunched, and scaly. It stared at me with oversized eyes, mouth agape to reveal pointed teeth. Those and the claws would be nasty if it came to blows. Luckily, chupacabra were stupid. If you just stood where you were without moving for about five minutes, it would decide you were a tree or a cactus or a fence post and move on, even if it had seen you walking just seconds ago. So I stood perfectly still and waited. After a while it dropped to all fours and prowled past me, the scales on its skin brushing against my jeans. My heart was pounding in my chest. If it saw me make any sudden moves, it would bolt and I would lose this chance. That is, if it didn’t attack me. Trying to breathe lightly, I waited until it wasn’t looking at me any longer to raise my gun. I fired, and there was a horrific sound like the wail of a fox or the screams of fighting cats, and I saw the chupacabra fall. It screamed again, high and long, raising the hair on my neck and catching my breath in my throat. I watched it writhe about for a moment, then walked up and put another round of buckshot through its skull. The sudden silence was deafening. I dragged the body back to John, unwilling to throw it over my shoulders like I would a goat. He turned on the flashlight when he heard me coming, and managed to shine it right into my eyes. “poo poo, man, shine that thing elsewhere.” I dumped the carcass by my chair and sat down, turning off my night sight. “There’s one. I’ll stay the week to see if there are any others, but after all that screaming I’m not sure if they’ll stick around.” Hell, if I wasn’t getting paid, I wouldn’t either.
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Apr 20, 2013 19:24
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THUNDERBRAWL! Sebmojo VS Fumblemouse - Ghost Unicorn Summer - 1000 words What a prompt, full of mystery, myth and heat. And insanity. So many crazy people. Fumblemouse wrote a story about a real psychic accidentally communing with a father who raped a unicorn obsessed daughter, permanently loving her up in the process. Sebmojo wrote about a crazy man grabbing you in the subway and telling you that something is obducting kids. Probably him, the dirty gently caress. Personally, just from the premises I prefer Fumblemouse's, I like the dark events behind the pristine white clean home, and the childish throw backs. But it didn't quite hang together for me, then once the seance started it lost me. Because I am a cold hearted cynic I would have rather had the psychic be a fake and either call up the spirit by accident, or her face reading cause the truth to come out. You had a bit too much fluff in there, it could have been tighter and clearer. It was meant to be a bit ambiguous, but it could have been slightly clearer. Sebmojo's story was pretty tight. Reading through my comments again, where they are there they are pretty nice. I didn't love it, but it was tight, and efficiently portrayed a crazy person grabbing you in the street. I ended up liking it. So gently caress you, you wrote a good story, you win. WINNER: SEBMOJOInterestingly you both wrote stories about crazy virgins. I don't want to cast aspersions, but I'm sure people can make their own connections. Fumblemouse posted:The sound of hooves sebmojo posted:Thunderbrawl: Sebmojo/Fumblemouse "Ghost Unicorn Summer" This didn't really grab me on my first reading, but second time through I couldn't find much to pick it apart which I didn't think was pure opinion. You don't know if the guy is actually being taken, or if we are just running off from the crazy man. Don't know if the crazy man abducted these kids or if something else did. This ambiguity is this piece is its strength, when in the last it was a weakness.
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Apr 20, 2013 20:14
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CancerCakes posted:
I think that's a good call and a fair crit. Sebmojo's victory is a win for all young girls unfairly abducted after being sent out for "firewood" on warm summer nights, and I hope it gives him the confidence he needs to finally enjoy the touch of a woman.
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Apr 20, 2013 22:28
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Thanks for the crit. Interesting that you thought it was someone running away from the crazy at the end. In my mind he was getting popped by the ghost unicorns but it totally works either way. You're right about the virginity question, that plothole could have remained uncorked.
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Apr 20, 2013 22:35
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Fanky Malloons posted:Indeed. Finders Keepers Words: 995 Bex Lightfoot swept his Ferren 40-C Auto-rifle back and forth. Ashes and dust danced through the air as the vest-flashlight beam swung. Blood from his forehead pooled around the neck of his flak jacket. Squinting, he could barely make out shapes along the walls. A Yotsu-Miyami flash bang had wrecked his cyber-eyes, and he wasn’t used to going analog. “It’s clear,” Bex said over his com. Three men piled into the darkened hallway behind him. “Yotsu drones still out there, we should hole up here for the night,” Bex said. “Where is here?” Jester said looking around. Tiny chairs, tables and lockers lined the empty, dusty hallways. Door after door lined the spaces between lockers. “I think we’re in an abandoned school,” Fizz said. “Maybe you’ll finally graduate the fourth grade,” Bex said, wrapping an arm around Fizz’s shoulders. “Bert, find a datajack and see if you can send out a false beacon, draw ‘em away from here.” Bert gave a thumb’s up with his free hand, and took his datadeck, checking for wall outlets. “Fizz, Jester, lets find a place to get some sleep.” *** “Bruno Masters was a naughty, naughty boy,” Jester said, flipping through a folder of ancient paperwork. Bex, Jester and Fizz rooted through office cabinets and drawers. “A FluxBux Bear? I had one of these as a kid,” Bex said. He plucked the ragged bear from a wire Lost and Found basket and squinted one eye. “I never thought I’d see one of these again.” “Take it home, give it to your kid,” Fizz said. He sat in a rickety office chair, reclining back, off balance. Bex nodded, looking the bear up and down. In the darkness, something scurried away, table legs scraping against concrete. Guns drew, ready and searching. “What was that?” Bex said. Fizz shook his head. A heavy metal smashing sound rang out from the hallway. Jester poked his head out of the room. “Bert?” Jester called. He turned back and shrugged his shoulders at the team. A blackened, clawed hand reached across Jester’s face, pulling him into the hallway. Fizz leapt forward first, tearing into the hall. Jester screamed as he was dragged, plowing through overturned tables and chairs. Fizz fired high, over Jester, but that made whatever was dragging Jester move faster. “Jester!” Fizz shouted. Bex couldn’t keep up, couldn’t see the garbage and chairs he kept tripping over. Hitting his shins on a tiny chair, he went sprawling. Pushing himself up, he grabbed his rifle, and the teddy bear from the ground. Looking around he didn’t hear anything anymore. “Fizz! Jester!” Bex shouted. “Anyone?” *** Firing shots over his shoulder, Bex didn’t look back. Hurdling fallen chairs and broken desks, he could hear something behind him smash right through the debris. “Fizz! Fizz! Jesus Christ Fizz!” Bex shouted over the com. Static. Bex kept his flashlight trained in front of him. “Anyone? Bert? Jester?” Bex whipped around a corner, tripping over a fallen locker. Scurrying and scraping echoed through the halls, the thing would be around the corner in a second. Bex rolled onto his back and squeezed off a burst. Concrete chips and empty casings clattered to the ground. Silence. Still in his hand was the FluxBux bear. He squeezed it, the softness and resistance calming him slightly. Tucking the bear into his belt, he scooted backwards into an open classroom. *** Seven rounds still left in Bex’s magazine. Enough to send some warning shots, maybe enough for some Yotsu mook, but not for whatever was in that blackness. Bex felt his heart beat in his temples, pulsations rippling through his eyes. He turned his flashlight off, his vision was no good anyway. Focus, Bex thought. Let the aug-sense take over. Listening to the darkness, he stepped slowly backward, foot over foot. It’ll come through the door, and I’ll hear it push the chair, he assured himself. One hand felt behind him, searching for the wall to brace against. The chair scraped and he squeezed the trigger, sending three shots into the door and wall. He missed, he heard the thing shuffling through the room, sliding on scraps of paper and garbage. He squeezed his eyes together, listening to it circle him. Multiple legs, all fours, waiting for my back to show. Bex turned slowly with the thing, waiting for it to make its move. Wait and listen, wait and listen, wait and— It leapt, he heard scrape of dusty feet on the ground. Twisting his waist, he emptied the rest of his magazine right as it collided with him. The thing bounced off him, significantly lighter than he thought it would have been. Stillness. He clicked on his light, illuminating the body. Human feet, dirty, black, with yellow nails like talons were attached to bony, thin legs. Torn, ragged khaki rags covered the thing’s genitalia, but Bex was certain it was male. Emaciated ribs rose and fell with shallow breaths. It’s only real article of clothing was a ragged, maroon polo shirt, with a white collar ripped at the neck. The polo looked like it was suffocating the poor thing. Bex pushed the creature with his boot and it flopped over. Frayed facial hair, black and matted with crust, choked out the thing’s face. Bex sighed, and looked at its hands, the FluxBux Bear wrapped tightly in bony fingers. Bex checked his belt for the bear, finding nothing. “Aw gently caress.” Bex fell on his rear end, Ferren 40-C clattering to the ground, empty. He heard shuffling in the darkness around him. Flicking his light, he caught the reflection of light in dozens beady black eyes. Silhouettes of skinny, hairy things surrounded Bex. He spun, light streaking across silhouette after silhouette. Wet hissing and whimpering closed in. Bex sneered and pulled out his vibroblade. He cut the flashlight and closed his eyes. Focus, Bex thought. Wait and listen. Feet scraped against concrete as the creatures moved.
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Apr 21, 2013 01:08
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We're returning to hardcore thunderdome mode. I hope you enjoyed the please and thank you of regular CC cocksucking, but it's over. If you miss this post, too bad. The joke of kayfabe is gone because apparently there are some without real teeth. I want genuine blood if you post. Post crits if you want. Zero response unless you want banned from the next week. No kayfabe. No realtalk. We're just in the sad old CC poo poo that can and should be mocked. What the gently caress is wrong with us?
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Apr 21, 2013 08:44
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Fju9o8BVJ8 We're back here. gently caress you loving idiots. I'm tired of your milquetoast bullshit. Daddy is back home. He's taking a belt to your rear end for making his thunderdome a loving punchline. This is poo poo.
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Apr 21, 2013 08:49
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Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Fju9o8BVJ8 Alright you big-noting cocksucker, bring it. I will eviscerate you. 1k words, midnight Tues PST. Martello can judge and prompt.
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Apr 21, 2013 09:24
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First they came for the hugboxes, and I did not speak out for I was not a hugbox.
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Apr 21, 2013 09:42
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sebmojo posted:Alright you big-noting cocksucker, bring it. I will eviscerate you. 1k words, midnight Tues PST. Martello can judge and prompt. That's fine. I accept. But my point still stands. I don't care to fill out it right now, but the thunderdome sucks pretty hard with all this stupidity going on.
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Apr 21, 2013 09:58
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Because I was asked so many times, I will put it plainly: Kayfabe is suspended. No more because we have new idiots. Be mean because it's good for edits. Just, for God's sake, be genuinely mean for this torrent of bullshit writing falling on our heads. Goddamn, sons. Erik Shawn-Bohner fucked around with this message at 11:36 on Apr 21, 2013 |
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Apr 21, 2013 11:34
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The Mystery of the Silent House (1055 words) The house was a dead zone. Strange choice of words but I couldn't describe it any other way. The dead outnumber the living and those who couldn't cross over or who didn't want to have long since declared their claim on the Earth. Now it had become a matter of negotiating with them to reach a compromise. Living space was for living people and the dead have to make room. It was my job to make sure that happened. I worked for a real estate agency. It was a simple two story house. Something that would have fit in a suburban neighborhood along with a dozen other copies. It was quiet, which was impossible. No house could ever be quiet to someone like me. The entire world was haunted. Everything built atop the graves of past generations and this house should be no exception yet there it was. I worked with ghosts and convinced them to move to other places so I should be relieved that there was no one here. But I couldn't deny the cold feeling in my spine. I entered through the front door into the living room. I walked around the empty space, checking the walls and the floor for anything that looked or felt amiss. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just the basic white walls and tasteful, if boring, tiles on the floor. The kitchen and dining area was the same. That left the bedrooms up the stairs and the basement. Maybe the inhabitants were waiting to ambush me? That happened a couple of times before. The more malevolent spirits tended to wait for the best opportunity to kick your rear end. I fished out a coin from my pocket and flipped it. Heads for the bedrooms and tails for the basement. Bedrooms it is then. Up the stairs, I braced myself before entering the first bedroom. Nothing. Same with the next two rooms. Did this mean there was some unique kind of hell waiting for me in the basement? There was only one way to find out. The stairs leading to the basement didn't even creak and when I turned on the lights they worked perfectly. The boiler didn't contain any skeletons and the walls didn't hide any secret rooms. Nothing assaulted me or made its presence felt. That should be it. No negotiations, aggressive or otherwise, needed. I could declare the house ready for occupancy and move on to the next job. I lit a cigarette and looked back towards the house. It was quite picturesque with the afternoon sun behind it. I could easily picture a neat garden in place of the weeds. Maybe some gnomes or pink flamingos just to complete the picture. It was really quite a nice looking house. I put out my cigarette on the sidewalk and made plans to come back the next day. -------- The next day I came back with someone so I could get another opinion. Gerard was an old priest who claimed he was an exorcist back in the day. When I found him haunting an old church that was scheduled for demolition we had a bit of a laugh at the irony of his current state of being dead. He wouldn't cross over because of his vows so I tapped him from time to time for the more unruly ones. "What do you think?" I asked. "Perhaps a garden would be in order." I smiled at his comment and went inside. I placed my sleeping bag in the corner of the living room while he went through the walls. He was mindful enough to not leave any ectoplasm. I unpacked my supplies for the night. Protein bars that I could eat quickly and discretely so Gerard wouldn't feel awkward while watching me, bottled water, and a chess board to pass the time. When he came back after checking through the walls I asked him if he found anything unusual. "Nothing." Gerard said, "No foul presence taints this peaceful house. I had come expecting it would be like that apartment complex from a year ago." "No other spirits besides you?" "None. You would have found them or are you getting old as well?" I chuckled at the jab and broke out the chess pieces. "Humor me with a few games, Father?" "Haven't you gotten tired of this dreary game? Bring one of those electronic games next time. I have grown fond of them." Now I really felt old. -------- The night passed without incident. We played several games through the night until I gave up and decided to get some rest. I woke up with the sun from a dreamless, peaceful sleep. I went over to the kitchen sink to wash my face when I noticed something. I went up the stairs to check the bedrooms then down into the basement. Puzzled, I sat down in the middle of the living room and forced myself to calm down and meditate. I don't enjoy opening my third eye all the way but the situation called for it. Nothing. Gerard was gone. The old ghost would never have left just like that. He stuck with me when we fought that demon and it wasn't in his nature to just leave a friend. A feeling of dread replaced the peacefulness of the house. I packed up my things and ran outside. Out on the street I kept looking for him, calling his name and meditating on the sidewalk to open my eye. Nothing. That's when it hit me. I finally realized what creeped me out about this place. There was nothing here, only dead silence. No spirits and also no bugs, no rodents, no birds. Now that I thought about it, why haven't any homeless people taken shelter in there? I could not give this place a clean bill. -------- The agency didn't agree. The house was structurally sound and ghost free so there was no reason not to sell it. I could not in good conscience let anyone live in that house. It still looked as peaceful and picturesque with the moon shining above it but looking at it now, the windows and door was a face that mocked me. I took one of the bottles filled with gas from my bag and lit the rag sticking out of it.
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Apr 21, 2013 14:05
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Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:That's fine. I accept. But my point still stands. I don't care to fill out it right now, but the thunderdome sucks pretty hard with all this stupidity going on. The stupid is coming from inside the post
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Apr 21, 2013 15:02
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Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Fju9o8BVJ8 ...................................................../ / 
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Apr 21, 2013 15:10
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Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:We're returning to hardcore thunderdome mode. I hope you enjoyed the please and thank you of regular CC cocksucking, but it's over. You talk big for someone who's put up only once this year, Boner In the spirit of last week I did a rewrite of these posts of yours:  
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Apr 21, 2013 15:38
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