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I'm in, and I'd like a flash rule.
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May 1, 2014 23:29
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Just realized I hadn't entered yet. In.
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May 1, 2014 23:43
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Anathema Device posted:I'm in, and I'd like a flash rule. Flashrule for Anathema Device: Write, in the noir style, a story involving one or more penguins.
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May 2, 2014 00:04
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RichardGamingo posted:Gamingo vs Leekster 800-1000 words 2 syllables max
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May 2, 2014 04:42
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There's quite a few actually. I don't think he knows what a syllable is. Either that or he's just super loving lazy and arrogant and couldn't spare five minutes to edit the thing. See also: random tense shifts. Leekster, the bar is set. Suck less. I have faith in you.
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May 2, 2014 06:25
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RichardGamingo posted:Without a hatch to look through, Mary sat and picked her needle and thread from a nearby table. Before she knew it she was back to knitting I should also like to point out that he doesn't know what knitting is.
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May 2, 2014 06:32
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RichardGamingo: quick crit. 1) is it humble? N/A but Richie's boasting about how he could tell an awesome story in just one sentence sure as poo poo isn't. That's called poetry brosef, and you suck at that too. Failed. 2) is it simple? I can't tell what the gently caress is happening but I think so? Tentative pass. 3) two syllables or less? Ahaha gently caress off. Fail hard.
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May 2, 2014 06:40
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Martello posted:well you rule but you probs already knew that ty Thunderdad Guys I have this feeling like mr Gamingo is trying to have LOLs at our expense. What do we do about people who have LOLs at our expense? Do we just lay down and take it???
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May 2, 2014 07:32
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It's too late! He's a totally badical rebel won't play by our rules. I tried to take his badge and gun but he was too much of a loose cannon.
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May 2, 2014 08:21
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Time to submit stories in the form of passive-agressive acrostic jabs. Man's game charges a man's price.
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May 2, 2014 10:16
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Meeple posted:This is all theblunderbuss's fault. I'm in. As theblunderbuss was being too nice to flash rule me after I told him I already had words written before I signed up, it falls on me to demand it anyway. Bring it, etc.
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May 2, 2014 10:35
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Meeple posted:As theblunderbuss was being too nice to flash rule me after I told him I already had words written before I signed up, it falls on me to demand it anyway. Bring it, etc. Meeple flash rule: The end of your story must take place chronologically before its start.
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May 2, 2014 11:05
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Alright, I'm home now. Time to give this a proper crit. RichardGamingo posted:Gamingo vs Leekster 800-1000 words 2 syllables max
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May 2, 2014 12:25
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TOO COOL 4 SKOOL internet persona?
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Been sitting around all week mewling about it--gently caress it, I'm in.
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May 2, 2014 12:30
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RichardGamingo posted:Gamingo vs Leekster 800-1000 words 2 syllables max RichardGamingo, I don't know who you are or what you've done. All I know is your story, and your story sucked. quote:"Batten down the hatches on the poop! There be a slurry storm up ahead!" Captain Sherlock shouted to the crew on deck. Mary already knew the storm had been set to meet her on this voyage and remained below deck. She was not a crew member anyhow. And whether the ship float or sink did not bother her sense of justice in the least. I still want to know what was up with the sorceress chasing Mary sending storms after her. There's hints about something to do with her, and it seems almost like it could go fantasy in the beginning, but the rest of the story is just ship dudes trying not to drown. You didn't give us any time with any of the characters to give them identifiable traits. Mary is mysteriously aloof and the captain wants to save his ship. I don't know anything about the relationship the two have to each other, or anything about them other than the vaguest motivations. Since I can't identify with your characters, I don't care about your conflict, which Mary explicitly doesn't care about either. I'm just watching ship dudes die without really caring because most of them were only introduced in the line they died. Your story has no point. It's not telling me anything about any of these characters, it's just showing them spotting a storm and then dying. You even kind of forget that you had the captain as your main character since he features less and less toward the end. Even without looking at timestamps, this story reads like you didn't really know where you were going with it, and you just threw it together as you went, turning something about some girl being tracked down by a storm into a story about sailors dying in a storm.
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May 2, 2014 15:06
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The eight wind came with a wave and the soaked deck was flooded. Crew mate John -- last in line -- was nearly taken by the waters. John's white-knuckled grip on the edge of the first stair down his grace. This looks like a sentence but there's no verb. He pulled himself through the portal and the gushing waters followed his descent.
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God Over Djinn vs WeLandedOnTheMoon! vs curlingiron STYLEBRAWL. possession (1999 words): https://docs.google.com/document/d/1cX2Ooylsi1YNHqPC4z2M86DYhpxOmreIHlOPMmBzfUg/edit?usp=sharing Please take my word for it that 1. I haven't edited this at any point after 9:30 AM PST, 5/2; 2. There are actually 1999 words in it, even though Google says there are 2060-something. (The reason for this should be obvious.)
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May 2, 2014 17:31
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God Over Djinn posted:possession (1999 words): https://docs.google.com/document/d/1cX2Ooylsi1YNHqPC4z2M86DYhpxOmreIHlOPMmBzfUg/edit?usp=sharing bangin E: oh and this too sebmojo fucked around with this message at 22:59 on May 2, 2014 |
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May 2, 2014 22:54
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 Some of you reading this haven't signed up yet. Why not? You have nine hours left!
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May 2, 2014 23:55
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theblunderbuss posted:
Because I had nine hours left,  . In.
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May 3, 2014 00:30
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Ich bin in.
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May 3, 2014 01:51
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In.
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May 3, 2014 03:04
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Due to a personal crises, I must respectfully bow out this week.
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May 3, 2014 04:00
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Alright babby bitches, this three way brawl is OVER. THis is THE DEADLINE if you haven't submitted yet gently caress you, if you have you better pucker ur buttholes
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May 3, 2014 04:31
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Helllll yes winning a brawl for once e: by default e: 
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May 3, 2014 04:35
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Woah woah woah Can I get 20 mins? Friday isn't over where I am.
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May 3, 2014 04:35
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gently caress you Chillock. It's Friday and I am submitting a story. I am not editing it after this point, and it has less words that Djinn's. Any questions? How to Catch a Bullfrog 1999 words
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May 3, 2014 04:57
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Seconding the "gently caress you, it's still Friday" sentiment. Chimera 79 words 
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May 3, 2014 05:15
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Sign-ups are now over!
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May 3, 2014 09:00
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BRAWL JUDGEMENT who gives a gently caress about time limits, y'all are in no penalties. It's really not like it mattered, though, because DJINN is the winner. Djinn, your use of layout and colour wasn't irritating and actually added to the story. It was a tight piece of prose fiction, making best use of the word limit. WLOTM - the transition through time really tanked this piece. It started off strong, but the transition from childhood to adulthood was too abrupt and the details were too vague. I'm not entirely sure about whatever falling outs the characters had or who was doing what and why. The story is too cohesive to need visual cues, and doesn't really take advantage of them. You could have done more with less. Curlingiron - A solid poem though far too vague on details, the design choice is questionable also. It's not a layout that would have ever made it to print, you might have been better served with a simpler white/black contrast but that's neither here nor there. My biggest gripe is the minimalism of this piece with regards to the word count. The poem was not nearly visceral or metaphorical or transcendental enough to eschew like 9/10ths of the allotted words. I remain unimpressed.
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May 3, 2014 20:54
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PM from Leekster posted:Gamingo is also a racist or at least ignorant. Don't worry, I will get histrionically angry at your piece too. It's only fair. I said I would judge him fairly. His story is poo poo, but I'm still willing to take it on the few merits it has. SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at 06:22 on May 4, 2014 |
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May 4, 2014 06:19
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That was joking. I was just reading through the LP forum and thought you'd laugh at it. Wasn't trying to collude or muddy the water. And of course I want you to get angry at my writing. I won't improve any other way. Edit: The reason I PMed it to you is because I didn't want to clot the thread with anymore Gamingo talk. People were tired of it before it happened. leekster fucked around with this message at 06:31 on May 4, 2014 |
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May 4, 2014 06:25
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ONLY THE STORY MATTERS. WORK ON IT. RichardGamingo. You're not beyond redemption or improvement. You have an excellent vocabulary, but you need to learn when not to use it for the service of the story. You've also got a flair for imagery, but you overuse metaphor to the point where you're impossible to understand. Your sentences are massively overcomplicated and confusing with dangling participles out the rear end. In three words DIAL IT BACK We get it, you know lots of words. Fiction isn't about proving how smart and awesome you are to the world, it's about telling stories. Dial back the ten-dollar vocab, dial back the overwrought metaphor, dial back the stupid loving ego and you could be a really good writer. Big words and strong metaphors are great, but they work better in isolation. Right now you're just smearing them all over the place and it's jamming up like The Three Stooges trying to fit through a door. If you really want to be all impressionist and artsy I'd suggest reading Ted Berrigan, William S. Burroughs and the like: Beats and hippies. You'll love them, and if you pay attention they'll teach you about putting the right metaphor in the right place rather than spraying them around like you're trying to put out a fire. I'd honestly like it if you hung around the 'dome and submitted a bit. We are not kind to bad stories, but we've managed to take writers worse than you and make something good from them. Your ego will take a pounding, but a writer's gotta develop thick skin somewhere.
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May 4, 2014 06:39
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leekster posted:i will shut up good idea e: also i will crit three stories, first to ask sebmojo fucked around with this message at 12:12 on May 4, 2014 |
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May 4, 2014 10:05
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sebmojo posted:good idea  The 'Mojo Challenge It's very well and good to talk, Senor Mojo, but let's stretch your legs a bit, hmm? Take a memorable event from your childhood and transpose it into a cybernoir mystery. You have until the submission deadline for Thunderdome 92 (i.e. about 7 days). 2,500-3,500 words. (Challenge requested by Le Mojo in IRC.)
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May 4, 2014 12:59
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Erogenous Beef posted:
gently caress u beef yes counter request: you do the same, same deadline then we both crit each other 24 hours later done
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May 4, 2014 13:01
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sebmojo posted:gently caress u beef yes Challenge accepted.
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May 4, 2014 13:02
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sebmojo posted:good idea Please do mine, thanks.
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May 4, 2014 13:25
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I gave myself the additional restriction that I had to pick something mundane that I do today, and make that my MC's greatest moment/last hurrah. I picked "dialing a phone" Circle of Death Horace had never noticed it before, but the crisp leaves crunching underfoot sounded just like his mother's nose slamming into a steering wheel at 45 miles per hour. The autumn fog hung thick and low as he shuffled up the wooden porch and rapped on the flimsy wooden door. "So you finally showed your face. I bet you think you're a hero or something, " spat the extremely pregnant woman flinging open the door. "You never were one for hospitality. If mom were alive, she'd be rolling in her grave." "If mom were alive today, we wouldn't be here," the woman shrugged, turning away and disappearing through a nearby archway. Horace trudged inside. Shutting the door quietly, he turned to face Daphne as she reentered the room, carrying a cup of tea.. "Well, sit down," Daphne plopped her expectant frame into an overstuffed chair. Horace didn't feel quite ready for taking a load off his feet. "I thought you would call," she continued. "I don't use the phone anymore. They kill people, you know." Daphne swung her head back and brayed melodramatic laughter, "and let me guess: You kill people, too, with your absent fingers of death." "It's not funny. You know she'd still be here today if I had answered." "So what? That's why you disappeared for months? Because someone picked up the phone while driving and crashed a car?" "Not someone. She wasn't just someone to me!" "What do you think she is to me? While you've had your head in the sand, I've spent this time coping, facing the fact that she'll never see her grandchild. Only I wasn't stupid enough to try to take control of the whole thing." "Stop it!" Horace's soft voice broke. He stuck a finger in his sister's face, "you don't have this on your shoulders, I couldn't talk to you." "Blood," creaked Daphne. "... is thicker than water" Horace finished, "I know. But I couldn't just-" "No, blood!" Daphne squealed, she gently dabbed her crotch with her hand and held up a crimson stain, before quickly adding "you moron." "My car," he raised her and guided her to the door, "I'll just need to put down some towels, where do you-" "Don't worry about your drat Taurus, you freak," she hissed. Down the porch and out to the street they tottered. Horace opened the door of his rusty white Ford and half-guided, half-heaved Daphne onto the seat. Soon the engine sputtered to life. The car bolted down the lane, past a sign that said "freeway entrance." "That was... the drat... ramp," Daphne hitched her labored breath. "I don't take freeways, it's safer." Horace flipped on his turn signal and wheeled a left turn past a sign which read "Rural Route 80." "You're... retarded," Daphne huffed, "this will take forever." "A half hour extra at most." A dark stain grew around her midsection as Daphne fumbled in a large pocket sewn into the front of her housecoat. She pulled out a cell phone and started dialing. "Why do I get no... drat reception?" "It's the blocker. I put it under the dash." Daphne stared at him, her eyes a glaring blend of pain and disbelief, "why?" "Phones killed mom." "It's going to kill me you loving idiot!" Daphne screeched so loudly she found herself out of breath. Desperately, she fumbled under the glove compartment, "where is it?" "You can't disable it, it's screwed in!" "Flag someone down, we'll never get there in time." "Nobody uses this road, I haven't seen anyone since we got on." Shrieking with pain and panic Daphne removed her seatbelt and tried to twist her swollen frame underneath the dash. "Stop it! That's not safe," Horace leaned over and wrestled with her. Distracted, he missed the eight-point buck trotting out into the road. The car slammed into it, Horace was flung face first into the dashboard, hearing that now all-too-familiar crunch. His body contorted around his neck, arching over the dash and through the windshield. Landing a dozen yards away in a ditch, Horace immediately tried to struggle up. He lifted his right leg up, tried to lean on his knee, then tumbled to the ground as his left leg dragged limply behind. Trying to drag himself out, he found his right arm to be similarly useless. Using half his limbs, he bit his lip and weakly struggled towards the car. Horace attempted to open Daphne's door, but the frame was bent in such a way that it wouldn't budge. Dragging himself around to the driver's door, he found it similarly wedged. He saw Daphne's limp body crammed in underneath the dash. That was when he spotted her cell phone, it had come to rest on his passenger seat. Horace brought his left hand up to the window and rapped on it a few times, but the glass did not budge. Pulling himself up to one knee, he inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, then pitched himself head-first into the window. A bright light overcame his field of vision as he crashed through the glass. It faded after a moment, but left a searing wave of pain in its wake. He considered dialing with his nose, before seeing a stream of blood pouring off his face onto the front seat. Struggling with his one good leg, he managed to shift his weight enough to maneuver his left arm inside the car. Dialing 911, Horace could barely croak out "route 60... Greenville...crash," before his body gave out . Tom Stanford was the unlucky EMT who got the dispatcher call on his first day. Pulling up to the car, he examined Tom's prone body before vomiting all over it. That was when he noticed the dead pregnant woman wedged beneath the dashboard. Hauling Horace's corpse out of the way, he dove through the window. Tom bit his tongue to keep from passing out, then began the unenviable task of sawing open her midsection to remove the screaming baby inside.
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May 4, 2014 15:13
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Drunk Nerds posted:I gave myself the additional restriction that I had to pick something mundane that I do today, and make that my MC's greatest moment/last hurrah. I picked "dialing a phone" Jesus Christ, how many times do we have to shout at you people?! Do not preface your stories with any blahblahblah bullshit about how hard it is to write or how you're trying to challenge yourself or whatever. We don't care. Title. Wordcount. Story. That's it. Flash Rule: After this post, anyone committing this sin loses 250 words off their word limit. Yes, this can and will disqualify you if you cock up. And no, I don't give a robot's left nut that you didn't read this message. This is a writing thread; you'd better know how to read, you thoroughbred fuckwits.
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May 4, 2014 16:41
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sebmojo posted:e: also i will crit three stories, first to ask Ohhh, don't mind if I do.
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May 4, 2014 18:09
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