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hey can you flash me? not being overconfident, i realized the idea i had for a story sucked and my prompt now seems to be pretty much forcing me to write the existential stuff that everyone hates
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Apr 15, 2015 05:42
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spectres of autism posted:hey can you flash me? not being overconfident, i realized the idea i had for a story sucked and my prompt now seems to be pretty much forcing me to write the existential stuff that everyone hates Your protagonist is an inanimate object that wants revenge.
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Apr 15, 2015 06:41
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In. Also: 
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Apr 15, 2015 13:59
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so serious up in here    
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Apr 15, 2015 14:57
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I think number 1, 4, and 5 are best and should go into rotation we don't really need new banners if the old ones are good
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Apr 15, 2015 15:00
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I'm ready for another round of beating.  as promised.
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Apr 15, 2015 15:11
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For banners, I think 2 and 4 are probably the best if the goal is drawing new people. The others are funny, but they are kind of in-jokes and I'm not sure if a random passerby would even get that it's about a writing contest. Just my .02. edit: That T-Rex banner is pretty clean as well.
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Apr 15, 2015 16:42
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But like, really tho
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Apr 15, 2015 16:55
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banners are for inside jokes only thank you
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Apr 15, 2015 17:34
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Tyrannosaurus posted:banners are for inside jokes only thank you this is p good
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Apr 15, 2015 18:03
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 edit so everythings on the same page  
Tyrannosaurus fucked around with this message at 02:27 on Apr 16, 2015 |
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Apr 16, 2015 02:16
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This one is good
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Apr 16, 2015 03:00
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Whoa this is deep
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Apr 16, 2015 03:12
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Apr 16, 2015 04:06
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I wonder how attachments work.
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Apr 16, 2015 05:37
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curlingiron posted:DID SOMEONE SAY CRITS?!?! Hey, I scanned this finally! You can find the complete crit as a pdf here. For those interested in the tl;dr, there's this: 
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Apr 16, 2015 06:27
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curlingiron posted:Hey, I scanned this finally! You can find the complete crit as a pdf here. D'aww, thanks! This is exactly what I needed to cheer me up; I'm having a rough time right now.
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Apr 16, 2015 16:58
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Apr 16, 2015 23:21
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 In ploz.
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Apr 17, 2015 00:47
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Fumblemouse posted:I wonder how attachments work. I really like this one, do you mind if I use this version instead? 
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Apr 17, 2015 03:43
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crabrock posted:I really like this one, do you mind if I use this version instead? aye
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Apr 17, 2015 03:48
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crabrock posted:I really like this one, do you mind if I use this version instead? Yes, you may pervert my deathless prose with your machine-aided graphicals. Should nails be plural with that pic, though?
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Apr 17, 2015 05:01
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In with:
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Apr 17, 2015 05:14
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Okay I'm in.
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Apr 17, 2015 06:50
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 Four and a half hours left to sign up for all you people on the fence out there! (Crabrock)
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Apr 18, 2015 00:25
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Yeah sorry. I really want to, but it's just not a good time for me. I'm doing a $15,000 experiment next week and I still got some poo poo to prepare for it, so I really shouldn't be wasting time.
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Apr 18, 2015 01:52
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In.
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Apr 18, 2015 02:30
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Ironic Twist posted:TD WEEK 134 CRITS: BLEH Kaishai posted:Expanded Crits for Week CVIII: PoshAlligator, bromplicated, Skwid, Grizzled Patriarch, docbeard, Fumblemouse, Tyrannosaurus, Blade_of_tyshalle, Schneider Heim, Ironic Twist, Fuschia tude, Phobia, crabrock, and JuniperCake Thanks for your crits! I appreciate you.
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Apr 18, 2015 04:35
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Entries are closed!
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Apr 18, 2015 05:08
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Circumstances arose and I can't submit this week. Sorry, everyone.
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Apr 19, 2015 02:11
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Screaming Idiot posted:Circumstances arose crabrock fucked around with this message at 03:45 on Apr 19, 2015 |
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Apr 19, 2015 02:15
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bye
anime was right fucked around with this message at 06:53 on Oct 27, 2015 |
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Apr 19, 2015 04:24
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LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE posted:i know this is loving crazy but you could all try writing a story first and THEN entering???? holy gently caress lol
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Apr 19, 2015 04:44
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bye
anime was right fucked around with this message at 06:53 on Oct 27, 2015 |
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Apr 19, 2015 05:48
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mfw i write the story and lose it and write it again in rage **** The sting feels virtuous as the whip strikes my back. I always make sure to bring myself pain, but to draw no blood. Blood is a giveaway, one too difficult to cover up. 'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,' I murmur. Thwack. The relief is immeasurable and I begin to feel clean, whole again. Thou shalt not lie. A commandment that is surprisingly difficult to keep. In the open, on the streets and in the market I must constantly break my promises, but here in my home I will obey my Lord. I clasp my hands together, letting the pain seep in for a time, and pray. This flagellation is to stave off Hell; it's a laughable concept for the citizens of Perturbo. But I know Hell to be true, a real place. As real as Heaven, as real as the angels and as real as God himself. At night I often dream of Hell, and I’ve envisioned its many levels and depravities. It is not a place I wish to visit. I pray to the crucifix, grasp at my Rosary beads and try to cleanse myself of the sin I have incurred today. Every day is the same; every day I must wash away my mistakes. bangbangbang I snap out of the trance, my heart springing into overtime. My nerves dance across my skin in cold, electric waves. Delicately – but quickly – I place my tools of worship in the floor space, covering them with floorboards. I pull up my robe, mostly to cover the welts that are no doubt forming. I check myself for a cross and make sure I’m not holding my beads any more. My father taught me to always check thrice. I head toward the door. It slides open silently, and I’m met by a police officer. His arm is half-raised as if to strike the door again. ‘Good morning officer, what can I do for you?’ ‘You Abdiel Cullen?’ ‘Indeed.’ ‘You’ll have to come with me.’ I take a step back and freeze. My mind races back through the day, trying to pick up what I might have done to give myself up. Nothing comes to mind so I compose myself. ‘What for officer?’ I ask. Perhaps I’m merely a witness; maybe there’s no evidence. ‘I said, you’ll have to come with me.’ The police officer, his helmet visor blaring, fully armoured, makes a motion. A pair of magnetic cuffs appear in his hand. I take another step back. Behind him are three more officers loitering in the hallway, dim light casting them as shadows moving in the background. ‘What about my rights?’ I stammer. A smirk breaks out below the visor. ‘You people don’t have no rights.’ Before I can protest a hologram appears between us. There I am, in the market speaking to a vendor. I turn away and walk down a nearby alley. And clear as anything, as damning as if I were holding a crucifix at the officer right now, I make the sign of the cross. I hold out my arms. I’ve failed the Father and betrayed my father. Generations of secrecy lost in a moment of habit. I know now that I go to Hell, but this is a Hell I’ve never seen. I am not prepared. thehomemaster fucked around with this message at 09:09 on Apr 19, 2015 |
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Apr 19, 2015 07:18
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I have this feeling that I'm going to forget to post.RedTonic posted:No stressful job or rush hour traffic- WC: 1074 An Escape in January Beth looked at her phone. It was 2:03. Two missed calls, two voicemails, and one unread text from mom. “You’re making this family miser…” Beth did not need to read the rest to know what it said. She had already decamped to her grandparents’ to avoid the accusatory atmosphere. Just looking at the iPhone button made her underarms prickle with acrid sweat. She had been disinvited from finishing college; her future was over. Everyone in rocks for jocks was probably writing down the pledge on their midterm blue books. Beth was hiking on a highway over 300 miles away, strolling to Frozen Head State Park in the asscrack of January. Her eyes burned from the wind and nothing more. She picked at her nails with the blunt tip of a Swiss army knife file and tried to focus her thoughts on the cold. A huge Ford with a rusty orange trailer was parked on the other side of the two lane called TN-62. Three men had piled out. In rapid Spanish, the eldest put the others to work unloading the bushwhacker from the trailer. Trustees from the annex used to do that work. Beth didn’t know when that had changed. She rarely visited her mom’s mom after pops died. A tension had arisen among his survivors which was the emotional twin of chewing tinfoil. The only thing reliable about mom’s mom was that she always opposed mom. Pops had been the family’s axle. They had all kept rolling only so long as he was there. Pops had worked at the county Correctional Complex for years before he died. Everyone called it the “annex,” since it took overflow from Brushy. It was the only reliable work in the area after the savings and loan thing went down. He’d said that sometimes prisoners would walk off from road detail. They didn’t really flee; they were always re-captured. They didn’t escape to be free. Beth had puzzled over that for a long time. Pops had never explained it to her. All he said was to do as an escapee asked if one caught her. She turned left onto another two lane road. Not a single car had passed. Her nailbeds were clean, so she slipped the multitool back into her jacket pocket before she lost it like an rear end in a top hat. There was a floodplain on the right side of the road that some biofuel company had swindled their way into a few years before. The project went bust and the millions in federal grants snatched by the company’s cronies in the county seat had vanished. No one was charged with anything. The project’s legacy was a cheap, abandoned warehouse now rusting away on the plain. The annex was further ahead. Its battleship gray exterior blended in with the dead grass and skeletal trees. All the evergreens were dead from some pine beetle and the rest of the timber was almost as decrepit. Beth’s gaze dropped down to her feet. Laces were still tied. In the ditch on the warehouse’s side, she noticed a bright white scrap. A cousin had found a kitten like that before. “Ere kitty-kitty,” Beth coaxed. She jogged across the road, slowing as she saw the orange beneath the brambles. She was seized by a horrid sensation like someone squeezing her brain. A prisoner was hiding down there. Her breath swelled in her chest. She didn’t want to look away in case he struck, but part of her wanted to walk on like she had seen nothing. She slipped her hand in her pocket and thumbed the smooth side of the knife. Hesitating was the wrong choice. The prisoner rustled amid the brambles, then popped up like the world’s least welcome Jack in the box. “You got any smokes?” he asked. Smuh-okes. A real Cumberland man, he lacked the drawn meth-head look. He was just old and worn out. “No, sorry.” Beth gave her other pockets an apologetic, one-handed patdown. Of course she didn’t have cigarettes. She didn’t smoke. “You got a car?” She looked around. Besides the two of them, the only cars were at the annex or further up 62. “Nope.” “Figgered I’d ask. You goin to the prison? Here, get off the road, you don’t wanna get hit, lady.” “Thanks.” She felt strangely relieved by being called “lady.” He was right, she didn’t want to be hit. She stepped into the gravel of the shoulder, keeping her distance. So much for the park. Her nice walk had been irretrievably ruined. Talking to an escapee was more interesting, anyway. He did not seem to be in any hurry. He was still talking to her instead of trying to run. “You… Just sticking around?” she asked. He nodded. “Did you—do you remember a George Potter up the hill?” Her eyes were fixed on a point past the prisoner’s shoulder, in the direction of the prison. “Was a counselor?” “Been a while since I seen him. Heard he passed away. You a cousin?” He asked. “He was my grandfather.” “God bless. I won’t say you look like him, ain’t bald enough.” He hacked out a smoker’s laugh and held himself tightly against the winter wind. The jumpsuit he was wearing wasn’t quite enough even for a winter as mild as this one had been. “Whatter you doin way out here? It’s too cold for a lady to be walking around like this.” “Thinkin,” she said, then regretted dropping the “g.” “World’s a complicated thing. I don’t know how you all do it on the outside,” he said. “Got nobody to take me back even if I did.” “I don’t know either,” she admitted. “I just got kicked outta college… I wanted to be a diplomat. Can’t get clearance if my record says I… Says I got bad nerves.” “They got nerve pills for that nowadays,” he said. “That’s even worse.” Animal instinct kicked in and they both lifted their heads toward the annex almost before Beth realized she’d heard dogs. She pressed the pad of her thumb into the knife’s hilt and slowly extended the blade with a fingernail until it snagged against the pocket lining. “What’s it like inside?” she asked, voice barely louder than the growling motor of the sheriff’s Cadillac.
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Apr 19, 2015 18:07
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[b]Bound[/b[ 900 words I am perfect, and I hate it. I have never known his touch, but he displays me. He shows me off to his friends and they affirm his worth. A true intellectual, they say. What am I like? Oh, I am challenging but rewarding. My sharp corners (I could cut through glass), my tasteful design (I am both minimalist and elegant), my spine (straight, structurally flawless); all these things are as they were when we met. He took me but he has never used me. For sure, he has never stained me. I am as pure, as undefiled, as the day he discovered me on Hunter Street. I had so many secrets but all he saw was my outer beauty. He coveted me, but in the end, only to hide his own depraved nature. He had a mistress already; he did not abandon her for me. He put me aside, and I watch as he ruins her instead. I can not understand why he chooses her artificial glow over my sincerity. His fingers are tangerine with his sin, and he covers her with it, giggling. She does not complain. They stay up all night, or else fall asleep together. I would fit, I scream, so much more perfectly into that space, I am made for the folds of bodies. I have no home. I am left strewn about, carelessly, or rather to give the appearance of carelessness. I believe he thinks hard about where he leaves me. My beauty is the first thing you notice when you enter. I can bewitch an entire room. I do, even when I do not try. He would make you think that he loves me. He has left something in me; it moves, on occasion. But it is a lie! He has never been inside me. It would be proof of his commitment, but all he commits to is his costume. He is so committed to it that I don’t think he knows anything else. I would feel sorry for him, were I not suffering. He has deprived me of my purpose. Oh, but my purpose could have been his purpose too, were he to make an effort. There was once another. Our affair was heated. He would read me every night as the stars glowed. When the sun shone through the glass we would wake together. He would smile and leave me in his bed. I would happily absorb the light. My letters would radiate and when the night returned we would hold each other again. But then he had to sell me. Coins slipped through his fingers like water. Clutching me to him, he whispered through tears what he would not do with the money he received for me. He was deeply sorry. I felt betrayed, but I kept this feeling close to my breast. And when I was picked up from that dirty street I was happy, not knowing what was to come. My love is meant to be shared. He was up all night with her this time. His phone rings and he answers it, suppressing a yawn. “Yeah,” he says, “how’s it hanging, dude… Yeah, see you then.” More friends. An illusion is simply a delusion if it is not observed. He is moving around the room. He seems restless. His eyes are burnt out. He could not enjoy me now, even if he tried. For a second I see his eyes on me. And it seems for a moment… but then he sighs. He walks out to his balcony and lights a cigarette. If I had eyes, they would be burning holes into his back. It is if he can feel it regardless. His hand, as he tries to light his smoke, is shaking. I forget what it is to have my pages turned. To have my soul examined. It has been so long. My voice, my lover used to say, has a lilt which is irresistible. When I am singing, you can hear it in your bones. It swims in your marrow. His friends are here. He wants to show me off. His posture inclines has inclined him slightly towards me, and his friends have picked up on it. I am being talked about! In the past I would blush deep crimson. How proud I am of my love, when it is shared. But this is no love, it is pretense, it is farce. He moves to pick me up. But I am scorned! I cannot submit to this any longer. He curses. In that moment I know I have reached him. Finally, I am stained with him. My page is read and his mark falls out. I am suddenly weightless. Falling. He has cast me out. Ultimately, he is a coward, not able to stand even a fraction of the pain he has caused me. I tumble through the winds; I go where they take me. I wish, in this moment, that I always could. I land in the dirt and dust. For a moment. I am lost. I have traded false love for no love. Then, hesitant footsteps. A boy walks up to me. He peers down at me from behind thick spectacles. “A book from the sky,” he murmurs. With care, I am packed away. I will have him, if he will have me. I have so much to share.
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Apr 19, 2015 18:43
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10 hours remaining. Also this post was mostly an excuse to say that if anyone who isn't signed up feels like judging, there is still a slot open. You, too, can join us and spend your free time reading a novella overnight while gibbering beasts fling poo and invoke arcane acronyms in the futile hope that hellfire will be cast down upon them in a timelier fashion. Neat!
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Apr 19, 2015 19:11
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bye
anime was right fucked around with this message at 06:53 on Oct 27, 2015 |
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Apr 19, 2015 20:08
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bowing out, in for next one w/ toxx
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Apr 19, 2015 20:42
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