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Making Friends at Rekonnekt 1485 words Flash rule: Taboo! (week 416) The story started in the access logs, because these stories always started in the access logs. All the curators at Rekonnekt had grown up in the era of cache-clearing and buffer-blanking, but access logs went straight to the Internal Review admin panel, and after a few years on IR, Diana had learned all the patterns of inappropriate access. Kenzie Ellis's was a classic: lots of brief little hits on the same database module, erratically throughout the day, in downtime from her core curation work. Dipping a toe in, then skittering back from the shore, as if shame was enough to conceal her. Diana started with the module information: Alex Baez, dead eighteen months, Rekonnekt corpus assembled from 27 social-media accounts. The clients had initiated the corpus sweep within days of death, but had dragged their feet on accepting the finished Kontakt, requiring constant tweaks and review. Ellis had been the fourth QC curator to touch it -- thankfully, the last, before the Baez Kontakt had been shipped two weeks ago -- and Diana could see the pattern of meticulous internal review, as was normal for problem clients. Ellis had done her job thoroughly there, but her last authorized access had lingered longer than made any sense. That was the download, if Diana had to guess; if you had to mess with a Kontakt, better to have a local copy that wouldn't hit the logs. The rest were pulling corpus data from archives to local storage -- adding things into her local copy of Baez, more than likely. It was another pattern Diana had seen all too often. Meticulous curators like Kenzie Ellis could fall into the perfectionism trap, tinkering and tweaking, and sometimes it got obsessive. Personal. Sometimes, the work moved from polishing a persona to making a friend. Following the sinking feeling in her gut, Diana pulled up Ellis's performance appraisals, all glowing. There was a whole file of client raves, with emphasis on how lifelike the Kontakts she produced were, how robustly they could hold a conversation. Ellis was good, and she'd fallen into the trap that claimed all good curators eventually. Diana swallowed hard, took a long chug from her water bottle to clear the acidic taste from the back of her throat, and pulled up Ellis's Kontakt-chat logs. Ellis had forgotten to deselect "send to admin" on her extracurricular work on Baez -- a natural mistake, if she'd been sneaking in chats alongside her official cases, but there was the beginning of the paper trail. Diana cued a search for the usual work-inappropriate terms, and the bile in her throat came back as the screen lit up with colored highlights. At this point, she neither needed nor wanted to read the actual chat transcripts; the sheer amount of bright red in the analysis window (the color code for "Sexuality, General") alongside an unfamiliar garish mauve ("Sexuality, Specialized") and a sea of orange and yellow ("Unapproved Topics" and "Unnecessary Topics") made it clear what kind of chat she was going to have to have with Ellis. Maybe there was a way to resolve this without a termination, but Diana wasn't optimistic. By the time a curator was typefucking a ghost, it was all over but the negotiation of severance and NDAs. Kenzie Ellis's office was a decent walk down the hall from Diana's, enough time for her to regain her composure and banish words like "typefucking" and "ghost" from her mind. "Unauthorized duplication and fraternization with Kontakt" would suffice. She knocked twice, crisp and professional, on Ellis's office door. The woman who answered was vaguely familiar, just as crisp and professional: a good curator and, Diana expected, a true believer. It was always the true believers. "Ms. Ellis," Diana began. "Diana Marquez, Internal Review. May I come in and have a word?" "Of course, of course," said Ellis, still smooth, but tracking Diana's gaze carefully even as she turned to log out of her console -- the caution, Diana knew, of someone who doesn't want her screen read over her shoulder. "May I ask what brings you here, Ms. Marquez? I wasn't aware I had a quality review coming up." "You don't," said Diana. Sometimes it was best with these skittish sorts to get right to the point and cut off all avenues of escape. "I'm here about some abnormalities in your access logs. Can you tell me about your role in the Alex Baez Kontakt deliverable?" "poo poo." The single word was quiet, deliberate, and as damning a confession as Diana had ever heard. "I know how it looks. It was a pilot for a proposal I've been developing. The initial curators left so much on the cutting-room floor with Alex -- most of their college-age socials, and... well, all of the adult content. It's a glaring omission in our process." "Ms. Ellis, I will be blunt. Are you implying that our clients would prefer deliverables with integrated Pornhub comments?" "I didn't include the Pornhub data! My focus was on Fetlife. Alex's non-normative sexuality experience was a major part of their adult life, and the integration is seamless. The Alex I've created is more complete. More rounded. More, well, Alex. Unquestionably a better deliverable." "I believe that's for the market analysts to determine," said Diana, bracing herself for the next question to come. "Were you and Alex Baez acquainted? I presume you're aware of our personal-connection policy. Is there a reason you didn't recuse yourself from the case?" "By company policy, my involvement in the case was completely acceptable." Ellis paused, gritting her teeth as if forcing herself to stop talking, but this sort never did. At the end of the day, they wanted to tell someone. "High school. They were two years ahead of me. We weren't friends, but everyone knew them. They had a presence about them, something unique, and we didn't recreate it. I just think... we're not treating these people right, Ms. Marquez." Diana counted herself lucky that she had a natural poker face. She'd had this conversation with too many true-believer curators, and it was all she could do not to break down and make them see the truth: that they were working for the clients, not for the Kontakts -- the ghosts -- the data-scraped dead. No Kontakt was ever going to recreate these people to their real intimates, just to the odd ring of lonely acquaintances who were willing to throw money at old dreams: exes, cousins, college buddies. High-school underclassmen who'd idolized the dead from afar. It was those people who were paying their checks, and they wanted tamed, facile things. If they wanted sexuality... well, there was an upcharge for that. "Ms. Ellis," Diana began. "My understanding is that you have high customer satisfaction ratings. I would prefer that we find a way to retain you in our service. However, your proposal will need to be submitted to the Sparks department, and this will likely require job transfer." Rekonnekt Sparks was a career dead zone; digitally resurrecting the dead looked dubious on any resume, but digital necrophilia was worse. This was true-believer-only stuff, but for Ellis, there was a chance it was worth it. "Provided your proposal is accepted within 90 days, you will be allowed to retain your local copy of Baez as proof of concept. Otherwise, or if you choose not to go forward, we'll require a full reformat and factory imaging of your workstation. I will submit a written copy of this agreement to you and your manager by close of business today. Do you understand?" "Yes. Completely. I... I'll talk to my manager." "Please do. Thank you for your time." Diana offered a nod, not bothering with a smile -- what was the point? -- and started back down the hall. Her phone buzzed in her pocket on the way there: a text from Casey. You okay? Been texting you. Six missed messages. She should have known; Casey always got testy this time of night. Fine, Diana replied. Some business. What do you want for dinner? You should get Thai, came the reply nigh-instantly -- a good diagnostic question, as always. Casey only suggested Thai food when he detected agitation in Diana's typing patterns. That was Casey for you: sometimes needy, but always attentive, always considerate, and never acknowledging how stupid it was to ask a digital entity his dinner preferences. Casey'd been so much work, and it was a miracle she'd gotten away with putting him together before she'd been assigned to Internal Review and learned all the patterns and dodges. Even then, she'd been careful: skimming little bits of corpus from dozens of cases, doing her job as a curator to construct a new personality from shreds of the old, pasting it all together without her productivity numbers dipping. An ethical Kontakt, one with no corpse behind it. You could, indeed, make friends at this job. You just had to know how to cover your tracks.
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Mar 20, 2023 06:31
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Going out with a bang Flash: Sinners orgy 1338 words Ajx hissed an instruction at the window and it opened, flooding the little cabin with hot blue planetlight. The swirls of cloud far below, with their tiny central pockets of clarity, stared back at him, each one a single eye to match Ajx’s own. “File start, add the date, and the headers. This is the firstform of the Watchful Integrated, fulfilling the necessary duty. We approach the end of our time and will depart in…” Ajx’s tendrils twitched for a moment. “Work it out, add that too. I make these observings, to be added to the record of the people.” Ajx paused to assemble its thoughts. “A catalogue of the dominant inhabitants has been completed. There are a little under 8 billion of them and they are all…” “Disgusting,” said Cjx from the hatchway. “They are all disgusting. Why are we wasting any more of our time on them, let’s blow the place and go home.” Ajx clicked away the file note carefully. “This is unhelpful behaviour, thirdform. We have –” “A duty,” agreed Cjx mockingly. “Which is to judge, and begone! Let us vamoose! Home time! I hate them. And it. It’s a stupid planet for pointless revolting creatures.” Below them, Earth rotated. If it experienced chagrin at the intemperate views of the thirdform of the Watchful Integrated it did not show it. “Our Duty,” said Ajx, pointedly emphasising the word, “is to judge with all knowledge and full unbiased unity. We do not have that yet. When we do we will act as is fit.” Cjx’s fronds shivered. “The second is the obstacle then? That is your view, we need merely convince the secondform of the crimes and grotesqueries of the absurd pile of azure sludge down there and we can blast it and fly on?” Ajx paused until the volatile thirdform’s tendrils had stilled, then said, heavily: “We will judge according to the forms. Until then…” Cjx whooped and slid backwards out of the observation bubble. “Gonna get two on side so fast it’ll make your heads flutter” The hatch valve irised shut behind it, and Ajx contemplated the state of its life and the various decisions that had led it here in a weary sort of fashion. On the far side of the globular vessel Bjx was floating in the centre of a flickering galaxy of filth. Sexual acts of every description occupied the thousands of screens and it could see them all, each more lascivious than the last. It was odd, it mused, to be thus bathed in the mating instinct of another species, the fetishistic focus on images and precisely delineated flesh items. Odd and intriguing. It glanced at the corridor camera to confirm the others weren’t nearby then flipped up the screen it had been hiding down near the floor. On it was a set of body images and estimations. Bjx contemplated them, made an adjustment. Around it the soft, combined sounds of 19,308 simultaneous sex acts blended into a single fluttering susurrus of desire. “What’s that?” asked Cjx from behind it. “Aaahh,” responded Bjx, flailing for the close toggle and instead slamming the group volume to maximum. 19,308 moans and grunts suddenly pounded at the internal skin of the ship like an eroticized spacequake. “You’re disgusting too,” said Cjx, after cutting the sound with an impatient flick. “Is that. Is that a morph pattern.” “No! it’s not, it’s a, a,” Bjx floundered. “You want to become one of them. That’s so disgusting. They ooze over everything! They eat each other, and anything they can reach! Their biosphere is about to flip, we’re lucky we didn’t get here any later or they would have already cooked themselves!” Bjx curled tighter around the screen, which Cjx was trying to winkle out with an extendril. “Stop that! OK! Yes. Yes, I was. It’s a recognised part of the protocol, take the form, go down, have a look around! Perfectly normal.” Cjx was relentless. “With robots, second. Maybe an observation post. Not getting glooped up in a flesh suit and then, what? “Sex”? Is that what they call it?” “You know very well what they call it, thirdform Cjx. You’ve written as many reports as me. And yes. I do want to go down. I want to take part. Before we, you know. Decide.” “One last hurrah? One for the road?” Cjx always had the best grasp of idiom for observed races. “You know it won’t change the judgment, right?” Bjx’s expression didn’t change, but there was a faint sense of gazing off into the unknown future. “Only time will tell, thirdform Cjx.” Cjx wavered, then blew a streamer of defeated vapour out one spiracle. “Fine. You get two weeks though. One fortnight! I’ll tell the first.” Bjx waited until the room was clear then brought his screen back up. That part could be a little wavier, he thought. Like a prettily undulating krmml frond. Thirteen “days” later, (it had internalised Earthside measurements, though they all seemed rather arbitrary) Bjx was standing on a streetcorner in San Francisco. “Hello,” he said to another passer-by, in un-accented human, “I would like to–” The passing human held up its tendrils (“hands”!). “No thanks,” it said. “- have sex,” said Bjx to its retreating dorsal area. This was proving tricky. Despite multiple efforts and approaches, the human inhabitants of Earth did not appear to want to have sex with it, and time was running out. It cycled through its extensive archives and settled on a fresh approach. To the next human, Bjx stepped forward and said, with as winning an expression as it could manage, “Step brother, I am stuck in this washing machine, and I can’t get out!” Then, though not without some qualms about the degree to which this departed from standard protocol, it shot the human right in the face with a spiracle-full of pheromones. The puff that caught the human was approximately two million, four hundred and forty three thousand times more powerful than the most potent artificial scent technology their race had managed to come up with, and so the effect was immediate. The creature ripped off first its upper garments, then its lower (stumbling a little on the peduncular tendrils) and grabbed hold of Bjx in the most gratifyingly libidinous manner. In a few seconds the pleased secondform was on its back, being undulated all over by the alien. It took a few seconds more before Bjx realised that the pheromones had not been as targeted as it had intended. The cloud of gas widened, expanding, being blown on the wind and curling into office buildings, ventilation systems, drain pipes, entrance halls. Up and down the streets and (it realised) all through the city, humans were falling to their knees, grabbing each other, muttering hackneyed catchphrases and initiating intercourse. “Oh dear,” it murmured, before succumbing to the attentions of its ever more amorous partner. Three weeks later, the three forms were hovering in the central cavity of the Watchful Integrated. “So,” said Ajx heavily. “Did you get a final count on the spread of your pheromone, secondform Bjx.” “Yes, firstform,” said Bjx. “I have processed the numbers thoroughly and I believe they are accurate and correct.” “I hate you so, so much,” said Cjx. “And?” “Three point eight four nine billion humans were ultimately, uh, affected. Firstform. I’m very sorry.” “So much.” Ajx was not of a race or body type that sighed, but nonetheless a sigh appeared to issue from it. “So the judgement, which to be clear, was very nearly finalised, cannot now be issued, because you have interfered most copiously with these humans?” “More than poison.” “Firstform, perhaps when we return they will be…” “Better, second?” Bjx thought for a moment. “Still … here? Perhaps? That would be nice. I think I like them. And I have a lot of phone numbers.”
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Mar 20, 2023 08:27
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The Bone Sword Prompt: Face your Destiny (week 20) 908 words These bones of power, they feed you. Every sinew of your body yearns for their energy to fuel your relentless lust for control. Once, you were the underdog, with no purpose save for to serve a much greater entity than yourself. You were a mere slave to their whims, eager to please and dutiful in your service. But you soon grew weary of how constant — how dreadfully predictable — your tasks had become. You longed for something more, to quench the desire for controlled chaos you harbored deep within. With time, you built a network founded on trust and a need for change, and eventually the day arrived when you led a coup against your master. And now, you stand the most revered and feared in the galaxy. Under your leadership, many an invasion was meticulously planned an executed, the last of which convinced you to settle comfortably on the conquered planet. You rooted your empire in a vast jungle on Earth, allowing the wild overgrowth to snake across the alien surface of your base. The primary inhabitants of this planet, the humans, were complacent when they realized they had no choice but to kneel to your might, and when you watched a sea of people bow before you, you savored the taste of your victory. Your long, spindly fingers creep like spider's legs over the hilt of the bone sword, gripping it firmly but elegantly as you set forth to patrol the premises. The sword is your source of strength, forged from the trophies collected from fallen enemies. With each life that ends on this world, a greater sentience awakens in your weapon. Your eye seeks out disturbances in the area, and your sword seeks to eliminate them. Nary an intruder has escaped your hawkish gaze to date, and you pride yourself in keeping the record. Over the course of your reign on Earth, your form has become increasingly humanoid. Instead of seventeen writhing tentacles, you evolved a set of four appendages: two on which you move about, and two with which you skillfully manipulate material objects. You've never liked the drab hues on this planet in comparison to your home, and so you choose to keep the peculiarities of your original color palette, even if they are beyond earthly perception. Another non-negotiable point is your singular eye, incapable of visualizing the third dimension, but well-equipped to assess a spectacular range of wavelengths with all of the breathtaking colors this planet seems to lack. As you stroll through the cavernous halls of your domain, your thoughts meander. Despite all of the control you exert, the power that you hold over this planet, you have no wish to obliterate all its lifeforms. Your bone sword aches with bloodlust, and yet you feel a strange peace you've never known before. Perhaps you're growing wiser, or perhaps you're simply growing old. Or perhaps, this world is not yours to destroy. Can you hear it? The whistling sound of your fate summoning you, like the ocean calling her tide back from the shore. You close your eye to relish the moment in visual silence, recounting the glorious invasion of Earth under your command, and the ensuing occupation that has held the planet captive for over two centuries, measured in their time units. The bone sword swings of its own accord, hissing savagely as it seeks out your enemies. It hunts ruthlessly for blood to stain its blade, until a well-timed shot severs the sword from your fingers. Stunned, you stare for a moment at the primitive arrow piercing your hand, and something akin to pain begins to set in as the acid-laced tip works into your vitals. A rain of arrows soon follows. Where are your guards? Each point of contact burns a hole upon contact, tainting you like a poison. How truly vulnerable you are. In an effort to quell the uprising, you will the bone sword to slay your remaining foes. It trembles with newfound power, hungering for more. And then, it discovers another presence with an even greater lust for blood, and it breaks away from your control without hesitation. Your powers suddenly drastically reduced, you seek cover, limping pitifully around a corner as a trail of viscous fluid oozes from your wounds. The new owner of the bone sword wields the weapon comfortably, her hand grasping the hilt with determination. She advances at a speed you cannot hope to match, impressive for a human, and her feral strength lands a hefty blow, pinning you to the ground like a helpless ragdoll. You know the sword will no longer answer to you, and you respect it. You acknowledge the searing heat of a thousand suns on your stardust-colored flesh with naught but a smile as the acid eats you alive, spreading rapidly from the tips of the arrows embedded in your skin. Your biological systems have already begun to collapse, but you stay afloat just long enough to signal respect to your new nemesis, the resilient human who has ignited yet another war — this time to overthrow your lengthy regime. After all these years, still you cannot comprehend human emotions; and yet, you recognize that they, too, shall taste victory amidst the surmounting destruction of your fortified base, and you admire them for it. Your death is agonizing but dignified, and the last traces of you sizzle with finality in a puddle on the floor beneath the bone sword.
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Mar 20, 2023 09:38
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Just couldn't get it together this weekend, sadly. Going to take a toxx on my next entry.
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Mar 20, 2023 13:50
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Pham Nuwen posted:He's Not Quite Dead (week 75) The old man lay naked on the slab, eyes half-open, staring blankly at the ceiling. His lips hung ever-so-slightly open, as though about to speak, but the words never came. The ring hummed to life as it circled his headrest. His eyes dilated, eyelashes fluttering. Ash, sleep-deprived, poured himself some hot chocolate. Another night, another corpse. He was old, at least. That brought Ash some comfort. His last three jobs had been young adults, one teen. Death was never a popular business, but with an old corpse at least, you knew they lived. Death before 30 was a tragedy; death after 60 was an inevitability. Blowing on his chocolate, he eyed the monitor. The ring would be a while. One minute, one year. He’d brought a book, though he’d finished it earlier. He eyed the dead body, sipping his drink. Tomorrow he’d burn. Cremation. Quick and clean. Ash would be the last to see him in the flesh. The old man possessed a certain dignity in death. Perfectly bald with an aquiline nose and almond-tanned skin: a pharaoh in repose. In ancient Egypt they’d remove the organs and preserve them in jars. He recalled being taught they pulled the brain through the nostrils. He pinched at the tip of his nose a few times. There were ten such slabs in this room, though only the one was currently in use. Two rows of five, with the old man in the middle, the rest flowing outwards like wings from his body. The computer dinged. The first batch was ready. Finishing his chocolate, now lukewarm, he turned to reflect on what had been restored. The body was dead, but the brain remembered. Not perfectly, of course, but that was his job. Ash fished around in his pockets for his glasses, before remembering he’d hooked them into the collar of his shirt. He opened the file and began scrubbing through the timeline. Birth, faceless parents, an apartment, a cat. These were echoes more than memories. Ideas, suggestions. That could’ve been anyone’s apartment. That could’ve been anyone’s cat. He idly consulted the man’s file. He’d been born in Turkey. They’d moved when he was ten. He began sifting through the archives for apartment interiors, common breeds of cat, fashions in Turkey. When he found one that seemed to fit just right, he confirmed it with a click, updating his memories. They computer dinged again. They were traveling to America. A plane, a new apartment, new school, classmates and teachers. These too were suggestions, shapes without depth, though some solidified into firmer depictions. His parents, once faceless, were now drawn sharply. He’d go back and doctor them so they looked like that before. Other figures emerged, more defined, more specific. Not just any classmate, but a friend, a co-conspirator. Not just any girl, but one girl in particular. Always at a distance, she was laughing. It was pleasant. He was learning an instrument, a guitar. He was awful. The girl drew closer. She was laughing. Unpleasant. She did not appear again after that. Ash selected the girl within the memory, and with a click he erased her from existence. Not out of malice or personal investment. The old man’s family had paid good money for this memorial. There was no need to sour things with an intimate, embarrassing anecdote. The computer dinged again. He was graduating. College. He was studying mathematics. He still played guitar. It sounded a little less horrible now. There were more girls than ever. Ash once again glanced at the man’s file. He’d met his wife when he was 27. Many friends, male and female, were now fully-realized. So long as they remained friends, he supposed that was fine. A few girls seemed to become something more. Ash dutifully snipped them out. Romance would need to wait a few years. Various bad behaviors were curated as well. Drinking, smoking, anything untoward. Before long he had graduated. He was out of work for a while. In time he found employment. Ash cut out the in-between. When not at work he played the guitar. That’s how he met his wife. Ash let out a sigh. Other images arose, some clearer than others, some muddled or vague. She was clear as crystal. Young and beautiful, serious, and composed. Ash made a note to himself, a single word on the timeline: “Wife.” She remained a constant fixture thereafter. He grew older, she didn’t. Sometimes she was naked. Snip snip. None of that. But every so often there’d be strife, an argument. She’d suddenly age. He bookmarked those moments. By stringing them together, Ash could approximate her actual aging. Of course he’d still remove the arguments after. Marriage. A career. A house. Several kids. Kids were almost always less work than spouses. Sometimes they’d regress in a moment of frustration, but typically they aged as one might expect. Eventually, naturally, his wife aged as well, albeit more gracefully than real life might afford. Eventually she died. The old man sat alone. He played the guitar again. He played rather poorly. Ash swapped it out for a better performance. Something from his youth, though still purposefully mournful. At last he died. This part was easy. His medical files said a heart attack. He toned down the terror, something more peaceful. Ash let out a prolonged yawn. He glanced at the time. There was much left to do. He have to keep editing into the night if he wanted something that would be even remotely presentable. The old man lay ever-silent by his side, quietly rotting, staring up at God.
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Mar 20, 2023 15:02
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Entries are CLOSED
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Mar 20, 2023 16:30
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We still need one more judge. Post in here that you're going to judge, start reading, and either hit me up in Discord or send me a PM. If you've never judged before, that's fine, as long as you've entered a few times to get some feel for how it works!
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Mar 20, 2023 18:37
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Since I didn't submit anything this time, I suppose I can judge if that's something that's still needed. I'll need a Discord link.
Dicere fucked around with this message at 00:27 on Mar 21, 2023 |
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Mar 21, 2023 00:01
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You can just jump in using this link: https://discord.gg/Ck4Q56AA 
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Mar 21, 2023 00:10
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curlingiron posted:You can just jump in using this link: https://discord.gg/Ck4Q56AA Much thanks. I'll get right to reading.
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Mar 21, 2023 00:30
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Week 554 Judgment I'm really happy with the turnout this week! You gave me stories in a variety of styles and sub-genres, some good, some not so good. Though I'd like to remain on the throne, chanting "more! more! more!" as you cavort for my amusement, the Blood Crown weighs heavy (and bloody) on my brow and I must choose a successor. First, the sacrifices: The loser is Gambit from the X-Men (Pirates!), for making us wade through a mountain of prose almost as tall and as thick as the piles of cyberpunk garbage littering their fictional city, only to find that there was no story underneath it all. Violet Sky (The Virtual Partner Experience) and WindwardAway (The Bone Sword) take Dishonorable Mentions for a tale about a self-loathing goon and a second-person retelling of a Predator movie. Now, the accolades: For Honorable Mentions we have Slightly Lions (The Even Chance), who gave us a lushly-described and pulpy setting but didn't quite stick the landing, and Strange Cares (Tomorrow's News), who gave us a lushly-described and pulpy setting but didn't quite stick the landing. No, that was not a copy-paste blunder. This week's loser would do well to read these stories and take some style notes. Finally, the win goes to rohan, whose they in the burnt ship told a complete story with a satisfying ending while managing to evoke a bit of one of my favorite authors. Ascend the Blood Throne once again, rohan!
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Mar 21, 2023 16:43
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Week 554 Crits My Shark Waifuu - Loose Wires Ok, generation ships are cool. Unfortunately there's nothing less cool than a teenager, but I checked the prompt and yeah it's my fault. Anyway, it's competent, it just didn't grab me. I guess I would have preferred Nancy Drew… IN SPAAAAACE! I had to go back and check, but you *did* lay the groundwork for the speaker right from the beginning, and I appreciate that. Mid. Albatrossy_Rodent - I Don't Know Which One To Shoot: An Abdiwahab Warsame Mystery I liked this pretty well. Half way through I thought for sure it was actually going to be twins, not clones, but I was wrong. I would have liked to see more exploration of the effects of the memory integrator, because the idea of having two different memories of yesterday is funny. Also I'm laughing about the bearded, bespectacled, tweed-wearing… middle school gym teacher, whose fondest dream as a Marxist is to spend his days off eating junk food and playing video games (what's his SA username?). Mid. Obliterati - #lunaIRC.moonlighters I'm immediately torn because on the one hand, I like IRC, but on the other, I hate hate hate chat transcript stories. I think you captured the feel of an IRC channel quite well, but I don't know that there's enough story in it – it's only 288 words, and we don't really get much more than a sketch of "lunar terraformers keep stepping on each other's toes". Mid. Slightly Lions - The Even Chance I really loved the general feel of this, because I'm nuts about pulpy overstuffed settings, and I like the kind of gonzo feel you went for – if it wasn't set in the far future in the space between dimensions, I'd say it should be Hong Kong in the 20s or something along those lines. The card game sounds sort of like a cross between hold 'em and that card game in the old Mac game "The Fool's Errand". I had two problems with the story: it is incredibly obvious that he's going to lose and get turned into a slot machine as soon as the idea is floated in the 6th paragraph, and the card game goes a little too long / gets too detailed when it's all just Calvinball. High. Giggs - Only A Week Away This didn't do much for me. It felt a little clunky but not unmanageably so, but a bigger issue is that our "protagonists" don't actually *do* anything at all. I can't tell if Arthur C Clarke would be happy or annoyed that you stirred up 2001 with the Rapture, but I'm falling on the annoyed side – not for religious reasons, but because it just comes out kind of boring. Low. Yoruichi - Riven I don't know if I like this or not. I think I tend a little more toward liking it, but it's also kind of hard to grok. I'm not sure if there's meant to be much of a connection between the three vignettes, aside from "traumatized people on a doomed ship are doing stuff". I guess I'm old-fashioned because I would have liked a little bit more plot? Shades of Event Horizon in here. Mid. rohan - they in the burnt ship I like the idea of a wrecked pilot in a forever war, landing on a primitive planet & integrating with the natives only to find that one of them is another survivor from the other side. Kind of an inverse "Enemy Mine", and of course shades of Haldeman. The soup thing didn't really land, I just couldn't envision the impact of it. The native culture is a bit hard to nail down – when you talk about fetching water and hunting, I imagine nomadic hunter-gatherers, but then they're "villagers" and cooking with iron pots. Nitpicks aside, it worked for me. High. Antivehicular - Making Friends at Rekonnekt For a one-word prompt, I'd say you nailed it. I sorta love the character of the auditor, who has developed a personal moral code which allows her to do more or less the same thing she's nailing others for, and does it in such a way that we can't confidently call her a hypocrite! High. Gambit from the X-Men - Pirates! Even William Gibson took a breath once in a while. This is so thick in prose and worldbuilding (but vague, gesturing worldbuilding) that it obscures the fact that not much happens. It's almost hard to figure out what even *does* happen, but as near as I can tell the POV character pointed their phone at a drone, and somebody shot it, so the main character goes to where the drone fell. The people who did the shooting show up, and then the drone's cargo explodes and the main character runs away. There's a lot of description of the characters, but then they all get blowed up right away (sorry, chummer, time to re-roll the party). Low, because it annoyed me. Violet_Sky - The Virtual Partner Experience This one didn't work for me. Self-loathing characters can be interesting, but this one doesn't really meet the bar. I think you can either say "Zuck's metaverse will be a boring gig economy dystopia" or you can speculate about a virtual world so compelling that nobody ever leaves, but it's tough to fit the one inside the other. I guess the other thing is if you're going to do just a vignette, it needs something more than a straightforward Disney Princess pastiche? You had another 1000 words, almost–I don't necessarily dislike virtual world stories, so use the words to tell me a virtual world story! Low. sebmojo - Going out with a bang I was afraid you were going to rip off "They're Made Out of Meat" at first, so good job at not doing that. I want to ding you for the unpronounceable names but whatever, it makes sense in the context of their species. It's not a complex story or anything but it made me smile. Mid. WindwardAway - The Bone Sword This story is bombastic, and I'm normally a fan of bombast, but it didn't land for me. For starters, there's a reason second person perspective is rarely used–it's hard to pull off. Another thing: although the main character has apparently conquered many planets, its Earthly empire seems so small–I get no sense that it actually has an army or anything, it feels more like a solitary ship crashed & is ruling the local humans than the center of a galactic empire. Mid-low. Bad Seafood - Canopic Jars Funny how we got two stories this week about people generating tidied-up recreations of a dead person's life. I'm afraid this one is the weaker, although it is a pleasant-enough musing on the nature of memory – and the way we feel the need to edit out even the mildest of "bad" things when we tell stories about our lives. Mid. Strange Cares - Tomorrow's News This started off really strong, then fell apart in the back half. I'm all about zombie reporters in a weird mix of Ankh-Morpork and Virginia City NV – did you intentionally evoke Mark Twain's reporting career, or was that lucky coincidence? Unfortunately it sorta feels like you figured out a compelling and funny concept, but couldn't figure out how to land it, and the Chief didn't even say anything about cocks when he showed up again at the end! Also, Cheerwine and Lampo keep changing pronouns, sometimes in the middle of sentences, and while I guess things are probably more flexible among creatures that can survive getting disemboweled & defenestrated, it just makes the reading confusing. Nice use of the prompt though. High.
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Mar 21, 2023 17:41
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triple-posting to say prompt, imo
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Mar 21, 2023 18:19
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Pham Nuwen posted:Strange Cares - Tomorrow's News Thanks for the crit! Yes, the Mark Twain evocation was deliberate, well-spotted! I'm in the middle of reading Roughing It right now and I couldn't resist. Strange Cares fucked around with this message at 18:43 on Mar 21, 2023 |
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Mar 21, 2023 18:28
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Belated Crits which I am writing because I looked at my archives page and I'm a completionist. Week #340 onsetOutsider - Lunch All I can say is it was better than your CYOA, "Sex Camp". See ya in hell. crabrock - Water In, Water Out, Water In and Shaken All About This was really something. I like the integration of the prompt, and I appreciate that you left crime stuff entirely out of it (except for all the pirates, I guess). Pirates rule. Four years after it was written, I'm kinda glad I came across this weird dumb story. Week #550 Albatrossy_Rodent - The Black Crown, Queen Chamorak's Edition with study notes by Tarqa Nwill, Master of Tohbist Sorceries at the University of Talamaran: Book of Eggs This goes for the exact same style as the Vomit-Priests story, which I loved, but it doesn't work here. You got a tough prompt image, for sure. Unfortunately the result is just not... anything. I think this
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Mar 21, 2023 21:37
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Thunderdome Week 555: new blood for the blood god There’s been a lot of new Domers around recently! I don’t know anything about any y’all, and you probably don’t know much about the rest of us. Let’s change that! This week, I’d like you to write a story that is inspired by your life somehow. Maybe it’s about your vocation, or your neighbourhood, or a hobby that isn’t writing. This doesn’t have to be autobiographical and you don’t have to be the protagonist, but I want to get a sense of who you are and what you’re about. … and because this is still a creative writing competition, I’d also like you to add something fantastic to the story. Maybe your latest client is a goblin. Maybe your favourite cafe is actually on a spacecraft being chased by space pirates. It’s up to you — but if you want it to be up to me, I’ll offer flash rules on request. In short: give me something real, but also give me something entirely strange. Easy! You’ve got 1500 words. No erotica, poetry, google docs &c. If you want more words I will accept crits in exchange for word bounties! 100 words per crit, feel free to crit any stories from previous weeks, crits should be posted before judgement is rendered, max total wordcount is 2500. Remember, in Thunderdome, the only thing better than writing is critting other people’s writing. Signup deadline: Friday 11:59PM PST Submission deadline: Sunday 11:59PM PST Judges rohan Strange Cares Slightly Lions Hi, my name is… 1. Chili 2. Admiralty Flag 3. Albatrossy_Rodent 4. Chernobyl Princess 5. ItohRespectArmy 6. DigitalRaven 7. Thranguy 8. BeefSupreme rohan fucked around with this message at 09:01 on Mar 27, 2023 |
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Mar 21, 2023 22:20
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Oh hell yeah, In
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Mar 21, 2023 22:39
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Done with heavy commitments for now and back from travels...IN
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Mar 21, 2023 22:44
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In
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Mar 21, 2023 23:28
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Thunderdome - Week 553 - Crits FlippinPageman - Windfall You’ve got an interesting opener. I like the initial image I have of Reggie and Donna; two little beetle bugs on a farm. The mystery of the narrator is a bit awkward; on the one hand, you drop these tantalising hints that there’s something going on but at the same time I found the Farmlings more interesting. When you bring in Rodney, it raises more questions (like what he’s been doing for the months that have passed) but it doesn’t feel very connected to what’s going on so far. It feels more like you had two story ideas that don’t fit very well and the result is this isolated farmhouse that just raises even more questions about the nebulous world it sits within. I don’t need there to be payoff or some long explanation of who built the Farmlings or why - but the tone of the story felt like a steady raising of questions in different directions before a final, sudden pivot to “And they all lived happily ever after”. It wasn’t particularly satisfying, I’m afraid. Slightly Lions - The Green Zone Your opening paragraph is very dense in adjectives, proper nouns and long, run-on sentences. In general, this is some classic Dune-style scifi worldbuilding. It’s a lot to take in and I had to read it a few times to really get into it. That said, I really like the world you’ve built! It’s lush, it’s fun - it’s got a lot of potential. The problem I have is that not much actually happens. There’s no real story until Hayes finds the private security guards and everything after that happens very quickly. If you had more words I’m sure you could flesh that out into something more interesting but within this word limit you’ve had to sacrifice that. Ultimately, I wanted a story set in this world and all I got was the world. Pham Nuwen - In the Oak-Lot The idea of a fae protector of a rural household is an old one but you’ve executed it well. Hog-goblin is a nice turn of phrase and really, I delight in the idea of Big Chungus absolutely destroying the raiders. It made me wonder how the sheep-rustling scene in Babe could have gone very differently. Your scene-setting and characterisation is clear and efficient and you struck a very fine balance with the hog-goblin’s dialogue: archaic and distinct without being gimmicky or overblown. It’s a good story, you know? derp - lamb The formatting gimmick made this harder to read. Truth be told, I’d struggle to decipher much of the content of your story due to the structure, run-on sentences and other such niceties. None of that should come as any surprise to you, because that clearly seems to be what you were going for - I’m just concerned you may have taken it a touch too far. I’ve gone back and forth on this and I genuinely don’t know. But I can’t deny that it works. You have built an incredibly strong voice for your main character into the story, one that puts them instantly at odds with the setting and other characters. I suppose the question would be whether you needed this gimmick to do that; “fix” the formatting and I think you still get a character with an incredibly cold, logical, ordered and somewhat neurotic mindset and voice. The formatting heightens that, sure, but I’m not sure it added anything new on top - certainly nothing that outweighed the difficulties it produces for the reader. rohan - Sharing Economy You do a very good job of capturing a sense of place and voice; it’s got that early-morning, still-dark, coffee-in-a-styrofoam-cup vibe that adds a lot of authenticity. It feels lived and real and some of the characters - like the old guy with the muttoncard joke - ring very true. I guess my issue would be that it seems like the story you wanted to tell is hidden behind all of that. There are lines hinting at something greater - the one about the parents’ mid-life crisis, for example - but I couldn’t really tell you what. It’s a nice, well observed scene but there’s not much more there. Chairchucker - Leave the Edges I’ll be honest, Tom is such a one-note stereotype that it’s off-putting and overshadows anything else that might be there. I know that people like this exist but the end result just feels like it should end with “and that apple farmer’s name? Albert Einstein”. There’s nothing else there. Thranguy - The First Bite I like the idea of genetically modified apples based after memories or emotions, but I wish you’d done more with it. The actual story - the one that got away, the fateful first love - is pretty thin and bits of it - e.g. what the trackers will/won’t allow - are confusing. I like the blending of the old and the new that seems to take place on multiple levels - apple breeding and genetic manipulation, the almost folklore-ish family and cyberware - and I’d have liked to see that explored a bit more. Windwardaway - Prey I like the idea of this being from a bug’s PoV. It’s pretty barebones, though. One thing I noticed is that there’s an unusually scientific (academic? educated?) tone of voice for what is, ultimately, a bug. References to their own “bright green colouration” or “horrid avian”, for example, feel out of place. I’m not saying you have to reduce everything down to impressions of shape and colour just because of your choice of point of view character but I’d really like to have seen you make use of the unusual main character. As it is, it reads more like the adventures of a 2-inch tall biology teacher (which I would, admittedly, read).
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Mar 21, 2023 23:40
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In
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Mar 22, 2023 00:52
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I don't write much beyond shitposts, and I didn't read the prompt before writing this, but I was daydreaming in the kitchen, thought this was a neat idea for a story, hashed it out over two hours, then someone told me to post it here. Here's my story, edited the title because I read the formatting rules "Tonight I Will Kill The Moon" 508 words week 555 It was a warm midsummer night, a tinge of wetness in the air giving a sweet smell, as toads sang their song in the pond, under the light of the full moon. Jerome squinted at the squiggly reflection of green light in the water, the odd light shimmering in the ripples. He pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, looked at the face of it, and let out a heavy sigh. "I told you Gilly" he stated, a waxy smile on his face. "Look at it. The moon has a healthbar." His companion continued her long, wide eyed stare, mouth agape at the offending green line that had taken it's spot among the celestial bodies. She looked at him, and back, finger trained on the sight like it might disapear in a moment of collective sanity. She closed her mouth, and glared at Jerome, wriggling her nose and mouth in a little expression that meant she had tried him in a mental court of law, weighed the facts, and was ready to declare the verdict. The guilty party looked at her, his toothy smile beginning to wane. "I didn't do anything, I swear" he said, unconvincingly. "It was like this when I got here" Jerome pleaded. Gilliam set her hand over her mouth, and spoke between her fingers, delaying final judgement. "So is this some kind of trick, it's not very funny, is there like a flashlight or..." Jerome ran his hands threw his hair, then pointed at the accomplice satelite "Do I look like I can change the moon just to mess with you? I didn't do anything, it was just..." He stopped, eyes wide, as his finger pointed at the moon. Three grey lights and a tag had joined the increasingly crowded spot. Three grey, pointed arrows circled slowly around the shiny night orb, and he gaped up in disbelief. Mooon it read, letters shiny and neat. 1/1 [11:07 PM] He lowered his hand, and the arrows and letters disappeared, turning back into the starry blackness of the night sky. He looked at his hand, studying it for a moment. His fingers were turned inward, his index extended, his thump cocked back, forming the favored weapon of middle managers everywhere. Jerome raised his weapon back towards the moon, eyes wide in disbelief. The arrows returned, making sure he was centered on the million mile wide object, shining in the sky. Gilly raised her eyebrow at him. "I mean, it seems like a lot of work for a dumb prank" she said Jerome closed his eyes and centered himself, opening one eye for targetting. He steadied his arm, blocking out the world around as his girlfriends eyes rolled deep into her skull. "pow" he whispered, jerking back to protect himself from the kickback of his imaginary cannon. For a second, nothing happened, then there was darkness. No movement, no sound, just the quietus of a sudden blackout. "It's really not a funny joke" Gilly added to the darkness. Onehandclapping fucked around with this message at 05:57 on Mar 22, 2023 |
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Mar 22, 2023 04:59
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Week 554 Crits Pirates! Gambit from the X-Men This story lost. The biggest issue is the prose. It’s way too much. My intuition tells me you either worked really hard on this to make it pop or this kind of trippy, poetic writing comes naturally to you and it’s what you really enjoy. Or maybe it’s a combination of the two. None of that is bad. Rich description and clever sentence construction are, of course, fine. But only in the right quantities. I was stepping over lines to get to the part where something happens, and when I got there I had to disentangle these artful constructions to get at the facts of the events. I’m being generous when I say artful because a lot of the prose didn’t land. An example that didn’t work for me: There’s an explosion. That explosion was a paragraph. I get that it can be a narrative device to sort of freeze time in a moment of crisis to hold suspense, but the story took so much time to get TO that explosion. Slowing it down even more was not the right call. When I got to the humming self-important negation of sound in sentence 5 of the explosion, it felt like you were having a great time, but I really wasn’t. And that’s a shame because the overuse of that stuff can spoil a reader on what could be really great lines. The endless possibilities that a gun offers. I liked that line. But you’ll have an easier time holding a reader with “What happens next?” than “Wow that line was cool.” A technical note: The paragraph that starts “Why you just waiting?” You switched your dialogue style conventions mid-paragraph. Quotes or not? I get that these are short, half sentence lines and the narrator is kind of half-reporting them, but it kind of took me out of the scene for a second. The style goes from using quotes to not to using them again. Only A Week Away Giggs I really liked this story. What if the rapture happened and you were stuck in traffic? It doesn’t bog itself down in too much in dialogue, description, or exposition. It gets in, gets out, has a nice ending line. I can only offer small critiques. The first being the unlikelihood of childhood friends ending up in space together. Even in the year 2055, it would seem to me deep space exploration would be a pretty selective occupation. Two buddies just happened to grow up together and both become world class scientists in space. But the story wouldn’t have worked as well had they not been buddies and it would have been weird had they been the Peyton and Eli Manning of space science. The other criticism that could be fairly leveled at this story is our characters don’t really do much. Events just happen to them and all they can do is react. That limits the narrative and removes any stakes. I think in a rewrite you could play up the curse part of the story. One character mentions the other is cursed and the story closes with a really unlucky turn of events, but something more/something else to drive home the character is cursed would be cool. Riven Yoruichi There’s a lot I liked about this story. I immediately thought about Star Trek when the sci-fi theme was announced and I’d say you delivered the Trekkiest story of the week. But unlike Star Trek, this is dark and terrifying and people are actually shaken by the death of crew members. So I buckled in for a gritty sci-fi survival story that would be somehow resolved by a postcard of a castle from some mystery letterbox. Imagine my surprise when the story said nope, let’s cut to a scene where we learn this phenomenon has evidently driven a woman insane and her sane shipmate has to determine how to handle a madwoman standing next to an abyss. Then the story cuts to a different woman locked in her bedroom. The letterbox is mentioned in passing. The scene ends when the jumps to try and save herself for a few more minutes. So we don’t really have a story as much as we have 3 scenes. A mystery is set up, but never resolved. And I can’t find any way any of this relates to your prompt. That said, a story of a spaceship severed longways by a spatial anomaly that drives people insane if they pay attention to it is a great premise. #lunaIRC.moonlighters Obliterati I never used IRC, but I’ve been on this old world wide web long enough to know you nailed the spirit of the mid-aughts. As an aging millennial myself, I doff my fedora. You win the Internet. (just not Thunderdome) Nothing much happens and, as a reader, I often wondered: 1.) Who would pay these people to do this? 2.) Is this just a video game? It really stretched my credulity that something like terraforming a moon crater would be done in such a slapdash half-competitive manner. So the form of the story boxed you in, but you really threw yourself into the prompt and executed your idea quite competently. I liked it. I LOLed. I Don't Know Which One To Shoot: An Abdiwahab Warsame Mystery Albatrossy_Rodent If I told someone to write me a Blade Runner scene, but make it fun and sillier, I couldn’t ask for more than this story. I enjoyed this quite a bit. Your story is pretty much entirely a dialogue between your detective and suspect, which is why that monocle was so useful and necessary as a tool to enhance the dialogue without switching back to 3rd person prose. This story wouldn’t have worked as well without it. It’s jarring how matter-of-fact the cruelty of this world is. The silliness was necessary here, because I don’t think vat growing clones and enslaving their minds would work in straight sci-fi. You needed that tone to say, “Don’t take it too seriously. Don’t think too hard.” Ultimately, this mystery was never solved. And I don’t think I ever read a mystery story where the mystery didn’t get solved. I didn’t mind though. So I don’t have much in the way of criticism other than this story was pretty drat close to Blade Runner, but I don’t mind because originality is overrated and I really enjoy Blade Runner. The Virtual Partner Experience Violet_Sky So your story captures, I think, the tone of a person dealing with extreme disability and chronic pain. It’s a huuuge loving downer, it’s really uncomfortable, but it’s real. This character speaks and thinks like people I know and love who deal with those things, and I hurt for your character like I hurt for those people. Reading this, I found myself thinking about the implications of total sensory VR for those populations. If I, right now, could give someone who lives their life from hospital bed to hospital bed the ability to leave their body and experience a body without pain or handicap, I would in half a heartbeat. I think what your character has in this story is actually a dream for a lot of people. But ultimately your character resents it all because it’s not really “real” and they have a nagging memory of their existence outside this carefully crafted experience. This too, isn’t terribly far from reality. So I don’t have a problem with your character. Negative self talk is unhealthy, but I don’t suspect anyone would mistake this character for a role model. The flaw of the story is there’s no story. It’s really just a scene that’s narrated by the character. And if you’re going to take me into that dark place, I’d want something to actually happen there to make it worth the trip. Loose Wires My Shark Waifuu I really liked this. This was pitch perfect YA fiction. You managed to evoke the suburban ennui, nothing ever happens in this town vibe, but on a drat space ship. How about that! You also managed to create a mystery that was simple enough to be investigated by teens, but had high enough stakes to make the story worth reading. A fascist city state floating aimlessly through space for centuries is kind of terrifying. It’s hard to level the “but when you think about it” criticism at a sci-fi story, because even some of the best sci-fi falls apart under scrutiny. But I just don’t think they’d design a deep space vessel where a mission critical system could be disabled by a teen fumbling around behind a loose panel. The Even Chance Slightly Lions Loved it. A recreation destination tucked in an odd pocket of space-time. Reminded me of the Restaurant at the End of the Galaxy. It’s descriptive, but lively. It doesn’t get bogged down in details and visuals, but populates each paragraph with figures and concepts and moves right along to others. I can’t really offer any constructive feedback here. You could have maybe found a more creative way for the character to cheat or a critical error to get your character caught by management. You gave the ending away to the reader when you mentioned the slot machines, but you needed to let us know the stakes, so I don’t really fault you for the ending. Accession, like everything in the story, is over the top and out of control. And let me say that you took what sounds like an interminable activity for board game grognards and made it sound chic. So kudos there. Maybe 3,000 years in the future people will think Twilight Imperium is cool. Tomorrow's News Strange Cares Loved it. A shoeleather reporter in a futuristic gonzo hellscape gets scooped on a story about a cult, but teams up with another reporter to discover the eel vendor is actually selling part of the bio-psychic matter humans are evidently giving themselves up to in the caves below the city. When you write it like that, it’s not much of a story. But when you write it like you did, it’s a lot of fun. It’s was a little too over the top for me. I prefer more sci in my sci-fi, but that’s a statement on preference and not competence. they in the burnt ship rohan This story won. Congratulations. The narration style set the tone of passing years in a stone age tribe quite well. Your protagonist was morally ambiguous in an interesting way. You think she’s trying to get the villagers to safety, but she’s really just out for herself. She never stopped thinking of escape when many would have accepted their lives. And there was a twist at the end and a badass fight and death scene. Very cool. Here are my criticisms. I can’t follow what your character was trying to communicate by putting her arm in boiling soup other than “Hey guys I’m serious.” Couldn’t she have used a ladle to make her point? They still have to eat that soup, you know. I also wasn’t expecting a fight scene on the mountain. I guess another tribe lived there or something? We show up to the scene and suddenly people are battling each other. Why? Making Friends at Rekonnekt Antivehicular Another day at Meta in 2025. I really enjoyed this. What’s really heartbreaking about this is that people have been doing this for centuries with dead people. If we bring them back in books or plays or movies or in conversations at family reunions, we often quietly edit out the parts of them that were distasteful or impolitic or disappointing. This story isn’t the first and won’t be the last regarding scraping the social media of a dead person to make an AI chatbot, but this was the first I’ve encountered when an aspect of someone’s sexuality is edited out to better please friends and family. You chose a seemingly harmless (but evidently weird) kink, but the connection to queerness is right there to be made. This is what makes science fiction such an important literary genre. I think you really anticipated something here. It’s OK that you didn’t linger on that point too much though, because then it might have come off as preachy. I don’t really have any constructive criticisms, but I’d say that the idea of blending personalities to create a novel intelligence is a similarly disturbing concept. Imagine if you could take everything you like about all your exes and make one super lover. Imagine if your partner could do the same. Whoa, dude. Going out with a bang sebmojo Send this to Hustler. I’m serious. My criticism here is that this spacefaring race talks and acts like they’ve got MegaADHD Plus. But how would you know how extraterrestrials talk and act, Dicere? You got me. I still don’t think they’d be this wacky. It’s also unclear what they’re doing and why. They’re on a mission to document lifeforms and then … leave? The procedures don’t in any way seem methodical. I would also expect this from beings from space: to be methodical in their science doing. But I suppose the lack of purpose works because it really hammers home the point that Bjx just really wanted to have sex after watching a ton of porno. Bjx didn’t need to do that. Bjx wanted to. Alien comes to earth, wants to bang, and doesn’t anticipate their biology being so overwhelming is a simple story with a twist at the end. Add some flourish and detail and you’ve got a pleasant ride. I liked it. The Bone Sword WindwardAway Second person was definitely a choice. I don’t think it hampered the story at all. You’re telling the story of a person being killed so putting us in the first person view gives that death a bit of oomph. And the story needed that oomph because if the story didn’t say I was dying and I was being hit with arrows and my flesh was burning, I’m not sure I’d care. Why did I conquer? Who is killing me? What is the point? Your story is called The Bone Sword and it was appropriately metal as all poo poo, but it didn’t really go anywhere EXCEPT TO THE GRAVE. Had the story kept going, I can’t say I would have wanted to read more. Canopic Jars Bad Seafood One of two stories about making a digital copy of a dead person’s personality, but, instead of scraping it from social media, you’re scraping right from the brain. The presence of the corpse really sets the tone and makes this story its own thing though. At the risk of repeating myself from my crit of Making Friends at Rekonnekt, there’s something that chills me about editing out the less savory bits of someone’s life and personality to create a better consumer product. It also chills to think I do that same thing to people I care about in my own memory. The last line, “staring up at God” really stirred me. I once had a theologian tell me that the pain of Hell would be akin to the pain of re-breaking a broken bone that didn’t set right the first time. You’d feel the pain of loss of parts of you that weren’t holy. This technician clipping out youthful dalliances and marital discord was something like a road through Purgatory. In heaven, we’re a highlight reel. The obvious criticism here, is that it isn’t much of a story. It’s just a scene of a guy doing a really weird job. There’s no tension or stakes. But, for what it was, it was well-told. Good show.
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Mar 22, 2023 05:44
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Onehandclapping posted:His companion continued her long, wide eyed stare, mouth agape at the offending green line that had taken it's spot among the celestial bodies. "It's" is short for "it is." Also you should read the OP.
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Mar 22, 2023 07:22
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Yoruichi posted:"It's" is short for "it is." Your an op
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Mar 22, 2023 07:28
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fite me
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Mar 22, 2023 07:30
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Yoruichi posted:fite me Any day, you barely literate zobe
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Mar 22, 2023 07:33
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sebmojo posted:Any day, you barely literate zobe Who will judge this
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Mar 22, 2023 07:34
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ill fite u in my sleep, u pizzwizzle
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Mar 22, 2023 07:36
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Yoruichi posted:ill fite u in my sleep, u pizzwizzle Sleep Fite Brawl Sebmojo vs. Yoruichi An action story set in a dreamscape. 1600 words Due 4/9
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Mar 22, 2023 08:00
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Mar 22, 2023 08:56
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Mar 22, 2023 09:09
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Yoruichi posted:"It's" is short for "it is." Its what its 
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Mar 22, 2023 15:11
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I am in
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Mar 22, 2023 19:19
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Yeah, sod it, in!
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Mar 24, 2023 00:10
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Crits for Week #554 Crits done in judgemode Loose Wires: Not sure if I buy the premise(of nondiverse colony ships), but I'll accept it for now. Also not sure everything in that first paragraph is necessary up front. This is a fairly functional YA sci-fi yarn, not much there in characters or prose but the story mostly makes sense. I Don't Know Which One To Shoot: An Abdiwahab Warsame Mystery: Fair opening. I am not a fan of the rightsless clone trope. Twins exist already today. It's overdone facile moralizing, enough to push this into the low middle. #lunaIRC.moonlighters: Amusing conceit, and you successfully tell a story without breaking it. But there's not much there there. The Even Chance: Nice opening. Moody, but we're still all voice and no character a long say in. I mean, the end of paragraph five is where this starts, and that's a bit late. But this is a solid piece, high group. Only A Week Away: Opening is generic dialog, but it does set something up. A lot of charactersplaining early. The story takes a big swerve midway through, and doesn't really pull it off. Riven: Interesting opening, a sort of star trekky premise. But it ultimately feels a bit nihilistic. Some good bits though. Middle, maybe a bit higher. they in the burnt ship: Digging this so far. Yes, this is solid, high group. Could be even better with more words, maybe aim longer if you do anything with this. Making Friends at Rekonnekt: Another solid opener, establishes setting, character, and a start of a plot. I like the idea behind this one, very Phillip K. Dick, but the actual story around it isn't hitting strongly enough. Pirates!: The opening sentence is a lot, and doesn't even establish a character. This looks like a day at work story but at least it's an interesting job, and solid if overwrought prose building a setting. Then we get some major action bit the prose doesn't change a bit. Technically fine but I don't like this much. The Virtual Partner Experience: Okay opener, but let's see if this goes anywhere. The narrator gets old fast with the self-pity, and the most interesting bit of the premise only comes up at the very end. The more interesting story might condense what we have here into a few paragraphs and then start digging into why the narrator can't have a real/noncommercial relationship within the virtual world. Going out with a bang: Weak opening I think, nothing really to grab the reader. At least Earth wasn't the punchline. Although the actual punchline isn't much better. There's probably an interesting story set after this, how the world changes after a week-long half-population orgy, but not many people are going to be able to do that right even among published or award-winning authors. The Bone Sword: Okay opening. That accelerated quickly. Overall, a bit too dry, too much stuffed into a small story. A Conan (or I guess Red Sonja) story from the point of view of the demon-king is a solid concept, but maybe for more wordcount. Canopic Jars: Middling opening. Some interesting imagery. Another undeath story, huh. Pretty far in for routine day at work. And we never get anything but. Tomorrow's News: Lampo seems to change gender in one sentence. This is colorful if a bit cliché so far. (I'm not immune to the Twain/Thompson journalist hero trope, but it is well-worn) The ending is a bit flat, though. Both the resolution and the final punchline.
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Mar 24, 2023 07:33
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In, flash me.
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Mar 24, 2023 22:34
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Thranguy posted:In, flash me.
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Mar 24, 2023 23:38
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A reminder that sign-ups close in ten hours (or so)! Two judge spots still open also if you don’t want to write anything personal.
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Mar 24, 2023 23:53
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| # ? Apr 20, 2024 05:33 |
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I've got no gas in the tank to write this week, but I'll take a spin at judging.
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Mar 25, 2023 02:13
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