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HARK! 2 HOURS REMAIN OUTSTANDING Chairchucker - Academie d'Cake l'Orange Accretionist - Maniac-Depressive Aero-Space Academy (or something) Unknowing - Mars Institute for Waste Processing and Reclamation Wash Clothes -Rob Dyrdek School of Skateboarding (X-TREME requirements) Schneider Heim - St. George's School of Monster-slaying and People-saving Barracuda Bang! - The Cooper Union for the Cooping Arts (must be canon) M. Propogandalf - Starkhall Training Academy for Truancy Investigations and Corrections (STATIC) (all depts must have acronyms that work)
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Aug 26, 2013 05:10
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Colin Agonistes 589 words Colin "The Crusher" McPherson sat zazen on the dented steel table. His eyes were closed and his hands were composed in the mudra of absorption. Overhead a fluorescent light flickered in fitful counterpoint to his breathing. The door to the changing room crashed open. Colin's manager Henry stood in the doorway, stubby arms flung wide. "Go time, mate! Monster Mike got'em warmed up for you, they're all yours big fella!" Colin exhaled then opened his eyes. "I am sorry, friend Henry. There will be no fight today," he said. Macrae squinted. "Come again?" Colin smiled gently. "I will not," he said, "fight." Henry gave Colin a dubious look, checked the corridor behind him then let the door swing shut. He pulled over a folding chair with a scrape. "Is this about the money, because there's maybe a little I could—" Colin shook his head. "Violence." He pronounced the word as if it were a slug he was spitting from his mouth. "Violence is no more a part of the life I must lead, friend Henry." Macrae's face crumpled up like week-old chip wrapper for a few moments then smoothed itself back out as comprehension dawned. "This is about that Jappo sheila you picked up at the Waverley Arms last week," he said. "Isn't it?" Colin inclined his huge head. "Kumiko-san has helped me in my journey to enlightenment. She explained to me how the wheel of samsara can only be escaped by the sevenfold path. But I chose to walk that path off my own… uh… bat.” He unfolded his legs with a grunt, and slid off the table. “Hell Henry, it’s no life whacking fellas in the chops. We’re not getting any younger.” “Sure, sure. Colin,” Henry said, “I’m sympathetic to yer sevenfold whatsit and the Samsung wheels or whatever that was all about, but mate there’s a hundred and fifteen punters baying for blood out there. What are ya gonna do, meditate at them?” Colin stretched massively, cracked his knuckles and let his silk robe fall to the ground. His purple and green spandex glistened as he flexed. “Don't worry, mate. She’ll be right.” Inside the Waverley Tavern it was hot with beer fumes and bloodlust. A baying cry went up as Colin vaulted into the ring. The lights dipped, then raised on his opponent Charlie ‘Chiseller’ Wallace. Charlie was dressed in black and red, his mask a bestial rictus. With a roar, Chiseller charged. Colin waited until the last moment, then stepped aside, smiling. Again and again he dodged his opponent. At each pass the yelps of the crowd grew louder, the frenzy on Charlie’s face more intense. At last it was too much, Charlie bounded up the ropes and launched himself feet first at Colin with an ululating battle cry. Colin waited, his expression inscrutable, then bowed just in time for Chiseller to sail over his head, over the ropes and knock himself out on the bar. Later that evening Colin and Henry sat around the same table. In the middle of the table was a mound of crumpled bills. In the corner of the changing room Kumiko hummed to herself as she made the tea. Henry cleared his throat. “So that’s your sevenfold path then? Just wait for the other fella to knock himself out?” “Feeling my way, mate. Professional wrestling and total non-violence is a treacherous row to hoe, but— ta love,“ he said as he took the tea cup from Kumiko, “with the right spiritual stance all things are possible. Tea, Henry?” sebmojo fucked around with this message at 08:50 on Sep 13, 2013 |
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Aug 26, 2013 05:27
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Sorry, dudes and dudettes, been working on a potential job thing, which unfortunately has to come first. I realize too, of course, that if I didn't wait until Sunday to write this one, I would have been fine.
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Aug 26, 2013 05:30
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sebmojo posted:Colin Agonistes Fumblemouse posted:Fumblemouse vs Sebmojo - Bloodsport Copied down Sebmojo's original and Fumblemouse's edit. I'll crit these from 30,000 feet and post the winner after I play Does The Hotel Provide Free Internet Access Like A Civilized Place Or Do I Rub Together Rocks And Bear Skins To Try To Get Some Internets Up In This Bitch. It's my favorite travel game.
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Aug 26, 2013 05:39
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To whoever has been making the deadline effective PST rather than EST, I thank ye kindly. Trackers 1429 words Flash rule: All departments must have acronyms that work - Failed (sorry) The lights are dimmed as the projection screen shows the grainy image of a man in military regalia. His right arm crosses his chest as his chin juts at the sky. As his picture flickers up front of the class theater, the blare of brass and percussive instruments courses through the public address system of Starkhall Training Academy for Truancy Investigations and Corrections. Candidate 15 of Division 2, stands chanting with her fellow candidates as Starkhall’s anthem closes with its final lines: Children are Resources Children are Future Preserve our Resources Preserve our Future Preserve Yourselves The music fades out and the projection screen rolls up. Cold light refills the room. The D2 instructor walks to the front of the classroom. Dressed in the traditional Starkhall cassock and cap, only the small antennae behind his left ear distinguishes him from instructors of generations prior. He crosses his arms behind him before facing the class. “Sit.” The candidates take their seats by their gunmetal desks. Before the instructor can speak again, something causes him to turn aside. He cranes his neck and reaches behind his left ear, before turning back to the class. “We will be reviewing the errors on Examination K3. However, Candidates 9 and 15.” 15 stands up, speaking in exact unison with a voice behind her. "Instructor." "Both of you are to see the headmaster at his office immediately." "Yes instructor." 15 pivots and moves towards the door. The other candidates keep their eyes straight forward. From her peripheral vision however, 15 sees the edge of a smirk from Candidate 32. She waits by the door until 9 joins her, before they march side-by-side down the hall. *** 15 feels herself pale. This is the first time she has been called before the Headmaster. Three months ago, 22 was called. A different 22 returned to take her place. Nothing more was said. As she marches alongside 9, she feels an overwhelming urge to talk to him. It is 9 who breaks the silence first. "I can feel my heart beating." "We should not talk." “It does not matter. We have every reason to be proud today.” “What makes you say that?” “We are being accelerated, of course.” 15 nearly breaks her march. “H-How do you know?” “The examinations are complete. Do you doubt your scores?” “I do not presume to know my results.” 9 let out a sigh. “Sometimes, you can be too cautious, 15. There is no question that I am second ranked in our division. There is no question that you outrank me. Now there may be questions as to whether you outrank the entire academy. But I do not presume when I tell you that your examinations were flawless.” 15’s face begins to fill with blood. She suddenly recalls the smirk from Candidate 32. “I observed 32 as we were being called.” “And?” “He… presented a manner that suggested our meeting with the headmaster would not be as auspicious as you believe it to be.” “32 is an idiot. He will be reallocated, assuming there is a school that can accommodate his worthlessness.” 15 purses her lips to fight off a smile. “So 22… the previous one. She was also…?” 9 stops in his tracks. 15 turns to see 9, his shoulders slunk. “That was different… Her performance was… inadequate.” The remainder of the march passes without a word. *** They reach the marble door of the Headmaster’s office. It is the only door in the academy that has no buzzer or card reader. The figure of an iron falcon gripping a ring in its talons forms the door knocker. Above it, a segmented circle encased in metal covers the eyehole. 15 takes the ring and bangs it against the door. The circle shutters open, emitting a green light. “Candidates 9 and 15 reporting.” The shutter snaps shut. There is no immediate response. 9 turns to 15 “We may be assigned to separate districts,” 9 extends his right hand, “should we not see each other again, I wish you the best.” 15 takes 9’s hand. “I hope that will not be the case, but yes, the best to you as well.” The door swings open. They pull their hands apart. A man in a red cassock steps out, scrutinizing them. He turns to 9. “Get in.” 15 marches alongside 9, but the man in red holds up a hand. “Candidate 9 only. Candidate 15 to wait.” 15 sees a look of uncertainty pass over 9’s face. She steps back as 9 follows the man inside. The door swings closed. 15 waits. *** 15 is ready when the door swings again. The previous man in red points to her. “Now you.” 15 follows the man through a short corridor, before arriving at the headmaster’s office. The headmaster wears a cassock, but his cap carries a skirt running along the back and sides, reaching past his shoulders. His elbows are propped against his desk, the palms of his hands together, his finger trilling against one another. Behind the headmaster is a television screen, currently off, that makes up the entire back wall. 9 is nowhere to be seen. The man in red walks in with 15 behind him, and halts. “Headmaster. Candidate 15.” The headmaster nods. The man wheels around and marches out. 15 stands uncomfortably as the headmaster continues to trill his fingers while inspecting her. Eventually, he motions at the chair in front of her. “Sit.” As 15 takes her seat, the headmaster reaches to pull open a drawer. “Roll up your left sleeve.” As 15 does so, the headmaster brings out a machine that looks like a sphygmomanometer, a miniature telescope, and a typewriter haphazardly connected together by various cables. The headmaster wraps a cuff around 15’s wrist, before aiming the telescope gadget at her face. 15 blinks rapidly as green light temporarily fills her eyes. A robotic voice chirps from the typewriter, followed by the rapid chatter of print against paper.” CALIBRATION COMPLETE. SUBJECT READY FOR TESTING. The headmaster stands up. “The screen will come on. Do as it tells you. I will be watching.” The headmaster exits the room. A minute later, the room lights turn off, and the television turns on. Administering STATIC Final Examination, Serial 2B. Part One: A video will play depicting a public venue with individuals. Maintain uninterrupted eye contact of ten seconds on all suspected truants. Image displays in 3… 2… 1… * * * The screen turns off with the end of the examination, and the lights return. 15 is exhausted. The headmaster walks in carrying a glass of water. “Drink?” “Yes, please, Headmaster.” As 15 takes the glass, the headmaster continues. “Effective today, you are no longer Candidate 15 of Division 2.” She pauses midway in her drink. “You are hereby accelerated to begin field training.” She accidentally breathes bubbles into her glass. The headmaster is not amused. “The training begins once you are finished your water. You have but one task before you are dismissed for the day. We will be heading outside to the academy training grounds.” Finishing her glass, she joins the headmaster as they leave the office, escorted by two men in red cassocks. They walk out of the building to the grass field of Starkhall’s academy training grounds. From a distance, she notices a group of three individuals already on the training grounds. As she draws closer, she makes out two of the men in red cassocks. The other is 9. His hands are tied to his back as he stares at the ground. She forces herself to march to steadily. At her approach, 9 looks up. The look of surprise is followed by a wistful smile. “So, you were accelerated.” With her eyes averted, she nods. The headmaster points at 9. “This boy is no longer Candidate 9. He should not have been a candidate. He is utterly corrupted by Heretic Joysing’s falsehood. He is an abetter to the truants. Depriver of Starkhall’s resources.” She barely registers the sensation of her right hand being opened as the headmaster places a piece of heavy cold metal in her hand. “He is an enemy. Correct him!” She weakly lifts the pistol and aims at the boy she once knew as 9. He looks at her and sighs. “My name was Vaughn. What is yours?” “I don’t remember.” “Find out.” She pulls the trigger. He slumps to the ground. A moment passes before she feels the hand of the headmaster on her shoulder. “Congratulations, Tracker 15B. You will do Starkhall proud.”
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Aug 26, 2013 06:55
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So, about 27 minutes to go huh? Better start writing. Straight into the browser, the best way to write! Academie d'Cake l'Orange "Hey, are you listening?" Jemima had not been listening, because honestly, Bert had the tendency to waffle a bit. "Sorry, what's that then?" "I was just saying, I don't see why I always get stuck with orange picking duty." "Ah well, let me clear that up for you." Jemima took a citrusy bite and spat out some seeds. "It's because you're catastrophically bad at baking." "Catastrophic seems a bit harsh. There was no permanent damage." Jemima shrugged. "I think it's possible you need to start setting slightly higher goals. Although actually at the moment I think maybe you should set goals that don't involve baking. Did I mention you're not good at it? Because that's an important piece of information you should remember." "So how come you always get sent orange picking?" asked Bert. "Your cakes were really good." Jemima finished off her snack and threw the peel on the floor. "I'm a dangerous dissident. I tried to bake with unapproved fruits." "Why?" Bert was flabbergasted. "I'm flabbergasted! Why would you run that risk?" Jemima shrugged again. She enjoyed shrugging. It was honestly one of her favourite things to do. "It's not that I don't love oranges and their applications to baked goods," she said. "It's just, sometimes a girl wants to experiment, y'know? I don't see what's so wrong with occasionally slipping something different into a cake. A grapefruit, maybe a couple of lemons, whatever." "An apple?" suggested Bert. "Pffft." Jemima shook her head. "Don't be silly, I wouldn't even compare the two!" "Uh oh." Bert stopped talking and started being very obviously busy and involved in his task. Jemima glanced behind her. Terence was slowly striding towards them. She returned to being very disinterested in her task. "Hello Bert," said Terence. "Jemima." No greeting, just an acknowledgement that she was there too. He glanced down at the basket she'd been filling. "What are those?" Jemima looked at the basket. "Diet oranges," she said. Terence seemed unconvinced. "Would you believe junior oranges?" It didn't appear he would. "Travel oranges? Fun size oranges?" "They look like mandarins," he said. Jemima looked again. "Well, juice my innards, so they are. You clearly paid attention in fruit recognition 101." "You know oranges are the only approved fruit," said Terence. "Well," said Bert, "mandarins are important for our 'Languages other than English' quota." "What?" Terence looked puzzled. "I am puzzled. What does that even mean?" Bert sighed. "Too obscure? My jokes are wasted on this audience." Terence shook his head. "Whatever, this is not my problem. I'm sure the head chefs will have something to say about your fruit picking habits," he nodded towards Jemima, "and about your attitude." He turned and walked back towards the Academie. Jemima smiled. "Way to go, now you're a dissident too! I liked the joke, by the way." They continued to pick the wrong fruit in silence.
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Aug 26, 2013 07:00
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School: St. George's School For Monster-slaying and People-saving Nobody's Princess 1480 words Sabrina stepped inside the ring. Her leather armor felt like a second skin, after months of inseparability. Her wooden sword and shield felt like extensions of her limbs. Everyone was perspiring in the midday sun. She particularly baked in her armor. Brave Harold, their arms teacher, did not, even despite his shirt of mail. Or probably because of it. Not even a drop of moisture on his golden beard. Sabrina assumed a stance that offered no opening. Alwyn's sword traced circles in the air, eager for contact. They did not speak. Taunts had become meaningless on Sabrina. Sometimes Brave Harold would pit her against older students. Sometimes she would win. Nobody ever celebrated. "Begin!" Brave Harold's hand slashed the air. Sabrina let Alwyn charge. She deflected the lunging stab with a flick of her sword. The boy was different. Hungry for valor, to exchange for the family he had lost. Sabrina envied him for it. Envied the near-suicidal drive that drove him to the top of the class. This match would decide which one of them would carry that title. Sabrina beat back Alwyn's attacks with increasing effort. Her movements were precise, but Alwyn's strength threatened to shatter the balance. Her preferred tactic of wearing her opponent down would not work. This fight meant so much to her opponent. She slashed Alwyn's exposed leg. Alwyn didn't yelp in pain. He tried to smash his shield at Sabrina's face. Sabrina blocked with her own. They pushed against each other, eyes unyielding as their efforts. Alwyn's strength won out. Just as Sabrina let him. She turned the blow, unbalancing Alwyn. She kicked his legs out and fell on top of him, pointing her sword at his back. "Sabrina wins," Brave Harold said, over the din. Sabrina got up from Alwyn. She offered no hand. She had learned not to. Alwyn glared at her, which quickly lost venom as the gravity of his loss sunk in. "You wanted to win a test of strength, so I let you," Sabrina said. "It cost you the match." Alwyn opened his mouth, and closed it. Anything he would have said would only be an excuse. Sabrina avoided the sullen stares of her classmates. Why did they come to hate me like this? What could she have done? * * * Sabrina climbed up the Stalwart Tower, heading towards the Headmaster's office. She was wearing her uniform, the crisp white starting to look brown despite multiple washings. She was fine as long as it didn't stink. She found him at his desk, flanked between towering stacks of papers. "Headmaster," Sabrina said. "When you said your door was always open, I didn't think you meant it literally." "It's a gesture to encourage my approachability, but the very state of my room is a hindrance," Headmaster Marius said. "How can I help you, Sabrina? Please, don't mind the papers." Sabrina smile faded as she stated her purpose. "I don't believe this is a secret to you, but my classmates hate me. They think I don't belong here." The Headmaster steepled his fingers on the table. "I have heard rumors, and read the teacher's reports. But I would like to hear the details from you, child." "When we introduced ourselves to each other, part of it was telling our story. You know, the story of why we're here. I didn't have anything worth telling. It's the truth. What should I have done, lie to them? Even my very clothes marked me apart from them! "I never lost anything. My family is alive and safe. We're rich. I could be anyone I want to be. And I choose to be a Brave. Is that wrong?" "No," the Headmaster said. Sabrina continued. "Do I have to endure great suffering to help others? Do I have to feel pain, in order to prevent others from experiencing the same? I just want to do good! "I want to be their friend. But my status makes it difficult. They think I'm pitying them." "And yet you are at the top of your class." "It only makes my life harder. They want to wrest my standing from me. The more I try to prove that I can be a Brave as much as any of them, the more they resent me. It's as if I'm not supposed to be this good. Not to brag, of course." The Headmaster smiled. "Our school was built on the belief that anyone can be a hero. Anyone can be a Brave. I want to say that being a noble or a commoner has no part in it, but I am aware of our school's demographic. And I cannot blame it. Yours is a difficult road, Sabrina, but you need to overcome this challenge if you truly want to become a Brave." Sabrina hung her head and said nothing. "All this talk, and I cannot help you," Headmaster Marius said. "But I can give advice: sometimes you just have to win them one heart at a time." Sabrina gave her most dignified bow. "Thank you, Headmaster." * * * The mock dragon was the ugliest thing Sabrina had ever seen. It was made from goblin technology, and used for their Basic Dragon-slaying class. "...since this is Basic Dragon-slaying, Grath'mak's snout will only produce a stream of ash. You will still gain failing marks if you get hit by it," Harold said, giving basic instructions. The iron sword's weight was unfamiliar in Sabrina's grip. She couldn't sleep last night, thinking of her conversation with the Headmaster. "Any more questions? Good. Sabrina, Alwyn, and Rue, step up. You're Team One." Alwyn groaned. "I'm sorry," Rue said, flanked by the two achievers of the class. She kept her eyes on the ground. "Just don't get hit," Alwyn said. "Rue, you have the spear. We'll draw Grath'mak's attention and clear a path for you," Sabrina said. "Don't attack until I--we say so." Rue nodded, not meeting Sabrina's eyes. "Begin!" Grath'mak sprang to life, gears whirring inside his mechanical body. His mismatched red-and-gold eyes dilated at the sight of Team One. He drew back his head. "Disperse!" Grath'mak sprayed ash in a wide fan. "Stay back, Rue!" Sabrina said. She held her breath, trying not to inhale the ash, and closed the distance. Alwyn flanked Grath'mak from the left. The mock dragon whipped its tail. Sabrina and Alwyn threw themselves to the ash-stricken ground. A shrill yelp pierced their ears. Rue hung on to Grath'mak's tail with her spear. Alwyn ran towards Grath'mak. It reared up, exposing its vulnerable underside. There was a red circle painted on its left breast, where a dragon's heart would be. He threw his shield away, wielding his sword with two hands. He plunged it into the mock dragon's heart and missed. Sabrina yanked Rue away. "Stay back," she said, retrieving the spear. Rue nodded, looking forlorn. Sabrina ran to Alwyn, who tried to pull out his sword in vain. Grath'mak's tail went after her. She raised her shield as the tail smashed at her, forcing her to her knees. Rue choked up in protest, stumbling forward. "Go!" Sabrina passed the spear to Rue. Rue hurled it towards Alwyn. Alwyn let go of his sword, diving for the new weapon. The mock dragon stared at him with eyes of artificial hate. He hurled it at the dragon's chest. One half went in, and Grath'mak roared. "Get back!" Alwyn called, already running away with his remaining dignity. The tail lifted over Sabrina's head, and she ran to get Rue away. The mock dragon reared up one last time, aiming at the two of them. Sabrina shoved Rue away, turning to face the ash with a smile. * * * Harold walked to them. Rue was already up, dabbing the ash away from Sabrina's face with a handkerchief. "Failed!" He pointed at Sabrina, laughing. "What a pathetic effort, coming from you." "I'm sorry, Sabrina," Rue said, looking down on her ash-streaked boots. Sabrina smiled. "At least you won't need to spend hours cleaning up." Harold pointed at Alwyn, who had already dusted off. "And failed!" "What?" Harold faced them. "You are studying and training to become Braves. To slay the monster, or to save people? There is no 'or' in our school's name. You must do both. At the very least, each one of you must survive! And that is why you pass or fail as a team!" He walked to Grath'mak's "corpse", chuckling as he began the long process of reviving the mock dragon. "I guess he's right," Alwyn said. He glowered at Sabrina. "I still don't like you, Ash Princess." Sabrina smiled at him. "Ash Princess? That's cute. I like it." It was her first comeback in months. Alwyn walked away, fuming. "Sabrina?" Rue said, her eyes concerned. "I'm all right, Rue. What is it?" "Thank you."
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Aug 26, 2013 07:02
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As a benevolent person (rhino) I'm giving Accretionist, Wash Clothes and Unknowing detention so get your act together and write and submit something within TWO (2) HOURS' TIME. Also you are not allowed to reenact the dance of The Breakfast Club instead of writing your predetermined essay topic because I'm a big meanie who hates fun.
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Aug 26, 2013 07:42
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Because gently caress sleep, that's why. Nikaer Drekin posted:
Overall this wasn't bad. My biggest complaint is that it looks as though you struggled with the dialogue in certain places and so left cliches and filler sprinkled throughout the entire piece. This kills any attempt you have at voice or drama, as the lines being said could have been said by anyone at any given time or place. That's what makes for good voice and for good dialogue--a given line that could have only ever been said by that particular character in that particular situation. Every story has a few lines of filler, but when your writing has a lot of lines like this: "you've done good work here. But are you sure this place is the right fit for you?" and "We've got business we need to settle" and "Not in your wildest fantasies" and "I was wrong about you" are all lines that could come from literally countless different pieces of writing. I think it's important to try and add voice to everything you do--otherwise it will come off as flat and forgettable. re: thesaurus words--every editor I've ever spoken to hates these with a passion, and I've learned to hate them too. Sometimes you really need to reach for a fancy word because you're going for a specific effect or because no other word, flat out, will do. Most often though, writers use these to spruce up otherwise bland language, so it just looks badly out of place and lazy. Also: watch the head-hopping.
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Aug 26, 2013 09:21
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Submissions are closed. Gold stars all around. Barracuda, Accretionist, I want you in my office. Unknowing, Wash Clothes, I have no idea who you guys are.
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Aug 26, 2013 09:22
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gently caress Sleep--ReduxSitting Here posted:
gently caress, man. I had to re-read the last couple of paragraphs a few times to really understand what was happening--but not because it was confusing, or bad, or anything like that. It was just...drat thought-provoking. And really so. Originally I thought it was bullshit that she just randomly gets shot at the end, and then I thought about what she'd been saying, and it was just... (part of what tipped me off was the fuckin awesome usage of capital S there in your last sentence) This piece is at the point where I can't really think of anything I could say about it because it's so well-polished and, while a bit dense, it's rewardingly so--to where I'd easily read this were it a longer short-story or even a whole book. Great fuckin' job, seriously.
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Aug 26, 2013 09:52
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Sleep joke goes here:M. Propagandalf posted:
I'm not really sure what to make of this. Has a bit of a Brave New World kind of feel, but without the commentary. There was a lot of sterile detail (which perhaps you were going for) that kept me from really relating to the characters or their situation. I feel like a lot of the robotic dialogue could have been reworked to provide at least a somewhat more human connection to the characters. I know you were going for a certain effect, but you still want the reader to relate to your characters, at least on some level. I'll say this, though: the bit about her aiming the gun at him and him telling her his name and him saying "find out", was really great. That tiny bit was enough to make me at least a little disappointed that the story ended when it did.
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Aug 26, 2013 10:22
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Chillmatic posted:Overall this wasn't bad. My biggest complaint is that it looks as though you struggled with the dialogue in certain places and so left cliches and filler sprinkled throughout the entire piece. This kills any attempt you have at voice or drama, as the lines being said could have been said by anyone at any given time or place. That's what makes for good voice and for good dialogue--a given line that could have only ever been said by that particular character in that particular situation. Thanks a bunch for the crits, Chillmatic. I agree with you 100% on the head-hopping note; I realized after writing it that most of the second scene seemed to be coming from Dean Thornton's perspective and tried to correct it, but I don't think I went far enough. The smoking description was meant to show that Ted was somewhat uncomfortable with the whole hard-boiled lifestyle. On the same token, his flat bon mots at the end were an attempt to show that he had no clue what to do or say in a situation like that, but I realize saying that reeks of "MY STYLE!!" and there are likely more vivid ways to convey all that. Interestingly enough, a bunch of my favorite writers are big on/famous for interesting dialogue (the Coen brothers, Elmore Leonard, Tarantino) so I think I need to give myself some homework (in keeping with the week's theme)and study one of their screenplays/books.
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Aug 26, 2013 13:53
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Chillmatic posted:gently caress Sleep--Redux I feel so dumb about the title. It was indeed supposed to be facile. I swear to god there was no angry red spell-checker squiggly under it, so I don't know what to say for myself. At the risk of pissing off the TD elder gods, thanks for all the crits, Chillmatic.
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Aug 26, 2013 15:58
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 Thunderbrawl Results: Fumblemouse v. Sebmojo The Prompt: Erogenous Beef posted:Word Count: 750 words After carefully conferring with a most trusted advisor (myself) from the dubious luxury of the rearmost row of a 767, Sebmojo emerges victor without a drop of blood spattering his Kiwi keister, although he does smell faintly of patchouli and green tea. In-depth crits follow, along with reasonable reasonings: Fumblemouse posted:Puddles Fumblemouse, this entry was weak, like Puddles' poor puppy heart, and I think you know it. There's some odd turns of phrase and unnecessary bridging details that would've gotten caught in a more-extensive editorial pass. The deeper problem is that I'm not seeing a whole lot of emotion from Harrison; he brings his dog to a dogfight, pumps him full of puppy adrenaline and then runs into the ring when the dog's heart explodes. You've shown me the bloodsport scene without showing me the changes wrought by the bloodsport aside from the direct results of the match itself (i.e. dead Puddles), which is exactly the opposite of the prompt.  To be fair, I didn't see where it was going until later on; I thought the dog would simply lose instead of flopping down dead. That's a good twist, but I need some more context and emotive backing for it to have an impact. Harrison doesn't seem to have any regrets (or incentives!) for bringing his beloved pet (?) into a dangerous place. You hint that it's for money, but never explain why he needs it. Is it greed or need? A sentence or two setting this up as his last-ditch attempt at paying off a nasty debt would've sufficed there; it's a classic cliche story-starter, but it works. Harrison's utter lack of apparent motivation guts your character arc and is the primary reason you're going to lose this duel, and you've got a lot of hair hanging off the story - why is the girlfriend even mentioned? She doesn't seem to play a motivating role that we know of. The doggy doc is just there as a drug dispenser, we don't know why Harrison had to turn to him in the first place. You have some trouble portraying action in a fluid, tight manner. You puff up what should be "fast" sections with a lot of indirect sensory verbs, breathy phrases and run-on sentences. Fast action should use simple, short, choppy sentences. Characters have no time to think, only to act, because poo poo just got real. Stratospheric Saskatchewan Caesar gives Puddles the thumbs-down. sebmojo posted:Colin Agonistes On the whole, Sebmojo, this is strong; strong enough to take the win despite the extra time. The major deciding factor is both a better attention-hook and also better treatment of the character's emotive arc. We're seeing a snapshot of a greater thing that's hinted at, here, and that helps make the story feel bigger than its sub-600 wordcount. One weak bit - the main character never has any doubts. He goes in fearless, triumphs and wins. I'd like some moment of doubts in the locker room and in the ring. I need some tension, a bit of "can he make this work?" to help raise the stakes a bit - the man's new philosophy is being tested in the most visceral sense, and the struggle would sweeten the victory. The message seems to be less about faith in one's principles and more about finding a reasonable "third way" between principles and reality. Colin has to keep fighting (right? Could add one sentence or something here - in a longer story, I'd want some tangible reason for Colin to fight) and yet he also wants to be true to his enlightenment (and not just for the girl, right? Or is he just doing this for tits? Again, something to explore in a longer story, rightfully excluded here), so he forges a pseudo-Judo that means he takes no action and pulls off the ultimate Rope A Dope. Either way, faith or realpolitik, we need to see the belief tested as well as its triumph. Still, the atmosphere is clear, the characters are well-voiced. Colin the nonviolent Australian luchador gets a thumbs-up from Economy-Class Caesar. Erogenous Beef fucked around with this message at 22:49 on Aug 26, 2013 |
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Aug 26, 2013 22:47
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Good crits, thanks. Since I probably should have failed for submitting late, Fumblemouse can flash rule me next time I 'dome.
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Aug 26, 2013 23:40
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quote:Puddle's GAAAAH! Clearly attaining middle-management has lowered my IQ substantially. QED. Thanks for the crits, EB. Tough but fair.
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Aug 27, 2013 00:14
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Will try and do a few more of these through the evening. sebmojo posted:Colin Agonistes Overall I liked this piece and wished it was longer. (I know you had a low-ish word limit) We only get to see the results of Colin's enlightenment but no glimpse of his getting there, which I think I'd have liked. I especially liked the dialogue and thought it clipped along nicely until that line there at the end I already pointed out. Definitely a solid job, though.
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Aug 27, 2013 01:07
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Hey EBeef, if you have the time, could I request a crit of my entry for this week? In exchange, I'll do two flash rules of your choosing for my next dome entry.
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Aug 27, 2013 01:11
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Mercedes posted:Hey EBeef, if you have the time, could I request a crit of my entry for this week? In exchange, I'll do two flash rules of your choosing for my next dome entry. Request granted, but I make no promises as to when the goods will be delivered; I do not have a predetermined slab of Free Time before Saturday. If Critting Time arrives before then, it will be a luxury, and I may or may not be drunk.
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Aug 27, 2013 03:02
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Erogenous Beef posted:Request granted, but I make no promises as to when the goods will be delivered; I do not have a predetermined slab of Free Time before Saturday. If Critting Time arrives before then, it will be a luxury, and I may or may not be drunk. Drunk critting is best critting.
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Aug 27, 2013 03:05
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sebmojo posted:Drunk critting is the only critting.
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Aug 27, 2013 03:30
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 In case it's not obvious: Winner: Sitting Here Loser: Chillmatic [not because of flash rules] (Very Near) Loser: Mercedes [your writing is very very rude and I'm directing your case to a disciplinary officer] The Saddest Rhino fucked around with this message at 07:25 on Aug 27, 2013 |
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Aug 27, 2013 06:01
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Skyrim fanfic or Game of Thrones tribute? One way to find out:Schneider Heim posted:School: St. George's School For Monster-slaying and People-saving I'm trying to stay positive but this story was a bit tough to get through. It doesn't seem to go anywhere or have much of a theme. I understand it's these (teenagers?) going through dragon-slaying school or whatever, but it really felt like it wasn't a real place and the characters weren't real characters--mostly because of the flat dialogue and filler action sequences. It might help to visualize not only the scene in your mind before you try to write it, but also to think about your characters more and find out what they, and only they, would say at any given time. This will hopefully help you avoid that kind of placeholder dialogue in the future.
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Aug 27, 2013 07:05
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Mimes are people too. no, they really aren't.docbeard posted:The International Academy Of Practical Mime I'll admit that I have no idea what is happening there at the end. Marc prefers silence? He joined mime school to get away from people who talk too much? I don't know! What about his love interest? That didn't go anywhere. Did the teacher approve? Did he pass? You ended the story at a very awkward point, leaving no questions answered at all, which more or less makes this a sort of 'slice of life' exercise. Something like that is hard enough to pull off without dialogue, and so I think excluding it altogether might have handicapped you significantly. I think it's a cool idea to try something like this, and a mime school has a lot of interesting potential, but I feel like you tried to cover a little bit too much ground with too little space. That's a temptation I fully relate to and am often guilty of, but in something like this, I never even had a chance to attach myself or even know one single compelling character.
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Aug 27, 2013 12:20
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Chillmatic posted:I'm trying to stay positive but this story was a bit tough to get through. It doesn't seem to go anywhere or have much of a theme. I understand it's these (teenagers?) going through dragon-slaying school or whatever, but it really felt like it wasn't a real place and the characters weren't real characters--mostly because of the flat dialogue and filler action sequences. It might help to visualize not only the scene in your mind before you try to write it, but also to think about your characters more and find out what they, and only they, would say at any given time. This will hopefully help you avoid that kind of placeholder dialogue in the future. You know, I wasn't able to catch those problems with voice. Thanks for pointing that out.
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Aug 27, 2013 15:03
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So uh, I guess Rhino announced the winner and loser in his own special way. for those of you who are bad at reading his scribbles: Winner: Sitting Here HM: Nikaer Drekin Loser: Chillmatic DM: Mercedes ----------------------------------- Crits! Nikaer Drekin Overall this story is ok, but it needs a lot of work. The other judges liked it better than I did, although I didn't hate it. The idea is solid but the characters are mostly stock. This is because it's pretty much a parody, but you could do more with them. I really liked the Dean, his lines were my favorite. I liked the fact that he gave him a gun and told him to go be awesome. The ending was a little weak. I know he’s just still at the academy and is learning, but it would have been awesome if we saw him do something really hard-boiled like a girl walks up and says hi as she lights her cigarette, and he smiles because he knows what comes next, now that he’s a real badass. Also john’s letting him go was a little stilted and weird. that whole scene could be redone to better effect. Line-by-line: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NH-2fQIDvR9f6mwT7BDVHz8B_YbOXYWPDcjl2bpNvmo/edit?usp=sharing Grade: Straight streetlight-shining-through-slats. Chillmatic This academy was supposed to be weird and teach some sort of vocation. It seems like a normal correctional facility or alternative placement for bad kids, which actually exist. Furthermore her badness wasn’t really a source of anything other than for her to be smug and rebellious for no reason. she was really unlikable and didn’t have any redeeming qualities. You didn’t give us any reason to feel sorry for her, or to care about her at all. You gave us a lot of adjectives to describe her and the other lady, but not much else. The lady was a caricature of the “mean old headmistress.” You said in your prompt that this was a school to turn bad girls into bad ladies, but the headmistress directly defies that by being [cartoonishly] upset about the main character’s behavior. If you were going for subtlety or “hurr, the system just makes bad girls grow into bad women without fixing anything because the whole system is broke,” then you missed. AND WHERE WERE THE loving DRAG QUEENS? a lesbian != a drag queen. Also my google docs says this was 1520 words. I don’t know where that discrepancy came from, but it doesn’t usually lie. You wasted your scholarship. Also, 250 words of dialogue in 1490 words of story is ~19%, not 25%. It contained maybe 1 term used by drag queens. Part of thunderdome is following the rules, and making your story work around them. The other half is writing an interesting story. I see why you talk down on us so often, you failed to do either. Full Line-by-Line: https://docs.google.com/document/d/15QE-x70O8dQHZilmoEIiuxH67Qj7AqZ1PR2HbRmoK5Y/edit?usp=sharing Grade: A unfavorable double minus. Ah gently caress it, tack a third one on there. TRIPLE MINUS. Mercedes You are getting a better at a few things. Still, there were too many other things in this story that sucked and made this confusing as gently caress. You don’t have any dialogue attributions, and your voices aren’t distinct enough for me to know who the gently caress is talking about what. You use way too many “he” and “him”s to let me reasonably work things out. A few “Said Omar” or “Said Kenneth” would go a long way in making this more understandable. The middle part of your story is long, boring parkour porn. So vanilla. You should have really sold the polite parkouring here, with them jumping off of things and apologizing or like, fixing things as they jumped on them. picking up dropped groceries and flipping them into a bag or something. That would have been funny. right now it’s just bleh. The climax is confusing. who/why did they rob the bank? You could have set this up a little bit better. I see places where you tried, but it wasn’t enough. line-by-line: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1RduubMdBG8Xh1oPvaJJADkEmAtz-bNzMfmSIfv7o_ck/edit?usp=sharing grade: You will not win, and next time, you won’t give me a prediction at the beginning of your story. Docbeard This is another one that Seafood liked more than I did. Your story is pretty boring, sorry guy. There wasn't much practical miming either. There was only really philosophical miming. Practical means you can do things with it. What does Marc do with his miming abilities other than wax poetical or understand better? You would have needed to show him out in the real world landing a plane or directing traffic like a boss or some poo poo to make the school live up to its name. Luckily your story was a lot less confusing than the one about the salty water blood mouth guy (i still don’t know wtf). There wasn’t a bunch terribly horrible with this other than I didn’t want to keep reading it, so i didn’t give you a line-by-line because I didn’t feel it needed one. the problems were more thematic for me. Grade: If it looks like I’m walking down the stairs to gtfo of here…. Kaishai I don’t really have too much to say about yours. I don’t really feel like you succeeded in writing a very interesting story, although I can’t pinpoint exactly what is wrong with it. I think that I just felt like I’ve seen this before (somebody having to pull off this one thing, and is sabotaged and has to pull something amazing out of their rear end). You wrote it competently, but it’s competent drudgery for the most part. I was hoping for something a bit more amazing at the end. I feel like you tweaked the ending a bit and submitted this to a Christian lit journal they would accept it. Grade: Dim M. Propagandalf Your story is very dry. Like, it could have worked because it’s about truancy, and it would be funny to have a super serious organization that kills people and calls people by numbers dedicated to fighting truancy, but you don’t really work that practical application in at all. This is a story that has been done a lot: nameless people in a oppressive environment, the audience being slightly uneasy because it’s so foreign and alien. I don’t feel like you brought a lot of new ideas into this. You mostly rehashed the old ones. It felt more like a tribute to other stories/films rather than being your own creation. The prose was competent so I’m not going to give you a line by line. Grade: Antiseptic Chairchucker For 27 minutes, this is good. It made me lol several times. I think you aren’t hoping to win, because there wasn’t much of substance here, but meh, who cares. Grade: Waffletime Schneider Heim I wanted to like your story a lot more than I did. It has a lot going on, but unfortunately a lot of it didn’t belong in a short story. You spent way too much time describing this dragon fight, which wasn’t particularly interesting or illuminating about the other characters besides the one thing that I expected all along (for Sabrina to earn the good graces of another student). There are some particularly competent moments in here, but also a lot of things to improve on. I gave you a line-by-line here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1P5M06-WpXP7P9HwfyLk0lJjwGX-k1b35dJu9vU0tNa0/edit?usp=sharing Grade: You require additional damsels. Sitting Here: I’ll get back to yours later. I liked it, but I want to crit it with fresh eyes in a bit. crabrock fucked around with this message at 17:41 on Aug 27, 2013 |
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Aug 27, 2013 15:17
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Week 56 Everything that happens to us in our lives is the result of everything else that's happened to us in our lives. At any given moment, how you act and the choices you make are a keyhole view into all of the actions and choices of your past. And that's what I want this week. Keyhole views. You, dear writers, need to get to know a character in your head, then portray that character in a mundane situation that gives us some perspective on who they are. Maybe it's a sad clown, sans makeup, riding an airplane full of screaming kids. Maybe it's an exultant young lawyer-to-be who's just passed the bar exam who overhears a cynical judge talking in a bar. Et cetera. This is pretty open-ended, so here is what I'll be judging closest: *Dialog. Make it meaningful. *Economy of words. No fluff. Every sentence should do something. *Depth of characterization. Don't just tell me about your dude, put yourself in their shoes and empathize with them. *Heavy-handedness (or lack thereof). It's ok to tell us they're a clown or a lawyer or whatever, but the point of this prompt is to make me understand them through their actions and reactions throughout your story. *Meaning. This is flash fiction so we can only be so poignant, but try to infuse at least some modicum of understanding of the human condition into your story. Try to steer clear of scifi/fantasy, if only because I've noticed that those genres force you to pad out your word count with description of the setting, and that's not really what this week is about. I won't absolutely disallow it, but keep that in mind. Some of you are going to be compelled to describe, in detail, your character's morning routine, starting from when they wake up. Don't do that. Ok, go. That's all you get. Do with it what you will. Wordcount: 1000 Judges: Me, 'Mojo and whoever Signups due: Friday, August 30th at 11:59 PM PST Submissions due: Sunday, September 1st at 11:59 PST Contestants: crabrock CancerCakes Jeza Mercedes Jagermonster Anathema Device Lord windy Nikaer Drekin Fumblemouse Chairchucker Helsing Econosaurus Didja Redo Schneider Heim Sitting Here fucked around with this message at 02:06 on Aug 31, 2013 |
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Aug 27, 2013 17:08
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Schneider Heim posted:You know, I wasn't able to catch those problems with voice. Thanks for pointing that out. Believe me, I feel your pain. Voice is one of the most difficult things in all of writing to get 'right' (not that there's much objective truth to it--another reason it's so tricky). Every writer I know is constantly tweaking his/hers as they go, and especially as they progress to different stories. I know that I couldn't even imagine what it would feel like to think I'd gotten it exactly as I wanted it, forever. It bears repeating that the only thing I've found to be consistently true when talking about voice is that it absolutely must belong solely to those characters and to that story. Generic filler-phrases are story killers. And I've found that when I just can't get engaged in what I'm reading, this is often the reason why. A solid voice gives the reader a tangible reason to read your writing, specifically.
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Aug 27, 2013 17:15
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In. (Notice my economy of words. I have indicated that I would like to participate in the upcoming Thunderdome challenge with a single word. Now that's fresh.)
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Aug 27, 2013 17:35
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crabrock posted:In. (Notice my economy of words. I have indicated that I would like to participate in the upcoming Thunderdome challenge with a single word. Now that's fresh.)
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Aug 27, 2013 18:13
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"In," he said aloud. There is no translation for this word and perhaps it is just a noise such as a man might make, involuntarily, feeling the draw of the Thunderdome go through his veins and into his heart.
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Aug 27, 2013 18:31
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One of these days I'll not be the "almost loser." In. EBeef, you got some rules for me before I go working on this story? Mercedes fucked around with this message at 18:43 on Aug 27, 2013 |
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Aug 27, 2013 18:31
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In. Martello, call that Thunderbrawl between captaintastic and me.
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Aug 27, 2013 19:07
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In.
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Aug 27, 2013 21:15
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Mercedes posted:One of these days I'll not be the "almost loser." Work on your basics. This is a freeform prompt, so work on having a clear structure (inciting event, climax) surrounding a well-developed character. Tell you what, to help work on your style and structure: Flash Rule 1: You may not use any profanity or offensive slang anywhere in the piece, at all. This includes "nigga" and all variants thereof. Flash Rule 2: Your story will be structured into two scenes of roughly equal length. There's flex room there, so if you need 420 words in act 1 and 530 words in act 2, don't sweat it. Just make sure to obey the word limit. In the first scene, establish your character and a problem that challenges the character in some way. Both the character and problem should be clear within the first two paragraphs. By the end of the first act, the problem has forced the character to make a difficult decision that reveals some inner conflict about the character's morals or motivations. In the second scene, your character deals with the consequences of the decision at the end of the first act. The decision has backfired and made things harder on your character. By the end of this act (and your story), the character must face some sort of critical personal crisis - a conflict of motivation or ideals that forces them to make another, more difficult decision that leaves them a changed person. This decision should be somewhere in your final two paragraphs.
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Aug 27, 2013 21:38
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I want to give this a go, I am in.
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Aug 27, 2013 23:46
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Sitting Here posted:Judges: Me and whoever 'Sup.
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Aug 28, 2013 00:44
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I'm in again this week. Hoping to put a special emphasis on dialogue!
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Aug 28, 2013 00:45
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| # ? Dec 14, 2024 06:48 |
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Sebmojo and........drumroll................Chillmatic will be the arbiters of your destiny this week. Chillmatic is just positively chuffed after his inverted victory last round, so I'm sure he's all set to go nice and easy on everyone 
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Aug 28, 2013 02:17
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