SurreptitiousMuffin posted:
Redemption comes only at the end of a bloody pike. I shall engage with this.
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May 7, 2014 13:15
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I'm in. Also Muffin I'm up in Leadville for my job right now, I don't have access to my story. Can I get until I get back home today? I'll post anyways, I just had to work a triple shift because the rain had closed the yard down for a couple days.
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May 7, 2014 14:12
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leekster posted:I'm in. Ok small extension. You've got until I wake up tomorrow morning. It is currently 10pm.
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May 7, 2014 15:06
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These three DMs lay heavily on my heart. In for the brawl.
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May 7, 2014 17:14
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:
My last foray into the Thunderdome brought shame upon my family. In.
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May 7, 2014 17:21
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Thanks for the crits! Also, thanks for listing those tips. I'm sure I can get better if I just study hard, practice, edit more, and work on improving focus. I'm in. My gift will be humor (the non-lovely kind). Also, I'd like to squeeze in more practice by joining SurreptitiousMuffin's brawl. However, I'm going on vacay starting the 14th, so if that is before the deadline, don't sign me up.
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May 7, 2014 18:33
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I'm in, and  ed. My gift is an infection.
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May 7, 2014 19:10
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Gone Fishin' - 949 Clark tied the knot over again. This time he threaded it through the hook and the sinker, instead of just the hook. A stupid mistake that a first time fisher would make. Well this is my first time. He hid the guide he watched in between his legs so his son would not see that he needed help. “You fished on the weekends as a kid Dad?” Sam asked. “Yeah. Papa would drive me out first thing in the morning.” “Did it take this long to get ready?” “Not all the time.” Clark hoped he tied the knot right and looked up to his son. “You ready?” “Yeah!” Clark pulled his son into him and handed him the rod. He was going through what the website said on how to cast well in his mind. “Okay. So hold it out to the side. Now when you bring it forward flick your wrist!” Clark said. Sam readied his arm and waited for his dad’s go ahead. Clark nodded and Sam’s arm whipped forwards. The bright green lure soared skyward. Clark was just as happy as Sam to see it succeed. Clark knew something was wrong when it didn’t come down. The lure spun through the air and landed on the shore. “poo poo…” “Dad!” “Oh sorry bud,” Clark pulled Sam’s cap down over his eyes. “Dad.” “ What?” “You haven’t fished in a long time have you?” “Not like this.” “What do you mean?” “Nothing. Let me get the rod ready.” “Did you fish with spears? Like a caveman!” “No,” Clark said with a laugh. Clark turned his focus back to the rod. He was not able to focus because his thoughts of his first time fishing kept getting in the way of things. His mother had bought him a special outfit for it too. Waders, a pair of shaded glasses, and a wide brim hat complete with lures and rope around the edge. His father told him about the lake they were going to. How clear and blue it was, and that they were going to catch too many fish. Picking out a lure from the tackle box was an honor. He was stumped on which to pick, until he chose one that was made to look like a minnow. The fish would think it is their friend he thought. The day came when Papa woke Clark up to go. He rushed through getting dressed and ran to the car. His dad let him sit next to him today too. The beige truck set off for the country. Clark hardly looked out the window at the sights as they passed. All his effort watched the lure sway and bob in the backseat. Dreams of the giant fish he’d catch filled his head. “Why are we stopping?” Clark asked. “Gotta stop to get bait.” “Oh. Can I help?” “Nah. I’ll be out in a minute.” The car door slammed and Clark watched his dad walk into the building. He turned around in his seat and looked at the minnow. The glass eye stared back at him. Clark wondered why fish liked the lure so much. Was it the smell? The taste? The longer he looked at it the more he wanted to know why. He crawled back into the car to get a closer look. He tapped the minnow and watched it swing back and forth. Clark grabbed it and felt a prick. He screamed and let go. Blood dripped from the shallow scratch on his hand. The sight of blood made Clark scramble to get out of the car. He kicked and clawed at the door. Panic set in when he thought he was locked in. “Dad! Dad!” He wailed. The latch for the door was finally knocked loose and he bolted out the door. He ran headfirst into his dad. “Dad! The lure bit me!” Let me see,” And Papa brought up his hand to inspect the damage. “Ouch. I’ve got something to make it feel better though okay?” Papa brought out some ointment and a band aid. Softly he applied the ointment to the cut and stretched the band aid taut across. “Better?” Clark shook his head yes meekly. “Ready to go fishing?” “No I want to go home.” “Alright bud,” Papa said and shook his head. “Let’s go home.” When they got home his mother ran out to greet them “Did you catch any-” She looked at Clark’s hand. “What is that?” Clark was about to tell her that he grabbed a hook when Papa cut in. “Clark had a big one hooked. The rod was snapping back and forth. I thought the boat was going to tip for sure.” “Okay, what about his hand?” “I’m getting to that, hold on. So the boat was about to roll over and Clark was still going at this fish. The boat lurched back out of nowhere and this great shadow went above us.” Papa paused for a moment. “The biggest fish I have ever seen jumped over head. It was as big as the boat I think.” “His hand.” She didn’t have time for the story. “He cut it against the side of the boat when the line broke. It pushed him hard into the side. The cut is real small.” His mother rushed him inside. Clark looked back to his father and saw him give Clark a thumbs up as he got the rods out of the car. They never went fishing again. “Dad!” Sam yelled. “What?” “I’m cold. What is taking so long?” “Oh nothing. Just trying to think of how to tie this knot.” Sam looked away. “Fishing is stupid dad.” “You’re right son. Fishing is stupid.”
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May 7, 2014 23:01
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:
Kinky. Just reaffirming that I am most certainly in because nobody likes a coward.
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May 7, 2014 23:01
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Yeah my earlier post when I asked for an extension was an in for the loser royale also.
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May 7, 2014 23:10
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THUNDERDOME XCI - OUR FINEST HOUR CRITS Now there's probably going to be a fair amount of overlap between what I'm going to say here and what Djeser and Erogenous Beef have already gone over. But maybe if it's said often enough it'll sink in. Drunk Nerds - Circle of Death I'm just going to focus on some basic grammar here. Both Djeser and Erogenous Beef mentioned the said-bookism issue, which is a shame because it's basically what I was going to go on about. It's a stage a lot of writers go through (I certainly did) - you don't want to repeat words, because repetition is bad, so you come up with as many synonyms for 'said' as possible, so you don't have to use it more than once. Here's the secret, though: 'said' isn't a word. It's basically filler - your average reader isn't even going to notice it's there. But change it to some other, weirder verb - 'ejaculated', say, if you're trying to be Conan Doyle - and now it draws attention to itself and just gets in the way. Do you want your writing to get in the way of what you're trying to say? And please, please don't run your dialogue and actions together into a single sentence. You can say words, or you can screech them or declare them or whatever if you really want. But you can't shrug or plop or blink them. Actions and dialogue are separate. Keep them that way. Entenzahn - Gambit I actually rather liked the start of your entry this week. It was well written, and I thought the dialogue rang true. The second scene threw me, though. I was on board with a story about saying one's farewells and moving on, or the like, but the memory wipe aspect kind of came out of nowhere. TBH, the two scenes felt rather disconnected, and either one could have stood on its own without the other with no great loss. Focus on one, or integrate them better with one another. Meeple - Prophecy Now the main note I've made here is that the core premise was kind of interesting, but you could have got that across in far fewer words, and thus freed up more space to expand on it. Beef mentioned this: this story could really benefit from more details about Michael's work or the machine, or more importantly about Michael himself. Who is he? Why does he want this breakthrough? Make us feel like this discovery is actually important first, and then take it away. leekster - Last Ride I wasn't entirely clear on what was wrong with Cecil here - he falls and messes up his hip, and then he's dying, and then he stands up and actually dies? I did enjoy the rhythm of your final scene - back and forth between short, snappy paragraphs and longer ones - but I wasn't entirely clear on what the significance of his final gesture was. It may have worked better if the relatives (and their relationships with him) had been fleshed out a bit more beforehand. Also, please use more commas in dialogue. Use them to denote pauses, and mark the breaks between one clause and the next. A sentence like "Cecil I'll be back in a moment okay sweetie?" just makes me think the nurse is blurting everything out in one mouthful. Starter Wiggin - Say Cheese This was decently written, but I'm not entirely sure I understood the point. Recreating every photo you've been in - making your son relive your life - is a very odd thing to do, and for most of the story I assumed it was just going to be an excuse for father and son to spend time together. The ending ("now he wouldn't make the same mistakes I did") didn't really tie it together for me the way it needed to. I finished reading feeling more puzzled than anything. Bushido Brown - Persistence Your language here felt like it was half way between normal prose and the sort of slightly unnatural style you get in fables or myths, probably at least in part because of the lack of proper names. I could see it working well if you swung even more towards the latter, assuming that was the intent in the first place. The kill could definitely have been emphasised more. As it is, it comes in the middle of a paragraph and you just breeze past it like it's any other action. Give it more space! End the scene with it or at least give it a paragraph of its own or something. I was quite impressed by the Hunter's ability to see the lungs in all things. dmboogie - Larger than Life on the Burning Screen The first impression I got here was that your setting was really rather bare. We start in a "featureless corridor" and then move into a "deserted room". The guard is carrying a "gun" (no details given), and the two protagonists have a "device" and a "tool". It comes across very shallow, like you've decided that your setting is "sci-fi" without putting any more thought into it than that. I'm not saying I want five hundred words of scene-setting or for you to describe every wall in excruciating detail, but as it stands there isn't really a hint of depth here, and that's off-putting. Both Djeser and Beef have mentioned this already, but I'll reiterate it: there's a lot of dialogue here, and it really doesn't add anything. It's just filler. You could get across a lot more information in the same number of words. WeLandedOnTheMoon! - Henry: Portrait of a Goon From about the halfway mark here I was convinced this was a troll entry. The core idea actually isn't wholly irredeemable - "unbalanced guy projects a relationship onto something that can't reciprocate" could be done in a nicely unsettling way - but you swamped it in a barrage of oh-look-at-this-goon-isn't-he-gross jokes until there was nothing else left. The humour absolutely doesn't work here, and it obscures whatever else you might have wanted to do with this. Nethilia - Friend of Mine I had to go and look up the lyrics of the song here. That's a bad thing to have to do during the climax of your story. When I did it turned out that the woman who'd had her boyfriend stolen was singing a song about having your boyfriend stolen to the woman who stole her boyfriend? I didn't really feel like that was an interesting way to conclude it. The dialogue all seemed rather... straightforward. It told me that Whitney had broken up with Theo, and that the other women were very supportive of her, but it never really gave me any handle on the characters. Jess and Colleen are basically interchangeable. As already pointed out, you could drop one of them and lose nothing. Tyrannosaurus - Aloha From the start here I was worried I'd be put off by, "isn't it hard being good at things?" Well, suffice to say I wasn't. Your characters were likeable, I enjoyed the relationship and rapport between them, and it was just an easy read. This wasn't a difficult choice for winner. More to come later.
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May 7, 2014 23:30
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Alright you worthless feckless do-nothing babbies, mama's squeezing herself back into the judging chair and my gift to you is: stories about ultimate, embarrassing defeat becoming a cathartic triumph (if only in the eyes of the protagonist)
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May 8, 2014 00:13
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Chairchucker posted:1131 words and no title screw you. SCREW YOU Not much to say because I never feel like you take this very seriously so I dunno if saying stuff will change anything about how you write, but why bring up the date stuff and make this mystery of HOW WILL IT BE PERFECT?! and then not resolve it? that's kinda mean. also I feel like it's just too much [little problem] [easy solution] over and over. probably on purpose, but a little too many dude/mans for me. got really distracting. also you use the wrong form of there. Just thought I should point that out again.
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May 8, 2014 03:18
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MY SUBMISSION FOR THE BRAWL VS SEBMOJO WHICH MUFFIN IS JUDGING Seb, I hope that you are waiting until the last minute to post. I want a good fight, you piker. Here is my submission for the brawl: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1FzHWK7o2CmYAd2CtDqpuMyLwDAkGahJxMDaQFi9SBx0/edit
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May 8, 2014 04:16
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 Systran BrawlThe smell of home 1550 words Jann was perched on the rounded roof of the chapel, long legs up around her ears, watching for wolves and waiting for Fathermother to call her down to help him with the steelfoam harvest when she saw the stranger. At first Jann thought it was an icefall, common enough when the morning sun heated the high seracs. She squinted her eye at the little yellow cloud on the magenta hill of ice that soared above the farm. The blotch grew limbs, became a shape. Not a wolf shape. A person shape. Their farm was up by the mountains, huddled close in where the good people didn’t go, by a lake that had been mined dry of sulphur long ago; there were deep scars on the lake shore where the townsfolk's lobsters had come to suck it up with their great cavitating funnels. Further round the ravaged lakeside Jann could already see the gleaming lumps of new-sprouted foam glinting in the red sun. But there was yet no sign yet of Fathermother and the brood; she would probably have time to investigate. She unfolded her legs and scuttled down the side of the church, landing in a puff of orange dust. Her claws scrabbled at the ice on the long slope for a moment then settled into a steady canter. The air was cold and tight with ammonia; she relished the soughing through her spiracles as she bounded off a rise and clattered up the incline past the barn, that rose a thousand steps up to the shape she had seen. When she got there, the stranger was a crumpled pile of limbs, collapsed an arm’s stretch away from the fissure in the ice he – yes, he, Jann could see the headridges -- had crawled out of. Jann came to a halt, struck by sudden uncertainty, and looked back at the farm. Fathermother was still inside the long low circle of the farmhouse; must have lost one of the brood down a feed pipe again, she thought. The bad people lived over the icewall with bad smells, went the stories. Worse than wolves. Worse than anything. Utkind, Fathermother said. Jann clacked her beak. Enough maundering. She slipped her hand torch out of its belt-loop and flicked the igniter, then took a careful step forward, the yellow-green flame casting dancing lights on the purple ice. Close up the man was handsome, a fine curve to his thorax, but dishevelled. He had a strange metal harness covered in deep scratches and something that looked like writing. Jann craned her neck to look closer then stiffened as she caught a whiff of the man’s smell. It smelt of blood, and fighting, and murder. Jann’s forearm tensed without conscious input and the hand torch she was clutching sent out a bright gout of flame. “GAH!” screamed the man, his eye flicking open. He scrabbled at the ice and tried to run, but lost his footing and slipped, hitting his head on the ice. He slid down the slope, until Jann stopped him with an outstretched leg. Jann had never seen an utkind before. He looked a little like Fathermother before her change, before the wolf attack that took their last Fathermother. Feeling wicked, she bent down and took a deep breath of the man’s smell. It was strange, and different, but not bad. A sudden intuition made her look back down towards the farm, in time to see the brood scampering out of the house. Fathermother would be behind them. And if he found the stranger he would … what? Utkind. Worse than wolves, they said. Before she knew it Jann was dragging the stranger back towards the crevice from which he’d stumbled. She settled the man in a hollow where red snow had collected. There was a lump of steelfoam in her belt pouch and she put it on the ground by his claw. “I’ll come back when I can,” Jann said. “Stay here. I’ll come back. You’ll be… Just stay here.” The harvest had already started when Jann got back, the brood bounding and bouncing over the lakeside field, nudging bits of steelfoam out of the ice. Fathermother waited massively in the center by the foam hopper, clicking at the children when they became too boisterous. He swung his head around to Jann. “I saw something up by the ice. A, a wolf, maybe. I thought it was, but it wasn’t.” “You should be more careful,” Fathermother rumbled. “Call me next time and we will go together.” As always she heard it in her spiracles, a smell and a sound that said home. Jann bowed her head and scooped up a piece of foam to toss it into the hopper. That night Jann took a sack of foam from the hopper and ducked through the door flap. There was a sharp tang of methane in the air, probably one of the autumn storms coming through over the mountains. The harvest had gone well, and Jann rationalised as she walked – there was plenty of foam for the brood, it would not miss the sack he was carrying. And tomorrow the stranger could leave, after Jann had asked him about all the things that happened in other places and what other people were like and how everything was that wasn’t here. Jann flicked on the hand torch a few steps from the cave and called out softly. “Hello? Hello? Do you speak like a person?” There was a skritch of claws on the inside and the stranger’s head appeared, his eye whirling in the bright light. “You. I thought I dreamed you and your flame.” His voice was slow and deep, like something liquid trickling over old stones. Jann tilted her head in acknowledgement, then tossed the sack of steelfoam with her forelimb. It landed near the stranger and Jann saw the man sniff at it through scarred chest spiracles. “That is very kind, young fellow. You are young, yes? And does your Fathermother know of your dealings with strange-smelling utkind?” Jann took a step closer and gripped his hand torch. “No,” she said. “He would be angry but I would say you were not utkind because you are no wolf. But there are wolves here sometimes so you cannot stay. Also because… You cannot.” The man reached down jerkily for the sack, plucked out a piece and chewed it carefully. “I am Harl. And I will not trouble you for long, but my news is bad. The wolves are behind me – many, many -- and will be upon you by the night tomorrow.” Jann crouched in dismay. “But this is not their season, why should –“ Harl pointed back into the fissure. “Through there, beyond the tunnel, beyond the mountains. The wolves have held a parliament, a new thing, and they have chosen that we should die. I come as a messenger, but my hope is small; I expect that I shall meet a Fathermother and he will dislike my smell and so I will die. But I must try. And if I can find enough of the –“ Harl stopped. His head flicked up behind Jann. “Utkind.” Jann heard the voice, the sound of home, behind him. Fathermother loomed over his head, encrustations of edged chitin gleaming in the yellow-green torchlight. Harl let his sack drop, held up his forelimbs. “Smell me not, guardian. I pass through only. Your brood can give you the truth of it. There is a –“ A scrabbling came from the crevice in which he stood and Harl pitched forward in a clatter of limbs, bowled over by the biggest wolf Jann had seen. It coiled itself up, a tangle of writhing feelers and spines and bounded over Jann’s head, colliding with Fathermother in a snarl of scythe-toothed rage. Its pincer beaks stabbed and slashed deep into his spiracles before Fathermother plucked it off and slammed it into the ice, once, twice, three times. Jann scuttled across the gore-slick ice and jammed her handlight into its skull and pulled the trigger until it was dead. She looked up from the flames, breathing deep. Fathermother was shaking, juddering, trying to reach Harl with his claws. “Utkind,” his voice thrummed. “Utkind.” His chest was ripped open, wet ichor coating the ground. Jann reached out to touch the ravaged armour, then shuddered as a puff of smell came out, a smell that said protect, that said change, that said follow. She felt it coil through her spiracles, take root in parts of herself she didn’t even know had been there all along. She looked at Harl, who was clambering to his feet, and knew that home was not a farm or a dry lake or a single brood. Home was them. Home was all of them. “Back to the farm,” husked Jann “Then, tomorrow, downwards to the lowlands and the cities. We will walk during the day and hide at night.” Harl stepped gingerly around Fathermother’s corpse, gathering up the sack as he passed. “You think they will listen to us?” Jann fumbled the torch back into his belt. She could feel the change happening already, her mind was fogging and reforming like the clouds that wove themselves over the mountains on windy days when the storms were rising. “I will make them. Or the wolves will do it for us.” sebmojo fucked around with this message at 10:36 on Jun 1, 2014 |
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May 8, 2014 07:05
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WHO IS THE BIGGEST LOSER? PHOBIA VS. MEINBERG As most of the IRC channel know, I love dogs. They are the best animal. They are adorable but also cool. The PoV character in your story is a dog. Not a super-smart dog or a furry dog or some dog that's basically a human with ears and a tail, but an actual dog. The dog helps a bunch of people in some way and is a big hero. Winner is the person who can make me smile the most. 1000 words Deadline: 11:59pm Thursday 22nd Singapore time. HOCUS POCUS VS. LEEKSTER I finally got around to watching season 1 of the X-Files last month and it's pretty ok. I want you to write a murder-mystery involving some arcane element of American folklore e.g. Men In Black, Bigfoot, Numbers Stations. 1000 words Deadline: 11:59pm Thursday 15th Singapore time. DMBOOGIE VS. PSEUDOSCORPION Goon Love Is The Worst Love, and the only people who will go on dates with me are not real. Write a paranormal romance, but with a non-standard paranormal beastie. That means no vampires, no werewolves, no angels: none of the usual poo poo that springs to mind when you hear "paranormal romance". The weirder your love-interest is, the better. Don't be gross tho k? 1000 words Deadline: 11:59pm Thursday 15th Singapore time. SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at 14:38 on May 8, 2014 |
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May 8, 2014 10:45
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IN OTHER WORLDS: SYSTRAN VS. MOJO RESULTS Well drat, this is actually pretty difficult. I like what both of you wrote and you both screwed up in equally annoying ways that detract from the story but don't ruin it. Crits: Systran - Striate the Stream I'm reminded a lot of the Radix Tetrad, which is a mixed blessing: I love the world and the language but it tends to waffle a lot before it gets to the found. The language was nice, the world was convincing and there was a nice little plot arc there. Not as much as I'd like for 1800 words, but not as bad as it could've been. My big issue with yours overall was that you didn't follow the prompt as well as Mojo. It felt like Arc of the Dream meets The Left Hand of Darkness, which are cool books to slam together, but not as original or weird as I'd have liked. Apart from the voluntary hermaphrodite thing (which was coo'), it was basically a bunch of space hippies dropping space acid and sharing lots of hairy free space love. It's got nice emotional guts though, and it manages to deal with sex in a sci-fi story in a way that's not creepy, which is pretty legit. I've said in the past that being emotional in your stories is something you struggle with, so it's cool to see some solid growth there. YOUR SIN: NOT WEIRD ENOUGH Sebmojo - The Smell of Home It's kind of funny that both of you did hermaphrodite things using slammed-together names. DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT = STEAL FROM URSULA LE GUIN I guess. Despite that, world is very cool, language is gorgeous, and it is indeed the sort of totally-alien place that I was looking for. You followed the prompt better than Systran but I feel like your arc was less fulfilling and you probably could've slowed things down a bit more, both for the sake of clarity and also to give the thing some more emotional guts. The only reaction to FatherMotherSisterBrother we get is fear, so they just seem like kind of a dick and their death doesn't hit as hard as it could. Furthermore, I have no idea what Utkind or Wolves are. From how they were written both of them felt like different species of human, I guess? The utkind are medieval knights and the wolves are like barbarian dudes or something? Or are they just literal wolves? Super evolved wolves in the same way that our dudes are super evolved lobsters? It would've only taken a sentence's solid physical description for each and by neglecting that, you dropped down the ladder a little. In a normal story we could take for granted that 'wolves' are wolves, but your story is so weird that we can't make those sort of assumptions. YOUR SIN: NOT CLEAR ENOUGH ---   It's close. It's kind of killing me how close it is. They were both good stories with little things letting them down: Systran wrote a better story but Mojo followed the prompt far more successfully. At the end of the day though, we're a storytelling thread, not a "do exactly what the boss says" club, so I'm giving the win by a hair to Systran.  --- NEXT UP IN BRAWL THEATRE: GAMINGO VS. LEEKSTER
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May 8, 2014 14:11
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Having attacked Gamingo with a carving knife, it's only fair that I get just as histrionically angry at Leekster.quote:Gone Fishin' - 949 SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICSUCKMYCOCKPRETENTIOUS: RICHARDGAMINGO VS. LEEKSTER RESULTS RichardGamingo You could tell decent stories if you weren't too busy sucking your own cock about how very clever you are, and burying all the important information six-feet deep in terrible metaphors and overwrought dialogue. I honestly had no idea what your story was about until somebody explained it to me. Was there a witch? Two witches? Something about a chase? I thought it was about an old lady on a boat, then there was a storm, then the storm tipped the boat over for no apparently reason. Important plot points need to be clear and the best way to do that is by keeping them simple. Go read Hemingway and learn something about elegance. You failed horribly at the prompt: you didn't even try at all. I'm not sure you even read it. I'm willing to tolerate a certain amount of flexibility, but I at least need to see how you got from the prompt to your story and I can't see that at all here. You've got a nice amount of description, but you need to focus more on the useful stuff before you leap onto the weird stuff. Before you dive into the big weird pool, build yourself a decent ladder out of concrete details. Otherwise you'll drown and just like your video games, everybody will be laughing at you. YOUR SIN: ARROGANCE Leekster Man I feel like I've been chewing on powdered sugar and drywall. I had real trouble getting angry, in the same way I can't really get angry at beige carpeting. At least Gamingo had some colour, even if it was a ridiculous mess of all the paint pots that just ended up brown. What little detail there actually is here is saccharine cliched crap. There's a robot dad and a robot son and they're fishing for robot fish in a lake of WD40 while screaming INPUT ERROR FEELINGS FEELINGS FEELINGS at each other in their horrible screeching robot voices. There's almost no physical description of anything at all. It's just these big screeds of unattributed dialogue. The moments were you do shine are the quiet ones in between but there's so loving few of them. I feel like I've said this a million times in the 'dome, but dialogue is not enough to hang a story off. Unattributed dialogue is particularly bad and you've got so drat much of it. Actions speak louder than words, and the things your people do are far more important than the things your people say. The story is a little cliche, but if you'd focused more on the little physical movements and interactions between father and son, you'd have made a lot more emotional engagement from the reader and overall a much better story. You followed the prompt well so have a cookie. YOUR SIN: BEING BORING ---   I'm willing to give a certain amount of flexibility on the prompt, otherwise Systran woulda been totally hosed, but there's a limit. Had Gamingo written a far superior story he probably could've gotten away with it but his was a muddy, poorly-edited mess. Leekster's was a dull, mechanical stroll through fatherson bonding land that was completely devoid of originality or merit but it was coherent. Dammit Gamingo, I wanted to believe in you but I'm gonna have to give this one to Leekster.  --- SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at 15:28 on May 8, 2014 |
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May 8, 2014 15:13
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. He screamed and let go. Blood dripped from the shallow scratch on his hand.
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I'm in for the party. Here, I brought some pride. I'll just put it on the table over there.
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May 8, 2014 18:02
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Was fun, thanks for the feedback.
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May 8, 2014 19:09
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Out for this week, it's not gonna happen.
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May 8, 2014 19:30
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Some Guy TT posted:Essay Question (1128 words) Look, I'm just gonna be straight up honest with you: I hate this story. The format is some weird gimmick that is NOT enjoyable, and underneath that gimmick lies a really bad story, if you can call it that. Lets break some poo poo down: The whole premise of this story is bullshit. Universities would not pair a aunt and niece together for admissions decisions. That poo poo is like, super crazy complex and political. In reality, the aunt would just bribe another admissions person to let her niece in. But whatever. This whole "story" just feels like you ranting about the "system, man." You pontificate so many different ideas and slander so many other things that it just feels like a preachy pile of bullshit, with how you ~really feel~ at the center. It feels like a giant joke. You're writing for a prompt to be read by cynical judges, and write a story about somebody reading a story from a prompt and being a cynical judge. If your goal was to like, stick it to us, uh, good job I guess? What is the purpose of this story? Lisa's motivation seems to be "READ THIS DUMB ESSAY." There's no real goal here. There's no internal conflict, she just rants the whole time. There's no real resolution even. "Oh hey, this is my niece's... yeah, it's ok. i wonder why she was so sad about her grandma dying. whatever *gets drunk*. I wanted to DM this real bad like. crabrock fucked around with this message at 19:34 on May 8, 2014 |
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May 8, 2014 19:32
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anyway, this girl's whole essay is super short when you put it all together.
"
" If Alyssa had followed Lisa's instructions perfectly...this was exactly the kind of essay she should have written. huh?
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Loner Brawl Over at the archive, we have a weird springy chart that connects all the brawls. There is a giant mass of mess surrounding sebmojo the indiscriminate brawler, but there are also a few loners floating around the outside.  THIS MAKES ME ANGRY. I would like to smush at least 2 of them together, if not more. So I'm judging a brawl between 2 winners of loner brawls. First two to sign up get the slots. If this works out, I'll do another, until all them people is smashed together. Eligible People: Lake Jucas Mister Morn HiddenGecko Symptomless Coma Gau CantDecideOnAName The News at 5 Pseudosscorpian Brawlers: 1) Lake Jucas 2) Prompt: After you sign up, I'll enter the prompt in here: BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE I will also judge a brawl between two of the losers of the loner brawls. Eligible People: Iroel Starter Wiggin Crab Destroyer Etherwind Thalamas Radioactive Bears (lol) Bitchtits McGee (lol) inthesto QuoProQuid RunningIntoWalls IT'S ON Brawlers: 1) Starter Wiggin 2) Thalamas Prompt: Oh two sad, sad losers. Write me a story where somebody is lost and alone. Your story CANNOT have more than one character. Just a dude/lady by themselves. Think Hatchet, but fewer(or more?) moose. The caveat is, they need to be lost in a place people don't normally get lost at. So no woods, or artic tundras. Somewhere real mundane, but I still want them to feel lost and alone. Write it well enough, and you shall have a win on your brawl record. Word Limit: 1350 words Deadline: Saturday, May 17th, High Noon EST crabrock fucked around with this message at 07:49 on May 10, 2014 |
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May 8, 2014 23:09
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remember when cantdecideonaname and inthesto fell in love, brawled each other, and disappeared forever?
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May 8, 2014 23:25
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systran posted:remember when cantdecideonaname and inthesto fell in love, brawled each other, and disappeared forever? remember when etherwind was etherwind
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May 8, 2014 23:44
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systran posted:remember when cantdecideonaname and inthesto fell in love, brawled each other, and disappeared forever? Aye, simpler times.
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May 9, 2014 00:35
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sebmojo posted:remember when etherwind was etherwind Is etherwind as famous here as he was in TG?
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May 9, 2014 04:35
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As a shameful brawl loser, I'm in.
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May 9, 2014 05:14
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IN this week, and I'm offering a cross stitch pattern.
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May 9, 2014 07:35
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Tyrannosaurus posted:
I'm in with hands.
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May 9, 2014 13:53
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I'm in for this week, as I clearly have a lot of improving to do. I bring technology indistinguishable from magic, or possibly the other way around. These things get a bit hazy, y'know.
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May 9, 2014 14:11
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Meeple posted:I'm in for this week, as I clearly have a lot of improving to do. Oh, Clarke's Laws... interesting. I may consider taking this one, but I'm not committing to it yet. quote:Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from Magyk."
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May 9, 2014 14:57
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crabrock posted:
I am in. I'd love to brawl HiddenGecko since I know the guy. Let's see if he will rear his ugly mug in here.
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May 9, 2014 16:20
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These brawls seem really fun. Does anyone want to brawl me? I'll bring my "A" game.
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May 9, 2014 16:38
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Lake Jucas posted:I am in. I'd love to brawl HiddenGecko since I know the guy. Let's see if he will rear his ugly mug in here. That'd be awesome, because I'd given up all hope of getting them connected to anybody.
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May 9, 2014 18:14
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This is probably my first ever foray into non-lurker goondom. Hi! My offering: a society founded with good intentions that ultimately became dystopian. I'm in... as I gaze doe-eyed at the incoming blows.
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May 9, 2014 21:12
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I am coming to this house party with a big rear end helping of coal mining and I will also be bumming some pride from Djinn because gently caress you that's why.
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May 9, 2014 21:20
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Really? No one has the guts, the chutzpah to brawl me? Anyway, I read earlier that we lose 300 words if we preface our story with a bunch of other stuff, but I think it's worth it for me to lose the words in this case. I wrote this story based on some conversations I had earlier in the day. I had made decisions about how I should talk to my kids about drug abuse that were--and this is difficult to admit--short-sighted and not really well thought out. So writing this story was my way of really internalizing what I learned, and to show how bad things could get if I take such a hard-line and inflexible approach toward drugs (or really anything difficult that kids have to deal with growing up and going out into the world) with my kids. So yeah, I am not adding this preface to "justify my story," but just in case any other parents in here are thinking about how to broach difficult topics with their kids and want to open up some kind of dialogue (which we could do in another thread, not here, obviously). With that said, here is my story: quote:Dare To Be A Better Father - 565 Words
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May 9, 2014 21:23
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Did somebody bring a bunch of stupid pills to the party? Don't introduce your loving story. You can tell me your title, your wordcount, and the poo poo you used. Anything else is just wasting my time. gently caress.
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May 9, 2014 21:57
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Cache Cab so are you performance art or what?
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May 9, 2014 22:08
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