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I'll do that anyways.
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Dec 12, 2012 04:03
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| # ¿ Apr 19, 2024 04:32 |
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I actually read that specific article after I wrote it. Monsanto has been doing that sort of stuff for years though. As I see it, the comedy of the piece isn't so much the guy himself so much as it is the necessity for some sort of Free Market Stockholm Syndrome for his willing response to be justified. Instead of an angry farmer mad about city boys stealing his land, it's a calm and reasoned "well they won it fair and square" approach. That and the fact that I can see that specific line of thought, along with the mannersisms and look of the guy, getting skewered on some Facebook video and remixed into thousands of memes. I was specifically trying to get it across that he's an okay guy not trying to raise a fuss that is getting hosed over at both ends.
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Dec 12, 2012 06:12
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Gender's a construct anyways. Should be as easy as changing a name.
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Dec 14, 2012 10:42
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Ended up getting called in to work at 5:30am. Them's the breaks. Edit: Though I'll get around to finishing the two up at some point, since I like what I have so far.
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Dec 16, 2012 02:24
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I actually have some days off this week so why not?
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Dec 17, 2012 08:57
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Sitting Here posted:Ps no Californians allowed Why I ought'a!
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Dec 20, 2012 08:26
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Ought'a write. Where's the liquor emoticon.
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Dec 20, 2012 08:43
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Scheduling (999 words, inc. title. Card is Death.) Seth sat underneath a ratty beige umbrella in front of the Saltwater Cafe, picking lint off of his tweed slacks. He was ignoring the seagulls waiting for low tide, and the salty air was doing bad things to his coffee. He checked his cell phone. He'd texted his secretary minutes ago to have her find out where Mark was. They were both taking forever. He adjusted his jacket collar and let his hand slide down to his hip. He patted the spot over the interior pocket that held the taser that he was going to use to kill Mark. It was still there, with fresh batteries. He looked down the boardwalk, knowing it was going to happen right over the horizon. The cartridge had been removed (actually, he'd never even loaded it in.), so he wouldn't leave any marks. He'd grinned at this little play on words as he'd thought of it. His mood was improving even as the sky grew more overcast and millions of dying organisms and swooping birds stunk up the air and drove tourists away. He pitied the cafe owner. His phone buzzed against the glass of the table, and he read the screen: "his secretary says hes on his way". Good enough. Better than last week, when he "got lost" and "decided to call it off." Now it would just be a glass of wine or two with Mark while talking up the business opportunity, walking him down to the end of the decaying pier he'd scoped out a month prior, tazing him into submission and throwing him under the dock. Quick, efficient, and no mess. Levity was spreading through him as the tainted coffee warmed him up. He spun his phone on the table, almost allowing himself to admire the attempt at decor the cafe had made. Old foreign coins were pressed into a layer of acrylic underneath the glass of the table, giving off the air of commerce and the shipping trade that had caused the town to spring up some hundred years or so ago. The dates stamped into the coinage reflected this. Seth's plan to kill Mark had evolved over the course of several weeks, after Mark had indicated that he needed to be killed. Associates in the same loose group of young realty professionals, they'd agreed to pool resources on projects to woo clients on a career-making deal. Seth ran the numbers, massaged the papers, and tightened the knots, while Mark merely put a friendly face on the duo's work. They'd worked well together. Unfortunately, Mark had allowed himself to think he was the authority in the partnership. He had changed the timetable without Seth's knowledge. Mark closed the deal when Seth was, through no accident, absent from the most important meeting of his life. Mark was hired on to a job he hadn't even worked for, and had graciously allowed Seth to be a part-time consultant. No office, no title, no cigar lounge or parties. Even his secretary was hired on Craigslist. Things could not be allowed to stay this way. Seth looked up at a seagull circling close, and began to see why someone would allow themselves to sit underneath such a disgusting umbrella. And then Mark appeared underneath the bird's menacing swoops. "Sorry it took so long, I can't tell if was your secretary or mine that screwed up the address. I ended up taking the cable car up and down the waterfront twice before I figured it out." Seth nodded, masking how keenly aware he was of Mark's deflection. If a man can't be punctual, what good is he? Seth had told Mark that before, when Mark blamed one of their secretaries for ruining the meeting for him. Mark was always shifting his weakness onto others, Seth knew. He signalled to a waiter. "Two of the house red, please. And some breadsticks." Within moments these were served, and the two set to idle conversation between long, practiced sips. The breadsticks attracted attention from the seagulls, since neither were eating them. "Man, I'd hate to own this place." Mark said. "How often does the water do this? Once a day, right?" "Twice." Seth said. "Right, like a broken clock." Seth hid rolling his eyes by feigning interest in swishing the tepid, salty wine around his mouth for a second. He patted his hip again, savoring the weight there. Mark was tapping on the table, which Seth soon realized was being done with the intent to grab attention instead of idle noisemaking. "This coin here, that's an 1820 twenty-drachma coin. It's Greek." Mark said. He was lowering his head to the table, eying it. "Yeah? And?" "It's in good condition. I think it might be worth something." Seth stood up in horror as Mark got down on his knees to pry the coin off the bottom of the table. He produced a small black knife of faux-military style and had begun chiselling away. Seth positioned himself between Mark and the door, just to make sure no cops were called. The sharp noise of the coin falling heralded Mark hitting his head on the table as he stood. He'd only tipped it slightly, but once the weight of the umbrella came into play, it dragged the rest of the metal and glass and Mark down with it. Shards were sticking to Mark's head and throat while blood and coins were spilling out onto the sidewalk. Seagulls converged as the breadsticks hit the ground. Seth glanced at his cellphone, which had just buzzed: "his secretary says hes taking the trolly".
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Dec 22, 2012 14:11
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I'm gonna do a few minor critiques since I think this prompt really got some oozes flowing from my fellow bloodletters.Chairchucker posted:
I'd've liked this a lot more if there were a stronger sense of blocking, since I was picturing generic throne room on-top-of-Olympus with clouds and poo poo until the rock showed up and then I wasn't so sure. If you were intending a sort of spaceless quality to it, I feel like you'd need to play up the awkward waiting gestures, watch-checking and all, a bunch more. twinkle cave posted:TWO OF CUPS WHICH IS IT?
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Dec 23, 2012 07:26
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We've tossed the anthology idea around before, with no real resolutions made.Capntastic posted:If this does happen, there's a lot of logistical problems that crop up as soon as money gets involved. Especially if the only people being featured in the thing are "Winners", which seems like a precarious barrier to entry, even if it is thematically appropriate. I'd still be up for throwing stories o' mine into the ring.
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Dec 24, 2012 04:24
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On the subject of collusion and good old boy tactics, how many of you have websites?
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Dec 24, 2012 07:00
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Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:hahaha 
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Dec 24, 2012 07:12
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I don't know if I'm sold on the idea of a Scorecard, since it's tertiary to the goal of improving week to week. It also gives a judge a cheat sheet that might influence 'em in a bad way ("Ah, Poster_X's strength is car analogies, and he used one, I get it!!"). Thunderdome is about faceless warriors being dragged out of their comfort zone and slaughtered. As for What I'd Love To See More Of is guaranteed critiques. Getting a line or two a week of "I liked this piece, but didn't like this part" isn't really helpful. I understand we've had a huge influx of combatants and that it's hard to give a meaningful response to 30+ short stories. I think a good way to handle this would be after initial judgments are made, the judges try to split the stories amongst themselves to give feedback. Or maybe we find a way to incentivize non-judges throwing their two cents in, after judging. I've tried to pipe up with things that stick out to me as being solid or weak, and I'd like to see more of it.
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Dec 31, 2012 05:24
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Stuporstar posted:I just watched a car explode beneath my apartment window. 300 Word Bonus Fun Prompt: Why did the car explode
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Dec 31, 2012 12:17
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In, with a focus on "dialogue".
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Jan 2, 2013 01:30
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Fanky Malloons posted:Just "dialogue" seems pretty broad. I've always tried to use dialogue sparingly and to break up blocks of narrative prose because even though I have a decent lock on how to make people say things that flow right, slotting conversations into a larger story always seems to be too harsh of a gear change for me. So, I guess if I had to refine it, it'd be have a story driven by dialogue, with the caveat that neither the dialogue or rest of the prose are vestigial to the other.
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Jan 2, 2013 01:51
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It's not just some sort of arcane appeal to tradition. Line breaks make things a lot easier to read.
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Jan 6, 2013 06:55
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Performance Review Seven (840 Words, focus on Meaningful Dialogue) Entering the door to the boss's office and taking a seat in one flowing motion, Pamella was ready to defend herself in her seventh annual performance review. The neat edges of her boss's minimalist decor and furniture was a contrast to the rest of the back room's disarray of stashed boxes and hidden caches of supplies. Immediately across the artificially gleaming formica desk, the boss got things rolling. "So Pamella, you've been with us for seven years." he said. "In that time you've been something of a valued addition to our work force." He slid a sheet of paper with her employee information back and forth an inch across the desk, adjusting it to his gaze. He shifted it again. Pam filled the silence. "Yes, it's hard to believe, but seven years sound right. I was hired... hm, yeah, Fall of 2005. Or Autumn. Time flies, right?" The boss nodded for a few seconds, making sure she was finished talking. "In that time you've been deployed to most departments. You started in clothes, right?" "Home goods, actually. It doesn't say that on there?" she said. It took restraint not to lean forward and see what the form said about her. "It does, it's just not listed chronologically. Home goods. Alright." He twitched the paper a millimeter. "Electronics, customer service, beverages..." "Yeah, I've done it all, really." "And what would you say your best applications are? That is, when you're working in beverages, what is your best aspect?" She paused thoughtfully. She was ignoring that she was, for whatever reason, digging her fingernails into her knees. "With beverages, it's really about the labels. You face all of the labels the right way, make the displays look nice. And when you have a moment, you read them, make sure you know what you're selling. I've never liked wine, but if someone wants something dry or whatever I can tell them all about the ones we have." "Right. Okay. And what department are you in now?" "Clothes." Her eyes lowered to the paper for a second before reverting to proper eye contact. "And are you enjoying it?" There was a moment of slow exhalation on Pamella's end. "Well, it's on par with any other department. Just read the tags. Lots of people have problems finding the sizes they want, and I can't really help with that. Other than that sort of thing, it's pretty easy to keep the displays neat." "I understand. But what is one area you think you could improve on?" "Well..." she said, feigning more thoughtfulness. "Suggestive selling can always be improved; telling people what things would match the outfits they're putting together, that sort of thing. I'm no fashion bug, but I think I could be a little bit more..." "Right." the boss said. "Yeah, all of that is important." Pamella was waiting for whatever was going to be said to be said, now. "I'll level with you," he said, keeping his eyes on the sheet of paper as he drew it towards himself. "We don't do these reviews just to waste time; if there's a problem, we already know about it. We do these reviews because we like to make sure our employees are getting the most out of their opportunities here." He glanced up, and Pamella responded with a precisely eager nod. "The way things are, we want to make sure we're not going to end up with an employee base that is anything less than motivated. I can tell that you put a lot of thought into your work, and that you've been with us loyally for years and will continue to do so. I appreciate your honesty." "Thank you, I really do try." Pamella said. "Right. So next Monday, I think we're going to be putting you in the clothing section. You should be able to pick it up quick, we'll have one of the old hands there train you. I think it'll be a good match for you." He stood up while tossing the sheet onto the stack of folders behind him, and reached across the desk to give her a handshake. "I'm looking forward to it." she said, meeting him halfway on the gesture. She put on her sunglasses as she left the store, ready to begin the long weekend. A drive up the coast, a meet up with friends at some of the hidden restaurants and diners they'd always talked up. And after all of that, the perfect capstone of going to work again. She got into her car and rolled down the windows. With her phone she called her friend, instantly on the offense to get her words in. "Yeah, I just got out of there. Really looking forward to going in to my new job on Tuesday. You know how long I've wanted to be a photographer. Oh, I don't really care. All of the clothes in the world could stay on the ground forever so long as I don't have to ever have an eighth performance review."
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Jan 7, 2013 05:15
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Fanky Malloons posted:Capntastic: The manager doesn't give a gently caress, and she doesn't give a gently caress. The job is of so little importance that she doesn't feel the need to point that out. The idea of her manager saying she'll need to be trained by someone who is (presumably) herself is something of a minor joke I could've made more clear. Swaziloo: I'll crit yours up once the new thread hits.
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Jan 9, 2013 08:16
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Thank you Thunderdome for reminding me that I am capable of writing for real and not as some theoretical action that can only happen on the astral plane as a convergence between "inspiration" and "motivation".
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Jan 9, 2013 09:00
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Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:Kayfabe is over for the time until the next thread. Thanks BUDDY. I don't feel like I stand out much since I never gently caress up too much like Chairchucker, and I also don't soar very high when I pull something off. My style's way too dry and sucked down into cold little details. I don't know where I get that, since it's not in anything I read. The small word counts are a constraint I enjoy, since I want to be able to ace the act of getting into a groove and getting things across strongly and quickly. I'd do bad things to be a writer for a living. If a few hours a week in Thunderdome is one of those bad things then the devil can have me.
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Jan 9, 2013 09:25
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gWQQHHEz04
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Jan 9, 2013 09:25
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toanoradian posted:We're all potatoes that have been pounded on for 23 weeks. Nice reference to the prompt that started it all.
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Jan 9, 2013 09:50
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| # ¿ Apr 19, 2024 04:32 |
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We shed this thread like a chrysalis.
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Jan 10, 2013 01:35
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