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HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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to read this shit?


Here are my critiques for everyone. I'm harsh but I'm also not going to bullshit with you. I want you to write better and keep getting better.

Stone of Madness: Letís start with the obvious, youíre plover gambit failed, by the third paragraph nothing is happening plot-wise to hook your reader into the story. Itís a fairly simple story too, Giles creeps on a girl of indeterminate age. Other than being droll you amped it up with a excessive amount of purple prose and terrible adjectives.

Always remember that a 1000 words is a TINY amount of words. You canít have your characters doddering around and your story going nowhere. Read Sebmojoís story and study it. Itís an excellent example of capturing the utter essence of an unimportant moment in time and turning that into beautiful prose.

Symptomless Coma: A major problem I had with your piece was the clarity of your prose. So much so that I couldnít really place where your character was until almost the end of the third paragraph. Disorienting the reader has to be done with a purpose but in this case just confused me and If I was a just a reader reading this somewhere I would have stopped reading.

You need to outline or block out actions before setting them to paper because I would have looked on your story more favorably had there been a clear chain of cause and effect. Also I donít understand how your main character died. Did the komodo dragon come to life and kill him? WHAT!?

Swaziloo: I liked your story a lot and would have argued for you to win had Sebmojo not hit it out of the park this round. There are many intangible things in a good story that could be improved. You need to focus on editing that prose and really tightening it up. Donít be afraid to take the imagery to itís natural, non purple, conclusion. Try to make your dialog a bit more natural and in tune with the rest of your prose. Overall though, a fine fine job.

Zack_Gochuck: Stella finally figured it out. Bernard was a one-eyed ogre! Is either going to be the best story Iíve ever read or the worst. I want the next story you write for Thunderdome to come straight from your heart. Or your rear end, if thatís where your good stories live.
That being said. Youíre doing great. The worst thing you could do is stop writing or listen to me. Iím just very particular and ask a lot from art and what I read in general, Iím hard to please, itís not you. KEEP WRITING, gently caress YOUR HATERS.

SurreptitiousMuffin: You wrote a lengthy dick joke. You wrote a 1000 word dick joke. Mostly I was just WTF more so than being entertained or getting into it because it kept hitting me with punchlines and unnatural ways of approaching those punchlines. Youíre characters existed to tell the jokes instead of the jokes being born out of the characters. I was just confused.

Bad Seafood: I once wrote a found poem for one of my creative writing classes. When I got it back I saw that my professor had suggested edits. When I asked him whether it was OK to edit a poem Iíd crafted out of clever Facebook statuses he said it was. Do you know why you should always edit? Because the stream of gobbley gook pouring out of our minds is not fit for paper. And a good stream of consciousness piece should read more like a prose poem after all is said and done than a waterfall of words.

Noah: So weird, I think the main thing I wanted was more out of the story. It was reaching but not quite reaching as far as it could. Youíre story also is trying to do a little bit too much for the space it had. For some reason thereís just too much happening around your character that itís hard to focus on whatís actually happening in your story.

Twinkle Cave: A random series of seemingly horrifying things does not coherence make. Iím going to mostly complain about your content because you showed remarkable technical competency, and thatís half the battle.
A big issue is that you didnít focus deep enough on the here and now of the story that was occurring. This results in BIG STUFF happening to the character that is potentially world changing stuff for all of humanity. You only had a 1000 words and you were making them do too much. Focus on the immediate, the moment, instead of big generalizations.

Toanoradian: I went straight to the point. ďIím sorry for your loss.Ē And then I couldnít stop laughing.
ďNo.Ē ďYou should.Ē ďI donít want to see them in my dreams.Ē ďJust sleep.Ē ďI never slept alone.Ē Even slapping my own lips could not stop it saying ďthen I will sleep with you.Ē She looked at me. The thought didnít disgust her. And then I laughed again.
ďPlease sleep.Ē I continued to rub her waist. This worked when our mother did it to me. MORE MORE.
ďBut how else am I supposed to stop feeling sad? Blaming myself is all I have.Ē Itís like Iím reading a bizarre American psycho now.
Wasnít this on the Bible? ĎHer husbandís brother shall take herí? Yes it is. I shall take her. Possibly the best line Iíve ever heard pre-coitus from someoneís mind.
I used the tipping to cover her nipple and sucked it through the tie. I never asked for this!
Even in this darkness I could still see her brown eyes looking elsewhere. ďYouíre beautiful.Ē She remained silent as I removed my trousers. The goon cometh in the dark!

It was like a an onion article satirizing a Chic Tract. I LOVE YOU.

Capntastic: This was technically proficient and how I wish my interviews usually went down. However, itís more like you used this to plan out a real life interview than write a story. Youíre dialog was fine but this was the most boring thing I read this week just because it was like I was watching an actual interview. Remember, writing is a facsimile of life, not the honest to god drudgery of life.

Sebmojo: Really good job this week. Keep practicing along these lines. I donít really have much to add.

Iroel: Itís time to learn the most FUNDAMENTAL lesson in writing. Here it is. Format is everything. There. You heard me. You gave me a numbered list. It was like reading a powerpoint. I really didnít understand what was going on or why it was going on. The reason we here at thunderdome are so strict about format is that in the real world so are all the professionals. You submit a story in the wrong format and it goes in the trash, theyíre the easiest ones to reject too because the person writing them obviously had no idea how to write if they canít even format their paragraphs like everyone else. In the future, stick to prose or poetry. As much as you want to experiment with zany zany gimmick #47 try not to. Itís a crutch.


Supermikhail:2nd person POV is hard to do and hard to read. You pulled it off although your story was a little bit too sparse and just a little bit too magical.

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HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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I'm in

Flash Rule Every third line must contain enjambment

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


THUNDERBRAWL ROUND I OF III

Ok, I'm here. I've binged on pasta after a hard day of manual labor and my brain is working again. I'll judge the heck out of this Thunderbrawl.

Since this week we're exploring poetry in all it's terrifying forms I'm giving you two something interesting

Contestants: Noah and Benagain. Others may join as well.

Conditions: You're going to write a SHAPE poem.
http://goo.gl/LHMeD will give you an exact idea of what I'm talking about.

Your Prompt: "Canned peaches, a down comforter, and the gardener."

Your prize: MY LOVE

Deadline: Saturday afternoonish. Since this is an artsy kind of prompt and you'll need the time to make it good.

Since the format for this is unconventional you can hand draw your poem, save as a PDF, use html, or even save it as a bitmap. Whatever it takes to get me the poem

Now GO

HiddenGecko fucked around with this message at Jan 11, 2013 around 00:46

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Double Post.

Martello. Could you pretty please judge a Thunderbrawl between me and Iroel. I need someone with the terrifying hard tack you're made up of.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Ahh poo poo I completely forgot you were off doing military stuff, my bad. I'll see if Fanky Malloons is up to dealing with this slapfight.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Fanky Malloons posted:

Motherfucker, I saw your PM before I saw this - I can't believe I was your sloppy second choice, you bastard.


Hate the game not the player.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Geckobrawl

Bug Catcher

(403 words)

I twisted the insect net in my hand and pushed my way through the dense brush ahead. Iíd seen the butterfly flutter ahead of me in a stray beam of sunlight twisting through the canopy. One sure foot after another, that was the key. I needed that butterfly.

It technically shouldnít exist in this forest. Pale opal steaks lanced through its butter yellow wings, an enigma among collectors and scientists. I didnít have much time before they were all gone, no one had ever found the caterpillar, or seen the adult lay eggs. We collectors like to call it the Yellow Lady in our private circles.

The glade is quiet apart from the rustling of small animals and the call of birds, I can smell the warmth and wet wood of the forest, that slightly acidic tinge the earth adds to the air. I take a step and I see something ahead on the trunk of a willow tree. It opens itís wings.

Itís the Yellow Lady, finally. I take a step towards the tree the butterfly rests on and it doesnít move. I take another step and it flutters its wings, it doesnít move. One more step.

And it flashes into the sky a streak of light moving fast through the forest. I give chase, Iím running, dodging trees, trying to keep my eyes on the creature as it darts in and out of the dark green foliage. My only hope is that it doesnít fly up.

I burst out of the tree line into a tall grassy thicket. The soil is soft and I try not to slow down as the mud captures my boots in its grip. I sprint through the thicket and swing my net, the butterfly swerves and I swing again. Another miss. The butterfly gained a foot and I lunged forward net outstretched.

I swung down and over the butterfly right into the ground. I had the little beast. I twisted the net shut and stuck my hand into the hole and slipped the butterflies wings gently between my two forefingers. Streaks of opalescence embedded in pale yellow.

I sighed and let it go. It righted itself and made a bead over the canopy of the forest and out towards the coast. I breathed in the living forest around me and turned back the way Iíd come. It wasnít about the butterfly, it was about the chase.

HiddenGecko fucked around with this message at Jan 12, 2013 around 02:29

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


I hope he remembered we're in the midst of a slap fight.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Iroel posted:

I do agree. And I know you don't care, but the first paragraph and the last line where actually born together and then I worked in the middle. The reason I'm saying this is because I fail to understand why the point didn't get across (to understand which is one of the reasons I'm submitting my writings).

Anyway I wanted to make a proposal: what if the contestants of a thunderbrawl had to analyze in depth the other challenger's writings after the fight is settled, in the same way we have to do with the pairings for the regular contest?

Blah Blah Blah

Stop talking and get ready to write and make sure it can stand on its own this time without you having to jump in and defend it.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Benagain posted:

THUNDERBRAWL

In the finest tradition of monkey duels, watch as I hurl feces at my opponent.

pre:
                                  Night Dawn strips illusions away
                              Darkness, dearpale light forcing them out
                           is when I can love you,muttered lieslovefirst
                          wrapped in dreams and secret empty mimicry of emotions
                       shadows, hands reading soft wordsnot even aches anymore
                      from the curved tome of your bodysleepwalking through
                      drumming soft slow along your spine endless rituals 
                      decipheringyouPlease don't listen,false intimacy,
                       to the lies squirming slowly out.blood on demand 
                        truth comes from dark placesstone heart wants
                             deep in the soul to stop beating
                                  buried please  

This reminds me of when I wrote a sonnet about love and farts for my creative writing class.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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We're getting into Saturday evening Noah. I'm expecting that poem soon.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Noah posted:

Oh sorry, it's only 1pm here. Poem is done, just shaping it. Can you give me a deadline?

let's say 4pm your time. Just so you have a hard number to work with.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Martello posted:

Maybe we should make a separate spinoff thread for Thunderbrawl. What do you guys think?

I would be down for this idea. The spirit of thunderdome is a fairly traditional flash writing contest when it comes down to it (Now with active writer critiquing added in!). And it is very very cluttered.

Thunderbrawls on the other hand are one on one writing shootouts and take three rounds. So a lot of Thunderdome proper gets buried in mad dash of thunderbrawling.

Thus, I think a sister thread is in order.

With approval from the Mods of course. I think a fair compromise would be a beer pong arrangement so only one Thunderbrawl is going on at any time and each group of contestants and judges wait their turn. Instead of the hogpile situation going on right now.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Thunderbrawl Ruling Round I of III

Your Prompt: "Canned peaches, a down comforter, and the gardener."

You both put a ton of effort into these so my critique is equally hard and long.

Benagain

Shape:You chose a piece of poo flying through the air. I found your shape interesting because it was in motion for one thing and you used the spoilered text to signify the fibrous fecal matter flying through the air and a the non spoilered text as movement lines. The tiny little bit of poo that came off in the back is a nice touch.

Now. the other interesting thing you did with the shape is create a column poem! (!!!) you contrast two seemingly different poems using visual motifs. It is also, unwittingly perhaps, an interactive poem since you can't read half of it unless you mouse over it. FINE WORK

Content: You went with a Dark vs. light thing. Now this is one of those fairly cliche things but the way you pulled it off as a whole was very well done. You wrote it all in blank verse as well and had a nice tight economy of words. Poems are not about the literal but you lose points for not really addressing the prompt I gave you at all. You wrote a poem about night and day, love and intimacy. WHERE ARE THOSE CANNED PEACHES, WHERE IS THE GARDENER?

Noah

Shape: You went with a peach, and a very pretty font to boot. you make the words flow around the shape in a rather pleasing if not ordinary way. and the color arrangement did make me go and compare the whole thing to goatse, just to see if you were burying something there I wasn't getting.(But I see it everywhere anyway, its presence or absence has no bearing on my judging at this time though so ignore that.) It's a big pretty peach.

Content: You addressed the prompt head on and really captured the spirit of a lone survivor about to die should he not open that can of peaches. it was almost a little bit too literal in places. But you know what. You were able to capture a moment in time with all of its associated trials and tribulations and make it lyrical, so props for that.

FINAL RULING
This round goes to Noah because he didn't forget about the prompt when writing his poem. This one was drat hard though. You both did awesome.

Round II

What you're writing: A letter. Yes you will be writing this prompt in the form of a single page letter to someone.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epistle will give you all the definition you need and some cool history to note.

Prompt:"A scratching post, a picnic bench, and someone's grandmother."

Deadline: Monday afternoon.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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GeckoBrawl Round II

On a Branch in the Bordeaux
Two lovers see each other across the branch. One waves and the other waves back. Soon both of their hands are in the air and theyíre
swaying together. The little man in black sees his partner and mimics her every move as he edges in closer. She tip toes away, making him work for her prize.

A green shadow wreathed in sharpness lurks above the stage, hands outstretched as if she prays. She watches the dancers, picks one to kill. She moves ever so slowly towards them, a creeping death.

The two lovers are almost touching now. Hours they danced. Finally the kiss, the touch, she smiles, he sways away, takes a bow. Death from above.

The lady scuttles away, her business done, her death averted. The man dies for his love, but he doesn't grieve. He went out with a bang.

(141 Words)

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Dem Bones, Dem Dry Boners

Flash Rule: Must be a limerick
(197 words)

And on that tawdry night ran the skeleton
Through the abbey and right into the fountain.
Pardon me maíam I've lost my head
But I think thatís better left unsaid.
Oh my, what a scamp, that little demon!

Right down the road ran that tawdry skeleton
Every pub in town was made to hearken.
Maíam! Pleasure to see you on the stool
A lady of your caliber is no fool.
Iím just lonely, canít a lady get a swig of bourbon?

A bone white finger signaled the barman
The skeleton acted the part of a bachelor.
Oh this ring? Weíre divorced maíam
Stay those heaving bosoms.
Why I never, barman! another oily toucan!

Somewhere in the night a hat appears
On top of the bone white head it leers.
Come home with me tonight my lady
And donít think me creepy
Iím leaving, Iím calling the police! Stop those jeers!

The skeleton left alone that night, back to his grave
Feeling right pauper and a little bit knave.
The morning is upon me, it beams and smokes!
I guess Iíll go lay down with my kinfolks.
He just wasn't my type officer, and he just wouldn't behave!

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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budgieinspector posted:

The Nantucket Tourism Mafia wants a word about not paying them their due--especially in a piece with the word "boners" in the title.

That's my boner story and I'm boner sticking to it, boner.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Round II Results

What you're writing: A letter. Yes you will be writing this prompt in the form of a single page letter to someone.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epistle will give you all the definition you need and some cool history to note.

Prompt:"A scratching post, a picnic bench, and someone's grandmother."

Benagain: You wrote a fairly modernish letter in a standard email speak. I like that you were able to use a story arc within your letter and overall had a very consistent voice. It was a very lovely letter that I can see existing in the real world without much trouble. I did find that you were very loose with your prose which may have created a letter that was a bit too casual for its purposes.

Noah: You incorporated one story arc into the meat of your letter and stuck with it. You did a very interesting thing in that you created a very complex set of interactions and characters with very few words. Is the father holding his grandmother captive, or is he a victim of circumstance? Why is grandma trying to get away? why is Dad so nonchalant about grandma burrowing her way through the walls? You raised so many good questions with the characters in your story and used the element of mystery very well.

Final Ruling: This round goes to Noah and with it the Thunderbrawl. He created three characters with a tight economy of words and no direct way for them to do anything in the letter format. It's hard to do that so props to you. You may wear your balls around your neck now and display them for all to see.

You both did excellent! I hope to see more stuff from you two in the future.

As promised Noah. Here is my

HiddenGecko fucked around with this message at Jan 15, 2013 around 23:15

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Canadian Surf Club posted:

I'll take that for now and see you in the next go around. If your past Thunderbrawl efforts are any indication then I have little to fear.

Hear that Twinkle Cave? He's calling you a sissy! You gonna stand for that?

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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In.

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HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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The Brine Vats
395 words

Tiffany was meat and memories. But, to the extractor looming over her now on her death slab, she was his first appointment. Immortality is free to all, if theyíre willing to be plunged into the Brine Vats. Old meat lives there; full of pain, cold, and truth. Tiffany knew all this as her last phlegm choked breath ushered out of her dry cracked lips and the extractor sliced into her temple with his bone saws. She was still warm. The nerves still firing.

The Brine embraces Tiffanyís brain flesh as the extractor lowers it into the vats with a small platform and rope pulley. He says a few words and leaves, others are dying and require his services. Tiffany, no longer trapped in her dead flesh, floats in the upper column for a moment before beginning her descent into the dark green Brine.

After many uncertain minutes Tiffany comes to rest in a crevice along a mile deep plateau of brain flesh. The flesh below her screams and it bites into her like shards of glass. Deeper Ones grumble and vibrate with anger as their newer brethren join them. She is her memories now. The screams ripple outward just like when she used to drop pebbles in her fatherís fishing pond.
The brains closest to her calm down and ask her if she knows who and what she is? Of course Tiffany knows who and what she is. She is pickling eggs with her grandfather, she is cold wet leaves in a puddle, she is yelling at her mother because she didn't approve of Tiffany's prom date.

The deep ones shake and squirm, memories of the flesh are pain, a past best left unsaid. Memories of the flesh prevent them from doing their job of aiding the living. They shake and squirm. Tiffany doesnít understand whatís happening. She asks the brains closest to her about their lives before but all they can do is scream, scream and burn her with anger and need.

Something new is happening. Tiffany is dying again. Itís peaceful this time, but not quiet. She clings to herself as the brain flesh around her eats her memories. Consumes the very stuff that defines her. But even that fades as she is cleansed and integrated. Made useful. Tiffany knows the Truth now. Weíre just pieces of meat and memories. Meat and memories.

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