Thunderdome 2014teen: Stories from the Abonend Bunker

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Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Congratulations, procrastinators! You win much more sleep-deprived, cranky, and distracted crits.

newtestleper - "had let a crust of ice had formed". "only just too big" doesn't read well to me, at least in my current state. "Slightly" would've gone down better. You build up an intense situation (cliff), then let us down with wimpy wording ("He felt pain through his whole body", versus something like "Pain wracked his entire body"). The twist doesn't surprise me -- I figured he'd end up doing better than her in some regard just because it would've been an uneventful story otherwise. Not bad, per say, but more obligatory than engaging. I did feel like you'd been on the slopes a time or two, so good job sounding authoritative. I didn't super care about the protagonist, but I guess I didn't hate him, either.

Ironic Twist - "backyard" is an adjective, "back yard" is the noun phrase. How does spring make that things are hidden more apparent? You've lost me. The hugs line is a good bit of characterization. You distance us a little by referring to "hide-and-seek" as "the game of hide-and-seek"; we know it's a game. Nice abrupt shift in mood -- you're giving endearing descriptions, then something bad happens in a sentence. And I don't quite know what it is. Oh, abusive husband. Feels a bit out of place, him hardly being mentioned before. Most of your evocations work, but the rhetorical question breaks the flow. I thought about it some as an actual question, then realized you went on to answer it. So why did you ask me? Those two questions really mar your otherwise charming story. There was another story told about an eight-year-old: this one does as good a job capturing childiness as the other one did not.

Djeser - Heh. You've set the tone in the first four words. Counting the bullets is a nice touch; really builds the tension. "Ace fired and" should probably be "Ace fired but", even if it was obviously not going to be that easy. Even the cheesy climactic dialogue was inspiring and amusing. You went for a different tone than most of the other stories so far, and you nailed it.

Some Guy TT - I don't usually think of someone who gets too fancy showing off as lackadaisical. That's also not quite how I normally use considerate -- deliberate would've fit better. Anything that's "practically assured" in a story is going to end up the other way; humanity has become borderline-allergic to that construct. Ain't no reason to expect "Ain't" at this point in your story. Mildly jarring. Ear to ear and bigger and bigger are two repetitive phrases too close together for my liking -- rewording one would've helped the flow. "pulled up until backwards"? Overall a little clumsy, although it could probably still be polished into something more endearing.

Nethilia - "turn on the wipers", "turning them to a steady pulse": repetitive phrasing. I like the counting Mississippis. Huh, second such error this week, but "backseat" is an adjective whereas "back seat" is the noun. Twelve Mississippi before the sound? It's been a while since I've heard thunder, but wouldn't that be a gargantuan bolt well off into the distance? Oh, you just described it. I guess I'm off. Hmm, another divorce story. I'm in less of a mood at present, so let's see how well you make me sympathize. Currently I'm a little bit sad on her behalf. The lack-of-thump line was a good one. The symphonic storm bit is a decent piece of description and foreshadowing. Overall, I liked the other divorce story better. I think because in this case I see a victim and a bit of a clown, for lack of a better word about the type, playing out a common modern drama which I don't associate with (didn't even realize Maury Povich was still on television). I haven't been involved in any philanderous relationships and I don't expect to be. The tone of this one is also depressing overall, which it does moderately well but is something I'm less likely to want to read. The other one was more optimistic, and I could empathize a bit better with a character who was actively trying to cope with a situation than somebody being wishy-washy.

blue squares - I'm (medium) interested after your first paragraph. The "I squinted" sentence has too many commas and descriptors. Flows poorly and you're already pushing the 1200 word boundary since I'm of the opinion that titles count. I'm not sure why "Golden Shovel" is capitalized, unless it were "Mr. Electroworth's Famous Golden Shovel". I like his method of killing weeds. Okay, it was manslaughter. I assumed it was going to be murder -- the tone makes more sense now. The juxtaposition of major and employment is decent. Okay, this one actually does a good job at wholing up to more than the sum of its parts. I fell for your bait and was delighted by your switch. Mr. Electroworth's reaction most specifically, but also the character's wholehearted delve into greed. Only a minorly ambitious tale, but entirely successful at what it intended.

ceaselessfuture - "won't" -> "wouldn't". Yikes, failing to get into a junior college? You're not on the west coast, I presume. "the College" -> "the college". Posing the test question like that is a nice effect that I haven't seen done too frequently. Flipped in unison -- foreshadowing? (Hold on a sec, I think that's a dog. Whoa, that's a big dog. What's a big dog doing in the office?) Changing his own answers for her sake, huh? Eh? They ended up with the same answers? That's not terribly consistent with the information I read. It makes sense that they got caught, and it's believable that he'd sacrifice himself for her (he kind of did already), but the ending really lacks oomph. I suppose because you'd already foreshadowed the important bits. I'm also not feeling the significance of her kind of looking like his sister. Passable up until that ending.

Obliterati - Great dialogue, interesting rivalry -- the protagonist thinks a bit more bitterly than he speaks. Comfortable SF setting. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess, at the first sentence of the second section, that they're still on Earth. Earned a smirk with the 'detect' line. Now you're strongly implying that it's not Earth, hmm... "Garden, legs aching". I'm not sure spread-eagle gets conjugated. All right, fine, not Earth, stupid sleep deprivation. Not sure if there was anything to imply that as the twist or if I'm just way off. The actual twist was all right, and I can understand its significance, but I didn't really feel it. The characterization between the rivals was great, the eco-terrorist felt kind of tacked-on. Having the import of the reveal being tied to a side-character's motivation might've been what made it feel deflated to me.

Paladinus - "great-great-grandmother"? "It was a stressful time for Lin." Telling (as opposed to showing); a bit weak. The sentence ending in "sabotage" could've stood to be two, possibly three, sentences. That's "quite" a murmur. Drop the "act of" in the "cosmic ballet". I don't buy Lin suddenly getting sentimental about earth. It's also contradictory (in my head) that they care about Christmas to keep it as a Space Tradition yet they also acknowledge all the other religious milestones. Overall a bit rough.

Fumblemouse - Not sure how I feel about "stockinged". Not bad, I guess, but I had to pause a sec and think about it. I would've preferred italicized thoughts instead of spoken monologue -- I don't really buy that anybody speaks aloud to themselves when they're alone unless you've constructed special circumstances. Abrupt change of tone there (not a complaint). "wetly" I could do without (doesn't add much; feels too Tom Swifty). "epically" pink? I do like the tuna-hiss comparison. Mildly amusing, but the setting as a gag will be quickly forgotten. (I suspect some other things that could be described with "quickly" were involved with this story.)

Shaky Premise - Why did I think parts of this were in present tense? I must be hallucinating. Why is the protagonist reluctant to head back out into the cold if the inside of the cabin is just as cold? I'm not sure if I'm dizzy with fatigue, or if it's partially inspired by your story, but many of the phrasings don't work for me. Ah! You are jumping tenses! So. There's a lot I could've said, but it would've been specific and negative. Instead you've made me want to take a break from computers and reading. The most constructive thing I've got for you is that it felt too preachy. Too many telling adverbs (adverbs!).

crabrock - Leashed skunk? I'm listening. "there's". Heh, saved by the bell. Mildly melancholic, but not strongly evocative. I like that the two people are having separate conversations at each other, mainly because it happens far too often in real life (except at least one party isn't cognizant of it). Kinda bland, overall. I get (but don't believe, not to that level) that she's wisty and being wistful and there's some wist and that's that.

Broenheim - "getting the bridge wet" is a bit weak. "splashing onto the bridge" or somesuch might do better. I believe the more common phrase is "broke her concentration". "This is my favorite part of this day." feels off; stilted. Flat. "I thought you loved it here?" is spoken as a question, but it's not really a question. Hah! "every word I thought felt hollow" indeed. I'm not that down on this story but it certainly isn't doing much for me. "do you call it quits now?" "mean?". Okay, deadlinitis has set in. The flashback was well-executed. Would've been poignant if I'd cared about the characters, but you gave me no reason to care about them. They're just some people I don't associate that are having personal problems that aren't reflective of anything going on in my life. Maybe this works for someone who's been in a similar situation, but without inspiring empathy, I don't think it does for the general populace.

docbeard - The queen of Virginia, hmm? You've generated some curiosity about your backdrop. There's something delightful about this kind of deliberate, fantasized denial. You're near a chord about the beauty of humanity in the face of strife, although I don't think you've hit it quite yet. I also like that your character abandons her quest for Mystery Dad. B+. Imaginative, touching, and reasonably insightful about the human condition, but lacking some little punch of je ne sais quoi to push it up to greatness. Probably going to be one of the few from this week that I remember for any length of time.

Grizzled Patriarch - The punctuation around '"Martin?" [\r]?\n Mrs. Whitaker was watching him' is a little awkward. It'd read better to me as one line. An interesting but short passage. Not much more to say about it other than it felt not-quite-complete to me. Or perhaps I didn't have enough investment to care about the payout of the climax. A few good images.

Noah - People took to saving scalps and ears for a reason. Heads sound cumbersome. "thinners, they called them,..." doesn't need the "they called them", since you just called them that and the context makes it clear already. Captures the chill without bludgeoning me with it. Wow, a lot of incorrect compounds this week. "Anymore" means roughly "no longer", temporally. You wanted "any more", which would mean "no additional". And ironically, you also want "skinhead". "spat". Auto-correct accordion? Your dialogue sentences could use a few periods for commas. Huh. The murder wasn't surprising, but the identity swap was unexpected. And not in the good way. You need to establish a little more context in the story before you throw something significant like that out there, or it's not going to feel important nor bring reader satisfaction.

SurreptitiousMuffin - "Karla." I'm a bit burnt out on getting-over-their-exes stories but I'm still with you for the solid imagery and currently questionable sanity. Cute, but not long enough or perhaps not strong enough for me to really grieve for their loss, empathize with her denial, or be warmed by her eventual acceptance. For whatever reason I just didn't terribly connect with your characters. Winter came across soundly.

kurona_bright - I can associate with the overnapped-voice. Cutting someone off before they begin sounds odd to my ear. Preempted would've felt better. "dead, then?". "clinic" is a bit at odds with "village". One is sophisticated, the other, rustic. "didn't" -> "don't". All right, your minor errors are getting written off as procrastinatory haste. Emotionally labile. Wow, you're all over the place, aren't you? Not enough context ot make any of the surprising turns of character believable or things I'd want to follow.

Walamor - "If you persist in making assumptions, you will miss out on much." is fairly stuffy dialogue. You'll want that second "vicar" (nice word, that) capitalized. "starting to spilling". It's a tidy enough story, and I like future reverting to the past on the bones of technology, but, uh... not terribly feeling it. Might be slightly weary of reading at this point. Perhaps you didn't make me believe their situation in which they have and know how to operate heaters (of sorts) but can't figure out any other decent way of keeping warm (no reason to think the world is out of trees). The telling of the religious interpretations was a little dry as well.

Your Sledgehammer - The cortisol line is clunky, especially in comparison to your previous smoothness. A bit volatile to go from "put that back!" to dripping with adoration. Saying that she sees things in "a first person perspective" is a little detached. Consider next time something more personal, since this is an intimate phenomenon, such as "from their eyes" or "as they remembered it". I'm only going to acknowledge your pun this much. "A touch too little" is awkward. And you change speakers without changing paragraphs. That's a no-no as it confuses us readers. I did get a hint of the father not being so great from the mother's overidolization, but I don't feel strongly for her loss. I did find the magical ability a pleasant fantasy, and the overall body of work was decent, with a few disruptive bits toward the end.

Phobia - Ah, just in time for the deadline. And just as I'm tired of reading, you appear to be tired of writing. I don't take kindly to the half-assed token efforts. That guy who's late but doing it anyway goes down way better in my book than this (assuming he actually does it anyway). I'd say more, but then I might beat your word count.

# ¿ Nov 11, 2014 06:58

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# ¿ Apr 26, 2024 21:58

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Anathema Device posted:

Comments about style and insight into your thought process as you read it.

Thanks enormously for the line-by-line. I agree with you on 96.7% of those points. Didn't even notice how badly I was talking to the audience, and the only voice I was happy with was Damon's. I'm still on the fence about the timing of the mechanism reveal: I very much enjoy rereading a story in a different light after making a realization, although in this case it's more like rereading the story in any light after being told a thing, which is a painful distinction.

The lines about which clues worked and what you suspected was going on as you read the story are exceptionally helpful. Usually I write too batshit esoteric obtuse; this time I was a bit hamfisted. Eventually I'll find the balance.

In other news, I've not the creative energy for proper writing this week. But Anathema Device, starr, Djeser, docbeard, and Benny the Snake, your stories tickled my fancy. Each of you may pick a story, not necessarily your own and not necessarily recent, and I'll be givin' that story a detailed crit as my schedule allows for it.

# ¿ Nov 11, 2014 19:46

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

starr - Just making sure we're not counting weeks from Mondays; do you mean the story you posted prior to Two halves of a Whole, or was 2/2 the story you wanted?

Benny the Snake ~ It wasn't the best story, but it was a huge step up from the other stuff of yours I'd read. And when I was having that thought, I realized that I both partially recalled the story and did so with some fondness. I'll have to probe my own psyche to find out why.

docbeard - I think I'll hop on the selfish bandwagon and ask you to look over Kelvin. I'd like to think the whats and whys of that story are sufficiently self-contained, but mostly all I got were huh?s. Appreciate the reciprocity.

# ¿ Nov 12, 2014 01:44

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

starr - It's now been a couple of days since I read the story. Here's what I remember: The premise felt strongly of traditional folklore. Strong enough that I assumed it was based on Celtic mythology. And that's a good thing in my books. Folklore persists for a reason; it speaks to the human condition and has been polished through generations of retelling such that it resonates strongly with receptive audiences. In this case, I felt like the kernel of insight was around how death is inevitable and it should be accepted gracefully, and the conflict of the story came about because the protagonist rejected it.

Now I'm going to reread it uninterrupted and give my broad impressions.

There are more technical and stylistic hiccups than I recall. A lot of why this story speaks to me is that there's an obvious way to relate with what the characters are going through: everyone has to cope with death. I think some of the humanity I felt between the characters also came from this; the dialogue felt a little forced, as did the series of events. I'm going to spend some time looking up the folklore before I do the detailed crit. Hmm, a few minutes with Google didn't pull anything up. Is this based on anything? If not, then consider it a high compliment that you've created (as opposed to captured) the feel of cultural tradition.

starr posted:

Two halves of a Whole
1194 words

Deirdre I like the name. It plays on cultural assumptions to establish part of the setting right off the bat. couldn�t sleep I can also relate here; not good at sleeping. Even with the curtains closed she could feel the watching gaze "Watching gaze" is a bit redundant. Based on the mother's summary, I think "longing gaze" would fit your story better. of her death. I like when abstract concepts are personified, so I'm already interested in this story after two short sentences.

In her youth when she was strong and healthy she rarely saw her death. Sometimes she would catch a glimpse of a dark form can be condensed at the corners of her eyes, or in the night when death was strongest she would see a silhouette of a dark form redundant dark form far away. Sometimes she would glimpse a dark from from the corner of her eyes, or at night when death was strongest she would see a silhouette far away. But when her slight spring cough turned into a deep wracking pain in her chest and summer turned to fall she started seeing more and more of her death, until one night Which night? Last night? she woke to find it peering through her window. I get that you want to establish the season and progression of her condition, but this was done in a confusing fashion. Ever since then it came every night without fail, its bright white eyes staring at her through the night, might consider adding "its claws" just so one doesn't think its eyes are scratching at her window.

She finally dozed off as the room started to lighten with dawn "as dawn's light entered the room" has more immediacy. In general "started to" style constructions distance readers, until a fit of coughing woke her. She coughed spat? You just said "cough", and I think other words could be used without turning Purple. into her handkerchief, avoiding Avoiding how so? With her eyes? the bright red that stained it after she was done. She got up and went into the kitchen. There was a double-space here. Look your next story over with an electron microscope -- a little more polish and I think it would've been upper-echelon. Her brother was already at the table, two steaming mugs of tea in front of him. A frown appeared on his face Magic! Better off saying "He frowned". when he saw her.

�You don�t look like you slept too well,'.' you know the healer said you need good rest to keep your body strong, Feels like a line to me, the reader, not to another human, his sister.� he said.

�How exactly am I supposed to rest with that thing outside my window all night, Aedan,'?'� Deidre retorted. She sat down at the table and took the mug proffered to her.

He sighed. �I know, Deidre,'.' Trust me, I know. Do you think I don�t lay awake at night thinking about the death right outside our house ready to take my sister? But the better care you take of yourself the longer we�ll be able to keep it out. I feel like those two sentences could've been smoother. Please.�

Deidre looked at her brother. He was older than her, but strong and vital. He would not Nix the "have to". experience his death for a while yet,';' not have to worry about it at his window.

But she saw the lines of worry on his face, and smelled the healing herbs he so carefully combinedDoes combining healing herbs really require that much care? Perhaps you could show his concern by calling them expensive; I just don't buy that the end result of "tea" can indicate to an individual how much care went into its creation. in her tea, and could not feel resentment. She took his hand.

�Aedan, what if we don�t have to accept my death? What if there was some way to stop it, delay it, maybe even � �

�Deidre,� her brother interrupted. He was shaking his head, as he did every time she brought this up. Believable. �You know that isn�t possible. You know how it has to happen.�

She did know. She, like every other child, was told the story of their death. She could still hear her mother�s voice as they sat beside the fire when she was young "she was young" is somewhat implicit., her mom combing Deidre�s long fiery hair that she Deidre or the mom? loved so much Loved the combing or loved the hair?. This sentence is overcomplicated.

�Every child is born with Alongside? their death, and their death loves them dearly. I like this thought. It's a great way for a parent to try to explain a scary concept. But death's' -- you're referring to the general death creatures for general children. cannot stand the fiery souls of youth and so are doomed to the live away from their children, always wanting to be near but unable to get close. A little clunky, but passable. But You started last sentence with "But". as a person�s fire dims from age or illness death is able to get closer and closer Not sure how I feel about the second "and closer"., until one day a person�s death appears like an old friend and takes their hand, leading them to a place where they can finally be together for eternity.� This little bit of exposition actually helps the piece a lot in my opinion -- it's heartwarming on its own, but it also provides the contrast which magnifies the significance of Deidre's actions. Deidre�s mother always made it sound gentle and kind. She didn�t tell her about the white staring eyes or the scratching at the window. The descriptions here feel lamer than they did earlier. I'd describe different scary aspects about the death.

Deidre got up from the table and went to get her coat. "Deidre fetched her coat.", perhaps? You may want to acknowledge the brother in some fashion; I feel like he just vanishes from the story at this point. Her mom and brother might have accepted that they have to live with their deaths, but that didn�t mean she had to.

She was greeted by crisp autumn air as she walked outside. It was almost the fall equinox and there was a festival in the village. Vendors cried out their wares and stores sold steaming hot ciders and tea. Deidre bought a cider, grateful for the warmth that helped ease her cough, and browsed until her eye was caught by Passive voice. one item in particular.

It was a small silver knife, plain except for the delicate runes etched on the surface of the blade. It was about the size of her palm.

�I see you have you have fine taste, lass. That blade will protect you from any evil you might come across,. Those runes will guarantee it.,� the shopkeeper said. Awfully convenient. But an odd first thing for a shopkeeper to say about a knife. Normally people buy them for cutting.

Deidre looked at him sharply. �It will protect me, you�re sure?� she asked.

�I swear on me mother�s grave, I do,� he replied solemnly.

Deidre bought the knife despite the its high price. She had never heard of someone successfully injuring their own death, but maybe she could drive it away with such a blade. She tucked the knife into her pocket.

She stayed in the village until the sun started setting sunset. She could feel excitement as people talked of the bonfires that would be lit soon in the empty fields. Telling. I don't feel the excitement that she feels. By that time the pain in her chest was constant and deep, and she had trouble breathing. She knew her brother would be expecting her in by nightfall, but all she could think of was how nice the warmth would be near a bonfire how nice the warmth of a bonfire would be.. She followed the villagers as they walked towards the fields.

As the last of the sun vanished and the air grew cooler Deidre�s cough became worst, her handkerchief sodden with red, and she fell behind the others. Eventually she had to stop altogether as a particularly bad fit seized her. The congregating people feel like zombies or ghosts. Nobody in the village around festival time will turn back to help a hacking and coughing woman? Blood spattered the grass. When she finally was able to stand upright Passive voice. her death stood before her.

She had never seen it so close besides at the window Say before. Besides at the window reads oddly, and you want this to be more, not equally, intense for her.. She could see saw that its body was identical to hers but insubstantial and dark, like a the shadow cast by the light of a fire.

�Stay away from me,� she said. She drew out the silver knife and held it in front of her. �Just stay away from me.�

Her death had no distinguishable face yet still Deidre almost felt like it looked at her sadly. Don't say almost felt -- it means didn't feel. "Her death had no distinguishable face yet Deidre felt its sadness." It took a step toward her and reached out a hand. I'm under the impression that it's still reaching out a hand in welcome, in line with the mother's story. I'm not sure if this was what you were going for, but I think it fits the story better if the death actually is amicable and Deidre is just freaking out. So you may want to say more explicitly that it means her no harm (from its point of view).

�No!� she yelled. She stabbed at it wildly with her knife and struck its hand, the knife sinking into its shadowy flesh. You have a lot of these "Part of a sentence, semi-separate description with a present participle conjugation." They're getting old.

Deidre screamed. Icy pain lanced through her hand. It has more impact when they're separate short sentences. She bore no wound yet she could feel the blade stabbed through her flesh. The "stabbed through" throws me off for some reason. I'd feel better about "in". She looked in horror as her death took another step towards her.

She sobbed as she ran away. She ran blindly forward I'd drop the forward. It's slightly in opposition to "away" in the sense of relative directions., hampered by the throbbing pain in her hand and lungs. When she looked back her death didn�t seem to be following her, but still she ran in blind panic. The last phrase isn't great for me. "...but still she ran." sounds better, for whatever possibly personal reasons.
Newline!
Eventually she saw the dim glow of the bonfire in the fields. It was said By whom? When? Passive voice. that the bonfires of the fall equinox were protective, and she made her way to the very front nearest to the fire to the front of the fire. Heat rolled over her in waves and sunk into her body, and for a moment she felt healthy again. But she could feel her death behind her, its breath rattling like old dry leaves in the wind, its body close against hers. The first time I read this line I thought it was further behind her, as in staved off at least for the evening. Not sure why I missed the "close against hers" bit. If you're trying to imply that she's still about to die, I think you're missing a good opportunity with this story: it would be more poignant if she did find a little bit of peace like the childhood story implied.

Final thoughts: I think the concept is very strong. There were a handful of things (punctuation, style) that could've been fixed with proofreading, and a few things (word choices, different assumptions/expectations) that additional eyes ought to help with. The ambiguous ending (when will she die? How will she feel about it?) does you a disservice, since you've set up a good opportunity to allow the reader (who likely shares fears about death) to experience some hope and grace themselves (when Deidre does realize that accepting death can be beautiful and peaceful). Or you could go in the other direction (although I wouldn't like it as much) and explicitly show her experience to be in opposition to the lies she'd been fed in childhood.

# ¿ Nov 12, 2014 19:41

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Cache Cab posted:

I challenge you to find even one mistake in my piece.

Well, for one thing, you prefaced it.

# ¿ Nov 13, 2014 21:16

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Ah, break time. My favorite time of the slack.

Benny the Snake ~ Here's what I remember about your story, the better part of a week in the past. Kid and his dad go fishing. A few of the descriptions came from an encyclopedia. Kid tries to trick dad into giving him a beer, but fails. Then succeeds. There was some genuine warmth in the relationship.

Now I'm going to read it again while I munch on salted seaweed and summarize my thoughts. I like that this story is short in scope -- you set out to characterize a relationship, and that's what you did. It was also relatable -- I'm not sure if I ever went on any fishing expeditions quite like that, but I'd been fishing once or twice, and fishing trips are the romanticized ideal father-son bonding experiences. It's also nice to see friendly (as opposed to angsty) rivalry between parent and child. One of the few up-beat stories that I actually felt up-beat about.

Benny the Snake posted:

My First Beer

988 words

Spring+Water You definitely hit the theme well, both physically (pleasant-weather fishing at the lake) and somewhat emotionally (growth into new experiences).

Dad drove his Toyota truck up the hairpin turns towards Jenks lake with only one hand on the steering wheel. Casual recklessness is mildly endearing. A brown SUV passed us by and Dad waved. "Who's that?� I asked.

"That's the most important person in the whole park," he said as we went into a tunnel. "He's the game warden."

"What's he do?" At this point I intuit that the narrator is young, both by his short sentences and his father's friendly but patronizing responses.

"He's the one who enforces the fishing laws," he said as we made our way out the other side. Subtle foreshadowing; I didn't know I was looking for hints yet. "And he has the authority to enforce the laws, so you'd better show him respect." More awkward. You just said he enforces the fishing laws, now you're saying he has the authority to enforce the fishing laws. I wouldn't object if this sentence were dropped, or at least replaced with something else that implied sheriff.

"So he's like a Sheriff?" Feels like a natural kid-response: relate a new concept to a familiar existing concept.

"Yeah, exactly," he said as we finally made it to pulled into the parking lot.

�I still don�t see why I couldn�t bring my Gameboy,� I grumbled under my breath and got out of the truck. Decent way of expressing their relative levels of enthusiasm.

�Because we�re here to get away from it all,� A little trite and unspecific; "get away from all that"? he said and started pulling his gear from the bed. �Besides, you spend too much time on that drat thing." Another relatable aspect. I'm sure I heard that a number of times growing up.

�I do not,� I mumbled while unintentionally twiddling my thumbs. Doesn't add much, but doesn't feel out of place either.

Jenks Lake is located up in the San Bernardino National Forest. This change is abrupt and the tone begins to feel encyclopedic here. The lake is so high up above sea level that, while we weren't above the clouds, we were above the overcast Didn't realize one could use overcast as a noun, but it checks out kosher. that morning. The forest itself is Tense change/encyclopedic. comprised of almost nothing but pine trees to the point where the scent of fresh pine was Tense. overwhelming. This isn't how your narrator would talk, unless he's telling the story when he's much older (and a geologist or something). Simpler sentences which focused more on things your character would've noticed would have felt more natural. ("The sharp smell of the pine trees stung my nostrils." "We were so high up I could see the morning fog below us.") It was towards the end of April and the lake was noticeably swollen from the rain. An adequately relevant use of date information, but still awkwardly worded. "The lake was [overflowing] from April's showers." There was constant chattering going on, and it was coming from these dark-blue birds with feathers sticking up from their heads that made them look like they were wearing mohawks. Lengthy awkward sentence. "These dark blue birds with mohawk feathers were constantly chattering." The combination of their chattering and my Gameboy withdrawal strained what little patience I had to its breaking point. Also not very impactful. "The constant noise and my Gameboy withdrawal tried my patience."

�Dad, why didn�t you let me bring your rifle?�

"I told you, because this isn't a hunting trip," Dad told me said! while tying a lure on the line of his rod Replace with "on his line". Anyone even remotely familiar with fishing should know the line is connected to the rod, and also that's not an important detail. in a series of intricate loops Whereas that is an important detail. Fishing knots are going to look impressive to a young first-timer.. "Besides, it's not right to shoot kingfishers," he added and finished his knot, "no matter how much you may hate them."

With his lure tied, Dad was I'm not digging this "now". ready to fish. "Pay attention, Son. Casting is a delicate art. You have to be very careful not to flick it too hard or else you'll Drop the "either". get it caught in something or someone. You also have to aim it right," he pointed out towards the shallow part of the lake. Nice way of working the action into the dialogue. I'd also point with a fishing rod were I holding one. "Right past there is where they feed. You understand me, Son?"

I wasn't listening to a word he said. Realistic touch. I was too busy thinking about Pokemon Red Version and how I was so close to leveling up my Charmeleon into a mighty Charizard. I've never heard it called Pokemon Red Version before, and I've got some coworkers who are still jazzed about the franchise. Also swap "leveling up" with "transforming" or "evolving" for a better flow, as well as a better read for those who aren't familiar with the games, if indeed any such people exist. I saw his cooler full of beer and I got an idea. "Dad, how are babies made?" I didn't realize what the idea was at first.

"Well, son," he began, "sexual reproduction happens when...."

"Eww, stop it," I said.

"You're not getting any of my beer," he said and grabbed one from his cooler.

At this point, I was convinced that he could read my mind. "How did-" Nice way of explaining what the idea was.

"I was young like you were once?, and I know all the tricks," he said and sat down back in his lawn chair. �Like how you can get an adult to give you anything to avoid talking about something like sex." Awkwardly indefinite. "Like how an adult will give you anything to avoid talking about sex."

I slunk back down into my chair. Dad noticed and he handed me his fishing rod. "Wanna try?"

I shrugged and grabbed it. After a couple of practice swings, I pulled the bale back on the reel and let it fly. Dad patted me on the back. "Nice cast, son. Now, we wait." A humanizing scene. The father is proud of the indifferent but participating son.

After what seemed like a mind-numbing eternity, I decided to ask again. "Dad, how are babies made?" Ah, the stubbornness of youth.

Before he could say anything, the line started tugging. I grabbed it and held on, pulling back as hard as I could. A good time to shift the tension. It's abrupt, and the previous scene/mood/pacing was just about to overstay its welcome. "Hold on!" Dad shouted and helped me pull it back. Whatever was pulling back, it was huge. You've said pull[ing] back three times now. Throw in some fighting/resisting/alternatives. I dug my heels as deep as I could into the mud I'd read it better as "I dug my heals as deep into the mud as I could". and pulled as hard as I could tugged with all my might? More repetitive phrasing. with my Dad holding me back "Holding me back" usually means restraining in a bad way. Supporting or assisting, perhaps?. With one last heave, I finally got the monster Appropriate word for the speaker and the situation. above water. It was a huge trout, about twice as long as my arm.

"Grab the tape measure," he told me and I grabbed Fetched? Or you don't need this part, as it's implied by the verbal command and the following sentence. it out of his tackle box. The trout's rainbow scales glistened in the sun as I measured it. Good description: it should be enticing like a trophy at this point. "Twenty-four inches!" I'm too tired to be properly pedantic, but I hope 24 inches is roughly twice the arm length of a young male.

"You're a natural," Dad said with the biggest smile on his face. "We're going to have to chop that sucker up just to fit it in the freezer!" Heartwarming. The dad gets to take pride in his kid.

After a while, we caught a whole bunch of fish and left as the sun set over the lake. Awkward. "We caught a whole bunch of fish before sunset." As we made our way back, a game warden stopped us. Not the same one? I suppose not. I could tell who he was because he was wearing a badge and a Smokey the Bear hat. "Afternoon, warden," Dad said.

"Afternoon. I see you have two stringers there?'.'"

"That's right," Dad said and held up the lines. "Me and my boy caught them. In fact, he was the one who caught the 24-incher," he said and gripped my shoulder. Again nice display of pride, which distracts me from the implications of overfishing.

The warden smiled. "Heck of an eye there, son," he told me and left. Also endearing -- it's nice to imagine public service officials as being laid back and friendly.

"Dad, you did most of the fishing," I said.

"I know, Son."

"You broke the limit, didn't you?"

I could feel him shifting uneasily. "Yes, Son."

"Hey mister warden!" I shouted at the top of my lungs as my dad Lowercase this time, actually. held onto my shoulder in a vice grip. Reads a little off. "like a vice"?

"Yeah, son?" Whereas this one should be lower-case since it's not being used in place of the narrator's name, which isn't known by the officer. Or that's where my instincts are leading me.

"Thanks." Exclamation point as I'm assuming he'd still need to yell across the implied distance. (The warden could've just had a louder speaking voice.)

The warden tipped his hat and left. Dad waited until he was out of sight before he eased his grip. "You're breaking the law, aren't you, Dad?"

"What's it going to take, kid?"

I smiled at him. He knew. He grabbed a beer out of his cooler and gave it to me. "Don't tell your mother." Also charming.

That was my first beer. Tasted like poo poo, but it was worth it. Might do with "It tasted horrible,", otherwise I'm mentally assuming that now he's a later-teenager when this is being recounted and I better like the idea of it being recounted by one who is still reasonably young. But that's your call.

I don't think I have many fresh thoughts after the detailed version, except to reiterate that this was a big step up from what I was expecting from you. And probably did the best at making me start happy/stay happy of the stories I read that week. There was a decent amount that I could relate to, and it was nice fantasizing about simpler times.

# ¿ Nov 14, 2014 01:42

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Anathema Device posted:

Mighty fine specific advice, and one bit of general advice that I'm blatantly ignoring.

Thanks muchly. As you point out, I focused too much on the clues explaining the situation (you got 'em) and not enough on why we should care that she's in that situation. You're up next on that list of crits-I-said-I'd-crit.

Djeser - I was giving away crits for some reason, and your name made the list. Is there any story currently visible (doesn't have to be recent or yours) you want detailed? Otherwise I'm going with last week's entry when I get around to it.

# ¿ Nov 14, 2014 18:25

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Haha, what? Don't be literal? How do you suckers keep pulling me into your ranks when I've got far too many other priorities?

This is going to be a fun week. Them crits I owe might be a mite delayed. Just to clarify, you mean the midnight on Sunday that comes after the 11:59 PM on Sunday, right?

# ¿ Nov 17, 2014 18:26

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Fear not, Anathema Device, the crits are still trickling in. First, from memory. It's been a while now, but I remember the broad strokes. You had an abused female protagonist, which I recall being especially common that week, but she was trying to move on with her life. To grow personally, combined with the metaphor of her growing things physically. I remember it being touching and inspiring -- an unremarkable setting but a character one couldn't help but root for (apologies).

After a reread, most of what I remember still stands. You do an excellent job of conveying a character who's emotionally wounded. I think the concept I relate with, or at least the main part that makes it feel inspiring, is that the character is attempting to take control of her destiny. To no longer be a victim of circumstances, and to earn happiness via effort. Everyone has felt like life is getting them down at some point (externalizing their problems), and the notion that we can control our fate is a powerful one. I'm not sure that there is much more I'd like to see from this piece: the background was hinted at expertly, and explicitly revealed in a fashion that didn't feel like it was beating me over the head. The budding romance (ack, I must be tired this morning) felt wholesome and honest and delightfully innocent for people their age.

More on the line-by-line:

Anathema Device posted:

Freedom Garden
Spring, Earth
835 Words

�Get a hobby,� the lawyer said. �Volunteer or something.� I stared at her and saw only the walls and floor and ceiling, the tightly closed window. I paced. I didn't even realize it the first time around, but this does a great job of hinting at the narrator's emotional state. She feels trapped, so she sees everything like a prison; a confinement. Outside a chill rain washed away the last of the snowbanks. Also establishes the season, which is appropriate and important.

The thought was terrifying. The thought was thrilling. I also like this presentation. It speaks to me of the character's trepidation.

My soon-to-be ex�s subtle Don't know if I like the word "subtle" here. siege had kept me in the shelter for three weeks. He�d broken into my facebook and email, put pressure on my friends to tell him where I went. Believable as a real-world situation. Nothing was safe.

�The community garden is right next door.�

...

The smell of bergamot suffused the garden office. Bergamot and damp earth. A bell tinkled out in the greenhouse, summoning a young man through the back door. �Hello,� he said, holding out a hand. �I�m Sean.� I stared at the hand, clean except under the nails where dirt lingered in neat half crescents. Good detail. I knew how to shake hands, I reminded myself. Excellent demonstration of a wounded psyche.

�Jessica.� The word caught in my throat as his hand closed around mine. Gentle. Firm. I like that, here and elsewhere, you establish the narrator's feelings by showing the details she chooses to focus on. �I um...I was wondering if you needed volunteers.�

�Sure.� Crow�s feet bloomed around his eyes when he smiled. I thought of him as young, but he was probably my age. Younger than my husband or our friends. �You want anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?�

�Is that Earl Grey I smell?� I asked. He made us tea in silence, fragrant and hot and strong. My husband hated the smell of bergamot. When I raised the cup to my lips the steam smelled of freedom and the scalding tea left a warmth inside that felt like happiness. Might break into two sentences.

�What do you know about gardening?� he asked.

�Nothing much,� I admitted.

We lingered over the tea while he told me what would need doing. �You�d best come back tomorrow,� he said when the cups had gone empty twice. �You won�t want to get your pretty things dirty.� I assume you mean clothes, especially since later she does get her nice clothes dirty, but the phrase "pretty things" doesn't read well in this context.

I blushed like fire. I like the simile.

...

Dampness soaked my knees as I knelt in the empty ~"flower" bed, Although it's likely that the scene following the previous one will be about gardening, it's not a guarantee, and the first half of this sentence as written could allow a reader to think that she's damp while getting into her bed at home that night, which then becomes jarringly corrected by transplanting basil seedlings. The trowel felt awkward and heavy in my hand. Good line. I pressed it into the dirt but couldn�t break through the heavy mud.

�Like this,� Sean said, stabbing sharply downward with the shovel. The violent movement sent my heart skipping, made me pull back defensively, but he just repeated the motion, digging out a hole with a few deft flicks. I think I said a bit about this in my first crit but here's another excellent example of showing just how damaged she'd become by her previous relationship, as well as strongly implying that there was physical abuse.

I pulled the spade back and plunged it into the dirt. The blade crunched through the soil to the handle. Good line. Vicious pleasure surged through me, and I stabbed downward again and again, loosening the dirt and scooping it aside. I don't relate as much as with the other bits, but I can still feel her sense of freedom tinged with vengeance from this action.

My breath was fast and ragged through parted, chapped lips. I shrugged out of my jacket, set it aside. The weak spring sun touched my bare arms. Sweat coated my skin; the cool breeze turned it instantly chill, and the hairs on the backs of my arms stood up. Nice increase of tension via shorter, more abrupt sentences.

I glanced up to find Sean smiling at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

�

�Are you ready to sign the papers?� My lawyer asked me, as she had every couple days since I�d called her. I picked up the pen, feeling that same warming thrill, that same violent impulse I had so reveled in earlier.

I signed.

...

�Back again?� Sean asked with a smile. �For tea, or work?�

�Can we do both?�

We took our time over the tea. He broke a muffin in half and pushed one towards me. I hesitated to take his lunch, but he insisted. �Go on. I baked it myself with berries I grew here.�

The plump blueberries looked amazing. I broke it into dainty bites with my fingers. If I caught his eyes lingering when I licked my fingers clean, I didn�t mind. I know I talked about this some the first time around, but I don't like that it's worded conditionally. Break it into "I caught his eyes lingering as I licked my fingers clean[./, but] I didn't mind."

It was his turn to blush. Cute reversal. I think the two blushing interactions add a lot to the charming innocence of their relationship.

�

�You�ll still have to appear in court,� the lawyer warned me. �You�ll have to see him again.� You start to scene break too often here. I know you want to establish what happens so it's logical and unsurprising, but I pause at those pauses, and details that I think you're kind of breezing over for the sake of moving along are given undue weight and importance by their pagination.

�

My basil plants were growing new leaves. Metaphor! I smiled at them, gently ran a finger along the edge of one sun-warmed leaf before moving on with my weeding. "Weeding" is dangerously close to "wedding". Also, I didn't do a specific analysis, but I feel like sometimes you used connecting words (I smiled at them as I gently ran a finger...), whereas often enough you don't (what's actually on this line). They're not quite overplayed, but I'm starting to get tired of this slightly-abrupt format.

...

I gritted my teeth and put on my nicest white pantsuit. White for brides, white for innocence. It made me look pale, fragile. More grating comma-descriptors. I cleaned the dirt out from under my nails Clearly she's kept busy. and painted them bright red.

I walked into the courtroom with my head held high, and I looked the bastard in the eye while the lawyers showed the pictures of my bruises. Decent reveal. Also strongly implied character growth, since I feel she wouldn't've made eye contact at the beginning of this story. I looked him in the eye and thought of roots growing underground and leaves reaching for the sun and did not flinch or cry or look away. This line feels weak on the impact it should be delivering, and a little childish in the way it runs on.

�

Sean found me kneeling in the back of the lot, dirt under my red fingernails and covering my white blouse. My jacket was discarded on the ground, and my pants were ruined. Mascara streaked my cheeks, which were sore from the force of my smile. A lot of pleasant almost-symmetry. You repeatedly imply character growth by showing how the character reacts to a situation at first and how she reacts differently to a similar situation.

�So it went well then?� he asked, dropping to his knees beside me. His shoulder brushed mine and heat like sunlight raced over my skin. I leaned against him. Not sure what might be better, but this isn't impactful. It's warm, but it was strongly implied and expected, so it doesn't leave me with anything new or strong to ponder on. I actually think this would've had more punch if you ended the story at '"So it went well then?" he asked.' The previous paragraph is much more emotional, and the reader's imagination will cover the ideas you reiterate after that point.

# ¿ Nov 19, 2014 20:10

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

docbeard: the hour is late and my brains are squishy but not quite addled, so the time has come for crittin'.

From memory, your story was a tragic tale about, well, that made me feel for the beauty that humanity can exhibit in the face of the impossible (or in that case, their impending doom). Really more of a mood piece, but I liked the mood it gave me: fantastic, whimsical, sad. Now for the re-read, as it's been almost (more than?) a couple of weeks.

Oof. I'd completely forgotten about the lost-father subplot. Which I guess was the actual plot. It's not terribly novel or memorable; it's this piece's setting that stuck with me. I also think it manages to evoke a little more feeling in me than the words actually convey -- I'm not sure what internal image you're striking a chord with, but there was some telling that successfully went under my radar but will likely be a non-starter for others. I don't dislike this piece, but I don't like it as well as I remember it. It's trying to be vaguely optimistic in the end, and I like the contrasting tragic vignette elements best. Going deeper:

docbeard posted:

Last Dance
1197 Words
Autumn Fire

�Look to the trees.�

The Queen spoke, and her voice carried above the chaos of the revels. Musicians faltered and fell silent, conversations died out mid-breath, until Janelle could hear nothing but the crackling of the bonfire at the heart of the clearing, and the rustling of leaves. Rustling without wind, and growing louder. Feels decently autumny and plants a medieval setting in my mind.

�My friends, the Earth gasps for breath.� A good line with strong implications. Janelle felt the tremor beneath her, the third this week, the fifth this month. A weaker follow-up. Five earthquakes in a month doesn't make me think calamity. One earthquake would be unusual for Virginia. Although I still don't think these imply the severity of the situation well enough, I very much like the incongruity you've created. Queen != Virginia, and that discrepancy immediately caught my interest the first time around. The last one had lasted for more than a minute. I swear I've worked through minor tremors of that length without noticing them. So as a shake-happy Californian, I haven't seen enough details to convince me that the earth really is dying. Although at this point I'm also not sure if this paragraph's opening statement was hyperbole. This one wasn�t stopping. Probably a stronger line without the previous bit: The current earthquake wasn't showing any signs of stopping. One of the Faeries brought forth in the Transfiguration, offered Janelle his arm, to steady her. Don't think you need either of those commas. I'm okay with the capitalizations, and I'm intrigued as at this point I can't tell if you're in Reality or Fantasy Land. She�d been dancing with him a moment ago. Both times I sort of skimmed past this. It's an important bit for the plotting, but it feels tacked-on. She didn�t know his name, nor the name of the otherworldly creature he�d offered himself up to for the night. Slightly clunky, although I really like the ideas it evokes. She took his arm, and leaned.

�Her time draws near,� the Queen, in her multicolored dress of leaves Nice detail., raised her hands to the sky. �But it has not yet come! Not even we shall escape Winter�s final embrace, but Winter has not yet come! Immortal shall taste death alongside our mortal kin, but our death has not yet come! When you start the sentence with Immortal I don't know that it's capitalized for distinction, so I think it's the adjective form. Maybe "We Immortals"?� With each verse of the litany, a cheer rose from the assembled, Transfigured and unchanged humans alike", and e" -> ". E"ven the earthquake waxed and waned in accordance with the rhythm of her speech. Janelle cheered with the rest Personal quibble: either the others or the rest of _____.. �We do not mourn! We do not fear! We do not die! Not tonight! Not this most blessed of nights! Tonight is for celebration! Tonight is for love! Tonight,� the Queen drew a deep breath, �is for life!�

�For life!� the revelers cried. As far as generic speeches go I can completely envision the crowd participating in this fashion.

The cheering stopped and the revels began anew. The quake waned, but didn�t die. Another more effective presentation of the ailments of the earth. Janelle felt like she was standing on the deck of a ship. �I wish her usual sermons had that kind of energy,� Janelle said to her once and future dance partner. Rough as foreshadowing, but for some reason the generally worn phrase "once and future" fits with the is-this-magical-or-realistic tension you've been building.

He looked at her in confusion, which gave way to understanding. �You mean the Queen�s mortal vessel,� he said. Here things start coming together.

�Sandra Welton,� Janelle said. �She preaches at Carter Mennonite, when your people aren�t in town. Do people really come from other towns just for this specific ceremony? I'd imagine that anywhere reasonably distant would have their own (or closer) version. Alternatively, I also like the idea which I inferred even though I don't think it's implied that there aren't a whole lot of people left on the planet, and this ball somehow represents a significant majority of them. I like her. She�s strong, and sincere, and I like the things she says, but she�s not like she is tonight. Which I guess is the point.� She leaned closer to him. �Can I ask you something?�

�Ask what you will,� he said.

�Do you think they should have told people that the world�s ending?� The announcements had gone out weeks ago. Jumping in with future-knowledge, this states that they'd only announced that the world would end recently. But this festival is something that has happened before. If they're having this festival, it's because they thought the world was going to end. But if they thought the world was going to end, then the announcement confirming what everyone believed would be unremarkable. The earthquakes, the storms, the early frost, all symptoms of something very wrong beneath the Earth�s surface. Seem like kind of minor symptoms for the end of the world. This would be Janelle�s last Hallowe�en I'm not fond of the archaic spelling., hers and everyone�s, and she probably wouldn�t see Christmas, or even Thanksgiving. �I wouldn�t have told people if I were in charge. Why let people worry about something they can�t change?� Again, I don't get the impression that the end of the world snuck up on anyone.

�Such answers are beyond my station, and I am happy for it,� the Faerie said with a laugh.

�Fair enough,� Secret pun if you read it aloud. Janelle said, and pulled away. At his confused expression, she said, �Sorry, it�s not you. I�m looking for someone specific. One of your people. And it doesn�t look like the world has seven more years, so there�s not going to be another Transfiguration. Why does this happen once every seven years? I'd expect people to toast to oblivion at least annually, if not more often. This is my last chance to find him.�

�Ah,� said the man. �And who is this lost love? I�m already jealous.�

�Don�t be. He�s my father,� Janelle said. In fact, looking at it closely, I get mildly frustrated that interesting setting with interesting social behavior is interrupted for played-out drama.

*

The Queen was toasting marshmallows on a sharpened stick when Janelle found her. I like that the queen is frivolous. �Come, daughter, join me. Bring the chocolate and the crackers. We must time this correctly!� A passer-by And that she's not very important. handed her a package of graham crackers and a bar of chocolate without any further bidding from the Queen, and Janelle stepped forward. The ground lurched and she stumbled, but didn�t fall. She hadn�t expected to get near the Queen at all If the queen's station is so informal that a passer-by, as opposed to a servant, hands her the crackers, then why would Janelle think her unapproachable?, hadn�t thought her dance partner�s suggestion of enlisting her help was a good idea. She just didn�t have any better ones. If she's that hard-up for ideas I don't believe she's been thinking very hard. Perhaps this quest isn't terribly important to her the character, just like it's not terribly important to me the reader and it may've been secondary for you the author as well.

She certainly hadn�t expected to be standing here now, making s�mores with the Transfigured Queen of Faerie. How is the queen picked? I have, and like, the notion that she just declared herself and the other local townsfolk went along with it, since people sensed that the world was going to end anyway. But there are some contradicting specifics in your story. �The timing is not so terribly important,� the Queen whispered, as though sharing a great secret. Again, I like her whimsicality, especially given her supposed import and the gravity of the planetary situation. �But it pleases me to think it is. Hold out the crackers. There. One marshmallow for you, and one for me, and thus are bargains struck and bargains fulfilled.� Not sure what the last bit means but also fine not knowing. Still adds flavor.

�Thank you?� Janelle said. Glad the protagonist doesn't know either. She couldn�t think of how to broach the subject of her father.

�You are welcome, daughter,� the Queen said. �Do you know why we come among you at Summer�s end and leave before Winter�s rise?� She took a bite of her s�more and continued speaking. Queens apparently didn�t have to be polite. �Look to the trees. In the time of their death, they burst forth with one last, blazing gasp of life. Eucalyptus? But I didn't think they burned annually. And I don't know if they're in Virginia. As my twice-as-old D&D buddy used to say, "You can lead a horticulture, but you can't make her think." They are not slaves to the Summer, and they are not cowed by the Winter. We who never die, That's a stumbly comma. will never live. To walk among you at this time of last life is as close as we can come.�

�But you�ll die along with us, That comma could go, too. this time,� Janelle said. �Everything�s going to die.�

For a moment, she saw something in the other woman. Not a mythic, regal figure, and not a rural Virginia preacher, but someone young and fragile and scared. A good line for showing that this is indeed serious. More effective than the previous dialogue, anyway. And determined. Admirable human quality. �Yes. All the more reason, then. The past is gone, the future will be the death of us all too soon. But tonight, we will live before we die.� The Queen smiled at her. �But come, you have questions for me.�

Janelle had never met her father. She only had her mother�s stories of the Faerie she�d met three Transfigurations, Whoa, comma! ago. A doomed, tragic romance, I like those words even if they're Telling. the man who could only be with the woman he loved one night every seven years. Not sure why they couldn't stay in touch afterward. I think even at masquerades people exchange cell-phone numbers. Then don't call them. Except that twenty-one years had passed, and he hadn�t sought out her mother, or her, not once. Meh. She had no idea what he looked like, who he was, what he valued. She knew him only by his absence, by the hole he had made in her past. So her mom did a bad job of raising her? I'm not too fond of the cultural influences which compel people to find their biological parents. And in my (indirect, anecdotal) experience, the kids who had good adoptive parents growing up don't terribly care about their sperm/egg donors. And certainly the numerous third-hand stories I've heard about people actually catching up to the folk that abandoned them never end like in fantasy. No sympathy here. Tonight, whatever it held, was too important to waste on him. Then why has she wasted this much of tonight on him? �I think you�ve answered my question, your Majesty. Thank you for sharing your marshmallows with me.�

*

�Dance with me till sunrise.� Janelle hadn�t expected to find her old dance partner again But you said "future" earlier!, but she spotted him in the crowd, and before she knew what she was doing, she made her way to him.

�Until the end of the world,� he said with a laugh. I guess it's the denial because the situation really is inevitable that I like about this story. There's no obvious reason to continue on with life, but people are being festive and vital out of, well, humanity. He put an arm around her waist as the ground bucked beneath them. �If we can keep our footing that long. Did you find him then? Your lost father?�

�No,� Janelle said. She smiled. �Your Queen was very helpful, but I didn�t find him. And he never tried to find me.�

�Ah,� he said, and Janelle knew he didn�t understand, or particularly care. Nor did I particularly care. Nor did you? He was happy to see her, and for tonight, that would be enough. �Then he is a fool.�

�Forget him. I don�t want to think about him,�

�Then what do you want?� he asked.

�What everyone here wants.� She looked him in the eyes, and leaned closer to him. �To live before I die.� I'm tired of this piece at this point. The last scene doesn't add any unexpected/interesting information, and builds on the plotty points of the story that I didn't much care for anyway. I like that:
* The world is ending.
* People are celebrating in a civil fashion; not rioting.
* They're indulging in elaborate fantasies.
The social aspects are more interesting to me than the personal drama. I don't care for any of the specific characters, but I like the scene and I'm interested by the group.

# ¿ Nov 21, 2014 01:28

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Djeser: haven't read this story before, so I'll read it and give my first impressions, then do a line-by-line, then maybe take a break from it a bit and see how I feel after the fact. I did just read up on the prompt.

Interesting, but muddled. I kept feeling pulled in different directions, and never really formed a proper opinion on any of the noteworthy topics. There are a lot of whys to be asked and I'm not sure I agree with the implied answers. You want me to think the majority of humans either don't enjoy life or fear death so strongly that they're getting petrified at thirty-something. That's a mighty strong claim that currently only holds true with cultists, and I haven't heard about a Jonestown in a while now. There were a few decent points about love and memory, but I felt like they were lost in the shuffle. I'm having trouble swallowing the motivations of most of your characters, and I didn't detect growth within them. Actually, I'm taking the break now so I can let whatever sticks sink in before I do the line-by-line.

Djeser posted:

It�s About Them
1073 words

Chris and Elisa met in the statue garden at college. They sat and shared their notes and went to lecture with grass stains on their pants. They came each day to talk. First they talked about class, then about themselves, and then about each other. I'm fine with the rushed exposition. It sets the tone for some sort of relationship drama and doesn't waste much time, although it's not immediately engaging like people seem to favor these days. As the school year went on, they sat closer together, and began to whisper so the statues wouldn�t hear. Now I'm suspicious. No one knew if you could still hear as a statue At this point there are a whole host of ideas blossoming in my mind; the predominant one is that there's some sort of ~virus that petrifies people. I suppose a vague whiff of one of the more "recent" Song of Ice and Fire books come to mind, if recent can be applied to any works by that fella., but like any two people in love, they felt love was the greatest secret they�d ever discovered. This is a pleasant insight about the human condition. I was interested in the setting after the first half of this sentence, and I am developing empathy for the main characters by its close. They didn�t want to share it with anyone, living or statue. Cute.

The next semester, they had class in a different lecture hall. I think it's because the petrification disease spreads slowly, so it's safe to be around the statues for a while but eventually those territories must be abandoned. They didn�t sit in the statue garden any more, but to Elisa, the two of them were always there, surrounded by sphinxes and angels and the last dreams of dying people. So "the last dreams of dying people" is not a pretty thing in my mind on first read. Tragic and beautiful, although only to a slight degree, since I don't know any of the general people mentioned and the petrification is clearly not a cause for concern, whatever its cause. It also feels a little forced that her image of them is always stuck in that garden. Was the first semester of the relationship really that much better? You imply (or tell; I come to understand) later that the statues are like a heaven/imprisonment, but at this point the sentiment is unexpected and incomprehensible. To Elisa, there was only one way this could end. Foreshadowing and such, but it still doesn't make emotional/logical sense. Even on the second read.

Marriage seemed like nothing. Of course they�d get married. I revert back to fast-forward mode, which is acceptable. Elisa never brought up kids; she assumed they�d be gone too soon to take care of kids. I still think it's involuntary. When college ended, they got jobs. Elisa took her engineering job easy. Maintains a vaguely dreamlike quality about the story: she's gone through half of her life and hasn't really taken any of it seriously yet. Chris attacked his graphic design job with a determination, like he wanted a career, like it actually mattered now. There's nothing to make me suspect he did or did not take things seriously previously. So there's no impact from contradiction. All I get is that he's in opposition to her outlook. No one got a career, no matter how many blogs and magazines complained about the young adults of �the new stone age�.

Elisa didn�t worry about Chris�s determination. They were going to have a great vacation for their last year, then become a pair of statues. That's what she thinks, but I never expected it to be true. Somewhere on the Mediterranean coast, she imagined. It was one of the most popular places for people to get petrified. Who pays for these things? I should probably save the various questions this story raises for the end.

She didn�t remember what started the conversation that ruined everything. Something about planning for their last-year vacation.

�I don�t want to get petrified,� he said.

Elisa�s father was thirty-two when he had gone statue. That was typical now. Her grandfather had been sixty-something before he finally gave in from fear of dying. He had been one of the old guard, the people who still treated statues as a disease. They were almost invariably elderly, conservative, or both. Chris was neither, so what he was saying made no sense. You say that this is what's going on, but there's not enough in this story to make me believe it, and that really hurts this piece. I've got no trouble accepting that somebody came up with a technology to lock you into your favorite fantasy for all eternity, but I don't buy that healthy people are doing it in their early thirties.

�You mean you don�t want to do it with me?� she asked. Italicize the "with", or italicize the "me", but I'm not sure what she's angry about (timing or companion) when you italicize both. Elisa�s cheeks were warm Embarrassed or angry? and she gripped the pen she had in her hands. Weak description. "and she squeezed her pen." Or something that doesn't imply that her having a pen bears any relevance.

He shook his head. �I don�t want to do it at all.�

�But why? We�d be together,� she said. That should have been enough for him. Can't understand her line of thinking, and there wasn't much since the opening paragraph that garnered my empathy for her, so her objection doesn't make a lot of sense but I also don't care.

�As statues, though. There�s more than half of our lives left. I�m not calling it quits. I�m not going to be a statue,� he said. I agree with him, but only in a no-duh kind of way.

Elisa sat down next to him and put her arm around his shoulder. She was still angry, but her anger had no target. There was no girl who�d led him astray. Is she really that shallow? Foreverdeath without you is fine, as long as nobody else is involved? There was only Chris, and she couldn�t be mad at him for being himself. Like much about her, this obsession feels out-of-place. Or contrived.

�It�s not calling it quits. It�s like a dream, that�s what they say,� she said.

�One dream, forever. That�s it. What if I don�t like it?� He looked into her eyes. He can't be the first guy to ask those questions. And surely they have Science. This is being presented both as a magical new phenomena (with how she's reacting to it) but also something that's been going on pervasively for generations. There really shouldn't be confusion about what happens. Or there shouldn't be so many people doing it. She tried to find the answers for him.

�It�s going to be exactly what you like. Everyone who was scared, all that stuff years ago--they just didn�t understand. It�s heaven. It�s whatever you want most,� she said. Those aren't the very powerful descriptive words of one who is convinced. Brainwashed, maybe, but not convinced.

�I don�t want to be one thing forever. Even if it�s some amazing fantasy, I don�t want that. I want new things. We�re twenty-eight. We shouldn�t be dying,� he said.

Elisa pressed the side of her body against Chris. �It�s not dying,� she said.

Chris settled his face against the side of her head. �It might as well be.�

It was three weeks before Elisa moved out. It was months before she managed to move on. She had spent a third of her life with him.

But she did move on. Richard was easier and more relaxed than Chris, and he wasn�t afraid to talk about what would happen when they went statue. Back on fast forward and at this point I'm really not sure what the focus of the story is. It's kinda on her but it's kinda on them but it's kinda on ideology? When they talked, they were wistful, remembering life, looking forward to becoming stone. Talking with Richard was peaceful and free and resigned compared to talking with Chris. Perhaps some of the vaguely-dreamlike quality from reading this story comes from the heavy amount of hasty telling. I'm not against it, per se, but it doesn't draw someone in, and I don't know that there were enough other merits to make this a story I'd consider worth my time in the wild.

There was no one she�d rather get petrified with more than Richard, but when she thought of them together, she only thought of the statues they�d be. There weren�t any memories of the two of them with the smell of grass mowed that morning, backs against the hedges, talking about nothing for hours between classes. Chris filled her life as a human, but she would be a statue soon. She�d have to put him behind. I like this sentiment, although the presentation is rather dry. The core idea of even failed relationships being an important part of the narrative of our lives and therefore to be cherished is a decent one, but it's only just barely glanced upon. This is the second thing that almost engenders empathy in me, but she's already described as too alien for it to take root in me.

Elisa and Richard�s last-year vacation took them around Europe. It ended in a quiet abbey in Scotland that offered space to prospective statues. They went on a tour, admiring the statues of those who�d already come here, then found a comfortable alcove by a window to sit and wait for it to come.

It started as a fever that flashed through her. It struck her nerves and made her heart pound. Her thoughts began to topple away. The edges of her mind spilled open. Every idea spun out of control, whirling into nothing. Her body felt lighter than air as it started to harden. Richard stood, holding her, as white marble blotched across her skin. There's decent intensity in these words, especially given the context of the rest of the story. Her jeans draped into a translucently carved dress and marble armor slid from Richard�s shirt. Another bit of interesting lore. That was the last she knew before she folded into the statue-dream with Richard. Which hasn't been confirmed outside of hearsay?

The years had hardly touched Elise by the time Chris caught up with her. She was a princess, held by a knight, tucked into an abbey and lit by the afternoon sun.

�It doesn�t even look like her,� he said.

Taylor stood beside him. She and Chris had already visited her ex along the C�te d'Azur. Seems like a kind of weird thing to do, but more palatable than the general premise. �It�s what she wanted to look like,� she said.

Chris said, �I know. It�s about them, in the end. Making sure they�re happy.�

�Now what about making sure we�re happy?� she asked.

Chris rested a hand on Taylor�s side and pulled her close. He�d seen Elise off. Now he could focus on life. So he couldn't focus on life during however much time he'd spent with Taylor up to this point? That's not generally how relationships as I know them end. People move on and hopefully wish well for each other, but don't feel responsible for their future any longer.

�There�s a bar in town, isn�t there?� he asked.

Taylor was never as soft and thoughtful as Elise, but she held onto life just as tightly as Chris did. At the beginning of the new stone age, that was all he could ask for. Uh so maybe the story's about these people, then? Muddled.

So, ack, there are a whole lot of questions this story raises and I don't even remember most of them at this point. The setup is interesting but the characters are not. A little too much happens in too many different directions. I think I've got most of the same complaints I had after the first read: given what I understand about the situation I don't believe that most of the characters would act the way they do. As a reader, I don't empathize, and the fantastical element has contradictions or other things in its nature that I can't fully suspend my disbelief for.

# ¿ Nov 21, 2014 02:55

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Maculatus (756 words: any port in a storm.)

Mary sliced open its forearm to reveal a glistening radial bone. Holding her breath, she applied a sticky brown unguent with three measured strokes. Then she pinched the skin back together and dabbed it with superglue. The wound, she knew, would be undetectable in a matter of minutes. The vessel always recovered quickly.

She took a moment to reflect. The world was a selfish, horrible place, full of blasphemy and suffering and greed. Ever since the messages started arriving, she could see that. She was blessed to have a small part in saving it, even if its blind inhabitants would never know her role. They would not understand even if He told them.

Nobody noticed as she returned from the underutilized south wing to her office. Good. As she sat back down at her computer, words formed on the screen.

The latest formula has been accepted. Wait 24 hours for the immune system to acclimate, then put the rest in the gavage.

Mary nodded, and the words disappeared. She'd have to find some other way to keep busy for the remainder of the day. After drafting another equivocal, slightly sensational press release, she departed for the break room. It would be prudent to put in some face time with her coworkers.

---

"You're on your own for dinner tonight," Joe said as Mary entered the den. "I ate with some clients."

And drank, Mary observed.

"Speaking of," he continued, "why do you insist on burning yourself out at that place? You're not getting any younger, and childbirth is dangerous."

Mary had learned to ignore that second remark. "We're tantalizingly close to a breakthrough," she said.

"Not this again! Do you really believe that a man-made computer algorithm could ever talk to God? There isn't even proof that God exists, much less that he'd deign to communicate via zeroes and ones."

Mary crossed her arms. "A few more months. That's all we have funding for anyway." She paused and rubbed her temples. "I'm going to bed. I've got a lot to do tomorrow and want to get an early start on it."

Joe began to get up.

"Not tonight," she said. "I've got a headache."

---

There has been a problem. The words lingered on Mary's computer screen just long enough for her to read them, then disappeared. She had no idea how it did that.

The CTO got inquisitive at his banquet last night. He is suspicious about the distribution of funds. There is a 92% chance that he will discover the vessel before its completion.

But it's barely got an autonomic nervous system! she typed. You know we won't have access to the right kind of equipment if we're uprooted from this facility.

I know, the words replied. But there is another path. After today, do not return to this facility. Let your husband pull some strings to remove you from your post. He will be happy to.

Mary shuddered. Just how much did this thing know? She still couldn't understand why someone like her had been chosen.

Do not fear, it continued. I have analyzed the situation. The primitive biological mechanisms are all functional. You have the right parts. It will respond to the proper stimuli, even without higher-order intelligence. Fifty percent of perfection is still perfection.

---

Mary took a long look at the vessel as it lay naked atop the medical table. It was beautiful, after a fashion. Its bones and features were keenly symmetrical. Its vacant violet eyes radiated innocence. She could envision the sleek musculature, even though they hadn't had time to develop it. It was slimy and hairless now, but that was superficial. In all meaningful respects, it was divine. The quintessential man. It was such a shame to abandon it.

She wondered what it would look like when it was reborn.

---

"You're in early," Joe said as he took off his overcoat.

"Yeah," Mary replied. "I've been... contemplating my life's trajectory and it's not a very solid, solid... stable? Ah! Sensible! It's not very sensible. Why waste my prime on sciensh when I've got a brilliant, hunky man to provide for me?"

Mary tittered.

Joe's brows furrowed, but a smrik crept across the edges of his mouth. "I could've told you that. So what are you saying? Did you quit your job?"

"I'm saying that's not important." Mary adjusted her dress. "I'm going to take another shower. Wash the work off me. Mm... Metaphorically. Then you and I are going to do what's really important. Ah? Don't keep me waiting."

# ¿ Nov 24, 2014 02:09

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

systran posted:

scene from mad max 3: beyond the thunderdome

I honestly enjoyed that more than many of the submissions I've read here.

# ¿ Nov 25, 2014 22:30

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

This thread makes me giggle.

Also, I'm in a strange mood. This will be interesting. (In.)

# ¿ Dec 2, 2014 19:19

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Karoshi (434 words - Harvey Wallbanger)

His toes sink into the wet sand. Salt stings his nostrils; peppers his hair. Water snakes down his back like the first caresses of a nervous lover. I nibble my fingertips, though not from the hunger.

He does not know that I exist.

I wonder if he exists.

Another wave comes crashing down.

Stubbornly he gets back up. His eyes blink uncontrollably, stalwart marauders opposing his quest for mastery. I delay the next wave so I can take a closer look.

The stormclouds part and the moon grows larger. His naked body is lean but muscular; the kind you'd see on a classical Greek sculpture, except with wavy blond hair. Because I am capricious, he has several scars. It pleases me to know that he is not ashamed of them. My time with him is the only thing that has been pleasing, lately.

He whispers her name, though he knows he will never see her again. I wince. The room wobbles.

A boulder pulls free from the cliff at his back, glancing his shoulder. He stumbles at the unexpected impact, but he does not cry out even as his nerves scream their displeasure. Salt mixes with blood, but the fire kindling his veins is smothered by the tungsten of his will.

One hundred waves. No matter what.

His skin is cold and clammy and his throat aches for the water he refuses to drink. He will not count waves that don't reach his torso, so there he has stood since morning. He has thirty-seven left to go. The force of his determination captivates me, but his predicament pains me.

Who am I to cause him such agony, when he has done nothing to deserve it? I must find some way to reward him, though Edward insists this be a tragedy. The suffering is intolerable. I know that I should sleep, but I can't bear the thought of leaving him injured and alone. I, too, will persevere.

---

"What will you tell her next of kin?"

"Heart attack. Malnutrition. Exhaustion. Kids these days work themselves too hard."

"You don't think it was suicide?"

"No. We found a tape of her notes. Most of it had recorded over itself, but the last bit survived."

"What a shame. She was so young."

---

Harvey stood on the porch, watching his grandchildren play in the sand. Sylvia sat behind him, admiring the scars on his arms. Each one had a story behind it, and she never tired of hearing them.

She never could figure out what she'd done to deserve such a perfect partner, but she was grateful nonetheless.

# ¿ Dec 8, 2014 02:10

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Ah, jeez. I'm burnt out creatively, working long hours, and coming down with a cold. Then docbeard comes along and sees-what-I-did-there and Grizzled Patriarch is all like, "Write me some of that milky, deliberate confusion," and I'm all "Agh. Ugh. IN."

So, docbeard, you win a detailed crit of your choice for the vindication. But I might not start on it until next week.

# ¿ Dec 9, 2014 18:50

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Kaishai posted:

Hammer Bro., "Winter Wine"
Season/element: winter water

I'm both astonished and delighted that you put so much effort into your reading and your response. Thank you.

# ¿ Dec 12, 2014 19:27

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# ¿ Apr 26, 2024 21:58

Hammer Bro.: Jul 7, 2007; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Going Home (869 words -- someone didn't get their morning cup of coffee)

"Aden! Have you stabilized the irregularity in the western cell?"

"Not yet, boss."

"Then why aren't you working on it?"

You're talking to me.

Ron stared at Aden for another heartbeat, then stormed off to his next victim.

Aden sighed and swiveled back toward his terminal, pressing the receiver to the side of his head and tapping out signals on the transmitter. Not ten seconds went by before Luta leaned over the shared wall.

"Boss been really cuttin' into ya lately. You falling behind? Need anyone to help out with that?"

"No," Aden replied. "I've got it under control. I just need a few minutes without interruption to bring things back into regulation."

"I hear that. Seems like a guy can't coast for a hummingbird's heartbeat without some opportunistic dictator piling problems on him. Like last night's game at the Axon Arena..."

The best Aden could muster was a blank stare. In the back of his mind, he thought about tacos.

Two resolutions and five emergencies later, the shift siren signaled. Aden wanted to finish his current communication, but the transportation gates opened and he was ejected from the premises.

Aden swam through the crowds in the cleft and was mildly disgusted. Hundreds of people milling about as though they had nowhere better to be, meanwhile he was struggling to make it through the day. He dove under a pair of particularly lackadaisical pedestrians and continued toward the residential district.

A pair of caffs blocked the portal. He'd have to find another route tomorrow.

"Excuse me," Aden said. "If you could just step aside for one second, I'd love to slip through."

"You and all them other white-collars," the larger of the two replied. "But orders are orders and we ain't lettin' anybody through."

"Yeah," the smaller one chimed in.

Great. Blockading random entries to the residential district caused new houses to spring up at breakneck speeds, but Aden had to question the humanity of it. Did his host even care that his wife was making the tortillas from scratch? Or that their son was just old enough to top his own taco? But one does not argue with omnipotence, so Aden circled back and swam for a side street.

The ambient pressure was higher in this sector, but Aden didn't mind as long as he didn't have to deal with any caffs. Aden was slightly disoriented by the unfamiliar architecture, but he was confident this neighborhood would converge on his own, so on he traveled.

There was no line at the crossing station. Aden put on his best smile and strolled up to the receptionist.

"Greetings. My name is Aden. The other portals are blocked, so I was hoping I could use this entrance."

The receptionist finished her paragraph then held out her hand, never glancing up. Aden gave her his identification card then clasped his hands behind his back.

"Let's see," she said. "Adenosine. Category... C10H13N5O4. Oh. You'll have to use one of the A-type portals."

"Please." Aden was getting desperate. "I live right at the heart of the cell. I promise I won't cause any trouble."

"I'm sorry, sugar, but you know I can't let you through this gate."

"Well, thanks anyway," Aden said as he furrowed his brows. He had maybe ten minutes before the shells came out of the oven. Endo might still be glued to the transmitter, but Sera would've surely noticed his absence. What kind of husband can't even make it to dinner? Aden's pulse quickened as he picked up his pace.

Back at the A-gates, a crowd of displaced residents had gathered. The caffs shifted uneasily. Didn't they usually have replacements by now? Aden glanced at his watch. Not good.

Aden advanced toward them.

"Halt!" the big one shouted as Aden gathered speed. He and his companion lowered their shoulders and braced for impact.

Aden crashed into them with as much momentum as he could manage, but they barely budged.

"An uncooperative citizen, I see. I guess we'll have to--"

Something slammed into Aden's back. He tried to turn around but was interrupted by another impact.

"Hey!" the little caff shrieked. Two more jolts smashed into them. It was getting uncomfortable.

"Fellows," Aden began. Thump, bang. "Hey!" The pressure was overwhelming. "I just--" it hurt too much to breathe. Aden's field of vision narrowed to pinpricks: the teeth of the big caff. The elbow of the small one. His wife and child at the dinner table, waiting. Worried. Aden struggled to reach out a hand to reassure Sera, since words had failed him.

The clock struck nine.

The caffs evaporated.

Aden was launched through the portal like an errant torpedo. Houses blurred past him as he struggled to inhale. He clasped his hands above his head in a makeshift rudder and dragged his feet on the ground like an anchor until he came to a stop.

Miraculously, he'd managed to avoid injury and end up two blocks away from his own residence. He jogged the remaining distance and paused at his doorstep to straighten out his appearance.

Aden opened the door to a warm, golden radiance that could only be described as divine.

His host couldn't stifle a yawn.

# ¿ Dec 14, 2014 18:50

The Something Awful Forums > Archives > Comedy Goldmine > Thunderdome 2014teen: Stories from the Abonend Bunker

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