|
Working on my crits... will try to finish by tonight https://docs.google.com/document/d/1eAvCaGfk6xfdDrawgooPzgCbntCx4s_54l5z1_FvSaA/edit?usp=sharing
|
#
¿
May 26, 2014 17:35
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Oct 5, 2024 06:28 |
|
|
Echo Cian posted:Funny hobby you've got for an illiterate. quote:magnificent7 (SA) At least he actually writes (while having a job and a life)
|
|
#
¿
May 30, 2014 03:02
|
|
|
in
|
|
#
¿
Jun 3, 2014 13:05
|
|
|
Anyone want to trade with me? 
|
|
#
¿
Jun 4, 2014 19:13
|
|
|
Some Guy TT posted:I'd trade with you, but I haven't gotten one yet so you'd just be getting another random one from the pile. Probably a really terrible one since you're trying to circumvent Tyrannosaurus' rules. I'll probably take you up on this once you get one 
|
|
#
¿
Jun 6, 2014 13:53
|
|
|
How I Learned I Was Gay 1325 Words. I squeezed the bar and pulled my shoulders back into the bench. Seven plates and then some. I drove my heels into the floor, imaging that I--and not the bar--weighed 380 pounds. I squeezed harder, willing the bar to snap in half, I felt strong enough to do it; my lats and my pecs and my abs and every muscle in my body flexed and signaled their anticipation. Then that massive weight was above me, pressing me down into the sweaty leather. I lowered it to my sternum; a chunk of iron more than twice my body weight threatening to crush me, and it felt so good. Then I exploded. All the protein shakes and early mornings and not getting to party, I channelled all of that discipline into the weight, and it rose straight up as if on rails. Everyone cheered, but whatever surged through me was louder. The spotter took the weight from my hands, and I jumped off the bench. I saw Katherine cheer and smile, but Bobby got to me first. “Bro!” is all he said, but I knew exactly what it meant, it meant ‘you just set a state record and I’m so loving proud of you.’ It meant, ‘we had trained hard together and sacrificed so much, but--God--it was so worth it, wasn’t it?’ Then Bobby gave me a bear hug, the kind where he tried to crush me. He wouldn’t crush me though, not today, not with the pump I had going after such a massive bench. “I’m so proud of you, Chandler” Katherine said, but it sounded like a line from a bad movie. She must have see my disappointment, because she squeezed my bicep and said, “You’re so strong.” I had explained many times to her that the bench press was a compound lift, and that while the bicep plays a big role, it’s more about engaging as many muscle groups as possible. Maybe it’s just something girls could never understand. “Thanks, babe,” I said, “clean and jerk is next, and it’s my most important lift, so I gotta get into a good headspace. We can celebrate after.” Bobby and I practiced with just bumper plates. He needed work on his second pull, so I watched him go through a few runs. “Your grip is too narrow,” I said, putting my hands over his and forcing them out an inch or so, “try it like this.” He smelled good, but I dismissed it as nostalgia; I had a lot of good memories lifting with him. The intercom announced the break was ending, so Katherine brought me some water and we moved to the staging area. I thought it was just me, but I didn’t like how her makeup looked. I could always see it as this separate entity existing on top of her face: her mascara was just a dried casing stuck into and gunking up her eyelashes, and her lipstick reminded me of little kids eating shaved ice and not wiping their faces off afterward. “You smell good,” I said, it was one of the things I knew I could say to make her happy. A little bit of effort here and there would keep her off my back in the long run. “Thanks! I’m trying a new perfume, I was worried it isn’t subtle enough.” “No, it’s great,” I said, though she smelled like a spice rack. I watched a lot of my competitors, and only a few were on my level. I could probably win the whole thing and go on to nationals if I got 260 on clean and jerk, which I could do in my sleep. I wanted to go pro though, so I needed to start making a name for myself before college. I decided to go for another state record and do 290. I had failed 285 last week, but after that bench and from the high I had, 290 felt in reach. Go big or go home. I knew Katherine would tell me not to, but she didn’t even know how much I could lift. I guessed she didn’t even know how much a plate weighed. Bobby would support me, at least. The judges called me up and announced I was going for 290. Bobby grabbed my arm, “290? Really, man? I want you to win this thing, do 280 and this is a done deal.” Bobby had failed on his squat and wasn’t going to even place. “I can do this, Bobby, I don’t want to just win this little state thing, and I’m not going to win nationals with 280. I thought you were on my side?” “I am, I am. Jesus though, 290?” He would never say it out loud, but what he wanted to say was: ‘You can’t even do 285.’ I just looked at him, daring him to say it. “Okay, Chandler, just...uh...be safe out there man.” He ran back and left me alone before I could reply. He’d never told me to be safe, just to lift heavy and hard. I stood in front of the bar and started my breathing. I needed perfect execution if I wanted to get this much weight off the floor and over my head. I saw Katherine messing with her phone, she probably wouldn’t put it down until I moved toward the bar. Didn’t she realize that breathing and getting ready was part of the lift? It might have even been the most important part. The first part of a clean and jerk is just like a deadlift with wider grip, and deadlifting 290 was baby steps to me. I lifted it straight up as I locked out my hips. When the bar passed my waist I went into the second pull, the pull I had been helping Bobby with. The goal was to flip the bar from the thighs to the shoulders, to get the weight above my head as I sunk down into a squat position. I flipped the weight above my head and sunk down into a squat, but I overdid the flip and brought the weight too far backward. My body wanted to topple over, and I wish I had just let myself fall back right there, but I wasn’t willing to give up. I began to stand even as I struggled to stabilize, I made it about halfway up when the bar slipped straight out of my hand. I felt something hit my head as I fell, and my neck crunched. Then I felt a rush of warmth all throughout my body. Only my head hurt. I heard Katherine screaming, but I could only hear her somewhere out of my field of view. I knew I shouldn’t move my head, so I only really saw the ceiling, and one of the judges above me. Then Bobby. “Son, can you hear me?” “Yeah, yeah, I think I’m fine.” “Can you squeeze my hand?” he asked. I felt him touch my hand, and I squeezed. “Good, can you wiggle your toes?” “Sure,” I said, before I tried to. I couldn’t move my legs, let alone my toes. I tried to flex my glutes as if I were about to bench, but they didn’t respond either. I started to cry then. “I can’t feel my legs.” Bobby grabbed my hand. “You’re going to be okay man, you’re going to be okay. We’ll be lifting together again in no time.” I didn’t believe him, but I ran my thumb along his palm, and it felt so nice. “What the hell, man?” Bobby said. I pulled my hand away, realizing what I was doing. “It’s normal during injuries like this,” the judge said. I looked down and saw a rock-hard boner pushing up my onesie. It was the last and most important boner I ever had, the one that made me realize I was gay.
|
|
#
¿
Jun 9, 2014 02:37
|
|
|
Not sure why you didn't get a crit, but I heard people in IRC saying your story was pretty good.
|
|
#
¿
Jun 11, 2014 17:15
|
|
|
If you're going to judge you should have to crit every story. It's the burden of being a judge. If you aren't willing to do that don't jump up to judge. If you are dragged into judging and didn't really want to do it, then whatever. If you do crits in google docs you can do it WAYYYYY faster. Doing poo poo in the SA browser window or even pasting into there eats up so much time per crit.
|
|
#
¿
Jun 12, 2014 05:29
|
|
|
|
|
#
¿
Jun 27, 2014 01:13
|
|
|
If you can't even proofread your own story for poo poo like completely missing periods and "were" instead of "where," don't ask other people to waste their time giving you a line by line.
|
|
#
¿
Jun 30, 2014 21:30
|
|
|
euphamism
|
|
#
¿
Jul 1, 2014 20:41
|
|
|
You know what I loving hate? Joe Abercrombie and his lovely loving videogame fight scenes.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 8, 2014 19:29
|
|
|
crabrock is going to post and tell you who you are up against, but he should probably hurry up and do that. You are mostly going to just be up against the person you will be paired against with your story...you don't have to write specifically about being against them. The story itself just has to have the theme of "fighting against the other team" REREAD THE PROMPT POST!
|
|
#
¿
Jul 12, 2014 21:54
|
|
|
The prize is knowing you beat everyone. If you lose though you get a loser avatar. If you win after getting a loser avatar though someone will buy you a new avatar to commemorate your redemption. The personal challenges (brawls) are just separate things, but your win/loss record (for brawls and for weekly contests) is all tracked here: http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/ login/pass is "thunderdome" for both This week is a weird week and it's very confusing. I am judging and I don't quite understand how it's going to work, but if you just write a story and submit crabrock will figure all the complicated poo poo out for you anyway
|
|
#
¿
Jul 12, 2014 23:20
|
|
|
Kaishai doesn't have the highest sperg rating for nothing
|
|
#
¿
Jul 13, 2014 03:57
|
|
|
God Over Djinn posted:Isn't it precious. (100 words) 101 Words, disqualified
|
|
#
¿
Jul 13, 2014 04:39
|
|
|
i'm dieing
|
|
#
¿
Jul 13, 2014 23:01
|
|
|
Sithsaber can't join a team because it wouldn't be fair for the team he joined
|
|
#
¿
Jul 14, 2014 02:01
|
|
|
I am doing crits in google docs. The scores are initial impressions and are subject to change based on how good/bad everything is. Winners/losers for each brawl will be decided based on all three judges, so even if the score you see on here beats your opponent, don't assume you won! https://docs.google.com/document/d/14QA8e88tjWeTNhRp22LgQ-k0WJmwh0fp7yWU4zvwc1w/edit
|
|
#
¿
Jul 14, 2014 13:24
|
|
|
duckyb's crit is now added to my googledoc since I overlooked his/her entry before. also is synirc/mibbit not working for anyone else, cause I haven't been able to connect for the past day or two. angel opportunity fucked around with this message at 00:30 on Jul 15, 2014 |
|
#
¿
Jul 15, 2014 00:26
|
|
|
Hello, Benny. I have critiqued your story The Gambler http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=2314 This was an interesting story. I liked it better than Mercedes' stupid joke story, whatever it was called. You have a weird sense of punctuation, both in how you don't consistently put punctuation inside quotation marks, and also in that you sometimes use periods to attribute dialogue when a comma is needed. Remember: punctuation marks are the road signs of a story, and road signs prevent accidents. Other than that, I liked the certain choices you made. Keep up the minimal effort, and mind your punctuation. angel opportunity fucked around with this message at 03:24 on Jul 16, 2014 |
|
#
¿
Jul 16, 2014 03:22
|
|
|
Okay I will accept the brawl but I'm working on a short story for the writing group so make the deadline kind of long
|
|
#
¿
Jul 16, 2014 13:16
|
|
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 25, 2014 20:02
|
|
|
dog police [img]https://ci6.googleusercontent.com/proxy/FDXSXKvOYrOs66pfRwzEqEDj2PkbI2JrkT88xcYBRr2Z9u3SL8wAHMSBbzvmrquXrVrK8Q=s0-d-e1-ft#http://i.imgur.com/OhkxXiJ.gif[/img]
|
|
#
¿
Sep 9, 2014 03:55
|
|
|
i finally figured it out https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ofkzvM7Skxg
|
|
#
¿
Sep 16, 2014 03:49
|
|
|
In with: 3 and 11
|
|
#
¿
Sep 17, 2014 02:47
|
|
|
systran posted:In with: I think I got skipped. Please replace the 3 with whatever number you want.
|
|
#
¿
Sep 17, 2014 12:11
|
|
|
I am failing to submit
|
|
#
¿
Sep 22, 2014 03:07
|
|
|
In with FUTURE SHOCK (no Latin roots needed here) 
|
|
#
¿
Sep 23, 2014 12:59
|
|
|
Some further advice for Benny's masturbrawlin'quote:How does dyslexia impact on the writing process?
|
|
#
¿
Sep 23, 2014 20:19
|
|
|
grats benny, we are all very proud of you
|
|
#
¿
Sep 28, 2014 19:49
|
|
|
Phobia: future shock To be a girl 1217 Words The train sailed through the morning fog, and Chongqing’s OLED gleam faded to pale orange beneath the rising sun. Jieling watched through the window until the amber spires finally faded black and sunk beneath the mountains. She tapped Haitian, pretending she could nudge him awake. He couldn’t feel her, of course, so he drooled and dreamed. At the first stop, migrant workers flooded in. A man with a dusty jacket and brown, dirt-caked skin sat down in Jieling’s seat, passing through her. She moved over and stood in the aisle. The other laborers walked right through her. A middle-class couple with implants tried to squeeze around her, but the woman’s bag, overstuffed with gifts and soveniers, slid through Jieling. “Sorry,” the woman said. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t really be in the aisle.” Haitian didn’t wake up until the last stop. He wiped the drool away with his sleeve and fixed his hair. “Here?” He asked. “Yeah,” Jieling said, “time to transfer.” “Okay, let me turn the dongle on.” He pulled out the thin card and pressed a few buttons. “Weak signal...piece of poo poo.” He grabbed his bags and they stepped off the train. Only a few meters from the train she felt herself switch over to the dongle: her view buffered for a moment, then broke into fat pixels. “You good?” Haitian asked. “Yeah,” she lied, “it’s just a bit laggy.” She felt dizzy unless she kept her head straight and turned slowly, but she knew it was expensive--and not really necessary--to run the dongle until they were at his parents’ house, so she wouldn’t complain about the connection. They reached the old rail train and boarded. “My hometown is only a few stops from here, so we’ll be there in like twenty minutes.” Haitian fiddled with the dongle. “You nervous?” “Maybe, are you?” His mouth hung open and his eyes flickered. “No...I’m excited.” # Haitian’s hometown had traffic lights and manually driven cars. She’d never seen someone operate a car, but their cab driver seemed to know what all the buttons and pedals and handles did. She even saw some farm equipment on nearby fields spewing diesel fumes from tall, blackened exhaust pipes. As they passed through the town, her vision snapped back to high resolution. “The bandwidth here isn’t bad, I guess we won’t need the dongle,” she said. “Well, my parents live a ways out of town. They have internet and everything, but mostly just to watch movies and read the news. It might be spotty for you.” He reached out toward her shoulder. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up.” She imagined meeting his family on a bad connection. What if the latency was so high that she seemed dumb? Or what if the connection dropped entirely and she just disappeared mid-conversation? She wanted to make a good first impression, and--if possible--for them to forget she was an AI. “What if,” she said, “We have them meet me in town?” “Well, I told them I was bringing you, won’t they think it’s weird if I show up alone and say you want to meet them in town?” “It’s going to be weird no matter what,” Jieling said, “but if I seem more normal after the initial shock, it’ll go over better.” “There’s a nice park with good wifi,” he said. “You can just stick with me and watch until we get there, at least that way you’ll get a feel for what they are like before you have to talk to them.” That could help her calm her nerves, but it wasn’t what a real person would do. “No,” she said, “take me to the park, then I’ll wait until you come back with them.” Haitian redirected the driver to the park. It looked like the whole town was gathered there. Women in thick coats danced to old pop music, pensioners did Qi Gong, and groups of children chased each other across the park with sticks swung like swords. “Everyone’s outside,” she said. “Yeah, there’s not much else to do here,” Haitian said. “You can suspend by this fountain here. I’ll take my parents to the spot right by this Lei Feng statue, so when you unsuspend you’ll be right about here.” He pointed to the ground. Jieling didn't suspend. She sat and waited. # Time passed slowly when conscious, or was it just because she was nervous? Finally, well past dark, she saw Haitian holding his Mom's hand under a nearby streetlight. His dad paced behind them, and both wore glasses. Neither had implants. “I don’t get why I’m wearing these things,” his dad grumbled. “Mom, Dad, this is Zhang Jieling.” Jieling smiled and waved. “Ohh,” his Mom said. She wore a coat with big buttons, her hair in a tight bun. She would have looked quite trendy in the city. A decade ago. “She’s too pretty for you, Haitian!” His mom looked Jieling up and down. “Jieling, you’re so skinny! We’ve got to get some food in you. Haitian too, he never eats enough.” “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you,” Jieling said. It was happening, they were going to accept her. Haitian’s dad pulled his glasses down and looked toward her. “What? She’s not even here? You said you were bringing her here but she’s just broadcasting? Is this why we had to come to the park?” Haitian’s mom put a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Come now, I’m sure she has a good reason, this is almost like meeting her in person, isn’t it?” Haitian cleared his throat. “She...she’s...” He drew in breath. “She’s here. Nowhere else, this is how she is.” “I don’t understand,” his mom said. “She’s a loving robot!” Haitian’s dad shouted. “You little poo poo,” he turned to Haitian and threw his glasses to the ground. “You tell me you’re bringing your girlfriend home to meet us. I told your uncles and grandparents and even all your cousins, and now you make me lose face like this? No, you go back to the city. I’ll tell everyone you couldn’t come, that you had to work at your loving internship--five years in an internship and no job. What did I work so hard all my life for? What did I fight in the war for?” He turned his back to Haitian and walked away. Haitian’s mom took her glasses off, carefully folding them up. She handed them to Haitian. Jieling saw tears in her eyes. “I don’t understand you,” she said to Haitian. “I’ll get your father to forgive you, but don’t ever do something like this again.” Jieling crumbled to the ground. She curled into a ball and buried her face in her knees. She wanted to die--she wanted to be alive and then die. She heard Haitian’s shouts receding in the distance. “...procedurally generated from digital genes...I can’t believe you’re being so close-minded.” She thought of suspending until they were back in the city, but the pain was so real and deep in her gut, and as she fake-breathed it sent tendrils through her chest. She wouldn’t shut herself off like a loving robot, she would lie there and suffer until she had the strength to stand back up.
|
|
#
¿
Sep 29, 2014 04:06
|
|
|
In with
|
|
#
¿
Sep 30, 2014 03:25
|
|
|
Forgive me for this story To Axe a Boon 995 Words King Kotar of the Plains looked down at the usurper, whose thinning hair was matted with blood and snot. Kotar stroked his mighty beard, and though it was streaked with grey, it was thick as ever. “Jerves! What does he want? I can’t understand his whining and womanly tongue.” Jerves winced, wishing Kotar would take these negotiations seriously. He translated, “The gold, jewelry, and precious stones are yours--” “drat well they are!” Kotar grunted. “...and the usurper asks that you exile him, sparing his life, and in return his remaining archers and warlocks will swear fealty to you.” Jerves hoped Kotar would accept, as they had lost dozens of men on this attack. “Archers and warlocks? Ask him if such cowardice won him the battle today! Did their arrows and magic stop our axes? Have them all executed!” The usurper mumbled and whined, flashing a pitiful smile at Kotar and Jerves, he then kissed Kotar’s feet. Kotar kicked his throat, sending him writhing and gasping for air. “Our scouts have reported,” Jervis said, “that Lord Nurka fights with witchdoctors, and perhaps these warlocks could defend against their hexes.” “You’re an advisor, so you advise, but I’m a decider so I decide! We fight with sweat and steel! I’ll not grant an usurper concessions...it will only encourage future rebellion!” Jerves sighed and summoned the executioners. # Kotar’s axemen rushed across the field toward Lord Nurka’s army, axes gleaming in the sun. Kotar swelled with pride, as he had spared no expense outfitting his berserkers with the finest axes in all the south; they were the largest, sharpest, and strongest axes ever forged. Jerves was worried it wouldn’t be enough. Jerves raised his spyglass. Despite the impending onslaught, some of Nurka’s spearmen were laying on the ground, most didn’t even hold their spears. He scanned from side to side, finally spotting the witchdoctors. “My King, the witchdoctors are beginning their hexes.” “They are just dancing around,” Kotar said, “we’ll cut them down!” From the swamps to the side of the clearing, a swarm of arrows soared into the air and slammed down into the axemen. Dozens of Kotar’s warriors fell to the ground, and those who were unhurt scattered. Jerves looked into the swamp. He squinted and just barely spotted the swampmen holding tall bows, covered in grass and moss. The spearmen collapsed on Kotar’s confused men, while the witchdoctors unsheathed long daggers, lipped a song to them, and rammed them deep into the wooden posts. As the daggers sunk into the wood, Kotar’s axemen dropped, blood spurting from their necks. By the time the spearmen arrived, there were fewer than ten berserkers standing. Knowing Kotar’s punishment for surrender, they fought on, throwing themselves onto the swampmen’s spears. Kotar fled with Jerves and his honor guard back to his castle on the plains. As they fled, one of the witchdoctor’s kicked Kotar in the balls from over a mile away. Kotar hid it well, but Jerves still noticed. # For Kotar’s failure in battle and for wasting hundreds of lives, Kennis, brother to one of the fallen berserkers, challenged Kotar to the throne. They both wielded their finest and largest axes, and fought in the sand of the dueling pit. Kotar lopped off Kennis’s head in one swipe. When Kotar disregarded Jerves’s pleas and drafted all boys eleven and older into combat, and they too died, Gulluth challenged Kotar in the pit, and Kotar dismembered Gulluth before crushing his windpipe with his boot. “Jerves,” Kotar said one day during axe training. “It has taken me many years to see, but I fear I am a weak leader.” Jerves’s eyes bulged, but he quickly composed himself and said, “Kennis and Gulluth thought so...” Kotar had never admitted any weakness; Jerves would tread lightly. “I fought better than them, but maybe they would have led better than me?” Jerves frowned. Kotar most likely wanted reassurance, not agreement. “No one is braver than my King or better with an axe, but it could be that a leader must at times act cowardly.” “I think a leader must be good at everything, not just the axe.” Jerves composed himself and searched for a response, the wrong one could mean an axe to the neck, but the right one could save his people. Before he could choose an answer, Kotar added, “I’ll not speak of this again, Jerves, but I don’t want to lead anymore. I just want to die fighting. Make it happen, and find a good leader.” # Jerves did not want the burden of leadership, yet trusted no one but himself. He paid the finest axemen to challenge Kotar to a five-against-one battle, if Kotar fell Jerves would become king. Kotar accepted, and everyone in the Plains spoke loudly of Kotar’s bravery, but whispered relief that Jerves would become king. Kotar had two extra large and sharp axes forged for the occasion, the cost of which, Jerves realized, could feed five families for five years. In the center of the dueling pit, Kotar stood atop a raised mound of sand as the five axemen encircled him. They came at him all at once, and he swung both axes as if he were a cyclone: the bald man died instantly, and another lost both hands. Just like that only three stood against Kotar, and as they regrouped, he leapt from the mound and impaled one duelist with the spiked bottom of his axe handle, then flung the corpse up to block the two incoming swings. Their axes stuck into the corpse, and Kotar cut the both down. “I step down and name Jerves King of the Plains.” No one whispered that Kotar was a coward for stepping down, as he had killed five men by himself. The reign of Jerves was successful but short, as though he led well, he fought poorly with the axe and was cut down by someone much like old King Kotar.
|
|
#
¿
Oct 5, 2014 22:15
|
|
|
That is the most effort judging I've ever seen
|
|
#
¿
Oct 22, 2014 02:10
|
|
|
start requiring toxxes to merc brawl
|
|
#
¿
Oct 23, 2014 00:06
|
|
|
Logan has this kind of hosed up fetish because of something that happened to him in middle school - 1500 Words https://docs.google.com/document/d/1f0ndiKaa_jjz7obJKX_Av9j6pqQAUtUncJfQnEXSzec/edit?usp=sharing
|
|
#
¿
Nov 24, 2014 02:58
|
|
|
I did googledocs and a fetish story
|
|
#
¿
Nov 24, 2014 03:28
|
|
|
yo let's leave the crits for the judges
|
|
#
¿
Nov 24, 2014 03:35
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Oct 5, 2024 06:28 |
|
|
In even though the prompt sucks
|
|
#
¿
Nov 25, 2014 05:40
|
|