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Zombie Buddy Cop sounds rad AF... But I'll  just to see what magic happens
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Aug 26, 2015 15:24
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| # ? Apr 19, 2024 23:19 |
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crabrock posted:I got a boner last week, but it wasn't related to any stories. Just thought I'd keep everybody updated. your courageous battle against erectile dysfunction is an inspiration to all of us
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Aug 26, 2015 15:30
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In.
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Aug 26, 2015 15:33
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I want in.
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Aug 26, 2015 16:27
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newtestleper posted:Judgebrawl I'm into it. Waiting on the other submissions.
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Aug 26, 2015 17:12
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This sounds amazing. In. (USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)
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Aug 26, 2015 17:23
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crabrock posted:I got a boner last week, but it wasn't related to any stories. Just thought I'd keep everybody updated.
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Aug 26, 2015 20:43
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bye
anime was right fucked around with this message at 06:59 on Oct 27, 2015 |
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Aug 26, 2015 20:45
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anime was right posted:no it hasnt thats the very nature of the problem
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Aug 26, 2015 22:09
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bye
anime was right fucked around with this message at 06:59 on Oct 27, 2015 |
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Aug 26, 2015 22:11
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boner fight
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Aug 26, 2015 22:17
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this is like playing sword-fights in the school urinals
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Aug 26, 2015 22:19
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sebmojo posted:
skwidmonster posted:Zombie Buddy Cop sounds rad AF... But I'll Yay! A second spin is always a smart call! I mean, now you can write a Grimdark Arthurian Fantasy! What a combo! Yay! Mashing up Dark Fantasy and Alternate History gives you so many options! Lucky dog! Kaiju15 posted:I want in. Yay! You get to write an Epic Buddy Cop story! I can't wait to see it! JuniperCake posted:Spin! Yay! Lost World Children's Fantasy and Space Opera Eco-Thriller are two good-looking options! Go you!
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Aug 27, 2015 01:15
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farts
sebmojo fucked around with this message at 09:37 on Aug 31, 2015 |
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Aug 27, 2015 13:31
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sebmojo posted:There was a popping sound as her shirt opened. The heavy burden of her hair unfurled in slow motion. You should probably rewrite it with that in mind, actually. Here's my Bangsian Disaster Fiction. 1400 words, exactly. It was really hard not having Hitler show up, but I somehow managed. --- The priz*e being right The first came at midnight. His name was Tertius Decius Livier. He had brown eyes, had been a Bucinator in the Legio XII, granted Roman citizenship after raising through the ranks, he had had no wife, but a lover - a greek scriptor, tall and lean - but nobody knew this when he arrived. The second came while Bryan Grainger was skyping with his wife. The two had spoken for hours now; the horizon Bryan could see from his Syrian apartment already developed an early gloomy orange, although back in Sweden, Franka's room was still shrouded in the darkest night. The subject was cheating. Bryan's bright anger had slowly faded into a brooding annoyance. When the second hit came, a short period of silence had just set in; Franka was biting her lips, and the two stared past each other over their webcams. Then, Franka heard a distant muted 'thud', startling her husband. "What?" - Bryan raised his left as if to silence her. She saw him rise, turn, listening to something. He turned back to her, and with a voice suddenly all professional, said "Franka, I got to check ..." And in this moment, the third arrived and Franka's webcam image froze. Not two hours later, Franka was stashing her sparse luggage into her overhead compartment. Impulse actions, she thought, had brought her into this decision, maybe they would also get her out of it. At the very least she wouldn't let a bad internet connection become the end of her marriage. She leaned back, put on her sleeping mask, and tried to replace a night's sleep lost to fighting with half a morning's sleep on a flight to Syria. And while she slept, the world learned what was happening in Syria. She managed to doze through most of the captain's confused announcement, but the panicked responses of the other passengers forced her back into the land of the living - or, what had been the land of the living just a few hours before. People were screaming all around her, Arabic, Swedish, English, French. Suddenly, the woman next to her grabbed her arm and wailed: "What do we do? What do we do?" The crackling speaker turned on again, as if to answer her. "Currently, we do not have clearance to land. I repeat, no clearance to land. We are told to leave the area immediately. The area is unsafe. I will attempt to turn back towards Europe." And as the airplane turned in a wide arc, his left side facing the desert, Franka looked down on Syria, and she saw, tiny black spots hundreds of meters below, dead bodies, burning homes, crashed cars, and, again and again, dead bodies - on the streets, on the roofs of the tiny houses, in the sand. Then, one hit them. His name was Ali; he had been a leader of men in the very army with which Muhammad had conquered half the Arab world, and which later, when he had died, conquered the rest of it. Ali had not seen the end of it; he had died here, in Syria, much like Tertius, dying of dysentery after a battle his army had won. And now he crashed, with terminal velocity, into the co-pilot's window. As the dead came back upon the earth in a hailstorm of corpses, the co-pilot fell into shock, and when the pilot turned, he saw a broken face looking at him from outside the cracked window. He froze. As the airplane kept turning, the winds ripped away the corpse, leaving a blood-stained window pane behind which the Syrian sands rapidly approached. The pilot, regaining his senses, turned the aircraft's nose up again, but half a second into his upwards climb, another body dropped, right in front of him, and he could see the panicked grimace and futile flailing of limbs. The pilot screamed, pushed the joystick through, and two minutes later, the airplane crashed into the Syrian sands. Franka, barely bruised, was one of the first to leave the beached wreck. The Syrian sun reflected from its metal skin, and when she turned away from it, from the people crawling out of the hatches, she realized nobody would come to rescue them. The city in front of her was burning. Walking towards it, she came across two other recent arrival. A baby of 8 months, a girl, black, skinny, had landed here many hours earlier. Her mother come from the south with a slave catcher's caravan in 1572, but before the caravan arrived at the markets to be sold, her newborn had died. The second was dressed in the uniform of a German soldier, although his face was tanned - perhaps a foreign volunteer. The Death's Head symbol on his uniform paled in contrast to his actually shattered skull. Something made Franka pick up his rifle. Holding onto the weapon reminded her of hunting with her father in the tranquility of the Swedish woods, calming her down a bit. A few hundred meters in front of her, she saw another fall, a Syrian farmer, death in 7535 BC. She ran past him, towards the city. The city was a madhouse. Veiled women were running from their homes, their children in arms. She saw another car crash right in front of her, at the outskirts of the city: one driver who had thought he could flee to the north, the other to the south, meeting in the middle and now blockading a crossing. Franka's cellphone was broken, but she saw a dropped one on the street, and when she picked it up, she couldn't make much of the words in Arabic and there was no connection, but the open browser showed grainy pictures from all over Syria of a rain of bodies. When she looked up from the cracked LCD, she saw four men standing a few meters in front of her, silently, exchanging glances. She put the cellphone down. Then, she saw one of them fixating something behind her - nodding at something behind her. Seeking cover, Bryan had rolled under a truck on the way to the main building. The camp of tents around it was destroyed. He heard screaming - terror, and pain - all around him. Just as he was about to get up and sprint towards his next designated cover, another body crashed into the net covering the loading area of the truck - and the net held. The body rolled down the torn net and landed in the sand right next to Bryan. He was still alive. And Bryan knew him. Somehow, the net had braced the impact sufficiently to keep terminal velocity from being truly terminal. Still, the body of the used car salesman Bryan had just visited two weeks ago, in Al-Qamishli, a few hours to the north, was broken and shattered. It was not the first falling body he had seen of somebody who had just died here recently. "Saa'adinii", the man gargled. Help me. Bryan crawled towards him, although he could not think of anything he could try to help the man. When he arrived, he had perished. And in that moment, a realization came upon him. He had seen many of his fellow non-Syrians die here today. And yet, none of them had returned from the sky. It was Roman soldiers, Muslim conquerors, farmers, housewives, slaves. All people who were born, and had died, in Syria. People were coming back to where they were coming from. Bryan got up and sprinted towards the central building. He had not made more than 20 meters when another corpse hit the large main tent, and when dodging the toppling supporting structure, Bryan stumbled, fell, and came to rest, unconscious, in the shadow of the cement walls. When he awoke, it was dark. Nobody was there - nobody but corpses. Suddenly, a hooded figure emerged from the shadow, tall and skinny. Carrying a machine pistol. Bryan grunted in pain. Then, the shadow removed its veil and Bryan saw long, flowing blonde hair. "Franka!" She kneeled beside him. The barrel of the gun touched the floor right next to his face. "Don't worry, it's empty", she said. "Why did you ..?" "Because", she said, "the priz*e being right, wouldn't you?" Bryan managed a smile. Then, he said: "I love you too. But we have to go. Find some place where no humans have lived before." --- I have a request to reviewers, please only read once you're done: Can you tell me how obvious it is I'm not a native speaker? Not meant as an apology for it being bad, I'm just wondering. * gently caress you. I do what I want. If you ask me to shake your hand, I may well suck your dick, if I feel like it that day.
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Aug 27, 2015 14:16
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aaaah Untitled judgebrawl 243 words edit: This is out for submission. Here's a link that requires permission to view. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1D55Fc-m1xx2652gs5iLX8cseC0uO0ivEu2gqdQRaAbM/edit?usp=sharing Sitting Here fucked around with this message at 07:48 on Aug 31, 2015 |
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Aug 27, 2015 16:51
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Broenheim posted:here you go everyone Sincerely, thanks. N. Senada fucked around with this message at 23:31 on Aug 27, 2015 |
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Aug 27, 2015 17:15
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I would like to spin the wheel of misfortune.
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Aug 27, 2015 19:25
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Halbey posted:Spin! Yay! An Action-Adventure Urban Fantasy sounds super neato!
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Aug 27, 2015 23:06
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Spin like Tyrannosaurus's Gatling gun.
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Aug 28, 2015 05:43
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jon joe posted:Spin like Tyrannosaurus's Gatling gun. Yay! A Picaresque Spy-Fi story is just what this week needs! Do great!
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Aug 28, 2015 06:33
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In
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Aug 28, 2015 09:03
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Spin!
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Aug 28, 2015 09:37
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Spin me. Right Round. (round round) (like a record)
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Aug 28, 2015 10:08
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newtestleper posted:Spin! Yay! You're off to a great start when your genres are High Fantasy and Ghosts/Hauntings! Go you! Ovaltine posted:Spin! Yay! Mashing together Cyberpunk and Political Intrigue sounds incredible! I can't wait to see what you'll do with it! Dr. Kloctopussy posted:Spin! Yay! You drew both Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance! Unbelievable! What luck!
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Aug 28, 2015 10:55
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Tyrannosaurus posted:Yay! You drew both Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance! Unbelievable! What luck! How is this even real?
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Aug 28, 2015 10:57
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Dr. Kloctopussy posted:How is this even real? You should think about buying a lottery ticket, you lucky dog!
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Aug 28, 2015 11:00
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Spin again!
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Aug 28, 2015 13:25
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Are there any stories of people coming here, and being at first truly terrible, or at least mediocre, and then perpetually improving and eventually winning and embarrassing you all and poo poo?
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Aug 28, 2015 14:01
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Cingulate posted:Are there any stories of people coming here, and being at first truly terrible, or at least mediocre, and then perpetually improving and eventually winning and embarrassing you all and poo poo? Nope we all stay terrible forever sorry.
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Aug 28, 2015 14:09
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Cingulate posted:Are there any stories of people coming here, and being at first truly terrible, or at least mediocre, and then perpetually improving and eventually winning and embarrassing you all and poo poo? Not an exhaustive list: http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?author=Tyrannosaurus http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?author=Grizzled%20Patriarch http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?author=WeLandedOnTheMoon! http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?author=Systran And then some people stay terrible or even get worse: http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?author=Sitting%20Here
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Aug 28, 2015 14:29
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Cingulate posted:Are there any stories of people coming here, and being at first truly terrible, or at least mediocre, and then perpetually improving and eventually winning and embarrassing you all and poo poo? My first story was a boring pile of blah and then the next week I won, which I don't recommend because I didn't know what the gently caress
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Aug 28, 2015 15:15
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crabrock posted:Not an exhaustive list: Hey wait now, I definitely went from unbearably lovely to merely godawful. Can't believe you didn't include me in your list, after all those rounds I entered and never oh gently caress nevermind.
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Aug 28, 2015 16:00
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In
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Aug 28, 2015 16:05
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Ovaltine posted:
Yay! You made a brilliant decision spinning again because Steampunk Alternate History is a goldmine of creative opportunities! Mine away! N. Senada posted:Spin! Yay! There is something really special about Paranormal Noir! How exciting for you!
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Aug 28, 2015 18:15
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Cingulate posted:Are there any stories of people coming here, and being at first truly terrible, or at least mediocre, and then perpetually improving and eventually winning and embarrassing you all and poo poo?
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Aug 28, 2015 21:29
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I've definitely gone from DMs and gently caress YOU reactions to winning and HMing a fair few times (with admittedly still the occasional gently caress YOU reaction). Not sure I've embarrassed anyone except myself along the way. I don't think anyone would be embarrassed by people getting better at the thing we are all here to get better at.
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Aug 28, 2015 21:56
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I won once on accident and it was the worst thing in the world.
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Aug 28, 2015 22:01
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Cingulate posted:Are there any stories of people coming here, and being at first truly terrible, or at least mediocre, and then perpetually improving and eventually winning and embarrassing you all and poo poo? Tons of people improve. Wins are only one metric of that. It all depends on who's judging, how many people are in a week, whether there are writers with more experience participating. Like, I judged last week, and can say confidently that Spectres of Autism and Skwidmonster wrote stories that the judges liked a lot, in spite of having a history of rough feedback in their crits. I was also pleasantly surprised by Mons Hubris, who got a dishonorable mention the week before. Actually, I've been noticing a lot of improvement in general. TD judgment is not the apotheosis of literary opinions. And it's never embarrassing when someone improves and then "beats" those of us with lots of wins/HMs, or whatever. It's humbling. When someone gets a bunch of DMs, and keeps writing, and then blows us all away, that's amazing to me. I have a fragile baby ego and if I got a DM or loss I would sulk for daaaaays, believe me. So when people have it really rough, and they keep it up, I think it shows a level of resilience and dedication that deserves some serious respect.
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Aug 28, 2015 22:02
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| # ? Apr 19, 2024 23:19 |
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See, the trick is to get a poo poo ton of DMs, so it doesn't faze you anymore. Then you're completely free to experiment without the fear of failure holding you back. It's the way to go bro.
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Aug 28, 2015 22:04
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