|
Wait for It 199 Words It's a little known fact that Nikolai Bukarhin very nearly escaped Stalin's great purge of 1936. He had arranged to be sneaked across the border , stowing away on a diplomatic flight to London. Making that arrangement required every last one of his resources, contacts, and owed favors, and when he finally had everything in place he allowed himself a celebratory dinner of borscht and vodka. The borscht was badly prepared, causing him indigestion that was so great that he spent the rest of the night in pain on and off the toilet, and the thirties-issue CCCP toilet paper didn't help. Eventually he realized that if he didn't leave soon he would miss his flight, so, despite his discomfort, he made his way to his rendezvous. Unfortunately, midway there he completely lost control of his sphincter. It started with a very wet fart and just kept getting worse. The attention blew his cover and he was quickly picked up by the police, where he was eventually executed by Stalin. In Western countries, we pride ourselves in our freedom and bodily autonomy. We own our own eyes, hands, gonads, and, yes, our butts. But in Soviet Russia, butt owns you.
|
#
¿
Dec 15, 2015 20:15
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 19, 2024 20:25 |
|
|
Thranguy posted:
I hope that the fact that you chuckleheads have forgotten to toxx up doesn't mean one or both of you havve forgotten about the whole thing Wouldn't want to see one of you sneaking in a last-minute cute-with-the-prompt (And boy am I glad I chose the word I did. I'd hate to have to read serious stories about roosters or badminton.) story for a win by default, nosiree.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 16, 2015 18:30
|
|
|
 Judgement, But Not The One You're Looking For Surreptumble Muffinmouse Cockfight/Dick-Measuring Contest/Longfellow Admiration Society/Ad Nauseam Two strong stories enter the dome here, each with different strengths and weaknesses. On the one hand, we have Surrepticious Muffin's serious meditation on depression and the medicated life. While it's addressed to a penis, that fact isn't quite as central to the story as it could be. There's also some confused extended metaphoring going on where birds are both good and bad, sometimes taking the place of the traditional/cliched Black Dogs and sometimes being more normal and literal and a part of the good things being medicated allows, which is more than odd. Any given time when the story mentions birds it has to decide if it's talking about the good ones or the bad ones, get that across to the reader, and that hurts the piece's flow. And on the other hand, we have Fumblemouse's dick-measuring contest that turns literal, with over-the-top dialog from a pair of writer/critics that ends with a faux castration. Now, it's certainly an entertaining piece, even if it feels more like an episode or opening chapter than a complete story. It doesn't really resolve anything, including the basic question of whether the reader should be rooting for or against the narrator. But, more to the point, you're never going to convince me that it's anything other than comedy. At least not 'hur, hur, dicks' level juvenile comedy , but yeah, everyone is still too over-the-top, and if the central conflict is so unimportant to the crowd that they'll agree to settling it this way, you can't get close to a dramatic core. So the victory goes to Muffin for actually reading the prompt.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 22, 2015 10:07
|
|
|
California Man reads 14 stories, considers whether jumping off 14-story building would be less painful So, I frequently spend more time than I might ought to on picking a title for my story, sometimes dropping an allusion or reference or pun that sails right over the heads of the judges or falls flat in front of them or whatever. I've noticed that it's not just mine, but titles generally don't get much attention in crits unless they're horrible, so this time around I'm going to specifically talk about titles. They are, in addition to the first couple of lines, part of what is going to 'sell' your story to a reader not obligated to read it, after all. This particular Santa made a Naughty list along with the Nice one. So even though nobody really gets just a single lump of coal in their stockings, you should know who you were. That said, it's all relative and this was a fairly good week. Even the worst stories from this week could have settled into the mushy middle of a lot of other weeks. ZeBourgeosie: The Alpha Man Title evokes the Alpha Male concept, which is mostly self-parody these days, as well as 'The Omega Man'. Let's see if either of those go anywhere. (Ed: no, they don't. Title doesn't do anything for the story.) The opening is a little bit repetitive, with each new sentence adding too little to the picture. First question: what about senility, both from the ravages of time on the brain and the practical limits to a brain's ability to store memories? Shouldn't he and the doctors have thought about that? Head-hopping, overly tell-y. And after all that happens, the strongest part of this situation is the horror of what's happened to Karen, so, once you've let yourself not use a tight 3rd-person limited point of view, you've wasted the opportunity to give us any idea of what she's now thinking. On my Naughty List. Klapman: A Day at the Meat Shack A simple, utilitarian title, somewhat evocative. Doesn't exactly fit the story; this isn't just any day. The opening line is okay, a bit awkward. Awkward and unclear wording follows in the first paragraph. ('extra' and 'to spare' are redundant, for one thing.) A lot of technical problems, but this is at least an entertaining story of cascading bad decisions, which is what I was looking for this week. I sort of wish it had a bit more of an ending; the prompts don't have to be punchlines. Barely off my Naughty List Ceighk: Night of the Goat A well-tested title format, this, vaguely promising horror and absolutely promising a Goat. I'ma repeat myself about semicolons not belonging in narrative prose almost all of the time, and also say that the one in your opening paragraph is also just plain wrong. A colon would be correct, although still clunky prose. Also repeating myself saying head-hopping narratives are usually a bad choice for a modern audience. Sort of a what-the-hell ending, shouldn't be this hard to figure out what happens. (Jake somehow figured out how to make Satanic deals and turned the third goat into a photographer? Guesses involving a different blackmailer need to get past Jake's handwriting: one goat sacrifices another for some reason and blackmails both Jake and Charlie? No motive for that without time travel as well.) Was at the top of my Naughty List crabrock: Dare to Be Yourself A little bland, but promises to be a moral to the story. Doesn't really work as that, though. The opening is strong (although it does serve to confuse things a bit, as to whether this guy had lion spirit possession problems before the Madness Reefer hit him), and the writing is technically fine throughout. The story, though...well, there's not much plot here, and the “and then the cops gunned him down” default ending for this week isn't impressive either. Not on either of my lists. Jocoserious: That Furry Son of a Bitch Now there's a strong title. Promises me a dog that's a rascal if not an out and out villain. Delivers. The opening continues the theme. It takes a few back-and-forths to make it clear that we're dealing with a talking dog, but sure, let's run with that. A lot of dialog, but it's good dialog as far as I'm concerned, and another example of the kind of story I was looking for. Nice List. Broenheim: What You Learn When You're Robbing a Store as Darth Vader Another strong title. Promises some kind of moral or lesson. The story doesn't, but at least it specifically doesn't, it actively denies learning. The opening doesn't do much that the title already didn't, though. Some awkward prose. 'Yet' is redundant with 'still' and fairly stilted. Shifting randomly between first and second person doesn't really work for me. Feels like a deliberate attempt to ignore the 'clear motivations' part of the prompt, since there not being anything like that is the core of both the narrator and the clerk's characters here. Or maybe it's a very zen answer directly aimed at that question. Ulitmately lands in the middle. Jagermonster: The Florida Man and the Sea Hemingway allusion. Should I expect Hemingway-esque prose? Ernest or Shakespeare? I should expect a fish story either way. And I can tell I'm getting one from the opener, so that's good. Another Dialog-heavy story, unfortunately not as well-executed as the other. Too much untagged dialog, too much describing action through dialog. Picking the father's point of view is an interesting choice. This kind of story is usually done from the kid's, and I don't see that the change-up buys you much. Not on either list. Entenzahn: Late Night Pit Stop A title that doesn't promise all that much, neither the weakest or the strongest. Fairly strong opening paragraph, though. Possibly a little bit overwritten, but mostly works, at least so far. Okay, so not the most here in terms of plot. Feels more like a long vignette than a short story, honestly. But the ending note strong, and the prose is effective. On my Nice list. jon joe: Yorick Okay, so skulls, Shakespeare, clowns, that kind of thing. Some awkward prose here, “compared to her thoughts on”, “role will be as”, could be cleaned up with a good editing run. quote:You don’t care what I think because you love me. You care what I think because you want to tell yourself you’re okay. You’re using my forgiveness as your improvement I do not buy this dialog as from a stinking drunk guy. Or really as spoken by a human being. This is forums/comment section/twitter communication. Neither List. WeLandedOnTheMoon: Labels and Liars Generic title, promises little, just two things. Think you mean “an angry, vocal minority” there. This one just doesn't work for me at all. How seriously people are taking the nametags feels like it's shifting all the time, the 'jokester' tag goes nowhere, and the ending sort of comes out of nowhere. (And is also the same unimaginative 'protogonist gets shot' ending that nobody can do much better than this week.) Naughty List. Grizzled Patriarch: Every Rising Tide Middling title, probably fitting enough. Also, PROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMPT Where was I? The beginning is probably the weakest part, two paragraphs that don't really contrast well enough, not giving the 'this is a serious storm' that logic wants between one dismissal of that fact and another. Speaking of logic, I'm not sure why we have animal control officers out in this, and when they fail, nothing else until the helicopter rescue begins. Beyond that, this is one of the better pieces of the week, definitely on my Nice List. C7t71: The Proper Care and Feeding of Your Bobcat Okay title, promising a Bobcat and probably a light/comedic tone. Got the one, at least. Having both the cat and the car (used with those two words so close in appearance) 'purring' is more distracting than anything else. “his care”-proofreading needed. “horse powered car”? Like, it has a lot of them, maybe? Because anything else doesn't make any kind of sense. Another one that misses the prompt: I don't know what this guy's motivation is at all, why he had the cat there to start with and why he wants to see this gardener so much as to be willing to be cruel to animals for each visit. On the Naughty List. kurona_bright: Moist Cotton Hands Interesting title, mildly evocative (but triggering to certain word aversion types), doesn't promise much tangible beyond the obvious. The opening works reasonably well, and the prose is more or less completent. But there really isn't much to this one at all. It just takes the most boring version of the events in the prompt and throws them onto the page, not really adding much to them at all. Not bad enough for the Naughty List, but not good enough for the nice one either. Mercedes: Marching to the beat of your own drum Title is self-descriptive, not following usual capitalization rules and not going all lower-case either. Like Dare, the title promises to be about individualism, I guess. Doesn't deliver that all that strongly, but I guess that it does fit with the VR/distinct versions of reality business. Not all that sure what to make of this one. Florida is a giant VR/MIB-infested region? The characters work fairly well, but there's not much for them to do, with the actual action all being in the past, an erased past, or the future. Probably wouldn't have made either list if on time. Thranguy fucked around with this message at 00:28 on Dec 23, 2015 |
|
#
¿
Dec 22, 2015 18:08
|
|
|
In
|
|
#
¿
Dec 22, 2015 20:38
|
|
|
When You Can't Even 1168 Words http://www.decemberdiamonds.com/Scripts/PublicSite/openwindowPub.php?&template=ShowItemNO&item=1492456626&sku=55-90798&cat=424600 Sparky came swimming into the library and asked me a question. “Specs,” he said, “How can I get a really buff upper body?” Mostly people come to the library wanting me to look up the location of some particular bit of sunken debris from the surface world, when they come at all. Nobody comes to read books. Hardly anyone in The Drink can even read, apart from Me, Wiz and the Doc, and they both own all the books they need. “Well,” I said, “I think most people just go to Wiz for that.” “What?” said Sparky. We were in school together for a while, him two years behind me. He always struck me as an energetic, goofy kid, so it was a bit of a shock to see him all grown up. Well, maybe not quite all grown up. A year out of school and he hadn't picked out a job yet. “Are you telling me they don't even lift?” “Well, no,” I said. “Do you?” “No, not yet.” Sparky was deep in thought. “No way I can afford what Wiz would charge.” I was already looking through the scouting reports. “There should be some weights over in Graham's Drift.” Sparky checked the map, then shot toward the door. Then he turned around and said “Want to come with? I could probably use a spotter.” It wasn't that far from closing time, and it wasn't as though another visitor was likely, so I nodded and followed him. We found the crate fairly easily, and it was full of small dumbbells and kettlebells. Sparky grabbed a pair and swam out to an open area of sea. Things did not go well. We merpeople have neutral buoyancy most of the time. So when we pick up an extra ten pounds of weight, we either start sinking or we start swimming. Sparky swam. “This isn't doing any good,” he said. “I'm just using my tail, and my tail is buff enough already.” He wasn't at all wrong about that. “Try swimming in place upward,” I said, “And do some extensions...?” He did, managing to lift his arms fully with the weights. Then he tried to move them back down. When the weights were extended in front of him they pulled down on his arms, spinning him downward. Now, we can do a lot of fancy things while swimming, but one thing that we can't do is go backward. Not that Sparky didn't try, but once those weights were below him and he was facing down, there were only two ways things could go. Either he could let go of the weights, or they would pull him straight down and face first to the ocean floor. Sparky didn't lit go of the weights. Sparky came by again the next evening. “So,” he said, “Weights won't work. Anything else to try?” I had been thinking about him all day, and feeling like a foolish old mermaid enough while doing it. I kept forcing myself to think about the problem rather than the face and tail that went with it. We swam out to the same open area outside of town to try things out. Sit-ups didn't work. We just don't bend like that. Same for any kind of standing lift. Push-ups were useless, because of the neutral buoyancy. He just pushed himself off the ground and kept floating. Bench presses seemed to work for a while, but then Sparky got dizzy and drowsy and almost passed out. He felt better immediately after stopping, but I insisted we go and see Doc to find out what was happening. “Well,” said Doc, “The problem was that you were holding your tail still for too long.” “Why would that be a problem?” I asked, sort of surprised to realize how rarely I did go for more than a minute without a swish or two. “You've got to move them to keep your gills going,” said Doc. Sparky and I had always thought we just breathed water through our mouths. “A common fallacy,” said Doc. “Under water it's in through the gills and out through the mouth.” Sparky asked Doc if he had any advice for his workout, but he just said “Just go to Wiz, like I do.” But we didn't give up. Every night we'd go out and try and find some way to actually exercise the upper body. I asked Sparky why he wanted this so bad. “Well, these days you've got to have guns and a six-pack if you want to make out with any of the hot merpeople, let alone talk a female into showing you where her eggs are.” I sighed, but only after he turned around and I was sure he wouldn't notice. After a week of dead ends, we finally started to find some things that worked. Sparky had the idea of a weighted belt, but it was always either too tight, cutting off circulation, or too loose, slipping down his smooth red tail. I suggested adding a pair of suspenders, and that worked well enough. The weighted belt opened up new possibilities. Push-ups still didn't work, with the weight being distributed all wrong, but pull-ups were our first real success. Over the next few weeks the workouts got more and more intense, and varied. We designed and built a harness that held Sparky in place by the waist, letting him move his tail and also anchoring him solidly to the ground. In it, he had leverage and stability, letting him do one-handed weight exercises. And from the pull-up bar we moved on to something we were both sure had been invented specifically for the merman workout, the salmon ladder. The workouts continued, and they had their desired effect, turning Sparky into at least as buff a merman as any of his spell-powered peers. I'm pretty sure he caught me staring at him more than once, although I never caught him noticing me at all. Then one evening he came into the library with a strange look on his face. “Guess what?” he said. “What?” “I've finally decided what job I'm going to take!” He brought his hand out from behind his back, revealing a bright red helmet which he put on his head. “I'm going to be a fireman!” I stood there, gaping. I mean, I couldn't even. “What?” “Um, Sparky,” I finally said, “You do realize that The Drink is, well, an underwater city?” “Yeah?” said Sparky, still grinning. “And you do realize that a fireman's job is, well, to put out fires?” “Yeah?” said Sparky, swimming closer to my desk. “So where are the fires?” I asked. “In your eyes, you sexy thing!” said Sparky as he moved in for a deep kiss. We made out a bit after that. To be honest, we made out a lot. But I never did show him where I keep my eggs.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 28, 2015 00:27
|
|
|
For archival purposes:
|
|
#
¿
Dec 28, 2015 07:15
|
|
|
Ring in the new.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 29, 2015 22:10
|
|
|
spectres of autism posted:When You Cant Even Thanks for the crit, clearly the best of the set.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 31, 2015 08:55
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 19, 2024 20:25 |
|
|
Seventeen And a Half Broken Promises Words: 1397 In a better place now Which is to say, the archives. Thranguy fucked around with this message at 20:33 on Jan 4, 2016 |
|
#
¿
Jan 4, 2016 05:46
|
|