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Also going to have to throw in the towel this week, unfortunately. Still sick as a dog and I only ended up with half of a (lovely) story because my brain doesn't seem to want to work. Next week will be a toxx. I'm also putting in a to have the rest of Week 123 crits and Week 125 crits up by midnight EST tomorrow, so I don't feel like a total fuckup.
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# ¿ Jan 5, 2015 05:12 |
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# ¿ Mar 19, 2024 03:25 |
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Week 123 Crits, Part 3 Fumblemous - Infamous Jack's I liked this one. Your writing clear and carries a lot of descriptive weight. Your characters border on the cliche, but the set-up is interesting enough that I don't really care. All of the judges liked how you handled the surreal element: the empty suit is introduced, nobody thinks it's particularly odd, and then you use it to explore the protagonists hopes and fears in a really organic way. The section where her song is literally filling up the suit is great. We weren't really sure how to take her line about the manager being world famous. My instinct is to read it as a joke, but maybe not? It makes it hard to tell if the protagonist is being playful or malicious in that moment, which is an important distinction. What really held this one back at the end of the day was the way you handled the ending. You've still got some nice imagery, but the message is muddled. Did she get tricked into something by Jack? That last line makes him seem almost demonic, but I can't really get a handle on his motivations. Did he just want to watch her dreams crash and burn? Is the implication that she'll be forced to stay on at the club even though she deserves better? A bit more clarity here would have really helped. Still, I enjoyed this one a lot, and you were on the few people that nailed the surreal atmosphere. Nice job! Jonked - Be Kind, Rewind I got a couple paragraphs in before I realized what was going on here. It's an interesting gimmick, but it doesn't really accomplish anything. I thought for a second you had somehow managed to tell a full story both forwards and backwards, but that wasn't the case (not that I'd expect that degree of meticulous planning from a weekly contest). Unfortunately, the gimmick ends up really harshing your clarity. It's surprisingly hard to force yourself to read everything backwards, and I feel like I ended up missing out on things that might have been under the surface of the story. As it is, the story itself is kind of bland. I was waiting for something to come out of left field or really shake things up, but it doesn't happen. Your prose is mostly fine, with some awkward phrasing here and there. There's not really anything bad about the story, but there's also not anything great, so it ends up being a middle-of-the-pack story with a gimmick that annoyed the judges. Still, it's fun to try things like that sometimes, even if it's a whiff. Benny the Snake - Last Call You've written worse stories, but this one suffers from the same problems that most of yours do. You are telling a story, but there's like, zero description, which makes everything feel really vague. Even your characters are described in really nebulous terms. Your dialogue is mostly exposition; you don't really use it to characterize anyone or provide any depth beyond "here is what is going on." My biggest issue is that I don't care about any of the characters. It feels like you meant for your protag to be some badass rebel, but he's just a douche. He's killed people, threatens to kill his own father, and is basically stalking his ex, and I'm supposed to care what happens to him why? It's certainly possible to write a story with characters that aren't sympathetic, but it takes a defter hand than this. At the end of the day, this ends up being a sort of "A, then B" story with a really hateable protag and heavy-handed dialogue. Not your best, not your worst. Your Sledgehammer - Conversations with Bobby This was a nice, well-written piece that skirted that line of sentimentality. You took an interesting approach by grounding a weird moment in a really normal situation, which is a risk that could have backfired but didn't. You do a good job of making your dialogue feel "real". The conversations add character, sounds believable, and gives some insight into the conflict. You did kind of show your hand a little early - it was pretty easy to figure out where it was going after the first call. The main issue here is that it feels like a relatively small payoff for how bizarre the inciting action is. Your protag basically just decides to quit his job and pursue his dream a little earlier, even though he was going to do it pretty soon anyway. I was waiting for a major upset - some major introspective moment or reappraising his goal - but things just basically go according to plan, which neuters the tension and sense of conflict a bit. Not a bad story, but the surreal element almost went too far in the other direction, where it's barely even justified and doesn't really go anywhere compelling. J.A.B.C. -Processing Error First big no-no: opening a story with "protagonist wakes up." Alarm clock, dream, several paragraphs of the protag doing mundane things. Doing these things is actively working against the reader. Your surreal element feels more like a spec fiction set-up, but that's not really how gravity works anyway. There's some interesting imagery and a lot of potential with the conflict you've established, but it's mostly squandered. Your protagonist is almost entirely reactive; he's basically just a pair of surrogate eyeballs for the audience, rather than someone that makes choices and takes action. I was kind of disappointed by the fact that you ended the story the same way it started. Recursive narratives are a thing, but this one just made it feel like everything got cancelled out and nobody learned anything or changed in any way. Waving it all off as a dream basically means the entire story was a waste of time for both the reader and the characters. Ironic Twist -Retreat As usual, your prose is rock solid here. The intro does a pretty good job of teasing out some characterization and setting up the scene. You stumble a bit when "Not-Alice" shows up. Not only is that a pretty awkward naming device, but the whole situation feels needlessly vague. Alice is her neighbor on the mountainside, but when she throws out "Not-Alice," it seems like she came from a typical white picket fence suburbia. Were they neighbors ten years ago in a different place, as well? The protagonist's reaction to all this oddness feels kind of off, though I can't put my finger on why. She kind of just seems angry instead of being scared or really confused. The ending is a great, gross image, but I'm having trouble parsing it. I feel like the typewriter's significance needs to be more established. Is it the reason for everything that is happening? Is it sending letters into the past / future? I think you ended up withholding just a bit more info from the reader than you should have, and as a result it gets a bit difficult to dig into the meat of the story. Clandestine - Gold This wasn't really surreal at all. It was basically just a sci-fi story with "aliens did it" as the basic premise. You've got some nice imagery here, and your prose is solid. The set-up feels like it's going somewhere interesting, but then you pretty much pull the rug out from under the reader's feet. The alien twist feels totally divorced from the rest of the story, and it's just not satisfying. How did the aliens realize they found an alien fossil? Why bother giving them a "gift" after wiping their memory? You've got the building blocks of a good story here, but the dots just don't connect. It ends up coming off as a cheesy X-Files episode instead of something surreal and meaningful. Tyrannosaurus - A Series of Serious Beats Obviously we all liked this story a lot. You made some bold choices here by going with a second-person PoV and approaching your humor with a sort of clinical detachment. Those choices really paid off, though. The humor here is pitch-perfect, and it really complements the surreal course of events. The depiction of the sea monkeys is kind of odd, but I'm not going to nitpick realistic sea monkeys given the premise. You've got a really good sense of pacing throughout, and it does a great job of emphasizing the balance between humor and the actual gravity of the situation. The protagonist does almost feel too clueless, but on the other hand it's probably just willful ignorance. You can see this kind of behavior in people all the time, refusing to accept the truth even in the face of a mountain of evidence, and the entire premise works as an absurd exploration of that concept. Not much else to say about this piece, I think you accomplished what you set out to do here. Boozahol - Career Change This was another story that didn't really feel surreal at all. It's really more of a straight-up fantasy / urban fantasy story. You open with some dialogue that feels fairly natural, but the context is basically nonexistent. The characters feel kind of aimless, and as a result they just kind of melt together. There's not really any conflict either: everyone just basically goes along with everything that happens for no real reason. The premise here should be really compelling, but it ends up feeling...boring, I guess? The story was basically just an account of things that happened. We don't get a sense of anyone's feelings, motivations, etc. There's some humorous nuggets hidden inside of the story, but it's hard to care about most of what is going on. Systran -The Amalgolem Your opening is great and the premise is really strong. Right away I'm hooked and I want to see what the hell is going on. Using multiple perspectives in such a short piece is risky as hell, but it kind of works somehow. However, I am left kind of wondering what the point of this golem was. These capitalists all come together and build an ubermensch out of their best parts, but why? Just so they can all experience earthly pleasures while they work? The golem itself seems to have just become a prostitute, but I'm not getting a sense of why this was worth people cutting off their own body parts. The prose is clear, concise, and evocative. I'm still not sure what to think about the fact that I've now read a story that includes the line, "he'd kill himself after he came into his own rear end," but I'll be damned if I didn't laugh. Bad Ideas Good - Family Troubles You've got some cool imagery going on early in the story, but everything basically falls apart at the midpoint and it feels like you just slapped together pieces from multiple stories or something. Once the box shows up I basically had no idea what was even going on. It went from a standard narrative to feeling very disjointed and meta. Someone mentioned that you just threw something together to avoid a failure, so that would make sense. The dialogue feels perfunctory, and the characters come off as abrasive and childish. There's honestly not a whole lot I can say about this piece, just because it's basically half a story with some Thunderdome metanarrative shoved in at the end. The writing is competent enough, but there's not enough of a story to judge much else. Week 125 Crits will be up shortly!
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# ¿ Jan 6, 2015 03:07 |
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Week 125 Crits Screaming Idiot - Cold Beach, Cold Beer This was a fun first story for the week, and probably one of the strongest early entries I've personally seen. Definitely your best story so far, so keep it up! Your prose is solid, and there are some nice images here and there. The merman's introduction sticks out, for instance. Dialogue is mostly good. It feels realistic, but edges close to being used for exposition in a couple of spots. You've got pretty good pacing and the story unfolds naturally. The characters are kind of cliche, but they also have enough heart to elevate them beyond that a bit. It's a silly story, but the ending was a nice choice with some actual impact. I think there's a lot of potential here and you made me smile when I finished reading it, so nice work! ZeBourgeoisie - The Lockbox Pretty odd story, overall. Your dialogue is kind of on-the-nose throughout the story. “You know we can’t. It’s illegal here for gays to adopt.” That's a good example of an "as you know,..." sentence that immediately sticks out. The way you approach the conflict here ends up just ringing false. A dude basically shows up with a magical McGuffin and the protagonist goes along with it. You did give him a strong justification for wanting to buy into it, at least. You've got some nice imagery towards the end, but it kind of feels like the rest of the plot was just an excuse to have this gross-out at the end. Everything just comes to a head very rapidly and the characters don't have any time to breathe or act like real people. It also just one of those cases where you bring in these characters and just do something really mean-spirited to them. It's like how humor that punches up gets laughs, but humor that punches down just feels uncomfortable. I don't think that was your intention, but it probably colored my perception of the story a bit. Chairchucker - Panda for the Masses The first of our Rosa Flores stories this week. It's so short and goofy that it's kind of hard to critique. It's a funny little cliche joke about talking animals, with a sprinkling of TD in-joke. It accomplishes what it sets out to do, but it's not really a story or anything. Dialogue feels like it's just there to serve the joke and there's not really enough prose to judge one way or another. Not really sure why there's rabbits at the zoo, especially next to a Panda enclosure, but I suppose I can suspend my disbelief here. Nubile Hillock - The Bog Rosa Flores appearance number two! Your prose is strong and even though the humor is low-brow, I'm not going to lie and say I didn't laugh. "The alien bigfoots was beamin’ him up" and the bit with the business card were my favorites. You actually managed to tell a story that made sense within the context of your humor, so I appreciate that. The image of a park ranger hallucinating about alien bigfoots and mermen because of offgassing is pretty good. The characters are pretty much the definition of cardboard, but that's kind of the point. Entenzahn - Atlantis I wasn't really expecting many serious stories this week, but I'm glad you submitted this. Present tense is a risky pick in the dome, but you made great use of it. There's a nice, understated current of sadness running through the piece, and the unrealistic premise creates an effective mood. You do a really good job of layering characterization and using broad strokes to give the reader insight into the characters' though processes. Evocative prose, and a creative take on your merman selection. The pacing feels a little jumpy, but beyond that, I don't have much criticism here. Sitting Here - Of the Sea Third Rosa Flores sighting! Really nice prose, big surprise. The set-up is kind of cliche, and I was wondering if you were going to do some weird merman-based Walter Mitty story or something. You subvert expectations well enough, and the concept of an ancient merman speaking archaic Spanish was really neat. I feel like you could do something pretty creepy and dreamlike with that. The issue I ended up having with this story is that it doesn't really go anywhere. A guy in a lovely marriage with Rosa Flores gets whisked away by a Merman, then he comes back to his boring, miserable life. Your tone kind of wavers between outright comedy and something more serious, to the point that it kind of meets in the middle and doesn't end up sticking the landing on either. It was still an enjoyable read with some really nice turns of phrase throughout. Jonked - Beard This was the first story that didn't explicitly feature mermen, which was a bold choice that worked for me at first. This story just ended up kind of bellyflopping halfway through, unfortunately. There's like a weird Chuck and Larry situation going on, but then the protagonist ends up actually sleeping with his fake wife, and decides he's not completely gay, I guess? I don't know if he's supposed to be discovering he's bisexual, or if he's having a sexual identity crisis, or what. I just feel like you end up glossing over the actual conflict that you set up, and so I'm left wondering what the point was. Is there a moral I'm missing here? That said, you've got solid prose and the dialogue isn't bad. I'm just not sure what to take away from any of it. Kaishai - The Merman's Package This was a unanimous pick for winner. You basically embraced this week and gave us a merman bonanza. You've got it all: nice attention to detail with the small world-building elements, a clear conflict and narrative arc, energetic prose, merman cucking (!?) It's not a terribly deep or provocative story, but that's ok. The characters all have motivations and unique voices, which is pretty impressive with so few words. Even though the conflict is inherently silly, you actually managed to imbue it with tension. This was, for me, the only story that really nailed a balance between goofy and serious. Nethilia - Walking Stereotypes This is a cute story with a nice moral lesson at the center, but there's not a whole lot of meat on the narrative bones. The dialogue feels kind of stilted throughout, kind of like the characters are speaking to an audience rather than each other. The plot is a little thin, but there's an arc to it and the resolution is satisfying. The bit where the mother asks Patrick's name got a chuckle out of me. The last couple of lines do feel a little forced, but there's not much wrong with this piece otherwise, to be honest. It just feels like kind of a short story someone would read to their kids. crabrock - Treasure Mountain This was really fun to read, and I could tell it was fun to write. Like Kaishai's, you've got a good eye for subtle worldbuilding and lean, energetic prose. I was impressive by just how much story you managed to pack into the world limit. It really feels like a whole adventure condensed into a bit of flash fiction, which speaks toward your talent for pacing and picking out the important bits. The story reminds me of something I would have read in middle school, in a good way. Your prose is strong throughout and the opening does a great job of pulling me in. The only real issues I had were the relative lack of characterization in the first half of the story, and the fact that it was kind of a by-the-numbers plotline for the most part, even if it did do it very well. kurona_bright - Man, I'm a Genius This was pretty bizarre. Your intro actually did a good job of hooking me, but the story never went anywhere. This kid lost his jacket, thought someone else stole it, and then realizes he may have been wrong after the principal makes the kid give it back to him. The protagonist spends the entire story hemming and hawing about the jacket, but then you specifically mention several times that there aren't really any consequences if he did make a mistake. Then he realizes that he did make a mistake, and that all he has to do to avoid trouble is...give it back. Your prose isn't terrible or anything, but the reason you lost is that you gave us one of the most mundane conflicts ever and then stated outright that there weren't really any stakes involved. It's just a kid panicking for a second and then realizing that there's no reason to panic after all. No matter how good your writing was, that wasn't going to make a compelling story.
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# ¿ Jan 6, 2015 05:09 |
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In with a for my shameful display last week.
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# ¿ Jan 6, 2015 18:49 |
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The Alley-Runners (536 words) Aleppo (Syria) *snip* See Archive Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at 17:53 on Dec 30, 2015 |
# ¿ Jan 12, 2015 07:17 |
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I like the cut of your jib. Give me a prompt you son of a bitch.
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# ¿ Jan 13, 2015 18:24 |
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Body of the Host (567 words) Its Enslavement Enslaves Them *snip* See Archive Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at 17:53 on Dec 30, 2015 |
# ¿ Jan 19, 2015 00:38 |
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In.
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# ¿ Jan 20, 2015 03:59 |
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Love is Another Kind of Loneliness (707 words) *snip* See Archive Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at 17:54 on Dec 30, 2015 |
# ¿ Jan 26, 2015 05:37 |
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Djeser posted:If I do not win once by the end of the year, I must post the steampunk story I wrote in high school in the thread.
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# ¿ Jan 26, 2015 07:04 |
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In. Let's see what you've got.
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# ¿ Jan 28, 2015 04:43 |
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Endless Numbered Days (580 words) Mary's Child She crouched naked in the dark womb of the earth, listening to the fluted stones drip and sing. Eyes cast upward toward the black vaulted dome, and farther still the ruins of a city ground to dust beneath the heel of passing centuries. After a time she raised her golden finger, pulsing with its soft, terrible light, and crept on her belly to the edge of a limestone pool. Dipping her finger into the cool water, she watched the drifting blindfish by its glow, their glassy flesh and sightless moonmilk eyes. A flickering memory called to life, visions of pale, flaky meat sizzling over flame. For a moment she felt an urge to catch one, to feel it wriggle between her palms. The impulse passed. There was need for neither food, nor sleep, nor the counting of days. The woman rose and moved unmindful of the darkness, ragged tresses trailing behind her like the train of a courtesan’s gown. Bones yellowed with age on a bed of lichen. Whose bones they were, she could not say. She knelt and touched each of them in turn. They were small, frail things. Perhaps those of a child. The back of the skull was split along its base. The jagged cleft bit into her passing fingers, and she felt something inexpressible gnawing like a worm at the corners of her mind. A voice rippled through the sweating flowstone tunnels. “Will you not repent at last?” The din of that echoing voice filled her with dread. She clutched at herself and made a pitiful mewling noise. Her foot sent the skull clattered across damp stone. “Wretch. Have you forsaken your own blood?” Memories bubbled up from the depths, seeping through the skein of a past life. Unreeling scraps of a dream: the palace; a daughter, sired by noble blood. Such a beautiful girl. The woman had been angry with her, and they argued. Over what? Over nothing. When she grabbed her daughter’s arm the girl lost her balance, stumbled, fell. She struck her head on the wall. Gone. The woman had carried her through the siege tunnels, wild-eyed, gown slick with mud. Into that darkness, where no one would find them. The girl’s head lolled and a thin trickle of blood ran along the downy nape of her neck. It dripped onto her mother’s finger, gilding the flesh there. A cainite stain. Now a wave of nausea swept over her, settling in her belly like a stone. She groped for the skull, cradled the small remnant in her lap. The voice boomed once more from above. “Will you show penitence?” She wept and tore at her matted hair. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “Forgive me.” There was a sound like an enormous exhalation. The woman buckled under the accumulated weight of forgone ages. She opened her mouth to scream, but what emerged instead was dry and soundless, a rasping wheeze. She held out her arms and stared dumbly as the flesh shriveled, stretched like parchment over her bones. Her hands grew knobby and skeletal. Her hair went the color of snow, then fell away. The woman lay slumped against a fragile pillar of stone, her skin turned to leather like a thing left out in the sun. The flesh sloughed away in waxy clumps, exposing bones hollow as a bird’s, until even those dissolved into a film of coarse grey dust. Only her golden finger remained, untarnished, sepulchered in the weeping dark.
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# ¿ Feb 2, 2015 07:29 |
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# ¿ Feb 4, 2015 00:35 |
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In.
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# ¿ Feb 4, 2015 01:02 |
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Crit for Mercedes.Mercedes posted:What I Do for Love Structurally, you've got a pretty tried-and-true setup here. You tell a story with a beginning, middle, and end, you've got obstacles to overcome, etc. My biggest issue is that none of the characters have any depth. The dad is a cartoon, which can work, but he ends up stealing the entire story and making the protagonist feels like a non-entity until the very end. There are some funny images, some of which don't get any time to breathe, but they aren't enough to hold a story together. I think you hit the tone you are going for pretty well, but I was left wanting a bit more meat to it.
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# ¿ Feb 4, 2015 02:25 |
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Until We Meet Again (770 words) There is a soft metallic ting and the ground beneath Capa’s boots is suddenly gone. He rises, turns sideways, feels the air sucked up from his lungs as if he’s leapt into icy water. When he lands, he is still clutching the camera, his left hand a palsied vise. His leg feels strange and when he reaches for it his fingers come back wet. He can hear someone shouting from the road in French. Le photographe est morte, le photographe est morte. *** The convoy had been at a standstill for almost an hour. “Why aren’t we moving?” Capa said. The French colonel shrugged and took a long pull from his canteen. Capa paced beside the jeep, pausing now and then to squint down the rutted road whenever the trucks farther along took a smattering of rifle fire. The sound reminded him of Bastille Day firecrackers. He kicked at the front tire. “There won’t be any drat pictures left to take by the time we get there.” He’d been in-country for two days with nothing to show for it. A few pictures of stooped farmers in their paddies. The military cemetery. He wondered if perhaps it was true what they said about him, that he’d never taken a better picture after Spain. A fraud, after all. “I’m going up the road a little bit. Look for me when you get started again.” The colonel shielded his eyes and called to him over the purr of idling engines. “Stay near the trucks.” *** The ringing in Capa’s ears fades, gives way to the thrum of crickets and the distant thump of mortars. He has to take shallow breaths; he thinks his ribs must be broken. All he can see are trees against a bright blue sky. So this is it, he thinks. Too late to turn back now. *** He moved alongside the convoy, stopping to capture a few of the local auxiliaries sprawled out in their jeeps, cap bills pulled low, drowsy from the heat. They seemed oblivious to all the shelling. A few meters ahead, the road split in two. He watched a French patrol to the left, picking their way through a field. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, when he opened them again, he thought he saw her at the junction, his Gerda, as if she were gliding just above the sawgrass. He could see the sunlight on her face. People always used to ask about her, and he would tell the stories they wanted to hear. How they met, the view from their shared garret on the Seine, how every man that laid eyes on Gerda was instantly smitten—though he did not mention how jealous it made him. When he’d left for Paris, she stayed in Madrid. He learned of her death through the newspaper, and after that people stopped asking their questions. Capa blinked, and she was gone. A trick of the heat. He shook his head and centered the French patrol in his viewfinder. He took a few shots, but already he hated them. The compositions were flat and weightless. They lacked a sense of purpose. There was a stretch of sloped ground where he could get some elevation, a better angle. He cut across the field, camera swaying from his neck like a pendulum bob. He took a half-step and heard the sound, almost like a shutter clicking. *** When he tells the stories about Gerda, there is always one memory that he keeps to himself. They are picnicking on Sainte-Marguerite. White bean tapenade and crusty bread and chilled rosé. Resinous balm of umbrella pines. Gerda is stretched out on the blanket, smiling with her eyes closed, basking in the sun like a tabby cat. She is the most beautiful thing Capa has ever seen. He is taken with the sight, by the sudden clarity of it. “I wish I had my camera,” he says. Gerda smiles, then laughs. She rolls over, stands up, kisses him. It lasts no longer than a second, but for him that kiss is a phonograph needle stuck in its groove. “I love you,” she says. The train ride back to Paris from Cannes is a long one. They have the compartment all to themselves. Gerda is curled up on her seat beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. Capa leans back and studies their reflection in the windowpane just as the car enters a little tunnel. He can smell the henna in Gerda’s hair. In the darkness, he drapes his arm around her and waits for the return of daylight.
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# ¿ Feb 9, 2015 05:55 |
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gently caress it, in.
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# ¿ Feb 10, 2015 07:49 |
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sebmojo posted:in like the cork in the mostly empty whisky bottle i've just pulled out of the broken bottom drawer of my private investigator desk as the smokin hot dame with the legs that are really long like almost freakishly, disturbingly so, walks in isn't
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# ¿ Feb 10, 2015 07:56 |
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crabrock posted:Learn 2 straightrazor Also you can whip it out at parties (the straight razor I mean) and everyone will think you are really cool. It's like a pocket katana, really. edit: Not to mention the implications for Sweeney Todd Halloween costumes, etc.
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# ¿ Feb 11, 2015 07:56 |
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The Old Breed (497 words) Curt sat against the apartment dumpster and tried not to move. He’d only been taking out the trash. There were voices in the alley, a man and a woman, both young. “Stop it,” she’d slurred. “I have to go home.” Curt had grabbed the splintered broom handle because it was the nearest thing he could find, held it in his sweating hands like a batter at the plate. They were leaning against the brick wall and the man was trying to kiss her. He wouldn’t let go of her wrist. “Are you alright, miss?” They’d both turned, taken stock of him, the man drunk and grinning like a simpleton. The woman twisted her face up, like she was looking at something she’d just scraped off of the bottom of her shoe. “What the gently caress are you looking at?” she’d said. It took Curt by surprise, just long enough for the man to step forward and shove him against the dumpster. His back caught the edge of it and he’d felt something inside of him give way. He sat down hard and watched the couple stagger out of the alley. Curt closed his eyes. The noise of a radio wafted down from an open window—a ball game. It hurt to breathe and the heels of his palms burned, flecked with gravel and bits of broken glass. He saw someone passing by on the sidewalk and tried to cry out for help, but no sound would come. The inside of his mouth tasted like spare change. When he opened his eyes again, a cop was shining his flashlight in Curt’s face. “Sir, you can’t be out here.” He nudged Curt’s sneaker with the toe of his boot. “Sir?” His light fell on Curt’s shoulder, the blue diamond sewn onto his jacket. 1st Marine Division. “The Old Breed.” The cop’s voice softened. “You a vet?” Curt made a feeble sound. Please, he tried to say. “Listen. I’ve got a few blocks left on my patrol. If you’re still here when I finish my rounds, I’ll have to cite you. Alright?” He nodded to himself. “Alright,” he said again. *** Another couple came into the alley. It had started to drizzle and they ran together, giggling, the man covering the woman’s hair with his jacket. Curt recognized them; they lived on the floor below his. He would pass them on the stairs sometimes, going to work or checking the mail. An exchange of brisk helloes. The couple ducked into the apartment stairwell. Curt could hear one of them fumbling for the keys. He tried to crawl toward them, tried to call out, to make any sound at all. A moan came, low and full of pain. A voice echoed in the stairwell. “What was that?” The man poked his head out into the alley, saw Curt laying there beside the dumpster in his old jacket and his ratty sneakers. “Just some wino,” he said. Then they were gone.
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# ¿ Feb 15, 2015 21:31 |
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Interesting. Vorun the Sunken, God of Song. Possessed a voice without equal which allowed him to shape the world around him. Out of jealousy, another god sewed his mouth shut and cast him into the sea.
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# ¿ Feb 17, 2015 04:49 |
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Crit for newtestleper:newtestleper posted:Dirty Lucre The judges mentioned clarity issues on this one, but I didn't think it was too bad. From what I gathered, you've got a gangster / truck driver illegally dumping cancer-causing medical waste for profit, and a crooked cop is taking a bribe to look the other way even though his mother died of cancer. I think that's a pretty slick set-up for a story, and you pull it off well. The tension doesn't really ramp up until the end, so it would be nice to get a glimmer of what's to come earlier. Your dialogue is mostly strong, and you built a lot of atmosphere with so few words. Feels a touch vignette-y, which isn't a big deal considering the wordcount (you could probably run with this and turn it into a longer piece). I honestly liked this a lot. This might be one of my favorite stories of yours. Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at 05:23 on Feb 19, 2015 |
# ¿ Feb 19, 2015 05:15 |
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SadisTech posted:I toxxed so I'm gonna have to eat the I'm afraid, just been told I'm flying to another state for work in 15 hours. Write your story on your phone during the flight. The Japanese write entire novels via text message, you got this.
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# ¿ Feb 22, 2015 06:41 |
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The Thing Beneath the Waves (677 words) Gods: Vorun (me), Ush (God Over Djinn) *snip* See Archive Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at 17:55 on Dec 30, 2015 |
# ¿ Feb 23, 2015 07:17 |
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Benny Profane posted:
Guess this offer got lost in the shuffle or something, but I'll take a crit for my Crossroads week story. http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=3242&title=Until+We+Meet+Again So now there's two more line crits available for anyone that wants 'em.
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# ¿ Feb 23, 2015 19:34 |
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Screaming Idiot posted:If I wanted to weasel out, I'd just say "Decided not to post this week" or something to that effect -- it's not like I toxxed myself. I wasn't satisfied with my story, but I still worked my rear end off on it and I'm genuinely annoyed I can't let a fresh pair of eyes take a look at it to tell me where I went wrong. If you find it and post it, I'll crit it for you.
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# ¿ Feb 24, 2015 07:41 |
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Fuckin' finally Twist!
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# ¿ Feb 24, 2015 21:32 |
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In.
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# ¿ Feb 24, 2015 23:47 |
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Lilies of the Valley *snip* See archives. Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at 17:41 on May 5, 2015 |
# ¿ Mar 2, 2015 05:35 |
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Bompacho posted:What's the etiquette on crits for the same week? Wait until after judgement or do I just dive on in if I want to tear someone a new rear end in a top hat? Wait until judgement is rendered, then dive in.
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# ¿ Mar 2, 2015 05:57 |
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# ¿ Mar 2, 2015 23:36 |
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# ¿ Mar 3, 2015 01:22 |
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In. Let's see what you've got for me.
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# ¿ Mar 3, 2015 08:34 |
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Crit for Benny Profane! Benny Profane posted:Goliath You've got some really nice imagery and kinetic prose. The story wears its Black Swan influences on its sleeve, but you're exploring different themes here, and thematically, the tarantella is a great alternative to ballet. The tense shifting has its desired effect, and I think it was definitely the right call for this piece. My biggest issue is that the story feels noticeably constrained by the wordcount; it seems like there's a significantly longer piece under the surface. I would have liked to see Anna's character fleshed out a bit more, but the pacing is strong regardless. Nice work, and if you'd like me to elaborate on anything, just let me know.
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# ¿ Mar 3, 2015 21:26 |
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Fault Lines (763 words) Song: "Narrow Your Eyes" *snip* See Archives. Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at 17:43 on May 5, 2015 |
# ¿ Mar 9, 2015 07:28 |
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Sitting Here posted:this is love
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# ¿ Mar 10, 2015 00:33 |
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Alright, alright, unshart your jorts you gibbering ingrates. Thunderdome Week CXXXVI: Famous Last Words I don't know where this picture is from but it sums things up nicely, I think. This week, you are going to write me some (pseudo) historical fiction! But not just any historical fiction: I want you to show me the last day in the life of someone famous. Some things to keep in mind: Your story does not have to center around, or even feature, the actual death. Feel free to leave things on a high note, or simply imply what's coming next. Your story does have to have some sort of conflict. If you write me a story about some old person dying in their bed, it had better be heart-wrenching as hell. Stick to the historical record, or don't. I don't care! Create an alternate history where Slobodan Milosevic chokes on a hoagie instead of dying of a heart attack in prison. Do you want to write a story about Elvis and Tupac engaging in a bat'leth duel inside a scale replica of the USS Enterprise? Go for it! In fact, your famous person or persons do not even have to be dead yet! They do, however, have to be famous; if I can't figure out who they are after a cursory Google search, they aren't famous. Word Count: 1400 Words Sign-Ups Close: Midnight EST on Friday, March 13th (spooky!) Entries Close: Midnight EST on Sunday, March 15th Rules: No erotica, no fanfic. Judges: Yours Truly curlingiron Tyrannosaurus Word Criminals: Maugrim Broenheim SadisTech Capntastic Ancient Blades newtestleper Noah sebmojo contagonist Bompacho SurreptitiousMuffin Jitzu_the_Monk Screaming Idiot crabrock Benny Profane Ironic Twist Paladinus Entenzahn PeteZah DXH Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at 21:45 on Mar 16, 2015 |
# ¿ Mar 11, 2015 01:39 |
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Noble soul curlingiron has stepped up to fill one of the judgin' seats this week, so pander accordingly.
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# ¿ Mar 13, 2015 01:31 |
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Ironic Twist posted:Really, motherfucker.
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# ¿ Mar 13, 2015 04:28 |
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# ¿ Mar 19, 2024 03:25 |
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6 Hours Left to Enter!
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# ¿ Mar 13, 2015 23:03 |