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Screaming Idiot posted:I'm still bummed about losing last week's story There's no need to continue this charade.
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Feb 26, 2015 00:51
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Hugoon Chavez posted:As a Thunderdome newbie, how strict is the word count requirement? If I step over it by a few words (let's say...6. Hypothetically of course) is it still valid or should I trim the fat a little bit? It's a hard limit. You will be disqualified if you're even one word over.
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Feb 28, 2015 19:58
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I'm a horrible failure.
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Mar 2, 2015 05:27
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Line crit (kind of) of An Unkindness by Bompacho https://docs.google.com/document/d/1d9trPeOwBVFLnJlyDOiMq6Yd3p3nldXU0Ae2um7K_34/edit?usp=sharing To be honest I kind of gave up in the second half of the story, about where it seems like you gave up on any semblance of proofreading. It feels a bit lovely to be paying more attention when critting your story than you did when writing it. Apart from proofreading, I think that you have two main issues here. One is bloat- you say the same things over and over, include irrelevant and boring detail, and large parts of the dialogue are drivel. The other is the ending - I see no motivation for Ma'Indo screwing him like that. If he'd made some kind of a bargain with Ma'Indo or bound him in some way then I could see it working, but as it stands you should have just made him get back his wife successfully. Also please do not reply to this apart from a simple "Thank You" if you must. If you are going to give excuses about rushing it or word count or anything then go to Fiction Farm instead of making GBS threads up this thread. If you honestly know the problems with your story already then just write better instead of asking for crits.
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Mar 2, 2015 23:55
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Mar 3, 2015 01:35
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Benny Profane posted:In for this week with The Mesopotamians. I would love one for god week! http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=3293&title=When+Gods+Forget I'm particularly interested in potential clarity issues.
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Mar 3, 2015 22:58
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In with How Many Planets? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XI5nBUidKqo
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Mar 5, 2015 09:28
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I forgot to  myself for this week, so here I am ing myself.
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Mar 6, 2015 04:41
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Benny Profane posted:Linecrit for newtestleper's God Week Entry Thank you so much!
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Mar 6, 2015 07:38
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A Planet for Ana - A Picture Book 924 Words Based on How Many Planets? Ana lay on her back on the cold damp grass in John’s backyard, watching the night sky through her bright green binoculars. She felt like she didn’t belong. “John,” she said, “have you ever thought about going into space? I want to find myself a planet.” * * * John’s head popped out the front of his little yellow tent. He had a big, crazy smile like the time he tried to jump over her on his BMX. “Are you kidding?” He said, “I’ve got it figured out already. We can leave tonight! We just need a few things.” * * * Ana went home to pack her bag, she lived across the road. She tiptoed past her Dad, who was asleep in front of the TV. In his lap was a picture of her Mom. She looked beautiful, with straight black hair and light brown skin, just like Ana. Her hair and skin were different from John or her Dad or the other kids at school. Sometimes her Dad was sad. That’s when she stayed at John’s house. * * * She got her coat, her boots, and her piggy bank. Last she climbed up on a chair and took some big bottles of orange soda from the kitchen cupboard. She put it all in her backpack. * * * When she got back John had fixed up the tent with silver tape and cardboard tubes. He had a packet of mints in his hand. “Did you get it?” he said, “It’s the last thing we need.” Ana gave him the soda. He taped the bottles to the sides and they got in. * * * John dropped mints into the soda bottles. Big jets of foam shot out with a FLOOOOOOOSH and sent them into the air. As they soared higher the back yard got smaller and disappeared. The same thing happened for their suburb and then then their town. Soon the Earth was a tiny speck in the distance. They were in space. * * * “Put these on.” said John, handing Ana a pair of his Mom’s sunglasses. They had pointy corners, like movie stars wore in the old days. John steered them towards the sun, and soon they could see Mercury through the glare. It was small and grey, and speckled like a swallows egg. “It’s very pretty,” said Ana, “but it’s too hot. I wouldn’t be able to get cozy under the covers at night.” * * * They swung around and touched down on a red planet with loads of mountains. They got out and jumped around. They jumped really high, even higher than on a trampoline. When they landed their boots kicked up big red clouds. * * * “This is great!” said John, “how do you like Mars?” “It’s fun, but dusty. I like things to be clean and tidy,” said Ana. * * * They dodged asteroids on their way to Jupiter. It was HUGE, and it’s surface was all orange and swirled like a tie-dyed t-shirt. When they got close Ana screwed up her face. “Pee eww!” John clipped a peg to his nose to keep out the smell. “It’s made of gas,” he said. The peg made his voice sound silly. * * * “It smells like farts!” said Ana, “let’s get out of here.” They burst out laughing and sped away. * * * “This one’s gas, too.” said John when Saturn came into view. Saturn was stripes white, yellow and red, and had a big ring of rocks around it. Ana thought it was beautiful, but the rocks were too small to live on. The sun was smaller and dimmer as they travelled further out in the solar system. It was cold as well, so Ana bundled herself up tight in her coat. * * * Neptune was a lovely blue, and Pluto was bright white from ice. “It’s too far from the shops,” Ana said to John, “and I think I would get lonely being this far away.” John frowned. “You’re very fussy, Ana.” “Don’t worry, I think I’ve realised where I belong,” she said. * * * When they got back to Earth they spent some time high up in the atmosphere looking down. The sea was blue, the clouds and mountaintops were white, the forests and jungles were green, the deserts were yellow, and the rocks were red. There were big grey patches of city, too. * * * Ana knew what she was looking for. She pointed at one city and John steered them towards it. * * * They landed in Hanoi, the giant city in Vietnam where her Mom came from. Thousands of people who looked like Ana buzzed around on motor scooters or sat on stools at a restaurant on the sidewalk. Ana and John sat down and ate spicy noodle soup. Neither of them could understand what people were saying. His blue eyes and curly hair looked funny. * * * “Do you want to stay here?” he asked. “I don’t think so, but I’m glad we visited,” she replied. Ana bought a Vietnamese dictionary for herself, and a pretty pink doll with a woven conical hat as a present for her Dad. It was getting late. * * * On the way back they saw the earth at night, the cities sparkling like the stars. Wherever there were people there were lights. She wondered if other people felt like they didn’t belong. She thought she could be their friend. * * * At home John’s Mom had made them hot cocoa and microwave s’mores. They gobbled them up. Travelling the solar system was hungry work. “Your Dad called,” she said to Ana, “he said to come home for macaroni and cheese.” That was Ana’s favorite.
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Mar 9, 2015 03:39
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In
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Mar 11, 2015 02:01
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sebmojo posted:i'll probably do some judgeburps but not gonna lie could be a light week for crittin so speak up if you want me to look at yours first Yes please, love some thoughts on a children's book from a fellow father.
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Mar 11, 2015 07:08
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The Death of Marat Some number of words Marat looked at the wall, at the framed note written in his own flowing handwriting. It was the first execution order he ever signed. More papers were stacked around him within easy reach, on the chair and stacked on pieces of wood balanced on the corners of the large porcelain bath he sat in. The bathwater was thick and starchy from oatmeal, and pungent from herbs and oils. It’s opaque, glistening surface allowed Marat to imagine skin that wasn’t crusted like tree bark, and muscles that weren’t atrophied from disuse. He dipped his pen in ink and continued his letter, pressing on the board that spanned the width of the bath. The last three had warranted no reply from the convention, and he assumed this one would be no different. How easily one is discarded in this new France. At least with the royals it was the always same fuckers. How his shoulders itched. He sank deeper into the bath to steep an inch more of his pocked and weeping chest in the medicinal stew. This caused him to raise his arms awkwardly to maintain a good writing angle. “Simone,” Marat called his wife. There was no reply, even she had lost interest in him. “Simone!” When he heard her stolid trudge reach the third to last stair he screwed up his face with effort and squeezed out a fart. The bubbles moved slowly through the viscid murk, reaching the top with a turgid pop just as the polished brass door handle started to turn. He smiled as the smell reached his nostrils. It would serve as petty revenge, with Simone a wan proxy for those bastards at the convention. “Any mail? Visitors?” His voice had become firmer and more demanding as he grew more desperate for relevance. “No mail. You know I will bring the mail when it arrives.” Simone paused for half a beat before turning back towards the door. Marat’s nostrils flared at the hint of hesitation. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Spit it out.” “A girl. This morning. She said she had information on the Gironde.” Simone looked at the floor. She had clung on to her fear of her husband despite the loss of his political and bodily power. “I sent her away.” “You should have told me.” “It isn’t safe, you have more enemies than friends,” she seemed bolder, looking up slightly to stare at the space between his bony knees that protruded from the water. “Besides, what exactly do you think she could do for you?” * * * Charlotte Corday could feel the tip of the knife worrying her calf through the layers of her petticoat. There had been thousand to choose from down Boulevard Haussmann, from short, stout bladed hunting knives, to long, thin stilettos that couldn't be for anything else except killing men. She’d settled on a sharp but simple kitchen knife. Not only had she felt comfortable in the shop but she had recoiled from the more appropriate implements. She was sick of the efficiencies of custom engineered killing, of which the Guillotine was the epitome. The structure stood proud on the Place de la Concorde in the center of the city. She had tried to avoid it but the boulevards and avenues kept leading her back there like a compass. She wondered how much of her fellow Girondists blood had drained away between the cobbles, and hoped it had nourished the weeds that were forcing their way through the cracks. When she’d learned Marat had resigned his post due to sickness she had originally decided to abandon her task.She determined to at least see the man, and decide then whether he was still a threat. Being turned away by his wife had thrown her for a loop, but another glimpse of the timber frame and heavy steel blade had convinced her to double back and try again. This time she was shown upstairs and into his room. She choked on the fumes when she entered, and was sat opposite Marat, her eyes watering from both the sight and smell. “I know the whereabouts of the leadership,” she said, inspecting the sores on his face. “but I am becoming less sure that you are the right person to speak to.” She had been told that this one death would save a hundred thousand, but she could not fathom that the pathetic apparition in front of him could harm a crypt rat, let alone send a thousand men a day to the guillotine. “Look,” Marat pointed above the mantelpiece, at the framed letter. “The death warrant of the first man I killed. I took great pride in it.” The handwriting was beautiful. It sang on the page, florid yet still crystal clear. Not the handwriting of a butcher. “Guillot’s machine wasn’t built for a world of such letters. That letter took me fifteen minutes. The guillotine takes a head every two. We use a press to print them now, and have men sign them in shifts.” Charlotte felt herself growing warm. She fidgeted in her seat and pressed against the knife, cold through her petticoats. “The political winds in France are gusty and fickle,” he continued, “I have always found that, even more than blowing with the winds, it is best to be the one huffing and puffing. Rest assured I have the ear of the leadership. I will have their heads within the fortnight.” * * * “I will have their heads within the fortnight.” The young woman had such wonderful skin. They say that a head dropping from the lunette lives for a second or two. Just long enough to blink a few times. Marat wondered if they still itched. He’d realised as soon as she entered the room she was a Girondist. He hoped they’d paint him with skin like hers when he was martyred. She took out the knife from the folds of her petticoat and stabbed him in the chest. He was pleased his itch subsided as he grew weaker and weaker.
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Mar 16, 2015 04:59
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sebmojo posted:500 words, I'm in, who'll judge I'll judge if Maugrim accepts. Toxx required of course.
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Mar 17, 2015 02:33
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Thunderdome CXXXVII - A Picture is Worth rand( ) % 1500 words Alright you uncultured swine, I won a week with a story based on a painting, now one of you lot is going to do the same. No, not some pixel art of Zelda or a frame of half naked cat girl anime. I'm talking Fine Art like wot hangs in galleries. Sign up and I or another judge will assign you a painting and a random word count between 400 and 1500 words. Don't bank on having seen the painting you are assigned before, I will generally avoid the well trodden paths. The prompt is extremely loose. So long as your story ties to the painting in some way it will be acceptable, anything from the subject matter to the tone to the history behind the painting. If you ask me or any judges whether your particular interpretation of the prompt is okay the answer will be an automatic no as punishment for asking. YOU MAY NOT WRITE YOUR STORY ABOUT THE PAINTER OF THE WORK. (I was burned too bad by that one when I judged my last brawl.) Your story must be within 50 words either side of your assigned word count. Making good use of a longer or shorter word count will be an important factor in the judging rubric. Vignettes are acceptable, but obviously that will depend a lot on your wordcount. A 350 word vignette is fine, a 1550 word one is not. I cannot accept poetry because I am not equipped to judge it. Bonus re-roll fun For the price of toxxing yourself you can buy a re-roll. The wordcount will be random but I will be going out of my way to assign some particularly difficult and weird paintings to re-rollers. You are warned in advance that I have zero mercy and if you are one second late you WILL be banned. This goes for any other regular toxxes. Entry Deadline is 11:59 pm PDT, Friday 20 March Submission Deadline is 11:59 pm PDT, Sunday 22 March as I am just you will have to the end of that minute based on the time stamp of your post. FJGJ crew: newtestleper, surreptitious muffin, nethilia Edit: No erotica, no fan fiction. Any other genre is fine. Starving Artists: Djeser - Rain, Steam and Speed - The Great Western Railway by J M W Turner - 1431 words contagonist - Broadway Boogie-Woogie, 1942 by Piet Mondrian - 1216 words Sitting Here - The Scarred Couch, the Auckland Experience by Philip Clairmont - 1430 words Entenzahn - Maesta by Duccio - 608 words hotsoupdinner - Raft of the Medusa by Theodore Gericault - exactly 1000 words Wangless Wonder - Abstract Speed + Sound by Giacomo Balla - 1138 words Bompacho - The Dog by Francisco Goya - 544 words Comrade Question - A Bigger Splash by David Hockney - 601 words A Classy Ghost - Dawn/Water Poem by Ralph Hotere - 931 words Ancient Blades - Flag, 1954-55 by Jasper Johns - 1283 words PootieTang - The Geographer by Vermeer - 1223 words Benny Profane - Cueva de los Manos by cavemen - 839 words Noah - The Opening of the Fifth Seal (The Vision of St John) by El Greco - 1350 words ZeBourgeoisie - Still Life Before an Open Window by Juan Gris - 616 words Capntastic - Self Portrait by Gustave Courbet - 661 words Grizzled Patriarch - Opus 217. Against the Enamel of a Background Rhythmic with Beats and Angles, Tones, and Tints, Portrait of M. Félix Fénéon in 1890 by Paul Signac - 1466 words Broenheim - Beat the Whites with the Red Wedge by El Lissitzky - 869 words curlingiron - IKB 191 by Yves Klein - 1226 words Megazver - Glenrowan by Sir Sidney Nolan - 776 words Screaming Idiot - Figures and Dog in Front of the Sun by Joan Miro - 600 words Walamor - House of Cards by Zinaida Serebriakova - 1004 words Tyrannosaurus - Traffic Cop Bay by Bill Hammond - 650 words CancerCakes - Just What Is It That Makes Today's Homes So Different, So Appealing? by Richard Hamilton - 968 words Angel Opportunity - Nobson Newtown by Paul Noble - 648 words Doctor Idle - Dust to Dust by Denis Peterson - 1341 words madpanda - Jitterbugs by William Johnson - 1045 words newtestleper fucked around with this message at 03:20 on Mar 20, 2015 |
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Mar 17, 2015 08:35
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Okay we'll start things off nice and easy...  Rain, Steam and Speed - The Great Western Railway by J M W Turner Wordcount: 1431
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Mar 17, 2015 08:50
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contagonist posted:In. I'm playing this until I win, damnit.  Broadway Boogie-Woogie, 1942 by Piet Mondrian Wordcount: 1216
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Mar 17, 2015 08:55
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 The Scarred Couch, the Auckland Experience by Philip Clairmont Wordcount: 1430
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Mar 17, 2015 09:07
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Entenzahn posted:In  Maesta by Duccio Wordcount: 608
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Mar 17, 2015 09:13
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 Raft of the Medusa by Theodore Gericault Word count: 1000 Flash Rule: As TDBot saw fit to give you such a nice round number you must hit your word count exactly newtestleper fucked around with this message at 18:14 on Mar 17, 2015 |
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Mar 17, 2015 09:44
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 Abstract Speed + Sound by Giacomo Balla Words: 1138
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Mar 17, 2015 18:33
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Bompacho posted:What this guy said.  The Dog by Francisco Goya Words: 544
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Mar 17, 2015 18:38
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Comrade Question posted:In, gently caress me up. Welcome to the thunderdome! I will do a line crit for you since this is your first time.  A Bigger Splash by David Hockney Words: 601
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Mar 17, 2015 18:46
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 Dawn/Water Poem by Ralph Hotere Words: 931
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Mar 17, 2015 18:50
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Ancient Blades posted:in, could you give me something trippy and weird? please no dogs playing poker  Flag, 1954-55 by Jasper Johns Words: 1283
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Mar 17, 2015 18:57
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PootieTang posted:IN like Flynn.  The Geographer by Vermeer Words: 1223
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Mar 17, 2015 19:00
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 Cueva de los Manos by cavemen Words: 839
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Mar 17, 2015 19:04
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Noah posted:In.  The Opening of the Fifth Seal (The Vision of St John) by El Greco Words: 1350
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Mar 17, 2015 21:40
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ZeBourgeoisie posted:In for the first time in a long time.  Still Life Before an Open Window by Juan Gris Words: 616
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Mar 17, 2015 21:43
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Capntastic posted:In for the kill  Self Portrait by Gustave Courbet Words: 661
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Mar 17, 2015 21:46
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 Opus 217. Against the Enamel of a Background Rhythmic with Beats and Angles, Tones, and Tints, Portrait of M. Félix Fénéon in 1890 by Paul Signac Words: 1466
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Mar 17, 2015 21:51
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Broenheim posted:Hell yeah, totally in  Beat the Whites with the Red Wedge by El Lissitzky Words: 869
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Mar 18, 2015 01:41
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 Judith Beheading Holofernes by Caravaggio Words: 602 newtestleper fucked around with this message at 01:48 on Mar 18, 2015 |
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Mar 18, 2015 01:45
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 Tiger Riding Ukelele Man by Henri Rousseau (Le Douanier) Words: 1463
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Mar 18, 2015 02:14
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Megazver posted:gently caress it, in.  Glenrowan by Sir Sidney Nolan Words: 776
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Mar 18, 2015 02:43
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Screaming Idiot posted:In, throw me  Figures and Dog in Front of the Sun by Joan Miro Words: 600
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Mar 18, 2015 03:21
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Walamor posted:In. Cool prompt by a cool judge (give me a good painting).  House of Cards by Zinaida Serebriakova Words: 1004
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Mar 18, 2015 04:24
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Tyrannosaurus posted:I'm in.  Traffic Cop Bay by Bill Hammond Words: 650
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Mar 18, 2015 04:40
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CancerCakes posted:In and that  Just What Is It That Makes Today's Homes So Different, So Appealing? by Richard Hamilton Words: 968
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Mar 18, 2015 04:47
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 Nobson Newtown by Paul Noble you might want to google this one to get an idea of the scope Words: 648
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Mar 18, 2015 20:46
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