Sitting Here posted:

both of these posts were edited, by the rules of this thread i declare this a MISBRAWL

You're both DQ'd from your own brawl gj

Exmond posted:

Prompt is a place where stories turn into characters, so take Death of a story but get rid of all the TD Meta references.

Winner gets a new avatar of their choosing

sebmojo's story, which was edited 10:57am, I don't know why posted:

Metafornication
1515 words

You blink scratchy eyes and look at the empty screen, again.

You need a character. Easy enough, it’s like working in a stockroom, just pull him off the shelf. Dashing astronaut, bored office drone, frustrated nerd?

Pick the nerd, why not. Pull him off the shelf. Slap him down. Call him Harry. No, Harald, for a hint of nondescript foreignness. Nice prose at the end there, I like it.

He’s overweight, enough to want to avoid the stray mirror-glances that make him think ‘who’s that fat rear end in a top hat?’ Belly sore each night, from holding it in all day over his too-tight jeans. Not good with people, but worked out enough tricks to get by. Don't doxx me bro

sebmojo's story, posted:

Genre next, riffle through the book - they’re like carpet samples, feel good beneath your fingers This missed, but good try at prose - science fiction, fantasy, science fantasy, cyberpunk, everyday realist humdrum … none of those, not tonight.

Noir?

No, it’s over-done. You wiki up a list of genres. How about socialist realism? Hell yeah. Bring on the tractors and the hardcore revolutionary optimism. Neat sentence

Ok, nerdy Harald’s sitting there in socialist reality, twiddling his thumbs. This is a story about stories, so make him a writer. A wanna-be writer. He is trying all his tricks and they don’t work. That’s important.

sebmojo's story, posted:

Harald sits at his desk - no, a table is more socialist. Lol, I chuckled A plain wooden table, painted thick flat white - but painted roughly, without sanding it first. Tiny splinters abound, a sweeping motion makes a sound like rubbing stubble. Harald’s muscles are sore from a double shift at the tractor factory, trying to meet the latest Five Year Plan directive. Huh? This seems boring

He’s staring at the words he’s just written in blotchy biro on the yellow paper he steals from the factory. They’re bad, he knows it; he’s trying to will them into being good.

sebmojo's story, posted:

Now you need action, Hell yes this story needs action, also I wish the "you" character had been expanded on and made me care about them you’re a whole paragraph in and nothing’s happened. A knock at the door! Harold has been waiting for this, hasn’t he? Yes. He dreads/anticipates it. Who is it?

Harald gets up and takes a deep breath.

You can use that breath to describe the air in his tiny apartment and, with it, Harald. Cabbages, body odour, socks. The air is warm, though, because even under socialism they have central heating.

Harald strides to the door. He pulls it open, feigning the boldness that he hopes to create in himself.

Who is there? Olga’s there, shining and beautiful. I dislike this sentence, Who is there? YOGI is there. You have a man, you need a woman - or not, of course, but go traditional. I like this sentence. I'm liking your "Asides" mentions here. Add something, though, all you can ever do is give the reader what they expect or what they don’t. ]So she has a - deformity? Misapprehension? Miscarriage?

sebmojo's story, posted:

That’s it. She had a child with Harald, it didn’t make it to term. Leave it at that; you might find out why later. He probably wrote her lots of letters.

Harald gives his usual snorting honk of joyW..What? at Olga’s arrival and a muscle moves under her ear as she clenches her beautiful jaw. Only a little, though, keep it subtle.

But not too subtle. Look at the word count. It’s time to ramp up the tension.

She’s clutching a piece of yellow paper.

“The Factory Committee has declared your repurposing of stationery supplies a counter-revolutionary activity. You are to report to the Chairman for reassignment… to the work camps!” she says.

There’s a moment here, and you need to make it land. Okay, so I hope you explain how to make it land

Olga is a good PartyCapitalize? Unsure about this member. She works on the line with Harald, tightening the nuts with a big wrench. ]She has piercing blue eyes, and thews that glisten with sweat in the heat of the shop floor. Those thews are tense with suppressed emotion right now, with words unsaid.
Nope, that landed nowhere

sebmojo's story, posted:

Harald holds out a hand to her. She doesn’t look at it. Instead she hands him the paper (thews! quivering! What are these in parentheses?) and turns on her heel. Harald is left, tongue-tied, on his doorstep.

But you’re the writer Man I would love to see what the writer is thinking instead of being talked to about boring stuff, have Olga say the words in her heart that she can’t say out loud (for fear of spies): “Harald, I don’t love you, but we share a life and a death. Perhaps once there could have been more, but that time has gone. I cannot approve of your crimes, but I believe you are a good man. Good luck.”

Perhaps Harald reads the finality of her unvoiced words in the set of her handsome shoulders as she strides off down the corridor? He’s not stupid, just awkward. Does he slam the door and lean on it, panting with emotions he feels but also cannot voice? Or does he close it gently, as though not wanting to disturb the remaining sweetness of his memories of Olga?

Put them both, you can delete the one you don’t want later.

Trouble is, right now there’s There is, following a plural object? I think this should be there are only two places to go in the world of the story. It’s a linear progression, either back to the paper or onwards to the factory, and both of those are dead ends. All good stories have triangles because a triangle is dynamic. Create one. Neat, I like this advice and the prose on this triangle bit

sebmojo's story, posted:

The phone rings, socialistly- Heh it's still funny! a harsh sharp braying clatter. At first Harald seems not to hear it, but then he jerks into motion and walks stiff legged to pick it up.

It’s Natalya. Of course, it’s Natalya. Natalya, who works at the factory. She’s a friend of Olga and has always looked down on Harald. Or so he thought, but perhaps he was wrong because Natalya is whispering hotly down the line, like she’s about to be discovered. Harald listens, silent, and his eyes go wide.

You can repay the debt you incurred before, peering into poor Olga’s tortured heart, by keeping this conversation secret. That makes two secrets, don’t forget.

All you need to show is Harald putting the phone down, nestling it firmly in the cradle and holding it there while he stares out the small window. Then sitting at the rough white table and picking up his pen, still with that abstracted, exalted expression.

You’re in the flow now, tapping away. There’s an ending ahead and you just have to find it. But the word count is creeping up, so: smash cut! You can do that, it’s an economical and effective way of changing scenes.

***

Harald is in the factory now, dressed in his too-tight jeans and his cleanest shirt, with damp patches at the armpits where he scrubbed at the sweat stains. He’s got a fistful of paper, too, yellow paper folded and re-folded on the long train ride in. The Chairman’s goon Kovalesky is there, looming like he does, lol that's so kovalesky Umm, don't think you meant to keep that in thereand he looks like he wants Harald to come with him right away but Harald holds up his hand. He’s strong, because he has the words he needs. He slides his punch card into the machine, because that’s how it works, and then AND THEN WHAT? And then- Smash cut? Did you just explain what you were going to do a few sentences above? There are better ways to do smash cuts!

***

He’s in the Chairman’s office. The Chairman is an older man with greying sideburns, trimmed goatee and beaky nose, looking up like he’s not sure why Harald is there. He’s tapping away on a keyboard of some kind but Harald doesn’t care because he has unfolded the paper and he’s reading it out loud.

***

You look up at the noise because it’s really late and the house is locked, but the door just opened. Holy poo poo there’s a man there, overweight, little watery eyes. His jeans are too tight. He’s got a wodge of folded and re-folded yellow paper in his hand, and he’s reading it out loud. Why is there someone in your house.

Harald’s voice is nasal but his words are clear for all the indeterminately foreign accent. It’s a statement of grievance. He’s blaming you for himself, his too-tight jeans, his awkwardness, his ex-girlfriend’s miscarriage. He’s blaming you for the sweatstains in his cleanest shirt. It goes on and on, and there’s a certain rhythm and eloquence to it, you find yourself nodding along. Kid’s got talent.

But that doesn’t help you right now because he’s edging closer and he’s surprisingly intimidating in person. You should have written him even nerdier, idiot, buffoon.

sebmojo's story, posted:

Quick. Natalya. That’s the only secret left. She comes rushing in to the Factory chairman’s office, waving a statement. Behind her is Kovalesky, looking sheepish. This needs to end now, Natalya, explain how this is all a huge--

“The People’s Committee has spoken! The Chairman is declared to be an agitator, besmirching the name of Harald Wiggesmeyer for his own counter-revolutionary purposes!”

She slaps the statement down on your desk, and you gape at it. You read “... how his lascivious designs upon Comrade Olga Muresev led the Chairman to intercept Comrade Harald's correspondence and promulgate a false rumour that he...”

Then there are hard hands on your collar and the belt of your pants, and Kovalesky is lifting you up to toss you out the window. Of your own house. Your own loving window.

Behind your back you hear Harald dictating the terms of himself and Olga in the story from now on. This is ridiculous. This won’t do at all.

You hit ctrl-A, and backspace.

sebmojo's story, posted:

Then you blink scratchy eyes and look at the empty screen, again.

Exmond posted:

Moby Dick 2: A Whale of A Tale
1080 words

I had barely finished saying the title when the decrepit old man hurled the book at me.

“Tag line: You orca se-” The five-hundred page classic slammed into my face and I rocked back on my chair. A thick thud reverberated through the coffee shop as the book landed onto the floor. The girl curled up on the sofa continued reading Moby Dick, the cashier continued to dole out change and the hipsters continued to talk politics. Nobody noticed. It’s not like any of them could see us, let alone hear us.

Exmond posted:

“Hold on, Moby Dick 2: A Whale of A Tale Is just a temporary title, we can rework it in post,” I explained as I fixed up my business casual suit.

He opened his hand and another copy of the classic materialized into it. He stared up at me with his sunken eyes and said, “No.”

Exmond posted:

Alright, take a deep breath girl, I told myself, you managed to convince Les Misérables to get a makeover, you can convince this stubborn whale.

“Listen, Moby Dick is a great work. Not every manifestation I encounter can say they came from such an esteemed classic.” I snapped my fingers at him. “But it’s the turn of the century. Sequels, movies those are the new hotness. Books ain’t selling, and if it ain’t selling, people ain’t reading them.” Good point about Libraries and Ebooks

As if to spite me, the girl next to us turned the page on her book and the old man took a deep breath, gaining renewed vigor. His wrinkles smoothed out and his disheveled hair grew back. He rose from his chair and stared at me with contempt.

“Much like Ahab’s path, this path leads to destruction. I will not help you create this,” He searched for the right word, “abomination.”

Exmond posted:

“It’s called a sequel, and do you know how much a movie increases readership? Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter baby! That was me.”

I paused as a flicker of jealousy ran across his face. Everyone wants to be the next Harry Potter.

Seeing my chance I continued, “And partnership is essential. We need your artistic vision to help us make this a franchise. John Carter, Lone Ranger? All reboots done without the blessing of their manifestations and all box-office bombs. This deal is whale worth it.“

Exmond posted:

An awkward silence fell over us. Maybe that last pun was too much. The old man looked out at the coffee shop, noticing how few people were reading. Then he looked at the girl, who was fascinated by Moby Dick and smiling. He looked at her as if she was a child taking her first steps on an amazing journey. He looked back at me and shook his head.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Fine, we can play hardball I thought. I let the energy from money changing hands flow through me, I let harsh decisions based off of sales numbers in and I let simple harsh corporate truths wash over me. I was energized, I was reborn, I was Capitalism made manifest; A bad bitch in a suit who was gonna make this sale.

Exmond posted:

I pointed at the girl who was reading Moby Dick. “You see her, you know what will interest her more than your tale?” I snapped my fingers and the girl’s cell phone vibrated. I returned his glare and said, “Materialistic wealth, clothes and the latest fad. All of those things are more interesting than your book.”

The girl looked down at her cell phone, excitement in her eyes, and started to walk out of the coffee shop, the Moby Dick book left forgotten on the sofa. As the old man in front of me grew a little older I smiled.

"See, I know what the kids want. And they don’t want thou or what you’re offering. They want instant gratification and instant appreciation baby!. All it took was a sale at Abercrombie & Fitch to make her forget about you.” I motioned at the forgotten book.

The old man’s knees were shaking and he slumped back into the chair. He looked forlornly at the abandoned book, and then back at me, fear in his eyes. I wondered if ideas made manifest had balls, because if they did I had his in my hands. It was time to squeeze.

“Every time money changes hands, I’m there. Every time someone wants something, I provide it, for a price. I don’t just control the world, I am the loving world. Capitalism ho!”. I produced a very generous contract and laid it out on the table.

The old man looked at the contract and licked his lips. “You can make me relevant again?”

“You’re already relevant, I’m going to make you famous,” I said, buttering him up. “If you sign this, I’ll make you bigger than Harry Potter!”

The old man nodded. Everyone wants to be bigger than Harry Potter.

Exmond posted:

“So, I'm thinking maybe a reboot before the sequel. Reboots are all the rage right now. We amp up the Ishmael and Queequeg homo-eroticism. People love that . Don’t make Queequeg a cannibal though, that’s not exactly kosher.”

I was just thinking which teenage boy toy we could get to play Queequeg when the girl from before waltzed right in and ruined everything. She looked around, rushed to the sofa and grabbed her Moby Dick book. The old man looked up at her, like she was an oasis in a desert. My jaw dropped to the floor as she let out a sigh - a sigh of relief - and put the book into her purse.

The old man looked at me, a twinkle in his eye, and shredRight, teeeechnically in dialogue shred can be past tense, but yes this should be shredded the contract. His boisterous laughter followed me all the way out of the coffee shop. I was fuming, I was furious, but I wasn’t done. I grabbed my cell phone and dialedAmerica! my secretary.

Exmond posted:

“Hey, Darlene. Moby Dick didn’t pan out. “

I paused as Darlene gave me fake platitudes. She was well worth the money I paid her.

“Yeah tell Mr Sutherland he won’t be able to play Ahab. Hey, give me Pride and Prejudice’s location.”

Darlene took a moment and gave me an address.

“Get me a ticket to Hampshire then. What am I going to do? Offer a reboot deal, maybe add some zombies, everyone loves zombies!”

Unfunny Poster posted:

Yeah I misread the stats page. Still pretty abyssmal performance so far.

Sitting Here posted:

shut up and rear end your newts

Jay W. Friks posted:

In with a flash rule please (EDIT: the HOW TO ENTER website says the contest closing date is January 2017. Did they just not update it?)

http://www.jameswhiteaward.com/news posted:

This year’s James White Award has opened to submissions.

The competition will accept entries until midnight (GMT) on Friday 27 April, 2018 and the winner will be announced in July 2018 (date to be confirmed).

sebmojo posted:

In crabrocks case that's all of them, he starts over a lot

Djeser posted:

luckily your posts are safe cause there's no way to make them worse

sebmojo posted:

crabrock posted:

congrats on your win, Exmond.

Jay W. Friks posted:

REMINDER FOR SEBMOJO AND EXMOND

Jay W. Friks posted:

BASKETBRAWL RESULTS

The time is 00.03 but Seb and Exmond get a free throw in at the buzzer. The Cyborg and Chibi duel wins!

Sham bam bamina! posted:

Solitair posted:

Crits

Mercedes posted:

What's up you bastards. You may remember me from such classics as Dog Police and Black Jesus.

Today, right now, I'm sitting in an English class room preparing to teach a poo poo ton of freshman to magic of Thunderdoming in the ~real world~

So I'm coming to you faggots honored colleagues to ask your your help. These young bloods will be submitting stories next week and I'll need help critting them.

I'll be posting a link once their submissions start rolling in. All I ask is that you remember that these are kids. The goal is make them want to write more, not crush their hopes. So this is the only time I'll ask this and mean it. Please be gentle.

Jon Joe posted:

The other two judges state they will be expanding their crits in their own posts. However I am lazy and instead I am offering detailed crits to anyone who asks for one, that submitted this week. Just quote this post.

sebmojo posted:

That's why you extract toxxes when you judge a brawl.

Djeser posted:

what a terrible circumstance

Bubble Bobby posted:

toxxing myself that I'll have the best story

Bubble Bobby posted:

I think that's a pretty disingenuous reading of my story, but whatever

Deltasquid posted:

Link seems dead btw

I'll join this week but I need some food for thought

Bubble Bobby posted:

I don't have irc. The point is that the contract is obviously not going to be carried out. It's called a trick. I guess I should have made that more clear. Thanks for reading.

Yoruichi posted:

INTERPROMPT: Fetishistic indecision

Poetry, 100 words

Solitair posted:

Much better. IN, , flash, please.