crowphoenix
Banned
I say go for it.
-
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NeoGAF Creative Writing Challenge #100 - "The Things Unfinished"
- Thread starter Cyan
- Start date
- Status
I say go for it.
crowphoenix
Banned
https://www.dropbox.com/s/0iw7kvisz7d5qpt/To do list.docx
It's short. It's experimental (for me). But with it, I bid you happy assholes a fine 'Hello.'
It's short. It's experimental (for me). But with it, I bid you happy assholes a fine 'Hello.'
British Monsoon
Member
If I don't submit anything else before the deadline, then this is my submission I guess;
-----
Procrastination (1228 words)
He had procrastinated all week, as per usual, telling himself that he was waiting for the ideas to form. A snatch of conversation here, a glimpse of setting there. As the days rolled on and the deadline loomed closer, he had his story. Or bits of it, at least. First, there was the image;
~There was a man named Jason and a woman named Melissa, and as children they had dreamed. Innocent, romanticised dreams of strange, far away places. Spending their pocket money photocopying atlases and travel guides in the library on a Saturday afternoon. The smell of toner and ink and the cool, musty air, silent save for a cough or the turn of a page and the hum of the photocopier. Then back home they would walk, and with blobs of blu-tack stick their copies to the wall. Dreaming, as they stared at the [ictures, of what it would be like to live in the Hebrides, or some remote valley in Georgia, under the shadow of the Caucasus mountains. Isolated and lonely places. But while he had dreamed of leaving as much of civilisation behind as possible, she had just dreamed, and as the years wore on, their dreams were forgotten, lost amid the waves of the big city.~
Next, came snatches of conversation;
~"People have lost the art of conversation. If there's an awkward silence, you fill it, not ignore it. Updating feeds, checking emails and browsing forums with a feigned air of concentration. All because you don't have the words to relate to one another. God...it was so fucking awkward." he said, throwing up his arms in exasperation.
"Well, we haven't seen him for a long while." she replied, ever playing devil's advocate.
"No, that's not it. We're drowning in social media. The present is off the table, because we've all read each other's Facebook updates and fucking tweets" he said, disdain lacing his voice "And the past? Hell, he didn't want to reminisce. Probably afraid we'd embarrass him in front of his girlfriend. Oh, and isn't she just a fucking delight?"
"I know, right?" Melissa replied "No desire to be there what-so-ever. Barely said one word to me all night."~
He felt like he was drowning in his dialogue. It was so hard for him to vocalise what he wanted the characters to say. Nothing sounded natural, nor the way he intended. One character, elitist, bordering on obnoxious, the other bland and barely defined.
~"So you're really going then?" she asked.
"Yeah, I've been thinking about it for a while." he admitted.
"I just can't take the city any more, 'lissa. And fuck, I don't want to go back home."
"It's not the city Jayce, it's the people. It's always been the people. And it's not technology you hate, it's the way people use it. It's the way people do everything."
"I often wonder why you still put up with me..."
"You're my oldest and dearest friend, my first kiss, my childhood crush. We came to the city together, we lived together for two years. I don't think I've gone a week without seeing you since I last went on holiday with my parents. And besides, I do understand you."
"You should come with me" he said, reaching for her hand. She moved it out of the way, and placed it atop his instead.
"No, I'm sorry Jason. Because while you've never quite understood people, never quite figured how to put up with them, I'm not the same. I actually like our friends, my colleagues, people I meet in a pub or nightclub. And those pictures you kept? When we were younger, you dreamed of going to those places because you wanted to get as far away from everyone else, but I dreamed of those places just to imagine what it would be like. How the people there live. It was a childish dream, it still is." she looked angry with him.
"Please don't go" she said sadly.
"I'll write." he replied with a smile~
It gnawed at him, the sense that he had wanted to say more, but no matter how he cast his mind back, the ideas were no longer tinged with that initial excitement. As often happened, what had seemed writeable to him in theory had turned out to be a mess in practice.
Finally, the poorly conceived, clichéd conclusion;
~He had sent the letter just three weeks previous, but found himself again at the little post office, checking once more to see if there were any deliveries. The postman didn't come as far out as his little cottage, nestled on a spit of land that ended facing the cold chill of the northern sea, but a plane made regular deliveries from the main land every week. The post hadn't arrived yet according to the wizened old lady behind the counter, so Jason went outside and seated himself on a bench in the village square. It was a warm day, about as warm as they got this far north, and he relished the warmth of the sun on his skin, before it would inevitably pass once more behind a bank of tumultuous cloud that already massed on the horizon. He closed his eyes and allowed the peace to wash over him, the village quiet and still, it's inhabitants retreating indoors to prepare lunchtime meals, the smells borne tantalizingly upon the air, mixed with the ever present smells of sea salt and brine.
With a sudden start, he snapped his eyes open as the little single engine plane passed low overhead and out of sight. Rising, he started a slow meander towards the field that served as an air-strip. There, exchanging enthusiastic farewells with the pilot, who turned and waved at Jason's approach, was Melissa, her red hair streaming in the wind. She turned, a huge grin playing on her face as she broke into a run, crashing into Jason and wrapping him in a fierce embrace. It had been three months since he had left, three weeks since he sent the letter, which he saw now clutched in her hand. There was the picture of him, standing in front of the little cottage, a panorama of sea and sun and cloud and sky painted beautifully behind, and below, scrawled in his cramped and awkward script, "Status update; "Home sweet home!" Like - Comment".~
It was as satisfactory ending as any, for such an ill-conceived story. He detested his inability to write in a natural manner, about people and things not connected with some imagined fantasy land, or dystopian science fiction future, and cursed the awkward, unrealistic way in which he drew his characters and their motivations. The ideas were there, but he was at a loss as to how to put them to page, and in the end, he no longer liked the story he had been struggling to tell. With a sigh and self-loathing thoughts of regret, he hastily wrote his scraps into their own story of sorts, a expose of his botched writing process, of confessional of his insecurities as a writer. With the deadline rapidly approaching, he wrote the closing paragraph, thoughts already turning to the piece he would write in the remaining five hours. Something with action, and world building, and description. Something that, he hoped, would play to his strengths, instead of mocking his failings.
-----
*edit, looks like this is going to be my submission - please, next time can someone shout at me if I've failed to submit anything a few days before the deadline, one day I will beat this goddamn procrastination and write something that I like, on time, with ample room for editing. Fuck. I apologise for making you guys read this, but I didn't want to fail to submit for the second challenge in a row
-----
Procrastination (1228 words)
He had procrastinated all week, as per usual, telling himself that he was waiting for the ideas to form. A snatch of conversation here, a glimpse of setting there. As the days rolled on and the deadline loomed closer, he had his story. Or bits of it, at least. First, there was the image;
~There was a man named Jason and a woman named Melissa, and as children they had dreamed. Innocent, romanticised dreams of strange, far away places. Spending their pocket money photocopying atlases and travel guides in the library on a Saturday afternoon. The smell of toner and ink and the cool, musty air, silent save for a cough or the turn of a page and the hum of the photocopier. Then back home they would walk, and with blobs of blu-tack stick their copies to the wall. Dreaming, as they stared at the [ictures, of what it would be like to live in the Hebrides, or some remote valley in Georgia, under the shadow of the Caucasus mountains. Isolated and lonely places. But while he had dreamed of leaving as much of civilisation behind as possible, she had just dreamed, and as the years wore on, their dreams were forgotten, lost amid the waves of the big city.~
Next, came snatches of conversation;
~"People have lost the art of conversation. If there's an awkward silence, you fill it, not ignore it. Updating feeds, checking emails and browsing forums with a feigned air of concentration. All because you don't have the words to relate to one another. God...it was so fucking awkward." he said, throwing up his arms in exasperation.
"Well, we haven't seen him for a long while." she replied, ever playing devil's advocate.
"No, that's not it. We're drowning in social media. The present is off the table, because we've all read each other's Facebook updates and fucking tweets" he said, disdain lacing his voice "And the past? Hell, he didn't want to reminisce. Probably afraid we'd embarrass him in front of his girlfriend. Oh, and isn't she just a fucking delight?"
"I know, right?" Melissa replied "No desire to be there what-so-ever. Barely said one word to me all night."~
He felt like he was drowning in his dialogue. It was so hard for him to vocalise what he wanted the characters to say. Nothing sounded natural, nor the way he intended. One character, elitist, bordering on obnoxious, the other bland and barely defined.
~"So you're really going then?" she asked.
"Yeah, I've been thinking about it for a while." he admitted.
"I just can't take the city any more, 'lissa. And fuck, I don't want to go back home."
"It's not the city Jayce, it's the people. It's always been the people. And it's not technology you hate, it's the way people use it. It's the way people do everything."
"I often wonder why you still put up with me..."
"You're my oldest and dearest friend, my first kiss, my childhood crush. We came to the city together, we lived together for two years. I don't think I've gone a week without seeing you since I last went on holiday with my parents. And besides, I do understand you."
"You should come with me" he said, reaching for her hand. She moved it out of the way, and placed it atop his instead.
"No, I'm sorry Jason. Because while you've never quite understood people, never quite figured how to put up with them, I'm not the same. I actually like our friends, my colleagues, people I meet in a pub or nightclub. And those pictures you kept? When we were younger, you dreamed of going to those places because you wanted to get as far away from everyone else, but I dreamed of those places just to imagine what it would be like. How the people there live. It was a childish dream, it still is." she looked angry with him.
"Please don't go" she said sadly.
"I'll write." he replied with a smile~
It gnawed at him, the sense that he had wanted to say more, but no matter how he cast his mind back, the ideas were no longer tinged with that initial excitement. As often happened, what had seemed writeable to him in theory had turned out to be a mess in practice.
Finally, the poorly conceived, clichéd conclusion;
~He had sent the letter just three weeks previous, but found himself again at the little post office, checking once more to see if there were any deliveries. The postman didn't come as far out as his little cottage, nestled on a spit of land that ended facing the cold chill of the northern sea, but a plane made regular deliveries from the main land every week. The post hadn't arrived yet according to the wizened old lady behind the counter, so Jason went outside and seated himself on a bench in the village square. It was a warm day, about as warm as they got this far north, and he relished the warmth of the sun on his skin, before it would inevitably pass once more behind a bank of tumultuous cloud that already massed on the horizon. He closed his eyes and allowed the peace to wash over him, the village quiet and still, it's inhabitants retreating indoors to prepare lunchtime meals, the smells borne tantalizingly upon the air, mixed with the ever present smells of sea salt and brine.
With a sudden start, he snapped his eyes open as the little single engine plane passed low overhead and out of sight. Rising, he started a slow meander towards the field that served as an air-strip. There, exchanging enthusiastic farewells with the pilot, who turned and waved at Jason's approach, was Melissa, her red hair streaming in the wind. She turned, a huge grin playing on her face as she broke into a run, crashing into Jason and wrapping him in a fierce embrace. It had been three months since he had left, three weeks since he sent the letter, which he saw now clutched in her hand. There was the picture of him, standing in front of the little cottage, a panorama of sea and sun and cloud and sky painted beautifully behind, and below, scrawled in his cramped and awkward script, "Status update; "Home sweet home!" Like - Comment".~
It was as satisfactory ending as any, for such an ill-conceived story. He detested his inability to write in a natural manner, about people and things not connected with some imagined fantasy land, or dystopian science fiction future, and cursed the awkward, unrealistic way in which he drew his characters and their motivations. The ideas were there, but he was at a loss as to how to put them to page, and in the end, he no longer liked the story he had been struggling to tell. With a sigh and self-loathing thoughts of regret, he hastily wrote his scraps into their own story of sorts, a expose of his botched writing process, of confessional of his insecurities as a writer. With the deadline rapidly approaching, he wrote the closing paragraph, thoughts already turning to the piece he would write in the remaining five hours. Something with action, and world building, and description. Something that, he hoped, would play to his strengths, instead of mocking his failings.
-----
*edit, looks like this is going to be my submission - please, next time can someone shout at me if I've failed to submit anything a few days before the deadline, one day I will beat this goddamn procrastination and write something that I like, on time, with ample room for editing. Fuck. I apologise for making you guys read this, but I didn't want to fail to submit for the second challenge in a row
I resent that statement. I am not "happy"
HP_Wuvcraft
Banned
No. I'm working on my sub right now. I just wanted feedback, I guess.
Grammar. Yes. lolzipan.
It's the site. On my computer, it's all double space.
The first thing you need to know is this is actually chapter two.
In the first draft, there was a short little ditty about how Kate got bit which ultimately felt shoed in. I honestly couldn't write a story for her that was not cliched. I don't think I'll ever really tell what happened, even in later chapters.
Noted.
Perhaps I should have left the subchapter legends in.
Anyhow, thanks for the stuff. I should have clarified more what it was.
There wasn't much special about the way John Michael-Dubront walked. Foot comes up, foot goes down, pavement, shoe. The bag he was carrying in one hand slapped against a pair of work jeans splattered in paint and mud; the other hand hand tapped out a rhythm on his side as he went. A black sweater, worn and stained, kept off the night chill. Mr. Michael-Dubront had dug it out of the closet; Jeanie'd be mad at him if he didn't do something to keep himself warm on a night like this. Blessed little Jeanie, always looked out for him that way. Her daddy the slugger, the handyman, the fixer-upper.
He smiled as he took a left, his shoes now slapping against packed dirt and not concrete. Weren't that just the silliest thing about Jeanie, the way she always made him dress up warm even though she called him slugger. Bless her little heart and everything in it, the love and caring and piece of bus siding that the doctors said killed her instantly and nicknames and kindness. Wouldn't have her any other way, save the bus siding.
Mr. Michael-Dubront's fingers kept tapping as he walked, a one-two-not-quite-three rhythm that Jeanie had come up with. That was his little girl, oh yes it was, slapping a stick on an empty paint can and calling it music. Sweetest music he ever heard. She was going to make it into a whole song, with piano and singers and everything, she said. She hadn't mentioned ambulance sirens or cell phone ringtones that have no right to be so goddamn innocent, someone else added those later. Jeanie'd've probably rolled with it; she always did. Little trooper, she got it from her father.
A few leaves crunched underneath his shoes. She got everything from her father 'cept the looks; the whore had run off and left them alone, and if Mr. Michael-Dubront had to be honest with himself, that was fine by him. Tradesmans' income pays for two mouths much better than three. Not that Jeanie much cared; little rascal, she'd eat anything. Caught her almost trying paint once; who could blame her? Bright red and creamy, just like the cherry smoothies or the stuff that covered the seat where she'd been sitting three months ago. Just like the tomato soup they made. She always added too much salt; alright, Miss Salty-head, we can have that much salt, but daddy's getting himself an extra beer to wash it down.
He stopped for a moment to read the sign in front of him. She'd probably have tried to beat him to it, stumbling over words like “interred”. Oh, she loved books. Oh, the days at the library spent because of her, reading things like Nate the Great or Sesame Street, or, later, the local directory to find the address of Mr. Paul Stanza who apparently took stoplights as suggestions, or, earlier again, the beginners' cookbook, the perfect guide to making your own cookies and cakes. She wanted to make her own birthday cake, she said, because how else would she get to choose how much chocolate went in? Perfect logic. Y'can't argue with it.
A few drops of rain splattered on Mr. Michael-Dubront's perfectly bald head as he walked. Cooking, mhm, that was another one of Jeanie's big things. She wanted to be a cook when she grew up, though she never said if this was before or after she'd be the composer and astronaut and horseback rider. She explained it all very seriously to him: she'd have the pots and pans there, shined to a polish, the ingredients here, all in a row, the utensils and silverware over there; whisk, ladle, fork, kitchen knife like the one he'd used to make that son of a bitch bleed (and he'd bled, he'd bled like a fucking pig, but maybe you shouldn't have brought Mister Jack Fucking Daniels along for a joyride, maybe you should've pulled our head out of your ass long enough to see the goddamn bus, you bastard), wooden spoon and normal spoon, a difference which she stressed was very important but never really explained why, strainer, the whole nine yards. She'd started collecting for it already – she had Her Spoon, pink and plastic and out of a McDonald's bag. He was always very careful to wash Her Spoon.
He stopped and pulled a shovel, worn and red, out of his bag. Cold night, tough ground, but that was all right, he was used to hard work. She'd loved to shovel snow with him, even if most of the time she just wound up getting it all over the sidewalk again anyways. It was, she'd said, her job to help outside because if she didn't the snowmen would be angry at her for slacking off. Craziest idea in the world. Anyone can build a snowman, his little girl builds ones that apparently yell at her if she doesn't help out. She tried to make one of him once, 'bottle and everything' she said, but gave up because, she said, it wasn't any fun if it wasn't as big as he was and she wasn't tall enough to do it that way. He'd promised her he'd get her a little stepladder and she could work on it that way. Next Saturday, even, assuming she didn't fly from her bus seat on the way back from school, spinning crazily, crashes and screaming around her until finally her cute little coat slammed into the point of a piece of metal at fifteen miles an hour, no daddy around to tell her why. Poor little snowman going unfinished like that, she'd have hated that.
The pile of dirt at Mr. Michael-Dubront's side stopped growing. With a grunt, he lifted the little wooden box from the ground, hauling it up and over the side. Pausing for a moment to catch his breath, he clambered up after and pulled out a piece of chalk. He hummed to himself as he drew. Arts and crafts, that was another big thing. Wouldn't think a little girl could be interested in so much, but there it was. Chalk drawings on the sidewalk, little clothespin dolls, oh, her teacher at school was so proud of her. Little Michelangelo, she said. So much life in everything she does. She's started a big painting, you know, but she made me promise not to show it to you until it's finished. You'll have to wait on that, Mr. Michael-Dubront, but oh it's wonderful. It's got witches and horses and you'd think just about everything. He smiled. Witches, right, probably a picture of old Madame Zamaya down the street, who needed handywork done from time to time and who opened her door to just about anyone with a big problem. Even her own handyman.
The chalk lifted from the ground. Perfect. You ain't much of a handyman if you can't follow directions. Still humming, he reached into his bag and drew out a crowbar. One-two-not-quite-three-crack, there was his little girl. Prettiest little dress on her, arms folded, might as well be sleeping. He rattled off words he'd memorized by heart as he looked her over, smoothing out wrinkles and brushing off bits of dirt. Silly stupid thing to do, really; Madame had said it was a long shot, said it would be a terrible waste. But hell. Mister John Michael-Dubront, never let any problem go without trying every solution, never let any job go unfinished. He'd been very practical getting this far; no outstanding work, no debts hanging over his head, no evidence left behind at the Stanza place, nothing left unfinished. Nothing 'cept everything his little girl ever started.
The wind howled. Jeanie was silent. John reached into the bag and pulled out the kitchen knife, bringing it to his arm.
There were ways to fix that.
----------------------------------------------------
I actually didn't even notice the secondary objective, funny how it worked out.
But in the end I got myself to sit down and write, which is always good.
He smiled as he took a left, his shoes now slapping against packed dirt and not concrete. Weren't that just the silliest thing about Jeanie, the way she always made him dress up warm even though she called him slugger. Bless her little heart and everything in it, the love and caring and piece of bus siding that the doctors said killed her instantly and nicknames and kindness. Wouldn't have her any other way, save the bus siding.
Mr. Michael-Dubront's fingers kept tapping as he walked, a one-two-not-quite-three rhythm that Jeanie had come up with. That was his little girl, oh yes it was, slapping a stick on an empty paint can and calling it music. Sweetest music he ever heard. She was going to make it into a whole song, with piano and singers and everything, she said. She hadn't mentioned ambulance sirens or cell phone ringtones that have no right to be so goddamn innocent, someone else added those later. Jeanie'd've probably rolled with it; she always did. Little trooper, she got it from her father.
A few leaves crunched underneath his shoes. She got everything from her father 'cept the looks; the whore had run off and left them alone, and if Mr. Michael-Dubront had to be honest with himself, that was fine by him. Tradesmans' income pays for two mouths much better than three. Not that Jeanie much cared; little rascal, she'd eat anything. Caught her almost trying paint once; who could blame her? Bright red and creamy, just like the cherry smoothies or the stuff that covered the seat where she'd been sitting three months ago. Just like the tomato soup they made. She always added too much salt; alright, Miss Salty-head, we can have that much salt, but daddy's getting himself an extra beer to wash it down.
He stopped for a moment to read the sign in front of him. She'd probably have tried to beat him to it, stumbling over words like “interred”. Oh, she loved books. Oh, the days at the library spent because of her, reading things like Nate the Great or Sesame Street, or, later, the local directory to find the address of Mr. Paul Stanza who apparently took stoplights as suggestions, or, earlier again, the beginners' cookbook, the perfect guide to making your own cookies and cakes. She wanted to make her own birthday cake, she said, because how else would she get to choose how much chocolate went in? Perfect logic. Y'can't argue with it.
A few drops of rain splattered on Mr. Michael-Dubront's perfectly bald head as he walked. Cooking, mhm, that was another one of Jeanie's big things. She wanted to be a cook when she grew up, though she never said if this was before or after she'd be the composer and astronaut and horseback rider. She explained it all very seriously to him: she'd have the pots and pans there, shined to a polish, the ingredients here, all in a row, the utensils and silverware over there; whisk, ladle, fork, kitchen knife like the one he'd used to make that son of a bitch bleed (and he'd bled, he'd bled like a fucking pig, but maybe you shouldn't have brought Mister Jack Fucking Daniels along for a joyride, maybe you should've pulled our head out of your ass long enough to see the goddamn bus, you bastard), wooden spoon and normal spoon, a difference which she stressed was very important but never really explained why, strainer, the whole nine yards. She'd started collecting for it already – she had Her Spoon, pink and plastic and out of a McDonald's bag. He was always very careful to wash Her Spoon.
He stopped and pulled a shovel, worn and red, out of his bag. Cold night, tough ground, but that was all right, he was used to hard work. She'd loved to shovel snow with him, even if most of the time she just wound up getting it all over the sidewalk again anyways. It was, she'd said, her job to help outside because if she didn't the snowmen would be angry at her for slacking off. Craziest idea in the world. Anyone can build a snowman, his little girl builds ones that apparently yell at her if she doesn't help out. She tried to make one of him once, 'bottle and everything' she said, but gave up because, she said, it wasn't any fun if it wasn't as big as he was and she wasn't tall enough to do it that way. He'd promised her he'd get her a little stepladder and she could work on it that way. Next Saturday, even, assuming she didn't fly from her bus seat on the way back from school, spinning crazily, crashes and screaming around her until finally her cute little coat slammed into the point of a piece of metal at fifteen miles an hour, no daddy around to tell her why. Poor little snowman going unfinished like that, she'd have hated that.
The pile of dirt at Mr. Michael-Dubront's side stopped growing. With a grunt, he lifted the little wooden box from the ground, hauling it up and over the side. Pausing for a moment to catch his breath, he clambered up after and pulled out a piece of chalk. He hummed to himself as he drew. Arts and crafts, that was another big thing. Wouldn't think a little girl could be interested in so much, but there it was. Chalk drawings on the sidewalk, little clothespin dolls, oh, her teacher at school was so proud of her. Little Michelangelo, she said. So much life in everything she does. She's started a big painting, you know, but she made me promise not to show it to you until it's finished. You'll have to wait on that, Mr. Michael-Dubront, but oh it's wonderful. It's got witches and horses and you'd think just about everything. He smiled. Witches, right, probably a picture of old Madame Zamaya down the street, who needed handywork done from time to time and who opened her door to just about anyone with a big problem. Even her own handyman.
The chalk lifted from the ground. Perfect. You ain't much of a handyman if you can't follow directions. Still humming, he reached into his bag and drew out a crowbar. One-two-not-quite-three-crack, there was his little girl. Prettiest little dress on her, arms folded, might as well be sleeping. He rattled off words he'd memorized by heart as he looked her over, smoothing out wrinkles and brushing off bits of dirt. Silly stupid thing to do, really; Madame had said it was a long shot, said it would be a terrible waste. But hell. Mister John Michael-Dubront, never let any problem go without trying every solution, never let any job go unfinished. He'd been very practical getting this far; no outstanding work, no debts hanging over his head, no evidence left behind at the Stanza place, nothing left unfinished. Nothing 'cept everything his little girl ever started.
The wind howled. Jeanie was silent. John reached into the bag and pulled out the kitchen knife, bringing it to his arm.
There were ways to fix that.
----------------------------------------------------
I actually didn't even notice the secondary objective, funny how it worked out.
But in the end I got myself to sit down and write, which is always good.
crowphoenix
Banned
Fine, you acerbic assholes. Better?
Valerie Cherish
Member
I feel like I am in no way ready to
write something out that is acceptable to post, but I've got 2 hours and 58 minutes and I'm sure that's enough to at least write one sentence.
Ohh... that sounds like a personal challenge actually... hmm.
Anyway, by posting this, I'll be able to have this post mocking me if I don't, so that's what I'm using for further fuel.
shit
Ohh... that sounds like a personal challenge actually... hmm.
Anyway, by posting this, I'll be able to have this post mocking me if I don't, so that's what I'm using for further fuel.
Hm... you've got all the time in the world. All of my legit stories were crapped out in that time. Some of them may even have been decent.
much
Looks like tons of entries for this one. Here's another one:
Birthday Pilgrimage
Birthday Pilgrimage
possible melancholy love story ahoy, in your faces everyone!
Just made it. Glad I could participate again on the 100th challenge.
Two Tasks (2000 words)
****
Paulo, dusty and tired, slung his rifle over his shoulders and stepped carefully over the remnants of the Concord Turnpike as he made his way into the town of Cambridge, shrunk again to the size of one of its earlier incarnations. He had heard much about this bastion of the old knowledge, the descriptions varying wildly according to the persons attitude towards the old ways. Those who wanted the old world back called it a paradise while those who blamed it for the horrors of the current called it a deranged perversion that needed to be destroyed.
Paulo, eight years old when the disaster suck, for whom the technologically provided delights and comforts of the times before were cherished memories, was much closer to the first point of view and it was with mounting excitement that he moved deeper into the college town turned technology preserve and approached an armed checkpoint; an old parking lot booth now surrounded by barbed wire.
As the central government had lost its ability to control its armed forces they had splintered into smaller militias; mostly on geographic lines but also on ideological ones. Soldiers who felt strongly about preserving and even enhancing scientific knowledge had gravitated towards the hallowed institutions in Cambridge and set up a string of badly needed defenses and even a nascent border.
One of those soldiers was watching warily as Paulo came closer. Paulo made sure his hands were raised and well away from the rifle slung across his back.
You want to enroll you got to head towards the Tisch Library like everybody else the soldier called out You want to enlist you head for the PowderHouse
Im not here to enroll or enlist Paulo called back coming to a halt. .Im a courier from the Zimmerman library down New Mexico way. Ive got a package for Harvard and a Dr Abuross. He shrugged off his old rucksack and held it out for display.
Ill have to search you the soldier called back doubtfully as he waved him closer and youre going to have to check in any weapons if you want to come across. Keep your hands where I can see them
After satisfying himself with a thorough patdown the solider went through Paulos courier knapsack and then his personal backpack which Paulo gave up reluctantly. He grinned at the contents of the backpack and handed it back. Placing Paulos rifle carefully into a weapons locker, praising the state of the rifle as he did so, he took out an old permanent marker from his pocket and with a quick motion made a green mark on Paulos palm and recapped it. They know how to make permanent ink from the raw materials here he explained But these colour ones are relics. Good for security since theyre rare and getting rarer. The soldier waved him deeper into the town Go on in, you should be able to get your business done before the mark fades. Ill keep your rifle safe for ya. And hey if you want to enlist let me know and Ill put a good word in for you with the warden. You made the trek all the way from New Mexico? We could use a man like you.
Paulo smiled at the compliment, swung his packs back across his shoulder, and moved deeper into the reclaimed areas of the city. Unlike the miles of abandoned suburbs that surrounded in to the north and west and the crowded chaos of Boston across the river the university buildings were well kept. Paulo lost some of his tension as he sensed he had moved out of the chaos and entered an area of order. Even better was the absence of the suffocating stench of oppression that characterised most of the tyrannical one town states that he had passed through or around on his trek.
Jury rigged windmills had been set up on open areas and shared space with solar panels on top of many buildings. Remarkably few of the buildings showed evidence of damage. It seemed the city had escaped most of the rioting that had swept over the nation, and presumably the world, after the the tech had failed. Whatever unrest there had been seemed to have been put down quickly and damage repaired as much as possible. Paulo made his way to the Houghton Library finding his way easily with the aid of streets that were still signed and an old map that was still accurate. His dusty travelling coat and worn boots didnt attract any attention as he strode across the campus giving him a pleasant feeling of security and anonymity.
There was no receptionist in the library so it was left to Paulo, after a few minutes of gaping at the largest collection of books by some order of magnitude that he had ever seen, to ask the few browsers where Dr Abuross office might be. He found it finally in a corner on the second floor that somehow felt drier and dustier than the rest of the library.
Paulo gathered himself. He could feel the end of his 9 month journey finally approaching. He knocked.
The door opened to reveal a tall dark skinned man with a shock of white hair radiating off his skull in all directions and an unkempt beard that looked like an upturned bush after a snowstorm. Beards had become a regular sight after a society used to disposable razors had found the supply dried up but these whiskers were still a sight to behold.
Yes? the man asked.
Uh, Dr.Abuross Paulo queried hesitantly.
I am he the Doctor replied.
My name is Paulo. Im a courier. Ive got a package for you. Paulo explained a rush of relief breaking over his face. Its from the Zimmerman library in New Mexico.
A postman! Dr.Abuross grinned widely backing away from his door and ushering Paulo in. Come in, its always a pleasure to get mail. And from New Mexico no less.
Paulo stepped into a cramped study packed with books and cardboard boxes filled with paper. The Doctor pushed a few of these to the side to reveal a chair and motioned for Paulo to sit as he squeezed past a small desk to collapse with a satisfied sigh into an office chair that creaked alarmingly as the Doctor made himself comfortable.
Paulo sat down and looked around with interest at the comfortable clutter.
A fan of the written word I take it? Dr Abuross said noting Paulos curiosity.
Its just.. Ive never seen this many books in one place before Paulo said.
A sad look quickly passed over the face of the older man. Well lets take care of business first I suppose. You said you had a delivery?
Paulo opened his knapsack and and dug out a carefully wrapped bundle. With an audible sigh Paulo relinquished it to the Doctor and sat back, a huge burden lifted from his shoulders.
Dr.Abuross unwrapped the tightly wrapped canvas to reveal a handwritten letter and two slim and ancient looking books. He quickly scanned the letter and his features split into a delighted grin. Dr Leyman? That old bastard Martin Leyman is still alive? Dr.Abuross looked up for confirmation and burst out in laughter when Paulo nodded. And he managed to safeguard his collection too! He quickly examined the two books that had come with the letter and chuckled. It only took an apocalypse to get him to give up some of his first editions. The miser.
Dr Leyman said it was important that they be preserved. Paulo said.
Yes, so much of what we are reduced to is preservation. Dr Abuross sighed. Important though with all the burners around. So much lost already. He stacked the two books carefully in the middle of his desk. So Paulo the Postman. You have mine, indeed our, sincere thanks for bringing these safe to us. Im not sure what we could do for you in compensation. If you wish to become a resident then Ill be sure to put in a good word. Room and board of course for a while if you wish to leave.
Actually Paulo said apologetically. There is this. From his backpack he took out another swaddled bundle that he had spent some minutes rewrapping after the inspection at the checkpoint.
Canvas, linen, oiled leather, and plastic. You are certainly keeping something safe Dr.Abuross muttered as he unwrapped the bundle. Finally getting to the core of it he looked up sharply.
Paulo shrugged, embarrassed. It was my eighth birthday present. The same day as the disaster. just a few minutes before everything went to hell.
And youve been carrying it ever since. Dr.Abuross held up the slim white cardboard box looking almost brand new the cover of which proclaimed the greatness of the iPad within.
Need to charge it to use it and well... Paulo explained.
Electricity has been a scarce commodity to put it mildly. Dr.Abuross finished. He opened the box with care and slowly lifted out the thin black slate, still shiny underneath its cling film protection, dug out the power cable and slotted it carefully in. Well I have a fair bit of my power ration for the month left over and its the least I can do he said and bent over to plug the device into a wall socket.
The screen turned on and a battery with a lightning bolt appeared to let them know it was coming to life.
Paulos breath caught in his throat. After all this time he could hardly believe that it would be so easy. Memories of ripping the wrapping paper off the box and screaming with delight flooded back along with the memory of how, just minutes later, all the machines had failed and the hell that had followed after that.
Eleven years, a long time. Dr.Abuross mused as Paulo stretched out his arms child-like to ask for his birthday present back.
Cradling it carefully Paulo reverently pressed the circle at the bottom of the tablet with the square icon. The screen turned blank white and then displayed a beautifully scrolling welcome screen and a few seconds later a gentle reminder to the dumbstruck Paulo to swipe the screen to the right to continue.
The next screen was a prompt to pick a wifi network to proceed with registration. No matter what Paulo did the screen refused to go away to let him into the rest of the system. Paulo looked up confused as Dr.Abuross frowned down at the screen with him. Registration. Ah of course, you need something that no longer exists. He looked up and caught Paulos pleading eyes. This is a device not meant for our times. You need the internet.
Paulo looked down, heartbroken. He remembered the internet and knew that he wouldnt be able to get past this one last screen and fulfill his desire.
Ive heard Dr.Abuross said carefully that there is a cult of Apple devotees in Cupertino, California. They should be able to get you past this. Indeed the tablet itself would get you in and welcomed in their society.
Cult? Paulo asked.
Thats what they call themselves apparently Dr.Abuross returned.
Paulo shook his head slowly as he pulled the plug and watched the screen flicker and die without power.
No, I think Im alright sir. he said laying the iPad down next to the books and standing up. Could you use this as a part of your preservation?
Dr.Abuross smiled. Im sure the MIT guys will find a space for it. What will you do now?
Paulo considered this. Ill look around if you dont mind. Then maybe youll have something you need to have delivered somewhere?
Im sure well have something if you wish. Come on. Ill give you a tour The Doctor got up and led Paulo back outside leaving the iPad behind on the table.
****
Two Tasks (2000 words)
****
Paulo, dusty and tired, slung his rifle over his shoulders and stepped carefully over the remnants of the Concord Turnpike as he made his way into the town of Cambridge, shrunk again to the size of one of its earlier incarnations. He had heard much about this bastion of the old knowledge, the descriptions varying wildly according to the persons attitude towards the old ways. Those who wanted the old world back called it a paradise while those who blamed it for the horrors of the current called it a deranged perversion that needed to be destroyed.
Paulo, eight years old when the disaster suck, for whom the technologically provided delights and comforts of the times before were cherished memories, was much closer to the first point of view and it was with mounting excitement that he moved deeper into the college town turned technology preserve and approached an armed checkpoint; an old parking lot booth now surrounded by barbed wire.
As the central government had lost its ability to control its armed forces they had splintered into smaller militias; mostly on geographic lines but also on ideological ones. Soldiers who felt strongly about preserving and even enhancing scientific knowledge had gravitated towards the hallowed institutions in Cambridge and set up a string of badly needed defenses and even a nascent border.
One of those soldiers was watching warily as Paulo came closer. Paulo made sure his hands were raised and well away from the rifle slung across his back.
You want to enroll you got to head towards the Tisch Library like everybody else the soldier called out You want to enlist you head for the PowderHouse
Im not here to enroll or enlist Paulo called back coming to a halt. .Im a courier from the Zimmerman library down New Mexico way. Ive got a package for Harvard and a Dr Abuross. He shrugged off his old rucksack and held it out for display.
Ill have to search you the soldier called back doubtfully as he waved him closer and youre going to have to check in any weapons if you want to come across. Keep your hands where I can see them
After satisfying himself with a thorough patdown the solider went through Paulos courier knapsack and then his personal backpack which Paulo gave up reluctantly. He grinned at the contents of the backpack and handed it back. Placing Paulos rifle carefully into a weapons locker, praising the state of the rifle as he did so, he took out an old permanent marker from his pocket and with a quick motion made a green mark on Paulos palm and recapped it. They know how to make permanent ink from the raw materials here he explained But these colour ones are relics. Good for security since theyre rare and getting rarer. The soldier waved him deeper into the town Go on in, you should be able to get your business done before the mark fades. Ill keep your rifle safe for ya. And hey if you want to enlist let me know and Ill put a good word in for you with the warden. You made the trek all the way from New Mexico? We could use a man like you.
Paulo smiled at the compliment, swung his packs back across his shoulder, and moved deeper into the reclaimed areas of the city. Unlike the miles of abandoned suburbs that surrounded in to the north and west and the crowded chaos of Boston across the river the university buildings were well kept. Paulo lost some of his tension as he sensed he had moved out of the chaos and entered an area of order. Even better was the absence of the suffocating stench of oppression that characterised most of the tyrannical one town states that he had passed through or around on his trek.
Jury rigged windmills had been set up on open areas and shared space with solar panels on top of many buildings. Remarkably few of the buildings showed evidence of damage. It seemed the city had escaped most of the rioting that had swept over the nation, and presumably the world, after the the tech had failed. Whatever unrest there had been seemed to have been put down quickly and damage repaired as much as possible. Paulo made his way to the Houghton Library finding his way easily with the aid of streets that were still signed and an old map that was still accurate. His dusty travelling coat and worn boots didnt attract any attention as he strode across the campus giving him a pleasant feeling of security and anonymity.
There was no receptionist in the library so it was left to Paulo, after a few minutes of gaping at the largest collection of books by some order of magnitude that he had ever seen, to ask the few browsers where Dr Abuross office might be. He found it finally in a corner on the second floor that somehow felt drier and dustier than the rest of the library.
Paulo gathered himself. He could feel the end of his 9 month journey finally approaching. He knocked.
The door opened to reveal a tall dark skinned man with a shock of white hair radiating off his skull in all directions and an unkempt beard that looked like an upturned bush after a snowstorm. Beards had become a regular sight after a society used to disposable razors had found the supply dried up but these whiskers were still a sight to behold.
Yes? the man asked.
Uh, Dr.Abuross Paulo queried hesitantly.
I am he the Doctor replied.
My name is Paulo. Im a courier. Ive got a package for you. Paulo explained a rush of relief breaking over his face. Its from the Zimmerman library in New Mexico.
A postman! Dr.Abuross grinned widely backing away from his door and ushering Paulo in. Come in, its always a pleasure to get mail. And from New Mexico no less.
Paulo stepped into a cramped study packed with books and cardboard boxes filled with paper. The Doctor pushed a few of these to the side to reveal a chair and motioned for Paulo to sit as he squeezed past a small desk to collapse with a satisfied sigh into an office chair that creaked alarmingly as the Doctor made himself comfortable.
Paulo sat down and looked around with interest at the comfortable clutter.
A fan of the written word I take it? Dr Abuross said noting Paulos curiosity.
Its just.. Ive never seen this many books in one place before Paulo said.
A sad look quickly passed over the face of the older man. Well lets take care of business first I suppose. You said you had a delivery?
Paulo opened his knapsack and and dug out a carefully wrapped bundle. With an audible sigh Paulo relinquished it to the Doctor and sat back, a huge burden lifted from his shoulders.
Dr.Abuross unwrapped the tightly wrapped canvas to reveal a handwritten letter and two slim and ancient looking books. He quickly scanned the letter and his features split into a delighted grin. Dr Leyman? That old bastard Martin Leyman is still alive? Dr.Abuross looked up for confirmation and burst out in laughter when Paulo nodded. And he managed to safeguard his collection too! He quickly examined the two books that had come with the letter and chuckled. It only took an apocalypse to get him to give up some of his first editions. The miser.
Dr Leyman said it was important that they be preserved. Paulo said.
Yes, so much of what we are reduced to is preservation. Dr Abuross sighed. Important though with all the burners around. So much lost already. He stacked the two books carefully in the middle of his desk. So Paulo the Postman. You have mine, indeed our, sincere thanks for bringing these safe to us. Im not sure what we could do for you in compensation. If you wish to become a resident then Ill be sure to put in a good word. Room and board of course for a while if you wish to leave.
Actually Paulo said apologetically. There is this. From his backpack he took out another swaddled bundle that he had spent some minutes rewrapping after the inspection at the checkpoint.
Canvas, linen, oiled leather, and plastic. You are certainly keeping something safe Dr.Abuross muttered as he unwrapped the bundle. Finally getting to the core of it he looked up sharply.
Paulo shrugged, embarrassed. It was my eighth birthday present. The same day as the disaster. just a few minutes before everything went to hell.
And youve been carrying it ever since. Dr.Abuross held up the slim white cardboard box looking almost brand new the cover of which proclaimed the greatness of the iPad within.
Need to charge it to use it and well... Paulo explained.
Electricity has been a scarce commodity to put it mildly. Dr.Abuross finished. He opened the box with care and slowly lifted out the thin black slate, still shiny underneath its cling film protection, dug out the power cable and slotted it carefully in. Well I have a fair bit of my power ration for the month left over and its the least I can do he said and bent over to plug the device into a wall socket.
The screen turned on and a battery with a lightning bolt appeared to let them know it was coming to life.
Paulos breath caught in his throat. After all this time he could hardly believe that it would be so easy. Memories of ripping the wrapping paper off the box and screaming with delight flooded back along with the memory of how, just minutes later, all the machines had failed and the hell that had followed after that.
Eleven years, a long time. Dr.Abuross mused as Paulo stretched out his arms child-like to ask for his birthday present back.
Cradling it carefully Paulo reverently pressed the circle at the bottom of the tablet with the square icon. The screen turned blank white and then displayed a beautifully scrolling welcome screen and a few seconds later a gentle reminder to the dumbstruck Paulo to swipe the screen to the right to continue.
The next screen was a prompt to pick a wifi network to proceed with registration. No matter what Paulo did the screen refused to go away to let him into the rest of the system. Paulo looked up confused as Dr.Abuross frowned down at the screen with him. Registration. Ah of course, you need something that no longer exists. He looked up and caught Paulos pleading eyes. This is a device not meant for our times. You need the internet.
Paulo looked down, heartbroken. He remembered the internet and knew that he wouldnt be able to get past this one last screen and fulfill his desire.
Ive heard Dr.Abuross said carefully that there is a cult of Apple devotees in Cupertino, California. They should be able to get you past this. Indeed the tablet itself would get you in and welcomed in their society.
Cult? Paulo asked.
Thats what they call themselves apparently Dr.Abuross returned.
Paulo shook his head slowly as he pulled the plug and watched the screen flicker and die without power.
No, I think Im alright sir. he said laying the iPad down next to the books and standing up. Could you use this as a part of your preservation?
Dr.Abuross smiled. Im sure the MIT guys will find a space for it. What will you do now?
Paulo considered this. Ill look around if you dont mind. Then maybe youll have something you need to have delivered somewhere?
Im sure well have something if you wish. Come on. Ill give you a tour The Doctor got up and led Paulo back outside leaving the iPad behind on the table.
****
<3
Tell her internet cool guy and all-around awesomeness authority Cyan will think she's super awesome if she lets you write a story.
Mike Works
Member
Editing down from 6100 words to less than 2000 has been one of the hardest writing-related things to do ever. Truly fitting that the 100th challenge for me represents masochism spiced with stupidity and procrastination.
Valerie Cherish
Member
LEGO Fire Brigade; 2,231 Pieces
For three years, Shirley occasionally noted the box of partially-assembled Lego bits in her garage of which she did not understand their meaning or origin until one day when a neighbor asked her how she had been doing without Travis whom was the son that she had put Lego together with on Saturday afternoons that died in a car accident; she then remembered that Travis really liked Lego.
For three years, Shirley occasionally noted the box of partially-assembled Lego bits in her garage of which she did not understand their meaning or origin until one day when a neighbor asked her how she had been doing without Travis whom was the son that she had put Lego together with on Saturday afternoons that died in a car accident; she then remembered that Travis really liked Lego.
Lone_Prodigy
Member
Better than nothing I guess. But just barely.
https://dl.dropbox.com/u/49655282/NeoGAF writing challenge 100.pdf
Password in quote.
https://dl.dropbox.com/u/49655282/NeoGAF writing challenge 100.pdf
Password in quote.
Mike Works
Member
HP_Wuvcraft
Banned
Fuck, my thing won't be ready in time.
Here's a distraction.
The Art of Geeks, Part I: Ode to a Toilet
Here's a distraction.
The Art of Geeks, Part I: Ode to a Toilet
Before This (1484 words)
It was Moira's eighth birthday. She had her party and had lots of punch and cake and playing with her friends to boot. The days prior were rainy, and it felt like she had forgotten how to run around after being cooped under a roof. It took a bit to get going again. She had to find her footing in the backyard mud, and she had to get used to her new shoes. Getting her favorite sundress dirty had been a concern at first, but Jimmy did steal a sack with a dollar sign on it. And it was her duty to arrest him.
There had been a whole gallery of witnesses. If they weren't going to get their hands dirty, Moira would. She grilled them. They didn't talk at first. Moira assumed that Jimmy had something on them or intimidated them, rather than that they were enjoying cupcakes. She had to find the right string to tug to unravel his web of silence. She tried everything. She shook her fists and pretended to know kung-fu. She smiled sweetly and swayed from one foot to the other. She crinkled her brow and pouted her lips. Jimmy had them under the muddy heels of his boots until it dawned upon her. A light switched on. "It's my birthday," Moira said. The words cut through the silence like scissors through construction paper. And the witnesses came through and pointed toward Jimmy.
Moira kicked up mud. The chase was on.
Yes, her mother saw what a mess the birthday girl was and shot her a look. But Moira did leave her shoes at the door, and she did help the other kids remove their shoes too. There wasn't much yelling, even though Moira's muddy fingerprints were all over the scene. After all, it was her birthday.
The day after, Moira had the pick of the leftover cupcakes. She avoided the one without any sprinkles and eyed it with suspicion. She wondered if Jimmy had stolen them also and if the cupcake itself was a possible crime scene. But it was all too clean as frosted cupcakes went, and she decided that it was probably a mistake by the bakery.
Moira had received many presents, but her favorite was from her grandmother. It was this big quilt featuring the world patched into it. Moira was proud that she could name all the continents.
Moira laid her quilt flat on the floor in her bedroom. She grabbed Mrs. Carroway from the bed and set the teddy bear with a red bowtie onto the blanket. Moira sat down next to Mrs. Carroway and mimed the pouring of tea into dainty cups. One for Mrs. Carroway, one for her. Moira took a sip.
Mrs. Carroway had been married. Or was still. It was never quite clear to Moira. The teddy bear rarely talked about her past. In fact, there was always a profound melancholy behind those black glossy eyes, as if some secret shadowed her. Moira could tell by the way Mrs. Carroway stared over the edge of the bed and into the glistening sea some mornings. Summer seemed to have a greater effect on the bear.
Moira took another sip from her tea. "Come have some tea with me, Mrs. Carroway," said Moira.
The teddy bear turned away and remained silent.
"You must forget your past, my dear." Moira tried to sway the bear. "There are wonders in this world to explore. If, only if, you open your heart to them. But you let your past drag you to the sea."
"I cannot," said Mrs. Carroway, finally. She sighed. "It tugs upon my heart. It is too difficult."
"Then share with me these troubles that haunt you," said Moira. Her concern was palpable. "Let your friend help guide you past this fog of yours and into the sunshine that is the prime of your life."
"I cannot," said Mrs. Carroway. She sighed again. "It tugs upon my heart. It is too difficult."
Moira snapped into a biscuit and washed it away with tea. "You're a bummer, you know that?" she said.
"I know," said Mrs. Carroway. She sighed again but more deeply. "It tugs upon my heart. It is difficult." Her plush stumps where her hands should have been trembled. Her tea spilled. The tea cup fell from her grasp. The tea cup rolled on the ground without any regard for any handle that it may have had.
They heard a clank.
"Look, Mrs. Carroway," said Moira. "A hole!" She scratched at the quilt underneath her. She dug into the earth. They crawled into the hole she had made bigger. And they fell.
Moira grabbed her teddy bear before she hopped to her feet. They hopped to North America on the quilt as they landed in a cavern. She tiptoed across Central America as pools of acid lapped at her toes. And after she reached South America, a great big leap bounded her across the ocean to Africa.
She traversed the remainder of the cavern until she reached the end. She stood on a small bump in the ground that not-so-oddly was shaped like her blanket. A dragon lay before her.
The dragon was gigantic, as tall as her ceiling, and sure enough, it occupied the space of her bed. The dragon was old, the last of its kind. Its scales were dull and encrusted with dirt and lichen. Spider webs dangled from various bumps.
The dragon roared. Its breath was hot and heavy. Moira steadied herself as not to get blown away like dandelion fluff.
Moira held her arms up into the air. But it was dark in the cavern, and it was hard to see the potion in her hands. She tried to reason with the dragon, but she realized that she didn't speak dragon.
The dragon still had life in it. It lunged at her as it snapped its jaws at her.
Moira ducked and rolled off the quilt. She threw Mrs. Carroway at the dragon as a distraction. And with an urgency as not to let the bear's sacrifice be in vain, Moira leaped onto the dragon. She ran across the dragon's back from one end of her mattress to the other and then back again until she found what she was looking for! It was a gash where the dragon's scale had been hacked away, probably by some foolish knight, and where the flesh oozed thick boogers.
"It might hurt a little at first, but it'll get better," said Moira. She poured the potion onto the dragon as she winced. She remembered the treatments for her own knee scrapes. She threw away the empty bottle of potion and flapped her quilt in the air. She let the blanket settle onto her bed. She laid down and stretched her body across to smooth it out. "There," she began. "That should cover it until it gets better."
Moira stepped into the darkness and came out floating in space.
Moira laid on her blanket and hung her head upside down over the edge. Blood and thoughts of space rushed to her head. Here she was at the edge of the universe as she drifted in a broken tin can of a spaceship. She closed her eyes and waited to drop off the edge of the world.
"Hello?" she whispered. She wondered if the universe even knew her.
She held her breath and imagined the oxygen running out in her spaceship. It wasn't too long before she opened her eyes and let out her lungs in a big burst. She saw the way the light lit the bumps in the ceiling like stars. She imagined her own constellations.
And then she saw it. From the corner of her right eye. Like the sun peering from the horizon. Big Bird. Cookie Monster. They hung from the Sesame Street mobile that had been in her room since even before her birth. With her tiny fingers, she reached for them. Her spaceship rolled to the left, and those who were there before her were gone from her view. But in that moment, as she lay on her quilt, she could see the threads of it all. With a finger, she traced them and saw how it all came together, here at the edge of the universe.
Moira rolled off her bed and laid the quilt that her grandmother had given her back onto the floor. She stood in the middle before she spun round and round, like a ballerina. As the world moved around her, she remembered a dream that she once had, a dream of hissing spiders and green monsters and a black-feathered bird that burst into flames.
Moira stopped. Onto the quilt, she dropped to her knees. She pressed a finger downward, and the threads came to meet her finger. She looked at the world. Where was she going next?
It was Moira's eighth birthday. She had her party and had lots of punch and cake and playing with her friends to boot. The days prior were rainy, and it felt like she had forgotten how to run around after being cooped under a roof. It took a bit to get going again. She had to find her footing in the backyard mud, and she had to get used to her new shoes. Getting her favorite sundress dirty had been a concern at first, but Jimmy did steal a sack with a dollar sign on it. And it was her duty to arrest him.
There had been a whole gallery of witnesses. If they weren't going to get their hands dirty, Moira would. She grilled them. They didn't talk at first. Moira assumed that Jimmy had something on them or intimidated them, rather than that they were enjoying cupcakes. She had to find the right string to tug to unravel his web of silence. She tried everything. She shook her fists and pretended to know kung-fu. She smiled sweetly and swayed from one foot to the other. She crinkled her brow and pouted her lips. Jimmy had them under the muddy heels of his boots until it dawned upon her. A light switched on. "It's my birthday," Moira said. The words cut through the silence like scissors through construction paper. And the witnesses came through and pointed toward Jimmy.
Moira kicked up mud. The chase was on.
Yes, her mother saw what a mess the birthday girl was and shot her a look. But Moira did leave her shoes at the door, and she did help the other kids remove their shoes too. There wasn't much yelling, even though Moira's muddy fingerprints were all over the scene. After all, it was her birthday.
The day after, Moira had the pick of the leftover cupcakes. She avoided the one without any sprinkles and eyed it with suspicion. She wondered if Jimmy had stolen them also and if the cupcake itself was a possible crime scene. But it was all too clean as frosted cupcakes went, and she decided that it was probably a mistake by the bakery.
Moira had received many presents, but her favorite was from her grandmother. It was this big quilt featuring the world patched into it. Moira was proud that she could name all the continents.
Moira laid her quilt flat on the floor in her bedroom. She grabbed Mrs. Carroway from the bed and set the teddy bear with a red bowtie onto the blanket. Moira sat down next to Mrs. Carroway and mimed the pouring of tea into dainty cups. One for Mrs. Carroway, one for her. Moira took a sip.
Mrs. Carroway had been married. Or was still. It was never quite clear to Moira. The teddy bear rarely talked about her past. In fact, there was always a profound melancholy behind those black glossy eyes, as if some secret shadowed her. Moira could tell by the way Mrs. Carroway stared over the edge of the bed and into the glistening sea some mornings. Summer seemed to have a greater effect on the bear.
Moira took another sip from her tea. "Come have some tea with me, Mrs. Carroway," said Moira.
The teddy bear turned away and remained silent.
"You must forget your past, my dear." Moira tried to sway the bear. "There are wonders in this world to explore. If, only if, you open your heart to them. But you let your past drag you to the sea."
"I cannot," said Mrs. Carroway, finally. She sighed. "It tugs upon my heart. It is too difficult."
"Then share with me these troubles that haunt you," said Moira. Her concern was palpable. "Let your friend help guide you past this fog of yours and into the sunshine that is the prime of your life."
"I cannot," said Mrs. Carroway. She sighed again. "It tugs upon my heart. It is too difficult."
Moira snapped into a biscuit and washed it away with tea. "You're a bummer, you know that?" she said.
"I know," said Mrs. Carroway. She sighed again but more deeply. "It tugs upon my heart. It is difficult." Her plush stumps where her hands should have been trembled. Her tea spilled. The tea cup fell from her grasp. The tea cup rolled on the ground without any regard for any handle that it may have had.
They heard a clank.
"Look, Mrs. Carroway," said Moira. "A hole!" She scratched at the quilt underneath her. She dug into the earth. They crawled into the hole she had made bigger. And they fell.
Moira grabbed her teddy bear before she hopped to her feet. They hopped to North America on the quilt as they landed in a cavern. She tiptoed across Central America as pools of acid lapped at her toes. And after she reached South America, a great big leap bounded her across the ocean to Africa.
She traversed the remainder of the cavern until she reached the end. She stood on a small bump in the ground that not-so-oddly was shaped like her blanket. A dragon lay before her.
The dragon was gigantic, as tall as her ceiling, and sure enough, it occupied the space of her bed. The dragon was old, the last of its kind. Its scales were dull and encrusted with dirt and lichen. Spider webs dangled from various bumps.
The dragon roared. Its breath was hot and heavy. Moira steadied herself as not to get blown away like dandelion fluff.
Moira held her arms up into the air. But it was dark in the cavern, and it was hard to see the potion in her hands. She tried to reason with the dragon, but she realized that she didn't speak dragon.
The dragon still had life in it. It lunged at her as it snapped its jaws at her.
Moira ducked and rolled off the quilt. She threw Mrs. Carroway at the dragon as a distraction. And with an urgency as not to let the bear's sacrifice be in vain, Moira leaped onto the dragon. She ran across the dragon's back from one end of her mattress to the other and then back again until she found what she was looking for! It was a gash where the dragon's scale had been hacked away, probably by some foolish knight, and where the flesh oozed thick boogers.
"It might hurt a little at first, but it'll get better," said Moira. She poured the potion onto the dragon as she winced. She remembered the treatments for her own knee scrapes. She threw away the empty bottle of potion and flapped her quilt in the air. She let the blanket settle onto her bed. She laid down and stretched her body across to smooth it out. "There," she began. "That should cover it until it gets better."
Moira stepped into the darkness and came out floating in space.
Moira laid on her blanket and hung her head upside down over the edge. Blood and thoughts of space rushed to her head. Here she was at the edge of the universe as she drifted in a broken tin can of a spaceship. She closed her eyes and waited to drop off the edge of the world.
"Hello?" she whispered. She wondered if the universe even knew her.
She held her breath and imagined the oxygen running out in her spaceship. It wasn't too long before she opened her eyes and let out her lungs in a big burst. She saw the way the light lit the bumps in the ceiling like stars. She imagined her own constellations.
And then she saw it. From the corner of her right eye. Like the sun peering from the horizon. Big Bird. Cookie Monster. They hung from the Sesame Street mobile that had been in her room since even before her birth. With her tiny fingers, she reached for them. Her spaceship rolled to the left, and those who were there before her were gone from her view. But in that moment, as she lay on her quilt, she could see the threads of it all. With a finger, she traced them and saw how it all came together, here at the edge of the universe.
Moira rolled off her bed and laid the quilt that her grandmother had given her back onto the floor. She stood in the middle before she spun round and round, like a ballerina. As the world moved around her, she remembered a dream that she once had, a dream of hissing spiders and green monsters and a black-feathered bird that burst into flames.
Moira stopped. Onto the quilt, she dropped to her knees. She pressed a finger downward, and the threads came to meet her finger. She looked at the world. Where was she going next?
What is the meaning of life? (2000)
Just kidding.
It's actually called The Unfinished Experiment. Enjoy...
https://dl.dropbox.com/u/49745078/The Unfinished Experiment.pdf
Just kidding.
It's actually called The Unfinished Experiment. Enjoy...
https://dl.dropbox.com/u/49745078/The Unfinished Experiment.pdf
Mike Works
Member
Holy hell, I just combed through the past 100 challenges out of nostalgia, and I had honestly forgotten about the vast majority of stories I'd submitted. Man, the fucking memories.
Jedeye Sniv
Banned
Woah, so many stories! I'm glad I've read a bunch already, this gon take a while Good work everyone, I'm looking forward to reading all of this over the next couple of days. I'll post impressions as I read.
Good work everyone, I'm looking forward to reading all of this over the next couple of days. I'll post impressions as I read.The Entries:
Aaron - "The Unveiling"
Jedeye Sniv - "Pro Patria Mori"
DGRE - "Know You're Loved"
Irish - "Four, Instead of Five"
ronito - "At 30 Rockerfeller Plaza"
Jables - "Second Chance"
bakemono - "Goodbye Sisters"
John Dunbar - "Too Many Humble Heroes"
Ward - "When He's Dead It's the End"
zethren - "Stuck"
crowphoenix - "Things I Still Need to Do"
Bootaaay - "Procrastination"
Grakl - "An Abusive Occupation"
GSR - "Jeanie"
Sober - "Birthday Pilgrimage"
Azih - "Two Tasks"
Valerie Cherish - "LEGO Fire Brigade; 2,231 Pieces"
Lone Prodigy - "Thanks Dad"
Mike Works - "The Finish"
Tangent - "The Pilgrimage to Mount Nara"
HP_Wuvcraft - "The Art of Geeks, Part I: Ode to a Toilet"
DumbNameD - "Before This"
Cyan - "Chicken"
Ashes1396 - "The Unfinished Experiment"
Holy shit, dudes. 24 entries. We haven't had that many since the very first challenges. And we got a bunch of triumphant returns (bakemono, you sneak--I didn't see you there! <3), plus ronito pulling an Arthur Conan Doyle!
Aaron - "The Unveiling"
Jedeye Sniv - "Pro Patria Mori"
DGRE - "Know You're Loved"
Irish - "Four, Instead of Five"
ronito - "At 30 Rockerfeller Plaza"
Jables - "Second Chance"
bakemono - "Goodbye Sisters"
John Dunbar - "Too Many Humble Heroes"
Ward - "When He's Dead It's the End"
zethren - "Stuck"
crowphoenix - "Things I Still Need to Do"
Bootaaay - "Procrastination"
Grakl - "An Abusive Occupation"
GSR - "Jeanie"
Sober - "Birthday Pilgrimage"
Azih - "Two Tasks"
Valerie Cherish - "LEGO Fire Brigade; 2,231 Pieces"
Lone Prodigy - "Thanks Dad"
Mike Works - "The Finish"
Tangent - "The Pilgrimage to Mount Nara"
HP_Wuvcraft - "The Art of Geeks, Part I: Ode to a Toilet"
DumbNameD - "Before This"
Cyan - "Chicken"
Ashes1396 - "The Unfinished Experiment"
Holy shit, dudes. 24 entries. We haven't had that many since the very first challenges. And we got a bunch of triumphant returns (bakemono, you sneak--I didn't see you there! <3), plus ronito pulling an Arthur Conan Doyle!
bengraven
Member
Tell her internet cool guy and all-around awesomeness authority Cyan will think she's super awesome if she lets you write a story.
It was more like me looking at the clock, then back at her watching TV, then back at the clock for a few minutes. I knew what story I wanted to write and was ready for it. Then it's getting late and she's still up and she pulls the "you're coming to bed, right, I mean, it's pretty late? You're not going to be up until 2am on NeoGAF are you...". Well...I was going to write a story which might keep me up late. She stares at me like a kid who just came up with the most ridiculous excuse ever for staying up late on a school night.
Fuck, we need a laptop or tablet.
Sorry guys.
Will be voting, though.
John Dunbar
correct about everything
i bet ten internet bucks that at least 10 of the people who entered won't vote.
i like frivolous use of spoiler tags.
or vote without reading everything. you could say they will leave things... unfinished
i like frivolous use of spoiler tags.
I was shooting for Nanowrimo my self, but it's on now, baby. It is so on. Bet I can do it before July ends!
Madness! Don't give in to the mob.
Seriously, I doubt changing the deadline would actually help at all. Those who wait til the last minute would still wait til the last minute. Those who look at the list of stories and balk would still balk.
We can handle it. Just don't expect super-detailed critiques!
Mike Works
Member
Okay, here are some short impressions/critiques from what I’ve read so far. Obviously not going to be too lengthy since there are 20+ stories to get through.
Please be warned that I’m going to right at the issue (if there is one) that I find in every piece, since these critiques will be so short. I’ll try to include things that worked in my impressions, but my primary goal is to try and identify what needs to be considered in order to make each story stronger. So if I don’t say much nice about your submission, that doesn’t mean there’s nothing nice about it!
I’ll go through these chronologically; if I’ve skipped your story, then it means I had trouble reading your entry on my iPad and I’ll read it on my computer and do a write-up before I vote. I know 24 entries is a lot to read in a short amount of time, but try to get some critiques in if you can!
Oh, and don’t read my critiques until you’ve read the stories for yourself (except for your own story of course); go in with a clear mind!
Aaron - "The Unveiling": This story is a very slow burn for more than the first half, and I found myself struggling to keep interest while reading it. Then the sheet is lifted off of the painting, and suddenly so much from that seemingly empty train scene is revived with importance and meaning. It’s a double-edged sword, since you might risk losing your reader if you give them the impression that the entire story is just going to be about a reporter observing a disinterred artist, but once the painting is shown and discussed, the surprise is quite enjoyable. I will say that I felt you overstepped a bit with the reveal; you don’t have to spell it out as much and risk becoming overly didactic. I’ll also add that the action of the little girl and the artist’s reaction was also quite interesting, though it’s hurt by the overly melodramatic fluff at the end. Still, this will probably end up vying for one of my votes.
Jedeye Sniv - "Pro Patria Mori": Off the top of my head, I don’t think I’ve read any homosexually themed World War 1 stories, and yet there was very little about this piece that felt exciting or new. The descriptions largely read like the same trench warfare prose that we’ve become accustomed to, mixed with the in-the-closet gay military guy who’s too nervous to come out trope. I liked how different the protagonist and his crush were, especially when Freddie became the one brave enough to go for the kiss (yet still leave things up in the air), but that was pretty much it for me. It’s an intriguing concept, but it didn’t feel properly exploited.
DGRE - "Know You're Loved": I’m not sure if this is meant to be a story, or a CNF mini-essay (not that it really matters), but structurally the actual storytelling of the piece felt muddled. The intro paragraph(s) feel somewhat aimless, and the rant itself is extremely dampened by the decision to gloss over it in summary. The theme and perspective raised in the piece is very interesting, but not properly fleshed out. Granted, I’m looking at this through the eyes of a writing contest and not a blog post.
ronito - "At 30 Rockerfeller Plaza":
Jables - "Second Chance": The motivation behind the protagonist’s decision to track down his estranged father is a strong one, but apart from that I felt that the entire piece was mired in cliché. The dialogue is guilty of this, as it felt quite inorganic and stale. The premise isn’t truly exploited, the threat isn’t really strong enough (can we get a stronger antagonist than a receptionist?), and worst of all there’s no surprise. Everything works out far too easily. Dementia/Alzheimer’s is a fucking hell of a thing, and I think most any story facing it needs to accomplish more than a Hallmark moment. It’s okay to make your characters struggle and hurt.
John Dunbar - "Too Many Humble Heroes": The structure of this piece confounded me; we have little to no attachment to any of the characters in the opening scene (which takes up the majority of the story), and thus we don’t really care what happens to them or who wins (aside from Smiley = bad because he’s evil and stuff, duh). Then the protagonist meets up with some other guy and they set up the story. Then it’s over. We need a reason to be invested in the characters and not just the action itself.
Ward - "When He's Dead It's the End": This seems to be a character study, but while the protagonist does think inwardly, there’s very little interesting introspection in his thoughts. Perhaps it’s because the piece drowns in both meandering backstory and timid narrative action, but I don’t think there’s enough conflict in the piece to truly bring out his character. This almost feels like the first half of a potentially successful piece. What happens after he arrives at game night?
zethren - "Stuck": This story started off with some really nice patterning, which did a great job of contrasting the protagonist’s retrospection with an incredibly exciting setting. And then… you know how Indiana Jones says, “Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?” The moment I realized the setting wasn’t a war-torn or fascist riot taking place, I groaned something along those lines. I got nothing against good speculative fiction, but this ultimately felt like a missed opportunity. I will add that the secretive phrase that the protagonist had been mulling over repeatedly didn’t have much of an impact at all. If you’re going to build up a piece or two of dialogue, I think it needs to be more than, “She said I love you and I didn’t say it back.”
Bootaaay - "Procrastination": There isn’t really a story here, just remnants of a story you didn’t have time to write. Casting your protagonist as a writer is something that pretty much every aspiring writer does at one point in their early career, and it can be a death knell for a story (especially when they’re writing about procrastination). Plus he’s not even really much of a character in the story. Hopefully you can find some use with the actual story snippets and create something solid out of them.
Grakl - "An Abusive Occupation": The pacing feels off regarding the amount of time spent on the lipstick (compared to the overall length of the piece). I found the narrative to be very confusing… and while the, “Don’t screw up” line came as a genuine, pleasing shock, I’m not quite sure how the three scenes are supposed to unify the piece.
GSR - "Jeanie": The structure of this piece regarding the repeated switches in focus is interesting with its reveals, though it can be structurally and grammatically confusing at times. I have to say, it was a very pleasant surprise to discover that the action in the scene wasn’t the protagonist going to bury the body of his daughter’s killer. Speaking of which, did he have to die at all? I felt there was some missed potential with the father’s alcoholism and the fact that a drunk driver killed his child, and I think that the CSI-flawless murder of the drunk driver takes away some of the impact the story possesses… but overall, I thought this was one of the stronger pieces I’ve read thus far and one I’ll definitely have to read again before I vote. Interested to see what others think about this one.
And with that, Mike desperately needs sleep.
Do your duty, writing GAF! Write critiques!
Please be warned that I’m going to right at the issue (if there is one) that I find in every piece, since these critiques will be so short. I’ll try to include things that worked in my impressions, but my primary goal is to try and identify what needs to be considered in order to make each story stronger. So if I don’t say much nice about your submission, that doesn’t mean there’s nothing nice about it!
I’ll go through these chronologically; if I’ve skipped your story, then it means I had trouble reading your entry on my iPad and I’ll read it on my computer and do a write-up before I vote. I know 24 entries is a lot to read in a short amount of time, but try to get some critiques in if you can!
Oh, and don’t read my critiques until you’ve read the stories for yourself (except for your own story of course); go in with a clear mind!
Aaron - "The Unveiling": This story is a very slow burn for more than the first half, and I found myself struggling to keep interest while reading it. Then the sheet is lifted off of the painting, and suddenly so much from that seemingly empty train scene is revived with importance and meaning. It’s a double-edged sword, since you might risk losing your reader if you give them the impression that the entire story is just going to be about a reporter observing a disinterred artist, but once the painting is shown and discussed, the surprise is quite enjoyable. I will say that I felt you overstepped a bit with the reveal; you don’t have to spell it out as much and risk becoming overly didactic. I’ll also add that the action of the little girl and the artist’s reaction was also quite interesting, though it’s hurt by the overly melodramatic fluff at the end. Still, this will probably end up vying for one of my votes.
Jedeye Sniv - "Pro Patria Mori": Off the top of my head, I don’t think I’ve read any homosexually themed World War 1 stories, and yet there was very little about this piece that felt exciting or new. The descriptions largely read like the same trench warfare prose that we’ve become accustomed to, mixed with the in-the-closet gay military guy who’s too nervous to come out trope. I liked how different the protagonist and his crush were, especially when Freddie became the one brave enough to go for the kiss (yet still leave things up in the air), but that was pretty much it for me. It’s an intriguing concept, but it didn’t feel properly exploited.
DGRE - "Know You're Loved": I’m not sure if this is meant to be a story, or a CNF mini-essay (not that it really matters), but structurally the actual storytelling of the piece felt muddled. The intro paragraph(s) feel somewhat aimless, and the rant itself is extremely dampened by the decision to gloss over it in summary. The theme and perspective raised in the piece is very interesting, but not properly fleshed out. Granted, I’m looking at this through the eyes of a writing contest and not a blog post.
ronito - "At 30 Rockerfeller Plaza":
Jables - "Second Chance": The motivation behind the protagonist’s decision to track down his estranged father is a strong one, but apart from that I felt that the entire piece was mired in cliché. The dialogue is guilty of this, as it felt quite inorganic and stale. The premise isn’t truly exploited, the threat isn’t really strong enough (can we get a stronger antagonist than a receptionist?), and worst of all there’s no surprise. Everything works out far too easily. Dementia/Alzheimer’s is a fucking hell of a thing, and I think most any story facing it needs to accomplish more than a Hallmark moment. It’s okay to make your characters struggle and hurt.
John Dunbar - "Too Many Humble Heroes": The structure of this piece confounded me; we have little to no attachment to any of the characters in the opening scene (which takes up the majority of the story), and thus we don’t really care what happens to them or who wins (aside from Smiley = bad because he’s evil and stuff, duh). Then the protagonist meets up with some other guy and they set up the story. Then it’s over. We need a reason to be invested in the characters and not just the action itself.
Ward - "When He's Dead It's the End": This seems to be a character study, but while the protagonist does think inwardly, there’s very little interesting introspection in his thoughts. Perhaps it’s because the piece drowns in both meandering backstory and timid narrative action, but I don’t think there’s enough conflict in the piece to truly bring out his character. This almost feels like the first half of a potentially successful piece. What happens after he arrives at game night?
zethren - "Stuck": This story started off with some really nice patterning, which did a great job of contrasting the protagonist’s retrospection with an incredibly exciting setting. And then… you know how Indiana Jones says, “Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?” The moment I realized the setting wasn’t a war-torn or fascist riot taking place, I groaned something along those lines. I got nothing against good speculative fiction, but this ultimately felt like a missed opportunity. I will add that the secretive phrase that the protagonist had been mulling over repeatedly didn’t have much of an impact at all. If you’re going to build up a piece or two of dialogue, I think it needs to be more than, “She said I love you and I didn’t say it back.”
Bootaaay - "Procrastination": There isn’t really a story here, just remnants of a story you didn’t have time to write. Casting your protagonist as a writer is something that pretty much every aspiring writer does at one point in their early career, and it can be a death knell for a story (especially when they’re writing about procrastination). Plus he’s not even really much of a character in the story. Hopefully you can find some use with the actual story snippets and create something solid out of them.
Grakl - "An Abusive Occupation": The pacing feels off regarding the amount of time spent on the lipstick (compared to the overall length of the piece). I found the narrative to be very confusing… and while the, “Don’t screw up” line came as a genuine, pleasing shock, I’m not quite sure how the three scenes are supposed to unify the piece.
GSR - "Jeanie": The structure of this piece regarding the repeated switches in focus is interesting with its reveals, though it can be structurally and grammatically confusing at times. I have to say, it was a very pleasant surprise to discover that the action in the scene wasn’t the protagonist going to bury the body of his daughter’s killer. Speaking of which, did he have to die at all? I felt there was some missed potential with the father’s alcoholism and the fact that a drunk driver killed his child, and I think that the CSI-flawless murder of the drunk driver takes away some of the impact the story possesses… but overall, I thought this was one of the stronger pieces I’ve read thus far and one I’ll definitely have to read again before I vote. Interested to see what others think about this one.
And with that, Mike desperately needs sleep.
Do your duty, writing GAF! Write critiques!
Jedeye Sniv
Banned
Man, I'm reading through all these stories now, and godamn are we some morose motherfuckers! I feel dumb for have written something so downbeat myself, it's hard to get noticed when the tone is so downbeat. Here's what I got read so far today:
Bakemono - Goodbye Sisters
This was pretty cool for the most part. I was a little worried at the start that it was going to be too maudlin, but when you got into the cult stuff it became really interesting. I think you could maybe have pushed it a little further, and it's a shame that the survivor girl wasn't there for when it got really crazy since that would have been luridly fascinating, but it was still pretty good and well written. I like the voice for the survivor girl, although the narrator was a little obvious and not really the interesting character in the piece.
John Dunbar - too many humble heroes
I thought this started quite strongly - the dialogue between the two characters was immersive and the action scene was really well place. But it fell apart for me at the end. The lack of context - the when, where and why of it all - lost me a little, and those last three paragraphs were a bit overwrought and clunky and I found them hard to read compared to how nippy the rest of it was.
Ward - When he's dead its the end
I'm sorry man, but this was really not good. You should have stuck with the contract killer story you had in mind, because not only did nothing happen in this story, but nothing happened in a really boring and confusing way. All those 'h' names! Odd digressions. It was a story where absolutely nothing happened. He went to a game and then came home? I thought he might be a serial killer or something but nope. It was like the first half of Drive, but without the payoff.
Zethren - Stuck
I was getting ready for a maudlin breakup story, so you sideswiped me nicely there, thanks. It did start a little dry, and I think the zombie reveal at the end was a little cliche but the intrigue in the middle was nicely pulled off. Would have been cooler if it was some godforsaken country in the middle of a military coup or something, but you did a good job with what you were working. I think the refrain was handled well, you could have beaten it into the ground more, but you toed the line nicely. A good effort.
Crowphoenix - to do list.doc
This was really clever. I like how the formal style actually hints at a man writing this list and then beginning to argue with himself. It's a strange idea, but it rings true as what someone in a traumatic time could do. I like how it stays focused on the bare essentials of the story, no digressions and follows a very definite arc. Very pure and interesting, well done.
Bootaaay - procrastination
Well, we know who the prize for "most meta" is going to, right?? (I don't know yet, I'm rioting these as I read) don't worry man. We understand. We have all been there. We feel your pain
But yeah, using under developed ideas as a large chunk of your story means that a lot of is is a bit dull, and the other bits were a bit self pitying, which is hard to root for after a while. Needed a bit more of an uptick of positivity at the end, or maybe you could have fucked with the form a bit more to show the process of really destroying something you've worked on. Still, it's the taking part the counts! Way to go
Grakl - An Abusive Occupation
This was a tricky read. I find spatial orientation in text hard to visualise, so I found those opening paragraphs hard to figure out what was happening, and then the twist in that third section had me re-reading to clarify. I think the juxtaposition was clever but needed to be a little more clearly delineated. Although I have no idea how you'd do that. I think you did a good job with what was on the page though.
GSR - Jeannie
This was pretty good. I liked the pacing and tone of it. It didn't wallow and yet it was still sombre. The story itself was suitably tragic, and while it's a challenge to be so vague with what had happened, I think you pulled off the ambiguity well. There was a good sense of character and I felt I could visualise the main guy well, even though he was very lightly described which is a good trick. I think this was pretty strong overall.
might do a little more tonight and then do the rest tomorrow.
Bakemono - Goodbye Sisters
This was pretty cool for the most part. I was a little worried at the start that it was going to be too maudlin, but when you got into the cult stuff it became really interesting. I think you could maybe have pushed it a little further, and it's a shame that the survivor girl wasn't there for when it got really crazy since that would have been luridly fascinating, but it was still pretty good and well written. I like the voice for the survivor girl, although the narrator was a little obvious and not really the interesting character in the piece.
John Dunbar - too many humble heroes
I thought this started quite strongly - the dialogue between the two characters was immersive and the action scene was really well place. But it fell apart for me at the end. The lack of context - the when, where and why of it all - lost me a little, and those last three paragraphs were a bit overwrought and clunky and I found them hard to read compared to how nippy the rest of it was.
Ward - When he's dead its the end
I'm sorry man, but this was really not good. You should have stuck with the contract killer story you had in mind, because not only did nothing happen in this story, but nothing happened in a really boring and confusing way. All those 'h' names! Odd digressions. It was a story where absolutely nothing happened. He went to a game and then came home? I thought he might be a serial killer or something but nope. It was like the first half of Drive, but without the payoff.
Zethren - Stuck
I was getting ready for a maudlin breakup story, so you sideswiped me nicely there, thanks. It did start a little dry, and I think the zombie reveal at the end was a little cliche but the intrigue in the middle was nicely pulled off. Would have been cooler if it was some godforsaken country in the middle of a military coup or something, but you did a good job with what you were working. I think the refrain was handled well, you could have beaten it into the ground more, but you toed the line nicely. A good effort.
Crowphoenix - to do list.doc
This was really clever. I like how the formal style actually hints at a man writing this list and then beginning to argue with himself. It's a strange idea, but it rings true as what someone in a traumatic time could do. I like how it stays focused on the bare essentials of the story, no digressions and follows a very definite arc. Very pure and interesting, well done.
Bootaaay - procrastination
Well, we know who the prize for "most meta" is going to, right?? (I don't know yet, I'm rioting these as I read) don't worry man. We understand. We have all been there. We feel your pain
But yeah, using under developed ideas as a large chunk of your story means that a lot of is is a bit dull, and the other bits were a bit self pitying, which is hard to root for after a while. Needed a bit more of an uptick of positivity at the end, or maybe you could have fucked with the form a bit more to show the process of really destroying something you've worked on. Still, it's the taking part the counts! Way to go
Grakl - An Abusive Occupation
This was a tricky read. I find spatial orientation in text hard to visualise, so I found those opening paragraphs hard to figure out what was happening, and then the twist in that third section had me re-reading to clarify. I think the juxtaposition was clever but needed to be a little more clearly delineated. Although I have no idea how you'd do that. I think you did a good job with what was on the page though.
GSR - Jeannie
This was pretty good. I liked the pacing and tone of it. It didn't wallow and yet it was still sombre. The story itself was suitably tragic, and while it's a challenge to be so vague with what had happened, I think you pulled off the ambiguity well. There was a good sense of character and I felt I could visualise the main guy well, even though he was very lightly described which is a good trick. I think this was pretty strong overall.
might do a little more tonight and then do the rest tomorrow.
OK folks, you heard the stuffed tiger! Game on. Til Monday night it is!
Way to go MikeW and Jedeye. You guys are troopers!
Surprise reversal!
Ashes1396 - "The Unfinished Experiment" - An interesting angle on the post-apocalyptic style tale. I feel like the events of the story could've used more room to breathe--the moment where they enter a new land didn't land with any great impact, and I couldn't quite understand how the ending tied in to the beginning. The philosophizing was fun.
DumbNameD - "Before This" - I love the way you hop into the mind of a little girl and just go with it. I enjoyed the exploration. I wouldn't have minded a central throughline of some sort--something happening at the beginning that got tied up at the end, after all her journeying. It would've felt more complete. Hmm...
HP_Wuvcraft - "The Art of Geeks, Part I: Ode to a Toilet" - Man, Jonathan Blow. That dude really is self-important. On the other hand, Braid was a pretty sweet game. Are you sure this is an ode?
Tangent - "The Pilgrimage to Mount Nara" - Wow, that was really interesting! Was this a real thing? I think the choice of the omniscient head-hopping POV worked, though don't forget to be careful with it. I found it surprising that a woman so old that she feels she should take her own life is able to run and walk such distances. Probably helpful in this type of story to watch out for anachronistic expressions like "kidding yourself." (that's something worth spending an editing pass on, probably--don't worry about it while writing)
Mike Works - "The Finish" - Um. Damn. Hot shit, man. I'll see if I can come up with something to say later.
Ashes1396 - "The Unfinished Experiment" - An interesting angle on the post-apocalyptic style tale. I feel like the events of the story could've used more room to breathe--the moment where they enter a new land didn't land with any great impact, and I couldn't quite understand how the ending tied in to the beginning. The philosophizing was fun.
DumbNameD - "Before This" - I love the way you hop into the mind of a little girl and just go with it. I enjoyed the exploration. I wouldn't have minded a central throughline of some sort--something happening at the beginning that got tied up at the end, after all her journeying. It would've felt more complete. Hmm...
HP_Wuvcraft - "The Art of Geeks, Part I: Ode to a Toilet" - Man, Jonathan Blow. That dude really is self-important. On the other hand, Braid was a pretty sweet game. Are you sure this is an ode?
Tangent - "The Pilgrimage to Mount Nara" - Wow, that was really interesting! Was this a real thing? I think the choice of the omniscient head-hopping POV worked, though don't forget to be careful with it. I found it surprising that a woman so old that she feels she should take her own life is able to run and walk such distances. Probably helpful in this type of story to watch out for anachronistic expressions like "kidding yourself." (that's something worth spending an editing pass on, probably--don't worry about it while writing)
Mike Works - "The Finish" - Um. Damn. Hot shit, man. I'll see if I can come up with something to say later.
Wow, so many awesome entries! I think I probably learned just as much from reading all the submissions as I did from writing my own. I'm impressed by some of the different ways everyone interpreted the theme as well as the different styles of submission. Good stuff and congrats to everyone who was able to submit something. I'm already looking forward to the next round!
I also wanted to thank people for the critiques that I've received thusfar too:
Jedeye - I really appreciate your insight here. The lack of hatred in Chase is actually one of the things that I was somewhat worried about when I started writing. Unfortunately, with the way I setup the intro (which I agree, probably took a bit too long) I didn't have a lot of room left to explore that anger. I would totally agree that in all likelihookd, someone going through what Chase (or yourself) have gone through with their father would probably be still have a bit of unresolved anger to work through first. I'll think a little harder about where I decide to start my story next time as well. Thanks again!
Mike Works - In all sincerity, thanks for the "tough love" here. When I originally laid out the story and started writing, there were many additional things I had hoped to cover with the premise. Unfortunately it got way out of hand fast, and I think I lost a lot from having to trim it down under 2,000 words. Things went a little too fast and just "happened" without really giving them their due or exploring them further. I hadn't really even considered the "threat" of the piece at all, which is why I didn't put a whole lot of effort or time into the receptionist, but that's certainly something I'll keep in mind moving forward. I think you're dead on about things working out far too easily as well, and your comment about it being OK for characters to hurt actually gave me a lot more to think about in terms of how I could have approached it with a more truthful, unhappy ending instead of the cliche "Hallmark Moment". All great food for thought!
As for my own critiques, here they are. I think I got all of these in one shot. I compiled this feedback over the past few days so if happened to miss yours or you ended up changing your submission for some reason, please let me know and I'll be happy to go back and re-read.
Aaron: I enjoyed reading the history behind Mister Sutton but I found myself wondering where exactly it was going for sometime. It felt like a lot of additional backstory that didn't seem to tie in to the overall story. I thought Mister Sutton seemed to have an interesting world view and I loved how that tied into his painting style (and the theme) but I didn't really get the ending with the child and why it was so emotional for him. Again though, I liked the character and found his one off stories really interesting. I felt like I learned a lot about the character in a fairly short time, which isn't exactly easy to do in 2,000 words or less.
Jedeye Sniv: This was a pretty powerful piece that was very well written. I loved the imagery and details you used. The build up of tension as Benjy is talking to Freddie was fantastic. It totally encompassed all the emotions I had whenever I would want or try to tell a girl how I felt in grade school. My only real critique was how abruptly it ended for Freddie. That might not exactly be fair given the word limit though. Still, I think the story itself has a great progression and enough conflict to make it interesting. Very well done!
DGRE: I'm not sure if this is your official submission or not but as someone expecting his first child, this one was very interesting to me. I really enjoyed the topic of passing down traits to our children. This is something that gives me constant worry and stress myself, wondering what habits my children may take from me one day and praying that they're (mostly) the good ones. It was also really refreshing to read something personal and from the heart, so thanks for sharing. I'm still a little new to judging these, (so please take this with a grain of salt) but I didn't really make the connection on how you interpreted the theme in the piece. This might not be important at all but I think it would have made me appreciate it that much more if there was that "Oh, I see how he tied these together!" moment when I was reading it.
Irish: Interesting piece. I'm far to unread when it comes to poems to give any meaningful feedback other than "I liked it". Short and sweet!
Ronito: Holy shit, just…wow. I grew more and more curious with every line I read, trying to figure out what the hell was going on! I actually made sure I was still viewing the right thread before I continued reading (not joking). This was just completely off the wall and it made me laugh. As lunch said, the last line alone is amazing and totally worth reading the whole piece. Cracked me up for sure.
HPWuvcraft: Not sure if this is an official submission or not. Decided to hold off on a total critique in case you planned to write something else. It seemed to jump around a lot but it definitely peaked my interest!
*edit* Made me laugh. I also have unfinished business with Mr. Lindelof and don't think I could sit through too many Jonathan Blow interviews. It might be unfair to judge this one against the original werewolf plot you had, but I was excited about where that one might have gone and how it fit the theme.
Zethren: Interesting delivery. I sort of enjoyed the concept of delivering two stories at the same time, but it did get a little bumpy in places and was sometimes hard to follow, or changed abruptly without much notice. I felt myself reading it just to find out "What the hell did she say?!" which was a little interesting but at times felt annoying and dragged out. Enjoyable none the less.
Bakemono: This one had me very interested from the get go. At first it felt like I was reading the personal journal of this sad mother. It was a bit dark, but it held my interest. Though in the end, I feel a lot like the mother in the beginning of the story, I'm still looking for answers. Maybe that isn't the point here but it seems like finding answers was very important to the mother at the beginning, but she seems to leave without any.
John Dunbar: Loved the first half of the story with Smiley and Cap. Lots of great imagery here. I really enjoyed the fight sequence as well. I guess I felt that the later half sort of dropped off a bit and made the story feel a bit backwards to me. There was a fight at the beginning between two people that I didn't really know much about, and afterward things were explained and wrapped up. I guess I would have been interested to see all the backstory build up to the confrontation instead. Still, it was very well written and grabbed my attention quickly.
Ward: This one felt more like a giant character description to me. The entire story seems to take place in this one dude's head, and he came off a bit…unlikable to me, which made me not want to read anything else about him. I think you did a good job of setting up the fact that he's sort of a loner and doesn't get along with people very well in the beginning of the story. I was looking forward to reading how this character might fit into a social situation like a "game night" in the end, but there wasn't much about any of it. I was a little confused by the last line too…were you saying that all the characters introduced just died in the end? If so I guess that sort of fits the "Things Unfinished" theme in a humorous way. I did really like your descriptions and visuals, especially early on.
crowpheonix: Short, sweet and despite that I feel like I was able to learn a lot about whoever was writing this list. I could actually see someone sitting down to write the list and trailing off into things far more personal as he recounts the past and the list becomes much more important. Last line also made me chuckle
Bootaay: I actually enjoyed the story within the story when I was reading it. I felt that the author was maybe being a bit too hard on himself. I'm not sure how the interior story might have related to the theme, but it was interesting and I wanted to read more of that!
Graki: Not really sure what to think of this. Almost two paragraph's in the beginning to explain in great detail how she applied her lipstick seemed a bit excessive. I'm really confused by the ending as well. It jumped from the show to her being at home getting beaten up again? I also had no idea who was talking to who at the end. This read more like an outline than a finished story.
GSR: I had to re-read paragraphs a few times to understand what exactly was going on, but once I picked up on it, it was awesome. I love the funny, cutesy say he remembers his daughter being mixed in with the terrible real world hatred he has for those involved in her untimely demise. It gave me the feeling that I was reading the thoughts of a deeply troubled and deranged person. Well done!
Sober: Interesting take on the theme, reminded me a lot of Ghost or Heart and Souls. I liked it but I felt the part where the parents just immediately decided to bring this to Lisa to be a bit forced. These people would have to understand the complex emotions that they'd be dealing with in rehashing the past with a person that had moved on and had a husband and kids. I just felt like it was a quick conclusion to jump to. Overall though, great work.
Azih: Interesting story. I laughed at the "Cult" of Apple devotees in Cupertino. I thought it was well written. I was hoping for a bit more from the ending though.
Lone_Prodigy: I liked the theme here and the letter was certainly interesting to read too. The ending only really served to confuse and water down my emotions. I wasn't really taken back by the twist of the church burning since there was no emotion from the father to the son and even the son wasn't certain it was his father's letter. I think the letter itself would have been enough here.
Mike Works: I really loved this one. The point of view was really interesting and the whole story seemed to cover a lot of very key points while still manning to be under 2,000 words. Nothing about this was typical, it was very refreshing and original to read. Great work here!
Tangent: I really liked how you handled the theme here. I thought it was paced nicely and well written. There were slight hints along the way that gave me slight hints to where it was heading, which I liked. Nicely done.
DumbNameD: A fun trip through the imagination of a child. I found this interesting and it put a smile on my face, but I wasn't able to piece together how it really relates to the theme.
Cyan: I loved this piece and found the exchange between the two to be hilarious. It reminds me of the old joke that Tarantino tells in Desperado. Good stuff.
Ashes1396: This one was a little hard for me to follow. There was a lot of conversation going on and some brief descriptions of where the characters were, but I found it tough to follow along with where they were and where they were going. The setting seemed very muddy to me and I didn't really get a grasp of what the two characters were really after. I found some of their debate on philosophy interesting, and I think I was able to piece together the connection with the starting events…but wasn't 100% certain.
I also wanted to thank people for the critiques that I've received thusfar too:
Jedeye - I really appreciate your insight here. The lack of hatred in Chase is actually one of the things that I was somewhat worried about when I started writing. Unfortunately, with the way I setup the intro (which I agree, probably took a bit too long) I didn't have a lot of room left to explore that anger. I would totally agree that in all likelihookd, someone going through what Chase (or yourself) have gone through with their father would probably be still have a bit of unresolved anger to work through first. I'll think a little harder about where I decide to start my story next time as well. Thanks again!
Mike Works - In all sincerity, thanks for the "tough love" here. When I originally laid out the story and started writing, there were many additional things I had hoped to cover with the premise. Unfortunately it got way out of hand fast, and I think I lost a lot from having to trim it down under 2,000 words. Things went a little too fast and just "happened" without really giving them their due or exploring them further. I hadn't really even considered the "threat" of the piece at all, which is why I didn't put a whole lot of effort or time into the receptionist, but that's certainly something I'll keep in mind moving forward. I think you're dead on about things working out far too easily as well, and your comment about it being OK for characters to hurt actually gave me a lot more to think about in terms of how I could have approached it with a more truthful, unhappy ending instead of the cliche "Hallmark Moment". All great food for thought!
As for my own critiques, here they are. I think I got all of these in one shot. I compiled this feedback over the past few days so if happened to miss yours or you ended up changing your submission for some reason, please let me know and I'll be happy to go back and re-read.
Aaron: I enjoyed reading the history behind Mister Sutton but I found myself wondering where exactly it was going for sometime. It felt like a lot of additional backstory that didn't seem to tie in to the overall story. I thought Mister Sutton seemed to have an interesting world view and I loved how that tied into his painting style (and the theme) but I didn't really get the ending with the child and why it was so emotional for him. Again though, I liked the character and found his one off stories really interesting. I felt like I learned a lot about the character in a fairly short time, which isn't exactly easy to do in 2,000 words or less.
Jedeye Sniv: This was a pretty powerful piece that was very well written. I loved the imagery and details you used. The build up of tension as Benjy is talking to Freddie was fantastic. It totally encompassed all the emotions I had whenever I would want or try to tell a girl how I felt in grade school. My only real critique was how abruptly it ended for Freddie. That might not exactly be fair given the word limit though. Still, I think the story itself has a great progression and enough conflict to make it interesting. Very well done!
DGRE: I'm not sure if this is your official submission or not but as someone expecting his first child, this one was very interesting to me. I really enjoyed the topic of passing down traits to our children. This is something that gives me constant worry and stress myself, wondering what habits my children may take from me one day and praying that they're (mostly) the good ones. It was also really refreshing to read something personal and from the heart, so thanks for sharing. I'm still a little new to judging these, (so please take this with a grain of salt) but I didn't really make the connection on how you interpreted the theme in the piece. This might not be important at all but I think it would have made me appreciate it that much more if there was that "Oh, I see how he tied these together!" moment when I was reading it.
Irish: Interesting piece. I'm far to unread when it comes to poems to give any meaningful feedback other than "I liked it". Short and sweet!
Ronito: Holy shit, just…wow. I grew more and more curious with every line I read, trying to figure out what the hell was going on! I actually made sure I was still viewing the right thread before I continued reading (not joking). This was just completely off the wall and it made me laugh. As lunch said, the last line alone is amazing and totally worth reading the whole piece. Cracked me up for sure.
HPWuvcraft: Not sure if this is an official submission or not. Decided to hold off on a total critique in case you planned to write something else. It seemed to jump around a lot but it definitely peaked my interest!
*edit* Made me laugh. I also have unfinished business with Mr. Lindelof and don't think I could sit through too many Jonathan Blow interviews. It might be unfair to judge this one against the original werewolf plot you had, but I was excited about where that one might have gone and how it fit the theme.
Zethren: Interesting delivery. I sort of enjoyed the concept of delivering two stories at the same time, but it did get a little bumpy in places and was sometimes hard to follow, or changed abruptly without much notice. I felt myself reading it just to find out "What the hell did she say?!" which was a little interesting but at times felt annoying and dragged out. Enjoyable none the less.
Bakemono: This one had me very interested from the get go. At first it felt like I was reading the personal journal of this sad mother. It was a bit dark, but it held my interest. Though in the end, I feel a lot like the mother in the beginning of the story, I'm still looking for answers. Maybe that isn't the point here but it seems like finding answers was very important to the mother at the beginning, but she seems to leave without any.
John Dunbar: Loved the first half of the story with Smiley and Cap. Lots of great imagery here. I really enjoyed the fight sequence as well. I guess I felt that the later half sort of dropped off a bit and made the story feel a bit backwards to me. There was a fight at the beginning between two people that I didn't really know much about, and afterward things were explained and wrapped up. I guess I would have been interested to see all the backstory build up to the confrontation instead. Still, it was very well written and grabbed my attention quickly.
Ward: This one felt more like a giant character description to me. The entire story seems to take place in this one dude's head, and he came off a bit…unlikable to me, which made me not want to read anything else about him. I think you did a good job of setting up the fact that he's sort of a loner and doesn't get along with people very well in the beginning of the story. I was looking forward to reading how this character might fit into a social situation like a "game night" in the end, but there wasn't much about any of it. I was a little confused by the last line too…were you saying that all the characters introduced just died in the end? If so I guess that sort of fits the "Things Unfinished" theme in a humorous way. I did really like your descriptions and visuals, especially early on.
crowpheonix: Short, sweet and despite that I feel like I was able to learn a lot about whoever was writing this list. I could actually see someone sitting down to write the list and trailing off into things far more personal as he recounts the past and the list becomes much more important. Last line also made me chuckle
Bootaay: I actually enjoyed the story within the story when I was reading it. I felt that the author was maybe being a bit too hard on himself. I'm not sure how the interior story might have related to the theme, but it was interesting and I wanted to read more of that!
Graki: Not really sure what to think of this. Almost two paragraph's in the beginning to explain in great detail how she applied her lipstick seemed a bit excessive. I'm really confused by the ending as well. It jumped from the show to her being at home getting beaten up again? I also had no idea who was talking to who at the end. This read more like an outline than a finished story.
GSR: I had to re-read paragraphs a few times to understand what exactly was going on, but once I picked up on it, it was awesome. I love the funny, cutesy say he remembers his daughter being mixed in with the terrible real world hatred he has for those involved in her untimely demise. It gave me the feeling that I was reading the thoughts of a deeply troubled and deranged person. Well done!
Sober: Interesting take on the theme, reminded me a lot of Ghost or Heart and Souls. I liked it but I felt the part where the parents just immediately decided to bring this to Lisa to be a bit forced. These people would have to understand the complex emotions that they'd be dealing with in rehashing the past with a person that had moved on and had a husband and kids. I just felt like it was a quick conclusion to jump to. Overall though, great work.
Azih: Interesting story. I laughed at the "Cult" of Apple devotees in Cupertino. I thought it was well written. I was hoping for a bit more from the ending though.
Lone_Prodigy: I liked the theme here and the letter was certainly interesting to read too. The ending only really served to confuse and water down my emotions. I wasn't really taken back by the twist of the church burning since there was no emotion from the father to the son and even the son wasn't certain it was his father's letter. I think the letter itself would have been enough here.
Mike Works: I really loved this one. The point of view was really interesting and the whole story seemed to cover a lot of very key points while still manning to be under 2,000 words. Nothing about this was typical, it was very refreshing and original to read. Great work here!
Tangent: I really liked how you handled the theme here. I thought it was paced nicely and well written. There were slight hints along the way that gave me slight hints to where it was heading, which I liked. Nicely done.
DumbNameD: A fun trip through the imagination of a child. I found this interesting and it put a smile on my face, but I wasn't able to piece together how it really relates to the theme.
Cyan: I loved this piece and found the exchange between the two to be hilarious. It reminds me of the old joke that Tarantino tells in Desperado. Good stuff.
Ashes1396: This one was a little hard for me to follow. There was a lot of conversation going on and some brief descriptions of where the characters were, but I found it tough to follow along with where they were and where they were going. The setting seemed very muddy to me and I didn't really get a grasp of what the two characters were really after. I found some of their debate on philosophy interesting, and I think I was able to piece together the connection with the starting events…but wasn't 100% certain.
Tis the last day writers and poets. You really aren't going to make it, if you don't start now. Remember, your story counts for nothing, if you don't vote. Criticisms are optional (lots of people appreciate feedback so please continue), voting is mandatory - if you want to win that is!
Quick reminder on how to vote:
1.
2.
3.
Hm. (honorary mentions)
And that's all there is to it. How you decide what criteria to vote on is up to you. Some people pick their favourite 3; others pick what they think is the best story that week; and others still, will vote only for stories they think is trying to adhere to the theme.
Myself? I privately rate every story as I go along (out/10 or sometimes A-G); so I know at the end, which I thought were best. This helps me personally to look at it from a step removed, or from a distance, I guess.
Criticisms. In short I'm done with providing them until I can get better at it. I've read a few things about criticism during the weekend; how it's good sometimes, and quite awful other times. Sometimes I can be very harsh, and whilst some don't mind, it's hard to gage whether it is doing something positive or something negative - I don't for example want to 'thwart a persons' writing ambitions/confidence'. I know this sounds convenient, but I'm just stating it as it is.
Ha ha. Cyanship overuling the op!
Quick reminder on how to vote:
1.
2.
3.
Hm. (honorary mentions)
And that's all there is to it. How you decide what criteria to vote on is up to you. Some people pick their favourite 3; others pick what they think is the best story that week; and others still, will vote only for stories they think is trying to adhere to the theme.
Myself? I privately rate every story as I go along (out/10 or sometimes A-G); so I know at the end, which I thought were best. This helps me personally to look at it from a step removed, or from a distance, I guess.
Criticisms. In short I'm done with providing them until I can get better at it. I've read a few things about criticism during the weekend; how it's good sometimes, and quite awful other times. Sometimes I can be very harsh, and whilst some don't mind, it's hard to gage whether it is doing something positive or something negative - I don't for example want to 'thwart a persons' writing ambitions/confidence'. I know this sounds convenient, but I'm just stating it as it is.
Ha ha. Cyanship overuling the op!
I think Cyan's right though. So step it up, eh
Mike Works
Member
Round two of critiques. For those Ive missed, Ill get you done tomorrow! And remember, if my critique of your story seems overly negative, Im primarily focusing on what might need work to better the story since I dont have enough time to go in depth with over 20 stories. Im reminding you all of this because I dont want you to get too down reading these critiques
Without further ado
Sober - "Birthday Pilgrimage": Though the transitions in time and space are set up in an a/b/a/b pattern, they came across as too disorienting early on. I think one of the biggest challenges of this piece will be analyzing the structure and asking yourself if theres either a better way to ground the reader early on, or a better way to display these two parallel stories (in time). Aside from that, there are way too many woulds and hads try to eliminate those as much as possible. The theme of not being able to let go is a good one, but can your piece say something more about it?
Azih - "Two Tasks: AZIH, LIGHT! Ive been waiting years to be able to say that again! Good to have you back. I thought your story had some very nice world-building, a strong pace, and a clear initial external goal. That being said, I was a little disappointed that there wasnt more tied to the iPad for Paulo, something that spoke to his internal goal (ie pictures or video of something important to him from a life he no longer knows). I also felt that the Apple cult detracted somewhat from the weight and tone that the piece had established for itself. An interesting world though, and one Id like to read more of.
Lone Prodigy - "Thanks Dad": Your story had a nice voice for the dad/letter, and some nice non-intrusive world-building in that letter as well. The piece does feel rushed though, mainly due to what comes after the letter. The son character isnt fully utilized at all, and I think he needs to either be expanded, or removed from the story altogether. An interesting decision.
Tangent - "The Pilgrimage to Mount Nara": I liked the setting and tone of the diction, and also the ticking clock that the story was framed around. That said, I didnt buy certain aspects that were meant to move the story forward specifically, the mothers transition to her suddenly thinking about this terrible moment that happened decades ago (and then she starts running even though shes frail). Im not quite sure what the point was of making that past experience ultimately meaningless either. It may be a more philosophical answer, but in terms of the story itself and its engagement, that climactic scene kind of fell flat. I think theres definitely potential in the framework here, but it just needs to be a little more natural or convincing. Lastly, the final line came off quite comedic in my reading, and Im not sure if that was the desired intent.
DumbNameD - "Before This": Your stories always put a damn smile on my face; youre like a politician repeatedly holding up babies for the camera, except youre genuinely sincere. As an aside, have you read Room? Definitely recommend it if you havent. As for your story, I love the sophisticated diction and respect found in the narration, given the protagonist. I was very engaged throughout the first half of the story (especially the conversation with the bear), but felt it kind of fell apart, or at least didnt tie together from the dragon onward. I couldnt find a complete thread throughout the story (it could perhaps be isolation if it werent for the birthday party scene I have a feeling it has to do with generations, but the ambiguous ending made it tough to latch on to an answer). Interested to see how others interpreted this.
Cyan - "Chicken": Very solid story structure, nice rise in tempo to the climax too. A little suspension of disbelief is required, as is some game/econ knowledge (which I definitely dont possess) I found the theory aspect and the graphs started to lose me near the end, yet I was still invested in what would ultimately happen between the two characters. Good stakes in the story for the student too, though I was puzzled as to why the professor admitted that the student had displayed a mastery of knowledge (before the big reveal). Overall, this is going to be a tough story to vote on, but one Ill at least have to consider.
Ashes1396 - "The Unfinished Experiment": Definitely an interesting concept. I think Ive said this before with a few of your stories, but I think your piece either needs more dialogue tags or more breaks in dialogue; I got lost multiple times as to who was saying what during that huge chunk of conversation twice (and ultimately gave up deciphering it, which isnt a good thing). Im not entirely sure how the first section fits together with the rest of the piece, which speaks to my ultimate lack of understanding the story as a whole. That said, it isnt a huge issue that I couldnt comprehend this, due to the philosophical nature of the story and emphasis on dialogue but one that still might need to be remedied. If I had to sum up my critique, Id say that the heart of the story is in the conversations, but Im not sure if the conversations get to the heart of the story. Interesting world (though I still have trouble actually picturing it) that could use some more clarification, and an enticing concept, but one that demands more effort in order to truly speak to the reader.
Ill get to the rest of you tomorrow before I vote. Write some critiques if you have the time dudes!
and I dont want to piss everyone off when it comes voting time, ha.
Sober - "Birthday Pilgrimage": Though the transitions in time and space are set up in an a/b/a/b pattern, they came across as too disorienting early on. I think one of the biggest challenges of this piece will be analyzing the structure and asking yourself if theres either a better way to ground the reader early on, or a better way to display these two parallel stories (in time). Aside from that, there are way too many woulds and hads try to eliminate those as much as possible. The theme of not being able to let go is a good one, but can your piece say something more about it?
Azih - "Two Tasks: AZIH, LIGHT! Ive been waiting years to be able to say that again! Good to have you back. I thought your story had some very nice world-building, a strong pace, and a clear initial external goal. That being said, I was a little disappointed that there wasnt more tied to the iPad for Paulo, something that spoke to his internal goal (ie pictures or video of something important to him from a life he no longer knows). I also felt that the Apple cult detracted somewhat from the weight and tone that the piece had established for itself. An interesting world though, and one Id like to read more of.
Lone Prodigy - "Thanks Dad": Your story had a nice voice for the dad/letter, and some nice non-intrusive world-building in that letter as well. The piece does feel rushed though, mainly due to what comes after the letter. The son character isnt fully utilized at all, and I think he needs to either be expanded, or removed from the story altogether. An interesting decision.
Tangent - "The Pilgrimage to Mount Nara": I liked the setting and tone of the diction, and also the ticking clock that the story was framed around. That said, I didnt buy certain aspects that were meant to move the story forward specifically, the mothers transition to her suddenly thinking about this terrible moment that happened decades ago (and then she starts running even though shes frail). Im not quite sure what the point was of making that past experience ultimately meaningless either. It may be a more philosophical answer, but in terms of the story itself and its engagement, that climactic scene kind of fell flat. I think theres definitely potential in the framework here, but it just needs to be a little more natural or convincing. Lastly, the final line came off quite comedic in my reading, and Im not sure if that was the desired intent.
DumbNameD - "Before This": Your stories always put a damn smile on my face; youre like a politician repeatedly holding up babies for the camera, except youre genuinely sincere. As an aside, have you read Room? Definitely recommend it if you havent. As for your story, I love the sophisticated diction and respect found in the narration, given the protagonist. I was very engaged throughout the first half of the story (especially the conversation with the bear), but felt it kind of fell apart, or at least didnt tie together from the dragon onward. I couldnt find a complete thread throughout the story (it could perhaps be isolation if it werent for the birthday party scene I have a feeling it has to do with generations, but the ambiguous ending made it tough to latch on to an answer). Interested to see how others interpreted this.
Cyan - "Chicken": Very solid story structure, nice rise in tempo to the climax too. A little suspension of disbelief is required, as is some game/econ knowledge (which I definitely dont possess) I found the theory aspect and the graphs started to lose me near the end, yet I was still invested in what would ultimately happen between the two characters. Good stakes in the story for the student too, though I was puzzled as to why the professor admitted that the student had displayed a mastery of knowledge (before the big reveal). Overall, this is going to be a tough story to vote on, but one Ill at least have to consider.
Ashes1396 - "The Unfinished Experiment": Definitely an interesting concept. I think Ive said this before with a few of your stories, but I think your piece either needs more dialogue tags or more breaks in dialogue; I got lost multiple times as to who was saying what during that huge chunk of conversation twice (and ultimately gave up deciphering it, which isnt a good thing). Im not entirely sure how the first section fits together with the rest of the piece, which speaks to my ultimate lack of understanding the story as a whole. That said, it isnt a huge issue that I couldnt comprehend this, due to the philosophical nature of the story and emphasis on dialogue but one that still might need to be remedied. If I had to sum up my critique, Id say that the heart of the story is in the conversations, but Im not sure if the conversations get to the heart of the story. Interesting world (though I still have trouble actually picturing it) that could use some more clarification, and an enticing concept, but one that demands more effort in order to truly speak to the reader.
Ill get to the rest of you tomorrow before I vote. Write some critiques if you have the time dudes!
HP_Wuvcraft
Banned
Ode was, Kate wasn't.
Jedeye Sniv
Banned
OK you bastards, here's the rest of the crit. Votes coming soon, I need to ponder the list...
Sober - Birthday Pilgrimage
That was pretty good. It took me a couple of changes before I realised that there were parallel timelines running on - recently dead and then years later. An interesting way to talk about how peoples’ lives change over the years. Your ghost logic is a little weird, but would suit a ghost-based detective show or something. I wasn’t keen on how easily they could affect the material world, I think it should be harder than that. Still, it was an enjoyable read and was not as depressing as I had feared!
Azih - Two Tasks
This was surprisingly good! The post-apocalypica was nicely portrayed, I liked the idea of universities being highly guarded, and then the reveal of the iPad at the end was a nice modern twist. I actually thought as he bought it out that an iPad without internet was a big of a brick so it was nice to see that reflected in the story. It would be interesting to havea story like this set even further into the future, where they have no idea what these sleek obelisks even were - maybe a sequel down the line?? It was an entertaining and well told story though, congrats.
Valerie Cherish - LEGO Fire Brigade, 2,231 Pieces
I get what you were going for, but when your story is one long run-on sentence, you best make sure that sentence is as tight and grammatically perfect as sentence as was ever designed. I get what you were going for, and if you spent some time massaging the prose yo could well have something really affecting here. But this was just a bit lumpy. Sorry!
Lone Prodigy - Thanks Dad
This was cool, I got some severe Terminator vibes from this one in terms of imagery (which is neat because you barely even sketched the details in - I supplied my own overriding future-war scenario). An interesting idea, I think you spent a bit too much effort setting up that first section where the dad is saying not to be angry - if that’s how it is these days then it would be normalised, right? I feel like you’re telling the reader more than the character here. Overall, it was well written, although I’m not quite sure what your actual theme is here. It would have been nice if it had ended with some more forward motion, other than just seeing the church was bombed out and being all ‘oh’ about it. Still, it was pretty good.
Mike Works - The Finish
Oooh, check you out with your second person narration again! Very ambitious, I’m not sure if I could keep it up for a prolonged period of writing. But man, this story was fucking awesome! Obvious comparisons to The Wrestler are hard to avoid, but you definitely give it enough of a spin to make it new. It was sombre but never wallowed, it was truly gripping and surprising and heartbreaking. It felt like it contained truth, and that’s something rare for any writer. Really excellent work man, I can’t think of a single downside for it.
Tangent - The Pilgrimage to Mount Nara
This was pretty good. I loved the Japanese setting, it was very unlike the modern day or post apocalyptic stuff I’ve been reading today, so it was a nice change of pace. I thought the mystery of what Rin was remembering was a little flat. She didn’t say those things after all? Then how did she remember them? Or perhaps she did say them, and Iku was sparing her embarrassment, or offering forgiveness? I could see this, especially in Japan. Or maybe you’re just talking about the gulf in perception from one person to another. Either way, the story was evocative and easily read, a success.
HP_Wuvcraft - The Art of Geeks
Well, you lost me by the second sentence, since I really liked Jon Blow in IGTM :\ I get what you’re going for with the misanthropy (directed inward? This is a geeky website after all), but there does come a point of diminishing returns. If everything is shit and pointless, then what is good?
DumbNameD - Before This
Oh man this was lovely. Just very sweet and fun and unchained by logic or silly grown up story conventions. It’s quite a work of imagination, really. In the end, it made me sad that my imagination wasn’t as crazy as that when I was a kid (or even now!) - and that all came from your head, there was no little kid dreaming this stuff up at all. That’s magic. XD
Cyan - Chicken
If you were a dinosaur you would be a velociraptor, because this was very clever. It was like a David Thorne email, but replaced absurd humour with clever game theory stuff. So on that level, total success. I’m not sure if it was a ‘good’ story or not, but you definitely did achieve your goals for the piece. So... well done? For the record, I did enjoy it. Although I have no idea how Malcolm isn’t severely beaten more often, or how he has friends. This guy would be insufferable!
Ashes1396 - The Unfinished Experiment
It may be because this was the last story that I read and I’m all punchy and tired now, but your contrarian password made me rage momentarily. That is all.
I think this was one of the better things I’ve read by you, in terms of just the sentence-to-sentence flow of the thing. It was pacey and kept me interested all the way through. That said, it was a bit disappointing to not find out what the place was that they found (although I guess it fits the theme). It felt like the first half of something. Who were these guys? What was it they were climbing? A building or a mountain? What did they find on the other side? A research post? What were they researching? The fact that I have so many questions means you hooked me, but I would have liked a bit more info for it to be satisfying properly.
Btw, you can totally say Fuck as much as you like. Fuckity fuckity fuck fuck. You star it, and then don’t, seemingly randomly. As I said, I’m punchy now...
Sober - Birthday Pilgrimage
That was pretty good. It took me a couple of changes before I realised that there were parallel timelines running on - recently dead and then years later. An interesting way to talk about how peoples’ lives change over the years. Your ghost logic is a little weird, but would suit a ghost-based detective show or something. I wasn’t keen on how easily they could affect the material world, I think it should be harder than that. Still, it was an enjoyable read and was not as depressing as I had feared!
Azih - Two Tasks
This was surprisingly good! The post-apocalypica was nicely portrayed, I liked the idea of universities being highly guarded, and then the reveal of the iPad at the end was a nice modern twist. I actually thought as he bought it out that an iPad without internet was a big of a brick so it was nice to see that reflected in the story. It would be interesting to havea story like this set even further into the future, where they have no idea what these sleek obelisks even were - maybe a sequel down the line?? It was an entertaining and well told story though, congrats.
Valerie Cherish - LEGO Fire Brigade, 2,231 Pieces
I get what you were going for, but when your story is one long run-on sentence, you best make sure that sentence is as tight and grammatically perfect as sentence as was ever designed. I get what you were going for, and if you spent some time massaging the prose yo could well have something really affecting here. But this was just a bit lumpy. Sorry!
Lone Prodigy - Thanks Dad
This was cool, I got some severe Terminator vibes from this one in terms of imagery (which is neat because you barely even sketched the details in - I supplied my own overriding future-war scenario). An interesting idea, I think you spent a bit too much effort setting up that first section where the dad is saying not to be angry - if that’s how it is these days then it would be normalised, right? I feel like you’re telling the reader more than the character here. Overall, it was well written, although I’m not quite sure what your actual theme is here. It would have been nice if it had ended with some more forward motion, other than just seeing the church was bombed out and being all ‘oh’ about it. Still, it was pretty good.
Mike Works - The Finish
Oooh, check you out with your second person narration again! Very ambitious, I’m not sure if I could keep it up for a prolonged period of writing. But man, this story was fucking awesome! Obvious comparisons to The Wrestler are hard to avoid, but you definitely give it enough of a spin to make it new. It was sombre but never wallowed, it was truly gripping and surprising and heartbreaking. It felt like it contained truth, and that’s something rare for any writer. Really excellent work man, I can’t think of a single downside for it.
Tangent - The Pilgrimage to Mount Nara
This was pretty good. I loved the Japanese setting, it was very unlike the modern day or post apocalyptic stuff I’ve been reading today, so it was a nice change of pace. I thought the mystery of what Rin was remembering was a little flat. She didn’t say those things after all? Then how did she remember them? Or perhaps she did say them, and Iku was sparing her embarrassment, or offering forgiveness? I could see this, especially in Japan. Or maybe you’re just talking about the gulf in perception from one person to another. Either way, the story was evocative and easily read, a success.
HP_Wuvcraft - The Art of Geeks
Well, you lost me by the second sentence, since I really liked Jon Blow in IGTM :\ I get what you’re going for with the misanthropy (directed inward? This is a geeky website after all), but there does come a point of diminishing returns. If everything is shit and pointless, then what is good?
DumbNameD - Before This
Oh man this was lovely. Just very sweet and fun and unchained by logic or silly grown up story conventions. It’s quite a work of imagination, really. In the end, it made me sad that my imagination wasn’t as crazy as that when I was a kid (or even now!) - and that all came from your head, there was no little kid dreaming this stuff up at all. That’s magic. XD
Cyan - Chicken
If you were a dinosaur you would be a velociraptor, because this was very clever. It was like a David Thorne email, but replaced absurd humour with clever game theory stuff. So on that level, total success. I’m not sure if it was a ‘good’ story or not, but you definitely did achieve your goals for the piece. So... well done? For the record, I did enjoy it. Although I have no idea how Malcolm isn’t severely beaten more often, or how he has friends. This guy would be insufferable!
Ashes1396 - The Unfinished Experiment
It may be because this was the last story that I read and I’m all punchy and tired now, but your contrarian password made me rage momentarily. That is all.
I think this was one of the better things I’ve read by you, in terms of just the sentence-to-sentence flow of the thing. It was pacey and kept me interested all the way through. That said, it was a bit disappointing to not find out what the place was that they found (although I guess it fits the theme). It felt like the first half of something. Who were these guys? What was it they were climbing? A building or a mountain? What did they find on the other side? A research post? What were they researching? The fact that I have so many questions means you hooked me, but I would have liked a bit more info for it to be satisfying properly.
Btw, you can totally say Fuck as much as you like. Fuckity fuckity fuck fuck. You star it, and then don’t, seemingly randomly. As I said, I’m punchy now...
- Status