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NeoGAF Creative Writing Challenge #208 - "Hidden in Plain View"
- Thread starter Ashes
- Start date
- Status
choodi
Banned
Sorry, forgot to put this in. Not really happy with it. I spent too much effort trying to fit it to the theme and not enough actually making it interesting.
Day by day
#entry
Day by day
#entry
He's a folklore creature called a redcap. Also known as a powrie or... Dunter. Yuk yuk yuk. I'd post a link to the Wikipedia article, but the link shows up in spoiler text.
Theme: #207.5 - "Mundanity" | #208 "Hidden in Plain View"
Nominees:
Entries:
Alucard - Shine a Light
Mike M - Dunter
Tangent - Lonely
Ashes - Tin
Cyan - untitled
choodi - Day by day
Nezumi - Muses
mu cephei - Curtains
FlowersisBritish - Five Ghosts
Carlisle - Save the Princess
Nominees:
Entries:
Alucard - Shine a Light
Mike M - Dunter
Tangent - Lonely
Ashes - Tin
Cyan - untitled
choodi - Day by day
Nezumi - Muses
mu cephei - Curtains
FlowersisBritish - Five Ghosts
Carlisle - Save the Princess
Waiiiit for meeeee!!! #entry
Muses
A cascade of leaves rained down on the young would-be artist as the thin tree shook from the kick it had received only moments before. Plucking the assorted greenery out of his hair, the young man sighed, and with an expression somewhere between anger and frustration stomped onwards, deeper into the forest.
And yet only a few hours ago he had been sure that today would be the greatest day of his life. His sixteenth birthday. The day when he was finally allowed into the forest of inspiration to search for his very own muse. For months, years even, he had been thinking of this day, had dreamed about what kind of muse he would bring back and what wonderful works of art they would create together.
But now the sun was already hanging low in the sky and still not a single creature in the forest had talked to him.
First he had gone to the Clearing of Song for he had hoped that maybe he was destined to become a singer just like his mother, who wrote the most wonderful and evocative ballads in the entire village with the help of her shimmering turquoise starling, but no matter how much he pleaded with the swarms of birds singing in the trees around him, not a single one had come to him. He had been disappointed but eventually moved on. So his destiny wasn't that of a singer, that wasn't too bad, there were still plenty of other muses waiting for him after all.
Next he had searched out the Pond of Color, thinking about the silver carp that lived in the glass bowl at his uncle's house and how the swift movements of its body had guided the man's paint brush in many a beautiful painting. But here too the shimmering fish had just swam about, their scales glittering in the sunlight, but none had reacted to his presence.
His journey had taken him through the entire forest. From the Cave of Dancing Squirrels to the Old Oak, where the thinking owls slept, but no matter where he went, the result remained the same. It appeared that he was neither destined to become a dancer or a philosopher nor a writer or a musician. Finally hed even gone to the cliffs, far at the eastern end of the forest, searching for the stoic lizards that lived there, wondering if maybe he was to become a sculptor, but the lizards had just sat on the stones, sunbathing unimpressed by his presence.
And now here he was, the day slowly coming to an end and still not a single muse had answered his call.
Panic started to rise up in him and he tried to remember if there had ever been a time someone had come back from the forest without a muse and whether or not he would be granted a second chance the next day, when a small voice reverberated in his head.
Can you hear me?
The young would-be artist looked around frantically, but wherever he turned his head, not a single creature was in sight.
Down here, the voice sounded again.
The artist checked the forest's floor, expecting a mouse or other small critter, but nothing was there.
Where are you? Why are you hiding? he asked, still searching for even the slightest hint of movement.
But you are looking right at me, the voice answered. Oh, I can't tell you how happy I am that I found you. I've been calling out to you people for years but no one ever paid attention to me. Everyone just listened to the birds or looked at the squirrels. And here I was, screaming my lungs out, well figuratively at least, without ever being heard. I honestly started to think that I would never find an artist. Oh, what a wonderful day, to finally be heard.
The would-be artist finally spotted a stone that was lying on the path before him. Suspiciously he picked it up. You ?
Yes! rejoiced the voice in his head.
The would-be artist frowned. A stone? What was he to do with a stone? He didn't think anyone in the village had ever returned with a stone. What art would a stone be able to inspire anyway? Certainly not dancing, that was clear.
So, are you a singing stone? he asked tentatively.
Hmmm, answered the stone. I'm not sure, but I can give it a try. In the artist's head an unmelodious and discordant rumbling started. The sound made his teeth clatter and caused his head to start aching.
Stop, stop. That is terrible. Clearly the stone wasn't meant to inspire songs or any music for that matter.
Maybe you can help me write stories then, the would-be artist started anew. You must have lived in this forest for a long time. Surely you have experienced a lot.
The stone thought for a long moment but finally had to admit that his life so far had been rather uneventful. I've been just lying here, waiting. Not much happens, you know. Every now and then a mouse came by but for the most part I was pretty much alone with my thoughts.
So you are a philosopher then? asked the would-be artist hopefully, but the stone didn't even know what that was.
The young man grew very angry at these answers. All those years of waiting and then this? Why in all the history of his village was he the one who should be punished with a useless muse? Had he done something wrong?
Why did you even call out to me, you can't do anything! he shouted.
The stones voice sounded hurt, when he answered. I just wanted to I I just always knew that I had it in me to be a muse. I thought when Ive finally met my artist, he would know what to do. So how is this my fault?
The would-be artist just shook his head. This was stupid. Clearly the stone wasn't his muse. It wasn't a proper muse at all. Why was he even wasting his time here? The sun was almost down and he still had his real muse to find.
Frustrated he flung the useless stone away as far as he could and continued his search.
The stone soared through the air with a frightened scream that no one could hear. It crashed against a trunk and split in two. When the halves fell to the floor, they revealed a geode with multicoloured crystals inside, and as the light of the sinking sun hit them for a moment, a shimmering pattern danced over the surrounding tree trunks, evoking a myriad of pictures with every passing moment. And as the last ray of light vanished beyond the horizon, so did the pictures.
Muses
A cascade of leaves rained down on the young would-be artist as the thin tree shook from the kick it had received only moments before. Plucking the assorted greenery out of his hair, the young man sighed, and with an expression somewhere between anger and frustration stomped onwards, deeper into the forest.
And yet only a few hours ago he had been sure that today would be the greatest day of his life. His sixteenth birthday. The day when he was finally allowed into the forest of inspiration to search for his very own muse. For months, years even, he had been thinking of this day, had dreamed about what kind of muse he would bring back and what wonderful works of art they would create together.
But now the sun was already hanging low in the sky and still not a single creature in the forest had talked to him.
First he had gone to the Clearing of Song for he had hoped that maybe he was destined to become a singer just like his mother, who wrote the most wonderful and evocative ballads in the entire village with the help of her shimmering turquoise starling, but no matter how much he pleaded with the swarms of birds singing in the trees around him, not a single one had come to him. He had been disappointed but eventually moved on. So his destiny wasn't that of a singer, that wasn't too bad, there were still plenty of other muses waiting for him after all.
Next he had searched out the Pond of Color, thinking about the silver carp that lived in the glass bowl at his uncle's house and how the swift movements of its body had guided the man's paint brush in many a beautiful painting. But here too the shimmering fish had just swam about, their scales glittering in the sunlight, but none had reacted to his presence.
His journey had taken him through the entire forest. From the Cave of Dancing Squirrels to the Old Oak, where the thinking owls slept, but no matter where he went, the result remained the same. It appeared that he was neither destined to become a dancer or a philosopher nor a writer or a musician. Finally hed even gone to the cliffs, far at the eastern end of the forest, searching for the stoic lizards that lived there, wondering if maybe he was to become a sculptor, but the lizards had just sat on the stones, sunbathing unimpressed by his presence.
And now here he was, the day slowly coming to an end and still not a single muse had answered his call.
Panic started to rise up in him and he tried to remember if there had ever been a time someone had come back from the forest without a muse and whether or not he would be granted a second chance the next day, when a small voice reverberated in his head.
Can you hear me?
The young would-be artist looked around frantically, but wherever he turned his head, not a single creature was in sight.
Down here, the voice sounded again.
The artist checked the forest's floor, expecting a mouse or other small critter, but nothing was there.
Where are you? Why are you hiding? he asked, still searching for even the slightest hint of movement.
But you are looking right at me, the voice answered. Oh, I can't tell you how happy I am that I found you. I've been calling out to you people for years but no one ever paid attention to me. Everyone just listened to the birds or looked at the squirrels. And here I was, screaming my lungs out, well figuratively at least, without ever being heard. I honestly started to think that I would never find an artist. Oh, what a wonderful day, to finally be heard.
The would-be artist finally spotted a stone that was lying on the path before him. Suspiciously he picked it up. You ?
Yes! rejoiced the voice in his head.
The would-be artist frowned. A stone? What was he to do with a stone? He didn't think anyone in the village had ever returned with a stone. What art would a stone be able to inspire anyway? Certainly not dancing, that was clear.
So, are you a singing stone? he asked tentatively.
Hmmm, answered the stone. I'm not sure, but I can give it a try. In the artist's head an unmelodious and discordant rumbling started. The sound made his teeth clatter and caused his head to start aching.
Stop, stop. That is terrible. Clearly the stone wasn't meant to inspire songs or any music for that matter.
Maybe you can help me write stories then, the would-be artist started anew. You must have lived in this forest for a long time. Surely you have experienced a lot.
The stone thought for a long moment but finally had to admit that his life so far had been rather uneventful. I've been just lying here, waiting. Not much happens, you know. Every now and then a mouse came by but for the most part I was pretty much alone with my thoughts.
So you are a philosopher then? asked the would-be artist hopefully, but the stone didn't even know what that was.
The young man grew very angry at these answers. All those years of waiting and then this? Why in all the history of his village was he the one who should be punished with a useless muse? Had he done something wrong?
Why did you even call out to me, you can't do anything! he shouted.
The stones voice sounded hurt, when he answered. I just wanted to I I just always knew that I had it in me to be a muse. I thought when Ive finally met my artist, he would know what to do. So how is this my fault?
The would-be artist just shook his head. This was stupid. Clearly the stone wasn't his muse. It wasn't a proper muse at all. Why was he even wasting his time here? The sun was almost down and he still had his real muse to find.
Frustrated he flung the useless stone away as far as he could and continued his search.
The stone soared through the air with a frightened scream that no one could hear. It crashed against a trunk and split in two. When the halves fell to the floor, they revealed a geode with multicoloured crystals inside, and as the light of the sinking sun hit them for a moment, a shimmering pattern danced over the surrounding tree trunks, evoking a myriad of pictures with every passing moment. And as the last ray of light vanished beyond the horizon, so did the pictures.
FlowersisBritish
fleurs n'est pas britannique
I will be later today, too much to do and not enough time to edit :/
Feedback as I go...
Self criticism - "Shine a Light" --> Not bad, but not great. Why does it matter that Carrick is a scientist? That doesn't really play into much outside of the flashback through the crystal at the end. The imagery/idea wasn't bad here, but the prose need to be livened up to really make it punchy.
Mike M - "Dunter" --> I liked the imagery and wordplay a lot more in this one than the one from the previous challenge. Your evocation and descriptive language was wonderful, and the story was neat as well. Nice job.
Tangent - "Lonely" --> Pretty good. The kid's voice is pretty simple, which I guess makes sense for a kid, and the idea of kids offering to play with him and become his friends is nice. The concept is even tragic because the kid doesn't realize just how much he's self-sabotaging himself, but the execution felt a bit mild for me. Keep on writing.
Ashes - "Tin" --> This was cool. Very simple, and I'm not quite sure I understood where they were at the end, but I enjoyed the ride nonetheless. You've got a good talent for making your text feel effortless. The grammar and punctuation are the only things that irk me in any way.
Cyan - "untitled" --> I got the point. So there's that.
choodi - "choodi" --> Too long. I like the concept and I rarely felt bored. Felt you overused the word "mental" to describe Bruno's behaviour (3 times), so maybe vary that up if you decide to edit this in the future. What was the weird thing that was making him flip out? Was it the tortoise you mentioned at the end? This felt a little unfocused. I was expecting some more weirdness like the Priest's Tale in Hyperion or something
Nezumi - "Muses" --> "Stoic lizards" gave off some strange imagery. @_@ Your prose are pretty good, and I was enjoying the journey until the ending, which fell kind of flat for me. Was the boy supposed to crack open the stone? Wouldn't he fear breaking it? And were the pictures supposed to inspire the boy to be a painter, or perhaps a rave DJ? Still, I dug the idea and liked the creativity, especially in the beginning.
Are we waiting for Carlisle?
Self criticism - "Shine a Light" --> Not bad, but not great. Why does it matter that Carrick is a scientist? That doesn't really play into much outside of the flashback through the crystal at the end. The imagery/idea wasn't bad here, but the prose need to be livened up to really make it punchy.
Mike M - "Dunter" --> I liked the imagery and wordplay a lot more in this one than the one from the previous challenge. Your evocation and descriptive language was wonderful, and the story was neat as well. Nice job.
Tangent - "Lonely" --> Pretty good. The kid's voice is pretty simple, which I guess makes sense for a kid, and the idea of kids offering to play with him and become his friends is nice. The concept is even tragic because the kid doesn't realize just how much he's self-sabotaging himself, but the execution felt a bit mild for me. Keep on writing.
Ashes - "Tin" --> This was cool. Very simple, and I'm not quite sure I understood where they were at the end, but I enjoyed the ride nonetheless. You've got a good talent for making your text feel effortless. The grammar and punctuation are the only things that irk me in any way.
Cyan - "untitled" --> I got the point. So there's that.
choodi - "choodi" --> Too long. I like the concept and I rarely felt bored. Felt you overused the word "mental" to describe Bruno's behaviour (3 times), so maybe vary that up if you decide to edit this in the future. What was the weird thing that was making him flip out? Was it the tortoise you mentioned at the end? This felt a little unfocused. I was expecting some more weirdness like the Priest's Tale in Hyperion or something
Nezumi - "Muses" --> "Stoic lizards" gave off some strange imagery. @_@ Your prose are pretty good, and I was enjoying the journey until the ending, which fell kind of flat for me. Was the boy supposed to crack open the stone? Wouldn't he fear breaking it? And were the pictures supposed to inspire the boy to be a painter, or perhaps a rave DJ? Still, I dug the idea and liked the creativity, especially in the beginning.
Are we waiting for Carlisle?
Curtains. #entry
It had been several hours since daylight began bleeding in beneath the old velvet curtains. The cloth had worn bald in places, reminding Christopher of the fur of a much-loved teddy bear, back at home, in the attic, but not thrown away. Patches of sunlight filtered through the cloth as through a forest canopy, falling upon and illuminating, in mysterious shards, the accumulated detritus on Christophers bedroom floor. He wouldnt open the curtains yet, he decided, blinking, eyelids scratchy over grainy eyes, mind overwrought and buzzing with lemur feeding strategies. He wouldnt acknowledge it yet.
For just a moment longer he wanted to bask in the sense of satisfaction one feels when a task is done; the struggle and doubt upon starting, the gradual build-up of anticipation as one progresses, the sense that as one is working now, and is happy doing so, that it will always be possible to find again this place of productivity; the immense relief of knowing one will see it through to the end, that it can be done before the deadline, that it might (might) even be good. But opening the curtains would require acknowledging the truth, that the task was done at the last minute, and badly. With the curtains still closed it wasnt yet the next day, and Christopher was still inhabiting the previous day when it wasnt too late and the essay might still be good. But once the curtains were open, once the grey London light struck the mess upon the floor, once he had seen the grimy grey bricks and dirty windows of the converted warehouse too close and too high, then there would be no denying it. He had started too late and what hed written was poor and hed get a bad grade.
Christopher sighed. The bottom corner of the laptop screen said 11.22 am, with a deadline of noon: no time to read the essay over in search of mistakes. He was fairly confident there wouldnt be many obvious, easy ones. It would be the big ones, the clangers, the massive misunderstandings (baboons were not apes; capuchins were platyrrhines, and not catarrhines) that he couldnt guard against. He pulled the usb stick out and stuck it in his pocket, jammed his bare feet into his trainers, and, after a cursory and fruitless search for his bike lock, exited his still-dim and curtained bedroom, not bothering to close the door.
The hallway was twisty and narrow, leading past Harouns closed door, past Larss locked door, past the kitchen, this door ajar with rubbish bin, just inside, overflowing onto the lino. No time to empty it now. It would be rubbish piled up inside in the kitchen, or rubbish piled up outside on the pavement, no difference; either way scattered, trodden on, only sporadically removed; even after three months Christopher hadnt identified a regular collection day. He clattered down the stairs, glad now the passage was so narrow, for walls to hold onto, to slide his shoulder down.
His was the only bike still there, leaning against the wall by the front door. Christopher pushed open the door and wheeled his bike through, the door snicking shut behind him as he sluggishly registered the heavy splashes of rain hitting his unwashed face, his bare arms. The thought slowly occurred to him that he didnt have his keys, didnt even have his phone, was hardly dressed (striped flannel pyjama bottoms, black concert t-shirt, both now speckled with tiny wet circles) in the middle of Dalston in January.
Kingsland Road overwhelmed him for a moment, the light forcing his watering eyes shut, damp sneaking into the corner creases. Christopher stood there on the pavement, in front of the mini-market beneath his flat, with people weaving past him, feeling the rush of wind as a cyclist passed by, on the pavement, only inches away. The traffic vibrated through is head, joining the leftover buzz of a sleepless night, four coffees drunk in desperation, the frenzy of unfamiliar concentration. Then came the smell of the rubbish. Christopher opened his eyes, focussed, for want of anything else to catch his attention, on a dog crapping beside the mountain of black-bagged rubbish, piled high beneath the stunted, spindly winter trees, in their tiny paving-stone sized plots of ground.
He didnt have his phone, he didnt have a watch, he didnt know what time it was but he knew it took at least twenty minutes to cycle into Uni even when he hadnt pulled an all-nighter. He knew all the bike racks would be full and he would have to search for a spot, he knew all the computers would be taken in the Science library and hed have to go to the main library to print off his essay, and he knew the main library was five minutes further away from his department office, where he needed to hand in the essay. He knew he didnt have time.
Christopher straddled his bike, gripped the handlebars tight, and pushed off into the traffic, feeling the rain on his face, the wind through his t-shirt, as something like pleasure.
It had been several hours since daylight began bleeding in beneath the old velvet curtains. The cloth had worn bald in places, reminding Christopher of the fur of a much-loved teddy bear, back at home, in the attic, but not thrown away. Patches of sunlight filtered through the cloth as through a forest canopy, falling upon and illuminating, in mysterious shards, the accumulated detritus on Christophers bedroom floor. He wouldnt open the curtains yet, he decided, blinking, eyelids scratchy over grainy eyes, mind overwrought and buzzing with lemur feeding strategies. He wouldnt acknowledge it yet.
For just a moment longer he wanted to bask in the sense of satisfaction one feels when a task is done; the struggle and doubt upon starting, the gradual build-up of anticipation as one progresses, the sense that as one is working now, and is happy doing so, that it will always be possible to find again this place of productivity; the immense relief of knowing one will see it through to the end, that it can be done before the deadline, that it might (might) even be good. But opening the curtains would require acknowledging the truth, that the task was done at the last minute, and badly. With the curtains still closed it wasnt yet the next day, and Christopher was still inhabiting the previous day when it wasnt too late and the essay might still be good. But once the curtains were open, once the grey London light struck the mess upon the floor, once he had seen the grimy grey bricks and dirty windows of the converted warehouse too close and too high, then there would be no denying it. He had started too late and what hed written was poor and hed get a bad grade.
Christopher sighed. The bottom corner of the laptop screen said 11.22 am, with a deadline of noon: no time to read the essay over in search of mistakes. He was fairly confident there wouldnt be many obvious, easy ones. It would be the big ones, the clangers, the massive misunderstandings (baboons were not apes; capuchins were platyrrhines, and not catarrhines) that he couldnt guard against. He pulled the usb stick out and stuck it in his pocket, jammed his bare feet into his trainers, and, after a cursory and fruitless search for his bike lock, exited his still-dim and curtained bedroom, not bothering to close the door.
The hallway was twisty and narrow, leading past Harouns closed door, past Larss locked door, past the kitchen, this door ajar with rubbish bin, just inside, overflowing onto the lino. No time to empty it now. It would be rubbish piled up inside in the kitchen, or rubbish piled up outside on the pavement, no difference; either way scattered, trodden on, only sporadically removed; even after three months Christopher hadnt identified a regular collection day. He clattered down the stairs, glad now the passage was so narrow, for walls to hold onto, to slide his shoulder down.
His was the only bike still there, leaning against the wall by the front door. Christopher pushed open the door and wheeled his bike through, the door snicking shut behind him as he sluggishly registered the heavy splashes of rain hitting his unwashed face, his bare arms. The thought slowly occurred to him that he didnt have his keys, didnt even have his phone, was hardly dressed (striped flannel pyjama bottoms, black concert t-shirt, both now speckled with tiny wet circles) in the middle of Dalston in January.
Kingsland Road overwhelmed him for a moment, the light forcing his watering eyes shut, damp sneaking into the corner creases. Christopher stood there on the pavement, in front of the mini-market beneath his flat, with people weaving past him, feeling the rush of wind as a cyclist passed by, on the pavement, only inches away. The traffic vibrated through is head, joining the leftover buzz of a sleepless night, four coffees drunk in desperation, the frenzy of unfamiliar concentration. Then came the smell of the rubbish. Christopher opened his eyes, focussed, for want of anything else to catch his attention, on a dog crapping beside the mountain of black-bagged rubbish, piled high beneath the stunted, spindly winter trees, in their tiny paving-stone sized plots of ground.
He didnt have his phone, he didnt have a watch, he didnt know what time it was but he knew it took at least twenty minutes to cycle into Uni even when he hadnt pulled an all-nighter. He knew all the bike racks would be full and he would have to search for a spot, he knew all the computers would be taken in the Science library and hed have to go to the main library to print off his essay, and he knew the main library was five minutes further away from his department office, where he needed to hand in the essay. He knew he didnt have time.
Christopher straddled his bike, gripped the handlebars tight, and pushed off into the traffic, feeling the rain on his face, the wind through his t-shirt, as something like pleasure.
FlowersisBritish
fleurs n'est pas britannique
Sorry sorry sorry about such a late #entry If you don't want to count it towards votes, that fine for you to do. I throw myself to the mercy of the court!
Five Ghosts - about 1,750 words with usual password which you can quote to see.
Five Ghosts - about 1,750 words with usual password which you can quote to see.
1788 Words
Super late #entry, but I might not be the last one? Flowers is still coming too? Either way thanks for waiting and sorry again
Save the Princess
Edit: lol
Super late #entry, but I might not be the last one? Flowers is still coming too? Either way thanks for waiting and sorry again
Save the Princess
Edit: lol
mu cephei - "Curtains" - I felt there was just too much time spent ruminating on the person's situation of not finishing a paper on time. I didn't get the sense of a plot of story here, only a sketch of something. The paragraphs were also way too long. Space them out more next time.
FlowersisBritish - "Five Ghosts" - Nice. You definitely swept me away into another realm, so good job on that. I question why Marlo would be cool giving a little more life to Herr's child, but overall, this was enjoyable.
Carlisle - "Save the Princess" - Well that was something. I like your prose overall. Not quite "pro" level, but on the way to getting there. You have a good balance of dialogue and description. The story was interesting too, though I'm not sure I understood the "Let me go" at the end. Maybe I didn't pay enough close attention, but was that supposed to link to another part of the story?
My votes after reading everything:
Space them out more next time.FlowersisBritish - "Five Ghosts" - Nice. You definitely swept me away into another realm, so good job on that. I question why Marlo would be cool giving a little more life to Herr's child, but overall, this was enjoyable.
Carlisle - "Save the Princess" - Well that was something. I like your prose overall. Not quite "pro" level, but on the way to getting there. You have a good balance of dialogue and description. The story was interesting too, though I'm not sure I understood the "Let me go" at the end. Maybe I didn't pay enough close attention, but was that supposed to link to another part of the story?
My votes after reading everything:
1. Mike M
2. Carlisle
3. Ashes
2. Carlisle
3. Ashes
Not a whole lot of time today, but some quick notes:
- [*]Alucard: Years of experience in biological sciences makes me howl with despair at the notion of a crystalline life form being able to communicate telepathically with a conventional organism. Even allowing the possibility of living crystals, having them be able to interface with a brain is a bridge too far for me in sci-fi (though, ironically, not in fantasy).
[*]Mike M: As I said in the spoiled response to Alucard, the protagonist of this is a folkloric creature known as a redcap. Id give maybe 50/50 odds that any given person reading in this thread knows what they are? I think knowing what they are makes it too obvious, and not knowing what they are just makes it confusing.
[*]Tangent: I think the fact that maybe the second kid to approach the narrator and explicitly asked Do you want to be my friend? goes a long way towards undermining the whole story. Thats literally what the protagonist seemed to be asking to happen, which changed it from a story of the irony of not recognizing whats right in front of you to a story about someone being a bit dim.
[*]Ashes: Ive watched Moana about a thousand times in recent weeks because its apparently the only thing that makes my daughter happy in this world, which set a certain mental image that was difficult to escape. No fault of yours, but it left me with a weird dissonance.
[*]Cyan:
[*]choodie: The whole thing seemed to be leading up to something involving the mysterious thing that wasnt tripping any detectors but was still catching the dogs attention. But it just evaporated by the end, which left me hanging.
[*]Nezumi: I get the irony that he discarded his muse without knowing its inner beauty and all, but even if he hadnt, is it reasonable to expect that he would have cracked the stone open at some point? If he never does, its functionally not too terribly different a fate from throwing it away in the first place.
[*]mu cephei: The mention of the characters name being Christopher and that he had a teddy bear had me initially thinking that this was some sort of Winnie the Pooh thing. I understand his haste, but it seems like it would have been prudent to take a few minutes to dress for a mad dash across town in the rain.
[*]FlowersisBritish: Too many ghosts. Id say that the Rule of Three prevails here in that five ghosts went on for too long, but really you only needed the last one. The spirit of Strings or whatever seemed to be offering a pretty shit bargain if he was just going to encounter the people who caused him pain in presumably the same roles in function in his next life.
[*]Carlisle: I liked where it was going, but it ends really abruptly without any explanation for anything. Not sure if this was just something that had to be submitted incomplete due to time constraints?
1.) Flowers
2.) Nezumi
3. Carlisle
2.) Nezumi
3. Carlisle
1. Mike M.......
2. Flowers......
3. Nezumi......
Mike M - I guess this was a little predicable. I kinda wanted the guy to succeed in whatever wicked thing he was going to do once her name was mentioned as meaning 'hunter'.
Alucard - I liked the banter, and the efficiency of your writing. There maybe wasn't enough to invest in, and I didn't think the psychic stuff held together.
Cyan - hm.
Ashes - I enjoyed it but I didn't really get it. Also first paragraph she's afraid of dogs, then it says she looked after Tin previously, then she sits and cuddles him? I think I'm missing something really obvious.
Choodi - for the most part this was really enjoyable, except the ending fizzled out and it was a little repetitive.
Nezumi - I love the way you phrase things sometimes. I thought the ending was great.
Flowers - Very nicely constructed story.
Carlisle - it just stopped! Also although the handmaiden was quite nicely set up, I wasn't sure why she'd go into the lion's den like that and she went from tearful to throat-chomping rather rapidly.
Tangent - I really liked this, but I thought maybe the offers of friendship were a bit too blatant.
Noisy Ninj4
Member
But what about carbon based crystals using an interface made of graphene?
Mike M, question for you. When you notice these kinds of science errors and/or implausibilities in scifi, does it jar you out of the story? i.e. Are you happily reading along, run into something like that, and just bounce off it and lose the thread?
If so, does it help at all if the story is in a subgenre where scientific accuracy isn't typically important or expected, such as space opera or steampunk or similar?
If so, does it help at all if the story is in a subgenre where scientific accuracy isn't typically important or expected, such as space opera or steampunk or similar?
Yes to both questions, generally, though I can sometimes be assuaged with enough technobabble to paper over the issue.
Noisy Ninj4 actually has a really good example there of what could have been at least the foundation of an explanation that could have suspended disbelief for me.
Alucard - You did a great job pacing a sci-fi horror story into such a small space. The dialog was a bit stilted and tropey, but it was otherwise well-told.
Mike M - Really enjoyed this. I want it to be a full book so I can enjoy it more. Except the POV wouldn't work nearly as well (or at least be really tricky) if it were anything other than what it is. I guess that's not very helpful as far as critiques though
Tangent - Really sweet story. But by the end I couldn't tell if it was meant to be happy or sad, if it ended on a hopeful note or a depressing one. Maybe that's up to me to decide but I couldn't.
Ashes - The end flipped me on my head pretty hard but I'm not sure if it was supposed to or not. Maybe I'm reading into it too much, or maybe that was the intended effect. Either way it was a fun read.
choodi - This gave me a The Martian vibe, which I loved, and it was an enjoyable read. But what about that strange thing that kept making the dog bark? I thought that was going to go somewhere and then it ended. The lesson learned was a little on the nose as well.
Nezumi - I liked this a lot. I like how it starts out like a coming of age story that we think we know and then gets turned depressingly on it's head at the end.
mu cephei - I don't remember giving you the rights to my life story, but you did a brilliant job painting it exactly. In seriousness, you did great showing us the inside of the MC's head and the feelings that come with being hopelessly late on something. It rang almost too close to home
FlowersisBritish - The MC seems like the nicest guy in the world but he insists he deserves to be there. How can he be that rotten if he's almost Buddha-like in his choices? Aside, it was really well-told and I enjoyed it all the way through.
And to respond to the comments I've gotten, yeah, being the smart-plan-ahead-don't-wait-until-the-last-minute writer that I am, I *somehow* ran out of time and space. I enjoyed writing what I had though. Maybe I'll play around with it some more and put it on my website sometime.
Mike M - Really enjoyed this. I want it to be a full book so I can enjoy it more. Except the POV wouldn't work nearly as well (or at least be really tricky) if it were anything other than what it is. I guess that's not very helpful as far as critiques though
Tangent - Really sweet story. But by the end I couldn't tell if it was meant to be happy or sad, if it ended on a hopeful note or a depressing one. Maybe that's up to me to decide but I couldn't.
Ashes - The end flipped me on my head pretty hard but I'm not sure if it was supposed to or not. Maybe I'm reading into it too much, or maybe that was the intended effect. Either way it was a fun read.
choodi - This gave me a The Martian vibe, which I loved, and it was an enjoyable read. But what about that strange thing that kept making the dog bark? I thought that was going to go somewhere and then it ended. The lesson learned was a little on the nose as well.
Nezumi - I liked this a lot. I like how it starts out like a coming of age story that we think we know and then gets turned depressingly on it's head at the end.
mu cephei - I don't remember giving you the rights to my life story, but you did a brilliant job painting it exactly. In seriousness, you did great showing us the inside of the MC's head and the feelings that come with being hopelessly late on something. It rang almost too close to home
FlowersisBritish - The MC seems like the nicest guy in the world but he insists he deserves to be there. How can he be that rotten if he's almost Buddha-like in his choices? Aside, it was really well-told and I enjoyed it all the way through.
1. Mike
2. Nezumi
3. Flowers
2. Nezumi
3. Flowers
And to respond to the comments I've gotten, yeah, being the smart-plan-ahead-don't-wait-until-the-last-minute writer that I am, I *somehow* ran out of time and space. I enjoyed writing what I had though. Maybe I'll play around with it some more and put it on my website sometime.
FlowersisBritish
fleurs n'est pas britannique
Votes
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Oh so now we're spoiling our votes, huh?
Making me have to click a bunch to see your votes...
Why don't you just jab a needle in my eye and blind me. Skip the middle man
first is Nez 2nd is Ashes 3 be Chodi.
I'm going to have to bow out. Urgent care visits and too many people around. It's wearing me down! Sorry I didn't bow out earlier so that you were still reading and considering my entry for voting!!!
Sounds like there was a good mix. Thanks for the feedback on my story, all. Noted! It all makes sense.
I was excited that I could bang out a story in about 45 - 1 hr. I think that's a record for me. But it takes a hit on quality. :-D
Sounds like there was a good mix. Thanks for the feedback on my story, all. Noted! It all makes sense.
I was excited that I could bang out a story in about 45 - 1 hr. I think that's a record for me. But it takes a hit on quality. :-D
choodi
Banned
Woohoo, my first ever vote! Thanks.
Yeah, I agree with all of the feedback you guys have given.
I just couldn't figure out how to end the story while resolving the mystery and wrapping up the events within the word limit.
I originally had a plan to make the narrator go missing and the new caretaker speculate about what happened while reading her diary, but I quickly realised that would have taken too many words.
I was planning on doing a complete rewrite, but then work/life got in the way and I just had to submit it.
Anyway, here's some feedback:
Alucard - such a great story. I was really drawn into the mission and I liked the ending.
Mike M - well written, but I just didn't get anything out of it. There was no connection to either character for me.
Cyan - Nice. A little philosophy is always a good thing.
mu cephei - I like the writing style. Really put me in the same headspace as the character.
Nezumi - Aww, now I'm just sad.
Carlisle - sounds like you ran into the same problems I did. I thought it took a little too long to get going though.
Tangent - that was nice. I liked how you incorporated the theme.
FlowersisBritish - I kept waiting for it to touch me but it didn't. I like your writing, but the story just didn't connect with me.
Ashes - I think there is a good short story buried in there, but it needs to find more focus. Too many grammatical errors too. Really took me out of the story.
Got some free time on my hands, so I'll write up a little feedback.
Alucard: Generally this was well written, but for me, it felt too much like a scene ripped out of something bigger than a story on its own. It did work as such for the most part, but most of the characters did fall a little bit flat even though you did manage to give most of them a clear enough voice to set them apart from each other, something I was immediately worried about when I read that you put four (5 if you count the crystal) characters in a below 2000 word story.
Mike M: Scrap the part where the girl says her name is hunter. That is so fucking obvious it is almost insulting to the reader. The knife is sufficient enough as a give-away. I liked this because it is written well and Dunter was an interesting character, but over all I could not shake the feeling I was reading a rather generic opening of a Supernatural episode, as in "yeah, I know exactly how this is gonna play out". Lucky for you I really like Supernatural
Tangent: You are probably the only person I know that can write kid's voices this realistically. Kids are hard. That's why I stay away from them. However this one just fell a bit short because, as others have said, the moment all those other kids are trying to REALLY befriend the protagonist your whole premise falls apart. I'm saying this as someone who is rather awkward around other people but still got a, now over 20 year old, friendship out of basically asking 'Do you want to be my friend.'
Ashes: I liked the part where Bobo declares that he is an astronaut. It just put a very complete picture of this character in my head. Sadly I felt that the main character fell a bit flat in comparison. My main problem was that for a good part of the story I felt like this was playing in a time period way before today, but then you suddenly mention googling stuff and it just threw me off.
Cyan: ...
choodi: This was really close to get into my top three, but the ending was simply too anticlimactic. Lower word counts take a bit of getting used to but I'm looking forward to what you'll bring next since I really liked a lot of what you had going there.
Myself: The question whether the boy might have eventually broke the stone is a really valid one and while I could think about a way that this could happen it wasn't my focus here. I just wanted to portray a missed opportunity and I probably could have done it more believable.
Mu Cephei: Yeah, your protagonist is basically me... You did a good job at describing me.
Flowers: I loved this. One of these days we'll end up in a co-op challenge and we'll gonna write the most bad ass dark fairytail. I wish I was able to give my stories this slight dark twist.
Carlisle: Sooooo good and intriguing until it just stopped. Word count can be a bitch.
Alucard: Generally this was well written, but for me, it felt too much like a scene ripped out of something bigger than a story on its own. It did work as such for the most part, but most of the characters did fall a little bit flat even though you did manage to give most of them a clear enough voice to set them apart from each other, something I was immediately worried about when I read that you put four (5 if you count the crystal) characters in a below 2000 word story.
Mike M: Scrap the part where the girl says her name is hunter. That is so fucking obvious it is almost insulting to the reader. The knife is sufficient enough as a give-away. I liked this because it is written well and Dunter was an interesting character, but over all I could not shake the feeling I was reading a rather generic opening of a Supernatural episode, as in "yeah, I know exactly how this is gonna play out". Lucky for you I really like Supernatural
Tangent: You are probably the only person I know that can write kid's voices this realistically. Kids are hard. That's why I stay away from them. However this one just fell a bit short because, as others have said, the moment all those other kids are trying to REALLY befriend the protagonist your whole premise falls apart. I'm saying this as someone who is rather awkward around other people but still got a, now over 20 year old, friendship out of basically asking 'Do you want to be my friend.'
Ashes: I liked the part where Bobo declares that he is an astronaut. It just put a very complete picture of this character in my head. Sadly I felt that the main character fell a bit flat in comparison. My main problem was that for a good part of the story I felt like this was playing in a time period way before today, but then you suddenly mention googling stuff and it just threw me off.
Cyan: ...
choodi: This was really close to get into my top three, but the ending was simply too anticlimactic. Lower word counts take a bit of getting used to but I'm looking forward to what you'll bring next since I really liked a lot of what you had going there.
Myself: The question whether the boy might have eventually broke the stone is a really valid one and while I could think about a way that this could happen it wasn't my focus here. I just wanted to portray a missed opportunity and I probably could have done it more believable.
Mu Cephei: Yeah, your protagonist is basically me... You did a good job at describing me.
Flowers: I loved this. One of these days we'll end up in a co-op challenge and we'll gonna write the most bad ass dark fairytail. I wish I was able to give my stories this slight dark twist.
Carlisle: Sooooo good and intriguing until it just stopped. Word count can be a bitch.
choodi
Banned
Sorry, had a horrid couple of days with work (6pm to 6am shift).
1st Nezumi
2nd Alucard
3rd mu cephei
I've only read half the stories Nez. You may as well count me out.
On a separate note, coding in the user pictures was pointless, took longer than I thought to code, and I've lost the updated code, so not really bothered to do it all again, so will revert to the last backup. Perhaps if I'd concentrated on reading more in the first day instead of working on the script, I'd have finished by now. Especially as the script I posted in the thread works perfectly fine. ;(
On a separate note, coding in the user pictures was pointless, took longer than I thought to code, and I've lost the updated code, so not really bothered to do it all again, so will revert to the last backup. Perhaps if I'd concentrated on reading more in the first day instead of working on the script, I'd have finished by now. Especially as the script I posted in the thread works perfectly fine. ;(
OK, that only leaves the red wizard.
OK then. Here we go!
Results:
1.) Mike M - Dunter
2.) Nezumi - Muses
3.) FlowersisBritish - Five Ghosts
Vote Count:
Mike M - 11 (3)
Nezumi - 11 (2)
FlowersisBritish - 9 (2)
Carlisle - 4
Ashes - 3
Alucard - 2
choodi - 1
mu cephei - 1
A close race but in the end Mike takes the lead with more first place votes, so congratulation Mike! See you all in the next thread.
Results:
1.) Mike M - Dunter
2.) Nezumi - Muses
3.) FlowersisBritish - Five Ghosts
Vote Count:
Mike M - 11 (3)
Nezumi - 11 (2)
FlowersisBritish - 9 (2)
Carlisle - 4
Ashes - 3
Alucard - 2
choodi - 1
mu cephei - 1
A close race but in the end Mike takes the lead with more first place votes, so congratulation Mike! See you all in the next thread.
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