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In, and since I shamefully bailed the last time I put my hat in the ring, add a  for good measure.
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The Past is a Tourist Destination 898 words The coffee always takes the longest on that first day, the kettle fighting against three months’ worth of chill. As always, I’m the first to wake and open the kitchen blinds, rubbing frost off the glass to look out upon the snow-capped mountains outside. I’m in a cabin outside the picturesque township of Franz Josef, on the southern island of New Zealand, and the ice is just beginning to thaw: the first day of tourist season. Footsteps on the stairs, and then Laura’s in the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes. ‘Morning,’ she says, and nods toward the moka pot. ‘Is this fresh?’ ‘Help yourself,’ I tell her. ‘No idea why they make us spend the nights out here,’ she yawns, pouring herself a cup. ‘Could just rock up with everyone else. At least the generator didn’t fail overnight, for once.’ ‘I like it,’ I shrug, and turn away from the window. ‘Helps me get into character.’ She curls a lip and looks me up and down. ‘No offence,’ she says, ‘but no-one will ever mistake you for a rugged mountaineer.’ ‘If I think it’s real,’ I tell her, tapping my forehead, ‘I’ll make it real.’ ‘Right,’ she says, ‘“real”. That’s what real mountaineers do: tell rich folk some family-friendly history, take their photos, and then show ’em to the gift shop.’ ‘That’s not fair,’ I tell her, surprised we’re already having this argument. Most seasons it takes at least a week. ‘Sometimes we do the gift shop first. Gotta get their photos in tacky sweaters, after all.’ She levels her eyes at me, and shakes her head. ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘Hate to upset the paying customers with something “real”.’ Her pager goes off, and she looks down at it. ‘First group’s here,’ she says, and pours some whiskey into her coffee. ‘You want to take it? I need more time to get “into character”.’ *** The tourists are easy to spot. They mill outside the bus, resplendent in neon orange and pink puffer jackets, purple beanies, and bright blue denim jeans—even though we always advise against denim, how it’s never a great idea for the snow. Fully half of them have fancy Pentax SLRs slung around their neck; the remainder, plastic disposables. A few of the younger tourists stand separate to the rest, thumbing Walkmans through thick red mittens. One of them has a Gameboy; he doesn’t look up as I approach. ‘Welcome to Franz Josef Glacier,’ I announce, clapping my hands together. ‘My name is Ryan, and I’ll be your guide today. We have some quick ground rules to cover first, so if everyone can please pay attention—’ I list the rules—stay together at all times, don’t deviate from the marked paths, don’t leave any rubbish behind—to an indifferent audience, per my contract, and shoulder my pack. The group recognise this as a cue and slowly drift to where I’m standing. I have to remind myself to give them a moment to take all of this in, remind myself that many of these people have never seen snow before, let alone a ten-kilometre-long glacier you can walk straight up to. I look back at them, and frown. Half are still talking amongst themselves; now two teenagers are sharing the Gameboy. Some of the older couples are posing for photos, the glacier no doubt a blurry mess in the background. ‘Okay,’ I announce, ‘clapping my hands. Can I please have everyone’s—’ *** Everything goes dark. I swear, reach up, and unclasp my headset. ‘Laura? Laura,’ I yell, sitting up. ‘The loving generator’s gone again.’ I hear an anguished cry from another room, and then heavy stomping towards me. Laura pokes her head into my room, her forehead slick with sweat. ‘You think I don’t know?’ she spits. ‘I’m working my arse off trying to get it up again. Could do with a hand, if you’re done playing make-believe.’ ‘I’ve got a dozen tourists waiting,’ I tell her. She rolls her eyes and leaves, her heavy stomping receding into the distance. I lean back and turn to face the window. The blinds are drawn to block the heat, but there’s still an orange glow around the edges, and I feel the sweat dripping down my forehead. It’s only August; it shouldn’t be so hot already. The generator starts in fits and bursts, and cold air slowly circulates back through the vents, cooling the habitat. I slide the headset back down and re-attach the neural links, hoping there’ll be enough fuel to get me through the shift. *** ‘Sorry about that,’ I smile, and clap my hands together. ‘Slight technical difficulties, but we’re back online.’ The tourists chuckle quietly; my little disappearing act got their attention. Well, I think to myself, I’d hate to waste this opportunity. Hope you’re watching, Laura. ‘Franz Josef Glacier,’ I begin, ‘was one of the largest publicly-accessible glaciers in the world—before your grandparents burned everything to the ground. Of course, by now, it has almost disappeared altogether—but thank god the wonders of science are giving you this chance to desecrate it yourselves.’ I hear my pager buzz, and reach down to turn it off. ‘If you’ll please follow me,’ I continue, turning to face the path, ‘we have some lovely photo ops with extinct flora and fauna. Ever hear about “birds”? This way, please…’
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Jun 7, 2021 04:44
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In with Ariana Grande’s pov, because picking a song based on my age feels appropriate (and I’ve actually heard of her…)
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Jun 9, 2021 03:25
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in,
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Jun 23, 2021 00:17
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 Voted Most Likely to Survive the Apocalypse 1195 words Waves of sand rushed past our ship as we crossed the desert sea, carving a path to the outpost ahead, while Raven sent volleys of laser fire at our pursuers. ‘Bloody theatre kids,’ I hissed, pushing the throttle as we crested another dune. ‘Always making things dramatic.’ We’d crossed the badlands overnight to steal the capsule, a sacred cache from the Before Times that would provide crucial bargaining power for our clique. We’d thought our black ship, dresses, and eyeshadow would help make good our escape, but somehow the theatre kids had been waiting in the wings to chase us down. Worse, they’d allied with the robotics team, unmatched experts in post-apocalyptic warfare, whose drones danced between lasers and bore down with flames and spinning blades. ‘There’s too many of them,’ Raven cried. ‘Where’s the Bauhowitzer?’ We’d almost reached the outpost when the world shook and our ship heeled left, sand rushing up to meet us. My ears rang from what must have been a direct hit. Raven lowered her cannon and I followed her eyes to the smouldering remains of the engine, as a drone hovered triumphant with rockets trained on our deck. The smoke parted and the SS Scottish Play rolled over the crest, its captain Sara Lamont akimbo on its prow, decked out as if about to launch into Modern Major General. Theatre kids, I thought to myself. ‘And scene,’ she called out, hair blowing in the wind. ‘Gotta say, I really felt your dedication to the heist, there. Now, hand over the capsule, and we’ll let you get back to your angsty poetry or whatever-the-gently caress.’ ‘Over our dead bodies,’ I retorted. ‘Oh, sorry, your complexion confused me,’ she shrugged. ‘No matter. We’ve had a method actor on the inside. Raven?’ I looked over at Raven, who had thrown back her hoodie to reveal bright pink hair, and was halfway to their ship with the capsule. ‘Sorry, Mischa,’ she called back. ‘I think this was just a phase.’ ‘Raven’s always been a thespian at heart,’ Sara smirked, and hefted the capsule onto her ship. ‘This may have been her finest work.’ ‘Oh, I anticipated betrayal before it was cool,’ I smiled, and thumbed the emergency switch on my radio. ‘My real allies are … underground. You probably haven’t heard of them.’ The desert rumbled, sand sifting away from rising towers, which opened up to reveal original, old-world turrets restored by the hipster co-op. At once, the dozen turrets pivoted toward the Scottish Play, and I crossed my arms in triumph. ‘Hand it over and you’ll get away safely,’ I smirked. ‘We’re all about fair trade.’ ‘Ah, but you forget,’ Raven began. ‘We theatre kids have the ultimate tool at our disposal—deus ex machina. The God from the Machine.’ ‘Go on then,’ I said. ‘Pull your lever, get your dinky-arse angel with cardboard wings down here to sort things out.’ ‘No angels,’ Sara smiled. ‘But the voice of the people. The voice of the people whose first language is winning and whose second language is breaking things when they don’t win. I summon thee,’ she cried, throwing her hand toward the horizon, ‘Jocks Populi!’ There was a distant rumbling, and we watched countless mecha crest the dunes, advancing as surely as a quarterback lumbered to a table of cheerleaders. Each was sixty feet tall, clad in gold and navy chrome, and manned by absolute beefcakes — if the beef was fed pure testosterone and the cake was thrown into a volcano. ‘That’s your cue to surrender,’ Sara offered, raising an eyebrow. ‘Oh, gently caress off stage left,’ I glared, and threw my arm forward for the turrets to fire. The beefmechs rushed forward, all brawn and machismo, and my turrets met them with scathing incendiary rounds. Above, drones fired rockets into the fray, while the mighty Bauhowizter rose from the outpost, filling the sky with bullets. Amid all this, Sara raised her hands, as if summoning forth the very firestorm around us, and held the capsule aloft. ‘Call off your attack,’ she commanded, ‘and we may discuss some terms.’ ‘Like hell,’ I spat, and raised the laser cannon onto my shoulder. I squinted, took careful aim, and squeezed the trigger. The capsule burst open, scattering dozens of books across the sand and the scrap. I picked up the closest—the 1989 Yearbook, open to a double-page spread of prom night. My eyes went to a boy in a velvet tuxedo; and I saw myself in his eyes, his short cropped hair, the smile few others had seen. It took me a moment—I’d never seen my dad in anything but faded jeans and flannel. In one hand, he held a mask from the Phantom of the Opera. His other arm wrapped around the waist of an alabaster girl in black lipstick and eyeliner, who otherwise looked just like— ‘Holy poo poo,’ Sara gasped, over my shoulder. ‘That’s my mum!’ I looked up, met her eyes. ‘It’s a shame you didn’t follow suit, she looks hot,’ I said, and immediately regretted it. My cheeks burned and I hoped the foundation was enough to cover it up. ‘You’re not wrong,’ she smirked, plopping down beside me. I turned back to the page, looked at the couple. ‘A theatre kid and a goth,’ I mused. ‘“From forth the fatal loins…”’ Sara whistled, raised an eyebrow. ‘I reckon they just broke up the next year,’ she said. ‘But I appreciate the reference. We’ll work on getting more variety into your repertoire.’ We sat in silence for a moment, watching the others opening the yearbooks, pointing at photos, laughing among themselves. ‘I’m sorry I blew up your boat,’ she said. ‘I guess we thought the capsule might’ve had something valuable, something we could’ve used. Hardly seems worth all of …’ she waved her hand lazily around the field of smoking beefmechs and secondhand turrets, ‘… this.’ ‘I don’t know,’ I told her, ‘I’m glad we found these. I think we all forgot that, though we all have our differences, it’s important to understand we’re all in this crazy post-apocalyptic world together, and we need to set aside—’ I blathered, feeling cold sweat prickle my skin. Wow, I thought, black’s really not practical in the desert. ‘Oh, shut up,’ she said, and then her hand was on my neck, pulling me close to her. I could almost taste her lips; she reached to brush a stray hair from my face, and I closed my eyes— She pulled away, eyes wide, frantic. ‘Do you hear that?’ she asked, looking back over the dunes. ‘It sounds just like—’ I heard it then: drumming, incessant, coming closer. The dolorous bass of a horn section intermingled with the violence of cymbals, the lilting tones of woodwinds. We scrambled to our feet, she drawing a cutlass, me my revolver, and stood side by side to face the threat. ‘Music kids,’ she growled, and lowered the tip of her hat. ‘Never liked music kids.’ ‘Cry “havoc”,’ I intoned, steadying my revolver, ‘and let slip the dogs of war.’ ‘Send ’em to meet Bela Lugosi,’ Sara cried, raising her cutlass. She turned and grinned at me, and I smiled back.
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Jun 28, 2021 04:27
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Here, have some week 465 crits of varying quality and usefulness. Zurtilik - An Evening at Papa’s This is written decently enough, but it feels like the setup to a story that never really lands. You have characters, a setting, and some tension in that the daughter is clearly frustrated by her father’s dementia, but there’s no conflict or change from the beginning of the story to the end. Maybe — just spitballing — the father could be having difficulty looking after the dog while Maria’s not there, but reacts angrily when she suggests taking the dog away, and recounts some story about how the dog (or a past dog) was really important at one point in his life. Maybe he’s being sent to a nursing home that doesn’t allow dogs. As it is, everything feels a bit disconnected, as if the emotional weight of the piece is carried only by how much dementia sucks in general. (I’ve done similar in the past, so maybe I’m just sensitive to it.) Also, yours was the first submission by a long way, which makes it really hard for me to overlook a lot of mistakes and clunky phrasing that would have been picked up by an editing pass. eg “A middle aged woman sat on a couch several feet from the old man, her eyes darted over to the dog and then to the old man” has both repetition and poor grammatical structure. Anyway welcome to Thunderdome, this story wasn’t as bad as the above probably makes it sound, it’s a nice scene with realised characters, and definitely the bones for a decent story. Chairchucker - Everybody Wants to Be a Cat I enjoyed this story! I liked how Allegra’s transformation into a cat is handled with no explanation, and her biggest immediate concern is how to get dinner ready. I do think some choices act against this approach, though. “This had come as something of a shock to her” works as an acknowledgment that, hey, this wasn’t an expected transformation, but I feel it detracts slightly from the deadpan delivery. My biggest problem with this piece is just how the entire story hinges upon an unrealistically expository conversation. Which I think could work, as an escalation of over-the-top misogyny and disrespect, but the execution here doesn’t quite work for me. I think, on a re-read, this may be because we have no idea about Allegra’s character until Dirk tells us everything. Even just a line or two at the start that establishes her career ambitions and drive, and maybe a sense that she feels Dirk supports her, would help the later conversation land as a betrayal, and the comic escalation wouldn’t have to fight the exposition. MockingQuantum - Man’s Best Friend This story raises a lot of questions and doesn’t really answer any of them, so honestly I just felt really unsatisfied after reading it. I wasn’t necessarily expecting this whole mystery to be solved in a thousand-word story, but this feels too much like the setup for a longer story, rather than a neat little self-contained piece. Otherwise I thought the language was strong, if a bit detached, but that suits the tone of the story. I just kinda would’ve liked the story to start at the ending, here. Chernobyl Princess - Getting Over It This is a nice story and I enjoyed reading it. Is it pretty obvious what’s going to happen? Sure. Am I going to overlook that because it’s got a good dog in it? Absolutely. That said, the characterisation in this doesn’t ring true to me, in particular the line about everything falling apart without Carmen. I get the sense that the protag is the sensible one who was probably holding everything together long before they broke up, and I feel Carmen could have said much worse if she wanted to hurt the protag. Besides that, their relationship is a fairly well-travelled dynamic, and I would’ve liked to have seen something more of their characters, in particular some hint as to why they stayed together for so long if they were so incompatible. (Also, “I’d rather be a mess than a boring mess” doesn’t sit right with me, like she’s implying the protag is also a mess?) My Shark Waifuu - The Tale of the Ship’s Cat I think this is my favourite story of the week. It’s a nice story, has distinct characters, a solid arc, and a satisfying conclusion. I guess, if I was being super critical, I found it a bit odd that it would take the captain noticing the dark storm clouds for the crew to realise there was a storm coming? But I don’t know how I’d resolve that, and it doesn’t detract from the piece as a whole. Staggy - The Wizard’s Dilemma Finally, some wizards! I have no real problems with this story, but I feel it could probably be 1-200 words shorter without honestly losing much. The last line landed for me, but otherwise I feel it travels fairly recognisable fantasy-humour beats, without really expanding on the genre. I really, really liked your previous gnome / dragon story, and with only a hundred words between the two stories, I don’t think this story carries its wordcount as well. Actually, I lied: I do have an issue with the sudden shift in register between first and second paras. I get what you’re going for, but honestly this pivot from Serious High Fantasy to regular people talking feels kind of rote in a fantasy humour piece. Maybe this would have worked better for me if Arune had immediately assumed it was a curse and asked who he pissed off, and then we switch to “gently caress me” once Daverim admits he did it to himself. Right now the shift in register feels almost telegraphed by how ornate the first para is, so I don’t feel the shift has the impact it might otherwise. Black Griffon - Waves I dig the connection to the theme, with the cat and dog breeds providing her different identities, and I dig the line “dead as any other past” (but not enough for it to be repeated). Otherwise this doesn’t do a lot that other, similar stories haven’t. I’m not surprised by any of the developments in this story, which is a shame — I feel I’ve read and watched far too many stories about the double-crossing team-member who gets betrayed herself, and I was hoping for something more in this case. The scene where she makes her choice feels like it’s structurally important to seperate the surrounding scenes, but I don’t get any sense that this is a considered decision on her part. It just kind of happens and we move on. I think, overall, my biggest issue with this piece is just that we don’t get a whole lot of insight into the protagonist. She doesn’t do anything on her own volition until the very end, and we never get any real insight into what she’s thinking or why she’s betraying Gabriel. Without some sort of clear characterisation, all I can make of this story is, as above, the basic plot beats that are familiar to a lot of other stories. I’m a fan of heist stories and a sucker for double-crossings and betrayals, but I was just hoping for this story to wow me with something unexpected in the genre. t a s t e - Bashir on the Road to Gauda There’s a good story in here, but I found all of the trappings about his brother’s death and the framing as some sort historical piece distracting and unnecessary, and I found it very hard to get emotionally invested. I think it’s this biographical framing that most bothers me about this piece, both because it prompts a certain dry style that doesn’t really enamour me to reading it, but also because lines like “Bashir’s incredible feats would come later in his life” sap absolutely all of the tension out of the story. We now know Bashir will be safe for the rest of the story, because you’ve outright told us. It’s a shame this story doesn’t work for me, because you can definitely write, but I think you made some certain stylistic choices in this piece that worked against it for me. Taletel - The Curse Okay, I saw the ending coming a mile off, but maybe that’s just because of the flash rule. That said, you get in, you tell your story, you get out. I think my biggest issue is that the dialogue sounds too much like the characters are two improv students. Also: really not a fan of the last lines. Yeah, we got it, thanks. Beyond that, I’m a bit confused about where we go from here. So was this just a run-of-the-mill transformation that just happened to be triggered by a full moon, and the witch is replacing her lost cat? Or is this actually some kind of werecat situation and he’ll turn back into a man in the morning? I’m not saying you have to answer these questions in the story, but I think the impact of the ending changes depending on which of these you take to be true. Speaking of the ending: as I said before, it’s kind of telegraphed by the flash rule, which is no fault of your own, but I do feel that everything past “he grew silver whiskers on his cheeks” is just going through the motions. Perhaps you could solve both this and the above question by fading to black as soon as his transformation starts, and then ending with Sven seeing the crone in the market the next day with a familiar-looking cat, leaving the rest to inference. Thranguy - Ruins and Battlefields It took me a few reads to get into this piece, as I kept feeling as if I was missing out on some extra layer of meaning. (Or: how the prompt ties in to this? I’m still a bit lost here.) I think it’s a nice collection of scenes, with some nice characterisation early on, but nothing in here really pulls me in at an emotional level. Also, the style — especially in the first paragraph — honestly does as much as its can to push me away. “Soldiers may fight and struggle to survive, but they are far from here and scarcely notice the moment passing between two orphans in the wet mud bed of a crater from the early days, the early moments of the conflict” asks a lot of the reader for the second line in the story, but also just doesn’t make much sense. ‘Scarcely’ suggests to me they do notice the orphans, somehow. I really wanted to like this story, and I think either the prose improves immensely through the story or else I just got more accustomed to the style, but I don’t think I took enough away from this for it to be memorable. Everything’s a bit vague and indistinct, which reinforces that feeling above that I’m somehow missing out on something. Azza Bamboo - Disruption The juxtaposition between investment bankers and motorbike gangs is kind of amusing, but I think the story both relies on this inherent contrast too much, and also doesn’t really do enough with it. From the beginning, I was anticipating some kind of story where a roving gang of biker bankers were attacking IRS vans, but then we’re in a diner for some reason (that segue did not work for me at all) talking about cryptocurrency for some reason, and then a corporate imagineer shows up and challenges them to a race, for some reason (isn’t that a Disney thing?). I feel like there are too many ideas vying for attention here and you don’t properly commit to any of them, unfortunately. I dig the premise but you kind of lose me with this Dead Cat’s Ridge thing. Is this supposed to be some sort of metaphor for how cryptocurrency keeps rising and falling … ? Also, the ending lost its impact as soon as you talk about “the Goldwing” getting the shove it needed, as you hadn’t mentioned anything about a Goldwing in the story so far and I don’t know enough about bikes to know if that’s a Harley or the Valkyrie or what. (From context it’s clearly the Harley but it threw me a bit, wondering if I’d missed something.) rohan fucked around with this message at 04:54 on Jul 6, 2021 |
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Jul 6, 2021 04:41
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I’m in and will take a bird
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Jul 6, 2021 09:03
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 Master of Assassination (Majoring in Daggers) 1193 words Removed! rohan fucked around with this message at 00:45 on Jan 1, 2022 |
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Jul 12, 2021 07:16
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Week 467 - “Mystery” is a Seven Letter Word Alright you lot, I’ve just gone through years of prompts for inspiration, and apparently it’s been over seven years since someone’s made you all write mystery fiction? This week, I want you to write me a story that revolves around a mystery. Specific genre is up to you, as long as there’s a satisfying conclusion by the end. Because a lot’s happened since 2014 and you’ve all come to expect extra bullshit on top of a theme, and because I’ve got fond memories of playing scrabble on family holidays, your story must also draw inspiration from a seven letter word. You can choose this word, or I can choose it for you. (No plurals, proper nouns or acronyms.) You’ve got If this is all too pedestrian, ask for a flash and you’ll get an extra seven letter word and you’ll get three seven letter words and Entry deadline is 9pm Saturday AEST (UTC+10) Submission deadline is 6pm Monday AEST No erotica, political screeds, Google docs, poetry, fanfic, editing your posts. Sleuths rohan Uranium Phoenix curlingiron Suspects ZearothK - FASHION Chernobyl Princess - GAMBLER Chairchucker - CONCERT Zurtilik - VINTAGE, ROBBERY and MAGICAL (2000 words)t a s t e - VAGRANT Thranguy - DUNGEON MockingQuantum - SLEEPER Voodoofly - TOURISM sebmojo - SCIENCE, WORSHIP, FOREIGN (2000 words)Antivehicular - HYGIENE Taletel - ARCHAIC Dome Racer Alpha - COCAINE Dome Racer Sigma - COCAINE tuyop - INSIDER QuoProQuid - EXHIBIT, DEVOTEE, RIVALRYIdle Amalgam - TRIPLET Sailor Viy - CAVEMAN you? rohan fucked around with this message at 13:51 on Jul 18, 2021 |
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Jul 13, 2021 12:23
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ZearothK posted:In, gimme a word. Chernobyl Princess posted:I'm in, word please!
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Jul 13, 2021 13:28
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Chairchucker posted:word me
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Jul 13, 2021 13:45
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Zurtilik posted:Never done a mystery. They intimidate me. Give me a word!
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Jul 13, 2021 14:05
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Zurtilik posted:Actually I'm going to be a reckless fool and t a s t e posted:In, may I have a word? Thranguy posted:In, word
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Jul 13, 2021 15:47
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MockingQuantum posted:In, word please Voodoofly posted:Sure word me sebmojo posted:In toxx word
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Jul 14, 2021 01:00
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 Based on feedback, the wordcounts for this week have been increased.Regular entries can be up to 1500 words Entries with flash get an extra 250 words for 1750 words Those of you who have 2000 words total.
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Jul 14, 2021 02:25
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Taletel posted:In, and word. INSIDER
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Jul 14, 2021 02:33
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My Shark Waifuu posted:I enjoyed all of the stories, thanks for making my first week as a judge easy and fun! If you’ve become addicted to the power of judging, or if anyone else wants to give it a shot, a reminder there are still two open judging spots for this week  QuoProQuid posted:In, Idle Amalgam posted:In and word please
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Jul 15, 2021 00:22
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Signups are closed, rohan fucked around with this message at 13:49 on Jul 18, 2021 |
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Jul 17, 2021 12:05
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Submissions are closed. Can’t speak for the other judges, but I’ll crit any entries that appear between now and judging.
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Jul 19, 2021 09:35
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I suppose you’re all wondering why I called you here today… Week 467 Results This was a fun week to judge. A lot of mysteries and mysterious happenings, some good-old fashioned detective work, and more than a few murders. Us sleuths all found different suspects this week, but after some cross-investigation and careful consideration of the evidence, the results are in: Voodoofly - loving Tourists takes the loss. Zurtilik - Beyond the Vault and ZearothK - To Go are this week’s DMs. There were a lot of strong stories vying for contention this week, with four stories nabbing a HM: Sailor Viy - The Story of the Sealed Cave QuoProQuid - The Church Antivehicular - A Dirty Shame Thranguy - The Delve Finally, the win goes to Chairchucker for The Case of the Violist. Crits to follow. Chairchucker, the throne is yours.
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Jul 20, 2021 01:33
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Thunderdome Week 467 Crits Dome Racer Alpha - My name is Twist This is a very dumb story and it’s obvious you’re actually a really talented writer blowing off some steam, but y’know what? I think this is easily your best story so far. Is it a good story? No. Would it have been improved by a few rounds of edits and more than an hour’s writing? Also no. You know what you’re about and I respect that. God bless you, Dome Racer Alpha. God bless you, P. P. Weiner. Dome Racer Sigma - Misery Loves Company I enjoyed reading this! I like the premise, the subtle worldbuilding, the slow build-up of an actual mystery and the hints you drop through the story. Honestly, nothing about this story yells “gimmick account” at me, which is kind of frustrating, since I think if you’d actually spent more than a few hours’ writing this, it would have been greatly improved. This is a good first draft and I think we both know there’s a lot of potential for this to be better, which is why I’m a bit upset that it was just rushed out so quickly. And, let’s face it, it wasn’t even that quickly — Alpha probably would have lapped you in a real race. Specific crits: I think the reveal that Corrine07 is the Ghost could have been handled better. It’s obvious to us once she starts referring to the ghost as “she” (if not earlier), and it feels like a cop-out when we don’t see the protag’s eventual realisation. I feel like the entire second para, with the whole digression around Hell Ghosts arresting people, could be cut, and the segue of “So it’s pretty surprising when” is too far from the talk about the blizzard to have the impact it’s probably supposed to. Mostly, though: with a bit of work, this could have been a story on your main account. As much as I roll my eyes every time P. P. Weiner crashes his car through a wall, Alpha’s at least committing something to the gimmick beyond “write words fast”. Sailor Viy - The Story of the Sealed Cave This is a great story, and it’s got everything I was hoping for this week: a question, an obvious-but-wrong solution, a subtle foreshadowing of clues, and a satisfying reveal by the end. The setting is established well, the narrative framework is handled nicely, and there’s some lovely language throughout. That said, I would have loved to see more investigation and less deduction in this story, to make it feel more active and give Prsk something to do. Perhaps Prsk and Sekwe could investigate outside the cave, find the gap on the eastern side, and feel the wind blowing past them? Perhaps they could even find evidence of the fire. Right now it feels like Sekwe’s already solved the murder and is just asking questions to fill the time. Overall though, great work. I’d be happy to read the continuing adventures of Sekwe, the mystery-solving god, and Prsk, her long-suffering human mouthpiece. Voodoofly - loving Tourists I feel there are the bones of a good story in here. I like the tension between the old guard and the new residents, and I think it’s easy to relate to how neighbourhoods change over time. Right now there’s just a bit too much going on, and the mystery is handled more as an afterthought, and solved too neatly. One of my favourite things about Thunderdome is that it forces you to pare everything back to its core, and really question whether each line adds something to the story, or could be cut. As an exercise, I’d recommend trying to cut this back to, say, 1000 words. Do you really need all of these characters? Do you need the scene where he “officially meets his neighbours”? Also, the central question of this mystery story — “Why’s the Lurk on 14th?” — isn’t asked until 700 words into a 1500 word story. I think asking this question a lot earlier would help establish the mystery and set our expectations. Finally, the lack of attribution made the dialogue-heavy scenes really confusing to read. Maybe you could get away with this in smaller doses if we had better ideas about who the characters are; right now, though, it’d benefit immensely from a few mentions of who’s saying what. Chernobyl Princess - Non-Disclosure This is a solid story, if a little familiar. (Related: I like the “déjà vu” reference at the start.) Unfortunately, I’m left with questions that the story’s internal consistency doesn’t quite answer for me. Such as: if Jared’s memories of getting in were wiped each time, why could Arjun remember finding the gateway? Is it only because Jared had gotten in with a stolen keycard each time — in which case, what prompted his earlier visits? I do like the reveal at the end that this has happened multiple times before (“this will be the third time” should be “this is the third time”, though), but I feel that any story that involves memory loss like this runs the risk of falling apart with close scrutiny. Also, I found the line “you’ve realised by now, of course, that magic is real” a bit awkward since my mind hadn’t gone straight to “magic!”. I feel like a few more clues that something magical was going on would have helped. Also, possibly a formatting error, but I found the uses of double breaks weirdly inconsistent. Sometimes they indicated section breaks, sometimes they didn’t. It made it harder to read than it should have been. Zurtilik - Beyond the Vault Happy to see someone take on the challenge of the three flash words—and in the shorter wordcount, no less! Otherwise: this story was missing something, to me. I feel as if you took the prompt, thought of the first idea that came to mind (“it’s a ROBBERY where someone steals VINTAGES from a MAGICAL old man”) and ran with it. Which, okay. It is what it says on the tin. I think my biggest problem is that the story is basically just a retelling of that prompt, without something to surprise us and make the story your own. Questions to consider, if you wanted to continue working on this story a bit: * What’s so special about the safe? To me, it sort of feels like the safe is some kind of test, but I’d like to see some sort of hesitation on the protag’s part before he makes the decision to get it open anyway. * Who was the contact he was stealing the wine for? Was it actually the old man all along? * Outside of meeting the brief, what’s the significance of the wine? QuoProQuid - The Church This is lovely to read — really effective characterisation, an emotional core, and a well-realised setting. I particularly enjoyed the juxtaposition of this almost dreamlike experience—the mysterious singing carrying itself across the snow-covered town at midnight, a vaguely suspicious priest quoting poetry and inviting the protagonist to “be free from this agony”—with the stark reality of the ending, the reveal that it was just a tape player and some spotlights. There’s a strong emotional arc and a really haunting feel that follows me out of the story. Where this fell down, for me, is just the question of whether it’s a “mystery” or if it’s just mysterious. I can’t fault the story, it just wasn’t the week for it. ZearothK - To Go This is rough. Run-on sentences, inconsistent tone, attempts at humour that just fall flat. I’m really not sure what story you’re trying to tell here. On paper, “guy with ties to the occult tries to woo biker, gets involved in shady tailoring underworld, escapes using magic spiders” is an interesting story, but I can’t get invested in this world because I don’t really care about the characters, and the rules of the world aren’t well defined. I’m never really clear about the protag’s motivations, or his place in the world. Why is he working at a fast-food place if he has these magic powers? Why do they tie him up at the end? I feel like things just happen, but I’m never completely clear on why anything’s happening. Antivehicular - A Dirty Shame Hooray, a dead body! This is solidly written and hits all the beats. I like the inspiration from the prompt, and the early references to soil work well as clues. That said: the detectives don’t feel fully fleshed out, and I would have liked to see more characterisation in the story. Alison’s history comes up early but doesn’t lead to anything further, and Len just feels like a placeholder character, someone to provide the back-and-forth. I also feel that the ending doesn’t quite land for me, or at least, the final section needs a bit of work. You start off by saying “there was no reason for Alison to read the confession”, and a few paragraphs later I’m agreeing and wondering why you included it. I don’t think it added anything to the story, and think in its absence you could have expanded upon the more interesting elements of the investigation. Otherwise, a solid effort. Chairchucker - The Case of the Violist Hooray, a dead body … oh, wait. I really liked this! It’s light and comic, but the humour works. At first, I thought you were riffing on the fact that small country towns get smaller because people keep getting murdered, so the actual reveal at the end still took me by surprise. If I had to criticise anything it’s that the whole Hamlet thing probably could have been foreshadowed earlier, as an offhand comment. Thranguy - The Delve On a first read: I have no idea what just happened in the story, but I’m into it. On a re-read: yeah, still unclear, but still into it. Mostly I think there’s just too much happening in too short a word-count, and while I like the mystery around not knowing exactly what happened once they uncovered the chamber, I don’t feel that I know enough about what happened for it to have emotional resonance. There’s a lot of worldbuilding, and I think the parts about the maps and the Tricksters don’t add anything to the story, but I think it’s handled fairly well for a story this short — there are no huge chunks I’d skip over. This is a strong story that’s crying out for another thousand words or so. rohan fucked around with this message at 09:57 on Jul 20, 2021 |
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Jul 20, 2021 03:27
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Oh I am absolutely in, dealer’s choice of song.
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Jul 20, 2021 07:52
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yOL-EJZjmp0 The Princess and the Adventurer 5400 words or so, but who’s counting? Removed! rohan fucked around with this message at 00:47 on Jan 1, 2022 |
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Jul 26, 2021 08:12
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in, might come back for seconds later, but for now filling my plate with: Pizza! +300 words
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Jul 27, 2021 03:30
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Cake! (+600) Character Name: Falcon Friday (+300) K-Drama Trope: Love Triangle (+300) Theme: Opposites Attract, Character Archetype: Fae (+300) You must have a happy ending. (+100) One character is non-binary. (+100) Your story must start and end in the same location. (+100) You are limited to two locations. (+200) Gatecrashers From Another Dimension 1945 / 2000 words Removed! rohan fucked around with this message at 11:20 on Dec 31, 2021 |
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Aug 2, 2021 02:53
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Thunderdome Week 470: Thunderdorkroom Hello writer friends! And, if you clicked the link from the Dorkroom and found yourselves here, hello photo friends! Something the TD crew may not know is that before I doubled-down on writing bad words, I used to walk around and take bad photos. During this time, the Dorkroom provided a really For this week’s Thunderdome, I’d like to see how my writer friends fare with photos shared from my photo friends. There’s a thread in the Dorkroom where dorkroomers will post some photos for you to choose from. If you’d like to leave your inspiration to fate, let me know in the sign-up post and I’ll find you a photo to work with. If you’re a photo-er who wants to write, or a writer who wants to post up a photo, please feel free to do so but don’t pick your own photo to write about. In the spirit of this week’s cross-forum effort, the theme for this week’s stories is collaboration. You’ve got 1130 words, because that’s how much it costs to buy a goon-approved Chamonix 45N-2. If you , you can take 400 more words, because Portra 400 is the one true film.Signup deadline is 6pm Saturday AEST (UTC+10) Submission deadline is 6pm Monday AEST No erotica, political screeds, Google docs, poetry, fanfic, editing your posts. Judges rohan a friendly penguin Lily Catts Writers Chairchucker Taletel ZearothK Hawklad t a s t e Idle Amalgam MockingQuantum Thranguy flerp sebmojo Yoruichi Flesnolk … you? rohan fucked around with this message at 12:18 on Aug 9, 2021 |
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Aug 2, 2021 09:11
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Chairchucker posted:Gimme a photo Taletel posted:In, give me a photo. CodfishCartographer posted:
ZearothK posted:In, I'll take the photo. Hawklad posted:In and give me a photo, please! t a s t e posted:In, requesting photo and Idle Amalgam posted:IN! Photo and
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Aug 2, 2021 23:39
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MockingQuantum posted:In and a photo please
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Aug 3, 2021 04:22
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Thranguy posted:In, photo please VelociBacon posted:
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Aug 4, 2021 01:26
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flerp posted:in photo torgeaux posted:
sebmojo posted:Same
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Aug 5, 2021 23:31
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Quick reminder that sign-ups close in a bit over six hours, and there are still heaps of great photos in the Dorkroom thread to choose from.
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Aug 7, 2021 02:19
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Flesnolk posted:In, photo Signups are officially now closed, but because there are a lot of great photos that haven’t been assigned yet, I’ll allow late sign-ups for the next 24 hours or so on the condition that you select a photo yourself from a poster whose photos haven’t yet been chosen. There’s also one judging spot left, if anyone’s keen!
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Aug 7, 2021 09:59
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Pham Nuwen posted:Yeah I'll do it if nobody else has stepped up yet.
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Aug 9, 2021 00:49
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Submissions are closed. I’ll crit any redemptions that land before judgment.
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Aug 9, 2021 10:07
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Week 470 Results Small showing this week, which I’ll attribute to everyone being too full from cake to get off the couch and write their stories. Thanks all who did submit, and thanks again to the Dorkroom for supplying some great photos for people to write about! But how successful were these collaborations? Idle Amalgam - Lived In takes the loss. t a s t e - The Summit gets a DM. At the upper end of the scale, Chairchucker - I’m Hungry, But I Ain’t That Hungry Yet nabs the one HM this week. Finally, sebmojo - Flamingo dreams is the winner. Detailed crits to follow later today.
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Aug 10, 2021 03:25
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Aug 10, 2021 06:54
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Week 470 Crits flerp - The Hurt This is a sweet little story, and the innocence of the young narrator is an effective way to tell it. Otherwise: the brother doesn’t feel as active in this story, and I feel that there’s not really enough tension in the narrative for the emotional catharsis at the end to have the impact it otherwise should. We are talking about a story about domestic abuse from the perspective of a young child, so I’m not expecting you to go too heavy in that direction, but everything after the band-aid scene is just relayed back to us in a fairly rote fashion, and I would have liked to see more of how the brothers influenced the changes. Yoruichi - Because I Love You This is a nice scene, and there’s good characterisation and an emotional journey, but I can’t help but feel there’s more to this story, and to this relationship. You spend time early on adding some complexity to their relationship, with how she’s taking on more work and helping him with day-to-day tasks, but I feel that months after the argument they would have had a more in-depth conversation about it, rather than just “because I love you”. I can imagine that this, being a more intimate and personal scene, may have ended up as the instigator to more openness about their relationship post-accident, but by the end it’s just back to “because I love you” which is sweet but a bit unsatisfying. Also, I’m intrigued by “She hadn’t done this to him in a long time, not since...” Was the last time somehow responsible for the accident? Because I would read that story. MockingQuantum - The Attic Well, I am a sucker for “person spends time in attic looking through old photos after death in the family” stories, and I feel overall this story has some good emotions, without getting too saccharine. That said: the dialogue here is incredibly wordy, and carrying a lot of the characterisation and exposition, even when not strictly necessary. Take this excerpt: quote:“You don’t have to stay here, buried away with all this stuff. We can sell the house. I think Dad expected us to sell. The place is falling apart.” I looked pointedly around the crumbling attic, with its torn insulation and cracked gable windows. I feel you could easily remove “The place is falling apart”, as the next line implies as much to the reader, and there’s no reason for the protagonist to be telling Emily if it’s that obvious. Yes, this breaks the segue to the next para, but nothing a quick revision there wouldn’t also fix. There are a few other examples of this, where the dialogue is just saying too much that could be implied or described otherwise. Also, the story falls apart a bit around the “twist” that this is all actually the protagonists’ memory and now it’s the future and they’re there after Emily’s death. I found the blocking in the reveal unnecessarily confusing — first Emily and the protag are hugging, and then the protag’s turning around to see Neil, but in my head they’re still hugging Emily and it takes longer than it should for the reveal to hit. I do like the reveal at the end, and the time jump works for me, but the execution is lacking. Hawklad - Effluence There’s some really effective description here, and the world feels real and lived-in, but I’m honestly not sure how much of this is just due to some good use of the photo inspiration. The story could probably have benefited from a few extra hundred words, to be honest. I thought the worldbuilding was effective enough and you were minimal enough in your exposition that I never felt bored or overwhelmed by what was happening, but the actual story — girl goes to a riverbed, finds a robot, takes robot home — doesn’t leave much for her to do, and the decision is an easy one. Even just some hint as to how the robot had arrived there — did it have anything to do with the raid the previous night? — would have helped add some extra depth to the story. t a s t e - The Summit This story is all about the characters, and they’re established well with good dialogue and a consistent narrative tone, but I think the story is cheapened by what I’m taking to be an attempt at a twist at the end. Mostly, it comes down to a question of emphasis. The story draws out the whole scene with the shirt, which works for characterisation, but doesn’t add much to the rest of the narrative, and the ending is both a “reveal” and also a bit of a letdown after some interesting character work. Is it even meant to be a reveal? It feels as though we were supposed to think the characters were all much older the whole time, but honestly my reading was that they were older teens or lower 20s at most, so it doesn’t feel as much of a surprise at the end. Idle Amalgam - Lived In This was a week where no stories were truly awful, and I can imagine any number of weeks where this wouldn’t have even been a DM. There’s nothing truly bad here, and for the most part I enjoyed reading it — the characters are pretty unlikeable but that seems the point, and there’s some visceral horror toward the end which is polarising but effective. Unfortunately, it’s not without its faults, and they were enough to land it the loss this week. First, the story suffered from our own expectations about what would happen once Derek went into the basement, and I’m not convinced it did enough to either satisfy or subvert them. Second, the very last line broke the whole story for me (well, the last word, really). Shouldn’t it be “Derek […] was calling her”, given that the call is coming through to Kayla’s phone? I’m honestly not sure how to parse the ending, even without that error — it kind of feels like you were half-going for a “Kayla thinks Derek is an impostor!” ending, which isn’t really supported by her actions. But I can’t see how else to read it, and it just falls flat. Thranguy - Owls and Matchsticks Solid writing, good dialogue, and a story that peters out toward the end. Everything here is serviceable. It’s fine. I don’t personally like the voice of the narrator, but I can’t argue it’s effective and consistent. That ending, though — once again, I feel like I’m missing something, some hidden layer of meaning that would give it more resonance, but maybe it’s just a story about a wooden owl and a bunch of matchsticks. It evaded the DM because I do like what you’ve got here, and there are enough good parts to forgive a slightly flawed whole, but I can’t help but wonder why you left so many words on the table for a story with such a rushed ending. Chairchucker - I’m Hungry, But I Ain’t That Hungry Yet For a story that’s largely dialogue, this is, I think, surprisingly structurally sound, and there’s a good sense of momentum, of set-ups paying off, of expectations being subverted, that many stories this week tried to do with much less success. We know something’s happened early on — probably the car park being empty is the first clue — and then it’s a nice surprise when it turns out Jack is actually the zombie. Is that twist enough to carry an entire story? Maybe not. But, as above, it’s sound, with good dialogue and a consistent tone. sebmojo - Flamingo dreams This is beautifully written, all mood and ambience, with a sense of deeper meaning and metaphor that makes me want to get further into the story. I enjoy that the dreamscape feels more real than the actual story, which has an ethereal quality, a world outside of time, that lives by its own logic. Which brings me to the one negative about your story: “A week later they were still sitting in the lounge”. This reference to a week passing was enough to pull me out of the story, and made me question far more mundane details — eg, what were they eating for two weeks? how had it been raining for so long without anything progressing? — for no benefit to the story. If you’d cut this I would have stayed in the moment for far longer, which was especially crucial at the end of the story. (Okay, I lied: the other negative is “hearing the creak of plastic and the pressure bright feathered wings” which I still don’t understand as a sentence, but this far in I’m feeling pretty forgiving and it’s honestly kinda poetic.)
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Aug 10, 2021 12:22
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First line: The first day I met my future self, I was aboard the old dirigible that lay in wait for me on the far side of the moon. The Process of Separation 1153 words The first day I met my future self, I was aboard the old dirigible that lay in wait for me on the far side of the moon. He looked like the simulation had predicted: skin paled by years of lunar living, thin hair retreating from a creased forehead, cheeks hollowed and scarred; but still, unmistakably, me. His eyes — my eyes — watched as I entered the hold and sat in the chair opposite. ‘Lunar Timeline one-three-seven,’ I announced, adjusting my lapel mic. ‘Session one. Attendants: Jay Kent, age 37—’ ‘And Jay Kent,’ future-me continued, ‘age 52.’ I looked across the chrome table at him; clad in the orange jumpsuit of the prison timeline, shackled hands resting in his lap, his expression impassive. I tried to imagine how I’d feel, if the events of my own timeline had led to this moment. Tried to anticipate what emotions lay behind the stoic facade; tried to imagine how different we really were, under the surface. ‘Do you know why I’m here?’ I asked. ‘I know what you’re here to do,’ he said. ‘But you’re a damned fool for getting talked into this.’ ‘I came here willingly,’ I told him. ‘Jesus, you are young,’ he scoffed, a familiar smile playing on his lips. ‘“Willingly”. I suppose you also gave “informed consent” before taking the portal to this timeline. You know how many people never get back?’ ‘Rich of you to talk about risks,’ I said, frowning. ‘Only one of us has a death sentence.’ ‘So far.’ I met his gaze and held it, before resting my hands, fingers laced, atop the table between us. ‘Let’s talk about what happened after Calypso,’ I said, keen to get the session back on track. ‘It would help to establish when we diverged.’ ‘When we diverged,’ he echoed, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest. ‘Somewhere between Calypso and you being a crony for the federation, I suspect.’ I leaned forward, steepling my hands under my chin. Roderick, my liaison, had told me to expect digressions, tricks, and mind games; but I was to hold firm against them. If anyone could get into the head of my future self, he’d said, it would be me. Eventually, every future self would fall to the younger. ‘In my timeline,’ I told him, ‘I’m a decorated soldier. Happily married, five-year-old son, on the fast-track to becoming an airship captain. I’m here for the citizens of my station, yes, but I’m also here for me. What could happen that would make someone like me plot to destroy station X-23?’ ‘You’re a lucky man,’ he said, leaning forward to mirror my pose. His restraints shone in the overhead light. ‘But what’s more fragile than good fortune?’ I didn’t say anything; just watched and waited, as the academy had instructed. I wondered, briefly, if he’d also received the interrogation training in his own timeline. Our intelligence hadn’t been able to trace his timeline after Calypso, but that wasn’t too surprising: my own timeline heavily obscured my identity, as it did for any soldiers deployed during the Lune–Deimos conflicts. In the absence of any contact from future timelines, we’d all assumed that my alternate future selves had all perished in the conflict, and that my timeline alone had survived. Which is why it was so surprising when a timeline sent a distress call last month, advising that somebody matching my own genetic makeup had led a failed terrorist attack on their timeline’s largest station, waving the flag of Deimos. Future-me raised an eyebrow, sat back in his chair. ‘What do you think they’d do,’ he asked, nodding his head toward the one-way glass, ‘if you weren’t able to get anything out of me? Do you think they’d promote you to captaincy if they knew you were capable of this in another timeline?’ ‘I—’ The ship shook suddenly, and I was thrown from my chair to land on the cold floor. Future-me stayed seated, an arch smile playing on his lips, as if he’d been anticipating this. Because of course he had, I realised. Future-me stood and walked over, kneeling down to look me in the eye. Outside, I heard voices shouting, the ring of boots across the deck, sporadic gunfire. ‘You asked when we diverged,’ he said. ‘The truth is that we never diverged. Everything I’ve done — everything I’ve become — was just a way to get you here.’ ‘What for?’ I asked, stupidly. ‘It’s been fifteen years,’ he rasped, leaning forward. ‘Fifteen years away from Charlotte. Fifteen years away from Patrick. But there’s still time,’ he continued, smiling. ‘There’s still time for me to be his father.’ The door hissed open and three people entered, all wearing red jumpsuits with black gloves to elbows and black leather boots. Pirates. The captain, her long hair falling over a metal eyepatch, holstered her pistol and approached. ‘Jesus, Jay,’ she started. ‘I forgot how young you used to look.’ One of the pirates approached future-me and bent down to unlock his restraints. Future-me stood and rubbed his wrists, looking down at me with an expression I barely recognised. ‘We can’t secure the portal forever,’ the captain said, looking at us both. ‘Jays, if you have anything to say to each other, now would be the time.’ ‘I hope you can forgive me,’ future-me said. ‘I think, eventually, you’ll understand why I’m doing this.’ ‘No—’ I start, lifting myself up. ‘You can’t—’ But he was already leaving, walking out toward the deck, where the portal I’d used to come here would still be active. The portal back to my own timeline. The portal back to my own life, my own Charlotte, my own Patrick— ‘Now,’ the pirate captain said, turning to face me, ‘you have a choice. You can stay here,’ she waved her hand over the railing, ‘on the moon in the prison timeline, or you could go back to our old timeline, and join our crew.’ ‘I’ll never join the Deimons,’ I spat. ‘I’d rather die here than raise a hand against my own people.’ The pirate captain knelt down before me, taking my chin in her hand. ‘I’d forgotten you had such spirit,’ she smiled. ‘Listen carefully. I’m going to think you’re a spy, when we first meet. I’m going to try to kill you. More than once. But eventually you’ll gain my — our — trust. Eventually you’ll learn to fight like the best of us. And then, only then, will you be rewarded.’ ‘Why would I fight for you?’ I asked; but I already knew the answer. ‘You won’t fight for us,’ she said. ‘You’ll fight for your son. And the chance to see him again.’ *** The first day I met my past self, I was aboard the old dirigible on the far side of the moon.
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Aug 16, 2021 04:49
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Everything You’ve Been Missing 1298 words Removed! rohan fucked around with this message at 12:06 on Dec 31, 2021 |
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Aug 23, 2021 04:54
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