Critiques are going out, slowly but surely. My apologies if you haven't heard back from me yet-- I'll get to you in the next few days.
At 11/6/13 02:19 PM, Fat-Footy wrote:At 11/6/13 10:25 AM, RIGg0rMORtis wrote:Please on which hour, I posted a story and I would like to be updated about the progress, but its kinda horror comedy one :D
Winners later today!
Winners have been posted here:
WINNERS:
1. Reptyle - "Minutes from October 3rd" - $50 Store Credit
2. SirThighpiece - "In Bacchus We Trust" - $40 Store Credit
3. OptimisticOctopus - "ROOM" - $30 Store Credit
Very Honorable Mention - EKublai - "Dirty"
Big, big thank you to everyone who participated! We had a great turn out, and I hope to see you all at the next contest (more on that soon). Also direct some good vibes towards DeftAndEvil, who was a total pro with his judging.
If you submitted a story and would like an in depth critique, please send me a PM and I'll get back to you ASAP.
See you all soon, and happy writing!
At 11/6/13 02:39 AM, DeftAndEvil wrote:
If you'd really want a good in depth review I'd be happy to oblige. Jast0n contacted me to give him some advice and I gave him 7 decent sized paragraphs of review and advice. If anyone wants to know why their story got the score it did, or if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask either rigormortis or myself, or post it here.
I second this! If you want me to write up a long-ish critique of your story, just send me a PM.
Winners later today!
UPDATE! Winners will be announced tomorrow!
Thanks to everyone who participated! This was a great turnout. Due to the large number of last minute entries, it'll take a few days to get the results together. Stay tuned!
Without giving too much away: keep an eye out for November's writing contest! :)
At 10/27/13 11:37 PM, DeftAndEvil wrote:
Expect them within 1-2 days (at least that seems to be what riggormortis has implied).
That's the plan! ALSO! Expect a new contest announced early November. I have something in mind I think the writing community will like.
I see we already have a few entries! I'm glad to see people are enthusiastic. However, the deadline isn't for another few weeks. Make sure to proof read, edit, and revise! This isn't a race-- you don't get bonus points for finishing quickly. The longer you work on your story, the better it'll end up.
Above link is incorrect: contest can be found at http://www.newgrounds.com/bbs/topic/1351719
DISCUSSION THREAD:
http://www.newgrounds.com/bbs/topic/1351720
Good luck!
Contest thread: http://www.newgrounds.com/bbs/post/topic/18
Questions, comments, and discussion about the contest can be posted in this thread. Good luck!
++ ENTRY THREAD ++
DO NOT DISCUSS THE CONTEST IN THIS THREAD. ALL QUESTIONS, CONCERNS AND COMMENTS GO IN THE DISCUSSION THREAD: TO BE POSTED BELOW
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Welcome October 2013's Monthly Writing Contest: - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - HALLOWEEN - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Help Newgrounds celebrate Halloween by writing a horror story!
Horror is a broad and diverse genre, covering science fiction, the supernatural, and the real world. These stories range in scale from cosmicto the terribly familiar. They can inspire dread, panic, and even a few laughs.
The point is, horror is a big space to work in. Anything that you find eerie, terrifying, or anxiety inducing is inspiration for a great story. Fear is an experience we all share. Show us what scares you!
RULES
Please read the rules carefully!
1) Your story must NOT exceed 4000 words.
2) Story must be your original work.
3) Story must be submitted by the deadline below
4) You must follow the "Submitting" roles posted below
DEADLINE: 11:59PM October 31st 2013, Newgrounds time
PRIZES
1st place: $50 Store Credit
2nd place: $40 Store Credit
3rd place: $30 Store Credit
SUBMITTING
1) Post your story in this thread.
2) Do NOT post a link to your story on your user page, or anywhere else. The story must be submitted in this thread.
3) If your story is too long to fit in one post, split it up into multiple posts.
4) Submit only one story
JUDGING
If you want to help judge the contest, send me a PM!
Judges are permitted -- and encouraged! -- to submit stories, but to keep things fair, they will not be eligible for prizes.
TIPS AND TRICKS
Proof read your story! There’s no excuse for spelling mistakes when so many resources are available. www.thefreedictionary.com is a great start. If your computer doesn't have a word processor with a spellchecker, consider using google docs.
Creativity will be rewarded! Think originally. Like any genre, horror is filled with overused conventions. Avoid tired cliches and tropes.
Hyperviolence is not necessarily great horror! Violence can obviously be useful to a story, but just because a story is super gory doesn't mean it's scary (or good). Focus on characters, not bloodshed.
Check out the account Lit101for writing advice!
Update: I heard back from Tom, contest is a go! I'll be posting the details later today.
At 10/8/13 11:15 PM, OptimisticOctopus wrote: Is there not gonna be one of those this year? Because that would make me a sad panda.
I've been planning on organizing one. I just sent a PM to Tom about a front page post mention and some potential prizes, so watch the writing forum for a contest announcement soon!
At 10/1/13 04:16 PM, mhzinski wrote: Can we just admire how bad of an idea this was?
Heh, fair enough.
What do people think about an October writing contest, maybe with a horror theme for Halloween? I know it's not the most original idea, but it would get people interested and tie it in with NG's larger Halloween events.
So, there's about an hour and a half to go before the end of the contest and there don't seem to be any submissions. I've been working on something for this contest that I'm pretty excited about, but it's not quite done yet and I don't want to rush it to get it in before the contest deadline.
Would the contest organizers be up for delaying the deadline another week or two?
It's definitely not impossible to write a 2000 word story in 1-2 weeks, and I'm sure if we get a front page mention from Tom and rebrand the contest as an FFA in terms of, "Pick one of these three topics and write a story!" (the three being 4ur's "no 'e'" restriction, RedXBlood's "New ID", and starwarsjunkie's "The Unseen") there'd be a decent turnout.
What do you think?
At 8/7/13 03:37 AM, Deathcon7 wrote: Best Reviewer Award goes to mhzinski. His contributions went above and beyond what was expected of any participant or critic. His effort equaled that of the judges, with clear and constructive critique.
Hear, hear! In addition to his initial review, mhzinski was generous enough with his time to respond to a number of follow-up questions I had over PM's. Thanks again, dude!
Lot of good info here!
In lieu of a sticky post, it'd be a good idea to link to this thread in the MWC posts and any other big contests so people's writing looks nice and professional.
"Analogies"
Part 3 of 3
"With all the difficulties your team encountered, did it ever seem like this research might prove impossible?"
I'm silent for half a minute or so. I've rehearsed the answer to this question in my head ever since Dale stuck his head into my office and told me to expect a call from a journalist the Institute had vetted.
I begin slowly. "Analogies are something our professions have in common. Both of us need to explain concepts to an audience unfamiliar with them. The easiest way to do so it through the lens of the familiar."
"Very true."
"Scientific phenomena are almost always easier to grasp as analogies. J.J. Thomson described the atom as a plum pudding, Bohr said it was like a solar system, and Schrodinger said it was like a cloud. Something unfamiliar -- atomic structure -- is understood through familiar, everyday objects.
I start to pick up speed. "This kind of thinking, however, enters our speculations as well. Popular representations of extraterrestrials follow this. 'Aliens are like us but more technologically advanced, less emotional, less irrational, less warlike, et cetera.' But this assumes the common ground on which to build the analogy.
"To me, it seems like a failure of imagination to assume any meaningful resemblance. Would they have language as we understand it? Civilization? Emotions? Culture? Would they experience time the way we do? Our movies, books, television, they all take this for granted. Aliens, they say, will look like us, think like us, feel the way we do, with only a few funhouse mirror distortions. It's like how we anthropomorphize everything from dolphins to cockroaches. But what if our basic structure of consciousness, our understanding of reality, was so different as to make communication possible? Look at individuals with severe autism or schizophrenia-- communication can be nearly impossible."
It suddenly occurs to me that she hasn't been writing for some time. In my limited experience with the media, I've learned that a reporter that isn't writing is a reporter that's lost interest.
I force myself to say, "Take me, for instance."
Ever so quietly, I hear her sit up straighter.
"I can memorize dictionaries, encyclopedias, textbooks on the biology, psychology, and philosophy of sight, but I will never truly understand it. The gulf between my understanding of it and reality is too far to bridge. So much of our culture, our civilization, can't get over that gulf. this world wasn't designed for me, for my experience."
The pen begins scribbling again.
"Of course, I can adapt. I can compensate with things I've been taught or figured out. Which I will be more than happy to enumerate later," I say, cutting her off before she asks. "The point is, I don't have sight, but there's more than enough common ground for me to participate in society. A huge part of that common ground is human cognition. I might be down a sense, but I still think and mentally experience things the same way as everyone else.
"But our cognition is laden with eons of evolutionary baggage, and every aspect of our civilization, every institution that seems so insanely complicated and unlikely, from art to language to the stock market, are tinted, if not molded, by that baggage. The smallest adaptation can have consequences we literally can't imagine.
"The bottom line is that our particular form of consciousness, everything that makes a human human, is the result of evolutionary pressures. There's nothing to stop a different intelligent organism to evolve a consciousness so different from ours to render any meaningful contact impossible.
"And yet," I say, tapping my knuckles on the desk, "And yet, analogies still happen. Birds, bats, and insects all evolved flight. Mammals and squids evolved almost functionally identical eyes independently from scratch. Humans and certain species of ants evolved farming. So why not consciousness? Not something exactly the same-- a bee's wing is awfully different from a sparrow's-- but something close enough. Analogous."
The pen scribbles away.
"My greatest hope," I say, "is that Kurt and I will have enough common ground to connect, to understand each other, the way I can with you."
"Do you think that will happen?"
I force a smile.
"I'll find out tomorrow."
V - Results
I lie in bed awake. Jack sleeps next to me. I'm so tired I can't fall asleep. The recording has long since played to the end. The storm's over, but I'm still awake.
For more than half my life, I've lived in analogous homes, lived with analogous families. You learn that an analogy is never, never close enough. Language falls short. Fails. But it gives you a choice: you can give up, disappointed, or you can keep looking.
"Analogies"
Part 2 of 3
III - Observations
At 0700, Jack and I arrive at Observation. Delancey is manning the array of closed-circuit television monitors. I hear his chair swivel as we we walk in. "Dr. Crane!" he says in greeting, his cheer hitting me like a sunlamp. "Dr. Blake!" he says to Jack. "How's it going, boss?"
"How's everyone doing today?" I ask.
"Pretty good," he says, turning back to the monitors. "Everything looks about normal. Adam, Calvin, Dolores, and George are having some kind of powwow in the main enclosure, but it looks pretty relaxed. Betty, Edwin, and Felicia are doing some strength training in the rec room. Ian was in medical for a few hours, 0200 to about 0430, but he looks fine now. Dropped a food crate on his foot, but Dr. Haddock says he looks fine."
When he yawns, I can smell cigarettes and the coffee that's been keeping him up all night. "Helen and Julia are doing some reading -- their stuff, none of ours -- and Livia is doing whatever they do in room B. That leaves our guy Kurt," he says, a smile entering his voice, "who's been prepping for his big date with Dr. Crane for six hours straight."
"Attaboy, Kurt," Jack says. "What about you, how are you holding up?"
Delancey yawns again. "Well, I can't lie. This is all getting to be a little less than exciting. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate this is really special and all. But eight hours straight, seven days a week is a little too special, you know? Like lobster and caviar three meals a day."
"Seeing anything like this first-hand means sitting through everything too boring to show on the evening news," I say.
"Exactly, exactly," he says, taking a slurp of coffee. "Listen, I watched Neil Armstrong and them on the moon, same as everybody. You couldn't get me away from that set for nothing. What would've been less interesting is watching them play cards and pick their noses on their way up there. Know what I mean? It must be like, whaddyacallit, one of those reality shows before they take out all the boring stuff."
He takes another sip from the mug and sets it down on the console. "But hey, big doings tomorrow, right, Dr. Crane?"
I smile. "I can't promise anything too exciting."
"And speaking of the evening news, that reporter is getting cleared for entry downstairs at security."
My smile suddenly feels a little brittle. "Thanks for the heads up, Delancey."
Delancey pats my arm as he turns back to the monitors. "Good luck tomorrow. I'll be up here rootin' for you. Knock 'em dead."
"Good talking with you," I say as Jack slaps Delancey on the back.
"Always a pleasure, doctors."
IV - Discussion
0830 finds me in my office in the Linguistics center, seated across from reporter Janice Tan. The smell of her perfume mingles with the espresso I had a lab assistant make for her. This is the third time we've met.
"So, last time we talked," she says, flipping the pages of a notebook, "you laid out the work your team has completed to date, from language structure, to semantics, to translation. Care to add anything to your description?"
"Just a reiteration of my appreciation and respect for my team. Those first years were rough, but I really have to hand it to them for hanging tough while laying the groundwork."
"Not exactly low-hanging fruit?"
"Absolutely. Like I said, we had more false starts than I can count. But really, for linguists of a certain mind, this was a dream job come true. Totally undescribed language studied completely from scratch? It's the Everest of language studies, and I had the best team for the job. And of course, we can't claim all the credit here-- we were lucky to have brilliant minds coming at this from the other side."
"They've been helpful?"
"Absolutely. They've been working at this just as hard as us, if not more so, and with a fraction of the resources and manpower."
"Twelve, correct?"
"Yes, twelve. Once they had the habitat finished, they just launched themselves at this. They've all been just incredible."
"They set up the habitat themselves?"
"It was a joint effort, but they did most of the work. There were a number of design considerations that we really couldn't predict, so we handed it over to them. From what I've heard, it's quite a remarkable space."
"Have you been inside it?"
"Not yet, no. They have their own atmosphere set up, so it's a bit of a to-do to get in there. Although, from what I've gathered, I'd find it quite amenable."
"How so?"
I kick myself for letting that slip. "Well, it's a space not just with considerations for sightlessness, but one whose design and construction are rooted in a sightless mindset. Nearly all man-made buildings consits of rooms with long sight lines across mostly empty space. That this volume is easily navigable strongly assumes one can take advantage of those sight lines. However, it's clearly the wrong way to go when one's navigation is dependent on touch."
"As is the case with your visitors?"
"Exactly. Their architecture, as far as we can tell, simply doesn't have the expansive, open spaces found in ours. While a sighted person finds them pleasing, they're totally impractical to someone feeling their way through the environment."
She writes for a few seconds. I've noticed her note-taking increases whenever blindness is mentioned. I don't hold it against her.
"Not to sidetrack, but if you could just quickly explain the names?"
"Yes, sure. We initially referred to them by number, but if you work together as long as we have, that starts to feel a bit impersonal. Their actual names... well, names would take a while to get into, but safe to say, the names they use would be difficult for us to really understand and impossible to pronounce. So at an Institute meeting a few summers back, we worked out twelve names. Our chief anatomist, Dr. Blake, believes they're hermaphrodites, so we alternated male-female."
"Like hurricanes."
I laugh. "It's unflattering, I suppose, but yes, that's true."
"So, this half-decade or so of collaboration is coming to a kind of climax tomorrow, correct?"
"We believe so, yes."
"Could you explain what you feel the significance of this event is?"
"Well, it's more symbolic than anything else. The higher-ups like to bill it as the first communication ever between a human and an extraterrestrial, but we've been communicating ever since our first contact with them. Naturally, those first interactions were crude, to say the least. It was more like an extended, top-secret game of charades than an ecstatic moment of cosmic contact."
She laughs. "But you feel that a spoken conversation is possible? That you've each reached that level of fluency?"
"That's our hope, yes. I should make it clear that, despite all the progress we've made, we've only begun to scratch the surface. We've built our way up from nothing, but there's still a long way to go. The conversation tomorrow is going to be a simple one at best, but it could open the way to learning about their species."
"Analogies"
3101 words
Part 1 of 3
I - Methods
150 ml of wine consumed at a rate of approximately 20 ml per minute metabolized by a 59 kg female produces a BAC with negligible impact on proprioception, the sense of the relative positions and movements of one's limbs. This sense is essential for executing actions and motions involving limbs that one is, for whatever reason, unable to see. (Hence the "close your eyes and touch your nose" field sobriety test administered by U.S. highway patrol.)
Endogenous, i.e., internally, willfully guided auditory attention in a complex scene is loosely analogous to tuning a radio with a three dimensional dial. Unique vocal signatures both ID known speakers and tag unknown persons for future reference. The aural chaos of a crowded space, regardless of its complexity, can always be reduced to its constituents.
Individuals are quickly located in space with respect to the listener. E.g.:
Clayton's non-Rhotic New England speech 3.5 meters out at 3 o'clock; Haddock's honking Canadian Goose laugh four meters out at 7 o'clock; Nguyen's spray bottle plosives 2 meters out at quarter to 11; Schneider's lateral lisp six meters due right every time he my name comes up in his conversation with Singh; Dale's showstopper sneeze going off like a concussion grenade dead ahead; the double thunderclap of Brody's three drink double backslap at 4:30, the resonance of which suggests patient, barrel-chested Twomey as the recipient; etc., etc.
Signatures are integrated into a coarse mental reproduction of the scene. Continued attentive listening (disguised, say, as intent rummaging through one's purse) can bring the reproduction into sharper resolution.
Finally, with focused attention, the locations of present individuals can be abstracted to a two-dimensional coordinate plane defined by the layout of the room (the approximate size of which, if unknown, is determined by: 1. the level of reverb; 2a. the size of the crowd and 2b. the estimated crowd density in persons/square foot; 3. the most distant discernable voice when standing at the bar) that is independent of the listener and, if periodically updated, allows for free movement and interaction.
And thus, a research faculty party can be, if not enjoyed, at the very least functionally attended.
II - Abstract
I get away from the party around 0130. The halls of the Institute are empty; my footsteps are the only sound I hear as I make my way to the elevators. I've had enough time here to learn my way around the winding floorplan, and despite a dull, cottony feeling of exhaustion in my head, I find the elevators without any trouble.
I get off on the faculty housing floor and enter my room. I kick off my heels, take the sound system's remote from the night table, and dial in a track. I put the remote back in its spot and curl up on the bed.
The speakers are silent for a few seconds. Then, the first drop hits. It's a big one, right on the skylight like someone tapping their fingernail against the glass. The drop is followed by another, then another, and then the sky opens up and lets loose. Drops batter the skylight, drum on the roof shingles, ping off the gutters. They slap the leaves on the tree outback, rattle the roof of Dad's Oldsmobile, thump the roof of Maxie's doghouse, splash in the big puddle that always forms in the driveway.
Listening to the rain, I let my understanding of room around me melt away; it's like relaxing your brow after having it furrowed all night. The walls and floor float away out of reach, furniture vanishes like ice cubes melting in your fist. The hallway outside falls away like a sinking submarine. Soon, the whole facility fades away like a dream at morning. I lose myself in space. There's a stomach-flipping instant of disorientation, but it passes. Soon, there's nothing but the sheets underneath me and the rain.
A familiar place comes to fill the void. The cotton sheets I'm lying on become the ones I laid out on the bed with Mom every laundry day; the floor reappears as hardwood planks with worn varnish whose texture my feet learned so well; the old walls position themselves with stately calm, lined with the wallpaper Mom and Dad let me pick out at the store by touch. I let myself believe it. I let my brain be tricked. For one moment, one instant, I'm sure I could reach out and feel that wallpaper pattern one more time; then the moment's gone so quickly it might have not happened at all except for the homesickness it left behind like a lead weight in my chest.
Jack enters the room after a half hour or so. He sits down on the bed and eases across the mattress so his body is flush with mine, his chest against my back. He wraps an arm around me and I lace my fingers with his.
We listen to the rain.
"I like this one," he says after a few minutes.
"My dad sent it to me spring of freshman year," I say. "It was the first good April shower."
A gust of wind sends a sheet of rain against the windows that sends goosebumps down my arms. A neighbor walks down the sidewalk with an umbrella.
"This is a huge step, Sara," he says. "For you, for your team, for this project... for everyone, really."
Dad sent me 32 tapes in all, recorded with his good microphone in my old bedroom. They've followed me from school to school, apartment to apartment. I know every drop by heart.
"We all know you're going to do great, Sara."
Your ambitions launch you so far from everything you knew that you can't slow down for a minute lest you realize what a long way you are from home, where your dad sat you on his lap at the window and told you that this one of so many maddening sounds was just a choir of voices, told you that when it felt like you were drowning under a waterfall of noise, all you had to do was learn those voices and pick them out, isolate and understand each element and how they came together; where you learned that there was nothing so complex you couldn't understand with time and patience, learned that complexity is just a lot of easy ideas put together. Home is where you learned that language gave those voices names. Home is where your dad took your hand and said, This is grass, This is mud, These are leaves; tilted your face to the sky and said, This is rain.
Congrats to all the winners, and big thanks to Writersblock for being generous with the prizes and, as always, 4urentertainment for organizing these contests!
Part 2 of 2
That night, the house began in earnest.
What happened in the following days is hard to remember. All he can summon are jagged shards of thought and disjointed images with the queasy, jumbled chronology of a nightmare: jolting from bed as the noise began, instantly deafening; huddling in the bedroom closet, clutching each other, limbs knotted; snarling saws; rending wood; pounding, demonic, constant pounding on all sides; hysterical, sob-choked breathing; the taste of sweat and tears; catatonic shock. All the while, the houseâEUTMs unseen hands plied their craft, the sounds of labor growing faint with distance as the house grew.
It's impossible to know how long they hid, but eventually, they realized that they no longer heard anything outside the closet. Eyes glassy and bruised with exhaustion, they emerged timidly as rabbits leaving their burrow, not knowing what they would find.
They found themselves at the center of a honeycomb. Unfamiliar doorways stood in every wall. Rooms radiated out in every direction with no end in sight. Holding each other, they walked into a newly built parlor off their kitchen, taking each step as if the floor might give out. A mirror hung above a handsome fireplace framed by two plush sofas. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. They could only gape.
With terror exhausted, their natural curiosity took hold and began to grow. They began to explore. Before long, they were racing from room to room like children in a maze, calling out to one another with each new discovery. What should stimulate curiosity if not the impossible? If this is what was meant to be, there was nothing to gain from trembling in a closet. The world had whispered one of its secrets to them. A strange terra incognita had revealed itself in their own home, and it seemed like madness to ignore it.
They quickly learned to not take chances by going off alone. Every day brought new expansions, new convolutions. Landmarks got swallowed up. There was a close call early on, a stomach-knotting hour of panicked searching before they found each other again. They promised to stay together and hold on tight.
He finds the room he heard from the dining room. There's a large bureau near the wall and a set of chairs with matching ottomans. He can't tell if he smells the faint musk of sawdust and wood stain, or just imagines he does. He's about to leave when a sheet of paper under the bureau catches his eyes. He gets down on his hands and knees to get it. It's a page from the unfinished manuscript. His eyes pass over the text like it's written in an unknown alphabet. Who wrote this? Who was he? How did he write so passionately about such things? The words are like the ashes left from a fire gone cold and gray. Things left behind from a miraculous moment irrevocably lost, impossible to remember. He finds a page every so often, pieces of the only thing he recognizes from before. The untameable mountain of pages they scaled each day together, diffusing throughout the expanding house, growing thinner and thinner until it disappears, undetectable, like a spray of perfume fading away. His eyes linger on a note written in red ink at the page's bottom. He's forgotten how to read her handwriting. Always teased her for her chickenscratch. Said he'd go blind reading it for the rest of his life. The page sails lightly to the floor, sliding out of sight back under the bureau as he heads to the next room.
He can't remember how her laugh sounds. He can't remember how her hair smells. He can't remember what he said. He can't remember how many days he spent running from one room to next trying to find her, screaming I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Time blends together, his footsteps keeping count. He moves on and on, forever walking, not even sure if he's still looking for anything. His world, both infinite and closed, a limitless prison. He steps into the next room.
Lost Things
Part 1 of 2
The best days in the new home were spent in their favorite room, the one with walls lined with windows that let in great spears of light from sunrise to sunset. They sat across from one another at the table, their Writing Table, the same one from when they first wrote together in their old apartment. The best days would pass in the stately silence of a single mind shared, not a word said or needed. For hours, the only sounds were pen on paper, the flip of a page, hot water poured from the tea kettle. Light streamed in from one side of the room when began work and the other when they finished, stretched, smiled shyly at each other and laughed, stomachs fluttering with the thrill of a shared passion. They would organize papers that had spread over the table like wax from a melted candle and soon the scholarly hush of their work was replaced by the cheerful sounds of the kitchen.
They loved that in their home, the study was a shared room, not something private or walled off; that productivity did not mean isolation from each other. Their thoughts were fuel for the same fire, and together they burned brightly. At the start of their first collaboration, they'd each dreaded the inevitable sparks thrown from grinding egos. This dread was soon forgotten. They were perfect compliments. Their minds clicked together to form a greater whole. They bridged gaps in logic, completed thoughts, built ideas to their full significance. The air between them seemed to shimmer as they read each other's notes and edits, the two sides of the table linked by their hands, fingers entwined.
Their first book bought the house. The publisher's offer--driven by a bidding war they couldn't have imagined, let alone expect-- had left them in shock. They left the meeting stunned, clutching at one another, minds working like cars stuck in mud. Out on the street, as they turned to each other with eyes brimming with tears, the circuit that allowed the staggering shock to be processed into its actual implications finally sprang to life. Everything they had talked about in their cramped apartment was coming, and it was coming to them both.
Life took on the blur of scenery passed at high speed. Live readings at bookstores and universities. Airplanes. Interviews: television, radio, and print. Wine, cheese, and crackers. Phones never silent, inboxes never empty. The shocking realization that growing numbers of people want to hear what you have to say. Reviews, acclaim. Breathless praise from critics and academics both. Nominations that transform into awards, miraculously. The finger-in-an-electrical-socket realization that your thoughts might be Important. Sales. Checks. Printing presses churning merrily. Publishing executives friendly as cats right before supper. Looking up from the newspaper at your collaborator over a quiet breakfast table and laughing until your cheeks ache.
The whirlwind of publication dropped them off a year later at their new home, a few modest rooms near a windswept beach. No neighbors, no distractions. Within a week, they had made good on their promise to not grow complacent or idle in success: a new draft was gathering before the last box had been unpacked, taking root in their favorite room, golden with sun.
He'd give anything to find that room again.
He walks down a dimly lit hallway lined with dark wood paneling that ends with a black iron spiral staircase that takes him to a bright, air conditioned room scattered with cleverly designed furniture. He continues without slowing through to a high-ceilinged atrium filled with well manicured plants. Next comes a cozy kitchen with a breakfast nook and framed needlepoints he doesn't bother to look at. He listens to the sound of his shoes on hardwood, tile, linoleum, marble, never getting faster or slower. He opens to door to a richly decorated library with a rolling ladder and rows upon rows of books. He runs his hand along a row of red leather-bound spines as he heads for the ornately framed exit that takes him into a home theater with a projection screen and plush seating. His expression is completely neutral.
He pauses a few rooms after the theater in a dining room with a table set for twelve and cocks his head, listening. He hears the faint sounds of construction coming from somewhere behind the wall that holds an enormous equestrian portrait of someone he doesn't recognize. The silverware gleams in the light of the room's chandelier. The plates are so polished they look wet, anticipating food that will never come. He leans against the edge of the table and listens. Hammers whack against wood steadily, businesslike and matter-of-fact. Drills whine and growl as they find purchase. His right hand fiddles with a salad fork. He's long since given up trying to catch the construction in the act. At the beginning, he'd been trapped in a cycle of disappointment he hadn't felt since childhood, trying to spin around fast enough to see the back of his head in the mirror, diving into his room to catch his toys coming to life. He sets the fork back on the tablecloth smudged with fingerprints.
Things he's also given up on: keeping track of where he is; counting how many rooms he's been through; finding patterns of any kind in the oil paintings, watercolors, sculptures, posters, friezes, statues, vases, ceramic figurines, fine china, tea sets, piggy banks, scented candles, ironing boards, dust busters, vacuum cleaners, rice cookers, slow cookers, cookie sheets, muffin tins, silverware, immersion blenders, water pitchers, coffee mugs, beer steins, napkin holders, refrigerators, space heaters, fireplaces, side bars, houseplants, photo albums, bookcases, leather couches, end tables, loveseats, futons, rocking chairs, canopy beds, linen closets, shoe closets, suit closets, dress closets, jewelry cases, magazines, textbooks, pencil sharpeners, calculators, grand pianos, free weights, yoga mats, treadmills, pool tables, card tables, dartboards, telescopes, jukeboxes, bicycles, kayaks, TVs, speakers, cameras, DVDs, video games, board games, record players, souvenirs, knickknacks, tchotchkes, and doodads that brush past him like unfamiliar faces in an endless crowd.
He's adjusting the fork to be in line with the others when the sounds of construction abruptly stop. There's a pause, then the sound of a large, heavy object being maneuvered into place. The fork is back in place, but still smudged. A brief pause is followed by the clatter of light wooden furniture on hardwood floors. Then nothing. He waits, still leaning against the table. Silence reestablishes itself in the room. In a minute, it'll be as if he'd heard nothing at all.
The first time it happened, they each thought it was the other's doing. They returned from a walk along the shore to find a brand-new porch off the side of their work room, the paint just drying as they approached. They turned to each other, half smiling, brows quizzical, each taking the other's expression as playfully feigned ignorance. Clearly, one of them had used the walk as an opportunity for some construction crew to make the addition at breakneck speed. They could certainly afford it; their book was selling briskly, and they were already scheduled to discuss with their publisher an advance for the next one. However, neither of them was willing to own up to the surprise. They traded increasingly expectant looks, each quite sure that they hadn't ordered such a job. Their strained laughter failed to break the tension. They went inside and got back to work.
Neither could admit to what they hadn't done, and yet one of them must have done it. The apparent refusal to admit to the ruse grew more vexing by the hour. A surprise gift was arranged and successfully presented, each step well planned and well executed. Why continue the act? With no resolution possible, the issue remained like a bad taste that wouldn't wash out. They sat on the porch after dinner, the mood between them brittle. After only a few minutes, he took some papers to the kitchen and she went to read in bed.
Wow, that's quite effective! Already I'm wondering: A. how can a mountain die; B. What would a mountain's funeral be like; C. what kind of village would observe such an event; D. to what kind of stranger would they entrust such a task; and E. how do you bury a mountain? With one sentence, EKublai has a snared a rabidly curious future reader (me).
Coming up with a punchy sentence like this is essential for selling your story. Does anyone else have another compelling conceit/pitch for a story they've already written or are about to write?
Congrats to all the winners! Big thanks to 4urentertainment for organizing this and picking such a fun topic.
Posted my story! Unfortunately, the two halves got separated when page 1 of the thread hit its maximum length. The first half of the story is on page 1 of the contest thread, and the second is on page 2. Make sure you read both!
I had fun with this contest! If it's not immediately obvious, my story is in the format of a collection of tweets. I'm eager to hear people's critiques!
Results 85 through 149 of 149
PISSED as HELL military ppl told us to fuck off MY PARENTS ARE IN #Bridgeford WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON
There is something deeply, deeply wrong and werid going on in #Bridgedford
Packin my bags and getting as fucking far away from #Bridgeford as possible suggest every1 dpes the same
Squadron of F-16s just buzzed my house, tearing hell straight towards #Bridgeford Someone's day is about to get a lot worse
Heard of deer just came running past my house, away from #Bridgeford eerie as hell
Local news just cancelled #Bridgeford segment w/o notice, anchor looks like he's going 2 shit bricks. Getting a bit freaked out
All this #Bridgeford stuff is really scaring me :( whats happening??
Fuckign hell #Bridgeford shit has got me running scared heading west god help us all
Jesus fucking christ all the windows in my house just broke, ground's shaking. Live about 3 miles from #Bridgeford
I'm 5 miles from #Bridgeford, picture frames keep falling off the wall #scaredashell
Jesus, these #Bridgeford rumors are escalating fast any offical confirmation yet?
omg omg omg omg jutws herd somethign REALLY weird in the wooc dbehinc my house 911 not goin thru im near #Bridgeford
These #Bridgeford rumors are insane, we couldn't possibly be dropping this much ordinance on US soil
My neighbors horses all just bolted, heading the exact oppisite direction of #Bridgeford thinking I should follow em
My one dog keeps barking a snarling the others hiding under the sofa, started right when I first heard about this #Bridgeford thing
JUST SAW 3 ppl running frm #Bridgeford toward rdblock got tackled, cuffed @ gunpoint & hauled off in humV RT
whatever's in #bridgeford is getting thru mil quarenteen if u live nearby evacuate NOW
OMG i just heard that heard that the army just shot a car tryin to get out of #Bridgeford is that ttrue???? Im so scared!!!!!
AC-130 firing on #Bridgeford can anyone cofirm or deny
Surface to air missile batteries en route to #Bridgeford praying this is some kind of drill
If half the stuff I'm hearing about #Bridgeford is true we are in some deep shit #pleaseconfirm
something's trying to get into my house. can't keep it out. help not coming. goodbye. #Bridgeford
This is Tom Kelly of #Bridgeford. Susan and Kyle, I love you and I will miss you
It will all be over soon #Bridgeford
I was in the Airforce for 8 years, and I know what a bombing run sounds like. #Bridgeford is being carpet bombed.
TAKE SCREENS OF YOUR #Bridgeford TWEETS FEDS TAKING THEM DOWN RT RT RT!!!
wtf happened to all my #Bridgeford tweets #censorship
Lots of #Bridgeford posts are going dark... someone pulling twitters strings
Someone going fucking big brother all over #Bridgeford news
Is twitter acting really weird for anyone else? Methinks it's something to do with #Bridgeford #conspiracy
Govt can't make what happend to #Bridgeford disappear
holy shit wiki article on #Bridgeford just went dark
wtf cnn article on #Bridgeford I was JUST READING gone without a trace... what happend up there?
About half the accounts I was following for #Bridgeford info just closed w/o a word, someone must be shuttering them
minute by minute coverage of #Bridgeford by fox ap nytimes cnn wsj cbs abc & nbc all went dead simultaneously #WTF
RT: TAKE SCREENS OF YOUR #Bridgeford TWEETS FEDS TAKING THEM DOWN RT RT RT!!!
Everytime I refresh another dozen #Bridgeford tweets disappear, wtf is happening?
Aaaaaannnd all my #Bridgeford tweets are now gone... don't suspect this one will last, either
WTF I POSTED ABOUT #Bridgeford A SEC AGO NOW ITS GONE WTF
Twitter's shitcanning anyone posting about #Bridgeford, be careful everyone
RT: TAKE SCREENS OF YOUR #Bridgeford TWEETS FEDS TAKING THEM DOWN RT RT RT!!!
Someone tryin to delete #Bridgeford tweets as fast as they go up...
Accounts thaat posted abt #Bridgeford dropping like flies, jesus
Fuycking hell. #Bridgeford tweets w/ any explicit detail being taken down first, everything i've archived lacking detail
Created an alt accnt my last got deleted save any #Bridgeford news you can
Obvious now, gov't redacting any #Bridgeford tweets they can find... god help anyone who was actually there when it happened
Unbelieveable... Twitter helps #Bridgeford coverup: "Earlier today, our internal servers malfunctioned, which caused many tweets to be accidentally deleted..."
fuck fcuk fuck details of the story going down the drain fast, SAVE ANY #BRIDGEFORD NEWS YOU CAN!!!!
GOVT COVERING UP #BRIDGEFORD DONT BELIEVE ANYTHING YOU READ
#Bridgeford story getting the black ink treatment. Sorry everyone, I tried
Twitter posting #bullshit about server malfunctions to hide #Bridgeford coverup, DON'T BELIEVE THEM!!!
GOD DAMN IT YOU CANT HIDE WHAT HAPPENED TO #BRIDGEFORD
Lol at #Bridgeford conspiracy nuts on #publicaccess this shit is priceless hahaha...
Some crazy #Bridgeford truther freaking out on the subway today, give it a rest dude lol
Homeless guy in front of my apt screaming something about #Bridgeford :( why can't we give proper help to #mentalillness ??
#Bridgeford truthers have to be my new favorite kind of crazy people #sorryevangelicals
What's up w. this #Bridgeford "conspiracy"? Only news I can find abt there is a story abt a lobster cookout from like 2003
#Bridgeford truthers pissing me off saying soldiers died there our #troops are in a REAL war not some hoax!!! >:(
Where are the "1000s" of #Bridgeford tweets people talk about? All I can find are a few dozen hysterics who are def. just trolling
Idiots talking about #Bridgeford conspiracies are so fuckin hilarious people believe anything lol #makemelaugh
#Bridgeford conspiracy nuts, I beg you: where is the evidence? Give me just a scrap and I'll believe it, promise.
#Bridgeford people can share a room in the nuthouse with 9/11 conspiricy theorists for all I care
If I see another post about #Bridgeford I'm gonna blow my fucking brains out. GET OVER IT
I was gonna try and figure out this whole #Bridgeford thing but then I remembered I'm not crazy lol
fb status about #Bridgeford = instant unfriend #lolConspiracyNuts
If one more #Bridgeford truther calls me a sheeple I'm not liable for my actions #getalife
Pretty soon, everyone will know what happened in #Bridgeford whether they want to or not.
Search for: Bridgeford
Results 1 through 84 of 149
Tucked away on the coastline, #Bridgeford is #NewEngland 's best kept secret. Discover us this holiday!
The #Bridgeford Franklin Middle School children are hard at work on their #FallPagent. Come help us wish the little angels luck!
#Bridgeford native Shirley Grahme is holding a poetry reading at the Cozy Bookshop tomorrow at 2pm. Please join us in giving her a warm welcome.
Beyond gorgeous sunrise this morning off the Gilmore St. pier. But don't take our word for it- visit #Bridgeford and see for yourself!
The #Bridgeford volunteer fire department is holding their annual chili cookoff fundraiser this Saturday at the Rosewood community center.
Boy, TGIF. Sooo, watch a movie, or get crazy and go ice skating #Bridgeford nightlife may be too wild 4 me lol
The #foliage on Milton St. is turning the shades of gold and red that remind you why you love #Bridgeford . Come fall in love yourself!
No word from #Bridgeford police dept. on abductions this month. 11 victims taken to date.
#Bridgeford police chief on abductions: "Whoever's responsible is on borrowed time. We take care of our own here."
Visiting the fam back in glorious #Bridgeford haha
Quiet New England town #Bridgeford rocked by 12th kidnapping, police say "no leads" yet
wtfffffffff 12 kidnappings in #Bridgeford???? Getting scared....
Horror in #Bridgeford : mutilated body of 1st abductee found in parking lot
#Bridgeford police dept. offers no specifics other than that a "derranged mind is at work." Residents told to stay calm but alert
From the staff: our hearts go out to the victim of the #Bridgeford kidnapping. They and their family are in our prayers.
Shit, violent crime in #Bridgeford ? World must really be going to hell
Visit to #Bridgeford gonna b a sad one... prayin for the families, stay safe every1
Evil strikes small town: 4 more bodies of kidnapping victims found throughout #Bridgeford, police fear worst for others
#Bridgeford Mayor Tompkins: "We shall find strength and comfort in community." Volunteer neighborhood watch patrols town
omg, so sad to hear about murders in #Bridgeford stay strong everyone!!
This f***ers gonna get an asskicking when we find him #Bridgeford pride
Stick together #Bridgeford we gonna get through this
Cant stop crying... me n #Bridgeford girls miss you baby <3
Another 6 #Bridgeford kidnapping victims are found dead, leaving only 1 unaccounted for. Search parties sweep the surrounding area.
As of yet, no motive is known for the recent #Brideford murders, which police call "unprecedented" in their brutality.
Omg I get sick everytime I think about the murders. Be careful, #Bridgeford!
Real sad story coming from small town called #Bridgeford. Horrible to think something so terrible could happen in a place like that
11 murders?? What a horrible thing for such a lovely town like #Bridgeford Visited last fall, had a wonderful time.
Just read about these poor people in #Bridgeford. Such an awful thing for a small town.
Reading about these terrible murders in little town called #Bridgeford. You guys are in my heart! <3
This #Bridgeford thing is some silence of the lambs shit. Hearin some seriously fucked up stuff about the bodies #hanniballector?
Hearing some gross rumors getting tossed around re: this #Bridgeford thing... #yuck
Googled the #Bridgeford story just now tryin to get some details. Big mistake. Think i'm gonna barf
O goddddddd, how could ne1 in #bridgeford DO shit liek that!!! Gunna havve nigthmares for sure
#Bridgeford police chief has "no idea" how details of case were leaked
#Bridgeford Chief is apologizes to families of victims, but claims residents "deserve to know what we're up against here."
#Bridgeford mother of sole survivor breaks down: "I can't bear thinking that's what's happening to my baby girl"
BREAKING NEWS: 12th #Bridgeford abductee found unharmed. Child was found "dazed, but conscious."
omg, last kidnapping victem in #Bridgeford found safe! Guardian angel was watching her :)
Soooo relieved to hear they found the little girl in #Bridgeford. They deserve some good news after all that!
So the kid they found in #Bridgeford is talkin about sumthin really bad thats gunna happen soon? Thnx internet, i wasnt sleepin 2nite neway
Poor kid in #Bridgeford has been THRU HELL, and now ppl r goin on abt sumthin she said?? try 2 imagin wat YOUd feel like aftr that
Creepyass predictions from kidnapped kid in #Bridgeford? #Yeahnothanks
Anybody else hear anything about this #Bridgeford kid? Hard details are hard to find.
LEAVE #BRIDGEFORD ALONE. They need time to HEAL, not stupid rumors!
#Bridgeford kid news freakin me out lol
This #Bridgeford kid stuff has got me buggin
GUys, it's a small, traumatized child. The #Bridgeford kidd has been through more than anyone could imagine. KLeave it be.
Psychologists say they have made no progress with treatment of #Bridgeford kidnapped child.
Parents of returned #Bridgeford child: "Our child is home, but she is not well."
Jesus that knocked me out of my damn chair. What noiw, #Bridgeford?
AFter all that freaky stuff, loud noises are not appreciated in #Bridgeford. Knock it off
ummmmmm did anyone else in #Bridgeford hear that just now? #wtf
Some kinda weird noise outside in #Bridgeford anyone kno whats up
Dafuq was that, #Bridgeford?
holy fuckin shit in #bridgeford what w
Spotted a bunch of army trucks heading toward #Bridgeford. Guess they're helping catch the kidnapper? #overkill
omfg, fukin choppers jus blasted my house gettin sikc of thiz #Bridgeford shit
Lots of helicopters heading toward #Bridgeford. Sure as hell don't look like search choppers, though.
Thought there was a damn parade so many mil vehicles goin past my house. Looks like they're headed toward #Bridgeford
Any #Bridgeford residents have any info on that sound you guys heard? We're overwhelmed w. curiousity #busybodiesunite
8 humvees rolling past towards #Bridgeford Having trouble believing they'd help with the kidnapping thing
Hate to add to the #groupthink but can any details from #Bridgeford about the weird noise and/or mil. presence rumors?
#Bridgeford rumor mill, I demand more: kidnapping? creepy kid? noise? military vehicles?? any and all details request4ed!
Whoa pretty sure I just heard gunfire coming from #Bridgeford hope I'm wrong
Have troops spotted heading for #Bridgeford really opened fire? and on whom or what?
DEFINITELY hearing gunfire comingf rom direction of #Bridgeford ex army ranger confirming that
Shit on a stick riflefire heard coming from #Bridgeford and possibly heavier ordi nance
#Bridgeford situation is snowballing really damn fast
/goddamn rumors from #bridgeford what could they possibly be shooting out there?
If that's the #bridgeford kidnapper they're shooting, they are lighting that fucker UP #getsum
8 humvees just rolled past heading toward #Bridgeford
Don't mean to be all johnny come lately to this #Bridgeford thing, but is this all for real??
Feel like freaking yourself out? Search #Bridgeford Shits getting crazy fast
I'm hearing weirder and weiirder things about #Bridgeford Anyone know what's going down up there?
China invading #Bridgeford??
Tryin to stay calm reading these #Bridgeford tweets #panicattack
Any official media covering this #Bridgeford thing? Think we need some professionals to clear this up
#Bridgeford, I've heard everything from N Korea invasion to cloverfield monster, WHAT IS HAPPENING UP THERE???
Jesus, stopped 20 miles up road from #Bridgeford sky looks like the 4th of july
i cant reach my mom or dad in #Bridgeford, does NE1 kno wats happening??? :(:(:(
Phones are down in #Bridgeford just tried calling about 30 diff numbers, none went through
My cousin tried to get to his gf in #Bridgeford but got stopped by army roadblock... shit is serious
Just heard that anyone tryin to get into #Bridgeford gets shot on sight, can anyone confirm??
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