[Writing Contest] - THE ARENA

FewFew · 02-06-2011 11:18am

Memnoch wrote: »

Fewicur -

I don't mean to be controversial here, but I did not vote for your last story because it felt like Terry Prachett. The idea of playing games with death and trying to cheat death was something that he explores a lot in his novels. The idea of different deaths of Azael etc is also something that he writes a lot about and again at the start of the new story you have posted I kept getting the feeling again...

Maybe you've never heard of him and this is all in my head. And isn't all fiction derivative anyway?

I'm a big Terry Pratchett fan, I've read all of his books, but Terry Pratchett's death is not any death I've written about. If anything the first thing that popped into my head with the first story was "Bill and Teds Bogus Journey" (I think that's the name of the 2nd one?) where they play death in a load of games. But the idea of playing a game of chess is an old one, made iconic in the film The Seventh Seal http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0050976/ back in 1957, long before the Discworld took shape.

With the same logic you could say Antilles story reminded you of numerous scenes from The Diary of Ann Frank, The Book Thief or any number of WWII pieces.

As for this story, I moved on from my first, since the theme was Death I stuck with the idea of personification. Then I spent the night reading about the boards member who died of food poisoning and the idea of a death for the modern age came about. I then decided on the council of 13 (unlucky number yada yada) and then I spent a good two hours researching the personification of death in modern cultures. I decided to stay away from Hades and Hel, seeing them more as lords of the underworld (something which makes Anubis' presence special) and focused on different personifications of death, rather than the devil.
So, don't vote for it if you don't like it, but please don't trivialise it as a Terry Pratchett copy.

Antilles · 02-06-2011 11:28am

Fewcifur, your story is 633 words long. It's supposed to be "around 300"...

Daleno · 02-06-2011 12:12pm

Antilles wrote: »

Fewcifur, your story is 633 words long. It's supposed to be "around 300"...

I was going to say something about that. :P

I had my story written out and it was about 500+ words, cutting it down made it a bit weak I think. 300 is just too little in my eyes.

FewFew · 02-06-2011 12:13pm

Antilles wrote: »

Fewcifur, your story is 633 words long. It's supposed to be "around 300"...

Yeah I did notice that, I don't mind if I'm disqualified or something, it's not about the winning, it's about the writing. 13 deaths is hard enough to squeeze into 600, nevermind 300

. You should have seen the first draft before I cut out all the details. At one point I was even planning for each death to speak in rhyme, had a The Raven vibe going on but that certainly took up more words.

Antilles · 02-06-2011 12:19pm

I was going to say something last time too but didn't want to look like I was trying to do in my opposition, heh. To be honest, I like 300 words. I really had to work hard to get my stories that tight. Ignoring the limit feels like taking the easy way.out and doesn't fit the spirit of the competition.

Pickarooney, what are your thoughts?

Memnoch · 02-06-2011 1:28pm

Fewcifur wrote: »

I'm a big Terry Pratchett fan, I've read all of his books, but Terry Pratchett's death is not any death I've written about...
So, don't vote for it if you don't like it, but please don't trivialise it as a Terry Pratchett copy.

Fair enough.

FewFew · 02-06-2011 4:29pm

Antilles wrote: »

I was going to say something last time too but didn't want to look like I was trying to do in my opposition, heh. To be honest, I like 300 words. I really had to work hard to get my stories that tight. Ignoring the limit feels like taking the easy way.out and doesn't fit the spirit of the competition.

Pickarooney, what are your thoughts?

Word counts dominate my day job, I guess I just came to the creative writing forum to write for the craic. I've no problem bowing out and letting it revert to Antilles.

But for what it's worth, I think 300 words is too limiting for a short story challenge. There's a difference between a scene and a scene that tells a tale.

pickarooney · 02-06-2011 5:04pm

I'd say if you think a story is too long then simply don't vote for it. Over double the recommended length is certainly stretching it, IMO. But I preferred Daleno's story in any case so it didn't make a difference to me.
This is the arena and sand-kicking and gouging has to be expected. The thumbs up are yours to give.

P.S. If someone wants to throw a poem in, go for it, although you can't oblige your opponent to do likewise.

Antilles · 02-06-2011 8:25pm

I'd prefer we keep it to a set word limit, though if you want to up that limit that's cool. Or in fact if you want to get rid of the limit entirely, that would also work. I just don't see the point of having a limit if you can double it (sorry Fewcifur!) and the only negative is that people who remember the limit might choose not to vote for you.

For what its worth, I'm not suggesting Fewcifur steps down as champion. I just think it needs to be clarified. Why should somebody work for ages to get a story to a set limit just to have somebody else completely ignore it and win anyway?

FewFew · 03-06-2011 12:56pm

Oh Sir Fudginton, my reply didn't post.

I think it went along the lines of "Long does not equal better". Now for the compulsory "That's what she said" and there we are.

There's a sense to these short stories, all of the entries are a single scene and none would fill an A4 page. As Pickarooney suggested, people won't vote if they think something is too long. I'd certainly punish a piece I found flabby and wandering just as much as a piece that was underdeveloped and pointless due to its brevity.

pickarooney · 03-06-2011 1:04pm

Thread needs more --amadeus--

Memnoch · 03-06-2011 2:42pm

In that case let's remove the 300 word count rule all together because people who actually stick to it will more often than not be unfairly punished.

If we want the rule to be there then it should be enforced, otherwise just get rid of it. Want a bigger word count, make it 300-600 rather than 'around 300.'

pickarooney · 03-06-2011 3:32pm

IIRC the only reason for the low word count was because 24 hours was considered by some to be too short to write a longer piece. If people are finding that they're writing 500-1000 words and having to trim that down it makes nonsense of a 300 word count.

How about the champion sets the word count once the challenger sets the theme and if a story goes over then it's out? That would prevent people pre-writing a piece and throwing down the gauntlet or at least force them to edit it.

Memnoch · 03-06-2011 3:56pm

pickarooney wrote: »

IIRC the only reason for the low word count was because 24 hours was considered by some to be too short to write a longer piece. If people are finding that they're writing 500-1000 words and having to trim that down it makes nonsense of a 300 word count.

How about the champion sets the word count once the challenger sets the theme and if a story goes over then it's out? That would prevent people pre-writing a piece and throwing down the gauntlet or at least force them to edit it.

I like the idea but there are two problems.

The first is easily surmountable. There should still be a maximum and minimum word count that can be set say 300- 1000 words to prevent things from getting silly. Otherwise the champ could set a 100 word count and that would be very limiting. If of course you don't want to use up all the word count, that's your prerogative.

The second is a bit more difficult which is you are giving the champ an additional 24 hours? Because once the challange is declared, the champ could have a long word count in mind say 1000, then he has 24 hours to accept and announce the word count and a further 24 to finish the story? Or am I making things too complicated?

Oryx · 03-06-2011 4:01pm

pickarooney wrote: »

Thread needs more --amadeus--

If we shine a light with his symbol into the night sky, will he come?

I think the word count should stay. If you find it hard to stay within it, then learn to edit. I thought it was part of the challenge, tbh.

pickarooney · 03-06-2011 4:21pm

Memnoch wrote: »

The second is a bit more difficult which is you are giving the champ an additional 24 hours? Because once the challange is declared, the champ could have a long word count in mind say 1000, then he has 24 hours to accept and announce the word count and a further 24 to finish the story? Or am I making things too complicated?

That's fiendish enough to count as a story on its own

I actually never considered someone deliberately waiting a day before accepting the challenge...

How about haggling on the wordcount?

I challenge you to write 500 words on turnips
I accept 800
Shall we say 650?
Done
Mwuohahaha, 650 words on turnips I just happen to have stuck in my brain!

Memnoch · 03-06-2011 4:34pm

pickarooney wrote: »

That's fiendish enough to count as a story on its own I actually never considered someone deliberately waiting a day before accepting the challenge...

How about haggling on the wordcount?

I challenge you to write 500 words on turnips
I accept 800
Shall we say 650?
Done
Mwuohahaha, 650 words on turnips I just happen to have stuck in my brain!

Yes, being evil can be a burden sometimes.

Was the haggling idea serious or in jest? How does it fit in with the 24 hour time limit?

I think it would be easier if we just increased the current word count to say 600. That's gives people a bit more room to play with but if you feel you only need 300 that's great as well?

elvis83 · 03-06-2011 4:53pm

Just have to comment...Antilles you are a fantastic writer!

Antilles · 03-06-2011 6:27pm

elvis83 wrote: »

Just have to comment...Antilles you are a fantastic writer!

...mum?

03-06-2011 6:28pm

Memnoch wrote: »

I think it would be easier if we just increased the current word count to say 600. That's gives people a bit more room to play with but if you feel you only need 300 that's great as well?

I think that would be the simplest solution, enforce it at 600

Antilles wrote: »

...mum?

Haha

Antilles · 03-06-2011 8:16pm

Enforce it at 600. So say we all.

pickarooney · 03-06-2011 8:51pm

Enforce it at 600 provided bluewolf gets in the ring next.

Antilles · 03-06-2011 9:08pm

Give 'em hell, bluey!

03-06-2011 9:28pm

I'll get in the ring but I will have to think of a theme

edit: Um, am I challenging fewcifur? And 24 hours starts once fewcifur accepts?

angelll · 03-06-2011 10:48pm

I'm going to throw my name in for after bluewolf so seeing as i keep missing the deadline for challenging! Oh and for what it's worth fewcifur i'm a huge tp fan (see sig

) and i didn't think of him whatsoever when i read your piece.

Antilles · 03-06-2011 10:56pm

Let's not get OT, but despite the fact that everything I love reading is in his general genre and thus I should love TP, I really can't stand his writing. I've tried reading him, and listening to his writing on audiobook but I just don't enjoy it. The fact that I don't like him is something that has always vaguely irritated me, heh.

fona · 03-06-2011 11:10pm

Exciting stuff. I stop watching for a day and a big debate blows by

pickarooney · 04-06-2011 8:39am

bluewolf wrote: »

I'll get in the ring but I will have to think of a theme

edit: Um, am I challenging fewcifur? And 24 hours starts once fewcifur accepts?

Yes. New wordcount limit applies now.

04-06-2011 12:01pm

very well - to reflect my ability to pick a theme and my hopes at producing anything decent, I'll pick the theme "desperation".
:pac:

FewFew · 04-06-2011 9:01pm

fona wrote: »

Exciting stuff. I stop watching for a day and a big debate blows by

I know, tis mad, the world was nearly broken asunder and created anew while we slept.

bluewolf wrote: »

very well - to reflect my ability to pick a theme and my hopes at producing anything decent, I'll pick the theme "desperation".
:pac:

Ok Bluewolfie, let us dance the dance of wordsmiths

Clock is bam at 9pm! Deadline set, thinking caps engaged!

05-06-2011 8:12pm

Mine is pretty bad, way out of practice
was fun to write again though

"desperation"

Tom fell to his knees and prayed fervently, crying out to all the gods for mercy and luck.
Or at least he would have, had he been alone. Instead, he maintained a calm front as he waited for her reply. She considered the box in front of her, the box that he had brought here what seemed an eternity ago. In reality, perhaps fifteen minutes.
He made his living, such as it was, acquiring rare items by any means legal or otherwise and selling them on. He had not had a find in a long time, and he was now barely surviving. He had nothing set aside for a rainy day, and had not eaten in two. Lines of credit had dried up; debts were being called in; friendly faces were not so friendly anymore. In short, he was a desperate man. When this box had fallen into his hands, he was overcome with relief. Never mind that possessing it fell into the “otherwise” area of legality, so much so that normally even he would never consider touching it. Never mind that if anyone else found out he had it, his life would be forfeit.

Now here they were, in this dark, tucked-away room; she was considering its purchase and he was waiting for her response. He nearly flinched when she spoke at last. Nearly, but still had enough self-control left. Just.
“You realise what this is, of course.”
He opened his mouth to reply. Of course he knew. And he knew how risky it was to be showing such a rare and dangerous treasure about, to be offering it for sale so abruptly and clumsily. He knew how hungry he was.
He opened his mouth, her eyes caught him, and he closed it again.
Now, the slightest hint of a smile touched her lips. “Perhaps I am not interested in buying it after all. Why should I risk this, after your tale of how you "found" it? It could even be a fake.”
He studied her face carefully despite rising despair. She was toying with him. He knew she was interested enough in it to be here at all, with her impassive guards and her rustling silks. But “interested” was not “bought”.
He spoke calmly and carefully, years of practise backing his composure. “You are knowledgeable enough to know that it is not a fake. As for how I found it, you could explain away anything you choose. If you are not interested, say so and I will take it and go.” This last was risking too much, this was not the careful dance of bargaining, but he could not help himself. If this did not work out, he had nobody else lined up, no other recourse, nothing. It was valuable, yes, but riches in his pockets were no use with his throat slit, and the latter was a guarantee.
She watched him. He met her gaze, staring evenly back at her. Not a muscle twitched as the silence drew long. The air was still, there was nothing moving, no sound; there was nothing in the world except the two of them. A betraying bead of sweat ran down his forehead.
Her delicate features shifted to hint a negation. “No.” She stood up to leave, and the guards moved to follow her. Tom let out a half-whimper, his control finally slipping. “Are you sure…?”
She looked at him and walked out. He stared at their backs, speechless and numb. He had pushed too far. Now he had nothing.
He finally fell to his knees and closed his eyes.

FewFew · 05-06-2011 9:13pm

* A Desperate Drink
*

All night long she had been drinking Guinness, just like him. A rare choice for a girl, it made him smile when she told him her order. The dark liquid would make what he was about to do just that bit easier.

It was nearly three years since he had kissed a girl and even longer since he had sex. He turned 36 the week before and he was officially on his way to 40. It might have been his biological clock or maybe it was the pressures of social norms, but he was desperate not to be a “loser” anymore.

He met her on an internet forum. Her username,“RayYamaha”, a guy, so there was no problem chatting. Everyday they'd be in the same comic book sub-forum, joking and telling tales. When he found out she was a girl, that Ray was for Rachael and Yamaha her guitar rather than motorbike, he was lost for words. He had accidentally met a girl without his usual nerves and self esteem issues.

He eventually found the courage to suggest a meet-up.

They decided to meet for some drinks. He had never seen her properly before, the one picture she posted in the forum was her in costume at a comic-con, so he was left speechless when they met. She was tall, probably 5'10, with a slim build and a beautiful face. Her eyes were an attractive blue that nearly matched the dyed streaks in her black hair. When he went to the toilet all he saw was his hated reflection, shorter than average, chubby and an all too obvious receding hairline. “How could someone like her ever be attracted to someone like me” he thought as he stared into his dull eyes.

They each had seven pints in them by the time he went to the toilet again. Talking had become easier as the pints went down, but he still felt he wasn't funny enough, while she was amazing beyond belief. Standing up in the cubicle, aiming carefully into the bowl, he realised that he wanted her more than any other person in the world, yet he knew she would never want him. At best she would be his friend and he'd have to endure the pain of her boyfriends. He decided he had to have her.

When he went to the bar he took the pints and brought them over to an unoccupied table in a corner. Their table was in a small section and she wouldn't see. With his back to the rest of the bar, he carefully removed two pills from his wallet. He bought them online, clicking on a google ad that promised a love drug.

He returned and placed both pints on the table. She was just finishing the end of her last. Somebody called over to him. In his rush he had left his wallet behind. He went over to retrieve it, thanking the honest lounge boy. When he came back she was drinking a new pint, but which one? He couldn't remember exactly where he had left his. He sat down nervously and drank. He was wary of reactions, but he just felt a bit drunk, to be expected on his eight pint.
She finished her drink and said “So, I know this isn't usual, but I'm no usual girl, um, want to go back to my place for coffee?” “Yes!” he thought “The drug worked!” He went to stand and collapsed to the floor, the world spinning violently; a metallic taste rising in his mouth.

Also Starring LeVar Burton · 05-06-2011 9:52pm

Two really good stories there - both very well written, but had to go with Fewcifur in the end. The twist was obvious, but I liked the idea that he could've gotten the girl, had he believed in himself...

diddlybit · 06-06-2011 12:12am

Ooh...this is really tough. May need a re-read tomorrow.

fona · 06-06-2011 8:39am

What's he selling?!? WHATS HE SELLING?!?!?

Mr E · 06-06-2011 10:18am

Both really good this round. Well done to both authors!

pickarooney · 06-06-2011 11:56am

I suspect bluewolf of dangling the mystery in the hope that we'll vote in the hope that she'll tell us next time. In which case (and even if which not case), well done.

Fewcifur will no doubt hit me for pointing out that his/her story is very similar to one entered in the total write off a couple of weeks back.

FewFew · 06-06-2011 4:28pm

pickarooney wrote: »

Fewcifur will no doubt hit me for pointing out that his/her story is very similar to one entered in the total write off a couple of weeks back.

Oh I haven't read any of the Total Write-off stuff, it was one of those "where do I begin reading it?" moments, like going back to the start of a really long thread.

pickarooney · 07-06-2011 8:45am

Habemus victorum novum, Lupus Caeruleus!

angelll · 07-06-2011 10:04pm

Coola boola,so you and me bluewolf

. What theme?

FewFew · 07-06-2011 10:08pm

angelll wrote: »

Coola boola,so you and me bluewolf . What theme?

Tis your choice good sir/lady, you must lay down the theme gauntlet and then the fun can begin

07-06-2011 10:29pm

gime a theme and i'll accept it and then we can start putting on our thinking caps

FewFew · 07-06-2011 10:50pm

bluewolf wrote: »

gime a theme and i'll accept it and then we can start putting on our thinking caps

Thinking caps of doom?

07-06-2011 10:51pm

Fewcifur wrote: »

Thinking caps of doom?

+5

angelll · 08-06-2011 2:17pm

Lol,ok what about 'The Hardest Choice'? Haven't a clue what i'm going to write about,just in the door. Will post up something tonight,Good luck

08-06-2011 3:30pm

grand stuff, 1530 tomorrow it is

angelll · 08-06-2011 7:30pm

Black or blue? Black or blue....Black? Blue? The black one had straight seams down the inside of the sleeves,that was bad. It didn't feel right. But black was the colour of death and funerals.

When grandmother Mary who lived in the sunshine yellow house with the purple and yellow flowers outside had died he had worn the black shirt. His mother had ironed it just right and laid it out with the top two buttons open,ready to slip on. He hated buttons but it was ok if he could just slip it on. The seams had made him uncomfortable but mum had said that granny mary, the granny in the yellow house, would like it he said he would try to leave it on. Mum packed a nice t-shirt for him to change into after the mass,one with no seams, a lovely red one. He loved red. You couldn't mix any other colours to make red, not like green or purple or orange. They weren't real colours. Black was another real colour. So he sometimes wore it on things like shoes and belts. Just a small bit but it was allowed. His blue shirt was comfortable,made of soft material and it was ironed just right and waiting to put on,hanging in the wardrobe where his mum had left it with all his other blue tops,all together in a row. Perfect. Why couldn't he wear that one? She knew he liked the blue one better.

The bedroom door opened behind him. 'Paul aren't you dressed yet'? his father asked,'it's almost time to go'. 'I want to wear my blue shirt', Paul replied, 'it's blue and blue is the colour of the sky and the sea and the bathroom walls and the van down the corner that leaves at 6.40 am and comes back at 5.15 pm'. Paul loved that van and worried when it wasn't back. Once it didn't come back for two whole days and he got so worried that his mum had to go and ask a neighbour where it was. Holidays they said,looking at Paul strangely behind her. He was clicking his fingers anxiously,trying to keep calm. He was happy when it came back.

'I'm sorry son but you have to wear the black', do you want me to help you'? Resigned Paul looked at his father, 'No i can do it, but can i change afterwards'? 'Like straight away'? 'You should be able to change by three pm at the latest Paul' his father said, 'it should all be over and done with by then'. 'Mum would like to see me in black dad wouldn't she,she said when granny Mary of the yellow house died that i was very brave to wear my black shirt'. 'She would indeed Paul', his father smiled sadly, 'and i'm sure she's looking down at us today and is very proud'. 'Paul looked up at the sky, squinting against the sun. Mum had said that heaven wasn't actually in the sky but everyone always looked that way when they talked about it so maybe it was. As they stepped outside into the car he gave a quick wave to the clouds,just in case.

Mr E · 08-06-2011 7:54pm

Not to be picky, but that block of text is very hard to read. Any chance of some paragraphs, please?

angelll · 08-06-2011 8:07pm

Threw in a couple just for you

.

08-06-2011 9:09pm

"The hardest choice"

The three of them ran through the dark moonless night, terror spurring them on to greater speeds. They were the last survivors of their midnight raid. But it was still a successful one: Jerome had the box safely stowed in his backpack.
Adam could feel the burning in his lungs now, and his breath was coming short and shallow. He dared not stop for a moment, despite their growing lead. The forest was too full of hidden roots and drops; his footing too unsure; the danger of being caught too terrifying. He glanced back to see if there was any sign of their pursuers – a distant shadow, maybe, slightly darker than the rest. They had no need of torches. He shuddered.
Suddenly, there was a cry from in front of him. He looked around to see Petra on the ground, her face as white as a sheet. Her leg stuck out at the wrong angle. He froze in sheer panic, before dropping beside her. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and full of pain and fear.

Jerome stood over them, looking at them both. He had the look of a man who had something to say, and did not want to say it. Adam knew: no stopping for anyone. Not any of them. Getting that box away was the most important thing. But this was Petra. This was different.
“I’m sorry, Petra,” said Jerome softly. “I’m really sorry. But we have to keep going. You have your knife. Goodbye.” His face taut with emotion, he walked a few steps away and waited for Adam, while keeping watch.
Petra slowly withdrew her knife while Adam held her, not wanting to look. But her hand was shaking too strongly, and it fell from her grasp, bouncing out of her reach. Adam went to retrieve it, and looked at it there in his hand: that dull, cold metal.
He knew he could not stay with her. They had to keep going. That cursed box had to be taken to safety, or all those deaths tonight would have been for nothing. They had all agreed this before setting out.
But how could he leave her, to die alone? How could he leave her when the only alternative was to meet her fate at the hands of those monsters? A fate worse than death.
Petra, who had been his closest friend since childhood. Petra, who had always been by his side. Petra, with her dancing eyes and rare smile. He held the knife, trapped by indecision. How could he ever make this choice? He wanted to throw back his head and scream at the unfairness of the world. His soul was being wrenched in half.
“Adam, we have to leave. They will catch up soon.”
He looked over at an impatient Jerome, and sighed. He was right, it was now or never.
Petra lay there watching him, her eyes misty with pain, yet full of determination. “Go,” she whispered. “They’ll suffer not having the box anymore. Go, and make me proud. I won’t let them take me alive.”
He sobbed aloud, a tear running down his cheek, passed her the knife, and kissed her forehead.
“Goodbye. Goodbye, Petra.” His throat caught with countless words left unspoken. She smiled weakly at him and waved him on.
He rose and ran to Jerome, who gripped his shoulder. Neither of them spoke a word; there was nothing they could possibly say. They ran on together through the forest, toward safety, with heavy hearts.

[Writing Contest] - THE ARENA

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