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Creative Production => Competitions & Activities => Topic started by: Mandle on Thu 27/08/2020 02:59:40

Title: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Mandle on Thu 27/08/2020 02:59:40
The theme for this round is "Ongoing But Incomplete".

Stories can be about anything as long as there is some main element of something started but not yet finished. Not something abandoned, but something that is currently still being worked on but is not yet complete.

Be it a novel, a construction, a piece of music, or even something like a marriage, or sessions of therapy...

Also, for this round if it's allowed, I would like to do the voting differently. I'm not a huge fan of voting for things like "Favorite Character" or "Best Use Of The Theme" etc, as people can probably tell by my own voting... ahem... record...

I would prefer if votes were just cast for "Favorite", "Second Favorite", "Third Favorite" etc. (adjusted depending on how many entries we get)

Of course, people are then free to write their own categories of why they made those choices including character development, plot, theme usage, etc.

Entries open until Thursday, September 10th.

Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Theme: Still a work in progress.
Post by: KyriakosCH on Thu 27/08/2020 03:33:27
Nice theme :) I will try to participate.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Theme: Still a work in progress.
Post by: Baron on Sat 29/08/2020 03:09:38
So if I, like, just end my story in the middle like I always do, does that satisfy the entry criteria? (http://www.vanwijst.com/games/smileys/baron_cup.gif)
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Theme: Still a work in progress.
Post by: Sinitrena on Sat 29/08/2020 04:11:34
Cheater!!!  ;) :-D
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete.
Post by: Sinitrena on Wed 02/09/2020 01:48:09
Wait, did you change the title?  :shocked:
Did you change the description as well?  :shocked:

(First question is rhetoric, I know you did. Second is not, I'm pretty sure my idea would have fit for the description I remembered but now it wouldn't  :-\)
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete.
Post by: Mandle on Wed 02/09/2020 07:37:55
Quote from: Sinitrena on Wed 02/09/2020 01:48:09
Wait, did you change the title?  :shocked:
Did you change the description as well?  :shocked:

(First question is rhetoric, I know you did. Second is not, I'm pretty sure my idea would have fit for the description I remembered but now it wouldn't  :-\)

Well, the original title of "Theme: Still A Work In Progress" was a joke to make people think I was being my usual procrastinating self, and that the theme hadn't been decided yet.

Then when they clicked on the thread they would see that that actually was the theme, and have a "great?" laugh about it.

But after a few days I thought potential entrants may not have clicked on the thread yet as they were still waiting for the theme to "be decided"...

So I changed it to something that (I thought) has pretty much the same meaning.

Doesn't it?

I didn't change the description of what the theme means.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete.
Post by: Sinitrena on Wed 02/09/2020 08:26:37
Quote from: Mandle on Wed 02/09/2020 07:37:55
I didn't change the description of what the theme means.

Sorry, my mistake. I must have mis-remembered. I guess I'll have to tweak my idea a bit.

As for the title change, I don't really care. I was just kidding. (Though I did find the original title more interesting.)

But now I have to correct the Master List. #grumble #grumble #grumble  ;) (laugh)
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete.
Post by: KyriakosCH on Wed 02/09/2020 13:40:20
I have an idea for a short. Could use it as an actual work in progress too - because it will be a sketch to base the larger story on.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete.
Post by: KyriakosCH on Fri 04/09/2020 17:43:53
Ok, guys, here is my entry:

The first act

The police knocked on my door, yesterday. They were in uniform and after a few seconds identified themselves and requested to be let in. Of course I would never comply, so took care to not even make a sound as I retreated back to my room. Perhaps they won’t return, since there was no reason for them to suspect I was actually inside the whole time, and the complaint on which they were acting can’t have been very convincing. After all, I never signed the letter I slid under the door of the man who lives in the next apartment, and at worst the author of that letter could be accused of petty vandalism. The initials of my neighbor, which I carved on the wall-to-wall carpet at an area visible through my keyhole and thus easy to observe while the communal hallway is lit, seem to already have been removed, so, if anything, the actual physical effect of my behavior has been wiped out, which may be enough for everyone to let this slide.
In retrospect, my action was ill-advised. Obviously I lacked a direct way to get this neighbor â€" or anyone else â€" to stand in that exact spot of the hallway, and given it is somewhat out of the way it wouldn’t be routinely walked over by people coming or going, even if I had resolved to spend hours spying through the keyhole. Simply asking others to go stand there would have led to the entirely reasonable request for an explanation: why would I need them to do this? No fabricated explanation I mulled over was anywhere near plausible enough, and it seemed to me that the only thing with the potential to work was luring this neighbor to have a look at the critical spot, by carving his initials there, then accusing him in my anonymous letter of committing vandalism, and finally urging him to clean up his act or risk having the landlord notified.
I chose him since of all the people that live on this floor, only his name and surname are known to me. Which does make it curious that he immediately suspected I was the prankster and vandal. Up to now I meticulously avoided any confrontations with the other residents; turns out they already are distrustful towards me but I still expect the incident to be forgotten in time and can assume the police won’t be involved any longer. An emergency meeting of the residents may still be called, but I shall vehemently deny any part in this affair. I am no schoolboy getting off on immature pranks; I am forty years old, how could they possibly make the accusation stick, when even imagining a motive would be next to impossible?
I wish it was next to impossible, or at least any degree of hard, for me as well to see the need for what I did.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete.
Post by: Mandle on Sat 05/09/2020 22:16:38
Quote from: KyriakosCH on Fri 04/09/2020 17:43:53
Ok, guys, here is my entry:

Nice storytelling! You know how to hook onto the reader's interest and make them want to keep reading after the first sentence or two.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete.
Post by: KyriakosCH on Sat 05/09/2020 22:39:16
Quote from: Mandle on Sat 05/09/2020 22:16:38
Quote from: KyriakosCH on Fri 04/09/2020 17:43:53
Ok, guys, here is my entry:

Nice storytelling! You know how to hook onto the reader's interest and make them want to keep reading after the first sentence or two.

Thank you, my friend :)

Well, I am a published writer, though not in English... If you have time do check some of my stories in the Patreon link! (obviously for free)
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete.
Post by: Sinitrena on Mon 07/09/2020 03:23:14
Dreampainter


She was running. The pebble stones crunched under her feet. The birds chirped their startled twitter when she passed. The sun shone down onto her skin, hot and refreshing. No sweat glistened on her skin, no heavy breathing made her chest hurt. She ran as free as a deer, as fast as the wind. Every step seemed like a jump, propelling her forward. With every one she was catapulted closer to her goal, somewhere behind the next hill, the next river crossing the path, the next hedge whipping past her.

The picture was clear in his mind. They always were. They always stayed with him when he left the desk and they never needed to return when he sat down again.

He sighed heavily as he trudged along the white corridor and smoothed non-existing wrinkles out of his clean and boring white clothes. Everything here was white â€" the floor, the walls, the ceiling, his clothes, even his shaved head shimmered in a white hue under the colourless light. It was to keep the mind clear, to keep it focussed, to keep the colours and the action, the fun and the games, to the canvas and brush. His mind had to stay clear of all external influences.

But even as he reached his workstation, nearly everything was white: the thin walls between the cubicles, the tables, the chairs. The paintbrush had a white handle, the canvas stood on a white easel, his inks were hidden in white jars â€" not even a coloured sticker broke the boredom. He sighed again as he sat down and folded the white blanket back that had obscured the canvas and the picture he had been working on.

She was human and still not. Normal and still supernatural. Running and still flying. She could dance and run at the same time, she could sing the song that had been stuck in her head the whole day and that had missed a line and a note to its completion. She was perfect and the world around her was perfect.

Had she stopped to think, had she stopped to look around, she might have seen, past the pastures and the clouds, just this tiny glimpse of the painter in his chair, propping his head up with one hand, tired and bored, and dipping the brush into some colours with the other.

He spread the colours more against the walls of their jars then using them to continue the painting. Even when he added a blot here or there he did it without even the semblance of enthusiasm. He knew he had to hurry. Time might run different on the canvas than in his office, but it still ran and the woman, his charge, was running fast towards the unfinished parts of the painting.

He hated his job and while his thoughts never quite managed to get rid of the beautiful images and scenes he created for other people, they still also always came back to his own annoyances and his deep wish to just fall asleep.

A blot here, a smudge there, the painting changed its form and its story. Fields became buildings, cobblestones a marble staircase.

She was running up. She didn’t remember entering a building. She hadn’t opened any doors, she hadn’t felt any walls around her. They were there, not enclosing her, not holding her. She had ran up here before, in countless nights and countless dreams. They were familiar and still so strange. Every stone of the walls seemed like an old friend, every nick in the balustrade like one she had created herself. It took no strength to run up the steep stairs. After all this time, all these years she hadn’t walked at all, it still was nothing unusual and most of all nothing tiring.

He painted hope for her. He painted dreams for her. But what about his dreams?

The truth was, that he hated dreams. He hated painting. He hated sitting in a white office, surrounded by white-clothed people in a white building in a white world. In the dreams he created, everything was colour, everything was hope and everything was possible. Here, here everything was always the same. He had never dreamed himself.

His brush had stopped somewhere on the way from the jar to the canvas. Blue, for the sky at the end of the staircase, crept slowly towards the tips of the bristles. He watched it, but he did not move his hand. The workplace was supposed to be clean, spotless, but he wanted it to be different. He wanted this tiny spot of colour to be there, to stay there. He watched a little bead form. For now, it held onto the brush, glued to it as if it knew that it was only supposed to leave the bristles when they touched the canvas, as if it was afraid to neglect its duties.

As if it lasts..., he thought, looking at the painting. When the night was over, the canvas would be taken away, would be stored, would be destroyed when his charge was gone forever. Even he would not see the painting again, and only his mind would be there to keep her dreams straight, to create common elements, to make them her dreams.

The staircase seemed never ending. It spiralled further and further up in a steady circle around a bottomless abyss in the middle. She did not look down and she did not look back. Looking back was never a good idea, even though she knew there was nothing dangerous she left behind and nothing dangerous in front. She always felt free when she ran. Even before the accident, while she trained for the marathon and did so in her dreams as well, she felt free running. Here, in this world of shadows and washy colours, running was not exhausting and did not remind her of stiffened legs. The movements did not wrench her muscles, the air did not burn in her lungs. Here, running was nothing but joy, nothing but flying free.

Walls gave way to the open world again, to a mesmerizing view of wild woods and thundering waterfalls. It was dusk and the hot sun of the earlier part of her dream stood deep in a red and --- sky.

He shook his hand a little, just the tiniest bit. Even this little rebellion made his heart beat faster. For a moment the drop of blue paint held onto the bristles. Then it stretched and peeled itself from the brush. Tinier drops flew to the side while the main one followed a gentle curve downwards. He followed it with his eyes, and for a moment the world around him seemed to be stuck in the same inconsistent time bubble as that of the young woman in the canvas.

It landed on his shoe, tinting the tip in just a splash of azure.

He watched his foot for a moment, turning it left and right and then moved it further under his table to hide it. He sighed again and tried to re-focus on the painting. He needed red next, a bit of yellow for the sun, then more green for the forest and grey for the foam at the waterfall.

It seemed all so boring to him. All the colours seemed so meaningless. Instead of dipping the brush into the next colour and painting the sun, he just held it up and let the paint drip back into its jar. Over and over again he dipped it in and again and again the paint slid from the bristles and fell unused back down. A few drops splattered out in the process and dyed his table in colourful sprinkles. A little smile danced around his lips.

She flew, for real now. The tower was like a springboard, catapulting her into the --- sky. Around her, the colours of the world faded more and more. The before dark --- sun now only shone weakly down at her. Deep below her, the --- woods became pale. The waterfall seemed frozen in time.

She was a bird in the wind, a dragon in the sky. She danced in the vastness of her dream-world and not for a moment did she wonder how she could possibly fly. No, this was her, this was her deepest core, her truest being, free, high above the world, free, free!

Amused by the chaos on his table, he stopped caring about keeping his colours separate after a while. Blue dropped into red and yellow mixed with green. A bit of orange was added, a bit turquoise. Smiling like a disobedient child, he started to swirl the mixtures in his jars with the handle of the brush. He wiped it on the sleeve of his shirt and dipped his fingers into the jars. A short, barking laugh escaped his throat, but he bit down on his lips to stop it.

He wanted to take the jars and throw them at the heads of his co-workers in the other cubicles, but even bored out of his mind and rebelling in his own way, he did not dare to do it.

The pictures of the dream he was supposed to paint still invaded his thoughts constantly, trying to force him to work. He saw it clearly, the swirly sky, clouds that became leaves in the wind, whirling around her in all colours of the rainbow, her falling down backwards into the grass, then closing her eyes and finally, finally, waking up with a smile on her face â€" a smile he had created.

And with this thought, his own smile was gone. He starred into the jars that so neatly separated his colours before. Now they were all just a brown and grey mess. Again, someone else’s smile and happiness took over his mind and he fought it down with all his might.

“No. No!” he whispered angrily, always careful not to attract the attention of the other painters in the room. “Not this time! This once, just this once…”

She flew, flew through a void. The --- --- around her seemed to have fallen down into a great nothing and no --- --- shone any longer onto her cold skin. She had never felt cold before when flying, had never felt anything but freedom before. Now, she began to shake, and the ground with its --- --- seemed to come ever closer. She felt like falling, not like flying.

He dunked the brush forcefully into one of the jars, not even caring what colour it was supposed to be. The bristles bent and broke, leaving tiny fibres in the jar. And when the brush had collected enough of the paint and a thick blob clung to it, he whipped it towards the canvas.

Brown goo splattered all over the painting.

Bricks and logs came falling down onto her. Colours dropped into the void. Darkness infolded her and she fell and fell and fell. Her wings were gone, her freedom. Her legs, she remembered, she remembered that they were gone, that they could no longer move, no longer carry her weight, no longer stop her fall. The ground, nothing but another endless darkness, came rushing towards her. She screamed, but her voice was gone, she closed her eyes but she kept seeing, she grabbed onto some of the things surrounding her, stopping them, holding onto them. Formless monsters encircled her. More and more appeared out of the void.

Again and again he dunked the frayed brush into this jar or that one and threw paint onto the canvas. Snickering silently at first, he started to laugh after a while. The pictures in his head changed. There was no longer a smiling woman, there was nothing but horror on her face now. And he knew she wouldn’t wake up, couldn’t wake up until she had reached the end of the canvas, the end of his story, and there was still so much paint in his jars.

Shapeless tentacles grabbed at her. She wanted to run, but her legs were stiff. She wanted to fly, but she knew that was impossible. She wanted to fight, but how do you fight darkness itself? It overwhelmed her, again and again, catching her. It did not let her go but she found herself fighting it again, being grabbed again, again, again. She crawled, she screamed, voiceless, she curled up into a ball, she…

Dirty from top to toe, he laughed and laughed and laughed.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete.
Post by: Baron on Fri 11/09/2020 02:51:46
Take Twenty

   â€œNo!  No, wait!” he pleaded, spitting blood.  He clambered backwards awkwardly, slipping on the debris of the collapsed building.  The shadow of his pursuer loomed menacingly over him.  He raised his hand up in a feeble attempt to defend himself, wincing in anticipation of the mortal blow that was surely about to fall.  “I'll tell you!  I'll tell you everything!  It was all Jessica, I swear!  She learned your secret and planned to-”

   â€œCUT!” the director shouted wearily.  “Damn it, Steve, we can see your wristwatch!”

   â€œCrap, sorry Hank.”  Steve took a small towel from his pocket to wipe the fake blood off his chin.  “Can't we get that stuff in editing these days?”

   â€œNot on our budget,” Hank grumbled.  “OK, that's lunch people!  We'll take it from the top in twenty!”  A bell rang to drown out the sound of gripes from the crew-members at the shortness of the break.

   â€œNice going, Shitowitz!” Gary complained from beneath the tentacles of his costume, as he waddled off to quickly have a smoke.

   â€œShipowitz.  It's Shipowitz, actually!” Steve called after him.  He tried to flag down a crew-member to get a sandwich, but they were all scurrying away like rats from a sinking ship.  Instead he was left prone on the fake rubble beneath the sinister shadow of the director.  Somehow it was even more terrifying than that of the space alien.

   â€œSteve!” Hank barked, “I'm not one to mince words.  This movie is depending on you, and your career is depending on it.  It's like a parasitic circle of slimy interdependence, you see?  But you're sucking all the life out of it.  You are the uber-parasite that is gobbling up all the nutrients in the system. You are the locust swallowing the last grains of a farmer's crop, blissfully unaware that there is nothing left to eat tomorrow.  For any of us!  Am I being clear?  Is there any ambiguity to the message I am trying to communicate?  You are shitting in the punch-bowl of this party!  Get your act together or get your ass back to that two-bit college theatre program you crawled out of!”

   â€œYeah, Hank.  Sure, sure,” Steve soothed, but the director had already stalked off.  Steve shut his eyes to imagine the indignity of returning to the Marlon Brando School for Theatre and Film back in Omaha.  He felt the imaginary shame coursing through his veins.  Of course, since it was an imaginary school that he had just made up to pad his resume, imaginary humiliation was all he could expect from his alma mater.  Much worse was the prospect of returning to his cardboard box under the I-80.

   Suddenly there was the sound of K-Pop girls singing at the top of their lungs.  Steve looked around embarrassed, relieved that he hadn't been caught with his ring-tone unsilenced during a take.  “Steve-boy here,” he answered with a fake sense of cheer.

   â€œHi Steve-Poo!” his girlfriend gushed.  “Are you all packed for the weekend?”

   â€œHi Pixie Stick!” Steve gushed back.  “Uh, actually things aren't going so well on the set.  I think I might have to stick around for some extra innings on this one.”

   â€œBut Gary said shooting would be done by Friday!”

   â€œWell, yeah, but Gary's part isn't as involved as mine.  I've got a lot of close-ups, facial reactions, voice work, stuff like that.  I mean, all Gary has to do is waddle around in that alien costume to help the CGI modellers.”

   â€œFine,” Pixie said, although she didn't sound very fine with it.  “Maybe Tish can come up with me to the cottage....”

   â€œYeah, yeah, that sounds like a great back-up plan.  I'll catch up with you guys if I -hello?  Pixie Stick?”  Damn service provider kept dropping his calls.  He was about to call tech support when the perky K-Pop girls started shrieking again.

   â€œSteve-boy here,” he answered cheerily, relieved that his girlfriend had called back.

   â€œSTEVE-O!” a male voice shouted back.  “What's rocking my main man??”

   â€œOh, hi Jerry.  I'm actually on this other call right-”

   â€œHey, hey!  No probs, man!  I wouldn't be the world's greatest agent if didn't give my Number One client the space he needs to keep in THE ZONE!  You're not talking to another agent, are you?”

   â€œWhat?  No, I-”

   â€œGOOD!” Jerry shouted, steamrolling over Steve's attempts to get a word in edge-wise.  “'Cause I've been busting my chops getting you your next gig!  How do you feel about doing a Tupperware commercial?  No, no, don't tell me, 'cause I already signed you up.  And I got a casting director from CBS looking for an up-and-coming actor to play Hitler's girlfriend for a new series on their Peacock streaming service!”

   â€œBut.... I'm a man!”

   â€œYeah, it's like this cross-dressing kind of homoerotic satirical thing.  It'll be hilarious!”

   â€œGeeze, Jerry.  I don't think it's right-”

   â€œI know!  What is CBS thinking, launching a streaming service in this market!  But in order to climb the ladder, you gotta get your hands on the rungs, right kid?  And I'm the guy that's finding those rungs for you.  You just gotta close your hand and pull.  Can you do that, Steve-O?  Can you wrap your hand around a solid cylindrical object and pull with all your might, over and over again, until you reach  the highest heights?!?  Don't answer that!  I know the answer, because you've been working at it your whole life!  Training to be the best damn ladder climber in show business!  I believe in you, Steve-O!”

   â€œThanks, Jerry.  I really appreciate everything you've done, but-”

   â€œWhoa, whoa!  Let me stop you there, man!  Buts are for assholes!  Now before you go off rubbing your but all over me, I wanna remind you of that little incident in Vegas that I took care of for you.  Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.  Your best-bud-in-the-world Jerry took care of that shit for you.  Haven't I wiped enough buts, Steve-O?”

   â€œNone of that Vegas stuff made any sense!” Steve said with exasperation.  “I mean, how did that dead hooker even get-”

   â€œWhoa! Whoa!  What kind of movie are you talking about?!?  Remember that one where gentlemen speak in code?”

   Steve rolled his eyes.  “Fine!  How did that ROOM SERVICE even get into my hotel room?”

   â€œHey, must have been a wild and crazy night!  But Jerry's not the type to judge.”

   â€œBut I was IN my hotel room the whole night!  I didn't even have a beer!  I just watched Storage Wars until I passed out and when I woke up there was this... ROOM SERVICE all over the floor!”

   â€œYeah, it's one crazy town, Vegas!” Jerry agreed.  “But the point is I took care of it.  That's the only point you ever need to remember.  Your best-bud-in-the-world Jerry has GOT YOUR BACK!  Oh, and I was going through your bank statements -more red ink than a vampire editor's convention!  I just want you to keep in mind that PART I told you they were casting for.  Remember the flick about the heist?  They still need an ACTOR to drive the getaway DISHWASHER.  Let me know if you're interested!”

   â€œSure, sure, Jerry.  You're-”

   â€œOh, hey!  I almost forgot.  Your doctor called this morning with your test results.  Remember all those invasive scans he had you do because he thought you might have some form of rare and incurable cancer?”

   â€œOh my god, what were the results?”

   â€œHey, I can't tell you now!  It might throw you off your game!  What you need to do now is focus on your performance.  That's the important thing.  Your buddy Jerry's gonna take care of all the rest, like always.  That a boy, Steve-O!”

   â€œOK Jerry.  You're right.  The thing is, I think I've got this little problem with Pixie-”

   â€œWhoa, look at the time!  Sorry kid, Jerry's got a parole meeting he was supposed to be at 5 minutes ago.  Keep thinking aces, a'ight?”

   â€œJerry?  Jerry?”  Damn.  If it weren't for that “till death do you part” bit in his contract, Steve would definitely be considering shopping for a new agent right about now.  He looked at his watch and grimaced: only five minutes of break left.  A few of the crew-members were starting to trickle back into the studio.  Time to get his game face back on.  Time to knock this sucka out of the park!  Time to-

   The up-tempo synth music and Korean choral vocals interrupted Steve's thoughts once more.

   â€œSteve-boy here!” he announced, struggling to maintain his trademarked cheerfulness.

   â€œSteven, it's Marlene,” a grumpy voice replied on the other end of the line.

   â€œHey mom!” Steve greeted her happily.

   â€œI told you never to call me that,” Marlene said flatly.  “Just because you're dating my daughter doesn't make us related in any way.”

   â€œI'm sorry, Mrs. Sedgewick,” Steve apologized sincerely.  “It's just I've never had anyone so close as you and Pixie-”

   â€œHer name is Priscilla.  Now I'm concerned about this cottage trip-”

   â€œWhat?  Why?  She's actually just going up with her friend Tish, since I'll be filming all weekend.  I hardly think-”

   â€œDon't piss on me and say it's raining,” Marlene barked.  “I know perfectly well that Tish will be at her mother's birthday this weekend.  We've been neighbours for twenty years, for Christ's sake.  Now you listen to me: I don't like the idea of my daughter driving up to Reno with all these wild-fires burning up-state.”

   â€œReno?  We weren't planning on going to Reno!  That's where this jerk Gary has a cottage â€" I wouldn't go within a hundred miles of that place even if you paid me!”

   â€œJust cancel the trip,” Marlene threatened, “or I swear to god the next time you come near my property I will douse you with gravy and sick my two rottweilers on you.  I don't feed 'em much, so they're usually awfully angry and awfully hungry.  Do you hear what I'm saying, Steven?”

   â€œUh... yes ma'am!  Sorry ma'am!  I will pull the plug on the whole trip, Mrs. Sedgewick!  I promise-”

   â€œOh, shut up and just do it,” Marlene muttered as she hung up.

   Suddenly there was a faint whiff of stale cigarette smoke and an unearthly shadow looming over Steve again.  “Ready to make some magic, Shitowitz?” Gary asked sarcastically.

   â€œHey, when do we do that scene where I smash your face with the brick?” Steve asked.

   â€œAs soon as you stop screwing up this one,” Gary replied, waddling back into position.  “So, never?”

   Steve took a deep breath, then removed his wristwatch and set his phone to mute.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete.
Post by: Mandle on Fri 11/09/2020 09:53:39
Seems a lot of people, myself included, are having trouble accessing this site from yesterday and the problem is ongoing. I will extend the deadline for a few days.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete.
Post by: Mandle on Mon 14/09/2020 09:33:51
Voting is now open.

I would prefer if votes were just cast for "Favorite", "Second Favorite", "Third Favorite".

Of course, people are then free to write their own categories of why they made those choices including character development, plot, theme usage, etc.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Mandle on Mon 14/09/2020 15:30:02
Meh... I'll enter some lyrics I wrote for a metal song that is not yet completed (so I think it kind of counts towards the theme) :

Lone's Song

Last night, from outside, you pierced my soul.
I'm chased now, not myself, hunted, without a goal,
Soul screaming at the blind sky in vain,
You raped me beyond all sins, staining me like wine,
You're in my blood, tasting me with your ravenous roar,
Changing me steadily with your cruel need for more,
Time and eons start to fray,
Faster than my fear can begin to say,
About the kind of monsters that show us prayers.
Time and eons start to fray,
Anymore, I cannot stay,
On the path of the unknown call,
Leading to that great, desolate hall.
My mind bows its head in defeat,
My eyes cry blood as I fall,
At the fluid meaninglessness of your feet.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Sinitrena on Tue 15/09/2020 10:23:29
@KyriakosCH: This story left me intrigued, but more than that confused. First of all, I don't think it's a story. It's at most a paragraph, a teaser. We get a hint of a plot, but that's not enough to make it a complete story. And I should get this out of the way: While Mandle doesn't seem to mind (going by the note to his own entry) that the story is kind of unfinished, I do. It is not enough for me to have an unfinished entry to satisfy the theme. Granted, one can argue that there are elements in your story that might still be ongoing: mainly, the prank, but to be honest, I'm not sure that's the case. It's an assumption. The narrator could stop the prank, and the only evidence of his/her doing so far has already been removed. So, it might or might not be ongoing and therefore I see the connection to the topic as slightly strenous.
Now, my confusion. I'm actually not sure what is going on. I could describe what happens, but as to motivation, there doesn't seem to be any and the last sentence seems to confirm this from the point of view of the narrator as well. Besides, what exactly is the prank? Just having the neighbour go to this place and look at it? Why? Why does the narrator want to see him stand there and watch him through the peephole? Is it vandalism for the sake of it? What exactly is the prank?
I can't deny that I got a rather sinister vibe from the narrator, along the lines of: Does he want the neighbour there to kill him? So that aspect, this not knowing what is actually going on, is definetely something that left me curious, but in the end, because there is no explanation, it also left me rather frustrated.
The writing itself is pretty good, though. It dragged me into the story - and then spit me out again without any resolution.

@Baron: I notice a lack of a plot here as well, but in a different sense than with Kyriakos' entry. Here, we just have something like an everyday day in the life of Steve. There's no specific reason why this day should be looked at any closer. Maybe in a novel, the fact that it changes his relationsship with his girlfriend and future (maybe) MIL might be significant and it certainly reads interesting enough, but without somehting more it doesn't go anywhere.
I like Steve's interactions with the other characters. And I like the fairly clear impression we get of Steve's personality. I might have prefered a story that has more of a streamlined plot with that character though.
The aspect of something ongoing but incomplete is stronger in your entry, with the movie being shot and the relationship with Pixie, as well as the cover-up.

@Mandle: I will never endorse admins entering their own competition, but I'll still consider your song as a valid entry.
You're getting a bit emo in your old age, aren't you?  ;) Honestly, that's not the kind of writing I would have expected from you but I kind of like it.
It's always a bit more difficult to look for a narrative in poetry (and especially in lyrics) so it's not entirely clear what is actually going on in your text. Therefore, more general stuff:
I'm not sure, but vain and wine do not rhyme, do they?
No idea what this is supposed to mean: "About the kind of monsters that show us prayers."; "At the fluid meaninglessness of your feet."
It's interesting what kind of meaning one can read in songs, especially metal and especially incomplete ones. There are at least three interpretations that I came up with immediately and they might all fit:
Is it a love song, especially unrequited love?
Is it someone embracing death?
Is it someone chased by monsters?
I really can't say, and for all I know, all three are completely off, so I'll just leave it at that.


While I prefer our usual voting, I won't create categories and just tell you my votes straight up:

Favorite: Baron
Second: KyriakosCH
Third: Mandle

Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: KyriakosCH on Tue 15/09/2020 15:51:01
Thanks. Well, the story actually has a plot beyond this passage - I just haven't written it yet. The person has a very specific reason for wanting someone to go stand in that spot.  8-)
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Sinitrena on Tue 15/09/2020 18:06:29
Well, it's a bit difficult to evaluate something that isn't there...  ;-D (But I'm curious, so if you want to share the narrator's motivations and aim, that would be nice.)
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: KyriakosCH on Tue 15/09/2020 18:26:37
Quote from: Sinitrena on Tue 15/09/2020 18:06:29
Well, it's a bit difficult to evaluate something that isn't there...  ;-D (But I'm curious, so if you want to share the narrator's motivations and aim, that would be nice.)

The person is stalked by an apparition, which stands in that exact spot. However it seems the apparition can be altered if other people (who obviously do not see it) move into it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ku79lUc2DMc
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Mandle on Tue 15/09/2020 23:56:01
Quote from: Sinitrena on Tue 15/09/2020 10:23:29
Is it a love song, especially unrequited love?
Is it someone embracing death?
Is it someone chased by monsters?

I only really entered so that there was one more entry. I don't want to or expect to win or even place.

The answer to your three theories is kind of "yes" to all.

It's the lyrics that might be used or adapted for the closing song of "Chronicle Of Innsmouth: Mountains Of Madness" in which a character has a relationship with, lets just say "an entity", which could be described, with some interpretation, by all three of your takes.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Sinitrena on Thu 17/09/2020 21:19:46
Quote from: KyriakosCH on Tue 15/09/2020 18:26:37
Quote from: Sinitrena on Tue 15/09/2020 18:06:29
Well, it's a bit difficult to evaluate something that isn't there...  ;-D (But I'm curious, so if you want to share the narrator's motivations and aim, that would be nice.)

The person is stalked by an apparition, which stands in that exact spot. However it seems the apparition can be altered if other people (who obviously do not see it) move into it.

I think knowing this detail would have made the story better, mainly because it would have felt more complete. It's an interesting concept, certainly.

Quote from: Mandle on Tue 15/09/2020 23:56:01
Quote from: Sinitrena on Tue 15/09/2020 10:23:29
Is it a love song, especially unrequited love?
Is it someone embracing death?
Is it someone chased by monsters?

The answer to your three theories is kind of "yes" to all.

I guess I'm kinda good at guessing the meaning of weird lyrics.  ;)


Guys, more votes would be nice, I feel so lonely in the voting booth here. (Then again, it's better for social distancing...  (laugh))
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: KyriakosCH on Fri 18/09/2020 03:45:25
Thanks, I now expect you to change your vote to reflect how great the story idea was  :=

Edit (I originally wrote the following in a more stupid manner, so am writing this differently now: )

I decided to trick Mandle and disqualify my story, so his can (at worst) win third place ^_^

Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Baron on Sun 20/09/2020 03:44:38
Sorry, sorry!  I got distracted with other tasks and forgot to check in on the forums for a couple days there.  I'll read and vote by tomorrow, I promise!

Edit

OK.  After some due consideration I vote in the following manner:

Favourite: Sinitrena.  I most liked how both characters (the dreamer and the painter) were developed as the story unfolded.  It was an interesting concept, although by the halfway point I already had a good idea of where everything was going.  Which brings me to my only real criticism: the story kind of ends.  I mean, obviously there will be fallout for both the dreamer and the painter, but the main important idea of any larger story (the painter snapping, or at least breaking out of white cubicle prison of his mind) is effectively over.

Second Favourite: KyriakosCH.  You can't disqualify your entry!  Only Mandle can do that!  ;-D  I agree with Sinitrena that mentioning the apparition would have made the story make a lot more sense.  However, leaving the reader questioning what was happening was a good way to make the story seem incomplete, so in that regard I think you succeeded more than anyone else in this competition.  I think just a few more details (maybe not even describing the apparition but hinting at its presence) would have clinched you first place in my books.

Mandle.  Yeah, that's right.  No vote unless I hear an audio recording of you singing those lyrics.  And by singing I mean screaming at the top of your lungs, preferably to heavy metal music that is also just vocals that you pre-recorded.   DAH DAH DA-DA-DAAAAAAAH!   DAH DAH DA-DA-DAAAAAAAH!  DAH DAH DA-DA-DAAAAAAAH! 
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Sinitrena on Mon 21/09/2020 14:03:30
Quote from: Baron on Sun 20/09/2020 03:44:38

Favourite: Sinitrena.  I most liked how both characters (the dreamer and the painter) were developed as the story unfolded.  It was an interesting concept, although by the halfway point I already had a good idea of where everything was going.  Which brings me to my only real criticism: the story kind of ends.  I mean, obviously there will be fallout for both the dreamer and the painter, but the main important idea of any larger story (the painter snapping, or at least breaking out of white cubicle prison of his mind) is effectively over.


Yeah, I saw this as well for my own entry, but as I hinted at, I considered an uncomplete story as an easy way out for this topic. What I thought as the ongoing elements were the dream (nightmare) on the one hand and the decent into madness on the other.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Mandle on Tue 22/09/2020 00:59:19
Baron, please respect your sense of hearing. It is not something to be so carelessly thrown away.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Baron on Tue 22/09/2020 03:16:11
WHAT?!?  SORRY, YOU'LL HAVE TO SPEAK UP!  :=
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Sinitrena on Wed 23/09/2020 16:42:59
Ouw, my ears!

Anyway, voting's been open for over a week and it seems Kyriakos is not inclined to vote (I'm not even thinking about any neutral people voting), so, Mandle, don't you want to lead this competition to its conclusion?
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Baron on Thu 24/09/2020 03:36:12
The symmetry is fitting.  The voting period is ongoing but ...incomplete.  ;-D
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: KyriakosCH on Thu 24/09/2020 05:37:24
Guys, you should by now have established just how lazy I am, and you wrote entire chapters :)
Only Mantle was considerate, so I did read his.
It should be played by Pantera  (nod)
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Sinitrena on Mon 28/09/2020 22:20:04
Seriously, a two week voting period?

*Sini is bored and doesn't make progress on her Background Blitz entry, so she would really like a new FWC.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Baron on Tue 29/09/2020 03:12:48
It's like the movie Groundhog Day!  We're forever caught in this ongoing but incomplete competition!  Quick, somebody step in front of a bus to see what happens....  (roll)

(https://imagesvc.meredithcorp.io/v3/mm/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Fstatic.onecms.io%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2Fsites%2F20%2F2016%2F02%2Fgroundhog-day-800.jpg&q=85)
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Mandle on Tue 29/09/2020 05:54:50
ARGH sorry... on it...
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: KyriakosCH on Tue 29/09/2020 09:49:54
Just to make sure, my entry is disqualified (would be immoral for it not to be, given it would mean people lose my vote, and according to custom I couldn't have voted for my own story for 1-2-3 anyway) :)
Nor did I vote, given of the other entries I only read Mandle's (like I said, you wrote large pieces and I am very lazy :/ )
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Mandle on Tue 29/09/2020 11:01:15
By my reckoning, involving much complex math and possible voter-fraud:

KyriakosCH is our winner with 4 pts and Baron and Sinitrena both come in tied at second with 3 pts each.

If KyriakosCH is serious about disqualifying himself then Baron and Sinitrena  can either host the next round together or have a cage-fight to decide the host.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Sinitrena on Tue 29/09/2020 15:40:27
Nononononono, you do not shirk your responsibilities like that, young man!  (laugh) After two weeks you could at least cast a tie-breaking vote.  ;)

Besides, leaving it open like that (K won, but withdrew, so B or S can start a new round?  (roll)) - that only leads to no-one starting a new round. Be decisive!

But if you really want it to stand like that, I have no good ideas for a new topic right now and feel more like writing anyway, so Baron choosing the new theme would be perfectly fine for me.
On the other hand, I took over for Reiter last round, so he technically also still should start a round.
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: KyriakosCH on Tue 29/09/2020 16:59:56
Much as I would have liked to win by default due to tampering by myself ( := ), indeed I cannot accept it ^_^

But I do appreciate the thought, Mandle. (50 euros sent through the usual paypal; just insist a little more and we have this  (laugh) )
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Baron on Wed 30/09/2020 04:25:17
Wait, what?!?  I don't think KyriakosCH should be able to withdraw after the voting period has started.  And besides, he hasn't hosted a competition yet, so I vote he hosts the next competition. 

Congratulations KyriakosCH!  ;-D
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: Mandle on Wed 30/09/2020 08:55:38
Quote from: Baron on Wed 30/09/2020 04:25:17
Congratulations KyriakosCH!  ;-D

+1
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: KyriakosCH on Wed 30/09/2020 09:57:17
Well ok, I can host the next competition, but without having officially won :)
I suppose I cannot enter if I host? (or is this not true? Mandle entered here, but it wasn't a serious attempt, apparently)
Also, if I host the next one, you should know it will be flash fiction (let's say up to 500 words)
Title: Re: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ongoing But Incomplete. VOTING OPEN
Post by: KyriakosCH on Wed 30/09/2020 13:28:29
Ok, I posted the new thread.  (nod)

I decided not to take part in the contest myself (since the topic is pretty much what I always write).