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I was thinking about joining the competition, but I write quite slowly in English, and I didn't have much time to write in the last few days. Also, I'm not sure if my story is any good.

Fear not, my good friend.  I write exceedingly slowly, and I'm definitely not sure if my story is any good.   Sometimes you just gotta take some artistic risks and put your work out there.

Spoiler

You decide to retire to the spawning chamber with Mrs. Baron, but first that will require plugging her in.  So many wires, so many different adaptors.....  Darn thing doesn't.... *grunt* ...fit like it... *grrrr* ....like it used to.  There!

   You emerge sweaty and a little greasy from behind Mrs. Baron's universal serial port.  Her blood-red eyes begin to glow menacingly, indicating that she is booting her naughty girl software.  “You really know how to turn me on!” she rasps, shaking her chassis suggestively.  Then she stops, eyes blinking with thoughtful processing.  The hue changes to old-lady-lilac, indicating that she is switching to nag-mode.  You panic and try to reach for the kill-switch, but her crampons snap at your feeble effort.  Then she spits out icily: “Did you remember to put the garbage out?”

   Gah!  The hated garbage chore!  You should never have vaporized that hunch-backed henchman who used to do it for you....  But there's no sense dwelling on the past.  Not unless you're prepared to bring the temporal disruption ray back online.  That would take some serious tinkering and cursing, not to mention tampering with the town's electrical grid again to juice it up properly.  But it'd still be better than putting the garbage out.  Alternatively you could just sneak out in the Baronmobile, banking on Mrs. Baron's fed-up-and-do-it-myself algorithm to kick in and make her do the gargabe.  So many choices!

If you decide to bring the temporal disruption ray back online, turn to post 27.

If you decide to take the Baronmobile for a cruise, turn to post 13.

[close]

I might need an extension of several months to make my new format work.

Either that, or we need to relax the rules for double posting.

Spoiler

   A blazing aura of searing meta-light has erupted into being in your cavern.  You idly wonder if it might turn out to be a more efficient way of roasting marshmallows, but soon you become aware of the dangerous creeping expansion of the tear in the space-time fabric of reality.  Now is not the time to play the blame game of who created what.  Now is the time to turn tail and run like a little school girl!

        Diving for the bilge duct you are engulfed in a blinding waft of eight million degree meta-light.  For a short moment you consider that your evening could have been better spent.  Then, rather than walking into the light, you are instead atomized into the all consuming para-photon flood.

It's been an enlightening experience.  The End

[close]

The Friday ship is sailing....

I know I'm asking for trouble disobeying a direct request from the contest admin, but I'm experimenting with a bold new cutting edge format for my story.  It's like, I'm taking the Adventure Game genre to vivid and reckless places, you know?  But it's all about the art and the creative process.  The pen is mightier than the light brigade and all that.  How do you fit a muzzle onto a typewriter?  How can I touch your soul if you keep blocking me, bro?  How do I get off this crazy train called... dystemporal articulated pseudofiction?

Spoiler

   You decide to PM Ponch, your favourite virtual sparring mate.  He makes himself out to be some kind of shoot-from-the-hip Regulator from the wild-west, but he's actually just this sweet gender-confused cow from New Jersey with a flare for sassy bravado.  Not that you're one to share your shrewd deductions: the charade of him working as a roughneck by day and as an aspiring aerobics instructor by night in some sweltering desert state serves you both well.  Truth is a fleeting mistress on the interwebs, and you'd much rather build a mental image of your favourite correspondent wearing jeans and spandex rather than jogging pants and Miracle Whip.

   â€œSpare me your hot flashes of pity,” you begin, “and check out this pre-alpha build of my latest creation!”  You limp purposefully to the breaker panel and flip a giant lever, resulting in ominous clouds of electric pulses emanating from the impressively huge machinery in the cavern.  You throw back your pickelhaubeless head and cackle with venomous glee.  “It's alive!” you howl.  “IT'S ALIVE!!!1!”

   You hit send and then you go and fix yourself a sandwich, giving Ponch time to try your new creation.  You make sure to fix an olive on top with a toothpick, just like a mini one-eyed pickelhaube-wearing Baron.  “Oh no you didn't, you naughty little megalomaniac!” you say to the olive, revelling in your moment of glory.  “You didn't just bend the rules of gaming science, oh no.  You shattered them with an iron fist!  And... what's that?  You think I should have...  But what do you know about game design theory?  No, it was an intentional reference to archaic user interfaces.  It was supposed to be clunky, that's the whole point!  Do you know, there's only room in this cavern for one raving genius!”  You eat the olive, crushing it to pulp with your teeth of rusty steel.

   Your computer trills a happy note indicating a reply has been posted.  “Why the purple eyes?” you read.  That bastard!  It's clearly merlot-red!  This is the last straw!

If you smite your colour-blind foe with words of shock and awe, turn to post 29

If you decide to take the Baronmobile for a cruise to vent some steam, turn to post 13.

[close]

The continuing saga of awesomeness continues!

Spoiler

   You decide to take the Baronmobile out for a spin.  You descend to the haunted depths of the garage bay, careful to avoid the caninoid's sleep-mode basket so that his murderous death-barks don't alert Mrs. Baron.  After passing through many biometric scans and emergency bulkheads you emerge into the dingy wasteland of the garage bay.  Truthfully you should rename this sector, as it is mostly just jumbled storage of abandoned projects and Christmas ornaments.

   But there, at the front near the aft-receiving gate, is your pride and joy.  A metric ton of black-chrome and rocketry, replete with retro tail-fins and a sleek command turret.  The Baronmobile can go from zero to 140 in the blink of a monocle glint, and sports more accurate missile capabilities than a North Korean birthday party.  In moments you are behind the ergonomically designed control panel, tearing up the substandard paving surfaces of your low-tax municipality.

   You pull up to a stop light next to a gangsta hotrod with multiple exhaust pipes and some Spanish hip-hop blaring.  The driver inclines his chin at you and revs his engine.  You wave back cheerfully while secretly activating the lateral spatula mechanism that flips his car over on its roof.  The light turns green and you deafen anyone within 69 meters with the outrageous decibel output of your mach-three-capable turbine engine.  You roar with maniacal laughter: Buwuhahahahahahahaha!
   But then you hit some kind of glass debris on the road and burst your left drive-tire!  The auto-fix mechanism fails to engage, probably because you forgot to reset it the last time you used it.  Blast!  In a state almost as deflated as your tire you pull up to the curb.

If you decide to call a tow truck, turn to post 37

If you decide to go steal a tire from the gangsta hotrod, turn to post 42.

[close]

But it's paid for, and I'd lose all the money!

Not necessarily.  A witty fellow such as yourself, with dashing good looks and minty fresh breath to boot, can surely negotiate a deal with those flirtatious airline employees.  They're always overbooking flights anyway, so they'd probably be more than happy to oblige. 

But even if you do lose it all, can you really put a price on seeing Ryan Timothy drunk on fermented poutine gravy?

Also, Baron, who would even be serving poutine that early?

You, Madame, have clearly not gone on enough all-night benders in Kitchener.  By morning the traffic arteries are practically choked with gravy and squeaky fresh cheese curds. 

Errrr... would a morning meeting be more convenient for more people?

Sorry Babar, but during the week is insanely busy this time of year.  But if you skip that flight thingy we're golden man.  Friday Freewheeling, Baby!  We'll put the Oh! back in T.O.  Waddaya say?

I too will be writing my story on the instalment plan.  Enjoy!

Lost in the Baron

   You lean forward in your faux leather chair, squinting through your monocle at the pixels on the screen.  Perhaps the merlot-red was too ambitious a hue for the glowing eyes of a semi-sentient death droid sprite.  The gaming public would probably follow you to current-red, even to garnet-red, but merlot-red was clearly a step too far.  You take a sip of whiskey distilled from the tears of young children while twisting your rakish goatee pensively. 

   Blood-red.  It really had to be blood-red.  It was a death-droid, after all.  Nobody cared that it secretly had a heart of gold, maiming and culling in the most humane way possible to spare its victims any extra suffering.  Nobody cared that it really preferred long crawls on the beach, hunting fat guys in Speedo bathing suits in the surreal glow of an apocalyptic sunset.  It was all just wasted character depth: all they would really see is the metallic killing machine.  And metallic killing machines have eyes that glow blood-red.

   Except blood-red was a trifle obvious.  Everyone would expect it.  You take off your pickelhaube and use the razor sharp spike on the top to scratch at a nagging itch between your shoulders.  You can see the gamer review titles now:  “Typical Baron Fare, Mad with Mediocrity.”  In a fit of pique you fling your pickelhaube against the wall where it sticks spike first, the vibrating metal humming murderously.  “So they expect blood, do they?!?” you shout, the words echoing manically through your cavernous lair.     

If you PM Ponch your witty repartee to that quip he sent four hours ago, turn to post 15.

If you retire to the spawning chamber with Mrs. Baron, turn to post 22.

My flight out of Toronto is at 4:15pm on the 29th

Blast!  Once again Time, my arch-nemesis, has foiled my best laid plans!

....I'll be working afternoon shift that week (2:45pm to 11pm). It's also a 2 hour drive from Toronto to my work... have some poutine for me!

Poutine Party in Kitchener at 8am!

I could do the evening of the 29th, but probably not any time during the week.  I'm a ways outside the city.

So... you gonna add a bit of meaning to your life next round?

[Mandle]

...and that's the end of voting.  More with a whimper than a spectacular roar, but I'm tired of holding the competition hostage with perpetual voting.
Here are the results:

The golden trophy of spectacularness goes to Mandle with eight votes.  I thought a flaming crash would have been a more spectacular conclusion, but that'd probably be too obvious.

The silver trophy of spectacularity goes to Sinitrena with seven votes.  I like the depth and texture of the setting in your stories all set in the same background world, although I might be biased having read all of them.  Does the world have a name we can refer to it by?  Otherwise I'm calling it Sinitrenia (so you'd better choose one ).

The bronze trophy of spectacularment goes to FunnyBoy044 with five votes.  I, too, was confused by the presence of some components of the chain reaction in the factory, but the basic plot was compelling.

Most Thought Provoking:...... Yeah, not really sure what purpose this vote category fills. It seems more an unneeded slot to fill rather than something that actually applies to writing/reading stories in general. Unless maybe we have an "Aesop's Fables" theme perhaps...)

Of course as the new comp administrator you may choose whichever voting categories you like, but I feel the "thought provoking" category has merit.  We focus a lot in our voting on the elements of writing (setting, atmosphere, plot, character, word style) but not so much on the message, which is really the whole point of writing anything in the first place.  Just my opinion.

And now I happily turn over contest administration to Mandle, be it his burden to bear for the next fortnight and change.  I for one am looking forward to the new topic in the next exciting instalment of....

The Fortnightly Writing Competition!

[Edit:]

I'm interested in FunnyBoy's opinion, so I'll leave voting open for him.

------------------------

Edit:  This is getting silly.  One more day, then I'm wrapping things up.

I guess we're extending voting until Mandle can squeeze us in....

Maybe Funnyboy might check in on us too.

Baron demands more votes.  Moar!  Mowr!  MOOOOOOORE!

[90 Mile Straight]

Thank you all for your submissions.  The competition is now closed.  On to voting!  These are our competitors:

90 Mile Straight by Mandle.
It'll be Fine by FunnyBoy044
The Square of Flowers by Sinitrena
The Triumphal Procession by Blondbraid

You may cast one vote for each of the following categories:

Best Character: the most believable/captivating/magnetic/unique character.
Best Spectacle: the best spectacle!
Best Writing: the technical art of combining words in a memorable way.
Most Thought Provoking: Which story best reveals a lesson about the relationship between humanity and spectacle?

Voting will extend until Thursday September 7, and awards will be handed out the following day.

One more day, folks!  Be a Dudley Dowrite, not a Debbie Downer.

[spectacular]

There will be no little extensions; only spectacular extensions!

Deadline Extended to Sunday September 3, 2017

Spectacular!

Also, I'd rank it "medium" in terms of length.  It's when you gotta split it into multiple posts that you officially hit the "lengthy" category.

Nice to hear.  Three more days folks!