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Huh.  I never considered that the taloned slimy scaly beast could have been a jilted bridesmaid....  Of course it's equally plausible that the bloodthirsty creature is the mother of the groom.  If only Ponch would offer us some closure on the true identity of the monster when/if he gets back from the island.

Making trophies is still on my to-do list, so hopefully the thread won't be locked before I can publish them.   

Why would anyone get married on PÃ,,“ Niho??!?  Your niece doesn't have slimy scales I hope....

[PÃ,,“ Niho]

Where could you possibly be going where it would take four days to get to by plane?  Unless it was a very small plane, and the destination was extraordinarily remote....  OMG!  Are you going to PÃ,,“ Niho?!?

Don't do it P!  For the love of pulp, don't do it!  Your massive semi-automatic Texan fire-power and even more massive Texan sense of macho bravado is no match for the slimy scaly thing that haunts those cursed shores!

[Haggis]

Well, the results are in!  I was so impressed with all the thoughtful votes that everyone cast.  Hopefully Ponch won't win and revert voting to some archaic format with no feedback for the writers....

In third place, with seven votes, is Haggis.  I think this was actually my favourite piece, although only by a whisker.  I loved the word choice and over-the-top characters.  Please join us more often so I can read more of your work!

In second place, with ten votes, is Sinitrena.  Like many of the other comments, I'd like to mention how I was drawn in by the inner thoughts of Ethel as she struggled to satisfy the will of an uncaring goddess.  As always I look forward to reading more next time.

And finally, in first place, with twelve votes (if you count the hanging chads), it's Ponch!  Yours was truly a gripping tale, with excellent word-choice and good atmosphere.  It definitely was the piece that best suited the topic, so bravo to you sir.

Alas I am caught between family obligations at the moment and haven't had time to manufacture some much deserved trophies, but fear not!  They will be forthcoming over the next couple of days.  In the meantime, I turn over the duties of contest administrant to the capable hands of one Ernest J. Ponchworth, and sincerely look forward to the next topic. 

Hope to see everyone out again next time (bring a friend!), for the next exciting instalment of....



The Fortnightly Writing Competition!

[prodigious]

Well, I guess that's that then.  I've got one word to sum up my impression of our contributors for this theme: prodigious.  It's good to see that there's still plenty of writing tinder out there if the right spark falls on it.

Now to voting.  You can vote up to twice per category if you just can't decide between your two favourites.  Categories are as follows:

Closure: Should Stupot be compelled to at least write a synopsis of what might have happened? (yes/no)
Best Character: the most believable/captivating/magnetic/unique character
Setting: the most vivid background world, or most gripping atmosphere
Plot: the best organized, coherent and well-executed story with appropriate pacing, climax, etc.
Word Choice: the technical art of combining words in a memorable way
Overall "couldn't-wait-for-the-next-episode" bonus point: an extra point for that intangible page-turner quality.

Voting will run for about 96 hours from this post, or until roughly Monday evening EDT when I will have time to add up all the votes.  Good luck to all participants!

Well then, let the process of blunting the editing scissors begin!

24 more hours, peeps.  I think all of our contributors have established the serial feel, so for the sake of closure I'll remove any posting limits (time/words) if you feel compelled to wrap things up.  If you need a short extension to make this happen, let me know in the next 24.  Otherwise, we will soon be voting!

Oooooo!  The plot thickens like inky tendrils of shadow at the bottom of the sea.  

I usually don't read submissions until voting time, my reason being that they will all be fresh in my mind when it is time to cast my vote.  But I am all up to date now, and I want more, more, MOAR!!!!1!  There's only four days left in the competition, and I fear there won't be enough time for resolution.   If only I could travel back in time to edit the OP to ensure that some sort of synopsis-of-what-would-have-happened blurb was appended to any unfinished story!  I guess the only solution now is to encourage you all to write, write like the wind.  Goose the throttle of your keyboards like you've never goosed before!

Gaps are fine, as long as the reader can piece together what is happening.  Have fun with it!

Ooooooo!  The plot thickens like a sultry day.

Any other takers?  Or am I going to be pestering Ponch for 16 more instalments to get my serial fix?

I wouldn't worry too much, P.  Things have changed a lot in Hawaii since the 40's. 

It was the early 90s, thank you very much. That means I'm not old and still very hip and cool, right... right?

You were there in the early 1890's for the overthrow of the Hawaiian kingdom?  And a proud member of the American Committee of Safety under Sanford Dole as well?  But even yet, despite your record-breaking superannuation and unapologetic imperialism, I still can't help but find you very hip and cool just the same.  What's the secret of your charisma, P?

I've actually lived in Hawaii (I was stationed at Hickam, at Pearl Harbor) and I was afraid that if I put the hero in Hawaii, I might accidentally get too many details right, thus ruining the pulpy experience.

I wouldn't worry too much, P.  Things have changed a lot in Hawaii since the 40's. 

Are you sure we did this before? I remember that we did a continuation story where the entry from one person was based on what the person before wrote so that we ended up with one single story by many different authors. But if I unterstand this topic here correct, it doesnt matter what everyone else writes, its supposed to be one story by a single author in more than one post. Did I misunderstand?

Baron, could you clear this up?

Sinitrena's impression is correct, while kconan's fond memories of competitions past betray him.  Back in November of 2013 we had the Continuation Story Theme, while this competition is the Serial Theme (Pulp Quality Optional).  This time you write your own story, but you are supposed to make it up and publish as you go.  Having said that, there's nothing specifically in the rules about piggy-backing on someone else's story, so knock yourselves out if you feel so inclined.  Like I always say: Write what your gut tells you, and let the judges sort it all out.

[Deadline for your second entry is Thursday May 26]

A slight change in format this fortnight.  Welcome to the competition known as
SERIAL


Novels of yore were published as they were written, often a chapter at a time, sometimes in a journal or newspaper.  Audiences would wait with baited breath for the next instalment, like tv shows before Netflix.  Our mission this fortnight is to rekindle the magic of the serial format by writing an episodic entry according to the following criteria:

1)Valid entrants will write a minimum of two distinct entries at distinct times (ie not published within an hour of each other)

2)Entries must have a common title/branding with episode sequence indicated (e.g. TIME RIPPERS, episode 3: The Buxom Beta-Centaurians)

3)Any given entry is capped at 1000 words, but of course could be much shorter (paragraph?  log entry?  extremely well-crafted sentence?)
    There is no limit to how many entries you enter, as long as you don't violate rule #1.

4)Entries must develop the same story line (I don't mind throw away episodes or tangents, but no completely different stories)

5)Completion of the story arc is not required: it's the journey that counts.

Bells and whistles would include suspenseful cliff-hangars at the end of each entry, but are not necessary. The main idea is to bring the readers along on a thrilling ride with you the writer.  So have fun, engage your audience, and write up a dark and stormy....er, episodic story!

Deadline for your second entry is Thursday May 26.  You can write more than two instalments but we won't be counting stand-alone entries, so don't get caught at the last moment.  Or if you do, make sure you ask for an extension so that your hard work doesn't go to waste.

Submissions will be judged on the usual criteria of character, setting, plot, word-choice, and an overall "couldn't-wait-for-the-next-episode" score.  Good luck to all participants, and I look forward to reading you frequently!

Thanks, Danvzare.

If I had given it more consideration, I would have no doubt written it better.

This is so very true, except when it isn't.  My story was originally a meeting of senators plotting to assassinate Caesar: Llama was named Brutus and the Chimp was Cassius; there wasn't even a Cow at that point.  But I got to second-guessing myself about whether the story was interesting to read, or whether it needed some old-school forbidden love to spice it up.   And then when the story became more about the ridiculous pomposity of the Rooster/Caesar (who was originally a lion) and the inner struggle of the Llama/Brutus to not allow himself to be controlled by his carnal desires, all the mouthful Latin names seemed too confusing and rather superfluous.  But of course by then you'd be wondering why these herbivores would act in such a blood-lustful way, which is kind of lost without the obvious parallels to the world's most famous assassination.  So ultimately over-considering things can be as fraught as under-considering things, but it's the thought that counts.

I'll try to get the next comp up as soon as inspiration strikes.

....used far too many odd verbs (spat, interjected, stated, pointed out, seconded etc) when a simple said would have worked much better.

Having been flamed off one or two other forums for less than I've written above, I want to add a little disclaimer: The above is meant only in the spirit of constructive criticism, not as any kind of personal attack, and is only my opinion

"No offence taken," decreed the Baron.

[Character:]

As always I will exercise my democratic right with extreme relish:

Character: I'm going to go with Danvzare's Will here.  I liked his everyman quality of dreaming big and then giving up almost immediately.

Setting: I think Danvzare's depiction of New York City was pretty vivid.  Sure, it was never actually mentioned as the setting, but you can almost taste the lead-tinged exhaust clouds of early 1980's New York City in the narrow street canyons between his blocks of words.

Plot: Easily Danvzare again.  His story is like a suspense-thriller novel that's been made into a roller coaster that's been made into a virtual memory implant à  la Total Recall.  A simple misunderstanding sparks a wild-fire of self-destructive anti-establishmentarianism that just as quickly runs out of dry timber and fizzles in the damp fog of a New Year's Day hangover.  You really want to pull for the main protagonist who seems to have grasped what is wrong with society and is willing to sacrifice life and limb to fight for change, but only after the brutal reality of the those sacrifices is juxtaposed with the comfy expedient of sleeping in the next day is the reader confronted with the disturbing truth that it is actually he, and folk of his ilk, that manifest the true rot that is decaying society from within.  That's some deep shit.

Word Choice: Gotta be Danvzare.  The clever transposing of "revolution" and "resolution" is the beating heart of the peice.

Revolution: I'm voting for Danvzare, but not because I necessarily support Will's revolution.  I think his grandiose scheme was probably doomed to failure from the outset, so he probably made a rational decision by abandoning it.  But it's that give-up-before-you-start attitude that, collectively, makes people want to start revolutions in the first place, because no one seems to be doing anything to help.  I think there's something to be said for just going with your gut and charging on regardless: it's messy and it's failure prone, but god-dammit it's real.  Not like the false charms and potemkin façades of our current stilted, ossified, and decadent public sphere.    

This was actually done on Wednesday, but I haven't been able to get on to the forums until now.

A Tail of Two Species

   It was the beast of times, it was the worms of times.  Hundreds of years ago the Animal Kingdom had broken the shackles of tyranny, ushering in the golden age of the Animal Republic.  And with each passing year the lustre of the epoch seemed to glow more intensely as genuine progress was made in technology, social equality of the species, economic stability, and sanitation.  Now was an age of reason triumphant, and yet also an era of ignorance ascendant.  For the better things became by any objective measure, there seemed to be an ever growing reaction of those who yearned for the easy answers of a simpler time.  Thus, as the day of the Animal had just hit a new zenith, so too did the shadows begin to lengthen, foreboding the coming darkness.

   The Llama stole quickly through the alley, his hooves sheathed in soft slippers knitted from his own wool to soften the typical clop-clop of his gait on the hard paving.  He bit his cleft lip nervously, casting a glance behind him without even turning his head by virtue of his long-slitted pupils.  There fluttered on the alley wall a half-unstuck poster depicting their hated rival for the Herbivore Party's nomination: the garishly plumed Rooster.  His beak was contorted into a sneer befitting a formal property mogul, his claws sharpened to slash out against the bleating heart liberals who had supposedly brought the Republic to ruin, and his perky comb was coiffed in an unnatural feat of branding.  He was known as the Lion of Fence Street, although bafflingly he had carved out a gullible following from the ranks of the anti-Fence Street wing of the Party.  “Let my mighty crowing give voice to the meek and downtrodden!” read the poster.  The Llama silently dropped a dozen kibbles of poop in front of the poster, hitched up his toga, and slipped discretely into an unmarked doorway.

   The warehouse had been abandoned for some time and was beginning to crumble, so he picked his footing gingerly as he would on the mountain paths of his ancestors.  Nowadays folk usually just communicated by e-braying or Snout Book, but it was most unwise to attempt anything illegal on Virtual Spider Web.  The quasi-government controlled agencies like the CIJ or the FDI would sniff you out like a basset hound; that is, if the corporate-herds didn't sell you out first.  They were all in cahoots with the political-dominant complex, looking to get their own snouts deeper into the trough.  So if you wanted to truly express yourself freely, legally or otherwise, you had to do it the old-fashioned way: face to face, preferably in a creepy conspiratorial milieu.

   The Llama arrived at a door and knocked furtively.

   A small slot opened at eye level.  “What's the secret password?” a pair of yellow eyes demanded.

   â€œThe lion sleeps tonight,” the Llama replied.  The sound of metal latches followed and he was promptly admitted to the den of sedition.  He was happy to see that many of his friends were already in  attendance.  They lounged impatiently on abandoned office furniture, whispering quietly to each other. There was the Cow, representing the bovine wing of the Party.  She was dressed in tight pleather, a shock-value youth fad for her species ever since its recent invention.  A cigarette burning some grass or weed dangled carelessly from her hoof, sending mesmerizing tendrils of smoke to waft whimsically through the half-light cast by the boarded windows.  Llama welcomed the visual distraction, since it conveniently drew his gaze from the massive udder that was barely contained by her pleather garment.

     Also present was the Muskrat, representing rodents and other vermin.  He wore some tattered garments barely distinguishable from the outdated sofa material on which he sat, while his wet moustaches cascaded down his rat-like face like ferns in a glen.  Llama was grateful that this greasy hippy sat between him and the Cow, since his vermin-like ugliness would shield him from her feminine wiles.   

   Next there was the Chimp, representing primates, and the Flamingo representing birds.  The Chimp lounged lazily on the back of a second couch, his designer dress-shirt and expensive glasses betraying him as a champagne socialist.  The Flamingo was a union apparatchik, currently nattering on about how the brotherhood must resist the machinations of the powerful by always doing exactly what the union bosses told them.

   â€œWhere's the Snake?” the Llama asked, noting the absence of his slithering compatriot.

   â€œHe has cold feet,” the Muskrat spat snidely, despite the reptile's lack of appendages of any temperature.

   â€œThis is not business for the timid,” the Chimp interjected in his over-pompus Massachewsit accent.  “The less he knows from now on the better.”

   â€œNo decision has been made yet,” the Flamingo pointed out.

   â€œThat is what we are here to do,” the Cow said with an air of finality.  “Tonight, one way or the other, we must decide our course of action.”  For emphasis she uncrossed and then recrossed her hind legs, the sound of tight pleather straining at its purpose drawing Llama's attention reluctantly to the smooth tautness of her hind shank.

   â€œSo be it,” he said, trying to get his mind of the gravity-defying curve of that perky udder.  How it heaved gently with the Cow's breath, its two barely concealed teats dancing hypnotically like the pupils of a viper.  “Th-then let nothing delay us further,” he recovered.  “We have already resolved that the Rooster must be stopped.  His omnivorous charisma and fascist arrogance have made him a lightning rod for the disenchanted and the gullible.”

   â€œThey feed on his lies of nostalgic virtue, like the past was any less messy than the present,” the Chimp bemoaned.  “As if he could turn back the clock if he tried: the consulate is not an all-powerful office-”

   â€œHe means to subsume the venerated office,” the Flamingo stated flatly, “By turning the whole government into a reality TV circus of huckster populism.  He will denigrate our institutions and erode our precious freedoms, all in the name of rekindling a lost glory that never was.  I say we kill him.”

   â€œWait, wait, wait,” said the Musktrat.  “I agree with everything that has been said so far, and indeed this wannabe-king must be stopped, but couldn't we just derail his campaign somehow?”

   â€œThat will never work,” explained the Chimp petulantly.  “His campaign is derail-proof.  No matter how stupid or insipid or just plain wrong his bluster, it only seems to inflate the bubble of his popularity further.  Remember when he demeaned that swan's question due to her gender before riding her like a lemur on a bronco?  Everyone thought his campaign was dead before the feathers hit the floor, and yet he bounced back with even more support for telling it like it is.”

   â€œAnd any external set-back is always blamed on the conspiracy of the elites,” added the Flamingo, “driving the downtrodden to greater depths of rage and further inflating his polling numbers.”

   â€œWe need to stop that cock from straddling us like one of his dung hills,” the Cow declared, her udder nodding in agreement.  Her analogy did not transmit to the Llama as intended.  “I vote with the Flamingo: we kill him.”

   â€œAgreed,” seconded the Chimp.  There was a long drawn-out silence as the three shifted their gazes between the Llama and the Muskrat.  The Muskrat squirmed at the idea of violence, while the Llama squirmed at the thought of that udder bursting from its pleather prison with the help of his dextrous cleft-lips....

   â€œUh....yeah,” he struggled.  “I'm in.”

   â€œBut the system's not supposed to work like that, man!” protested the Muskrat indignantly.  “What ever happened to civil-society and debating the issues on their merits?  This slope is as slippery as an otters mud-bank.  Who's to say that we aren't next?  Is that the kind of country you want to live in?”

   â€œIs the Rooster's vision what you want to live in?” retorted the Flamingo.  “Where migratory species are excluded due to the colour of their fur or feathers?  Where the death penalty is reinstated for low-trophic prey animals?  Where inter-species mating is recriminalized?” The Llama swallowed hard, while the Flamingo continued: “Where our foreign policy is dictated by the puff and swagger of a fence-post potentate with his toe on the trigger of our mooclear arsenal?!?”

   â€œFine..... fine,” the Muskrat sighed, his idealism pulped like an invertebrate in a stampede.  “But how do we do it?  Who's gonna stick their long fuzzy neck out and be the first to thrust the dagger?”

   â€œWe need a champion,” the Cow lowed seductively.  “A beast of conviction and untrammelled passion.  Someone with a deft touch, but a rugged stamina for the ....undertaking.”  She cast the barest hint of a wink in the Llama's direction, and then a seam on her bodice audibly burst, snapping him temporarily out of the dangerously weird places his mind had been wandering.

   â€œOh shit...” thought the Llama.
   

I was banking on the 4th not being over for another 26 hours here....  If that's not the case then I will need an extension.

I've finally got an idea.  Who else is joining the revolution with me?  We have COOKIES!

Oh, I see how it is: The evieeeeeeeeeeel participants want to overthrow their fair and honest and benevolent moderater just so they can use cheap jokes that we all read a thousand times already.

....my joke was cheap.

I'm of two minds about this.  Firstly, it's Sinitrena's competition so she gets to set the rules.  So no current American politics.  But secondly, and I don't say this to antagonize Sinitrena who I really think is well-meaning and has done her best to set the record straight, I've seen enough bending and dodging and even outright breaking of the rules of this competition over the years to know that we'll basically accept anything short of a cut & paste job.  It is very unlikely that you would win by flouting the rules, but as my cheap joke above implies this topic practically asks you to rebel by attempting to flout them. I mean, what is "current" anyway, if not happening right now.  But is what happened ten minutes ago current?  Ask a day-trader or a traffic reporter or horse racer or....

Anyway, I hope SilverSpook you won't be put off from participating by Sinitrena's legitimate defence of her prerogative as contest adminstratrix (she's German: it's a rules-based culture -it's not her fault!); and Sinitrena, I hope you won't hold a grudge against SilverSpook for his fiery beliefs in libertarian free-speech and corporate armageddon against civil-society (he's American: it's hard-wired into him -it's not his fault!).