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Ceramic DM Winter 07 (Final Judgment Posted)
- Thread starter yangnome
- Start date
Drawmack
First Post
Round 1 Match 6 (Monday):
Rodrigo Istilindir vs. Drawmack
The Case of The Disappearing Husband
It was a cold winter day, like so many other cold winter days. I just collected a large tab and was looking forward to taking a little break. Detective work can be rather boring sometimes, hell most of the time, so I was looking forward to a Sam Spade novel reminding me why I became a detective.
That’s when she walked in on a set of gams that would leave a priest needing a confessional. Her head was crowned with red hair like smoldering embers, ready to erupt any second. Southern fire and brimstone evangelists had nothing on the intensity in her emerald eyes. Innocence almost exuded from the pores in her milky complexion, innocence found nowhere else in her appearance, but ample innocence was visible around her skimpy green dress. I just knew this dame was trouble, but I also felt this could be passed on almost as easily as passing on water in the desert.
She walked in like she owned the place, grabbed a coffin nail from the box on my desk and leaned in for me to light it. Then she sat down and flourished her perfect get-away sticks in the name of crossing them. When she spoke, a smoky voice added to her allure as she started her story.
“Hi Jack, I’m Laura a friend of Bill Williams. There’s this little problem with my husband and Bill told me you might be able to help.” She stated taking a long pull off her cigarette, and flashing elegant hands that one could picture doing many things.
Great just another “my husband is cheating” case, I thought but the possibility of this broad needing some comfort bought the response, “Tell me what you need doll.”
Taking a second drag off her cigarette, she said, “Well the story starts a couple weeks ago. Ralph, my husband, got a telegram that his brother, and only living relative, Karl, had passed away. The telegram implored him to return to Rapid Falls and make the necessary arrangements, so off we flew.”
“Set center stage at the funeral home was a casket looking more the size of a child then a full grown man, especially one Karl’s size. The size discrepancy became even more apparent when the six pallbearers could barely fit under the casket. (1_6_2.jpg)”
“It took a week for the lawyer to read the will. Karl’s money, a quite substantial amount, went to various charities and organizations. Personal belongings were split among friends. Ralph received a single manila envelope containing four two-sided, type-written sheets. These were tucked away with a vow to read them at home.”
“Three days after we returned, Ralph sat down to read his inheritance. After about half an hour he screamed “OH MY GOD!” and ran from the house clutching the letter. I have not seen him, or the letter, since. I need to find him.” She finished tossing her cancer-stick into the ashtray.
Deciding this sounded interesting, I set Sam Spade aside and informed her I would take the case. She laid a file on the desk with a phone number on the front and turned to leave saying “Call if you need anything.” Then she walked from the office with a parting shot as nice as her entrance.
Looking at the file revealed a list of Karl’s friends, colleagues, and some of his favorite haunts. I decided to head up to Rapid Falls, after a night’s sleep.
I headed home for my pre-case ritual, two blocks into the sixteen block journey I noticed them. Tailing me, like a four-year-old sneaks up on a chocolate bar, was a black Chevy Suburban with tinted windows. I did not know who these clowns were, but Occham’s Rasor told me it had something to do with Laura, Karl, and Ralph.
--
Upon landing in O’Hara international I noticed more thugs tailing me. These guys looked more like professional wrestlers then guys that should be tailing anyone, let alone a private investigator. I figured their bosses had to be some pretty powerful people if they were using tails that were almost as hard to spot as Arnold Schwarzenegger in a day care. But I decided to keep pretending I was stupid and blind.
Outside I picked up my rental and headed for the local motel. Once in my room, well more of a closet really – but at least it was clean, I opened Laura’s file and looked for a logical starting point. Of course the Black Suburban followed me here and was parked outside the window. I found the name Iserpio. As if that name were not enough to pique my interest, it was accompanied by a note reading “Don’t let his appearance shock you.” So I called the provided phone number and made an appointment to meet this Iserpio, who sounded normal enough.
Deciding it might be prudent, I shook the tail on the way to the Iserpio’s. Pulling up, I saw a mansion where Bella Lugosi could be waiting in a lab coat while some little man with a big hump guided me in. I pulled up to the garage and honked two shorts and a long, as instructed. The garage door promptly opened, I pulled in and the door closed behind me.
Inside the garage I was definitely not greeted by a little man with a big hump. A sultry voice came out of the darkness, “Iserpio is in the yard awaiting your arrival.” Then footsteps led away. As she exited the room I caught the briefest glimpse of a woman who could have just stepped off the pages of Vogue.
--
Shock could not even begin to describe what I felt, load in my pants might have done the job though. At the far end of the massive yard I saw what looked like a snow owl coming in for a landing. As it approached closer I noticed that it had the head of a winter wolf (1_6_1.jpg). As he landed right in front of me, he looked up at me and said, “How may I help you?”
“W-W-What are you?” I stammered
“I am Iserpio.” He responded, which also answered my next question. “On the phone you commented that you wished to talk about Karl and Ralph.” He continued, unabated by my shock.
Still in a near state of shock, I could not help but ask. “What exactly are you and where do you come from?”
With a look I was unable to read, due to the alien nature of this creature, Iserpio stated. “I am Iserpio, a one of a kind creature with a one of a kind name. As for where I come from let’s just say that men should not know certain things and the people at SansLogik would do good to learn that. Now, could we please move on to Ralph and Karl every moment I spend here threatens my life a little more?”
I lit a smoke to give me the much desired moment I needed to clear my thoughts. When that was not enough time I asked for a highball and awaited its arrival. Finally with a drink in my hand I was able to compose myself. I must have looked like a school boy seeing his first bare-chested dame. “I’m sure you know about Karl. Well, it seems that Ralph was reading his inheritance when he ran from the house and has not been seen since. I was hoping you could shed some light on this, or point me to someone who can.” I explained.
“I have no idea what was written in that letter; or why Ralph had the reaction he did. But, I can tell you that Bill Fredricks might. He was a colleague of Karl’s at SansLogik. If anyone knew what Ralph wrote in that letter it would be him. Do you need his number?” Iserpio asked
“Laura gave me numbers for all of Karl’s known friends and colleagues; I think Bill’s number is on there. I’ll be on my way now so you can get out of danger.” I stated and turned to leave.
--
A black Crown Victoria with tinted windows awaited my arrival at the motel. I gave Bill a call. He agreed to meet me in the old cemetery after dark. He said to meet him at the statue to Odin and Frigga which sits on top of the hill.
The site inspired something a bit short of awe. While the entire cemetery was covered with a fresh blanket of snow, like a fine down comforter, the area around the monument was as naked as a newborn’s bottom. Sitting in the center of the dry space was a concrete casting of a bench with a banister behind it. A set of statue of skeletons sat on the bench, embracing each other like school kids in puppy love. Between what I assumed were the man’s legs was a copper bowl (1_6_3.jpg). A middle aged man, thick middled like a fryer, stepped from behind a near by tree and approached me.
“Did you come alone?” He asked in a hushed voice.
“Well there was a tail on me when I left the motel, but I shook ’em.” I replied
“Was it two brutish guys who look like they share ten IQ points between then in a black Crown Victoria?” He asked.
“Yeah, how did you know?” I replied.
“Standard SansLogik flare. I’ll be extremely quick and to the point. First of all Karl is not dead and Ralph is with him. Their lives are in danger because of what Karl was working on. We’re talking about really weird stuff here.” He started.
“Yeah, I met Iserpio.” I interjected.
“This stuff makes him look normal. Karl had two choices go into hiding until the story breaks, or die. He opted for hiding. If you want to find them go to Crowley’s Closet, it’s a small club in the basement of a bowling alley downtown. It’ll be easy to find there’s only two bowling alleys downtown and one of them is closed this time of the night. I have to go now.” Bill stated then took off into the graveyard. He disappeared among the tombstones like a cricket in a wheat field.
--
The bowling alley was easy enough to find, being right on the main drag and all. Of course Frick and Frack picked up my trail at some point, because I noticed them parking as I got out of my rental. These two were almost as good at hiding as a three year old is at keeping a secret.
I went in, got a lane, rented some shoes, found a ball, and bowled my 43 average until the two thugs from the black lagoon got bored. It took all of about thirty minutes before Neil and Bob were in the bar.
Then I turned in my shoes quicker then an Irish Protestant fights an Irish Catholic. There was an open stairway to the basement, but it was not marked by any signs. I headed down the stairs and tried the door. I was greeted by a large man wearing a diaper and carrying a rattle. Now, I have been in some pretty strange places, but this left me longing for a conversation with Iserpio. “What are you looking for?” The giant baby queried.
“I was told I might enjoy Crowley’s Closet.” I responded.
“Well come on in then. You can take off your normie clothes over there.” He pointed to what looked like a dressing area, except it was completely open.
I walked around a little; looking for someone strange in this place was like looking for a drop of water in the ocean, but eventually some people who might have information. Standing against a wall, shrouded in red light which added a demonic air to them, were two dames I’d do just about anything to bed. One was a redhead with freckles and creamy skin the light set fire to. The other was dressed in a Nazi hat, lederhosen and not much else. They were laughing at a couple who might have been engaging in adult activities, if they were not dressed like giant birds. (1_6_4.jpg)
As I approached the Nazi said. “Bill called and said to expect you. Karl is in the back. Just go to that door and tell them you’re with Me. They’ll let you in to see Karl then.”
I headed to the door, well really more of a loose panel. The door was guarded by a Fryer Tuck, who I’m pretty sure was packing more then himself under that dress. He let me through to the back. I was greeted by Karl and Ralph. I told them my story and Karl decided that Ralph needed to leave with me because he could be endangering them both by staying.
--
Eventually I made it back to the motel. I had to get a second room for Ralph, as I was not going to share a bed with him. Around midnight there was a loud crash outside followed by several reports from a hand gun, probably a nine mil, and then the screeching of car tires.
I grabbed my gun and ran out the door just in time to see the Crown Vic heading onto the road. One look in Ralph’s room was all it took to convince me a door nail contained more life then he did. Three holes in his head and two more in his chest, attested to the capability of the assassins. Maybe they could not conduct a tail, but they could shoot like a nun can pray.
I left in a hurry and reported to Laura that I was unable to locate her husband.
Next time you have a choice between Sam Spade and a pretty dame, take Sam Spade.
Rodrigo Istilindir vs. Drawmack
The Case of The Disappearing Husband
It was a cold winter day, like so many other cold winter days. I just collected a large tab and was looking forward to taking a little break. Detective work can be rather boring sometimes, hell most of the time, so I was looking forward to a Sam Spade novel reminding me why I became a detective.
That’s when she walked in on a set of gams that would leave a priest needing a confessional. Her head was crowned with red hair like smoldering embers, ready to erupt any second. Southern fire and brimstone evangelists had nothing on the intensity in her emerald eyes. Innocence almost exuded from the pores in her milky complexion, innocence found nowhere else in her appearance, but ample innocence was visible around her skimpy green dress. I just knew this dame was trouble, but I also felt this could be passed on almost as easily as passing on water in the desert.
She walked in like she owned the place, grabbed a coffin nail from the box on my desk and leaned in for me to light it. Then she sat down and flourished her perfect get-away sticks in the name of crossing them. When she spoke, a smoky voice added to her allure as she started her story.
“Hi Jack, I’m Laura a friend of Bill Williams. There’s this little problem with my husband and Bill told me you might be able to help.” She stated taking a long pull off her cigarette, and flashing elegant hands that one could picture doing many things.
Great just another “my husband is cheating” case, I thought but the possibility of this broad needing some comfort bought the response, “Tell me what you need doll.”
Taking a second drag off her cigarette, she said, “Well the story starts a couple weeks ago. Ralph, my husband, got a telegram that his brother, and only living relative, Karl, had passed away. The telegram implored him to return to Rapid Falls and make the necessary arrangements, so off we flew.”
“Set center stage at the funeral home was a casket looking more the size of a child then a full grown man, especially one Karl’s size. The size discrepancy became even more apparent when the six pallbearers could barely fit under the casket. (1_6_2.jpg)”
“It took a week for the lawyer to read the will. Karl’s money, a quite substantial amount, went to various charities and organizations. Personal belongings were split among friends. Ralph received a single manila envelope containing four two-sided, type-written sheets. These were tucked away with a vow to read them at home.”
“Three days after we returned, Ralph sat down to read his inheritance. After about half an hour he screamed “OH MY GOD!” and ran from the house clutching the letter. I have not seen him, or the letter, since. I need to find him.” She finished tossing her cancer-stick into the ashtray.
Deciding this sounded interesting, I set Sam Spade aside and informed her I would take the case. She laid a file on the desk with a phone number on the front and turned to leave saying “Call if you need anything.” Then she walked from the office with a parting shot as nice as her entrance.
Looking at the file revealed a list of Karl’s friends, colleagues, and some of his favorite haunts. I decided to head up to Rapid Falls, after a night’s sleep.
I headed home for my pre-case ritual, two blocks into the sixteen block journey I noticed them. Tailing me, like a four-year-old sneaks up on a chocolate bar, was a black Chevy Suburban with tinted windows. I did not know who these clowns were, but Occham’s Rasor told me it had something to do with Laura, Karl, and Ralph.
--
Upon landing in O’Hara international I noticed more thugs tailing me. These guys looked more like professional wrestlers then guys that should be tailing anyone, let alone a private investigator. I figured their bosses had to be some pretty powerful people if they were using tails that were almost as hard to spot as Arnold Schwarzenegger in a day care. But I decided to keep pretending I was stupid and blind.
Outside I picked up my rental and headed for the local motel. Once in my room, well more of a closet really – but at least it was clean, I opened Laura’s file and looked for a logical starting point. Of course the Black Suburban followed me here and was parked outside the window. I found the name Iserpio. As if that name were not enough to pique my interest, it was accompanied by a note reading “Don’t let his appearance shock you.” So I called the provided phone number and made an appointment to meet this Iserpio, who sounded normal enough.
Deciding it might be prudent, I shook the tail on the way to the Iserpio’s. Pulling up, I saw a mansion where Bella Lugosi could be waiting in a lab coat while some little man with a big hump guided me in. I pulled up to the garage and honked two shorts and a long, as instructed. The garage door promptly opened, I pulled in and the door closed behind me.
Inside the garage I was definitely not greeted by a little man with a big hump. A sultry voice came out of the darkness, “Iserpio is in the yard awaiting your arrival.” Then footsteps led away. As she exited the room I caught the briefest glimpse of a woman who could have just stepped off the pages of Vogue.
--
Shock could not even begin to describe what I felt, load in my pants might have done the job though. At the far end of the massive yard I saw what looked like a snow owl coming in for a landing. As it approached closer I noticed that it had the head of a winter wolf (1_6_1.jpg). As he landed right in front of me, he looked up at me and said, “How may I help you?”
“W-W-What are you?” I stammered
“I am Iserpio.” He responded, which also answered my next question. “On the phone you commented that you wished to talk about Karl and Ralph.” He continued, unabated by my shock.
Still in a near state of shock, I could not help but ask. “What exactly are you and where do you come from?”
With a look I was unable to read, due to the alien nature of this creature, Iserpio stated. “I am Iserpio, a one of a kind creature with a one of a kind name. As for where I come from let’s just say that men should not know certain things and the people at SansLogik would do good to learn that. Now, could we please move on to Ralph and Karl every moment I spend here threatens my life a little more?”
I lit a smoke to give me the much desired moment I needed to clear my thoughts. When that was not enough time I asked for a highball and awaited its arrival. Finally with a drink in my hand I was able to compose myself. I must have looked like a school boy seeing his first bare-chested dame. “I’m sure you know about Karl. Well, it seems that Ralph was reading his inheritance when he ran from the house and has not been seen since. I was hoping you could shed some light on this, or point me to someone who can.” I explained.
“I have no idea what was written in that letter; or why Ralph had the reaction he did. But, I can tell you that Bill Fredricks might. He was a colleague of Karl’s at SansLogik. If anyone knew what Ralph wrote in that letter it would be him. Do you need his number?” Iserpio asked
“Laura gave me numbers for all of Karl’s known friends and colleagues; I think Bill’s number is on there. I’ll be on my way now so you can get out of danger.” I stated and turned to leave.
--
A black Crown Victoria with tinted windows awaited my arrival at the motel. I gave Bill a call. He agreed to meet me in the old cemetery after dark. He said to meet him at the statue to Odin and Frigga which sits on top of the hill.
The site inspired something a bit short of awe. While the entire cemetery was covered with a fresh blanket of snow, like a fine down comforter, the area around the monument was as naked as a newborn’s bottom. Sitting in the center of the dry space was a concrete casting of a bench with a banister behind it. A set of statue of skeletons sat on the bench, embracing each other like school kids in puppy love. Between what I assumed were the man’s legs was a copper bowl (1_6_3.jpg). A middle aged man, thick middled like a fryer, stepped from behind a near by tree and approached me.
“Did you come alone?” He asked in a hushed voice.
“Well there was a tail on me when I left the motel, but I shook ’em.” I replied
“Was it two brutish guys who look like they share ten IQ points between then in a black Crown Victoria?” He asked.
“Yeah, how did you know?” I replied.
“Standard SansLogik flare. I’ll be extremely quick and to the point. First of all Karl is not dead and Ralph is with him. Their lives are in danger because of what Karl was working on. We’re talking about really weird stuff here.” He started.
“Yeah, I met Iserpio.” I interjected.
“This stuff makes him look normal. Karl had two choices go into hiding until the story breaks, or die. He opted for hiding. If you want to find them go to Crowley’s Closet, it’s a small club in the basement of a bowling alley downtown. It’ll be easy to find there’s only two bowling alleys downtown and one of them is closed this time of the night. I have to go now.” Bill stated then took off into the graveyard. He disappeared among the tombstones like a cricket in a wheat field.
--
The bowling alley was easy enough to find, being right on the main drag and all. Of course Frick and Frack picked up my trail at some point, because I noticed them parking as I got out of my rental. These two were almost as good at hiding as a three year old is at keeping a secret.
I went in, got a lane, rented some shoes, found a ball, and bowled my 43 average until the two thugs from the black lagoon got bored. It took all of about thirty minutes before Neil and Bob were in the bar.
Then I turned in my shoes quicker then an Irish Protestant fights an Irish Catholic. There was an open stairway to the basement, but it was not marked by any signs. I headed down the stairs and tried the door. I was greeted by a large man wearing a diaper and carrying a rattle. Now, I have been in some pretty strange places, but this left me longing for a conversation with Iserpio. “What are you looking for?” The giant baby queried.
“I was told I might enjoy Crowley’s Closet.” I responded.
“Well come on in then. You can take off your normie clothes over there.” He pointed to what looked like a dressing area, except it was completely open.
I walked around a little; looking for someone strange in this place was like looking for a drop of water in the ocean, but eventually some people who might have information. Standing against a wall, shrouded in red light which added a demonic air to them, were two dames I’d do just about anything to bed. One was a redhead with freckles and creamy skin the light set fire to. The other was dressed in a Nazi hat, lederhosen and not much else. They were laughing at a couple who might have been engaging in adult activities, if they were not dressed like giant birds. (1_6_4.jpg)
As I approached the Nazi said. “Bill called and said to expect you. Karl is in the back. Just go to that door and tell them you’re with Me. They’ll let you in to see Karl then.”
I headed to the door, well really more of a loose panel. The door was guarded by a Fryer Tuck, who I’m pretty sure was packing more then himself under that dress. He let me through to the back. I was greeted by Karl and Ralph. I told them my story and Karl decided that Ralph needed to leave with me because he could be endangering them both by staying.
--
Eventually I made it back to the motel. I had to get a second room for Ralph, as I was not going to share a bed with him. Around midnight there was a loud crash outside followed by several reports from a hand gun, probably a nine mil, and then the screeching of car tires.
I grabbed my gun and ran out the door just in time to see the Crown Vic heading onto the road. One look in Ralph’s room was all it took to convince me a door nail contained more life then he did. Three holes in his head and two more in his chest, attested to the capability of the assassins. Maybe they could not conduct a tail, but they could shoot like a nun can pray.
I left in a hurry and reported to Laura that I was unable to locate her husband.
Next time you have a choice between Sam Spade and a pretty dame, take Sam Spade.
Herremann the Wise
First Post
Judgments for the first three judgments sent. ![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
Best Regards
Herremann the Wise
Best Regards
Herremann the Wise
BSF
Explorer
Comments to comments - Sblocked for prudence.
[sblock]
Thanks! There are a few notable weaknesses in my opinion. Though I probably need more time to distance myself from the story before I can give it a thorough assessment. But to summarize, I didn't tie the pieces together tightly enough. Ceramic DM is a creative writing exercise, to be sure. But it is not an easy exercise. The challenge really is to find a string that you can write from. A string that you can weave throughout the story to tie all the pieces together into a cohesive whole
Sometimes, that string is hard to find and write from. For me, it wasn't as compelling as I would hope for. Yet, there is that time limit. That is what makes it fun.
I intentionally tried to leave a few things unsaid. I really thought about trying to explain everything, but that too is fraught with peril. My goal was to make the 'hero' feel less than heroic by the end of the tale. When you reach the end, I want people to recognize and realize that this is just a guy that really hasn't changed his heart. He is a philanderer, mostly interested in his own welfare. Likable enough, perhaps, but not somebody with a strong moral compass. That might be part of what detracts from the story for you. In the end, there really isn't anybody to empathize with, or root for. Hugh could be somewhat noble about his goals, but he isn't.
It has made for an interesting story, I think. But I don't think my execution is brilliant. There are some wonderful writers here on EN World and I immensely enjoy seeing the creativity and different approaches to Ceramic DM stories. Everybody I write against is somebody that I feel like I need to push myself and stretch to earn that win. Sometimes I am successful, other times I am not. But it is always a pleasure to compete and while I can be snooty in the name of good fun, I honestly do hope to entertain, and be entertained and have a good time with my fellow board members.
So thank you for your comments Gulla! And thank you Piratecat for the match up.
*laugh* Thanks Berandor. Yeah, the wedding pic was a pain to bring in. My (rueful) compliments go to Yangnome for that pic! The ending was a bit rushed. The were-toad idea was the best crumb I picked up. The second best one was a retelling of the Frog Prince. Conceptually I could get half the story together. But the rest just wouldn't fall into place. And the worst option, well it was a jumble of ideas that couldn't be strung together at all. *sigh* Nevertheless I am pleased that you enjoyed it. I have enjoyed your stories over the years and it is nice to return the favor in some small way.
One of the great things about Ceramic DM actually.
Ah Sialia! Favored of the Muses, I understand what you are saying. I wish I had that sort of inspiration. I do enjoy writing when I can feel that passion for some sort of message within the story. Yet some would assert that fiction should merely entertain, messages are not the realm of fiction writers.
As you are aware, I do not entirely subscribe to that theory. *smile*
Truth is, private life has had challenges that made it difficult to find an emotional core to write this story from. If I go to those depths, I fear that it will be melancholy at best, and overshadow any real story.
Perhaps if I am fortunate enough to curry the favor of the judges, I will find a thread I can passionately embrace and write around in the next set of pictures. Else, I will wish Piratecat the best.
But thank you for the encouragement disguised as gentle chastisment. You are right, we have some wonderful folks writing and there is still hope for an epiphanous moment in one of these stories. The delightful thing is that it could come from any of the competitors. It is always amazing to see what these pictures dredge up and cough out isn't it?
[/sblock]
[sblock]
Gulla said:
Thanks! There are a few notable weaknesses in my opinion. Though I probably need more time to distance myself from the story before I can give it a thorough assessment. But to summarize, I didn't tie the pieces together tightly enough. Ceramic DM is a creative writing exercise, to be sure. But it is not an easy exercise. The challenge really is to find a string that you can write from. A string that you can weave throughout the story to tie all the pieces together into a cohesive whole
Sometimes, that string is hard to find and write from. For me, it wasn't as compelling as I would hope for. Yet, there is that time limit. That is what makes it fun.
I intentionally tried to leave a few things unsaid. I really thought about trying to explain everything, but that too is fraught with peril. My goal was to make the 'hero' feel less than heroic by the end of the tale. When you reach the end, I want people to recognize and realize that this is just a guy that really hasn't changed his heart. He is a philanderer, mostly interested in his own welfare. Likable enough, perhaps, but not somebody with a strong moral compass. That might be part of what detracts from the story for you. In the end, there really isn't anybody to empathize with, or root for. Hugh could be somewhat noble about his goals, but he isn't.
It has made for an interesting story, I think. But I don't think my execution is brilliant. There are some wonderful writers here on EN World and I immensely enjoy seeing the creativity and different approaches to Ceramic DM stories. Everybody I write against is somebody that I feel like I need to push myself and stretch to earn that win. Sometimes I am successful, other times I am not. But it is always a pleasure to compete and while I can be snooty in the name of good fun, I honestly do hope to entertain, and be entertained and have a good time with my fellow board members.
So thank you for your comments Gulla! And thank you Piratecat for the match up.
Berandor said:
*laugh* Thanks Berandor. Yeah, the wedding pic was a pain to bring in. My (rueful) compliments go to Yangnome for that pic! The ending was a bit rushed. The were-toad idea was the best crumb I picked up. The second best one was a retelling of the Frog Prince. Conceptually I could get half the story together. But the rest just wouldn't fall into place. And the worst option, well it was a jumble of ideas that couldn't be strung together at all. *sigh* Nevertheless I am pleased that you enjoyed it. I have enjoyed your stories over the years and it is nice to return the favor in some small way.
One of the great things about Ceramic DM actually.
sialia said:
Ah Sialia! Favored of the Muses, I understand what you are saying. I wish I had that sort of inspiration. I do enjoy writing when I can feel that passion for some sort of message within the story. Yet some would assert that fiction should merely entertain, messages are not the realm of fiction writers.
As you are aware, I do not entirely subscribe to that theory. *smile*
Truth is, private life has had challenges that made it difficult to find an emotional core to write this story from. If I go to those depths, I fear that it will be melancholy at best, and overshadow any real story.
Perhaps if I am fortunate enough to curry the favor of the judges, I will find a thread I can passionately embrace and write around in the next set of pictures. Else, I will wish Piratecat the best.
But thank you for the encouragement disguised as gentle chastisment. You are right, we have some wonderful folks writing and there is still hope for an epiphanous moment in one of these stories. The delightful thing is that it could come from any of the competitors. It is always amazing to see what these pictures dredge up and cough out isn't it?
[/sblock]
Berandor
lunatic
I'm currently sitting in a 3-day writing class (not "how to write in 3 days", alas, but just a class that only has three sessions) at university. There are 17 students in class. We all had to write short stories, which we are now discussing. Of the 17, 4 deal with whiny, stressed-out students (who aren't really that stressed out), and 8 are melancholy and not much more. Indeed, in five different stories no character has a name. Only six stories contain dialogue at all. So if you go to these depths – I can take it. I'd rather not, thoughBSF said:
(Incidentally, me having to read these 16 stories last week might have played a part in me writing a lighter narrative. Oh, in case you're interested: among all those stories of cancer-ridden parents and dialogue-free train rides, my story is about a warlock hired to uncover industrial espionage; it's a horror-urban-fantasy story.)
orchid blossom
Explorer
I took two semesters of creative writing in college and sometimes reading other people's stories was absolute torture.
Of course, there were a few fantastic writers that made it all worthwhile too.
We get consistently better quality here in Ceramic DM than I ever saw in those classes.
Of course, there were a few fantastic writers that made it all worthwhile too.
We get consistently better quality here in Ceramic DM than I ever saw in those classes.
