[Dolmen 2.0]

Hey guys

Can I get some general feedback on where people are with their short story submissions? Should we add in some time? I'm about halfway through mine and hoping to push it tomorrow. but I have had one request for an extension and I'd like to get everyones opinion.

I'd also like to pair up review groups in PM with your permission.

[melonhead]

Dolmen Weeks, on 11 July 2014 - 05:19 PM, said:

Hey guys

Can I get some general feedback on where people are with their short story submissions? Should we add in some time? I'm about halfway through mine and hoping to push it tomorrow. but I have had one request for an extension and I'd like to get everyones opinion.

I'd also like to pair up review groups in PM with your permission.

I am about 2/3 of the the way there. I wouldn't mind a little bit more time, but im not to fussed either way.

[Dolmen 2.0]

melonhead, on 13 July 2014 - 03:28 AM, said:

Dolmen Weeks, on 11 July 2014 - 05:19 PM, said:

Hey guys

Can I get some general feedback on where people are with their short story submissions? Should we add in some time? I'm about halfway through mine and hoping to push it tomorrow. but I have had one request for an extension and I'd like to get everyones opinion.

I'd also like to pair up review groups in PM with your permission.

I am about 2/3 of the the way there. I wouldn't mind a little bit more time, but im not to fussed either way.

Thats Great! I'm keen to get perspective on my story before submission, I'm writing up my conclusion but it feels clumsy.

Soooo yeah looks like we're extending time a lil. Submissions on the 19th.

[Kaamos]

Great! :-D I *finally* managed to conceive a half-arsed idea. Will start typing later today.

[The Bard]

Submissions are up

as is the new topic:


5th Topic: Triumph

Definition: Triumph (Roman) Dictionary.com

Triumph is a significant success or noteworthy achievement; an instance or occasion of victory. The word Stems from the Roman celebration of victorious returns.
Setting: Story must involve an army after a victorious return. Look into the contrast of an officers welcome to that of a simple infantryman.

Word-limit: null

Deadline: Sunday 10 August 2014

This post has been edited by The Bard: 25 October 2014 - 05:25 AM

[Kaamos]

I wonder why the formatting in my texts always gets messed up when copypasted here...the first entry was a huge wall of text and now individual words have decided to lump together here and there. Abitdifficulttoread.

[Dolmen 2.0]

Kaamos, on 21 July 2014 - 08:58 AM, said:

I wonder why the formatting in my texts always gets messed up when copypasted here...the first entry was a huge wall of text and now individual words have decided to lump together here and there. Abitdifficulttoread.

It's really odd I agree. I took it directly from the edit dialogue box and hadn't noticed the warp. Easily fixed though. Will edit it later this evening.

[Maximiljen]

Hello, folks!
I just wanted to say I'm in for the current topic, Triumph (as long as you people won't be too picky about grammar and vocabulary...).
I have a pretty good idea on the setting and events, but I do have a question.
Are there requirements? Should it be fantasy, or can I use actual places and historical figures?

This post has been edited by Maximiljen: 21 July 2014 - 12:01 PM

[Kaamos]

Dolmen Lamora, on 21 July 2014 - 11:36 AM, said:

It's really odd I agree. I took it directly from the edit dialogue box and hadn't noticed the warp. Easily fixed though. Will edit it later this evening.

Ok!

Maximiljen, on 21 July 2014 - 12:00 PM, said:

Hello, folks!
I just wanted to say I'm in for the current topic, Triumph (as long as you people won't be too picky about grammar and vocabulary...).
I have a pretty good idea on the setting and events, but I do have a question.
Are there requirements? Should it be fantasy, or can I use actual places and historical figures?

Hi!
I think the content can be anything. My first was part fantasy, and this one just "boring" reality. Using actual historical figures could be an interesting twist.

[Dolmen 2.0]

Maximiljen, on 21 July 2014 - 12:00 PM, said:

Hello, folks!
I just wanted to say I'm in for the current topic, Triumph (as long as you people won't be too picky about grammar and vocabulary...).
I have a pretty good idea on the setting and events, but I do have a question.
Are there requirements? Should it be fantasy, or can I use actual places and historical figures?

Hi and welcome! Glad to have you in on this round!

The Topic and setting is something to aim for but as Kaamos says feel free to interpret it any way you like!

[Maximiljen]

Dolmen Lamora, on 21 July 2014 - 01:54 PM, said:

Maximiljen, on 21 July 2014 - 12:00 PM, said:

Hello, folks!
I just wanted to say I'm in for the current topic, Triumph (as long as you people won't be too picky about grammar and vocabulary...).
I have a pretty good idea on the setting and events, but I do have a question.
Are there requirements? Should it be fantasy, or can I use actual places and historical figures?

Hi and welcome! Glad to have you in on this round!

The Topic and setting is something to aim for but as Kaamos says feel free to interpret it any way you like!

Right, then, I will try sharing a short story without you guys figuring out if it's histfic or plain fantasy At least not till the end!
I read the older texts, I know there's no limit to size, but is 2500 words enough? Sorry for asking this, I am just curious.

[Dolmen 2.0]

Kaamos, on 21 July 2014 - 12:29 PM, said:

Dolmen Lamora, on 21 July 2014 - 11:36 AM, said:

It's really odd I agree. I took it directly from the edit dialogue box and hadn't noticed the warp. Easily fixed though. Will edit it later this evening.

Ok!

Fixed. I liked my third read.

The story has a flow to it once I got used to the prose, the events made sense and the climax in Stefans perspective had a nice, creepy jilt to it...

The prose helped me to assocate lindas insanity, I can see her dreamlike poetic take of the environment as a flavor of her madness. Like you said in PM Donaldson may have influenced you a bit but I find it different to even that.

[Dolmen 2.0]

Maximiljen, on 21 July 2014 - 02:00 PM, said:

Dolmen Lamora, on 21 July 2014 - 01:54 PM, said:

Maximiljen, on 21 July 2014 - 12:00 PM, said:

Hello, folks!
I just wanted to say I'm in for the current topic, Triumph (as long as you people won't be too picky about grammar and vocabulary...).
I have a pretty good idea on the setting and events, but I do have a question.
Are there requirements? Should it be fantasy, or can I use actual places and historical figures?

Hi and welcome! Glad to have you in on this round!

The Topic and setting is something to aim for but as Kaamos says feel free to interpret it any way you like!

Right, then, I will try sharing a short story without you guys figuring out if it's histfic or plain fantasy At least not till the end!
I read the older texts, I know there's no limit to size, but is 2500 words enough? Sorry for asking this, I am just curious.

I'm keen to read this, I've stumbled on some really good Histfic short stories on Reddit. it could be a plus to force the history into a condensed format makes for a sharper telling of the story.

2500 words is good. My sweet spot happens to lie somewhere around 2000-2300words post-edit.

[Maximiljen]

Dolmen Lamora, on 21 July 2014 - 06:03 PM, said:

I'm keen to read this, I've stumbled on some really good Histfic short stories on Reddit. it could be a plus to force the history into a condensed format makes for a sharper telling of the story.

I am a big fan of histfic, especially ancient/medieval histfic - everything looks like a giant puzzle with a lot of missing pieces, so you can follow the rules, yet are given enough space to breathe and even improvise a bit.

However, I think that when it comes to historical fiction, the value of the story is given by the setting... They key is to discover that not-so-known moment in history which had an impact in the timeline of mankind.
Because writing about stuff covered by tens of other writers is like reinventing the wheel. At least in my opinion.

[Kaamos]

Looking forward to reading your histfic!
Some particular phases of Nordic prehistory (Vikings, Vendel age...) have fascinated me for a longer while now, but then I have some massive gaping holes in my knowledge regarding the rest of the world.

Dolmen Lamora, on 21 July 2014 - 05:47 PM, said:

Fixed. I liked my third read.

The story has a flow to it once I got used to the prose, the events made sense and the climax in Stefans perspective had a nice, creepy jilt to it...

The prose helped me to assocate lindas insanity, I can see her dreamlike poetic take of the environment as a flavor of her madness. Like you said in PM Donaldson may have influenced you a bit but I find it different to even that.

Thanks! Alas, that thread seems to conspire against me. XD XD The text has interesting visual effects now (somehow the font you used appears larger than the rest).

 toned.jpg (54.47K)
Number of downloads: 0

Sorry about this mess. I wonder if copypasting it from the following would keep the structure intact? (Up to you, if you have energy to look into this bugger again...XD)

Spoiler

A waning moon; a time of endings. The thin silvery sliver gleamed in the depths of the heavens, its graceful, curving edge whetted to cut the fabric of the air. Still it ascended towards its highest declination, like its tinier, terrene kinsman had done moments ago. Through the dissipating haze of wrath still obscuring her thoughts, Linda could imagine some obscure sky-titan, draped in the deepest midnight, awaiting in ambush beyond the stars, only this single sickle manifesting his existence. Or her existence.

Counting minutes, counting seconds, wielding the moon-blade, the deadly keenness rising, slowly rising...and it would be brought down in a single fluid motion upon the intruder entering the empyrean domain. A perfect slash, and a red mist would spatter the constellations, soil that innocent white glow. Perhaps it had already happened, this murder of a treacherous star-brother, sister, lover...an entire family… Perhaps the ichor or the gods was luminous white, and now drifted across the eternities as the nebulous band of the Milky Way.


The blade of her axe had become one with the moon. When had she let it smash into the one she had revered for uncountable years? Moments ago? Eons ago? She could no longer tell. Perhaps she had sat here for a millennium, trapped in an eternal night while generations were born and dissolved into dust elsewhere. On this rickety, scarred stump, upon which the same axe had sundered multitudinous pieces of firewood. Thwack. Thwack. Hack. The axe rising, falling, kindlings and fragments soaring through the dust into the gloomy corners of the shed. There they might still sprawl, bearing witness to the instant when, instead of tree-flesh, it bit deep into the soft, evanescent fat and muscles of a mortal man.


Linda lowered her gaze from the waning moon, the glassy, insensate regard sweeping along the row of swaying birch-tops visible through the doorway, along the spruce branches spread across the threshold, to the pool of dark liquid splattered across the floor. A moonbeam glinted off from its surface by the open egress, revealing the tiny, errant sprigs floating within. By the pallid light, one could espy some of its true color: not an inky sea surging to drown those minuscule universes home to mote-sized creatures, but a ruddy tide. Perhaps it might nourish them; the life-force of one becoming the sustenance of another.


Over the red waste of his front, she met the wide, incredulous gawk of the man sprawling along the length of the woodshed. Blood still pooled beneath him, even though the flow had decelerated. Outside, a gentle wind susurrated in the dusky foliage, a song that had not yet lulled the man into his eternal sleep. At least he had ceased that infernal thrashing and wailing now, and succumbed to the eventual fate. Linda's blows had hit true, rupturing and slicing through unnamed vitals, and his guts had spewed forth a disgusting, stinking admixture of filth and life-juices, soiling the tender fragrance of pine sap and spruce within. Such was the ichor of a man brimming with skank, cruelty, and broken promises, far removed from the majesty of sky-titans. Something else had cracked as a result of his ponderous fall upon the pile of sharp, unfinished logs as well; she had caught the satisfactory crunch of bone. He had floundered, a torso with three limp limbs, a quarter of a man attempting to pry himself up with one shaking arm, while filthy serpents bulged out of the raw tear across his abdomen.


She could not believe she had once felt joy in his arms. What did the old proverb tell...that beauty reached but skin deep? Yet how, how had she ever felt secure while pressed against that sack of foulness? Deception, putridness, violence, all stuffed into a fancy costume of wide smiles and tender whispers in the soft, blue light of the bedroom. Those thick, yet nimble fingers could coax and caress, oh, they could. However, she could no longer tell when his fondness had for the first time twisted into a snarling rictus, the fingers curling into a striking fist. Years...years of running along the same downward spiral towards a bleak unknown. He would smite, scream, pepper her body with bruises, pulverize her belongings, then beg for forgiveness come the following morn.


Come, it was a mistake. Let's begin again! I promise it will be alright. I promise…promise...promise...


That single word echoed within the empty vaults of her soul, as she regarded the husk of shattered oaths with her pale blue eyes, loathing etched into every line of her visage. How had she not seen that his reassurances had embraced less worth than a mouldering dog-turd on the roadside? How had she not comprehended that her naive, girlish assumptions about fresh beginnings had but hollow reeds for legs? The few acquaintances or half-friends in her meager social circles outside Stefan's dominion had urged her to cut all links, leave the bastard to his own devisings. Why had she not listened to their warnings? Why? Where had that pink fluff arisen to coat all her thoughts and muffle any voices of reason when he murmured about his unperishable devotion while planting kisses upon her fresh bruises? She had spent days in the hospital thanks to his tantrums. Applied makeup again and again over blue blotches. Why, why had she still clung to him?


How had she ever believed that her patience would allow him to banish the demons that again and again possessed him, seducing and cajoling him to don the beast-garments? For it was the other way round: a monster had concealed himself beneath a sheepskin. The sadist enjoyed her tears and weakness; one could not scrub away filth from the surface of a heap of toxic waste. Thus, a time of metamorphoses had finally arrived. Time of true endings and the planting of new seeds. The waning moon would wash away her sorrow.


Sleep now, sleep, my tormentor. Wane like the summer, this last warm breath before the advent of icy gales and sleet, browning leaves and the sludge of the rot-month. Let the melodies of the night steal away that dulling glint from your eyes. We met once, oh, so long ago, on the second day of an early spring, when the flinty oppression of beclouded skies had vanished from before the sun's revitalizing warmth. I will not cherish that moment which, hidden from my comprehension, heralded an era of worse subjugation. Yet I will revel in seeing that hurting hand grow slack. The purple marks of yesterday upon my skin will heal, but you, my tormentor, no blush of anger will ever reach those paling cheeks. Wane, sleep, wane, sleep...


* * *


Chaos reigned over Stefan's thoughts. They limped ever which way, eventually dragging themselves through a rising fog of weariness, searching for solid resolutions among the shifting shadows. What had happened? Why had this happened? Devoid of comprehension, he stared at the sallow oval of Linda's countenance through the murk of the woodshed. It seemed as if sculpted from rough ice with a hatchet: the harsh slash of the mouth, the callous glare upon the jutting cheekbones, the overtight ponytail revealing the contours of the skull beneath. Never had he witnessed such an expression upon the meek little pushover. She had...attacked him. Attacked. But that could not be! The foolish, doting bitch, ready to forgive anything and everything...had wounded him? This was not...it could not be!


Stefan could not picture the amount of time that had trickled past, him lying spread-eagled among scattered logs, his legs numb and a horrific pain pulsating through his midriff. Perhaps not that long, though; had he not driven back to the cottage from his affairs around sunset? Thereupon, he had discovered the building empty, no food whatsoever awaiting for his return, and a pile of unsorted dishes stinking in the sink. Granted, he might have slapped the bitch a wee bit the previous evening, but what of it? A couple of unctuous apologies with that right tone of voice always melted her into lump of malleable goo, ready to serve his most whimsical wishes within a smattering of days. So had the cycle lasted for years! Why ought it to have changed?


He had stridden off to search for her, deeming that this time he would ignore the infuriating neglect of his necessities with a sweep of his hand. But alas, should it occur again… A woman should know her place and bend to the man's desires. A few knuckle-reminders every now and then would but hammer the message in. Thus, he had wandered about the obumbrating yard, the wild-growing meadow grasses swaying in the wind, the outskirts of the birchwoods, calling for her name, attempting to stifle the torrent of swearwords rushing through his mind. Why did the little bitch not respond? When the crown of creation called for the inferior creature, of course she should heed his words with promptness!


Just as his hands had begun to itch with the urge to tighten around her throat, he had caught a flurry of movement within the woodshed. What was she on about? He had not heard a single telltale clack from this direction; had she crawled to sulk there again, as she sometimes did after his "teachings"? Ah well, a handful of cloying lies with nonpareils sprinkled upon, and she would fling herself back into his arms.


Then, it had all gone wrong. He had stepped over the threshold, turned to envisage the weepy, timorous wisp...and the universe had exploded into white and red streaks of pain. A lightning from a clear sky, an unrecognizable face hovering behind the axe that rose and fell, rose and fell…


He had pleaded, he had cursed, sworn to both forgive and kill her a thousand times since; he had wailed and whispered, shouted for help, his voice growing ever croakier even as fresh blood seeped on the floor to lick the coagulated lumps. Nothing worked. Since his fall, the bitch with that waxen, ghastly visage had sat there, mute as a sepulcher, the lour never wavering.


Now, he extended one trembling hand towards the maimer. She might have been a grotesque statue warding over him, or a spectre risen from a grave to haunt the realm of the living, clad in her blood-plastered summer dress and the gray rings of sleep-deprivation around her eyes enhancing the skull-like appearance.


"L-Linda! Please!" he coughed, blood welling from the corners of his lips. His strength was failing. A disturbing darkness had begun creeping forwards from the edges of his vision; it seemed as if he were observing the world from the end of a round pipe. Now, as he labored to raise his head, bright specks swam across the narrowed field of sight. Oh sweet Jesus, this weakness, it was… He could not stand it! He...he was going to die. His beautiful body, his magnificent strength…all fade and rot away? Because of this bitch gone insane? All his memories would be scattered across a black oblivion, never to be recovered again; his handsome, angular face putrefy into brown spilth and...and… Worms feeding on the jelly of his brains within an exposed, grimacing skull, once home to a sharp intelligence and… No! NO! The images were too horrendous to consider!


No, this could not happen!


He did not believe in an afterlife. If, if by some quirky devisings of the universe one existed, the notion of stepping into such a nameless, unfathomable demesne agitated him even more than the concept of simple nonentity. It could not be too late yet! He could not...he did not want to die!


"Linda! L-listen to me… L-listen...g-get help! N-not too late…"


The figure astride the stump did not stir. Stefan, for the umpteenth time, endeavored to prop himself up to his elbows, but the left arm would remain straggling across the floor, numb up to the shoulder. The vacillating circle at the end of the pipe or tunnel was diminishing, even as he shook himself to stay alert. He had to fight back; the end could not come now!



"P-please! Why...why would you…do this?" A worrisome idea began swirling among the jumble of fears and truncated sensations. "Was…it…b-because I s-slapped you a bit s-sometimes? W-wasn't I always sorry for that, though? "


The bitch had snapped, that was definite. However, if this was a revenge for something...


Before the man could restart his fruitless beseeching, the woman jerked up with the suddenness of a breaking violin string. Her harsh gaze widened, and a scream escaped from her wan lips, an oscillating wail that exploded into deranged, high-pitched laughter. As if the grim vigil had stiffened her limbs, she tottered towards Stefan's prone form, the haft of the axe gripped in white-knuckled fists. He could not peel his regard away from her terrible expression: the unhinged grin twisting at her mouth, the pinprick pupils that seemed to bore into the deepest pits of his soul.


"L-linda? I d-did say I was s-sorry..." Yet that sounded unconvincing even to himself. Had she...had she somehow penetrated the facade of pretense? But why should she; the fool had always worshiped him--


Then, the discordant laughter shriveled into eerie giggling. The grimace upon her face stretched, revealing the full array of red gums. Some of her teeth were chipped, and a visible gap yawned on the left side of her lower jaw. Stefan had not discerned those blemishes afore, but they could not be fresh, as her lips stayed unsplit. When had he knocked--


"Sorry? SORRY!" she shrieked, raising the weapon. "Shut the fuck up. You never were sorry. Now shut the fuck up! I will never, ever hear that shit from you again!"


She stood very close now, weaving, her ankles and dress-hems within the reach of his grasp. Some strength lingered in his muscles: if he seized a bunch of that fabric and yanked, he might be able to disarm the bloody lunatic. Yet how would he call for aid without this single link to the civilization outside? In this state, toddling or even squirming out would not function. If he could just impel her to see reason--


Yet before Stefan could quaver another word, the axehead wedged itself between his jaws, a heavy stamp of her foot upon the poll ramming it home. Skin and flesh tore, the bone of his skull crunched, and a new pain blossomed to excruciate him, muffling even the burn of his intestines beneath its vigor.


"SHUT UP! You'll never bloody say SORRY again!"


Linda wrenched the axe loose from the deceiver's head, and let the blade rise and fall, rise and fall, the moonlight momentarily reflecting from droplets of mortal ichor. Not incandescent and cold, but a blaring shade of red, reeking of brutality. The last thing Stefan perceived, even as his sight failed beneath another blow, was Linda's waxing and waning glee, a cackle surging shriller whenever the weapon devoured flesh...


* * *


Linda slumped upon the stump, and plonked the axe into the pool of gore. A cold hollowness was spreading through her innards, now that the beast lay inert in its eternal sleep. A sensation of futility underscored this; she had wasted years of care and something bordering on veneration to this false idol. What next? How would she discover new meanings in an empty universe?


For now, she would crouch here and let the moon whisper its secrets to her. She could re-whet the smaller sister of the heavenly blade, and let the flow of her own blood join the squandered life-force seeping into the grain of the floor planks. She could enter the otherworlds and shadow Stefan's every spectral step, reminding him of his misdeeds till his very spirit frayed and forsook its sanity.


She could. But should she? Another sacrifice, another vain expenditure performed in his soiled name. Only one life… Like the moon, she ought to let this phase end, and after a moment of blackness, shed the skin of oldendays and leap up towards the Polestar, bright and purified, free of the defilement of that monster's selfish acts.


Linda gazed at the firmaments for a while through the open doorway, at the scattering of stars and at the birch tops yet verdant beneath the nocturnal mantle. She remained verdant as well, young and receptive for fresh beginnings, did she not?


The moon continued edging up when Linda finally tore off the smirched gown, kicked the axe into the gloomiest corner of the shed, and trod out into the warm breeze, leaving behind the slavery of years.

Glad you got better into the story now. Yes, the purpose of all that imagery in Linda's point of view was to make her appear "not all there", in a dreamy state of shock and madness. She for instance does not understand that there would be legal consequences afterwards (deliberately avoided to make her brood over hiding the body, etc.). So do you think the flowery prose ought to remain? I'll try to make the infantryman's train of thoughts "rougher" in the next exercise.

[Maximiljen]

Well, I can say only that my story is set during the Roman conquest of Asia Minor. Parthia and Pontus
(I just hope I live up to the task and not ruin a great story..)

[Kaamos]

Perhaps you can put up a link to some background reading for those not well acquainted with the era?

I may have managed to concoct an idea as well; it's set to happen around a thousand years ago in Iceland, but the historic accuracy will be debatable.

[melonhead]

hello people, just wanted to say sorry for not keeping up with the stories. I got very caught up with preparations for my trip to England, and I have only recently got access to internet in England.
So yeah, gutted i didnt end up participating.

[The Bard]

melonhead, on 26 July 2014 - 03:08 PM, said:

hello people, just wanted to say sorry for not keeping up with the stories. I got very caught up with preparations for my trip to England, and I have only recently got access to internet in England.
So yeah, gutted i didn't end up participating.

No need to apologize! Its not easy to write short stories for these things. We'd all be doing it otherwise. Life gets in the way and we ALL tend to miss deadlines.

Just feel free to pitch in whenever you're able and if you can't make the deadline its OK, save the ideas and maybe you can use them in a future topic.

I hope England's treated you well?

This post has been edited by The Bard: 02 August 2014 - 05:52 AM

[Gabriele]

Maximiljen, on 22 July 2014 - 05:14 PM, said:

Well, I can say only that my story is set during the Roman conquest of Asia Minor. Parthia and Pontus
(I just hope I live up to the task and not ruin a great story..)

Oh, this sounds like FUN.

Fellow Roman geek here, though I haven't figured out this contest thingie yet, and I usually get plotbunnies for novels, not short stories. But maybe I could adapt a novel chapter from A Land Unconquered.