Does that mean I'm in the running to be the writer of the first story to be pulled twice from the same challenge? Now that's something to be proud of!
Improving our 300 Word Stories -- READ FIRST POST!
- Thread starter The Judge
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- Mar 3, 2014
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DG, sorry for this problem. Please see my PM, for a possible just-for-now solution to this kerfuffle I've created. CC
I really like it DG. Intelligent and exciting. The changing POVs are really well balanced.
I'm sorry it went over
Thanks, Remedy, I appreciate the feedback. Have removed it (again) so will post after the challenge is over.
DG, I read it while it was still up in the challenge and thought it was a great premise. I have a couple of comments, but will wait for you to re-post.
DG, after the voting is over, you can post your story in the Discussion thread if you like. You can post it here instead, as far as I know, but posting here does open it up to comments and criticism that posting it in Discussion does not. If you don't intend for it to be dissected, I would go with the Discussion thread.
Cheers TDZ. I'll sleep on it and then decide.
I'm on Amazon looking for an abacus as we speak.
I'm on Amazon looking for an abacus as we speak.
You've got time for a long nap.
Bounce this thread up where people can see it again - particularly because I'm interested to hear why my carefully structured got so few comments "Oh, Chrispy's back on the rhyming stuff again? Or too much time spent on structure, not enough on message (I ran horribly close to the deadline)?
It's not a poem, it's a song - I could send you the chord sequences and melody. Almost a protest song.
I was brought up in a tourist town, considering tourists themselves on of the lowest of multi-cellular life forms, barely above planarian worms and below eurocrats and Jehovah's witnesses. I intended to say this, but they are also a natural prey species, and regions that cultivated/raised them suffered greatly when migration patterns changed after 9/11, like potato farmers in Ireland (hmm, tourist eelworm). And somehow the picture grabbed those sentiments to the fore (look, I've got rhythm patterns to set up, rhymes to find, and all that in fewer than three hundred words {298 if ATC is accepted as a word} - you don't expect me to keep rigid control over the plot, too?) and said that they might be disgusting, but their money brought survival if not luxury for man and goat, boosting local economy above negative figures. And as for one, for a community.
And the rhythm hiccups a few times - shortage of words, and shortage of time to go through the earlier bits to find words I could lengthen to recuperate number where it was needed - but hardly anyone would notice this if it were being sung.
The ballad of falltie control towers
Abdul grieves the dying of the airline,
Keeping grass cropped had well suited him.
Watching diverse flock/herd grazing the sunshine
Move them to safety when a plane came in.
He'd helped them when they'd given birth,
Joined them in mourning, and in mirth,
Their droppings layered living Earth,
Their usefulness reverts to him.
In time may great apartments grow
Which block the sun from grass below,
But future's not pre-echoed in the now,
And chances descent to 'none' from 'slim'.
End of prosperity, where were you?
The World's turned, and no you no longer count.
Tomorrow sees the scrambling seaborne masses
Yet another slough from which few will remount.
Only drooping fuselage remembers
Days when tourists flocked like migrant birds;
Crowding in 'twixt Aprils and Septembers.
And come the winter, flying back homewards.
But terrorists and empires fall
And passengers no longer call
In diverse tongues that squeal or drawl
Their incomprehensibility.
The flight tower shows construction cheap
Instrumentation now asleep
And mothers o'er their babies weep
For working radar and ATC.
End of prosperity, where were you?
Your bankruptcies passed parcel to the poor
Capitalist cats say 'power to the fattest'
While politicians smarm from door to door
So no-one's planned for beasts, or crew, or handler
Barely remembered pilot, cockpit crew.
Unthought of porter, mechanic, cook or chandler
Money's a'wastin' since the big birds flew.
Without concrete, no jumbo jet,
Is landing on the runway yet,
Some local farmer's propellette
Bumps off the turf to obscurity
Another first-world airport pours
New concrete path to great outdoors;
Terminal building soars, ignores,
Destinations except profitability.
End of prosperity, where were you?
The poor grow ever further from their goals.
Better to be a goat who chews the runway
Than responsible for the fate of all those souls.
It's not a poem, it's a song - I could send you the chord sequences and melody. Almost a protest song.
I was brought up in a tourist town, considering tourists themselves on of the lowest of multi-cellular life forms, barely above planarian worms and below eurocrats and Jehovah's witnesses. I intended to say this, but they are also a natural prey species, and regions that cultivated/raised them suffered greatly when migration patterns changed after 9/11, like potato farmers in Ireland (hmm, tourist eelworm). And somehow the picture grabbed those sentiments to the fore (look, I've got rhythm patterns to set up, rhymes to find, and all that in fewer than three hundred words {298 if ATC is accepted as a word} - you don't expect me to keep rigid control over the plot, too?) and said that they might be disgusting, but their money brought survival if not luxury for man and goat, boosting local economy above negative figures. And as for one, for a community.
And the rhythm hiccups a few times - shortage of words, and shortage of time to go through the earlier bits to find words I could lengthen to recuperate number where it was needed - but hardly anyone would notice this if it were being sung.
The ballad of falltie control towers
Abdul grieves the dying of the airline,
Keeping grass cropped had well suited him.
Watching diverse flock/herd grazing the sunshine
Move them to safety when a plane came in.
He'd helped them when they'd given birth,
Joined them in mourning, and in mirth,
Their droppings layered living Earth,
Their usefulness reverts to him.
In time may great apartments grow
Which block the sun from grass below,
But future's not pre-echoed in the now,
And chances descent to 'none' from 'slim'.
End of prosperity, where were you?
The World's turned, and no you no longer count.
Tomorrow sees the scrambling seaborne masses
Yet another slough from which few will remount.
Only drooping fuselage remembers
Days when tourists flocked like migrant birds;
Crowding in 'twixt Aprils and Septembers.
And come the winter, flying back homewards.
But terrorists and empires fall
And passengers no longer call
In diverse tongues that squeal or drawl
Their incomprehensibility.
The flight tower shows construction cheap
Instrumentation now asleep
And mothers o'er their babies weep
For working radar and ATC.
End of prosperity, where were you?
Your bankruptcies passed parcel to the poor
Capitalist cats say 'power to the fattest'
While politicians smarm from door to door
So no-one's planned for beasts, or crew, or handler
Barely remembered pilot, cockpit crew.
Unthought of porter, mechanic, cook or chandler
Money's a'wastin' since the big birds flew.
Without concrete, no jumbo jet,
Is landing on the runway yet,
Some local farmer's propellette
Bumps off the turf to obscurity
Another first-world airport pours
New concrete path to great outdoors;
Terminal building soars, ignores,
Destinations except profitability.
End of prosperity, where were you?
The poor grow ever further from their goals.
Better to be a goat who chews the runway
Than responsible for the fate of all those souls.
Chris, I thought it was wonderful, and the kind of thing a protest folk singer ought to be singing. But this is the story I mentioned in my voting list -- where's the SFF?
Chris, yours was on my first overlong short list; I actually really, really liked it and it was beautifully structured. But like TJ and Remedy said, I ultimately cut it because I thought there wasn't enough SFF.
So, just choice of subject, then? That's great - I hadn't been surprised when the results had diminished during the radiotherapy period, but I should be over that by now. That is, I feel over it, but I'm in the worst position to judge if my judgement is reliable or not (as well as the best).
But I don't think protest singers are allowed to be in favour of tourism - it's against union regs. Anything that involves money is evil - until you try and tax them on their income.
Thank you all very much.
But I'm stuck in my 'filk' mode right now, so I'm afraid the risk of more verse/lyric is rather likely in the immediate future.
But I don't think protest singers are allowed to be in favour of tourism - it's against union regs. Anything that involves money is evil - until you try and tax them on their income.
Thank you all very much.
But I'm stuck in my 'filk' mode right now, so I'm afraid the risk of more verse/lyric is rather likely in the immediate future.
But chrispy its about a bioplane with a.I. taking a nursery flight out to hospital with children and mothers when it gets in trouble and is stranded in a backwater where the farmer has to help a pregnant ladies give birth and they become part of his isolated community until its again chic to visit the back of beyond .. But until then the portal is closed and they are stuck ... (Delightful commentary upon the impending future perils of modern economics reliance upon consumerism for infrastructure...) I mean isn't it?
At least that's what I got from the structure. I mean sure its a little slipstreamy in genre, but I am pretty sure that falls under speculative.
At least that's what I got from the structure. I mean sure its a little slipstreamy in genre, but I am pretty sure that falls under speculative.
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Yes, I'm not sure about disqualifying a 300 because it's not SFF -- the 300 has always been about "speculative fiction", which is wider than SFF. To me, anything fiction is speculative. It's fiction, after all.
(ETA: "disqualifying" in terms of voting preferences, not actual removal, that is.)
(ETA: "disqualifying" in terms of voting preferences, not actual removal, that is.)
Chris, I know this might not be answering the question, but I love the introductory paragraph ("I was brought up...")!
That in itself is almost good enough to open an angsty Graham Greene-style piece for me - such a good piece of writing
As for the verse itself, for me it's a mixed bag. It's a mixture of rich imagery and depth of thought (if not feeling) and something that sometimes stumbles technically.
Image-wise I think it's wonderfully evocative; a post-aviation world remembered by the obsolete technology itself. I'm a paid-up, card-carrying champion of the aerospace industry, so this strikes a chord with me. To me, it highlights how we take for granted - and in some quarters actively castigate - a capability that has transformed the world immeasurably (in a good way). In fact, the only way we might measure that transformation is by taking away the capability completely, and all that leaves behind. The flipside? Probably a slightly niche topic. Now I get the pretty strong feeling that my interpretation is not exactly what you were getting at, but that's ok - you're just fulfilling Göethe's brief to the Poet
It's almost like a parody of a protest song in places.
Another first-world airport pours
New concrete path to great outdoors;
Terminal building soars, ignores,
Destinations except profitability.
I love the first three lines, but the last line is a little cliché. For me the explicit allusion to the profitability aspect not only seems a little too obvious and at odds with the thoughtful imagery running through the rest of the piece, but also trots out a tired anti-capitalist message which is a little upper-sixth for my tastes. Sorry if that sounds harsh, but it's only my opinion, and there'll be plenty of folks to whom this line would speak a truth.
Technically, the first four lines are iambic, but the rest seems to flow as quatrains, which seems a little odd, especially as - as you say - the rhythm "hiccups" a few times. Take this passage
So no-one's planned for beasts, or crew, or handler
Barely remembered pilot, cockpit crew.
Unthought of porter, mechanic, cook or chandler
Money's a'wastin' since the big birds flew.
The first two lines are fine, but the "unthought of" really jars because it throws off the rhythm. The "thought" of "unthought" and "of" are the culprits here as they place the stress in the wrong place and make the iambic beat stumble. I couldn't think of many alternatives, but "jobless" seemed to do the trick. "Mechanic" also seems too long. I know you've got your caveats in - if was sung it'd be ok - but as a piece of poetry this stuff sticks out - sorry.
I'm really muddled over this piece - it does give me a good feeling, and ties together individuals' tales (Abdul the goatherd, the grieving mother, the local farmer - even the outliers of the industry, such as the mechanics et al) in a skilful manner; the stories it tells are really wonderful. But because you've chosen to do this through the medium of verse, and quite complex verse, I just feel it needs a little more polish, and suffers from not being accompanied by its music, because the silence of the page shows up every slip in the rhythm.
That in itself is almost good enough to open an angsty Graham Greene-style piece for me - such a good piece of writing
As for the verse itself, for me it's a mixed bag. It's a mixture of rich imagery and depth of thought (if not feeling) and something that sometimes stumbles technically.
Image-wise I think it's wonderfully evocative; a post-aviation world remembered by the obsolete technology itself. I'm a paid-up, card-carrying champion of the aerospace industry, so this strikes a chord with me. To me, it highlights how we take for granted - and in some quarters actively castigate - a capability that has transformed the world immeasurably (in a good way). In fact, the only way we might measure that transformation is by taking away the capability completely, and all that leaves behind. The flipside? Probably a slightly niche topic. Now I get the pretty strong feeling that my interpretation is not exactly what you were getting at, but that's ok - you're just fulfilling Göethe's brief to the Poet
It's almost like a parody of a protest song in places.
Another first-world airport pours
New concrete path to great outdoors;
Terminal building soars, ignores,
Destinations except profitability.
I love the first three lines, but the last line is a little cliché. For me the explicit allusion to the profitability aspect not only seems a little too obvious and at odds with the thoughtful imagery running through the rest of the piece, but also trots out a tired anti-capitalist message which is a little upper-sixth for my tastes. Sorry if that sounds harsh, but it's only my opinion, and there'll be plenty of folks to whom this line would speak a truth.
Technically, the first four lines are iambic, but the rest seems to flow as quatrains, which seems a little odd, especially as - as you say - the rhythm "hiccups" a few times. Take this passage
So no-one's planned for beasts, or crew, or handler
Barely remembered pilot, cockpit crew.
Unthought of porter, mechanic, cook or chandler
Money's a'wastin' since the big birds flew.
The first two lines are fine, but the "unthought of" really jars because it throws off the rhythm. The "thought" of "unthought" and "of" are the culprits here as they place the stress in the wrong place and make the iambic beat stumble. I couldn't think of many alternatives, but "jobless" seemed to do the trick. "Mechanic" also seems too long. I know you've got your caveats in - if was sung it'd be ok - but as a piece of poetry this stuff sticks out - sorry.
I'm really muddled over this piece - it does give me a good feeling, and ties together individuals' tales (Abdul the goatherd, the grieving mother, the local farmer - even the outliers of the industry, such as the mechanics et al) in a skilful manner; the stories it tells are really wonderful. But because you've chosen to do this through the medium of verse, and quite complex verse, I just feel it needs a little more polish, and suffers from not being accompanied by its music, because the silence of the page shows up every slip in the rhythm.
BTW the apparent lack of "SFF" content didn't bother me. You could even argue that you're anthropomorphising the plane itself through the line "Only drooping fuselage remembers / Days when tourists flocked like migrant birds;"
Um... No. Not as far as I'm concerned. If any fiction is permitted under the "speculative" label, then surely there's no point requiring any genre in the Challenge at all and it might as well be completely open. Which it isn't.
Certainly the whole point when the 300 was started was that as this is a SFF site, and the prize was having the winning story on the front page as well as the £10 book, the stories would have to be SFFish, the "speculative" catching those things that hovered in the boundaries that were perhaps not quite SF or not quite fantasy, eg something like post-nuclear dystopias or myth/fairy tale based stories.
We don't disqualify as in remove from the Challenge, as you rightly say, since genre is often in the eyes of the beholder, but I do think we all ought to bear in mind the genre restriction when voting.
But.. But.. But...? Slipstream is sff magical realism and gaspunk done in a speculative literary mode treating the fantastic as factual, ordinary, and everyday occurances. Chrispy's effort was brilliant. Having the plane itself mourn the economic realities that created the present catastrophe of its world... Then the slow degeneration, repetition from the main memories looping as as the plane itself degenerates. I love it. A.I. aging.
Chrispy is it a socialist future that the plane represents? The fight of people and machine over the subjugation of an imposed economic elite?
Wow .. When the judge said one person wasn't sff I thought it was ratsy not chrispy because hell could be interpreted as an allegory... Just goes to show how we all see different things in the writing..
Chrispy is it a socialist future that the plane represents? The fight of people and machine over the subjugation of an imposed economic elite?
Wow .. When the judge said one person wasn't sff I thought it was ratsy not chrispy because hell could be interpreted as an allegory... Just goes to show how we all see different things in the writing..
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