Improving our 300 Word Stories -- READ FIRST POST!

[Ursa major]

I'm wary of getting out of my depth here, but "because" doesn't make logical sense.

If a character (in dialogue) or the narrator says that someone is bold because they're running in the weather, the implication is that whoever is stating this thinks that the weather is not of a type in which a non-bold person would be running. This may or may not be true in the abstract - the person stating this might be hypersensitive to weather conditions - but it isn't logically false from that person's point of view.

In fact, if the person running is hypersensitive to the weather, the fact that they're running in what they see as very adverse conditions would make them bold: they're facing up to their fear. (On the other hand, someone who cares nothing about the weather conditions perhaps can't be being bold when they, say, are seen to be running through a snowstorm.)

Probably.


(And just be glad I didn't invoke the spirits of Julian, Sandy and Kenneth Horne. )

 

[HareBrain]

If a character (in dialogue) or the narrator says that someone is bold because they're running in the weather, the implication is that whoever is stating this thinks that the weather is not of a type in which a non-bold person would be running. This may or may not be true in the abstract - the person stating this might be hypersensitive to weather conditions - but it isn't logically false from that person's point of view.

This did actually occur to me, and I was going to modify my post to make the point, but then I thought maybe you were on holiday.

 

[Kylara]

Not sure if this is still going along (and if not I'll put it up in critiques), but I'll put it here anyway...any comments/critiques welcomed and I'm happy to try and explain where I was coming from if it just plain ol' doesn't make sense :wink:
So, here goes:

Cruel Fate ​

The wind invigorates my soul. Arms outstretched, eyes shut against the dust, my head flung high as if staring at the stars. My body vibrates to the sound of the trees as I lift onto my toes. I suck in the blasting air and a dark despairing scream echoes in my mind. Huge ethereal wings unfurl as I anticipate the soon to be had joy of being carried by the winds.

It dies down a little and I know the wildness that approaches. Stretching out my wings fill with a snap and the harsh cry of the wind engulfs me. Wrenching myself about to gain more height, always more height, pushing higher with every gust, every breath of air, straining up towards the stars, my impossible destination. The air changes, thickens with moisture as my desperate tears remind the storm of what must come next.

I am running out of time.

The rain comes, beating cruelly upon the grass and stone. I climb higher, revelling in the fey freedom of the storm. Yet being pulled back by my anchor; no more soaring for me…the glorious stars denied me once more. Woefully losing height as I sink slowly back down towards the overgrown mound. My illusory freedom ended viciously by a rainbow and the sun.

And I am stranded…still…desolate and alone by my aging bones. The dying wind giving its last to my fading spirit, leaching new strength as I sit, chained, atop my tomb. Waiting, yet again, for the storm to come for me once more.

 

[The Judge]

It's very poetic, but for me it wasn't enough of a story -- as far as I can see he/she is straining to reach the stars (which might be literal or metaphorical) but fails. Since I have no connection with the character, and no idea why the stars are so important, it's difficult for me to feel moved by either the striving or the failure, I'm afraid. And although I love poetry and poetical imagery, to my mind this is somewhat over-written, not to say over-wrought, and instead of being uplifting the whole thing is brought down by the weight of its own purple-prosiness.

I also have problems with some of your sentence constructions. I use fragments a lot, but I don't think they are best employed in what is otherwise very ornate writing eg your second sentence really jars on me without a main verb. In addition, because the subject of the first sentence is the wind, the lack of an immediate change eg "My [arms]" indicates the subject of the second sentence will also be the same, which is jolting. Another line which especially jarred for me was "Woefully losing height as I sink slowly back down towards the overgrown mound." As written this is again a fragment, since there is no subject following the participle of "Woefully" -- the "I sink slowly" isn't it, because of the "as" which indicates another sub-clause must follow (eg it requires something like "as I sink... I weep"). If you deleted the "as" and put a comma after "height" it would then be grammatically correct, save for the fact that "Woefully" is wrong here since losing height can't be woeful, ie upset.

I don't know if it was a simple typo, but with "Stretching out my wings fill with a snap" the lack of comma after "out" renders the whole sentence meaningless. Another mistake is "soon to be" which should be hyphenated. I recall thinking there were a couple of others but I can't find them immediately, so I may be mis-remembering.

For me, also, although there isn't the same emphasis on a story abiding by the set theme as there is for the 75 worders, when I come to vote on the 300s I do still want to see some connection with the provided image, no matter how tenuous. Here the stormy clouds just weren't enough to ground the story for me, as it were.

Sorry I couldn't like it more. You obviously have a great love of words and some facility with them, but for me this didn't quite work.

 

[Kylara]

Thanks, I tend to have that problem with short stuff. I write poetry and I do love words, I get a little caught up in them *looks shiftily about* and my shorts always suffer...it is annoying, thanks for the tips though, nice to have something to focus on...

 

[Kylara]

Hehe bumping this one now as the Tie break moves on...I didn't do very well this time round with something I was quite happy with. I think people may not have understood what I was doing or the style may have been off, so any comments/thoughts/etc would be greatly appreciated. Thanks.


Creeping

There is less water now. Since they came. The sky boils with clouds, dark and forbidding showing us they remain among us. Above us. Watching.

The world is less colourful now that they are here. There are less of us too, more of them though, always more of them. They come in ships. Tall ships that sail the seas. They beach and then the water evaporates up, and there are suddenly broiling black clouds above. The ships, beautiful greys, like signets and goslings, start to decay. Slowly at first, then faster and faster until all that is left is a hulking dead creature strewn upon shining sand.

I know not who they are, what they are, why they are here. But they are powerful. And I am less. Far less.

The clouds are wondrously, dangerously beautiful. People stop and stare and gaze and die. They wither away all in a burst. I think they live in the clouds, perhaps are the clouds. I don't look, I don't care to die. I glimpse their tempting fluffy edges in puddles, but I don't look, don't fall into their trap.

The seas are getting smaller, and the clouds are covering more sky. Day by day, storm clouds that bring no storm explode upon the sky. I see the warning ships, the ships that bring our means of death. And I move on, further and further into the clear blue skies. Blue skies encroached by dusty greys and silvers.

It is as if they follow me. Haunt me. Search for me. Across a darkening world. They shall not entice me with their artistry, with their beautiful formations of all the water upon the earth scattered into the sky.

I can live without looking at the sky. Even if it kills me.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

For me, too much description and not enough action, i am afraid. It was nice description, but didn't really go anywhere. Also, the question of who they were wasn't answered. And in a fiendish hard quarter, impact and the story framing where one of the things it came down to for me.

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

This has an enormous amount of mood and flavor. Personally, I found it a bit confusing. Perhaps it's a little too subtle.

Reading this a couple of more times, I felt a certain conflict between the style and the events of the story. There's nothing wrong with either one, but somehow they seem to clash just slightly. The style seems to lean more toward more traditional supernatural fantasy -- I'm thinking Poe or Lovecraft -- while the surreal events of the story seem to remind me more of magic realism.

It's not a bad piece at all. The above are just some random thoughts about why it may not have placed at the absolute top of the list.

 

[TheDustyZebra]

Yes, I agree with springs that there isn't enough going on here. I kind of glazed over and found it a struggle to read carefully to the end, and even then I didn't feel I had really learned what was happening. I guess that's kind of the point -- the narrator doesn't know what "they" are or what's happening, either -- but it's tough when the reader is left in the dark, too.

I like the way the things beach and the water evaporates and leaves them as husks on the sand -- but I didn't quite notice until about the third time through, for some reason.

 

[Fitzchiv]

Right then - feedback welcome!

***

Harvest

If the last thing you do in life is smile, maybe it won’t be the last thing after all. It’s the kind of thought you let steer you without acknowledging it, never quite looking at it, for once you focus you’ll realise how ludicrous it is.

Staring down at my youngest cat, bristling in the dust on her haunches over a downed moth, I know I'm desperately trying to smile in worry she’d probably be sick if she ate it. The futility just won’t let it get to my face.

A gentle whine from the rusted metal wind ornament my wife wrought long ago doesn't deter Frankie from her battle with the insect, but reminds me the cat and I have been here alone too long now, within this fenced compound with only memories, fear and moths.

The shadowy figure of a raven in the corner of my eye alighting on the sculpture leaves little time to wonder why choose this new perch, rather than the nearly weathered headstone outside the fence it’s made its galling preening platform for so long, before hurriedly taking flight again. The tone in its frantic call tells me what I already know; the wait is over.

As I let my eyes settle again on Frankie, white belly on show as she rolls in delight at her catch, I hope her bliss makes her irrelevant or untouchable.

In the distance I can see the raven’s flight has taken it above the inevitable dark figures cresting the sun burned hill, moving in silent unison with sunken eyes fixated on the final harvest they’ll get in this valley.

They've taken my home, my world, my future. I fear a nudge of my foot and a smile is now all I can give Frankie to save hers.

***

 

[Jo Zebedee]

Because it's the comps, the first thing I do -- rather meanly, maybe, but I need to get the list down somehow -- is get rid of anything with grammar/spelling things.

Harvest

If the last thing you do in life is smile, maybe it won’t be the last thing after all. It’s the kind of thought you let steer youI found that you let steer you a bit unwieldy without acknowledging it, never quite looking at it, for once you focus you’ll realise how ludicrous it is.

Staring down at my youngest cat, bristling in the dust on her haunches over a downed moth, I know I'm desperately trying to smile in worry she’d probably be sick if she ate it -- I didn't know how you'd smile in worry, and again I got a bit turned around with the terminology. . The futility just won’t let it get to my face.

A gentle whine from the rusted metal wind ornament my wife wrought long ago doesn't deter Frankie from her battle with the insect, but reminds me the cat and I have been here alone too long now, within this fenced compound with only memories, fear and moths. This, I thought, really needed broken up, it's a very long sentence.

The shadowy figure of a raven in the corner of my eye alighting on the sculpture leaves little time to wonder why it chose?choose this new perch, rather than the nearly weathered headstone outside the fence it’sit has -- otherwise it looks like it is made its galling preening platform for so long, before hurriedly taking flight again.again, the sentence length was too much for me. I like long sentences, I write them a lot, but to get away with them you need to be cannier with punctuation, I think. ; and : and -- etc. The tone in its frantic call tells me what I already know; the wait is over.

As I let my eyeseyes can't settle -- but his gaze can settle again on Frankie, white belly on show as she rolls in delight at her catch, I hope her bliss makes her irrelevant or untouchable.

In the distance I can see the raven’s flight has taken it above the inevitable dark figures cresting the sun burnedsun-burned? hill, moving in silent unison with sunken eyes fixated on the final harvest they’ll get in this valley.

They've taken my home, my world, my future. I fear a nudge of my foot and a smile is now all I can give Frankie to save hers.I quite liked the last line, but I was left wondering what all the stuff in the middle about the cat added to the story, which largely seemed to be if we smile we can face the worse. I'd have needed a bit more depth to the story to make it a winner. But it was an incredibly tough month.

 

[Bowler1]

Kylara, sorry also too much description for me, and I wasn't too sure what happened by the end. Some nice imagery going on, as ever, but it didn't help me understand what had gone on.

Fitzchiv, I liked the kitten, but I didn't understand the ending. Another one with great images but the message got lost in the images for me.

Stepping into the spotlight and wringing my hands in worry - Can I have some more please? I got 0 votes, so this could be painful!

Carrion Post


The wind gusted and rusty metal squeaked and creaked like chalk across a blackboard. I used to hate that sound. It felt like nails being dragged across my very soul, ripping flesh from my bones.

If only I’d known; really known.

‘Derek,’ whispered Amy, her body trembling next to mine in our hiding hole. ‘Here comes another.’

I just nodded gesturing for her to be quiet. Noise attracted their attention.

It shuffled to a stop, its head turning… listening.

I could feel Amy tense beside me, her fear building. I knew how she felt, this close they were dangerous… any mistake could kill us.

It shuffled some more, those dead eyes searching as it moaned and groaned, stepping forward just once.

The wind shifted, and above us the Carrion Post’s rusty metal sang out, shrieking in the breeze.

Its dead eyes focused and it stepped forward eagerly. Rotten teeth chattered with excitement and drool dripped from a blood flecked chin, it shuffled on over the tripwire and into the pit below.

‘We’ve got it,’ whispered Amy, delight in every word.

‘Wait here,’ I hissed back, carefully creeping out of our hiding spot, my pike held ready. I tiptoed to the edge of the pit, and there, it clawed the air trying to get at me. I swung once, my pike sending rotten brains flying and another un-dead lined the bottom of our trap.

Behind me; a sound of metal shifting, I turned, fear in every fibre of my body. Expecting danger.

I heard Amy giggle and felt embarrassed.

‘It’s just a crow,’ she said, ‘relax.’

A Carrion Crow, a sign of good fortune in this new world; where the dead walked.

‘Breakfast, my feathered friend,’ said I, laughing to hide my nerves. ‘Eat up.’

It cawed once, and fluttered down.

 

[Ursa major]

Well, the title might have been a little funnier if changed to:

Carrion Posting

​

(Note: This advice is from a fellow member of Challenge#10's Zero Vote Club.)

 

[Bowler1]

Well, the title might have been a little funnier if changed to:

Carrion Posting

​

(Note: This advice is from a fellow member of Challenge#10's Zero Vote Club.)

I'm in good company, that I know. Thank Chrons SFF for the biscuit barrell, and I'm sure there is a beer lake somewhere close as well - my sorrows don't last long, now where are my swimming trunks!

 

[The Judge]

I have to confess I tend to mark zombie stories down -- it's perhaps mean to say they lack imagination, but when there are so many great imaginative takes on the images each quarter, zombies and their ilk seem a bit, well, mundane. As a consequence stories using them have to be really special to get onto my shortlist.

Anyhow, Fitzchiv, for me there were a few too many lines in your story when I didn't understand what was being said -- the very first and last sentences in particular. They sounded good, but when I looked at them properly they lost me entirely. Where did the nudge of the foot come from? How will a smile save the cat's world?

I thought the tone of the piece was good, and I liked some individual lines, but as a story I found it a bit lacking for my taste -- it was sombre and reflective but without much in the way of actual plot. And although under the rules of the Challenges it's enough simply for the image to inspire the work, I prefer to see some real connection with the image. Although you mention the raven and the weathervane, they're effectively bolted on to the story -- both could be removed without affecting the plot, what there is of it.

None of these points is necessarily fatal, but taken together, in a quarter with so many strong stories, they pushed your story out of the running for me. Sorry.


Bowler, you faced the same zombie prejudice, I'm afraid, though I liked the fact you'd done something a bit different with this trap. Again some bits I didn't understand -- for instance, the italicised sentence didn't seem to fit with anything as far as I could see, and what was the Carrion Post, and why?

I like taut stories, where every word is important, and to me this was perhaps a little flabby -- quite a few lines could be shortened or removed entirely, to give a greater feeling of tension, leaving room for more characterisation/development. More actual plot would have been good, too, I think. Basically, a zombie trips in to a pit and he kills it. You also had a few punctuation errors, which always means an entry gets marked down as far as I'm concerned. Overall, a workmanlike piece, and definitely for me one of your better stories, but it didn't really shine or stand out enough for a short-listing. Sorry.

 

[Bowler1]

Thank you, Judge.

There's always the next 300.

 

[Fitzchiv]

Springs, Judge, Bowler - thanks

 

[jastius]

Fitzchiv, I quite liked your story
the only real changes I would have made were
from sun burned hill to sun baked hill
let my gaze settle on Frankie
guide instead of steer...

I have a young Persian cat who is very much concerned with how I am unless she is busy playing... and I know any emotional distress I show would have her hanging on me like a limpet.. so when the cannibals clear the hill instead of him worrying about dying horribly and painfully, he focuses on the one innocent loving thing left in his life and tries to save it from destruction.. a selfless act, the poor man.

 

[Fitzchiv]

Fitzchiv, I quite liked your story
the only real changes I would have made were
from sun burned hill to sun baked hill
let my gaze settle on Frankie
guide instead of steer...

I have a young Persian cat who is very much concerned with how I am unless she is busy playing... and I know any emotional distress I show would have her hanging on me like a limpet.. so when the cannibals clear the hill instead of him worrying about dying horribly and painfully, he focuses on the one innocent loving thing left in his life and tries to save it from destruction.. a selfless act, the poor man.

That's pretty much it in a nutshell. What I'm learning here is the spaces in between what is supposed to be a quick bit of reflection from the first person perspective are too big, and not well articulated. The character is acknowledging his own folly in trying to smile at the cat's trivial predicament (a predicament my own cat was in at the time of writing - she had downed a big moth and was taking great delight in toying with it before she ate it, which I knew would result in it getting coughed up again but she enjoys it so much I just smile and let her get on with it) in a naive attempt to offset his (and her) inevitable demise.

It's inevitable via the mention of his wife, her sculpture, the gravestone outside the compound and the subsequent loneliness mentioned about it now being him and the cat.

With the inevitable coming the only thing he can do is give the cat a nudge with his foot to shoo her away and maybe spare her another day messing about with moths. His fate is sealed either way. The paradox here is he's come full circle to a childish hope a kind act will in some way offset events.

 

[mosaix]

Fitzchiv, one of the rules of the challenges is "It is expected that your story will have a plot, and not merely consist of descriptive prose."

Although your piece wasn't entirely descriptive prose I certainly found it difficult to discern a clear plot and, for me, that made it difficult to vote for.

Hope this helps.