Writing challenge for NOVEMBER

dorkelf

dorkelf

Active Member
If you have the admin privileges, please sticky! :)

This thread is now in the SUBMISSIONS phase. Please do not post critiques or comments until I post that it has entered the CRITIQUE phase.

The story idea: Use the phrase "two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time" as the inspiration for your story. Write about two communities or two characters who fight over a piece of land, or anything else you want to write about.

Your story must be no more than 300 words. Its a good idea to let yourself write a longer story and then cut it down to 300 words. This process will teach you a lot about how to get your ideas across to the reader...and how to eliminate ideas that are not necessary to your story.

The time to write is now! Support the cgalliance writing community with your participation!
 
Once again, disclaimers. I am a man, not a woman. Writing a story like this is weird for me, but so be it. Whimsical-ness abounds, as usual. Word Count: 159

It’s simple physics. Everyone knows that when you try putting a solid object into
another solid object, it doesn’t work.

The two cars were nearly identical; the only difference was the year. The dark blue ’95
Corolla suddenly merged into traffic in front of my left-turning ’94, also dark blue. It was
also going half my speed. The man driving it was talking on his phone while fiddling with
the knobs on his dashboard.

I’m not quite sure what happened next. I started to close my eyes and brace myself for
the crash. When I opened them, I was driving along merrily, with a strange and shocked
man in my passenger seat. To this day my husband and I don’t know what happened to
the cellular phone.

Oh, and one other thing. Three days after the wedding, our car broke down. The
mechanic swears that parts of our car are ’94, and parts of it are ’95. Go figure.
 
Not autobiographical don't worry. Was listening to a rather depressing album Tallahassee from the Mountain Goats and had a bit of inspiration.

We are the same, the two of us, living together in this ruined home. Rotting pizza boxes and ancient newspapers rise like offerings toward the heavens. The fetid odor remains from the pet dander and that fish tank you smashed. The cracks in the roof allow light to pour in and during the storms we collect water in buckets. The house is condemned, a morbid echo of our marriage, yet still we linger in it together.

Our friends believe nothing is wrong. At parties they say we have the perfect marriage. The act we put on so other people will accept us. We are so miserable together, yet too stubborn to separate. We are the same her and I, occupying the same unlovable space.

You tried to escape once. At your side I remained for two days while you slept. When you finally returned to us you simply asked me to leave you alone.

We try to push each other apart, with a back-handed compliment or a front-loaded criticism, try to force the other to leave. It might be better but neither will give the other the satisfaction, so we go on eating in silence, sleeping in silence, dying in silence. Every day we are a little closer to that light at the end, while our past becomes a little dimmer.

Today I found the strength to walk out, but you were there to take my hand and remind me of all the good times we had, could still have if only we would try. So we remain two people trying to share the same space. Maybe I am just dramatic, maybe the therapy will work, maybe the church will have the answers. I can think of only one thing worse than living here with you, living alone.
Click to expand...
 
Doing what must be done!

And send hope to the homeless and the orphans.
“Slim”
Hold on!
“Now!”
Can it wait I’m talking to the Boss?
“Slim!”
Must be important for her to interrupt me while I‘m talking, so before I go I want you to know I will do what I have to do to follow you!
“Hurry up Slim”
I’m almost there, jeez!
OK, what’s so important?
“Your dog pooped by the front door!”
Now wait a minute, there is no my dog!
“Yes there is! You adopted it.”
How do you know it done it, you do have another?
“Because the other won’t do that!”
So instantly you blame the orphaned one!
“You know it’s the only one that poops by the door.”
Gee whiz look at the size of it! Are you sure it was a dog? Come now don’t give me that look, we do have kids and that’s a zookeeper‘s job!
“Enough!”
Well you saw it first and you calling me seems unfair!
“You are the man of the house!”
Aw throw that one at me! Do tell where the manly is in cleaning up poo!
“Let just say I’m the one cooking food, and it doesn’t seem right your wife should touch poo too?”
True, since you put it that way! So can I borrow a spatula? Aw come back I was joking, I’ll go get a shovel!

Boss, I know I said I’ll do what I must do to follow you but I really need you beside me on this to explain beyond the obvious facts that a wife and poo won’t do in the same room and a dog will poo where it wants to poo!


Can it be, that in a world of water and rock we’re to put our matter where it matters most?
 
The Dragon and the Kabocha Squash

The leader of the Benazen Clan cursed as his pack mule trotted ever so slowly up the mountain. After a while it turned its head towards the screaming man with more curiosity than annoyance, and squatted to defecate. The motion threw him off balance and he went tumbling off backwards.

The leader of the Zenaben Clan stood on top of Mount Mezzen. The eclipse was nearly complete. He reached into his burlap tote-sack and retrieved the Kabocha. If the Dragon was attracted to the fragrance of the sizzling Squash, it would be distracted from eating the moon and would spit it back out. Otherwise, the moon would disappear forever.

The pyre was blazing, the ceremonial vessel was smoking. But something didn’t smell right…

The flat of a blade impacted his scalp. He collapsed, his body knocking into the Kabocha. The Squash careened downwards until it smashed into an ancient boulder, spewing its innards with a wet thud.

The Benazen leader cackled with delight, lifting his arms as dying moonrays glinted off his obsidian-hued cloak. “Dragon!!” he screamed. “You will not be distracted from your prize! The moon is my offering to you!! Better than the most prized Kabocha these peons might offer. Take it, but remember us!! Come back and claim our people, and we will serve you forever!”

As his words echoed, the world fell dark. And then the impossible happened. The moon emerged from the dragon’s mouth. The Benazen’s jaw fell slack.

A new fragrance wafted through the air. He peered downwards. Even in the dim light he could see steam rising from sun-baked, Kabocha-encrusted rock, still quite warm an hour after sunset.

“You…”

The groggy Zenaben grabbed the Benazen, spinning him around.

“You…are a genius. That is a much easier way to cook Kabocha Squash.“
 
Word count is 299. It's very hard to keep these things short xD.

“You can’t keep on like this.”
“I think I can.”
“Please go.”
“You’re stuck with me, Trav.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“I really need space.”
“You need space? I’m in a pine box.”
“Will you let it go?”
“You killed me. I was just a girl. I was sixteen.”
“It wasn’t my fault, okay? I didn’t mean it!”
“Should’ve thought about that before, you know.” Stacie mimicked the action of taking a drink.
“How do I get rid of you?”
“You don’t.”
Travis’ sponsor spoke.
“Are you alright, Travis?”
“Yeah, Mister Castell. I was thinking.”
“You can tell me.”
“Really. I’m fine.”
“You’re not. You’re being haunted.” Stacie giggled.
“Leave me alone!”
Castell jumped.
“I’m only here to help.”
“Sorry! I was… talking to myself.”
“Travis, what’s bothering you?”
The girl-a ghost?-whispered to Travis.
“Yeah. Am I bothering you?” She laughed again.
“Listen, Travis, I have to go, but don’t worry. Stay sober.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Always.”
Stacie’s voice turned acerbic.
“Even Castell is leaving. Nobody wants you. Drunkard. Murderer.”
Travis slugged the wall.
“That’s not true!”
Castell spun around.
“Travis, I think you may need professional help.”
“I’m fine. Really. I’m just frustrated.”
“I’m going to recommend you be transferred to county.” Clancy began to leave.
“Don’t leave me with her!”
Stacie giggled again. Castell whispered to the guard:
“Keep him an eye on him. He’s not well.” Castell left. Travis fell onto his bed, and Stacie stared at him.
“I’m never leaving.”
“There’s got to be a way.”
“Roll back time. Save me.”
Travis shouted.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I killed you and I can’t change it.”
“You did what now?”
“I killed you!”
“That’s all I ever wanted.”
“What?”
“I wanted you to admit it, to yourself.”

Travis was alone in the cell.
He thanked God for being alone.
 
Critique Stage

This thread is now in the Critique stage. Every critique you post counts as a 'vote' for that story. The story with the most votes by January 31st 2010 will be the winner! Remember, writers need your honest and objective feedback, so please take the time to critique at least one story (or as many as you'd like). Thank you!
 
Nice, I enjoyed this one! :)

Neirai the Forgiven said:
I’m not quite sure what happened next. I started to close my eyes and brace myself for the crash. When I opened them, I was driving along merrily, with a strange and shocked man in my passenger seat. To this day my husband and I don’t know what happened to
the cellular phone.
Click to expand...

Avoid passive language in a scene that has potential for action. "I flinched, threw the steering wheel to the right. Reflex jerked my arm in front of my eyes..." You have room in your word count to ham this one up a bit! :)

Oh, and one other thing. Three days after the wedding, our car broke down. The mechanic swears that parts of our car are ’94, and parts of it are ’95. Go figure.
Click to expand...

I love the "well that just figures" attitude of your POV character. Nice funny twist at the end with the mechanic. :D
 
Exo-Slayer said:
We are the same, the two of us, living together in this ruined home. Rotting pizza boxes and ancient newspapers rise like offerings toward the heavens. The fetid odor remains from the pet dander and that fish tank you smashed. The cracks in the roof allow light to pour in and during the storms we collect water in buckets. The house is condemned, a morbid echo of our marriage, yet still we linger in it together.

Our friends believe nothing is wrong. At parties they say we have the perfect marriage. The act we put on so other people will accept us. We are so miserable together, yet too stubborn to separate. We are the same her and I, occupying the same unlovable space.

You tried to escape once. At your side I remained for two days while you slept. When you finally returned to us you simply asked me to leave you alone.

We try to push each other apart, with a back-handed compliment or a front-loaded criticism, try to force the other to leave. It might be better but neither will give the other the satisfaction, so we go on eating in silence, sleeping in silence, dying in silence. Every day we are a little closer to that light at the end, while our past becomes a little dimmer.

Today I found the strength to walk out, but you were there to take my hand and remind me of all the good times we had, could still have if only we would try. So we remain two people trying to share the same space. Maybe I am just dramatic, maybe the therapy will work, maybe the church will have the answers. I can think of only one thing worse than living here with you, living alone.
Click to expand...
I found this interesting. It was a cool perspective on a damaged relationship, written loosely enough that it could go anywhere. It was cool to read. :D I didn't notice anything mechanically wrong with it either, which was nice.
 
I rather enjoyed your submission Dorkelf. Interesting story with enough mystery to keep me reading.
The only critique I might give is I had a little trouble following it and had to reread it. I think it’s because the leaders are unnamed and without much detail and have similar tribe names. I lost track of who was who in even this short story without much to differentiate them. I might suggest giving them a proper name or at least giving them some description even if it’s in very broad strokes.
 
The Dragon and the Kabocha Squash - Reheated :)

Thanks so much for the critique, I find that I often over-focus on plot and don't "personalize" my characters enough for my readers. I made the simple changes you suggested and I think it made a big difference. Here's my rewrite:

Troz, ruler of the Benazen Clan, cursed as his pack mule trotted ever so slowly up the mountain. After a while it turned its head towards the screaming man with more curiosity than annoyance, and squatted to defecate. The motion threw him off balance and he went tumbling off backwards.

Bron, ruler of the Zenaben Clan, stood on top of Mount Mezzen. The eclipse was nearly complete. He reached into his burlap tote-sack and retrieved the Kabocha. If the Dragon was attracted to the fragrance of the sizzling Squash, it would be distracted from eating the moon and would spit it back out. Otherwise, the moon would disappear forever.

The pyre was blazing, the ceremonial vessel was smoking. But something didn’t smell right…

The flat of a blade impacted his scalp. He collapsed, his body knocking into the Kabocha. The Squash careened downwards until it smashed into an ancient boulder, spewing its innards with a wet thud.

Troz cackled with delight, lifting his arms as dying moonrays glinted off his obsidian-hued cloak. “Dragon!!” he screamed. “You will not be distracted from your prize! The moon is my offering to you!! Better than the most prized Kabocha these peons might offer. Take it, but remember us!! Come back and claim our people, and we will serve you forever!”

As his words echoed, the world fell dark. And then the impossible happened. The moon emerged from the dragon’s mouth. The Benazen’s jaw fell slack.

A new fragrance wafted through the air. He peered downwards. Even in the dim light he could see steam rising from sun-baked, Kabocha-encrusted rock, still quite warm an hour after sunset.

“You…”

The groggy Zenaben grabbed Troz, spinning him around.

“You…are a genius. That is a much easier way to cook Kabocha Squash.“
 
Submission phase

If I counted correctly, it is a three-way tie between Nerai, Exo and myself.

MANY thanks to everyone who contributed a critique. Although the entries are relatively short to read, it takes time to think about them an post a thoughtful critique. If you have done this, you have truly supported this writing community in the most meaningful and important way possible. Again, THANK YOU! :D
 
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