Arthur’s Comments (group member since Oct 25, 2008)

Arthur’s comments from the Short Story Contests group.

we ought to give out a prize for most won weekly writer, yearly awarded

Good work Olivia

hum bug

add a comment area to shot the breeze

Kjersti but you can call me Captain wrote: "holla canary? What does that mean?

Are you talking to me?"

yeah, nice the poem...

someone built a site?

holla canary nice poem

yup

:3

Love Love Love so many times, falls to the earth like the spring-times, and while we are not alone anymore and always will be together, you admit you are in love and I feel the same for you, but for now we must each keep going our separate ways even if you fear being found out about our shared secret, love, because it is love that you and I are in, but when we part I will not grieve things until we are together again.

There is a real deal of art in Germany, especially in the wheat plains and the granary reagent. We had been staying at a most charmingly little castle, Max said it “was wicked”. Hotel Mainz is located in the hills of Majolica which is really a more civilized city than some of America. Again thanks to Max and his internet searches.

The evening beginning with soft music, mosaic like tables had mosbolletjie which is sweetish bun from Africa, but what took my expensive breath was the barbaric country sound of the classic music instruments playing the warm airy, giving highland folk sounds I found hearty. Equally relaxing I found Max was finally settled in his seat. Unlike tomorrow. When he began a trance like state seeking portraits. He spots one thing then it is something another, when he spotted a piece of art work and needed to know its origin, I again had to accompany him everywhere he found to lead to what the meaning of art is and its German origin. It could just been easier without the excitement, but he has been so set aglow and acting like the robot he is really of nuts and bolts.

We had plainly planned to stay at the Hotel Gasthof zur Krone in equal time, later in the week, as we planned it it lies between Cologne and Bonn, it is a nature park Kottenforst, but possibly for now we could enjoy what comes natural. The Bonn is world famous and worth seeing, Max showed no interest. He’d found the square for now to his liking, and showed he’d like to explore. As if with this odd Max mood we would find any place to fit in….

The tomorrow had arrived. We went on a long expedition after finding a significant portrait that had captured Max’s… attention… significantly.

We were in the artistes square. Of all kinds of Independent sellers and Max had been pointing at something that looked original. To me anyway, it wasn’t yet cataloged and it swept my attention I admit.

“Look there, you see it’s just as if the artist meant to tell the future.” He was saying.

“But I don’t mind its fiery winds…” I guess… I said to Max, I keep saying that anyway, digressing in the argument, my voice telling me that this one picture was upsetting me. It had red wings painted in the corners, not black shoulders like you’d expect, like winds carry, but was as if the future was unfolding, and the artist had an inner eye of what was beheld and painted the wings red, fiery red. And was typical junk vampirism bats flowing in the darker corners, but I held the opinion it was odd. Charming, but upsetting more than beautiful. Max ignored my comment and enquired of the artist. The seller claimed he did not know, and that the picture was so old now, that it likely did not matter. Max squinted and squinted for a signature. Smiling the while as if he’d seen beauty where I did not.

I now know I believe in destiny. Everyone should, why shouldn’t I? Not as if this picture we were looking at had been any help to me. I didn’t imagine it was what we may call destiny. A portrait of the count of castle Grike. But Max found it agreeable and he had been difficult to understand since we came to Germany. And this sudden surging senses of his art were very disturbing. It was like he was looking for someone, the artists maybe. I’d see a doctor for him about it if it wasn’t something Dr. Xanthomas had already warned me about these things called quests, quests that people mean to take when they realize they are aging or you may call it maturing. Max had been maturing. Like quests to fatherlands seeking known mysteries and this is why I agreed to come with Max. I’m his only traveling companion, but at the same time I am his best friend.

After he sought the origin of the picture, we traced its origin. It put us far north from our hotel, but far and into the country. There we found a castle in a private land. The artist had once lived here merely eighty years ago, in the twentieth century. Max assures me that our future state was inconceivable to the people of the second world war, not logically anyway, but that it was widely believed people had recorded visions, religious or pagan, but that a lot of things had been destroyed during the war. This picture must have been hidden after the artist painted it. I followed Max on his calm but intriguing quest of the germen fatherland.

We arrived in darkness, in pursuit finding this tree shaded castle along the Syn of Grike. A highland of road twisted in circles around leading to the castle, just as in the pictures you will see, only without moats, and steeply rose for security and protection from the lands below. The castle, which lost its original name, but dubbed Castle Grike Von. Or Count Vestarbonn’s secluded castle. We were somewhere referred to as far away from the Bonn but still in Kansas Toto. …I guess.

Eerie enough I thought about turning back. I felt tension in my huge muscles. I grew afraid of Max and his less appealing trance. I still don’t know why I was so suddenly taken over by fear. Perhaps it was from my following Max here. His eerie appearance as we arrived, as if he had been in a stupid trance.
We took the long winding road up to the gate. It was open, and rusted.

We passed through and came to the door. Its hinges rust and rotted. Windows long ago blacked. It was a huge place though, and despite any real discomfort we may have one may like meeting who ever owned this place.

“Aster, you may not know why the artist lured us here. It was a trap after-all! I thought I would find art and expressionism in Germany. But the owner-who ever meant us to find this portrait-will likely be long ago dead. I feel so faint that I know I am acting weird. Aster can you ever forgive my emotional temper?”
I was taken back by his words. His temper was nuts and bolts. He was as incapable of emotion as I am, ever more than me. He barely senses danger. If I had been worried he was possessed I would not have come. Despite his armor and voluntarily incapable of being possessed like that like other great artist, Max appeals to me as the sanest person I will ever know.

We came a long way, and we realized the castle had been in ruins. We didn’t meet the count. Who ever he was, he no longer existed. His portrait was amazing, and troubled Max. We could find a way to put the portrait back in the castle then go. Possibly we were at an end of our fatherland quest for today anyway. I don’t know what Max is capable of coming up with, but sometimes he seems less possessed now, and I care about him, and need his nuts and bolts operating. And I need to learn to understand any of my doubts about his artist-quest to become more understood. After all Max wasn’t about to get into any kind of trouble, was he? He is much too giftedly logical a real robot to meet his fate.

The End

Name : One Week after the Art Gallery Opening
Words: aprox. 2270
Genre: future
By: Arthur “grandpa”

Notes: idk, this is from something I already wrote. It’s hard to get this story in the word limits, its like a much bigger story I was meaning to write for a year now, I’ve been so busy I wanted to get back to some of my incomplete work, I never wrote this before, it’s just from two characters I have that travel together.
** * ** * ** * ** * ** * **

One Week after the Art Gallery Opening

Max reveals his interest in taking vacation, being drawn to Germany. His feeling single minded, his feeling lonely and bitter, but his friendship with Aster, Max with not reveal sign of his disparity.…

Cold uncivilized feelings of inhumanity emits from Max. His wishes to seek romance, his doubts about that, and seeks artist influences. What can he do?

Aster accompanies him, and they sail away to old Germany. With the hopes of a brochure in his hand entertaining thoughts of being normal.

Aster follows. They envisage the European fatherland that happened on eve of destructiveness in the previous century. Because of Aster and Max’s abnormality as being heroes, their vocational ability, they take to the secluding streets in Germany-in detoured areas, making they’re tour of Germany more hectic and in reality they soon feel that things don’t fit together.

Supposing, but, the need to express themselves artistically for Max’s sake, he who seeks expressionism all of a sudden, are in their right but to reveal what that nature has done to their inward states needing to find expression, seek it in world famous galleries and on streets in the likes of the Bonn.

It takes time.

The support team, a group of technical doctors that care for the health of Aster and Max, are doctors easily intrigued, but by the two heroes normally in their acceptance in view of their mastering some crime mystery in the public. Heroes to the world and constantly in the press about the mystery case they solved together, have withdrawn from public completely. They are both detectives morally at disposal and are also inclined to lend help. With Max at first, his disgust at art was only a humor because his inviting himself in believing in expressions of the arts is mechanical. Aster will find sensualness and they both look for things with a certain ascetic value that they call a heterostyled of conformity in painting.

Then Max envisions a ruthless future in a flash, and confides in Aster his best friend that that was what they were until any end despite his new fearful feelings. The questionable air of the future that lead to the world’s technical advancing and civilization was in need to express cubistically.

It was a strange computation to envision for Max. The Journey on the Way of Germany…

Aster hadn’t bothered with many details. But from messages this story was constructed. He had just remained on hilt of being just as keen of any ordinary trip. This trip was to Germany to rendezvous with the fatherland of so much historic antiquity. And destruction from a modern world. Max’s new philosophy because of a vision. Whether it was something to be envied at was too strong of an emotion for Aster. Aster did not like emotion. Aster felt thoughts on the subjective side. Something to be analyzed.

Upon arriving things had quickly changed.

Dramatic changes to begin, Max checked his own movements to movements of Aster, who both had stood out. Max was certain he would blend until they arrived in Germany, where unlike America he did not.

He felt welcomed warmly because people envied the creation of technology of such a point the invention of Max was something aspiring nevertheless. Where too, Aster had been seeing the sterile transformation that occurs to machines technological advance. The transformation of wonderment to be believed. Not Aster’s first thought, but Aster was secretively envious of Max at this point.

Welcome to moving Germany.

Letter taken from Aster’s journal while in the Granary reagent. Hotel Mainz, Majolica
June 2022

Max and I had arrived in time of checking in to the hotel in Germany. We had taken steamship from the America’s. It was a trip broad to one of the world’s fatherlands. And Max had made all of this possible, through his efforts, and you can tell from his suggestions. Once checked in, things began to just happened automatically, we had the special menu the waitress brings in our hands, he had his in his hand, but he held his staring attention into the crowd of people, I know I sound worried because it was not like Max the guardian of silver armor to be staring at people, and he was quiet while we were just simply sitting at our personal reserved café lounge. We had plainly planned this trip together to Germany after Max began acting strangely about seeing Germany, more he than I, I never seem to see such enthusiasm, but it perhaps was his enthusiasm forcing him to travel here. And he said it was to live the life of art. Well we are getting eccentric aren’t we? We had been hip to hip ever since we were both returning to the United States of America, but from having traveled together seeking a lost artifact in Africa, but Max found this an escape he thoughtfully calls seeking another historic fatherland. Instead of our plans, he abandoned them of returning to America, to home where we need to live, and I think Max had envisioned it to himself much longer, but I think maybe the rare works of art here in Germany had finally caught up with his idle eyes. We find ourselves for his sake on an escape for art. German art expressionism.

But our trials begin with Count Vestarbonn after the day we were rested after arriving to Germany.

We had rested the night we arrived, later we roamed among Germany. The next day we merely found entertainment at the lounge cafe. Music. Before arriving to tonight’s cafe, tonight we had glimpsed the evenings schedule for entertainment back at our hotel. An old castle really, our hotel recently renovated into charming style apartments. Max is quite tall, and even in Germany the two of us stand out like freaks of nature. And Max, well, looks more like Frankenstein or a robot than any real act from human-mother-nature. Oddly I’ll resemble the family of crocodile.

Clare and I have been swapping suggestions all week, so we are a little late with poetry week.

You have until Sunday afternoon to post a poem on here before the Topic changes. Please post it directly onto this topic, rather than posting a link. You're welcome to discuss poems on here also.

This week's Topic is Peel. If anyone has any objections to this topic, please go to the Poetry Topic Objections post.


Poems can be as long and short as you want them to be. This is not a contest, it's just for fun and to show off our own poetry.

Instructions:
Please do not use a story previously used on goodreads. After the week's contest, you are welcome to put it on your profile writings, but please refrain from using stories you have already put on there.

You have until Saturday afternoon to post a story on here. Please post it directly onto this topic, rather than posting a link. Also, please do not discuss stories on here. You must go to Weekly Short Story Contest Discussion (http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/6... for that. This will avoid any clutter and confusion, so that people can simply come on here and read the story, without having to read comments on the story.

This week's Topic is Squares. If anyone has any objections to this topic, please go to the Objections post. The rules are pretty loose. You may mean the square space in a town, squares in mathematics, and there are people who are titled squares, or just have the word squares in it.

Weekly stories must be at least 500 words long to 2,000 words long. (if the whole story won't fit in one post, divide it into two)

Good luck!

Arthur, [Acting for Clare:]

P.S. PLEASE say if you would like to have your story on Short Story Galore, if you win. This way it wouldn't take me ages to get your consent afterwards. This includes adding a link to your stories. If you want to have your story on the Short Story Galore, but not the link, just say so.

*** *** ***

Olivia’s winner, congratulations…her In Pursuit of the Moon won a walk into weekly winners! Clare is moderator, she will post Olivia’s story in Short Story Galore. Well it's explained here: http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/7...,

A mention: there was a story posted by Livi but it was after the vote. Sorry Livi, that was still an incredible story, though, maybe you will post it or something like it in this week contest.

Congrats Olivia again!

I guess I should just ask if you are sure you want this in Week Seven Livi. You could have saved it for Week Eight when Monday morning begins...

yep :3

I think I'll post the poll now... Please NO more entries...maybe if you insist, but ask...
But really for now this week is closed, and will have until Sunday for to vote for your favorite story.

~Arthur~

My life was changed by fire. Every expression and heartbreaking expression quivers from an eye of sorrowful emotion from a pen from my soul that witnessed and survives by that fire. From experience someone may say he doesn’t lose his memory. He just woke up not feeling like he was in the right place, in his right mind. Again, maybe it’s natural after damage, just supposing he were in a carriage accident. I don’t know from his experience of what he was in a carriage, nor was the carriage driver. But he is found in the situation, and then hospitalized.

terrific