Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion
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Get to Know Your Character(Popcorn Served)
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Kyra
(new)
Jun 11, 2012 08:10PM
Timeline??? (note my ignorance is based on not actually possessing a Facebook account)
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Edward wrote: "Erm, which method are you going to use? The EMP?"No... I just deactivated it. Becaues I had two, an old one and a newer one. So now I only have one
LOL, I think you should've gone for EMP. XD
Kyra wrote: "Timeline??? (note my ignorance is based on not actually possessing a Facebook account)"A horrible idea to "streamline" the Facebook experience. I prefer my compartmentalization, and so does (apparantly) everyone else. No one I've talked to, not a single person, has said a good word about Timeline. Facebook creators don't listen, however.
I've avoided the plague thus far.
Kyra wrote: "LOL, I think you should've gone for EMP. XD"It would've saved the world a lot of grief. And who knows what might happen when certain individuals acknowledge a world outside Facebook.
Facebook creators don't care about their users. All we ever wanted was a dislike button. If I had my way, I'd go back to the facebook setup where there were three tabs at the top of your profile. One for the profile, one for info, and one for photos. So simple and easy...
Kyra wrote: "LOL, I think you should've gone for EMP. XD"Ehh.
Terry: Are you going to finish that scene where I'm getting beat up (again)?Me: Eventually. I'm writing about Noxru Evriss right now.
Terry: ... Who?
Me: I think you mean "whom."
Terry: You're joking, right?
Me: No, you're referencing a direct object.
Terry: No, I mean about the name.
Me: Do you have a better one?
Terry: ...
Me: Yeah, neither do I.
Terry: ... Wait, my question is "Who is that?" In your sentence, it's a direct object, in mine is the nominative case.Me: Yep.
Terry: ...
Not quite the eloquence I wanted, but this works:Terry only won by luck, though given that he already manly points by puking immediately after the last thug ran off, he decided not to mention that to Evelyn. He walked her home afterward, which turned out to be one of the most awkward experiences of his short life; she seemed to have trouble processing the event, for some reason. Terry spent most of the walk musing upon a strange question: How could she possibly live in Moorboro and not understand violence like that?
They arrived at her house, which seemed to startle her out of her silent reverie. She finally turned and look Terry full in the face, wincing.
"Oh, look, you're covered in blood," she noted redundantly in a whine of a voice.
Terry smeared a trickle down his face into a sheet across his cheek and remarked, "Don't worry; most of it is mine."
"What?" Evelyn seemed confused for some reason.
"I didn't hurt them too badly," Terry clarified, nonplussed.
Evelyn nodded, though her expression remained bewildered. She headed up the driveway, but stopped halfway to turn back around and face the battered teenaged boy.
"Um, you're Terry Wrixon, right? I know you don't come often, but is there any chance that I could see you in school tomorrow?"
For some reason, Terry felt an urgent need to reply an affirmative, which he did so without hesitation; he had nothing special planned for tomorrow, anyway. She smiled at him and turned back to her house, disappearing to the comforting interior.
Terry's own home was much less welcoming. Though he trimmed the yard and helped his mother keep the inside in order, there was one out-of-place piece of decor that they could not replace in its proper position: the snoring body of Sidney Wrixon, the man of the house, sleeping off a bender on the living room couch for some reason. Terry sighed and briefly considered throwing the sack he had taken with him on to his old man's stomach, but decided that would be considerably childish.
Instead he tossed it into his room and then went into the kitchen to grab some food. In there, he ran straight into his mother, half asleep over a cup of coffee on the counter. She started and woke fully when he entered, focusing immediately on her son and his newest collection of injuries.
"Oh, my dear God!" she exclaimed. Terry tried to shush her, in no mood to wake the sleeping giant, but she apparantly had a better gauge on how much Sidney could sleep through. "Terry, another fight? I - why?"
"Oh, these guy's were some enforcers for a pimp; their boss though I was a pimp trying to poach some of his girls."
Whatever explaination she had expected, it wasn't that. "Why would someone think that about you?"
"Because I spend a lot of time in their area, but I never buy a few hours or a few grams. Criminals like him are the most naturally fearful people in the world - he's born of desperation, a feral human. He does stupid things to protect his turf." He spoke in a monotone quite unnatural coming from him, as he often adapted when discussing the strangely reliable facts he had come to notice about the human condition. Then he added, "Do we have any raspberries left?"
His mother was silent for a moment as he opened the refridgerator and extracted a plastic container half full of bulbous reddish fruit. In that time, she inferred the truth.
"He attacked you again, didn't he? Last night, when I was out?"
Terry ignored her. "I think I'll take these outside. I'm going to need to borrow some tools; I convince Mr. Ross to let me repair some of his cafe's roof. It shouldn't be too hard to fig-"
"Why do you cover up the bruises he gives you with fresh bruises? Why do you cover for him?"
Terry paused in the middle of walking out the kitchen, head angled away from his mother. He didn't have an explaination he could put in to words. Not yet. Not any more than she had an explanation for why she never told anyone.
"Please, mother. Let it be enough that it's my choice, and that I've made it already."
He didn't wait for her response. He walked out the kitchen, passed his passed-out father, and out the door once more. On one side of the street was house much like the Wrixon's; well trimmed and silent. The other side of the street was in shambles and barely occupied. He could head east to a fantastic little wood, full of great climbing trees and curious little rocky cliffs that stretched all the way to the Atlantic Ocean, or he could head west to Ross's cafe and Moorboro High. He live in the most interesting part of town, at the cross-section of every single element, good or bad. He loved interesting things.
Contrary to his nature, Terry Wrixon did hate something. He hated Moorboro. He wanted out.
He would find a way out.
(End)
Terry: That was cool. Can we do another?Me: I just finished that short story - give me a break.
Terry: Okay, you get fifteen minutes. Meet you back here.
Me: Not likely.
Nikara: That was excellent!!! Could we try one, Kyra?Me: No. Go have lunch.
Nikara: I ate, like, three hours ago. I'm still on California time.
Me: Go have lunch again, then.
Sara: Awesome story, Edward!!! Say, Kyra, maybe we could-
Me: No. Go help Nicky make lunch.
Nikara: Kyra had the weirdest character names when she was seven. I'm the only one from her second-grade year that survived that long. She's long forgotten the others.Me: I think I'd remember if I had any other characters with names like yours.
Nikara: Well, obviously you don't.
Sara: Could you go write that story now?
Me: No. Eat your sandwich.
Sara: Edward's was excellent, though.
Me: It was. I loved it. I just don't want to write yours, for fear of ruining the mind of every soul who tries to read about your background stories.
Nikara: What a pleasant thing to say.
Me: Eat. Now.
Terry: I'd like to see a little story with Sara.
M: (Returning to his cabin.) I brought you some coffee.Muse: (Yawns, runs her fingers through her hair, looks at M through sleepy eyes.) Hi, there.
M: (Sets the coffee mug down in the center of the gimballed table.) I heard some kind of ruckus going on in Alex’s cabin when I walked by a few moments ago.
Muse: (Smiles.) I could hear it through the wall. (She glances past M.) Is it my imagination, or is there a squirrel tapping at the window?
M: (Turns, sees Squirrel. M goes to the porthole and opens it.) How did it go?
Squirrel: That doctor just cracks me up.
M: Care to come in? I can get you some coffee.
Squirrel: I’d love it, but I’ve got to get back to Orchard Bay. Things aren’t going too well over there.
M: What do you mean?
Squirrel: Spades has gotten stupid about that witch and has left the gorgeous blonde with no one to turn to but a pot-bellied, pencil-sharpener salesman.
M: Straighten them out, General!
(Squirrel turns and is gone. Suddenly M hears the voice of a man who has stuck his head out of a nearby porthole.)
Man: There goes that @$&*^%#&^!^@# squirrel! He’s flying away over the ocean.
(M hears Alex’s voice, more muffled.)
Alex: What if somebody hears you? Get back in here.
Man: I’ll get you, you @$&*^%#&^!^@# squirrel!
Alex: Frank!
M: (Hears muffled sounds of a struggle. To his muse.) I just don’t get their relationship.
Muse: Some people like a fight.
M: (With a sigh of relief.) I’m glad you don’t.
Muse: (Gives him a smoldering look.) You’re going to have a fight on your hands if you don’t get over here.
(As M unbuttons his shirt, there’s a thud from the other side of the wall.)
Muse: (With a wry smile.) They’re just getting warmed up.
Terry: This place is as bad as Moorboro High.Me: Probably for the same reason.
Terry: Boredom?
Me: Got it in one. We are on the open sea, after all; what would you suggest?
Terry: Up grading all the cannons with rifling?
Me: Good idea, except that they don't cavity load. The cannon balls are too small to be affected.
Terry: I'll think of something, you set up the polls.
Me: Don't do anything without me.
Terry: How did the whole poll/contest posting go?Me: Alright, but I had to wear earplugs.
Terry: Okay, I think we can alter the cannons to be cavity-loading, but we'd need some special help on the land to tighten the barrels. Or just find bigger balls - hold the s** jokes, please.
Me: There's so much going on here, I don't think there's much room to joke about it.
Terry: Isn't that a joke?
Both: Double irony.
Mouse #1: Why are they rifling the canons?Mouse #2: You know how whenever they shoot at something, they always hit something else?
Mouse #1: Yeah.
Mouse #2: I think it has something to do with that.
Albert: Finally that noise has quieted down!Me: Oh, go adjust the sails or something and hush.
Albert: No, really! Did you hear it? What was it?
Me: You don't want to know. But I suggest you keep earplugs next to your bunk from now on.
Albert: *glares out the doorway in the general direction the noises were coming from*
Mouse #3: Hey, Barney! Come check this out.Mouse #4: Whatcha found, Earl?
Mouse #3: I don’t know. It’s some sort of chocolate things that taste like coffee and give you a real high. Stashed here under the coffeepot.
Mouse #4: (Scampers over.) We’d better not get caught here. It’s broad daylight. (Sniffs, then munches.) Hmm. Not bad.
(Their heads turn, their ears perked up.)
Mouse #3: Somebody’s coming. (Listens.) It’s Stephanie.
(They disappear through a hole in the back of the cabinet.)
Albert: *leans over the side of the ship and then turns back around* Did I just see mice run by?Me:......
Hahaha "dramatic music plays in the background"
*cannon explodes*Terry: Didn't I say we need cavity-loading and a different sized ball for the rifling to have any effect?
Me: I kinda just wanted to fire the cannon. It takes a lot of effort with just two people.
Terry: Oho, half my character is getting around censors.Me: The other half is knowing when to leave well-enough alone.
Terry: *sigh* I suppose.
Walker: Mine isn't.
Terry: Oh, this guy!
Me: GET OUT OF HERE EUGINE!
Terry: Eugine?
Walker: ...
Hello, pop cornies. Finally taking some time to catch up the thread.M wrote: "Edward is easy to have a conversation with! He’s the only person I know of on the W.S.S. who is familiar with the old Star Trek series."
M, I am a great fan of the old Star Trek series. I watched them repeatedly for years, although that was quite a few years ago now.
Edward, fun well written story/episode. Really enjoyed it.
And fun popcorn everyone. Al, yours was very funny, to me. And it prompted my eyebrows to lift up in surprise.
Pandora: [Sits quietly, in a full lotus, on a red cushion on the floor.]
Guy: [Waits patiently, mostly, for the Master to acknowledge him. Sitting on the floor is very uncomfortable to him because he has very limited flexibility. His half lotus is not very well done despite some serious efforts off and on over the years. He switches legs quite often. He is, as always, amazed at anyone who can sit still, on the floor, for so long. He is not sure how long he struggles beside her easy grace, all watches and clocks disallowed in the monastery. After what felt like an abbreviated eternity…]
Pandora: [A smile hints around her eyes and lips.] Yes?
Guy: [With great relief at being able to move his legs and ease the circulation back into them.] I have been reading the popcorn of some interesting people. Some of that has been extended dialogues with what they describe as their 'muses'. [Pauses, unsure how to proceed.]
Pandora: [Sits quietly, still without moving.]
Guy: One of them — one of their muses, I mean — wondered at my popcorn lacking females. [Pauses. Neither speak.]
Pandora: Is that why you are here?
Guy: Well, I guess so. I mean, I'm not sure. I haven't written popcorn in the popcorn thread before, despite having started writing it a few times. I have always felt inadequate in comparison of the creativity of the others in it. I—
Pandora: [Starts to laugh quietly.]
Guy: Why are you laughing?
Pandora: I had the strangest image pop into my mind, as you were talking. You are, it seems, breaking two virginities tonight: writing popcorn in the popcorn-thread, and having intercourse with me! [Now Pandora begins to laugh fully, in a way that causes the skin to prickle and the hairs to stiffen with delight.]
Guy: [Turns a little red, which annoys and embarrasses him even more. He thinks that that kind of quip shouldn't be embarrassing. He then castigates himself for using the abhorrent 'should' word.]
Pandora: [Begins to laugh even louder, as the range of feelings Guy was experiencing are obvious to her.]
Guy: [Takes some deep breaths and struggles to pretend to have the Zen calm he envies in others.]
Pandora: I haven't laughed so well in a while.
Guy: [Thought of giving a smart-ass retort, but bites his tongue instead. He still wants to ask her things.]
Pandora: Yes?
Guy: I… er… I don't feel a muse they way they describe it. Is that wrong?
Pandora: [Laughs again.] But I find you 'a-muse' very well just as you are! [And laughs again.]
Guy: [Feels a little embarrassed again. His sense of humour seems to have left him.] But Master, that doesn't help me.
Pandora: But why not? You have no desire to be 'a-mused' like a bulb of garlic. So why like anyone?
Guy: I've already thought that, but —
Pandora: But what!? You are creative? You write?
Guy: Yes, sometimes. But —
Pandora: But what? You've read enough of Jung to know that I am a representation of an archetype and as such exist beyond who you are, or who you even think you are. That you see me even in the limited way you have within a story or popcorn no more makes me 'your a-musement' than your dreaming the African princess makes her yours.
Guy: How do you know about her?
Pandora: How would I not? As a sister archetype we derive from the same infinite unknown, and express what may be knowable regardless what you think you know. And to that extent, you don't need us, but we need you! [She begins to laugh again, but now with a full throat that quickly pools tears in the corners of her eyes that fall gracefully down her smooth and pure white skin.]
Guy: [Knows, from experience that his audience with the Master was over. He gets onto his knees, and bends down to show his respect. Then rises to his feet and leaves the Master's chamber. But he remains outside her door until her laughter stops.]
Terry: [Passes Guy in the belowdeck hall.] In the Dream Room, eh? It's cooler than the Star Trek holodeck, because it doesn't always show us what we want, but it doesn't constantly try to kill us either. All the surprise, none of the danger.Me: [Coming up behind him.] Not yet, anyway. I told you not to wander off.
Terry: The youngin' firin' off a cannon for the heck of it, chasing me down to keep me out of trouble - sure.
Me: Yep.
Terry: No, it wasn't a question; I was agreeing with you.
Me: [To Guy.] You weren't experiecing some sort of prehistoric adventure, were you? I wouldn't want this thing to start spitting out real things. We have enough problems without pterdactyls.
Terry: [To me] You probably butchered the spelling on that one. [To Guy] I wouldn't worry too much; this guy doesn't have a real muse either. [Walks off.]
Me: [Stares blankly after Terry, then looks at Guy.] What is he talking about?
*bows* This general comedy that we engage in is one reason why I like this group; I don't think I could stay in a humorless (or half-baked humor) group.
Septimus: Ten stories and eight poems just on the subject "Summer Festival.:Me: Yeah, I doubt we'll get that many for "cheese."
Terry: Cheese? Where?
Me: [Holds up a plate. Terry and I devour whole blocks.][To Septimus] What did you think of the poetry?
Septimus: Much of it was quite well put together. Some was as smooth as silk while other had dramatic stops.
Terry and me: [blank looks]
Septimus: [sighs] You two are going to ask me to read them to you, right?
Me: Please.
Mouse #4: Hey, Barney! Have you been listening those people going on about their muses? (He rolls over in a fit of mouse laughter.)Mouse #3: You ought to take a peek in their cabins every now and then, Earl. (He gestures.) Better than those ratty films we used to watch.
Mouse #5: (Approaches arthritically, his eyes chalky with cataracts, his hair graying.) Do I smell someone’s leftover breakfast muffin?
Mouse #3: Oh, hello, there, Uriah. Me and Earl were just working on it. There’s plenty left, though.
Mouse #5: (Drops a turd on the counter, then snickers.) Some of those girls in the crew just have fits when they encounter mouse turds.
Mouse #4: (Snorts.) Wait till they find out we’ve been nibbling on their muffins and scones.
Mouse #3: Uriah, what do make of all this talk about muses?
Mouse #5: (Sniffs the remains of a muffin.) A muse is a personification. Hmm. This smells pretty good, like the kind of thing you get at Starbuck’s.
Mouse #4: A personification? (Sitting up, clutching bunches of muffin, his mouth full.) What’s that?
Mouse #3: Ain’t that when you take something that’s just a notion and make it look like a mouse?
(Mouse #5 nods, with dry smile.)
Mouse #4: What’s a muse, then?
Mouse #5: (Picking up a crumb.) Well, there’s you, and there’s the Deep Darkness that’s the part of your mind that’s older than speech and that remembers the days when we all lived in some primordial sea. (Sticks the crumb in his mouth. His whiskers twitch.) Oh, my. Strawberry.
Mouse #3: I don’t like the sound of that. I was taught that were all made nine thousand years ago by the Great Mouse.
Mouse #5: (Coughing.) That’s all a load of mouse shit.
Mouse #3: (Slapping him on the back.) There’s some spilled coffee a few paces to your right. It hasn’t dried up yet.
Mouse #5: Thank you, Barney. (He laps up some cold coffee.) Oh, God, that’s awful. It’s that stout stuff the captain drinks.
Mouse #4: (Picking at a crumb.) I suppose sooner or later you’re going to get around to explaining what a muse is.
Mouse #3: (Rolling his beady eyes.) It’s that thing in M’s cabin who has her legs up in the hair. (He falls over, laughing.)
Mouse #5: (Shakes his head.) I don’t think you boys are in any mood to entertain a discussion about muses.
(There’s a sound of footsteps in the corridor. The mice scatter.)
I did. Late yesterday afternoon, I got out and mowed part of the hillside. That always wears me out. I slept good. How about you?
Sleepwalking is a bizarre experience. When I lived in a dormitory, I awoke one morning with all my clothes on. I had heard some sort of sound in the night and, in my sleep, had gotten up and dressed, afraid people were coming after me and I was going to have to run for it. Nothing paranoid about that.
Frank will have some advice to offer about that.
Septimus: We've changed course.Me: That happens from time to time. We're trying to avoid landing anywhere with any strong authority presense. We don't even know where most of this larder came from, let alone the gold.
Terry: So, are we expert pirates or just bizarrely lucky?
Me: You two aren't pirates; y'all're passengers.
Septimus: We're heading for land.
Terry: Double-contraction, really?
Me: Hey, the way I talk has nonthin' on the way you talk.
Terry: My manner of speaking is impeccable.
Septimus: If we get ready now, we can disembark as soon as we make landfall.
Me: Oh, very funny. I suppose you're going to try some pseudo-Shakespeare now?
Terry: Verily I say unto thee -
Septimus: [Walks away.]
Me: Okay, you can stop; you know you can't ... where is Septimus going?
Terry: Wherefor is Septimus leaving?
Me: ...
Sara: (typing away frantically on the computer)Nikara: (walking in) What's that, Sara?
Sara: Kyra won't write my story for the W.S.S., so I'll write my own.
Nikara: The contest one, or your autobiography?
Sara: (snort) The contest prompt is cheese. Take a guess.
Kyra: (from other room) I heard that!!! Edward won't be pleased.
Sara: Whatever. I have an autobiography to write.
Kyra: God help the poor souls who take the time to read it.
M wrote: "Mouse #4: Hey, Barney! Have you been listening those people going on about their muses? (He rolls over in a fit of mouse laughter.)Mouse #3: You ought to take a peek in their cabins every now and ..."
M, again, so very very funny! LoL. And so too Al, Edward and Kyra. Reading this popcorn is as addictive as eating chocolate covered espresso beans. :-)
Hello M and Al!Pouring rain today. Finished most of the shopping chores. Pending now is some food prep for the week ahead. Thought I'd get some writing done. Like the next instalment! Okay, haven't quite started it yet, but will.
I envy you. It's 106 degrees outside.
106!It is about 65 right now. We're heading to set a record for lowest amount of sun recorded. Rain fall today is expected to be in the range of 2 inches here, a little more in other parts of the province. No sun forecast until Wednesday at the earliest, but the forecast in our area beyond a day is very unreliable because the weather patterns are so unstable. We could get rain for another two weeks, or we could get sun Monday. Already flooding in a half dozen communities, but nothing too serious. I can't even imagine 106!
You don't want to. I'm wondering if it will be hotter or warmer in the foothills. I'm headed out for camp early tomorrow morning. This will probably be the last time I'm on until I get back.
Hot or cold? I'm an ignorant person, don't judge me. Heheh.
Amazingly, you get used to it. A friend of mine in school there was from Albany, New York. He disliked the furnace-like climate of central Texas.
Hello Cheyenne!Wow, that is too hot for me.
Have fun at camp. Do you keep a journal?
