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Book Club Contest #6


145 replies to this topic

#26
eye_of_the_wolf

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Ooooo, Can you tell mine SD? ... I havn't posted much of my writing on here. Yes you've seen my essay writing, but I think only one story. So this should be fun :devil: .

#27
ShadowDog

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I think I would have picked yours out of a lineup, sure. You have a distinctive voice.

I think we're still about one person short from having enough to make this a really competitive contest. So if you haven't sent one in yet, by all means do so. You still have about 33 hours to get something written.

#28
Nixie

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i cant wait to play this game! :lol: did enough people enter? when does it get posted? :D

#29
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Okay, I've received enough samples to do this big ole nasty thang, so I'll post the contest at midnight tonight when the deadline runs out. Still time to get your samples in though if you haven't already. >:-P~~~~

#30
eye_of_the_wolf

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Awh can't you post it nowww? I have nothing to do (well I have an essay to write but thats boring) And I will be in bed by 12!!! :(

#31
Kung Fu Jawa

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The story about the rabid emu is NOT mine.


That's all I'm saying.

#32
Copper

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This should be interesting...

#33
ShadowDog

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I can confirm what KFJ said. The story about the retarded yak however ...

Awh can't you post it nowww? I have nothing to do (well I have an essay to write but thats boring) And I will be in bed by 12!!! :(


Actually that'll be 5am your time. So if you're an early riser you should be able to get started straight away. ;) (also, you should post your essay when you're finished!)

#34
Kung Fu Jawa

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I'm looking forward to this. Just to see how poorly Nixie will do. :P


I bet her dad will ace it, though.

#35
Kung Fu Jawa

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I really hope someone wrote about a rabid emu, a retarded yak and the wacky adventures they would have.

#36
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I'll BRB. :devil:

#37
Kung Fu Jawa

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NO! DOn't steal my idea!!!! It's a Newbery Award Winner for sure!

#38
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Okay, here we go!

Directions: PM me who you believe wrote each entry by giving me the entry number followed by a poster's name. If you can't guess everyone, that's okay, just send me what you have. Some of these are really hard because they are written by people you wouldn't expect to enter this contest, so take your time and don't be discouraged if you have to take a shot in the dark or if you have to pass on one or more because you have absolutely no freaking idea.

Prizes:

1) The author who is correctly picked by the most people, who has the most recognizable voice in other words, wins $15 in Nightly cafe express swag.

2) The person who guesses the most authors correctly will win $15 in Nightly cafe express swag.

TIEBREAKER: One of these entries was written by a special guest author. I won't explain what I mean by that at this time, but the tiebreaker is for you to guess this mystery author's age. If you end up tied for each prize category, this guess will be used to break the tie.

Deadline: You have 36 hours, or until noon EST on Wed, May 2nd, to get your guesses in to me.

To help you, I've created an entry form. Simply copy this form into your PM to me, add your guesses, and you're done.

Entry #1:
Entry #2:
Entry #3:
Entry #4:
Entry #5:
Entry #6:
Entry #7:
Entry #8:
Entry #9:
Entry #10:
Entry #11:
TIEBREAKER:

(By the way, I ended up relaxing the 300 word max a little, but nothing is over 500 words so we're cool.)

Entry #1:

Oberon is back! Not Shakespere's Faerie King, but the ale from Bells' that is only released from April until about the time that it starts getting cooler and you want to drink something else.

Not that summer ends the minute Labor Day is over around here. I remember one year in the middle of October when the women of the family decided to go to the beach one Saturday evening for one last hurrah, even if we had to bundle up a bit and stay out of the water. But we wore our bathing suits under our clothes for whatever reason anyway. And we were glad we did, as the water was not only warmer than it had been all summer, but had actual waves for actual jumping and body surfing, when it had been as flat as glass and cold as ice every other beach trip that year. So we gleefully jumped waves until the sun was low over the water and we packed up and went back home.

Granted, that isn't a frequent occurrence around here. I also remember one year when there was a freak snowstorm that dumped feet of snow on everything, including trees that were still covered with green leaves! I recall going to my friend's house and making a jack-o-lantern snow luminara for Halloween with her in her front yard, something I had not done before and have never done since.

But, for now, Oberon is back, there are baby leaves on the bushes, and I am looking decidedly more sunkissed than I did at the beginning of the week. I can enjoy the sun and the beer and worry about October later. Much, much later.


Entry #2:

There was a whiskey bottle sticking out of my TV screen.

As I became more awake, other details of the surrounding room slowly came into focus. The brass and glass end table had been overturned and its contents (a brass lamp, a water glass, a crystal frog key holder, an ill formed pottery ashtray) were scattered all the way to the hallway door. The glass top of the end table was broken in two. One piece had been shoved into the wall next to the closet door and the other piece was leaning against the other wall below the room’s only window.

Several days’ worth of clothes, presumably mine, were hanging from picture frames, the ceiling fan, the wood back chair next to the bathroom door, and the floor.

The other brass lamp, a twin to the unfortunate floor dweller, was still upright on the other end table on the opposite side of my bed. There was no sign of its shade, however. No sign either of its bulb. The socket the bulb usually occupied was now taken up with what remained of the TV remote.

Another bottle of whiskey was in bed next to me. A little amber liquid remained in the bottom. I didn’t want it. My head was killing me enough as it was.

I turned my inspection from my bedroom to my body. Both arms were covered in plaster dust up to the elbows. I had several long nasty looking scratches on each arm. Several of my knuckles were swollen. My right hand hurt so much I could barely make a fist with it.

My reverie was interrupted by a very blonde, very naked woman in the doorway. She stood before me with no sense of modesty or shame. "Is it safe to come in yet or do you have more TV homicides to perform?" Her mouth upturned in a slight smile and her voice was steady.

"I did all this?" I croaked in dismay. Not that there was any doubt. The plaster and scratches were pretty conclusive. The knuckles and hand soreness were obviously a result of the bar fight but I had gotten the rest here in this room.

"Um, ye-ah!" She dragged the second word indulgently. "The only thing that makes me want to kill the TV is ‘New Friends’ and last night was a Friday." Her smile was fresh, almost self conscious as if she had never gotten comfortable expressing her sense of humor.

"Wow." I sighed.


Entry #3:

It was what people had thought to call the best achievement of man kind before it even happened, Years of planning, and trying lead up to this one day. A day that no one will ever forgot, this day we called the beginning.

It was a perfectly normal day on all accounts, people went about their business like any normal person would, Shopping, sleeping, playing taxi for the children. A good day for most! Weddings, proposals, births, all the things that make most people happy, happened. Looking back that day was probably one of the best days in that year for the lowest number of deaths, but comparing it to the days after, that can be easily said.

But this day was the start of something that changed the world for ever, Some people that still hang on to the old faith of Christianity call it judgment day. But there aren’t many people that have faith in God after what happened, after all what God could let something like this happen? But there again there aren’t many people alive to hang onto the faith of Christianity, or any religion for that matter.

I’m one of the few lucky or perhaps unlucky people to live through the past year, to survive the coming of ‘judgment day’, to experience the terror, the massacre and live to tell, and record what happened so future generations can learn from our mistakes. If there is a future generation, there’s so few of us now I’m not sure we will be able to keep the human race going, I’m not sure we can adapt to what happened. Not sure if we can survive with the memories of that fateful day, and the ones that followed afterwards. We all lost our will to live, and yet we fight onwards because if we give up it means that they won in the end, even though we beat them back it would mean all that fighting would be for nothing. All the heart ach, the exhaustion, the deaths would have no meaning, we have to live on, try if just for the people that died so we survivors could do just that, survive.


Entry #4:

Lazy puffs of steam issued from the dryer vent, spiraling off into nothingness as they mingled with the sharp morning breeze. Carolina sat wrapped in a thick mint quilt swinging gently on her porch glider. It was early enough to be called too early but she didn’t mind; the mornings were her only time to herself. Soon responsibility would barrel down on her to brusquely sweep aside daydreams and wandering thoughts. But for now foolishness cluttered her mind like an old woman’s parlor. Her hair fell like ebony rain down her back and wisps of it spiraled around her golden skinned face in the soft wind. She gripped a large mug of tea in her narrow hands. There was milk and sugar in it; Carolina liked her drinks sweet, smooth. The steam from the mug snaked up the air, curling past her nose to caress her face with the moist warmth. Her mossy eyes watched the pale blue bits of lint issue from the dryer vent.

A fat ginger cat streaked onto the trim lawn and screeched to a comical stop when it spotted Carolina. The cat dismissed her, as cats are wont to do, and crouched to chase some invisible foe, fat behind wagging in the air, its tail whipping like a snake through the crisp air. Carolina pulled the quilt more firmly around her and tucked her bare feet beneath her. She’d seen this cat before and was secretly calling him Webster in her head. The small bowl beside the front door was empty; she’d filled it with cat food last night. Her husband said that the raccoons would just eat it; but she didn’t think so. Carolina was sure Webster lurked in the juniper bushes for her to go inside before dashing forward and devouring the food.


Entry #5:

Pablo Picasso today unveiled his newest artistic endeavour for all to see. It was greeted with the kind of reception all of Picasso’s latest works have been getting. People threw tomatoes at it. Some of Picasso’s supporters, protesting on his behalf, were also pelted with tomatoes. When asked what he thought, the artist merely replied, “As long as Dali hates it, I’m happy.”

Salvador Dali, upon hearing Picasso’s remarks about him, issued the following statement in an effort to retain his title as “The Weirdest Man On Earth.” He announced that he was going to challenge Picasso to a bare-knuckles paint-off at the Louvre, on an undisclosed future date. It’s rumoured that Machiavelli is promoting the entire event, in an effort to draw Van Gogh out of hiding. Apparently, Van Gogh has been sending Machiavelli packages containing drawings of ears, which he hates. Obviously, Machiavelli also knows that Van Gogh can’t resist a good bare-knuckles paint-off.

Mary Cassat, who apparently heard the news on the radio, was asked for her comments when she arrived on the scene. They, unfortunately, cannot be published due to current censorship laws.

Caravaggio sent this publication a letter stating that this incident had made his live-in maid, Judith, so angry that she beheaded a guest, under the pretence that he had spilled wine on the rug. He is seeking damages for the rug from Picasso, whom he blames.

Renoir and Gaugin, celebrating their honeymoon in Tahiti, couldn’t be reached for comment, but the editor of this newsletter hopes they are having a wonderful time.

Just before this publication went to print, the editor received a telephone call from Degas, apologizing for not being available at the time of the unveiling and subsequent upheaval, but a private dance recital had been going on at the exact same time.

(Ed. Note - Don’t worry, Degas, no one will give you a hard time about your fetish for little dancing girls.)

Monet, as a representative of the art populace for Picasso, stated that more artists should be bold enough to follow their dreams, rather than chasing mindless commercialism, like he’d been doing. He added though that the market for paintings of water lilies was just too good to pass up at this time.

“Personally, I think Picasso should pose for one of my fruit paintings.” This was the opinion of Paul Cézanne.

Matisse, out in the countryside painting blurry landscapes, returned totally unaware of the recent goings-on. After sticking his brush in his mouth, he went into isolation.

It’s been a busy day in the art world!


Entry #6:

That route definitely closed to him, Derek set about exploring his unexpected prison. He struggled to a standing position, then with his back against the wall, began to side-step to his right, where he promptly clattered into what turned out to be a very solid piece of furniture, either a bed or bench of some sort; Derek wasn’t sure which. Loudly and vibrantly cursing the pain that lanced swiftly through his knee, he turned around and started back in the other direction, counting four paces. Add an extra half pace or so for the width of the bed-bench – that made four and a half paces. Derek wasn’t even going to pretend that he knew what that amounted to in ‘proper’ measurements, so left it simply at that. He did the same along the other walls and found no variation in the distance.


Entry #7:

Random fact #853:You are always on your way somewhere.

I don’t need you to believe that – it is a fact, after all. That’s the funny thing about facts – they’re immune to perception. There’s no way to spin a fact. Speculation can be classified and qualified, but a fact is a fact. Fact isn’t needy; it doesn’t need to be acknowledged in order to be itself. Fact doesn’t want your trust.

Maybe you’re focused on what you’re doing right now. You might even be thoroughly involved in what you’re reading right now; some people have great focus like that. However, the fact is that you’ve got somewhere to be. If not today then tomorrow, if not tomorrow then next week – it’s inevitable. You’ve got an unavoidable date with your next activity, no matter where you are or what you’re doing.

Some thrive on such knowledge. From the hyper individuals who move from activity to activity with the frenzy of an atom to the easily bored who quickly tire of wherever, whatever and whomever.


Entry #8:

"… a child’s laughter…" Eric laboriously switched off the radio and let his hand fall back on the seat. He had rolled through all the channels and could find no fitting music; there’s never a sad song playing when you need one. The only sound left in the garage was the tiger’s emphysemic purr of his idling 1965 Buick Lesabre. His eyes lolled over to the instrument panel. Plenty of gas left. He let his head fall back against the seat and his gaze fixed on the garage door opener. He still hadn’t pushed the button.

"… October sunsets…" There was a low level, bluish fog settling in around the garage. Eric still stared at the opener clipped to the visor. “One good thing,” he whispered. “Think of one good thing that’s worth living for, and you can push that button.” He had been going through all of the clichéd responses and still hadn’t come up with one that fit his criteria.

"… completing your State Quarters collection …" The fog was getting denser. He should pass out in another five minutes or so. The bank that foreclosed on his mortgage would be sending a man out tomorrow to make sure he had vacated the house. Surely he would be checking the garage. The bank was nothing if not thorough... and prompt.

"…True Love…" He closed his eyes. He wished Dora could have been the one to find him. She might feel a twinge of guilt when she hears about his death, but if she would actually see his corpse, that would have to make an impact. It might have even offered a modicum of payback. The only thing better would be if his “best friend” Phil were with her.

"... ..." The vinyl seats where making his back sweat, but he didn’t care. He felt like a cast-iron cloud as he sank lower into his powder blue deathbed. If forced to describe the look on his face, you wouldn’t think to call it resignation.

"…root beer floats…" Eric’s eyelids pushed themselves back from his reddened eyes. He tried to swallow but his throat was choked with fumes.

"Vanilla ice cream." His hand was like lead. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the air to power his muscles.

"A&W root beer, not any of that generic ****." Willing his arm to rise, it slowly cut through the fog. Up and up by inches, his body ached with a groggy pain, like screaming through a mouthful of cotton.

"The perfect ice cream to root beer ratio, stirred just right so that there where little bumps throughout," A blurry hand entered his line of sight; it’s out of focus finger pointing at the button that would save his life.

"and a nice foamy head that drips over the edge of the mug" The remote was too far away! He hadn’t the strength left to cover the inches left to his salvation. With a mournful grunt, he let his arm fall.

"A frozen mug!"


Entry #9:

This bird took that worm and bit it in half with its beak. The bird carried both halves of that worm to its little baby birds and opened its beak to let that worm spill out into its baby birds' mouths. One baby bird was too hungry and reached too far and fell out of the nest.

A very pretty girl saw the baby bird lying dead on the sidewalk. She noticed how it died with its little beak gaping. She stopped what she was doing. She was on her way to **** her boyfriend before class.

The little dead bird made her sad, though, and so she went instead to a church. She sat in the Church and looked at a wooden replication of a human sacrifice to an all-knowing God, and she thought about free-will.

"If you know everything that will ever happen, then all my choices were made for me before me. If you're all-powerful, then how things are is how you must want them to be. And anything I do is not only exactly what you knew I would do, it's also exactly what you wanted me to do, too."

She stared unblinking at a man-made monkey nailed to a tree. "Thanks for the freedom," she said.

And then she left.


Entry #10:

Aeric rolled his eyes into his head and slumped forward. He was still held to the tent, but his arms extended down to his feet. "Well, looks like one of your saviors has fainted, princess," Aeric heard Azronedor taunt. One of the orc guards came over and cut him from the tent and then began to try and pick him up. The fool, Aeric thought as his hand found the holster in his boot. Obviously, Azronedor didn't give much brains to the orcs. Aeric grinned as the pistol slid into his hand. It was small, with only eight shots in the clip, but it was fully loaded with "thuds". Aeric raised his hand into the orc's face and pulled the trigger.

The first shot blew the orc backwards onto its back. Aeric scrambled to his feet, put another "thud" into the guard next to Azronedor, and quickly retrieved a knife from the first dead orc. He aimed the pistol at the head of the surprised Azronedor while he began to cut through the bindings on his wrists. Once cut, Aeric slowly walked over towards the "White Warrior", keeping his pistol trained on the god. The glow from the staff and the prisoners was gone and Aeric began to cut the bindings off the other prisoners as more guards arrived, carrying spears.

"One more step and I blow his head off!" Aeric shouted at the entering guards. The spearmen stopped in their tracks, not knowing if Aeric would, or even could, make good on his threat. Aeric, however turned his attention to Azronedor. "I believe the lady asked you to stop hurting her." Aeric cut Lorien's bindings and handed her the knife. "Free the others and get out," he said to her without taking his eyes off of the god standing before him. "Head north for the river."

Lorien began cutting through the ropes as fast as her nervous fingers would allow her to. The orc guards were getting restless, and Aeric was hoping that his fortunes would hold out long enough to get out of the camp. His heart sank the instant he heard laughter.


Entry #11:

In the Director’s Notes of the Shakespeare Festival’s production of “Much Ado About Nothing,” the director claims that Shakespeare either made a mistake when naming the play, or was being ironic, for the subject of the play is certainly not nothing, but that which makes us human – love. While I see his point, I offer a different explanation to the naming of this hilarious play: the events which take place all pan out due to lies or trickery. Therefore, everything that happens is much ado about things which haven’t even happened. Either way, don’t believe the play’s title when making a decision about whether or not to see it. It is definitely something to see.

The play takes place in Messina, as the Prince, Don Pedro, and his friends, Claudio and Benedick, along with his brother, John the Bastard, return from war. John and Pedro have been previously at odds, and have recently mended their relationship. John still resents the treatment Pedro receives, however. The men arrive at Signor Leonato’s residence, and Claudio immediately falls in love with Leonato’s daughter, Hero. His niece Beatrice, however, is at odds with Benedick, per usual. The two have both sworn off love, and have a continuous war of wits, which makes for some great one-liners. The hilarity ensues as Don Pedro and company plan to trick Beatrice and Benedick into falling in love with each other, while Don John conjures up a plan to slander Hero’s name and ruin Claudio and Hero’s wedding. The side-plot of the watchman Dogberry and his company employed to keep watch over Leonato’s residence is a great sidebar to the serious nature of the second act of the play, and provides some of the most humorous moments of the play.


Edited by ShadowDog, 01 May 2007 - 05:38 PM.


#39
Kung Fu Jawa

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Good lord, this is going to take a while. Couldn't you have made this multiple choice?

#40
ShadowDog

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That's always possible if this proves impossible for you guys. But I think more authors voices will shine through than we might think at first glance. It will be interesting to see what guesses come in.

#41
Cerina

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I like how the one time I submit writing for a contest...it gets left out. Thanks bro. :thumbsup:

#42
Kung Fu Jawa

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*Crosses Reese off his list*

#43
Cerina

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I know! I was even careful to show no interest whatsoever in this contest...to throw everyone off. But I think mine would have been easy anyways. Meh.

#44
Kung Fu Jawa

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Or maybe you're saying that now to make me think that you didn't enter when you really did!
But you would have expected me to have discovered such a weak ploy so In actuality, you aren't in the contest.

#45
Cerina

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I'm boycotting this contest...but #7 is entirely too easy to spot.

#46
IMericka

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this is my first time in this thread. at first i was bummed because i would've liked to enter this one, but then again, if i don't even have time to keep up with threads i highly doubt i would've had time for writing anything.

#47
eye_of_the_wolf

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I can confirm what KFJ said. The story about the retarded yak however ...

Awh can't you post it nowww? I have nothing to do (well I have an essay to write but thats boring) And I will be in bed by 12!!! :(


Actually that'll be 5am your time. So if you're an early riser you should be able to get started straight away. ;) (also, you should post your essay when you're finished!)


I get up at 6 is that early? But I have to get ready for school :( I may have 10 mineuts to actualy read them properly if I dry my hair now ... Nightly is such a distraction.

p.s. Do you get a point for picking your own?

#48
Nixie

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mercy this is trying. i know for sure who five of them are but the rest are hard. :lol: im bring this printout with me to school to compare with prints of previous stories. :devil:

I'm looking forward to this. Just to see how poorly Nixie will do. :P


I bet her dad will ace it, though.


he knows who number 4 and 11 are and he wont tell me! :angry:

#49
bonnie13

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he knows who number 4 and 11 are and he wont tell me! :angry:


Oh, my dad was the same way with an answer to something. He made me find out for myself.

#50
eye_of_the_wolf

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mercy this is trying. i know for sure who five of them are but the rest are hard. :lol: im bring this printout with me to school to compare with prints of previous stories. :devil:

I'm looking forward to this. Just to see how poorly Nixie will do. :P


I bet her dad will ace it, though.


he knows who number 4 and 11 are and he wont tell me! :angry:


Better than me ... I don't know who anyway are! ... There again I only read them all quickly, I will do it properly later :).
Does anyway wnat to help me? ;).



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