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Post by James on Aug 31, 2016 21:53:31 GMT -5
We can also make this worthwhile with as little as six writer and a judge or two, I reckon. More, of course, would be great.
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Post by The Counter Cultist(Sawyer) on Aug 31, 2016 23:06:25 GMT -5
I am down to write.
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Post by Matteo ((Taed)) on Aug 31, 2016 23:22:27 GMT -5
I definitely ... want to ...
EDIT: If we do it, can we literally start by this weekend? It's a long weekend, so I can probably get at least one round done.
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Post by James on Aug 31, 2016 23:32:32 GMT -5
EDIT: If we do it, can we literally start by this weekend? Uhhh. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Can we do that? Would that work? I guess I better make a thread... |
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Post by James on Aug 31, 2016 23:42:14 GMT -5
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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on Sept 1, 2016 2:44:49 GMT -5
EDIT: If we do it, can we literally start by this weekend? Uhhh. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Can we do that? Would that work? I guess I better make a thread... There is nothing impeding me from beginning immediately... as long as I don't blow away, should be fine to start this weekend. |
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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Sept 27, 2016 8:11:12 GMT -5
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Inkdrinker
Scribe
Sepulcher: a stage enlived by ghosts.
Posts: 908
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Post by Inkdrinker on Sept 27, 2016 11:16:21 GMT -5
Alexis Kennedy is pretty much my writing Idol, tbh.
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Post by Kaez on Sept 27, 2016 18:03:05 GMT -5
The guy who wrote these sentences is your writing idol?
I mean. I don't know anything about him. And I don't find any of the writing advice he's given to be disagreeable. But. Those are two ugly fucking sentences.
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Inkdrinker
Scribe
Sepulcher: a stage enlived by ghosts.
Posts: 908
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Post by Inkdrinker on Sept 27, 2016 20:17:27 GMT -5
The guy who wrote these sentences is your writing idol? I mean. I don't know anything about him. And I don't find any of the writing advice he's given to be disagreeable. But. Those are two ugly fucking sentences. I mean, I won't defend those sentences, no. But he's the guy behind Failbetter games (though he recently left the company to go freelance), which means he's the guy behind Echo Bazaar Fallen London and Sunless Sea. |
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Post by James on Sept 28, 2016 21:22:51 GMT -5
A New Zealand Western
They picked up Hemi Walker five miles east of Hokitika. Dawn was still just an idea on the horizon, the sun hidden behind the hulking growth of the Southern Alps. Hemi walked the riverside in the darkness. His step never faltered, even when the shadows poured down the valley’s edge and reached out for him. There were too many of them for him to stop; there was no point in interrupting his morning walk. The gang struck him over the head and broke a finger for good measure as they bound his wrists and ankles and flung him into a wagon. Doing as the magistrate requested, they took him east, into the mountains.
“Hemi Walker may be a primitive savage. But he is also a citizen,” the Magistrate had said when the men complained about his greed. The rush was drying up. There was no more gold left to dredge. Men had no money for beer or the women of the Hokitika’s pleasure houses. Yet Hemi still turned up with a fistful of gold each week. “If he does not wish to share the source of his wealth, well, that is his prerogative. If he wants to fraternise with the Chinese, I cannot stop him. There is nothing the law can do. So I advise you take him somewhere the law cannot intervene.”
It was night by the time they finished travelling, the sun swallowed by the Tasman. The men were tired and complained bitterly of their blisters. Ignoring the throbbing in his fingers, Hemi took in his surroundings as they unpacked. His father had taken him up this path once, told him how narrow and cold it could get. If you can count more stars than clouds, his father had said, then it was wise to respect Nature’s warning and leave the Mountain in peace. Hemi settled back into the wagon he had been thrown into. Hundreds of stars stared down at him. There were no clouds.
The gang took their time before turning to their prisoner. They wore thick furs and he had nothing but the thin clothes he chose for his morning walk. Up in the mountains, the cold began to unfurl itself, heavy and dense like a coat. The men spat out curses against it. Hemi waited, unmoving.
“We’ll keep it simple,” said one of the men. Mr Pendergast, a banker. “You tell us where your plot is and we won’t leave you to freeze up here.” Hemi said nothing and the men took turns punching him. Mr Pendergast kept his hands clean of blood. “Don’t you speak English? I was told you were one of those civilised Maori.”
“My schoolmaster informed me English was a tongue for civilised people,” Hemi said, still feeling the bite of a cane across his skin. “So why would I talk it in front of you?” Another fist collided with his cheek and the calcium of his teeth buckled from the blow.
“The rivers are drying up,” the banker said. He shivered beneath his coat. “Just tell us where your plot is.”
Hemi ran a tongue along his split lip. “And it’ll dry up like the rest. The rivers aren’t dry of gold, they’re robbed of them. Nature gave us a share of its bounty. You took too much.” The men took turns hammering their knuckles against Hemi’s body. When he felt they were beginning to tire, he made sure to keep the blood swirling in his mouth like a fine wine.
“We’ll see if you still feel this brave by morning,” Mr Pendergast said as the men retreated to their furs for the night.
Hemi waited until they were asleep. Once a slow rumbling grew out from the men, he let the blood pour from his mouth and onto his wrist. Slick with his own life force, Hemi’s wrists wiggled free from his binds. He reached down and untied the rope around his ankles. The cold was sinking into his bones now. He moved quickly down the mountain and away from his captors. Nature would do the rest for them.
The men never returned to Hokitika. Their bodies were found on the mountain passes a fortnight later, death from exposure. Whenever the Magistrate saw Hemi Walker come into town, his body would twitch. Hemi would always tip his hat when he saw the Magistrate looking. Then he headed to the bank, the institution struggling on after Mr Pendergast’s disappearance, and deposited his fair share of gold.
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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Sept 28, 2016 21:29:26 GMT -5
That's a nice story, dunno why you wrote it though.
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Post by Kaez on Sept 28, 2016 21:30:06 GMT -5
Why does my mouth taste like Coke Zero all of a sudden?
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Post by James on Sept 28, 2016 21:38:05 GMT -5
Why does my mouth taste like Coke Zero all of a sudden? Is that mocking Jason or me? |
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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Sept 28, 2016 21:38:08 GMT -5
Thing is, I drink coke zero. It's the only coke I drink.
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