Messages

I say we vote on it, using a newfangled voting system. 

While I'm all in favour of random victories, it does take away somewhat from the lustre of winning.  Also, at some point an RNG is going to produce a result favouring a person with a conflict of interest, which has bad optics. 

I propose that with (theoretically) more submission we could have a second round of voting with the field narrowed to two in the event of a tie, kind of like the French presidential system.  Or, just a standing rule that in the event of a tie the person to have administered a writing comp least recently wins automatically, just for the sake of variety and fairness.  This rule would favour new entrants, which might be an incentive to join in. 

Just my two cents.

[Stupandle]

Well it looks as if many of our external voters were scared off by the days long slog through the undergrowth.    This is a pity, for both stories had their merits. 

Much has been made of the descriptive language in Sinitrena's work, so I won't dwell on that (although, having spent quite a bit of time in forests, there wouldn't be many branches or undergrowth if it were truly that dark on the forest floor  )  More compelling for me was the attempt at conveying the fruitlessness of conflict from the different perspectives of people who were unwillingly caught up in it.  In the tangled roots and cold rock obstacles I see metaphors for twisted relationships and hard choices that lead good people to bad places, just as the random fury of the weather alludes to the destructive power of war.  For me the premise of the lost kingdom wedged between two warring countries was intriguing, and unlike Tamis I found the politics fascinating (although I would liked to have heard more of Narea's internal factions).  The journeys of the respective main characters were gruellingly symbolic, but I think needlessly long in the format of a short story.  In a longer piece, where we get more invested in the characters, I think it could work, however.  Some proof-reading and editing could definitely have helped this story along.  But I loved the messaging, and the feeling of other-worldliness was palpable.

As for Stupandle's story, I myself couldn't identify the seams at which the monster was stitched together.  There were some pacing issues (although fewer than I would expect from a kitchen with two chefs), including a somewhat random feeling PTSD breakdown (although this made much more sense given Lucy's obvious mental unwellness by the end) and the introduction of a myriad of characters that basically all ended up being the same character.  There were some logistical challenges that I had to get over - where does all the gas come from for the ship after fifty years at sea?  And where did they get all the green orb ammo?  Did they ever think of... sailing elsewhere other than the cliff face in fifty years?  So it must have all just been in Lucy's head: the fact that the monsters only came for Lucy made me think that the alcoholism that felled her uncle was trying to drown her too, which was mostly confirmed by the neroses and paranoia she suffers from back in the real world (except apparently she was a junkie instead of an alcoholic, which I must have missed somewhere along the way).  But then all of this was turned on its head at the end by Ingrid's discovery, which makes it feel more like a Twilight Zone/X-Files episode.  In the end I thought the central message of the story (we drown by our own demons?) was somewhat lost in the horror-as-reality lens, but I really liked the feeling of otherness your through-the-looking-glass tunnel creates.

So, I guess I need to vote to decide a winner.  This is hard.  Both stories have really great premises, messaging, and a feeling of "the other side", but both also suffer from pacing and characterisation flaws that could be remedied in a longer format.  I hate to do this, but with the stories running neck-and-neck like this I think it has to come down to proofreading.  For me, Stupandle's piece was more readable due to their obvious efforts at editing.  I therefor declare that Stupandle is the winner!  May their fused torsos rule over us like some sort of human-arachnid created by doctor Frankenstein himself!

Thanks everyone for participating.  I look forward to seeing everyone out again for the next competition!

What happened to you avatar, Baron?

Apparently it depends on which browser you are viewing the Forums in.  Are you seeing the blank avatar that won't load, or the one that's been hijacked by Russian hackers and is now an animated GIF that slowly undresses to reveal some extremely embarrassing tattoos? 

[Wash Day]

Well, I must say, this is quite unorthodox!  For your voting consideration, I give you:

Wash Day by Stupot and Mandle

The Nameless Kingdom by Sinitrena

Voting will be as follows:

    -Sinitrena can garner one vote for herself by providing honest feedback to S & M. 

    -Stupot and Mandle can earn one half vote each for themselves by providing feedback to Sinitrena.

    -Anyone else can spend one vote on whomever they think has written the better story (although feedback is always appreciated!).  Votes are to be cast publicly here in the thread, because I'm a "let 'er all dangle out" kinda guy. 

     -Should there still be a tie at the end of voting the esteemed and infallible contest administrator (moi) will cast the deciding vote.

The voting period will last from this moment until midnight Hawaii time Saturday June 10, 2023.  Best of luck to all entrants!

Extension granted!

New deadline will be Monday June 5, 2023.

Yeah, that's right, think deeply before writing.  Or better yet, do some first hand research through the looking glass by disappearing off the face of the Earth....

FIVE MORE DAYS! 

[The Other Side]

Welcome to the Fortnightly Writing Competition!  The rules are simple: write and post an original short-story based on the theme within two weeks, and then vote on the submissions to determine a winner.  This fortnight's exciting theme is:

The Other Side



What is out there, on the other side?  What exists so near at hand, and yet separated from us by such a seemingly flimsy barrier, such that there are hints of and whispers that flit just beyond our sight and hearing?  What would happen if someone were to stumble on a means of touching the other side, or seeing it, hearing it, dreaming it, or even walking it?  Is the other side just waiting for us to join with it, or is it something terrible that should be left in its own plane?  Perhaps the gateway is in some sacred place or ancient talisman, or simply a matter of seeing or believing what was really there all along?  Perhaps there are teachers out there who sound a little crazy at times, but can help you through the process if you could only set aside your preconceptions?  This fortnight you will have to open your mind to see what is truly out there beyond us.

This fortnight you must write about THE OTHER SIDE, but I leave that open to your interpretation.  Perhaps it is death, or heaven/hell, or a twisted reflection of our own reality, or a dystopian reality where AI's harvest your human brain energy while keeping you in a coma where you dream of putting in 50 hours of work a week because no one would ever want to escape THAT....  But I digress - the other side could mean the other side of an ocean, a galaxy, a fence, a social barrier or construct; heck, it could even mean the other end of the those 4 inch pipes that shoot your poop out of your house to god-knows-where.  Alls I'm saying is that you have to have this sense of otherness just beyond a character's grasp, that they engage with either tangentially or entirely.

Deadline for submissions is Thursday June 1 midnight Hawaii time.  Extensions - should they be sought - will be granted on the basis of alluding to something much more sinister than a deadline that may or may not be stalking you from the haze at the fringe of your peripheral vision.

Good luck to all participants! 

Thanks for all the votes (er, both of them).  I can see it was a very near run thing from the results, and that my victory rested on the slimmest of margins.   I bashfully admit to mistakenly PMing the contest administrator despite the rules, so I hope my (tying?) vote wasn't discounted on a technicality.  Thanks for all the feedback!  I hope to have the next competition up and running presently.

[@Mandle]

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely... writers?  I have to say I enjoyed your stories more than the grade 10 English class where I had to memorise that stupid soliloquy from Shakespeare.    Feedback follows:

Spoiler

@Mandle:  That was the ultimate concert, in a very literal sense!  Some of the description was over-the-top, but it suited the extreme spectacle at the end of the world.  Some sentences would have benefited from tightening up, but as we know from Loppins and K'rr not everything always goes off without a hitch at these kind of events.  I liked your liberal use of compound verbs (saidboomed comes to mind), and the slow but inevitable demise of both the concert and the world was both tragic and captivating.  You lost me at the climax, however, when god himself comes through the meeting place of singularity lasers.  It was, for me, a step too far, especially given the sci-fi vibe you worked so hard to build up for the first 3/4 of the story.  I don't think it's as much an aversion to reading about deities as it is a structural problem introducing all-important characters too late in the story.  The twist just seemed too incredible, and ripped me out of the story-world.

@Sinitrena:  I'm going to preface this commentary be declaring that I am every inch a Kevin Clausen when it comes to paying attention to opera, even in its written form.    It did seem like quite an impressive production, at least when I wasn't checking my phone.    Some of the supertitles needed a bit of editing ("they rush to the back" breaks the past tense of the story, "t had stopped" which is scientifically unlikely, and I read it as "WHODONELT" before I realised it was a capital I instead of a small L - I've always seen it spelled as "Whodunit", which is cleaner to read if not etymologically true to its meaning).  The mystery was compelling, although there was an info-dump of a lot of details all at once during the investigation.  I had noted that Piotr didn't lurch like everyone else on stage due to the premature movement, so he had to have some knowledge of the changed schedule.  I don't know if this counts as proof in the eyes of the law, but the back-story after the fact made it obvious he had motive (no one else really did, at least so far as the story tells us).  I think this story would work better in a longer format, perhaps with a backstage glance beforehand to build up an idea of the jealousies, rivalries and grudges that existed beforehand, which would both humanise the victim and the suspects more, and offer other plausible suspects to consider.  This of course is feeble advice for a short-story competition, and coming from someone prone to writing story fragments at that.   

[close]

[To Play the Queen of Hearts]

Well, I can already anticipate some of the criticism: my story runs long, and yet doesn't really go anywhere at the same time.  Is it time to break out the adjective baronesque again?  The piece is also very dialog heavy, but it's a play so.... enjoy!     


------------------

To Play the Queen of Hearts

   "Places everyone!" King Gilbert cried, clapping his hands.  He was giddy with excitement at taking the stage, despite the fact that it was in fact just the same dias upon which he normally sat within the throne room.  Still, after years of being enthralled as a drama spectator he finally had a chance to perform himself, and the feeling was as thrilling as it was intoxicating.

   "Dear husband, must we go through with this?" Queen Elva beseeched her husband over-dramatically, which he both admired and approved of.

   "Certainly, my dear!" King Gilbert declared.  "A king must follow through on his promises, and I have promised the court a drama for the ages!"

   "Of course, my liege," Queen Elva nodded.  "But, the script....  I don't feel it portrays your ministers in a very attractive light.  Rumours might spread...."

   "My dear Queen," Gilbert smiled.  "I wrote the script based on all those rumours!  This is the perfect way to air all that dirty laundry, in order to separate truth from gossip!"

   "Er, yes my king," Elva agreed awkwardly.  "But this nonsense about the queen vetting members of the court as lovers-"

   "-Drama at its most salacious!" King Gilbert gushed, bouncing on his toes in anticipation.  "There is a certain catharsis in the spectacle of theatre, my dear!  Exorcise those whispered speculations by exposing their ridiculousness to the full glare of the lime-light!"

   "Uh, right!" the Queen said, squaring her shoulders and jutting out her chin, preparing herself for the judgemental stares to come.

   "And... action!" King Gilbert cried, striding onto the throne dias arm in arm with his queen.  The court applauded enthusiastically, and the king bowed humbly to his thronging admirers.  "Welcome friends!" he called in his richest, clearest voice, accepting a goblet of wine from the Archbishop and using it to toast his audience.  "Welcome to our end-of-year dramatic extravaganza!  Behold your king, as you've never seen him before, in a stage production rife with intrigue!  Live out your greatest hopes and fears as we blend reality and fiction to create a cascade of emotions the likes of which you've never dreamed!"

The court cheered, the king bowed, and then assumed his place on the throne, surrounded by his wife, jester, and his highest advisors.  Suddenly a herald rushed in.  "My king!  Disaster!  The Count of Caulendar is in rebellion!  Even now his armies march on the capital!"

"Caulendar, my dear cousin!" the king lamented.  "I am betrayed by my closest kin!"

"Never, my King!" the Queen declared.  "Caulendar has ever proven loyal!  It is the squandering of royal funds by the Lord of the Exchequer that has caused discontent throughout the land.  How do we know that Caulendar is not taking your side, standing with your long-overtaxed subjects against your corrupt ministers?!"

"Quite absurd, my liege," the Lord of the Exchequer yawned.  "The exchequer merely implements your own taxation policies, while Caulendar has raised an army against you, which is the very definition of treason.  Perhaps the queen is trying to hide her own disloyalty by siding with your wayward heir?"

"My king!" the queen shouted indignantly.  "The wayward tongues of your ministers wag beyond all truth and decency!"

"Is that what you call what the Captain of the Guard's tongue has been up to?" the Archbishop commented wryly, as an aside to the crowd which chuckled gleefully.

"The implication insults you and your queen!" the queen said sharply to her husband.  "My king, you know that I would.... never let another man.... down there!"  In her mind she had said the line much more forcefully, but the embarrassment of the situation caught the words in her throat, making them seem feeble and untruthful.  It didn't help that at that moment the jester managed to crawl out from under her skirts, to the roaring laughter of the court.  The queen seethed with anger at this improvisation at her expense, and she decided to go off script herself.

"My king!" she said forcefully.  "If this is how your closest kin are treated at court, no wonder noble Caulendar has turned against the snakes that writhe here!  Tax men that steal, priests that lie, and servants that plot your downfall.  And to hide their misdeeds they attack your most loyal subject, your lover, your queen!  Give me a headsman and an axe and I will show you the treasonous thoughts that lurk inside their minds, by shaking them out of their severed heads in front of you!"  The queen huffed her fury, staring balefully at the crowd that was now stunned to silence, shaking at the exertion it took to contain the fury to kill her husband's ministers with her own bare hands.  "What say you, husband?" she asked, not daring to turn around to see the silly man stab her in the back.

"He's dead," the Captain of the Guard said, poking the figure on the throne gently with the handle of his spear.  The crowd gasped in concern while the ministers all glanced around at each other as if not knowing what to do next.  The king had made them swear, on pain of execution, that the show must go on no matter what.  Was this a test of loyalty?  Or was this an unscripted assassination in broad limelight?

"What treason is this?!?" the Archbishop shouted, tossing his stage notes to the side.  "Stand aside so that I can ascertain the truth of it and pray for the good king's soul!"

"Pray we don't remember who handed him his final chalice of wine," the queen said, spinning on her heel to face the Archbishop.  "I recall distinctly that it was you, your eminence.  Make the Archbishop drink what is left in the cup, to determine if it was he who poisoned the king!"

  "What?!?" the Archbishop shouted, taken aback at the sudden turn of events and his own sudden imperilment.  "I...  I merely passed the cup to the king.  It was the chamberlain that poured it!"

"Then make them both drink it!" the queen commanded.  "The better to separate truth from treason."

"Who put her in charge?" the Lord of the Exchequer challenged.  "Here, let's have a look at the body.  If the Archbishop's poison turns out to be a dagger in the back, I think I know who to blame!"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" the Captain of the Guard challenged him.  "You think because my position is always at the king's back that I somehow perpetrated this ghastly deed?!?"

"Well you clearly aren't doing a very good job," the Lord of the Exchequer pointed out.  "You just let your king get murdered while standing blissfully unaware not four feet away.  Either you are grossly incompetent or you are a part of the conspiracy!"

"I wonder what skin you have in the game, standing up for the chamberlain thusly?" the Captain of the Guard countered.  "Methinks a third minister should taste the wine, just to be sure."  At this the whole stage erupted into argument.  Only the queen remained aloof, serenely walking up to her husband's corpse upon the throne.

"What is she doing?" the Archbishop asked, and the arguments were quelled as quickly as they had broken out.

"Something I should have done a long time ago," the queen muttered to the hall.  "I'm going to separate truth from fancy to see where I finally stand in life."  And with that she raised her foot and shoved the body of the king off the throne.  The corpse rolled dramatically down the steps to dangle precariously off the dias.  The court gasped in horror, for it really did seem that the king was actually dead.

"My god," the Archbishop gasped.  "Is it really true?"

"It seems so," the queen said, plopping herself into the throne.  "As next of kin you will all concede that I am now in charge, at least until the late king's nephew Caulendar can reach the capital to have himself crowned.  The king is dead!  Long live the king!" she shouted, and this was echoed throughout the hall. 

"Now," the queen continued as the shouts died down, "where is that headsman?"  With a menacing thump a man in a hood bearing a great axe stomped onto the dias from a side entrance, and the crowd was suddenly stunned into a shocked silence.

"Wait, wait, wait," the Lord of the Exchequer said, leaning down to examine the king's corpse.  "As I suspected - there's still a pulse.  It seems this little drama hasn't run its course yet, after all.  Somebody was a little too quick to claim the throne, not even shedding a tear in remorse for her late husband.  I suppose the headsman has come in good time, but not for who you might have intended," he smiled.  There was confused muttering in the court, as nobody really knew what was actually going on at this point.

"Oh, come off it!" the Captain of the Guard shouted in disbelief.  "He rolled like a rag doll down the steps.  No one's that good of an actor, and I checked his pulse myself not two minutes ago.  He's definitely dead!"

"Nope, still alive!" the Lord of the Exchequer declared.  "I suspect that in a couple minutes he'll pop up and have a jolly good bow in front of the audience, and then pop the heads off the lot of you!"

"Oh honestly," Queen Elva sighed.  "Right, let's do the Lord of the Exchequer first.  Drink the wine, if you are so certain it wasn't poisoned.  Drink, or it's the headsman."

"Uh..." the Exchequer stalled.  "Well, yes, ok.  But I think it's wise to wait out the couple minutes until his majesty pops up.  Then I'll do it, for sure."

"What was that?" the Queen asked, dramatically putting her hand to her ear.  "Did I hear that you chose the headsman?"

"What?  No.  I definitely chose the cup of wine, which is clearly not poisoned!  I just want to wait until... wait, what are you doing?" he asked, for two guardsmen had suddenly appeared on either side of him.  He was escorted before the throne where a third guard had plopped down a large block of wood, and then he was made to kneel at it.  The headsman thumped menacingly down the steps to stand next to the execution block.

The Archbishop for his part scurried down to join the Lord of the Exchequer, goblet of wine in hand.  "Here, let him taste the wine and prove once and for all this farce!" the Archbishop called out.

"You'll taste the wine soon enough, my brave Archbishop," the queen pointed out.

"Yes, my queen!" the Archbishop agreed.  "But I would feel much better about it if the Lord of the Exchequer would taste it first!  He did ask for it, after all.  Does a dying man not get his last wish?"

"Since when?" the Captain of the Guard spoke up.  "Let's just get on with it, shall we?"

"But, uh, there's last rights, of course!" the Archbishop declared, clearly stalling.  "The prisoner always gets a chance to confess his sins, and then hear a prayer for his soul.  We must stand on ceremony, unless you truly fear that a mere two minutes will prove the lie of your claim to the throne?"

"Fine, whatever," the queen said, rolling her eyes.  "But get on with it!  We've got a lot of wine drinking to get to, and that axe isn't getting any sharper as we wait."

"Of course, my queen!" the Archbishop nodded.  "Prisoner, do you have any sins to declare?"

"Oh, many!" the Lord of the Exchequer admitted.  "The first was when I was a lad of four and saw my daddy naked as an ox in the shower...."

"Oh for the love of.... Just get to the prayer!" the Captain of the Guard shouted.

"Uh, prayer, yes the prayer, of course...." the Archbishop dithered, trying to remember the words.  He stooped to the stage to start collecting the stage notes he had thrown away earlier.  A muted giggle rose amongst the crowd.

"Ugh, just get to the execution!" the queen commanded.  The headsman swung the axe up into the air.

"Do you know, I think I might try that wine now after all," the Lord of the Exchequer said, but it was too late as the axe swung down.  The audience gasped in horror, for the executioner appeared to have botched the job, only severing half of the prisoner's neck.  The Archbishop fainted at the ghastliness of it, but there was one sole person in the court who clapped his approval.  Everyone turned to see King Gilbert, sitting happily on the edge of the dias, clapping with glee.  And then the executioner took off his mask to reveal that he had been the jester all along, and that the axe was merely made of painted cake which he proceeded to eat greedily.  The Lord Exchequer stood up grumpily to reveal that he had pissed himself in fear, and the crowd roared with laughter.  The queen and the Captain of the Guard exchanged guarded looks, and then began clapping their approval as well, but in a slow, measured way.  Soon the rest of the audience joined in applauding as well.

"So much fun, so little time!" the king declared, climbing up the steps to his throne, which his queen had graciously vacated.  "The plot thickens, and the chickens plot!  But fear not, good audience, for we have only just begun to unmask our villains.  Young Caulendar is still abroad, you will recall, and both the queen and the Lord of the Exchequer have much to answer for.  I suspect that we'll finally get down to the truth of the matter in this, our second act!"

Queen Elva bowed politely and took her place.  But she checked her stocking to make sure the dagger was still there, just in case.

I've got most of a story done, but it could certainly benefit from some revisions.  See you on the 11th!

...let's say, the 8th, 23:59 Canada Time

There's a lot of Canada time.  Like 5 time zones worth.  If only we had story inspiration like we have rocks and swamps and snow and time zones....   

I'm suffering from some serious stage fright.   

[@Mandle]

Well, it's results time!  I'm sorry for stressing the participants out with an experimental voting system, but I thought maybe it could make for more meaningful comparisons if there were only a small number of votes.  Obviously it's not ideal, since a strong opinion can swing the average quite a bit, but realistically without a large and objective voter pool any system will be not quite ideal.  Sometimes we just have to make short-term sacrifices to see if new things work.... 

Feedback for our hard-working contestants:

Spoiler

@Mandle:  It was an ambitious tale in terms of sheer timeline, which mirrors the human subterfuge that is at the heart of your story.  I felt the story was a bit short, in that I really didn't have time to bond with Captain Verill (let alone Kenrin), and so their respective sacrifices fell a bit flat.  The crux of their plan, however, was brilliant, and it appears as if they succeeded in deceiving the Caa.  I don't understand why the expense of printing books really mattered to Captain Verill, given that it is revealed that he is going to sacrifice his life shortly, but the process and bibliophilia was interesting to read about.  A few awkward sentences (ending one with "of" sticks in my mind) marred an otherwise excellently written story.

@Stupot:  I suspect there are more than a few autobiographical touches in several entries this time around (Martha revels in the "always logical, always structured", kind of like someone else I know....  ).  Yours was of course the most realistic story of sacrifice, which struck a chord for me since I've been down that road myself.  I can't say that I felt much sympathy, however, since most parents need to make the same self-sacrifices for the good of their kids.  As for the story within the story, if only you had put more time and focus into it I could have felt a bit more for Simon's predicament .  Given the constraints upon you, however, I thought your story was well-written.
    As a side note, my daughter's hockey often has me sitting in arenas for 5-10 hours a week.  I love watching her games, but the practices.... ugh.  So I challenged myself to write a novel on my phone while sitting in the stands.  I hated the interface at first, and some arenas are definitely colder than others, let me tell you!  But over time I found the slow pace of finger typing actually helped me organize my thoughts better.  I'm not saying the novel itself turned out terribly well, but I did finish the story at 97K.  Where there's a will, there's a way. 

Sinitrena: Your story was the most poignant for me.  Sure, compared to the other stories the stakes were vanishingly low (Martha herself concedes that a 1 on a report card has no real meaning), but I liked how you first built up the importance it could have had before it was sacrificed for a good cause.  I think this is the essence of what makes stories of sacrifice (and characters that engage in this behaviour) so compelling.  There were some weird formatting issues with your story on my end that were probably not your fault (that weird quotation mark on the bottom, but not consistently....), but overall I thought your prose was very clear and well-executed.

[close]

To the scores!

Stupot: 7.37
Sinitrena: 7.3
Mandle: 6.6

...Which means Stupot is our winner!              

Congratulations to Stupot.  I wonder what he might sacrifice in order to present a really juicy writing topic for us?  Unless the next topic is "speculation", I dare not hazard to guess... 

Thanks for all the great entries, everyone.  See you next time!

Nevar!!!1!

But I did update it to include Stupot's entry, since no one had voted yet.  Best of luck to the ever growing number of entrants! 

[Edit due to last-minute submission: see below.]

Edit due to last-minute submission: see below.

------------------------

Well that's a wrap, peeps. 

Our entries for your consideration this time around are:

Sinitrena with The Probabilities of Compassion

Mandle with The Final Flight of Kenrin

Stupot with his last-minute (and therefore to be found after this post) Don't Forget the Rice

For voting we will be using a 10 point scale.  For clarity purposes I will list rankings below:

10 points: absolutely incredible.  Loved it!
9 points: incredible with a slight flaw.  Liked it a lot!
8 points: merely outstanding, or maybe there were a few more flaws.  Liked it!
7 points: It was good, but there were issues.  Mostly liked it!
6 points: It was mostly good, but....  Kinda liked it!
5 points: There were good points and... other points.  Basically balances out to neutral.
4 points: To be honest the whole thing was kinda meh.  Don't worry, I'll give feedback!
3 points: There were some serious issues that need to be worked out.
2 points: I really struggled finishing this one.
1 points: Hey, I'm being charitable here.
0 points: Hey, at least I bothered voting!

I can live with fractional scores to one decimal place (e.g. 8.5).  Ideally there would be a voting pool of at least three in order for me to give out averaged scores.  If there are not more than two voters I reserve the vote in order to give more meaningful scores (i.e. not just from entrants' direct competitor).  Votes should be PMed to me on or before Saturday April 15, 2023.

Remember, feedback helps us writers grow, so please share your thoughts and impressions.

Good luck to all participants!

[@Sinitrena]

Just a heads up that the deadline is tomorrow night.  Let me know if you can't make the necessary sacrifices to get your story in on time.   

@Sinitrena:  Confusingly in Canada, level 4 is the highest (basically an A), then level 3 (B), then level 2 (C), and finally level 1 (D).  I suppose theoretically there must be a level 0 (F), but in practice kids who try that hard are deemed to be too fragile to know the truth of their ineptitude.   

[Sacrifice]

'Tis the season!  Let's write about...

Sacrifice



Perhaps the most appealing aspect of Christianity is the idea that its messiah willingly sacrificed himself for the good of mankind.  Good christians are supposed to emulate this gesture to a small degree by giving up some trivial comforts during Lent in the run up to celebrating Easter.  But it is also Ramadan right now, where Muslims one-up their Christian buddies by giving up food and drink entirely during daylight hours.  In parts of the world animal sacrifice still occurs, with the idea that Providence will provide for those that give up what is valuable to them.

The history of sacrifice is perhaps even more fraught.  Ancient old world cultures sacrificed human beings to appease their gods, and ancient new world cultures weaponized sacrifice to do the same (and conveniently keep the neighbours in check).  Ancient Romans bizarrely believed that the future could be augured from the entrails of a sacrificed bird.  Kamikaze pilots in 1940s Japan would bring honour to their families with their self-sacrifice during World War 2.  Sacrifice can indeed be a bloody business.

But smaller sacrifices can be noble in their own right, and perhaps be more constructive.  Witness people sacrificing their own happiness to provide for a loved-one, or going without in the short-term in the pursuit of a long-term goal (a penny saved is a penny earned).  Love itself is a sacrifice of individuality.

This fortnight your submission must revolve around a sacrifice, big or small; noble or destructive; bloody or beautiful.  Deadline for submissions is Monday April 10 at midnight Hawaii time.  Good Luck to all participants!

Wow, thanks guys!  This was an unexpected win.  There've been several poetic entry wins over the years, so I suspect some of our regular voters might have a soft spot for rhyme-slinging.  Or Sinitrena might be right about the tyranny of mathematics and the propensity to split votes.  Or the real lesson here might be to procrastinate so that your entry is the freshest in readers' minds when they vote.... :p

I'll try to have the next contest up and running by tomorrow.  My son broke my computer keyboard by gaming too hard, so it might take me that long to type out a theme on my phone!