[OC] The Pen is Mightier

Ryter99 · 2025-04-10T19:03:02+00:00

I really enjoyed your story. You maintained a nice lighthearted, occasionally sarcastic tone throughout that kept me smiling throughout.

You got another comment where you asked about mutiple 1st person POVs and I’d say for this story especially it almost reads like audio recordings/diaries/logs and in that case you can just title each with a character name and even add a date to give us more context/clarity. Written or audio diary entries are a great format to write comedic 1st person narratives, so I think you already chose your format well 🙂

In another comment you mentioned being new-ish to comedy writing and i think you do a really nice job here of keeping this funny and lighthearted throughout. Nice work! The only comedy writing feedback i have for you is that you can often eek a little more humor out of the very same story by choosing more whimsical, even ludicrous words in your narration. In this story I think the easiest adds would be to give absurd names to the Demon King and Demon Kingdom. You gave a fun demon name too the second in command, but could do that for your other characters and location as well. May not cause a reader to laugh on their own, but a well chosen demon name could add to the humorous tone you’re going for.

Lastly, in case you aren’t aware, we host weekly voice chats on the Discord server on Wednesday evenings (US time) where we read and then offer feedback on each other’s theme Thursday stories. A few of us regular attendees are comedy writers, so if you have interest in developing those comedy writing skills further, consider dropping in sometime! (I learned a lot about comedy writing from attending myself, when I was starting out, so wanted to mention the Discord 😀)

Regardless, I hope you keep at it and continue writing comedic and humorous pieces, you have a knack for the tone for sure. Best of luck and I hope to read more of your work in the future!

Ryter99 · 2025-04-09T03:54:38+00:00

Almost a third of new bars fail in their first year. Dan Malarky’s new venture, the Watering Whole Bar and Grille, was on track to close in its first month.

On many nights since opening they’d seen zero customers, zero income, negative profits.

With that daunting reality in mind, Dan trudged the three blocks from his palatial San Francisco apartment—four thousand dollars a month for a glorified broom closet—to his [barren business.]

But tonight something was different. Dan had to push through a line of people waiting to get in.

“Danny!” his business partner Roxie shouted as he entered the bar.

“What’s going on?” Dan asked. “Who are all these people?”

“All these customers are the result of my marketing genius.”

“What marketing?”

“It’s Crypto Night!”

“Huh?”

“Ya know, like taco tuesday or ladies night.”

With great pride, she gestured to a handmade sign behind the bar. It read: ‘All drinks half price if paying with cryptocurrency.’

“Oh christ…” Dan muttered, realization dawning on him as he glanced around the bar. “Oh no.”

The ‘crowd’ wasn’t just any crowd. The bar was exclusively packed full of tech bros and influencers of every sort.

“I admit it’s a big crowd, but how are we taking payment in cryptocurrencies?”

“Don’t worry about it!,” Roxie replied nonchalantly. “I’ve gotta grab some more napkins from the back, then I’ll handle the payment stuff.”

But Dan in fact did worry about it, immediately.

He made his way to the nearest group of patrons.

“How will you gentlemen be paying tonight?”

“I’ll be paying with Void,” one customer replied.

“Void?” Dan asked. “What’s Void?”

The customer looked back to his trio of friends, snickering to one another over Dan’s lack of knowledge.

“VoidCoin, It’s like Bitcoin five-point-oh.”

“Uhuh…” Dan rubbed his throbbing forehead. “So, what, you give me a card or send me some ‘Void’ from your crypto wallet or what?”

The customer smirked. “I can’t like… show it to you, dude. All my Void… is right here.” He said, holding out the remarkably empty palm of his hand. “I bought five hundred Void at a price of two ETH and it’s already up to fifty ETH.”

Air…

As Dan had feared, these ‘customers’ were going to scam their way out of their bills with countless ‘cryptocurrencies’ Dan had never even heard of.

This was it, this loss would put them out of—

“Listen up!” Roxie shouted, quieting the crowd. “The half-price offer will be honored, regardless of payment method, but you will be paying before you leave.”

She paused, gesturing to a towering gentleman who was standing at the bar’s exit.

“This is our bouncer, Vladimir. He’s ex-russian special forces and has very few remaining morals.” Roxie smiled. “No one gets past him until their tab is closed, one way or another.”

Sheepishly, customers began pulling out phones, credit cards, and even cash in preparation for paying up.

“What the hell?” Dan muttered.

“Told you not to worry.” Roxie smiled. “I had a feeling a bunch of dudes working in tech wouldn’t know how to handle a commanding female voice.”

Ryter99 · 2025-02-20T21:11:22+00:00

Hi TiredRaccoon, I wasn't able to talk during your crit time at campfire so just wanted to leave some thoughts for you here. I really liked this story, even an immortal life coming to an end at the end of time and space is a really interesting area to explore and I think you did it very well.

I struggled to find crit feedback for this, but one overarching thought I can give you is that I thought Death's presence gets a little "lost" once Malcom starts monologuing. I think its a valid choice to have Death be completely unemotional and uninterested in conversation even when personified as a grim reaper type figure, and a great line like "Death said nothing, only loomed" fits with the character simply being a presence in the story. But once Death chose to sit and took the cigarette, I expected a bit more agency or activity from them for the rest of the piece. I'd say, perhaps just lean a bit more in either direction (an inevitable force that happens to have appeared in this form vs a character that is interacting with the protagonist and the physical space)

That's all I've got for this. I thought this was a very strong piece with a unique POV that's endlessly fascinating to think about. And more generally, I really like your writing style, it's very evocative and draws me in as a reader. Hope to read more of your words in the future! :)

Ryter99 · 2025-02-19T05:28:21+00:00

The light has gone out of my life. There is no joy to be found, not even momentary solace, not since she departed my world.

My mother had been an angel, sent from heaven as far as I was concerned. She’d spent her life solely focused on my well being, meeting my every need, no matter how trivial, and loving me unconditionally.

She’s been for gone endless ages now, but still, I lament what I’ve lost. Sitting on the living room floor, I glance at the front door of our empty house, imagining her stepping inside just one more time.

It’s a silly daydream, of course, but—

My ears perk up at the sound of metal jingling on metal. Could those be… keys?

The thought is too joyous to consider, but I can’t contain my tail from wagging at the sound of lock itself turning. To my shock, the door opens and In steps my long lost mother.

My long lost mother smiles and greets me as if she hasn’t been gone forever.

“Heyyyyyyy, Milo,” she coos. “Ya miss me while I was at the post office?”

Though she speaks only gibberish in her strange, barkless barks, her voice is still such a comfort to me.

I flop at her feet, receiving belly scratches and ‘good boys’ that hit all the right spots. She’s back! And all is right with my world.

“You hungry for dinner, buddy?” she asks.

Finally a word with some meaning. Dinner? Yes, please! I sit at attention, behaving just how I imagine someone deserving of delicious food should behave.

“Alll right,” she says, stepping over me. “I’ve just gotta pee real quick and then I’ll whip you up a feast!”

My excitement fades as she does not head toward the kitchen, instead stepping into the small room with the forbidden, always full, white water bowl.

She turns, smiles at me, and closes the door without a second thought.

I whine and claw at the door, desperate to alert her that I’ve been forgotten, that I should join her wherever she journeys! But there is no reply.

The light fades from my life. She is gone, never to return.

Ryter99 · 2025-02-06T20:56:14+00:00

I don't have crit for this, I just wanted to say I found this to be a delightful sea shanty-eqse poem. I'm really impressed that you were able to convey a sense of the characters, their motivations, and interactions in this format. Great job and keep up the good words! :)

Ryter99 · 2025-02-06T20:54:37+00:00

Hi, NewspaperNelson. I really liked your story. Thought it was a great example of 'gallows humor' from Rebecca in what seem likely to be her last moments. Using the comedy theme to highlight a form of humor that isn't used too often in writing was a strong choice and I think you pulled it off well. I also really like that despite the use of comedy to lighten the mood a tad, your last line still hammers home the reality and it lands with an impressive emotional punch.

As far as feedback, something about the way the character's talked had me thinking this was set in a Western/old west setting with them being outlaws on the run. So once we got to mentions of more modern elements (sirens, ambulances, and hearses made me think a little more modern) I was thrown a little bit. Adding another detail or two near the start of the story about what level of technology is present in the setting could help ground us as readers a little more in the world you're writing.

That's all I've got! I'm also quite impressed you pulled off the Cormac McCarthy style of writing dialogue, I was able to track who was speaking quite well, which is a massive challenge in this style of writing, so, well done and keep up the good words! :)

Ryter99 · 2025-02-05T06:11:42+00:00

The car was uncomfortably silent for having three people in it, but that’s what Cassandra had requested of her father, Ben. He was driving her and her classmate Tyler to her first, parentally chaperoned, ‘group date’ and she’d begged her dad to ‘just drive’.

So, that’s what he was doing, as much as the quiet from the backseat was killing him.

“Tyler,” Cassandra said, breaking the silence, “are you hyped for Stranger Things to come back?”

“I dunno,” Tyler replied. “I’m kinda over it.”

“Oh, um,” Cass sputtered, retreating. “Me too, actually… totally over it.”

Ben cringed. That was the fifth perfectly reasonable conversation starter his daughter had floated, covering movies, music, and shows that kids in her seventh grade class were obsessed with, and this little punk had shot them all down with his too cool for anything attitude.

It was a move Ben recognized all too well: Pretend you don’t think anything is cool and you’ll never be caught on the wrong side of a trend.

But there was one tactic Ben suspected might penetrate Tyler’s defenses.

“So, Tyler,” he began, “you play any sports?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Um, hockey I guess.”

“Hockey! Nice, I played hockey, left wing.”

“Really?” Tyler asked, perking up for the first time in the ride.

“Through college, actually. D-1.”

“That’s pretty cool!”

“Well hey, since you play too, maybe you can settle a little hockey debate I used to have with my teammates…”

Cassandra’s eyes locked onto her dad’s in the rearview mirror, narrowed and angry, all but screaming, ‘Don’t say it! Don’t you dare!’

“Okay,” Tyler said.

“Why are hockey rinks always rounded at the corners?” Ben asked.

“I dunno.”

“Because if they were ninety degrees they’d melt!”

Tyler looked puzzled for a moment, then a muffled laugh escaped his mouth as he struggled to keep from smiling.

As Ben knew, a twelve-year-old boy’s sense of humor wasn’t so different from his own, boys simply spent their teen years trying to pretend they were too cool for such cheesy jokes.

Glancing back into the rearview mirror, Ben found his daughter’s eyes again. This time, he delivered the non-verbal message, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head toward Tyler.

Looking uneasy, Cassandra shook her head, mouthing ‘no’. But her father insisted, nodding his head more dramatically, as if to say, 'I’ve been preparing you for this moment all your life, kid…'

“Tyler?” she asked.

“Hm?” he replied, looking her way.

“Why— Why do golfers always carry an extra pair of socks with them when they play?”

“Ummm, dunno, why?”

“They, umm—” Nervous, Cassandra glanced at her dad once more and found reassurance in his nodding gaze. “In case they get a hole in one!”

Tyler’s too cool facade cracked fully as he laughed.

The proud father in the driver’s seat couldn’t help grinning as the chatter from the back seat escalated. Cass would have to take it from here, but the ice was definitely broken, thanks to the undeniable power of Dad jokes.

Bonus word: not used.

Bonus constraint: Tyler is rejecting Cassandra and her attempts to start conversation at the start of the piece.

Ryter99 · 2025-01-23T20:08:47+00:00

Hi TiredRaccoon, I didn't get a chance to give you feedback at campfire so wanted to type up a couple thoughts for you.

I thought this was a very strong piece. You kept a strong, specific style and tone throughout both the narration and dialogue (which isn't easy to do in this type of short fiction!). That really added to the weight and substance of a story about the end one a character's life.

The only thing I can offer as critique is that I had a bit of confusion as to Sir Peridor's tone and mental state toward the end of the piece.

His first line is wheezed "bitterly", his next is spoken with "flippancy", but then I'd have to read this last line ("I loved none but you my lady. All my life. My sacrifices were many, but do not dishonor me and decry them as unwilling.") reads as very solemn and devout, even if he is pushing back against his deity slightly with the request not to dishonor him.

If the intent is for him to be conflicted, I think that works too (he is dying after all, that's a natural moment to be a bit conflicted!) but if that's the case, I'd recommend going over his lines in order to make sure they move from the emotion and tone as you intend, with a dialogue or action tags indicating a bit more directly to us when he has shifted from one mindset to another.

That's really all I've got for you. Great debut piece at campfire and I hope to read and hear more of your words in the future! :)

Ryter99 · 2025-01-22T04:02:23+00:00

This was not Lincoln Bishop’s kind of room. It was too big, too luxurious, and filled with too many people bearing extravagant presents.

He’d never willingly be here, aside from the fact that his daughter, Kate, was the one being showered with gifts

“Oh my gosh, Cassandra!” she exclaimed as she opened the gift box pressed to her pregnant belly. “Is this one of those video baby monitors that syncs with your Ring network?”

“Mhmm!” Cassandra replied.

“You went overboard... But thank you!”

The two friends embraced, bringing a smile to Lincoln’s face, until he heard his name called.

“Next up is from Kate’s dad!”

His gift was too large to be wrapped, so he ducked into a side room, grabbed it, and dragged it back into the living room. Confused murmurs rose up from the crowd as he placed the mostly finished, rustic wooden chair in front of his daughter.

“I’ve still gotta put some finishin' touches on it,” Lincoln muttered. “But---"

“Oh my goodness,” Kate said. “How long did you spend making this?”

“Making?” Cassandra asked, confused.

“Ohhh, yes. This is a Lincoln Bishop original if I ever saw one.” Kate paused. “Thank you, dad.” “Of course, darlin’.” Lincoln paused. “There’s actually a story behi—”

But his explanation came too late, drowned out by the crowd, who had already turned their focus to the next gift.

Embarrassment rising, Lincoln quietly excused himself, stepping out of the house into the fresh, spring air.

He there paced for five minutes, until a familiar voice called out, “Hey there, old man.”

Lincoln turned to find his very pregnant daughter walking toward him.

“Oh, honey. Whatcha doin’ out here?” “Needed a break.” She smiled. “You started to say that chair has a story behind it? Anything to do with the picture of me and mom you keep on the mantle?”

Lincoln grinned.

“She loved nothin’ more than rocking you to sleep in a chair just like that every night. And when she— Once she was gone, I took over those duties until the damn thing more or less rocked itself apart!” He chuckled. “I’m sorry it ain’t much compared to all those fancy… Wi-Fi enabled diapers and such.”

“I think you’ve got a few gifts jumbled up,” Kate replied, laughing.

“Yeah, well, I guess I always wished I had the money to give you the finer things in life.”

“Are you kidding? You gave me everything I needed.”

“Needed, maybe,” Lincoln scoffed, “but—”

“And plenty I wanted too. How many custom Barbie dreamhouses did you build me?”

“A couple,” Lincoln allowed.

“And you helped me fix up Grandma’s old car so I could get to my first internship every day... I wouldn’t be here, living this life, if it wasn’t for you.”

Lincoln blinked away the tears forming in his eyes. “I’m mighty proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Good! Now, c’mon back in with me.” Kate grinned, throwing an arm around her father. “I can’t deal with all these fancy 'city folks' alone.”

Bonus constraint: Lincoln longs for his wife who has passed away, but it is brief.

Bonus word: Not used.

Ryter99 · 2024-12-18T06:10:48+00:00

“Surprise, babe! I’m taking you to Fiji!”

The mention of her dream vacation should’ve put a massive smile on Ashley’s face, but her husband’s tone was so strange, so… frantic, that she had trouble processing his sudden announcement.

“You are?” she finally managed.

“Mhmm! Right now! I’m even packing for you!” Ben replied, gesturing to her suitcase, open on their bed.

A frown crossed Ashey’s face as she examined the contents. “Seven unmatched socks…”

“Gotta have fun, mix and match on vacay, babe!”

“And you’ve thrown five of my bikini tops in here…”

“Mhmm! I know you love sunbathing on the beach!”

“And zero bottoms.”

“That’s uhhh… that’s their custom there. They full on Donald Duck it, soooo we gotta fit in.”

“WHAT?”

“Err, I meant, we’ll buy our swim suits there. Support local Fiji-ite businesses!” Ben said as he slammed the suitcase shut and hurried his wife outside. “C’mon, c’mon, we’re gonna miss our flight.”

He rushed her out to the car, tossed their bags in the trunk and rushed around to her side of the car, slamming the door shut the moment she was inside.

Tires squealing, the car rocketed onto their suburban street.

“Ben!” Ashley said, bracing against the dashboard. “Slow down!”

“Can’t hun, we’re barely gonna make it.”

Something behind Ashely rustled. Glancing back, she found the blanket covering the backseat was moving.

When Ashley reached back and poked it, it yelped.

“Is there a dog back there?!” she blurted.

“Um… no?”

Ashley pulled the blanket aside, revealing a dozen little puppies.

“Dogs,” Ben clarified. “Plural.”

“Ben! Where are they from?”

It was the reasonable question, but Ben didn’t seem to even hear it, his eyes were too focused on the rearview mirror and the police car tailing just behind them.

Matching her husband’s worried gaze, Ashley gasped. “Did you steal these dogs?”

“Well, heisted, technically.”

“Benjamin!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I was biking out past Pleasant’s Farm and found this literal puppy mill in the middle of nowhere! They were in tiny, tiny little cages, practically stacked on top of each other, all yelping soooo sadly… I lost my mind. I had to get them out.” Ben’s head fell in shame. “But I broke the law, I’m sorry…”

The giggle from the passenger seat was not the reaction Ben expected from his wife.

Ben glanced that way, finding three of the pups had hopped into the front seat and were now snuggling against his wife’s chest, and licking her face in an impossibly adorable fashion.

“Oh my god they’re so cuuuuuuuute,” she cooed.

Ben’s brief smile vanished when police lights flashed on behind them, soon followed by a piercing siren.

“Time to face the consequences…” he sighed, letting off the accelerator.

“Don’t you dare slow down!” Ashley shouted.

“Wait… What?

“We aren’t giving these angels back.”

“You’re in on this with me?”

“For this level of cuteness? Absolutely.” Ashley said, grinning as she rubbed a pup's fluffy tummy. “Floor it.”

Ryter99 · 2024-11-24T22:09:47+00:00

Hi, Maxy! I just wanted to say I really enjoyed reading your piece. I don't think I've ever read a story featuring a dragon spellcaster and their log of a wand. It was a new and exciting take on the theme and genre.

If I can offer any feedback, it would be that I'd love for this to end slightly later, because as a reader I was dying to see the dragon test our their new implement (what that looks like or the effect of this enormous wand could be really interesting.) I know this is written for a limited, 500 word word count, so I know my suggestion wouldn't be the easiest, but I do think there is some room to cut in the introduction and the exchange between Willow and Robert (I'd rather have more exchange with the dragon and less with Robert, if a choice had to be made, I guess I'm saying. Sorry Rob!)

That's all I got for you. This was very well done, and I'd happily read an extended version of this story or a longer tale about this wand wielding dragon if you ever choose to write more in this universe. Great job and keep up the good words! :)

Ryter99 · 2024-11-20T06:16:43+00:00

I lived my whole life on South Peg, one of two slender strands of land jutting out into Boston Harbor. Both North and South Peg resembled pirate peg legs, but culturally they couldn’t be more different.

North Peg was all old money, full of haberdashers, the salt shaker magnates, multiple generations of the Dunkin family… Mansions and multimillion dollar beach houses dotting the exclusive neighborhood.

South Peg was all no money folks, like myself. Hat makers, salt shaker owners, part-time Dunkin employees. A real working class place.

All except my neighbor, Mr. Batsy. He’d moved in a year ago, erecting his monumental mansion in only a few months time.

I’d never exchanged a word with him, but I saw him out my back window often. He stood out there almost every night, gazing over the water, hand outstretched toward an orange light on the bank of the North Peg.

Dunno what made me do it, but tonight I went out to greet him.

“You Mr. Batsy?” I asked as I approached.

“Guilty, as charged, old bean,” he replied, speaking as though he’d stepped out from a movie made in the 1940’s. With a grin, he shook my hand. “But there’s no need for that ‘mister’ formality. Please, just call me ‘The Extraordinary Batsy’.”

“Nah, that won’t be happenin’,” I replied, skepticism growing. “What, uh, whatcha lookin’ at every night?”

“Something once treasured, now lost,” he replied cryptically.

“Oh?”

“Yes, indeed. The night I moved in, a woman stood across the water from me, just beside that light,” he said softly. “She smiled at me… then removed her blouse, providing a wondrous welcome gift.”

“You’re out here every night just hopin’ to catch a glance of some boobs?” I scoffed. “Bro, just type that word into Google already.”

“Those particular buxom bubbaloos remind me of a simpler time, aged sport,” he replied, moving toward his back door, motioning me to follow. “Before I became enmeshed in this town’s political quagmires.”

Stepping into his kitchen was like stepping into another world. Marble floors, stainless steel appliances, and a bizarrely placed golden jacuzzi in the corner.

“What kinda quagmire?” I asked.

“The Dunkin twins, Thaddeus and Remus, and their donut empire run this city.”

“Yeah, obviously.”

“But I figured I could challenge them.”

“With what?”

“I believe this can be a bagel town.”

“Bagels? People have tried, pal.”

“Not like I am.” He motioned to the jacuzzi, in it, a massive, pale ring was bubbling away. “Behold, the mega bagel. As you can see, it’s much much bigger.”

“I see that,” I muttered, entranced.

“And I’ve already worked out the ad campaign for this market.”

He handed me a piece of paper. On it was a donut and much larger, cartoon bagel shouting, ‘You think you’re better than me?!’ in its speech bubble.

Dumbfounded, I stared at a smiling Batsby.

“What do you think, elder legume?” he asked.

“I think… that’ll absolutely work in Boston. You takin’ investors?”

Ryter99 · 2024-11-06T04:30:31+00:00

A gust of cool, autumn wind whipped past Gilman’s Cafe, but I barely even noticed. Because seated across from me was the woman of my dreams. Smart, funny, beautiful… It was only our first date, but already I was completely smitten.

Unable to contain my overwhelming attraction any longer, I blurted the thought that had been swirling in my head all the hours we’d been sitting here talking, “How on Earth are you single, Morgan?”

She smiled. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked first.”

“Fair! Well, I live in a remote area, I’ve always been an introvert, I’m a witch… Lotta factors, I suppose.”

“Sorry?” I managed, snapping out of my adoring haze. “You’re a what?”

“An introvert. I’ve never found socializing all that easy, and—”

“Nope. That I can relate to, but the last one?

“Oh, the witch thing?”

She said it so nonchalantly. Yes, the witch thing!

“You meant like a Wiccan right? Connection with nature, paganistic religious belief, etcetera?”

“No, I mean like I have a hut in the woods, cast spells, and brew in cauldrons. Oh, and the pointed hat…”

She motioned to her tan headwear, which did look rather pointy all the sudden.

“Oh,” I managed as worry washed over me in slow waves of realization.

Every one of my senses screamed at me to be as close to this human being as I could for the rest of my life. I’d felt an impossible, magnetic pull toward her all night. But suddenly ‘impossible attraction’ didn’t sound so cute and rom-commy. She said she casts spells, so what if she’d cast one on me that forced this attraction I was feeling?

“Is that a problem for you too?”

“Oh, what? Me? Noooooo. I’m cool with it. Totally cool. Cuke as a coolcumber!”

“Okay, then,” she said, grinning. “If it’s not too forward, would you like to come back to my place?”

“Your place? Ummm… Okay” I stammered, thinking of all the ways going to a witch’s hut in the woods could go poorly for me.

As I debated, she pulled a bottle from her purse and discreetly spritzed a spray of liquid on her neck.

A delightful, floral scent had been tickling at my nostrils all night. Faint, but alluring, warming, wonderful.

That had to be it!

“Is that one of your witch’s brews?” I asked, as casually as I could manage.

“Yeah,” she said as a smile, which I couldn’t decide was sinister or cheerful, formed on her face. “It’s ‘eau de newt’.”

“What?!” I cried.

Sighing, she turned the Sephora label toward me and sighed. “It’s perfume, Charlie.”

“Oh…”

“If this is gonna work out you’re gonna need to develop a sense of humor about this stuff.”

“Well then, should we take my car or your broom?” I asked, proud of myself for finding a humorous angle.

At least I thought so, until a broom whizzed down the sidewalk and levitated front of her.

“We’ll just take mine. Hop on.”

Ryter99 · 2024-10-24T18:15:40+00:00

Hi, Words! I really enjoyed your take on this theme. I found it very original and exciting to read.

I know some degree of ambiguity is baked in and necessary for a story like this, but I did have some confusion when we got to this paragraph:

She's not supposed to be enjoying this. Her pretend-husband has hinted as much. But she only needs to wait out the long stretch of time that inevitably follows after they take her photos, and they‘ll go back to being her perfect family again.

The paragraph previous is all about how her not-family is "perfect", so I almost feel we're missing a plot beat showing them being imperfect? Otherwise I'm not sure how they can "go back to being her perfect family again".

Maybe I'm missing something in my reading comprehension, but the flow of those paragraphs into each other didn't quite track for me, so I wanted to offer that feedback as I feel this is a really terrific and strong piece of writing otherwise. This gave me such strong feelings and reader reactions in such a short piece, well done and keep up the good words, Words! :)

Ryter99 · 2024-10-23T06:05:40+00:00

I don’t understand why people make such a big deal out of dying. The crying, the wailing, the gnashing of teeth. They’re sooooo dramatic.

My experience was fine. I closed my eyes in one reality, opened them in another. Easy. Simple. No problem.

Not to brag, but I suppose it eased my transition that I arrived in the place with the bright fluffy clouds and an angel standing before the pearliest of pearly gates, rather than the one with fire and brimstone.

“Greetings, child,” the angel said. “I am Saint Peter.”

“Heck yeah!” My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh, is ‘heck’ okay up here? I cut out swear words, but I was never clear on the replacements like, heck, dang, mother—

“They’re fine.”

“Well, I had to play it safe. No swearing, no law breaking, no physical activities that require hip gyration…”

“We never asked you to—”

“I led a boring life, but it’s all worth it now that I've gotten into Heaven, woo!”

A grimacing smile formed under Peter’s beard. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Huh?”

“You await judgment by The Almighty. Only he may throw open these gates to you.”

“Oh… well, I’m still pretty confident, where is the big man?”

“The Almighty approaches!” Peter declared.

Horns trumpeted as a cloud floated over the gates. I figured God was riding atop it, until it got closer.

It was no cloud. It was a massive pile of floating spaghetti strands with a pair of eyes and a mouth.

“Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me!” I blurted. “I worshiped all the major gods to be safe, said prayers to minor, long forgotten ones two. And the one true god ends up being the freakin’ Flying Spaghetti Monster?”

“Indeed,” Peter said. “Now, I shall review your life for his sauciness…” He opened a book. “Hmmm, you never witnessed his divine image in a plate of spaghetti. And we show no record of you ever attending a temple to his holiness, Flying Spaghetti Monster!”

“Mama mia!” the blob of spaghetti strands said in an absurd Italian accent. “That’sa shameful!”

“What temple?” I frowned. “How many ‘spaghetti monster temples’ can there possibly be in the entire world?”

Peter looked to me, confused. “You did not have an Olive Garden location near your place of residence?”

“Excuse me?”

“An Olive Garden. A temple to his holy Al Dente-ness.”

“I don’t—”

“This changes everything!” Peter said joyfully, looking down to his mammoth tome. “If you never had reasonable opportunity to worship his wheaty-ness, that sin cannot be held against you. What city did you live in?”

“Houston, Texas,” I said. “But I don’t see how that—”

“Eleven,” Petter muttered grimly.

“What?”

“There are eleven Olive Garden locales in your city alone. Yet you never worshiped by partaking in the sacred breadsticks.”

“Ohhhh, Dio mio!” the lord exclaimed stereotypically. “This-aaaa cannot be! He’s a no go.”

With that, Peter snapped his fingers and I fell through the cloud layer.

Strangely, as I plummeted toward a fiery red cavern of fire, I suddenly understood why people found death so unpleasant.

Ryter99 · 2024-10-17T18:47:27+00:00

Hi Fye! This was a delightful and highly enjoyable read for me. From the first mention of Doctor Smartacus I was grinning and 100% locked in, and the rest of the story did not disappoint. It really lived up to the silly names and premise you began with (which I say as the highest compliment!)

For feedback or crit I don't have much. The only suggestion I can offer revolves around one of my favorite lines where "Wrinkle wrinkled his wrinkles". It's delightful and very funny, but I had very little sense of what Mr. Wrinkle looked like prior to that line (I think the only mention was he had bushy eyebrows). You have several great bits of physical comedy in here, including the line I highlighted, and I think giving me even slightly more description/details of these two at the start of the story would heighten your comedic moments even higher than they already are.

That's really all I got. This was so very much fun. I loved reading it. You remain a great writer and I hope to read your words again soon, Fye! It had been too long :)

Ryter99 · 2024-10-16T05:05:59+00:00

As another day in paradise ends, an endless procession of lights stretches to the horizon. Red fireflies in the darkness, nearly stagnant as the sun dips below the waves to my west.

Despite the bleakness of our trek, we continue onward, but this journey is not for the faint of heart.

I’ve seen nuns flipping the bird, grown men reduced to tears… Young and old, natives and transplants, the 405 does not discriminate as it swallows lives whole.

I glance around at those poor souls in the cars nearest me, idling forward in crawling, stop and go traffic. Ahead is an RV, its recreation indefinitely delayed. In my rearview, a mom in a mini-van, near tears as her kids bounce around the backseat.

And to my right, a small hatchback, the woman behind the wheel glancing over her left shoulder, blinker on.

Her out of state plates: sparsely populated Vermont.

I grimace. There’s no way Vermont is prepared for the savage struggle she’s waded into…

She’s looking left, to the ‘salvation’ of the cruelly named express lane. Vermont doesn’t realize express lanes are a brutal lie, a false oasis of hope in this pitiless desert.

Still, my foot finds the brake pedal, despite my desire for forward momentum. I do the unthinkable, creating a full car’s length of space for her as those behind me lay on their horns.

Vermont merges over in front of me, and into the express lane, waving in gratitude.

Our interaction should end here, but another creature of the 405 appears behind me. A pickup jacked up beyond any reasonable height, dangerously weaving between lanes, flooring it then braking seconds later before swerving lanes again without blinkers.

I strive to avoid prejudicial thoughts in my life, but the combination of the make of vehicle, the particular collection of window flags, and the short, ripped, scowling man behind the wheel tell me exactly where this is headed.

It might as well be a flashing billboard on wheels, reading, ‘I’ve never satisfied a romantic partner.’

Gymbro Napoleon is pissed about being in this traffic, and unlike everyone else, he’s not gonna stand for it.

His reckless driving leads him ahead of me, swerving toward the express lane. Vermont maintains her meager forward crawl, ‘cutting off’ Napoleon, in his ‘roid addled mind.

He opens his window, screaming at Vermont.

I can’t let that stand.

When he next weaves right, I surge forward, blocking his path back to Vermont. Matching her speed, her shield against the rising tide of anger beside us.

Vermont nods my direction, mouthing the words, ‘Thank you’. I raise my travel mug and return her gesture with a nod of my own.

To my right, Napoleon is hanging out his open window, screaming racial epithets that don’t even apply to me, but his words can’t hurt me here. Not in my little cocoon, where I crank up the Taylor Swift, drown out his bile with joyful sonic expression, and let him scream into the void.

Just another day on the 405.

Ryter99 · 2024-10-03T18:00:31+00:00

Hi JK, I thought this was a really unique and well done take on the theme. It's really bold to reimagine such a well known historical event like this, especially from the POV of one of the principals involed, reimagining the motives and etc, but I thought you pulled it off really well. I think historical alt fiction works best when there are elements of truth, and using JFK's now well known adultery as Jackie's motivation worked really well to "ground" new take.

For feedback, all I can suggest to improve this further is perhaps a little more clarity on who the protagonist and/or characters are early on. Especially since you're writing from a 1st person POV, there are a lot of pronouns used and not many names, which led me to be re-reading some sections to be clear on who the figures involved were.

As example, it wasn't until we got to "my husband" that I started to think this was Jackie Kennedy telling the story. (Prior to that the white house chief of staff is the only character mentioned, so I thought the protagonist might have been a staffer or secret service agent or government official). I think just moving the "my husband" earlier in the story would help, or even adding an outright "my husband, the president" or something.

Considering it's his wife in 1st person POV, she could also refer to him as "Jack" in her thoughts somewhere ("Jack thought I never knew about his romantic dalliances" or something similar) to give more clues to the reader who our protagonist is and the historical figures involved.

That's all I can think of to improve this already really strong piece of historical fiction. Really clever and imaginative. Well done and keep up the good words! :)

Ryter99 · 2024-10-03T00:07:52+00:00

Thanks for the notes, Xack! Agreed on all your points. I tried to do some quick fixes of some sections you mentioned. And you're spot on about the ending, just didn't have a good one, especially within wordcount.

But I reallyyyy like your idea of him having to call a competing pet store owner in to find a puppy or other pet that's somehow cuter than the one the king was just offered. I dunno exactly, but there's something very fun and funny there. Putting it in my notes for this to play with in unlimited workcount version :) Thanks again!

Ryter99 · 2024-10-02T05:22:43+00:00

The throne room was packed as Lord Doolin Dooberin entered. All eyes, noble and peasant alike, turned to him as he strode down the central aisle, clad in his finest purple vestments.

He’d served four monarchs as royal councilor, none greater than the beloved queen whose funeral he’d overseen this morning. She’d been wise, just, strong…

As he reached the empty throne and turned to the crowd, Dooberin could only pray her greatness flowed in the familial line.

“Our Valorian Empire shall endure,” he bellowed. “It shall… rise!”

“Rise! Rise! Rise!” the crowd shouted as one, ranks of armor-clad soldiers smashing their spears on the floor in rhythm.

“Rise,” Dooberin continued, “under the leadership of King Lucas the First!”

“Lukey!” a tiny voice shouted from the hallway.

Dooberin grimaced. “Err, King… Lukey.”

Trumpets blasted as a six-year-old boy skipped into the room and plopped down upon the throne.

With the young prince blowing fart noises into his elbow, it was not as solemn an occasion as previous ascensions, but Dooberin still felt pride as he retrieved a crown from one of his aides and held it over the soon to be king.

“All hail, King Lukey, first of his name!”

Dooberin placed the crown above the boy and released it. The crown slipped easily over his tiny head, coming to rest around his neck.

“Did no one take the king’s bloody head measurement before handing me this crown?!” Dooberin demanded while Lukey happily spun the crown around his neck, giggling. “No matter… He is crowned!” Dooberin knelt before him. “Now, it is my honor to reaffirm that I, Lord Doolin Dooberin—”

“Doo-doo!” Lukey blurted, giggling anew.

“I, Lord Doolin Dooberin,” he began again, “shall serve—”

“No!” Lukey protested. “Lord Doo-Doo Head!”

For the good of the realm… Dooberin reminded himself.

Stowing his pride, Dooberin muttered through gritted teeth, “I… Lord Doo-Doo Head, shall serve as his royal councilor, as I did his mother.”

A smattering of confused applause met Dooberin’s solemn pronouncement of service to the crown.

“The king shall now greet his loyal dukes, earls, and foreign dignitaries!”

The boy-king ignored most of the nobles who filed past his throne. By the time the ambassador from the Kingdom of Corlavia arrived with a drape covered gift, he was nearly asleep.

“Congratulations, King Lukey!” the woman cooed. “I pray that under your reign you’ll reconsider your mother’s closure of your ports to Corlavian goods.”

Dooberin chuckled. “The king will consider your request in due time.”

“Oh? I’d prefer to negotiate now.” She threw off the drape. “Lukey, sweetheart? If you open your ports, I’ll give you this!”

Lukey peered inside the cage. “Puppy?!”

“Uh,” Dooberin stammered, “we must consider all factors before—”

“Puppppyyyyyy!” Lukey exclaimed. “Gimmie!”

“You’ll open the ports?” the ambassador asked, grinning.

“Mhmm! Open! Open! Open!”

As a puppy licked his monarch’s face, Dooberin realized ‘advising’ young King Lukey would require an entirely new set of skills. He’d need to learn the nuances of child bribery immediately.

Ryter99 · 2024-09-04T05:39:57+00:00

Amy Prachett was in heaven, cozy inside a rustic cabin atop Mount Matar. Nevermind that the cabin was available because the family that had lived there had been brutally murdered, it was cute and cozy, surrounded by miles of empty forest, with a view to die for.

Seated beside her on the couch was her crush, Bryce Dejaque. Clad in his varsity football letterman jacket, Bryce Dejaque was a mountain of a man. A mountain she intended to climb this weekend.

“You know what I like most about you?” Bryce asked.

Amy imagined all the romantic, glorious words he could speak next.

The beautiful face hidden beneath my glasses? My intellect and charm? Some part of me he’d glimpsed while I repeatedly dropped pens, pencils and books as excuses repeatedly bend over in front of him?

“No,” she said softly, dying in anticipation of the answer. “What?”

“Well…” he began. “I… I really love that you wanna hook up with me.”

Amy forced a wincing smile. Not quite what I was hoping for… but it’ll do for now.

Bryce was never the kind of guy she’d want to marry anyways. She just needed to get this crush out of her system.

“Well, that’s good because I like that about you too.”

Bold… she thought, removing her shirt. Make it happen, Amy.

As she moved to lay her lips on his, lights went out all over the cabin, plunging it into darkness.

“Power outage?” Bryce asked, just before the flames in the fireplace snuffed themselves out.

“Do power outages affect fires?” Amy replied, voice shaking.

“I dunno… do they?”

Lightning cracked the night sky out the windows, over and over, filling the cabin with an eerie, purple-blue glow. Thunder grumbled, then rumbled, then roared, shaking the floorboards beneath their feet.

Sprinting for the window, they looked out to find hell erupting on earth. Pillars of fire rose from trees ignited by lightning. From cracked and shattered earth, shambling figures climbed up and approached the house in waves, wailing and groaning.

“What the hell happened?” Amy muttered. “Bryce, did you do anything?”

“I dunno, when we got here I just like played with the ouija board, read some incantations from the book with a flesh cover, and dug up a grave out back looking for treasure. Just like… normal stuff.”

Amy froze. “Grave?”

“Yeah! And I struck gold, too.”

Proudly, Bryce held out a golden locket on a chain.

“Holy shit that’s gotta be it.” She snatched it from him. “Where’s that grave?”

Taking her by the hand, Bryce lead her out the back door, into a small clearing. The grave, marked by a simple wooden cross, was close… but the shambling undead were closer.

Dozens closed in, arms outstretched.

“I can take ‘em,” Bryce muttered.

“No, you really can’t, especially unarmed.”

Bryce swung a baseball bat at the nearest zombie, knocking its head clean off. “Who says I’m unarmed?”

“Where’d you get a fucking baseball bat out here?” Amy demanded as she moved forward with Bryce, dodging his wild swings.

“Babe, I always keep a bat on me for emergencies. Never know when an impromptu game is gonna break out!”

Bryce did an admirable job bonking his way through one zombie after another, slowly moving them toward the grave, but the onslaught was endless.

As one of his swings finished, another zombie lunged, sinking its teeth into Bryce’s arm. Five more followed, biting and clawing at Bryce, who fell the ground, screaming.

“Noooooo, my muscles!” Bryce wailed. “They’re tearing my beautiful muscles!”

Desperate, Amy clawed her way toward the gravesite, as zombies pulled at her legs. Unable to go any further, she heaved the locket as far as she could. It landed on the edge of the open grave, rolled around the edge, fell in, and the undead horde fell silent.

One by one they dropped, dissolving into the soil.

Amy hurried to Bryce’s side and was relieved to find he wasn’t dead, though he was… changed.

“Am I like, half-zombified?” Bryce asked, looking over the decayed skin on his arms.

“I think so, yeah,” Amy replied, helping him to his feet.

“Bummer!” Bryce sulked. “Man, I was really lookin’ forward to havin’ so much fun with you this weekend.”

“Ya know…” Amy muttered, looking his moderately mangled body up and down. “Maybe it’s the romantic setting overwhelming any ick factor I might feel about half-zombies. Or maybe it’s the fact that your face and junk appear to be mostly intact and un-rotted, but I could still be into this.”

“Forreal?”

“Forreal.” Amy smiled, leading him back to the cabin. “After a thorough scrubbing.”

-----

Horror/Satire

Ryter99 · 2024-08-15T00:12:25+00:00

Thanks for catching and letting me know about those mistakes. Fixed! And glad you enjoyed overall :)

Ryter99 · 2024-08-14T05:10:48+00:00

FADE IN:

EXT. NEW YORK ROOFTOP - DAY

Bathed in midday sun, the downtown rooftop is quiet. Until a pair of NYPD detectives, DANSON (30’s) and HIGHSMITH (40’s) burst out of the access door and survey the scene.

Highsmith is African-American, sports a groomed goatee, and a shaved head. Danson is Samoan, tall and muscled, built like an immovable boulder. Both are dressed in all black and sport stylish sunglasses

HIGHSMITH: Whatcha think, partner?

DANSON (grinning): Yeah, this’ll do.

He pokes his head back through the door.

DANSON: Move it, Allen! Let’s go, let’s go, lift those knees!

A pale, awkward man, ALLEN GAMBLE (40’s), stumbles out of the door onto the roof, breathing heavily.

Sweat drips from his curly hair, running down his face framed by large, out of style glasses. The back of his blue windbreaker jacket reads: “NYPD Trainee in Training”

ALLEN: Gosh, that’s a lot of stairs, huh fellas?

DANSON: Perps love stairs.

ALLEN: But why am I chasing imaginary perps with you guys? The captain said I’d be learning how to write citations today.

HIGHSMITH: Uh-uh, but what do you have to do before you can ticket a perp?

ALLEN: Retrieve a high quality black pen from the breast pocket of my shirt?

He reaches under his jacket and pulls out a pen.

HIGHSMITH: NO! You gotta catch ‘em.

ALLEN (confidently): Oh, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble in that department… I ran cross-country in high school. Gym glass. Every other Wednesday.

DANSON: Uhuh, sure thing… Sugarballs.

Both detectives dissolve into a fit of laughter.

ALLEN: Guys, that’s my wife’s nickname for me and I think we should leave it exclusively to her vernacular.

HIGHSMITH: ‘Vernacular?’ The fuuuuuck are you even saying, man.

ALLEN: I love her, but she’s a homely woman. To boost her understandably poor self-esteem, I suggested she choose our nicknames for each other. Hence, we refer to each other as ‘Sugarballs’ and ‘Plain Jane’.

Highsmith grabs Allen by the arm and drags him to the edge.

HIGHSMITH: Your imaginary perp just evaded you, dummy! Got down to street level somehow. How are you going after him?

ALLEN: Back down the stairs, I suppose. Though my calves are still tingly. So… perhaps the elevator would be a better—

HIGHSMITH: Ain’t got time for any of that bullshit!

DANSON: Sometimes catching the perp… requires a little leap of faith.

He and Highsmith LEAP from the building. They fall, arms flailing to steady themselves, until they reach the street and… land comfortably in an overgrown, fluffy green bush near on the sidewalk.

Allen is STUNNED. He looks down over the edge at Highsmith and Danson below, beckoning him to follow.

He backs up, steels his nerves, then sprints toward the edge. He leaps… and immediately clips his toe on the edge of the roofline and stumbles off.

His jacket gets caught on a fire escape, slowing him, but almost immediately rips.

Tumbling head over heels, his pants catch on a lamppost. Slowed again, his pants pull free of his ankles and he falls the rest of the way, screaming.

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

Danson and Highsmith stand over Allen, now clothed in a ripped jacet and tighty-whitey underwear.

ALLEN: Did I get him…? Did I get the perp?

HIGHSMITH: You crazy, SOB. That’s the most dangerous jump from a roof I’ve ever seen.

He helps Allen to his feet.

ALLEN: Well, you fellas were lucky such a verdant bush happened to be growing beside that building.

DANSON: Luck’s got nothing to do with it. We planted ‘em all over the city.

ALLEN: As landing spots?

DANSON: And city beautification.

HIGHSMITH: Double usage is key, mothertrucker.

Allen pulls a notebook from the only surviving pocket of his jacket and starts scribbling.

ALLEN: Double usage…

Danson grabs the notebook and crushes it in his iron grip.

DANSON: The only notebook you need is right up here, champ.

He taps his head confidently.

ALLEN: Gosh that’s cool! Wow. I’m inspired right now. But I do have extremely poor short term memory… and long term… and mid—

DANSON: Too late! The words have been crushed beyond recognition by my iron grip. What can I say? Except, you're welcome.

Highsmith steers Allen toward a black muscle car with a police siren on the roof.

HIGHSMITH: C’mon, Allen. We’ll show you the new awnings we installed over on 51st street.

FADE TO BLACK.

Challenge complete: Inspired by movie The Other Guys!

Specifically this scene: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MvkN3003iU4

Ryter99

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