Due 3/12: Writing Assignment

[dorkelf]

Contest guidelines: By day, your character leads a seemingly normal life. But by night...

You may post submissions directly to this thread. Please keep non-contest posts and content reasonably short - we don't want anyone to have trouble navigating the thread and reading all the entries.

Contest-eligible submissions must be posted or pm'ed to me anonymously on or before the deadline date, must be 500 words or less in length, and must be appropriate for audiences of young teens to adults. I reserve the right to edit or remove any entries if, in my sole discretion, they are inappropriate for such an audience. Contestants also must critique at least one other entry - keep in mind that meaningful critiques go beyond simple non-critical statements like "I liked it" or "nice work". If you're not familiar with the process of critiquing, please see my post on the topic in this forum.

Paul

 

[tjguitarz]

HA! This one will have ninjas fo' sho'.

 

[Lazarus]

Ninjas? Where?!

Title: Black and Gold Soup.

By day, head of the largest soup company in the world.
By night, working a night shift as a bank guard? Yes. Sad, shocking, stunning - but true.

How was it possible? Could Mr. Chicken P. Soup - the CEO of the Campbell Soup company - actually work at the First National Bank of Beverly Hills as a night watchman?

“Lafe, hand me that shovel.” C$ grunted, throwing the pick aside.
“Here you go.” Lafe Crick said lazily from his postion atop a pile of moneybags, tossing a shovel to C$.

C$ leaned on his shovel for a minute, pulling a can of soup out of his pocket. He dropped it on its side and sliced the lid off with the shovel blade.
“Slurrrrrp.”

“Get digging, you lazy bum.” he growled at Lafe, shoving the shovel head into the dirt.
Lafe moaned something about his sore back and slowly picked up a space.

The two night watchmen continued digging their tunnel - which led from the vault to the outside.

The Campbell Soup company had lost money steadily for the past three years due to its CEO eating up half the output of the company. Creative accounting practices kept it afloat, but unless some hard cash was injected into the company soon - it was going nowhere but down.

Jed Clampett’s money would certainly take care of that problem, though…

As C$ raised his shovel , he heard footsteps.
“Hide, Lafe!” he whispered.
“…Lafe?”
C$ turned around. Lafe was asleep on a pile of coins, snoring loudly. C$ sighed disgustedly and dragged him behind a pile of moneybags, crouching down. He opened another can of soup and ate quietly -waiting.

The third guard walked into the vault, looking round suspiciously.
C$ peeked over the top of his hiding place. Moonlight shone full on the face of the intruder.
“Dang it.” he muttered.

Gary Coleman spotted the hole, shovels… and the empty soup cans. He pulled out his radio. “Time to call the cops.”
Summoning all of his strength into his arms, C$ heaved Lafe Crick into the air. He torpedoed down on Coleman, who collapsed; the radio cracking as it hit the floor.

As C$ lunged, Coleman grabbed his gun(a tiny .5 caliber derringer) and aimed.
“Hold it!” he squeaked. C$ plastered a can of soup over his face and grabbed the gun.

Mr. Drydesdale had heard the commotion and rushed into the vault. He tripped over the dozing Lafe Crick and fell head-first into the tunnel.
“Well, get ‘im out.” C$ ordered, handing Gary Coleman a trowel(biggest shovel he could handle) and pushing him into the hole.
They waited while below Coleman dug around the trapped Drydesdale. C$ leaned over the opening.
“How’s it coming?” he yelled.
A stream of black liquid shot out and splashed into his face.
“OIL! We’re rich!” Lafe Crick exclaimed. “Nobody else can git it either.” he growled, locking the vault shut.
“You DUMMY! We’re trapped!”
C$ sat down disgustedly with some soup.

 

[dorkelf]

Non-contest entry by Dorkelf, "Rabbit".

Rabbit emerged from a hole between the gigantic roots of a gigantic tree.

A very, very old tree. Petrified, in fact, with only a few tangled grey limbs still intact.

Rabbit sat silently, waited. The sun was rising, stirring cold air with currents of warmth. When he could see the tower rising up from the thick of the forest, Rabbit turned back around and sat up on his haunches, nose twitching, looking expectantly at the man.

A very, very old man.

He smiled as usual, bent down and lifted Rabbit, scratching him lightly behind his ears before placing him inside a large breast pouch that had been sewn into his ancient grey cloak.

“It was a long night, little one,” he said wearily. “The trees speak in riddles. I’ve learned enough though.” He pointed up at the tower. “What we’re looking for is there. And the forest will let us pass.”

He lowered his hand slowly, a look of grave concern simmering in his dark, black eyes. “Unfortunately,” he whispered, “we weren’t the first to receive permission.” His face hardened and in a sudden motion, he raised his hand again. A staff snapped into his grasp, its bright red, carved headstone glinting in the morning light. He pursed his lips with resolution and set off down the hill.

Dark shadow covered the brightening sun as they entered the thick woods. Earthen smells with an undertone of decay reached Rabbit’s twitching nose, and he squirmed in his pocket perch. But Rabbit would have been disquieted much more if he’d been positioned to see his master’s face.

The old man’s eyes were tightly round, still and unseeing. The self-induced trance protected him from the whispering magic of the forest. He strode forward, guided by his glowing staff, hearing and seeing nothing along the way. There was no similar spell on Rabbit. That species was known to be immune to magic.

“You can’t hear,” the trees whispered to Rabbit. His ears perked up. Not even the master had ever spoken to him like that, in his own language with its fullest nuance.

Rabbit knew his response would be heard and understood, but he was smart enough not to speak. The forest was neither good nor evil, friend nor foe. Its roots were deep in the world and its intentions would never be changed by any conversation. Talking could only reveal to the trees what the man might not want them to know.

“You can’t hear,” the trees repeated. “But we can hear. The stones tells us about him.”

Silence.

Then, a terrible, thunderous warning:

“HE WAITS FOR YOU!”

Rabbit ducked, so stunned that he instinctively started tunneling against the thick padding at the base of the pocket. He recovered his senses, turned backwards, stood up in the pocket, looked up into the man's eyes. Master, wait! Turn back! He is waiting for us! But the man heard nothing. Saw nothing. Continued his march, footfalls sounding in the silence.

Dead silence.

 

[tjguitarz]

Sorry everyone. I missed the contest :-( I've been really busy with my book and I let it slip by me! I let you down! *weeps*

 

[Lazarus]

I WIN BY DEFAULT?!

 

[tjguitarz]

w00t GO LAZ!

 

[dorkelf]

Indeed you do win Lazarus, congrats.

I'll get the new writing assignment posted probably sometime today.

Paul

 

[dorkelf]

Title: Black and Gold Soup.

By day, head of the largest soup company in the world.
By night, working a night shift as a bank guard? Yes. Sad, shocking, stunning - but true.

Nice opening paragraph. Draws the reader quickly into your story.

How was it possible? Could Mr. Chicken P. Soup - the CEO of the Campbell Soup company - actually work at the First National Bank of Beverly Hills as a night watchman?

However I thought this paragraph was extraneous, except for providing some full names. You can do that though in the following paragraphs.

“Lafe, hand me that shovel.” C$ grunted, throwing the pick aside.
“Here you go.” Lafe Crick said lazily from his postion atop a pile of moneybags, tossing a shovel to C$.

C$ leaned on his shovel for a minute, pulling a can of soup out of his pocket. He dropped it on its side and sliced the lid off with the shovel blade.
“Slurrrrrp.”

Again a great opening dialogue. The only thing is, if C$ drops the soup can on its side and slices the lid off with his shovel, isn't it going to spill? This seemed just a little hard for me to visualize.

“Get digging, you lazy bum.” he growled at Lafe, shoving the shovel head into the dirt.
Lafe moaned something about his sore back and slowly picked up a space.

The two night watchmen continued digging their tunnel - which led from the vault to the outside.

The Campbell Soup company had lost money steadily for the past three years due to its CEO eating up half the output of the company. Creative accounting practices kept it afloat, but unless some hard cash was injected into the company soon - it was going nowhere but down.

Jed Clampett’s money would certainly take care of that problem, though…

I'd consider moving the bit starting with 'The Campbell Soup company' up to make it the second paragraph in your story. In its current placing it interferes with the ongoing action.

As C$ raised his shovel , he heard footsteps.
“Hide, Lafe!” he whispered.
“…Lafe?”
C$ turned around. Lafe was asleep on a pile of coins, snoring loudly. C$ sighed disgustedly and dragged him behind a pile of moneybags, crouching down. He opened another can of soup and ate quietly -waiting.

The third guard walked into the vault, looking round suspiciously.
C$ peeked over the top of his hiding place. Moonlight shone full on the face of the intruder.
“Dang it.” he muttered.

Moonlight, inside a bank vault?

Gary Coleman spotted the hole, shovels… and the empty soup cans. He pulled out his radio. “Time to call the cops.”
Summoning all of his strength into his arms, C$ heaved Lafe Crick into the air. He torpedoed down on Coleman, who collapsed; the radio cracking as it hit the floor.

Watch mixed tenses. Gary Coleman collapsED, so the radio crackED as it hit the floor.

As C$ lunged, Coleman grabbed his gun(a tiny .5 caliber derringer) and aimed.

This might seem weird, but I think it is best to avoid 'as' during an action sequence, and also parenthetical remarks. The reason for avoiding 'as' is because it forces the reader to set aside one action in their mind to consider another action that is happening simultaneously. Its tough to do and can interfere with visualization. Parenthetical remarks present a similar problem to the reader - they are used to interject explanations or author's opinions which are frequently extraneous and distracting to the reader's visualization of the action. They should be used only when absolutely unavoidable. So in the above sentence, I'd recommend something like: "C$ lunged. Coleman aimed his tiny .5 calibre derringer."

“Hold it!” he squeaked. C$ plastered a can of soup over his face and grabbed the gun.

I think Coleman's line should be a seperate sentence. Also I think you need to tell the reader exactly how C$ managed to plaster a can of soup over Coleman's face BEFORE Coleman could squeeze off a shot.

Mr. Drydesdale had heard the commotion and rushed into the vault. He tripped over the dozing Lafe Crick and fell head-first into the tunnel.

Always use the shortest phrasing possible when writing action sequences. Tell me if you don't like this better:

"Mr. Drydesdale had heard the commotion. He rushed into the vault, tripped over the dozing Lafe Crick, fell head-first into the tunnel."

“Well, get ‘im out.” C$ ordered, handing Gary Coleman a trowel (biggest shovel he could handle) and pushing him into the hole.
They waited while below Coleman dug around the trapped Drydesdale.

I'm just itching to know how Coleman is reacting to all of this. It would be good if he did or said something in this paragraph, instead of just digging away without a word or comment.

C$ leaned over the opening.
“How’s it coming?” he yelled.
A stream of black liquid shot out and splashed into his face.
“OIL! We’re rich!” Lafe Crick exclaimed. “Nobody else can git it either.” he growled, locking the vault shut.
“You DUMMY! We’re trapped!”
C$ sat down disgustedly with some soup.

Fantastic twist at the end Lazarus, an excellent conclusion to a very humorous story. Hope you found some of my comments to be helpful.

Paul

 

[Lazarus]

By day, head of the largest soup company in the world.
By night, working a night shift as a bank guard? Yes. Sad, shocking, stunning - but true.

“Lafe, hand me that shovel.” Chicken Soup grunted, throwing the pick aside.
“Here you go.” Lafe Crick said lazily from his position atop a pile of moneybags, tossing a shovel to C$.

C$ leaned on his shovel for a minute, pulling a can of soup out of his pocket. His pocketknife blade ripped through the lid.
“Slurrrrrp.”

The Campbell Soup company had lost money steadily for the past three years due to its CEO eating up half the output of the company. Creative accounting practices kept it afloat, but unless some hard cash was injected into the company soon - it was going nowhere but down.

Jed Clampett’s money would certainly take care of that problem, though…

“Get digging, you lazy bum.” C$ growled at Lafe, pushing his shovel into the dirt.
Lafe moaned something about his sore back and slowly picked up a spade.

The two night watchmen continued digging their tunnel - which led from the vault to the outside.

As C$ raised his shovel , he heard footsteps.
“Hide, Lafe!” he whispered.
“…Lafe?”
C$ turned around. Lafe was asleep on a pile of coins, snoring loudly. C$ sighed disgustedly and dragged him behind a pile of moneybags, crouching down. He opened another can of soup and ate quietly -waiting.

The third guard walked into the vault, looking round suspiciously.
C$ peeked over the top of his hiding place.
“Darn - the other guard.” he muttered.

Gary Coleman spotted the hole, shovels… and the empty soup cans. He pulled out his radio. “Time to call the cops.”
Summoning all of his strength into his arms, C$ heaved Lafe Crick into the air. He torpedoed down on Coleman. The radio flew out of the guard's hand and smashed against the floor.

C$ grabbed a can of soup and lunged at the guard. Coleman went for his pistol.
"Hold it!" he squeaked, aiming.
C$ hurled the soup can into Coleman's face, diving behind an empty box.
A gunshot rang out.

Mr. Drydesdale heard the commotion and rushed into the vault.
He tripped over Lafe and sailed through the air, landing with a thump in the tunnel. Unfortunately, his legs became stuck in the narrow hole.
"HELP!"
“Well, get ‘im out.” C$ ordered, handing Gary Coleman a trowel(biggest shovel he could handle) and pushing him into the hole.
"Just because I'm short, people think they can shove me around..." Gary muttered under his breath.

They waited while below Coleman dug around the trapped Drydesdale. C$ leaned over the opening.
“How’s it coming?” he yelled.
A stream of black liquid shot out and splashed into his face.
“OIL! We’re rich!” Lafe Crick exclaimed. “Nobody else is gonna git it either.” he growled, swinging the vault door shut.
The vault door - which automatically locked...
“You DUMMY! We’re trapped!”
C$ sat down disgustedly with a bowl of soup, shaking his head.

The edited version. Thanks for the critique.

I suppose I should offer a critique of yours now - leaving in an hour or so but I'll get it up sometime today.

 

[dorkelf]

Nice edit. And no, you don't have to critique, since there was no other official entry in the contest. But of course you're welcome to - I do appreciate comments and advice on my writing.

Paul

 

[ChickenSoup]

I can't believe I forgot this, lol. I was gonna participate

 

[Lazarus]

Shame on you.

 

[Tek7]

I was hoping to type up an entry as well, but wrist pain speaks loudly and convinced me not to type any long posts.

I hope to be out of pain by the next writing contest deadline.

 

[dorkelf]

I was hoping to type up an entry as well, but wrist pain speaks loudly and convinced me not to type any long posts.

I hope to be out of pain by the next writing contest deadline.

Glad to hear that Tek. A writer with wrist pain is kinda like an opera singer with strep throat, it just ain't a happy thing.

Paul