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Instead of pumping a hoof, let's pump the gas. Pedal to the metal and hit the ramp so we can hit the ground running. Start your story in the middle because nobody wants to watch a NASCAR driver taking a piss before the race. [actually, if that's your kink... submit a prompt to the next competition. Let's make everyone write about it.]
I want to see the conflict at the starting line and wrecks along the way. Inject drama with a Chase for the Cup near the end. Instant replay shows you nailed that part, but consider cutting to commercial a sentence or so sooner.
"towards his goal" is ambiguous without the last line. Fix that if cutting.
I want to see the conflict at the starting line and wrecks along the way. Inject drama with a Chase for the Cup near the end. Instant replay shows you nailed that part, but consider cutting to commercial a sentence or so sooner.
"towards his goal" is ambiguous without the last line. Fix that if cutting.
This story is beautiful like a son set sprinkling a palate of reds and yellows among the clouds.
It's a bit of a lark and nonsense, but everything in service to the joke. Good length choice.
You have my permission to write gay shit for no reason whatsoever. I support incidental shipping.
The boomerang joke worked great.
It's a bit of a lark and nonsense, but everything in service to the joke. Good length choice.
You have my permission to write gay shit for no reason whatsoever. I support incidental shipping.
The boomerang joke worked great.
I wasn't digging the conflict here. These pones needed more skin in the game. It felt dry and saggy, like a granny's tits after she's been living in the air-conditioned retirement home for years and they don't have a humidifier. Make it more pert, smooth, and tight. Focus on the nipples conflict. Let's take a gander, eh?
Boring. This idea continues until the buffs speak. Knock it off. The words that don't matter don't count. For this paragraph, the blink and squint captures every idea. The rest is a waste. The question could lead to a punchline from another character, but the inherent irony is just a withered husk of potential.
Cartography of War kept my interest by throwing together two characters in constant conflict. This one not so much.
He blinked, squinting at the horizon. Nope, not a trick of the eyes. What the hay was anyone else doing out here in these wastes?
Boring. This idea continues until the buffs speak. Knock it off. The words that don't matter don't count. For this paragraph, the blink and squint captures every idea. The rest is a waste. The question could lead to a punchline from another character, but the inherent irony is just a withered husk of potential.
Cartography of War kept my interest by throwing together two characters in constant conflict. This one not so much.
I'd like to like this story, but it drags on like a kiss with a needy girlfriend who you want to break up with but can't be bothered because there's nobody else to date in your little town so why bother. And her kisses taste like stale cigarettes and coffee. Except the cigarettes are fancy words. And the coffee is long paragraphs. Thanks, but I want my kisses without bitter ash flavors.
Or maybe switch to cocaine and weed to make it a long strange trip.
Or maybe switch to cocaine and weed to make it a long strange trip.
This story was well-written, but the premise was like waking to find that my cat had dropped a live snake in my bed, but instead of a snake, it's a bald eagle, and I don't have a cat.
Hard to see how that happened.
Maybe the eagle is really Daring Do's dead child, returned to haunt her dreams? Or maybe I'm that kid's mom, and abandoned him at birth, but tracked him down and stand outside his window every night, staring inside and dreaming of what could have been. Or maybe it's someone else's kid, and I'm a creepy stalker who's going to get a face full of buck shot when the kid's dad breaks down the door and finds me in the window.
Hard to see how that happened.
Maybe the eagle is really Daring Do's dead child, returned to haunt her dreams? Or maybe I'm that kid's mom, and abandoned him at birth, but tracked him down and stand outside his window every night, staring inside and dreaming of what could have been. Or maybe it's someone else's kid, and I'm a creepy stalker who's going to get a face full of buck shot when the kid's dad breaks down the door and finds me in the window.