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Short Story Contest #7 - Space Opera

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Level 18
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Thats actually your third post that says you want to judge. However, you didnt even have an account when the last SSC was hosted, so Im afraid youre not qualified to judge.

Wolfe has participated in the 5th SSC and proven he has the knowledge of storywriting in that contest, so he would be a fine judge.
 
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It will make more sense if I can make the concept a whole and write this thing.

I also noticed theres a dance festival called Under the Black Sun, so its a common line to use. Like I said: the title may change and most likely will. Ill see what I can come up with when I progress further with my story.
 
My story is to be entitled:

Windflower

More details soon.


EDIT -

To all the people trashing the name "under the empty sun" - please go away. the name is fine. Even if its close to another name, it would not be the first time something of that nature has happened. The name, like writing, takes artistic licence, if you can't get that, then don't join or criticize. The name is, in my opinion, an interesting title, as such things should portray more than just the obvious nature of the story, but what the story actually means, its deeper motives.
 
Level 18
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Under the Empty Sun...
The title leaves me to wonder what's all about.
I'll just have to wait for the short story (or WIP) to come out just to know...

By the way, I'll like to join the contest too.
I already got 1490 words typed, minus the title which I don't have at the moment...
 
Level 18
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I know you were ^^

Anyway, back on topic: I finalised the concept of my new story and its getting late, so I think I will call it a day soon and start writing and possibly showing my first WIP tomorrow.
Now, the contest REALLY starts >:D
 
Level 18
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lol of course not. Its just a logo to bring a bit of a matching mood to the contest theme ^^

Anyway, here's the start of my story. Constructive feedback is as always very welcome :)
“...and St. Chrea protected this place with faith alone. This is why we dedicated this place, this cathedral, to the sacred St. Chrea. Ezaran.”
“Ezaran”, the crowd repeated.
The horns started playing their music and the crowd bowed their heads as they left the cathedral in an orderly fashion. The priest who just finished his prayers stayed at his pedestal to watch the sea of light blue cowls slowly flow through the doors.
When the last of the crowd were out of sight, a new man entered, dressed in long light blue robes like the people who just left. He got on his knees and made some gestures with his arms, although hidden in long, wide sleeves. After a small pause, the man reached out to the statue that was placed next to the door. The statue was of a scaled reptile with a book in his left hand and his right hand clamped around an amulet hanging by his chest. The statue itself was bronze, but was dressed in leather robes like the priest’s. The man gently touched the statue’s head with a similar scaly hand and then touched his own. He slowly stood up and walked to the pedestal where the priest still hadn’t moved.
“Oulteza Damien, the Gathering requests your presence. I have already summoned the other Oulteza’s, so they will probably be there by now.”
“Thank you”, the priest replied. “I will be there shortly.”
The man bowed his head and left the large room just as calm. The priest mumbled his prayers and then looked up from under his bright white cowl to gaze upon the marvelous architecture of the ceiling. A glimpse of a small, blue head revealed itself and its small eyes could only just peek under the cloth covering to see the authentic drawings that hung above him.
“Ezaran…”
He closed the book on the pedestal, stored it under his robes and left the now empty halls.

“Ah, Damien, welcome.”
Damien entered a room carved out of a mountain wall. He was no longer the only one dressed in bright white robes. In fact, the dozens of people that had already gathered had the same clothing. Damien kneeled by the statue at the door, spoke his prayers and touched the cold, bronze head. He then joined his brethren in the room and the meeting could begin.
“Oulteza’s of the Codex, welcome to the 53rd Gathering”, one of the hooded men said. “I’m sure all of you are wondering why I summoned you.”
Unlike most crowds that would start whispering their guesses and expectations, this group stayed completely calm, waiting for the man to continue.
“I have been blessed with a vision from St. Chrea himself. He has shown me our future in Ascension. And he has given me the gift to share it with you today.”
He raised his four-fingered hands and rays of light hit the statue behind the preaching man. This statue was of the same man as the one at the entrance, only thrice the size and it stood with its arms raised as if it were embracing the air. The light reflected to various corners in the room, where it in turn was all reflected to the middle of the room. The group of priests now took new places with the assembly of light as new the centre of attention.
It slowly began to dim, until out of nowhere the shape of an energized orb appeared. The energy visibly flowed all over the room until it seemed to burst out. For a second, every corner was illuminated with the brightest light, but none of the faithful priests backed down or covered their eyes. When the lights slowly faded away, the vision vanished into thin air as well. For the first time since the Gathering started, some priests acted different than others. Some were stunned, while others had a small satisfied smile on their faces. The man who raised his arms now lowered them to continue his speech.
“As you’ve all seen, the day of Ascension is coming. After many centuries of faith, we will finally be closer to the Gods to live in harmony. However…” he said with a small pause, “…this gift comes at a price.”
All priests were calm and focused again to hear the news.
“We have searched and found the location where the Ascension will start. It is deep within the Meyi system, where the Boalans live. We must not allow these unbelievers to interfere with the Gods’ plans.”
He took his time to look at every priest and proceeded.
“The Meyi system must be cleansed in order to let the Gods carry out their plan. It is clear what our objective is, that is also why I have called this gathering. As Oulteza’s, you must spread the word and keep faith high with all our inhabitants. In the upcoming weeks, we will prepare the armies to make an interstellar journey and clear out the system. It is our duty to accompany them on that journey and keep them on the path that will lead us to victory and harmony. You will all be informed a week before departure which platoons you will support. May the Gods help us through our upcoming ordeal. Ezaran…”
“Ezaran…” the Oulteza’s replied.
They left the room to go home with a goal in sight.
 
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Level 7
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Guess i'll enter again, it certainly kept me entertained when I wasn't stressing about other things. Here's a introductory WIP.

And the title is of course, without any speculation or doubt: "The Superfluous Misadventures of Hamik, his Twin Sisters Granit and Garnet, and a Peculiar Fish Named Larry"


“A man who drifts alone in life is a shell of life. He’s forgotten not only how to walk, but how to crawl, how to progress, only through the flow of life itself does he move at all.” A stoic man, laden in fabric drifts endlessly against the glow of the stars alone, his name is Hamik. His ship slowly orbits the sun, already miles away now. Spiraling towards the center of Odysseus the parent star of the system, he closes his eyes waiting calmly for the light warm embrace of the suns deadly rays to bare their fangs. “A man who drifts alone in life is a shell of life.” Hamik looks out of his visor towards Odysseus, the small granules of the stars surface shift and contour, like the cells of his own body. A flare ignites near a pole of the star. Bright liquid flames rush into space and disperse. “He’s forgotten not only how to walk, but how to crawl, how to progress.” Hamik stopped arching his head, he was beginning to rotate now, he decided to look forward and observe. A glimpse of Leon—the only planet that supports life in this system—came into view. It was a soft blue orb, slowly etching its way across the black canvas of void. “Only through the flow of life itself does he move at all.”
 
Level 5
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Space Opera. You should have chosen Xenosaga to represent. xD

In any case, this could be interesting... to watch. >_>

No appointed judges, yet? It's hard to judge fiction... Lots and lots of reading. Mulling over is not an option.
 
Level 18
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Heya. I'll give this a try. I'm thinking of writing a science-fiction story that shares some of the same style as the Hobbit -- an adventure that isn't too serious. Would that fit into the category.

As long as the story is completely yours and you didnt start working on your story before the contest started, you should be fine. Be careful not to make it look too much like the Hobbit or you might feel the sting in originality.

PS: Also be aware that not all science-fiction is space opera. Mind the theme! ^^
 
Level 17
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I would like to judge this.

what makes you think you can judge the contest?
you might want to start showing why you think you are capable for the position.

Can we make references to existing stories? For example using a portal gun in one or two scenes, but not basing the entire plot on them.
i'd think so, there's nothing saying i can't have one paragraph talking about star trek in an anecdote then continuing the main plot.
 
Level 18
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I would like to judge this.

I have to agree with Lioness on this. I've seen you wanted to judge at the Short Story Contest #5 as well, and even though you show that you still want to judge story-writing contests, I don't think you've joined a writing contest before or wrote anything outside of a contest on THW. If you want, you could still put your own reviews in here once the entries start being finalized.
But until people can see you know enough about writing to judge, I dont think it would be a good idea just yet.
 
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I have to agree with Lioness on this. I've seen you wanted to judge at the Short Story Contest #5 as well, and even though you show that you still want to judge story-writing contests, I don't think you've joined a writing contest before or wrote anything outside of a contest on THW. If you want, you could still put your own reviews in here once the entries start being finalized.
But until people can see you know enough about writing to judge, I dont think it would be a good idea just yet.

I agree, I just think it'd be best to word it, people need to know YOU know how to write, you may write perfectly well and judge exceptionally but no one can back you on it until you've entered a few contests here/we get to know you and your abilities.
 
Level 16
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WIP:
Title: The Final Memory
Progress: 2 Chapters
I woke to find myself in the cold arms of space, shrouded in darkness that foretold my fate... My fate to die in the icy black plane I was now in. Inside of me, I felt as though I have lost something, something important, as if a void swallowed everything inside of me. I looked back at how I ended up here but found nothing in my mind. This worried me as I have found nothing but this moment. I now understood what was lost... My memories.
 
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Final WiP before final product.



INTRODUCTION

In a fair world, Fred would be the one making the decisions in upper-management; mistakes would be treated loosely and forgiveness would be dealt out more commonly than pink slips. But in this world, Fred had a smoking habit that seemed to worsen with each passing day. Fixing commercial-class engines was hard work, especially with the added pressure of having expensive cargo transports depending on their running smoothly.

It was a typical Saturday in open space; Fred had gotten a little careless and dropped a cigarette into a small pool of ship fuel during his rotation. The fire scorched a sub-unit of a commercial-class engine, and rendered it useless and beyond repair. After the panic of the crew had subsided and the fire had been doused, Fred was summoned to the overseer’s office.

“Just give me another chance to make it up to you,” Fred pleaded. Craig, the dark-skinned overseer of the repair bay, considered nothing of the sort.
“You’ve had more chances than most get. I’ll give you until tomorrow afternoon to be packed and ready for transport.”
“Don’t do this, Craig! It’ll be years before I can get a gig like this again. Listen to me, I’m begging you, I’ve lived and worked with you on the Terra Platform for three years now—“
“—this isn’t up for discussion; especially not with a man who can’t be bothered to buy a goddamned nicotine patch, for god’s sake!” Fred had heard this all before, but the last time he had an argument about his smoking habit Craig had threatened to flush him out an airlock, so he decided to let it be.
“I wish we had ended this differently, because I know I’m the best damn repairman you’ve got and you’re going to need me if you expect to get these engines out in time for the next cargo haul.”
“The best, yeah, of course,” Craig laughed.
“When your uncle recommended you like a prime rib at a steakhouse, I was interested because I thought you had potential. It took… it took about a year after the accident before I realized what would become of you.
“Truthfully, I wish I would’ve ended this sooner.”

The discussion hadn’t gone in Fred’s favor. It seemed odd having to return to Terra, maybe it was the connections he had made with some of the crew aboard the platform, or how he could maneuver around the bay blind-folded if he had to, or that he knew that if he left now, he would be leaving behind a part of his life that he could never get back.

PART 1 – ACT 1

As if losing his job wasn’t enough, after the engagement was over all of the vendors aboard the Terra Platform were given strict instructions not to sell nicotine-based products to the low-and-behold Fred Kirby. While walking the green mile back to his quarters, Fred remembered his life on Terra, what he had learned, and why he had left.

About the time Fred started working on the platform it became apparent to him he hadn’t any family left; he was an only child when his parents had died in the Terra confederacy. He had spent most of his life living and working with his uncle. When he was old enough, his uncle hired him to begin working in his citizen-class ship bay, adjusting fuel lines and bolting down metallic plates until he could be trusted outfitting engines. Eventually, Fred had outdone his uncle. Much like a blacksmith’s apprentice must make his masterpiece before exceeding in rank; the lowly-repairman had begun refitting engines with the precision and speed of an entire crew.

Things were going smoothly and his work had become his one-and-only passion. His uncle had taught him everything he knew, and from his example he had become a master of his art. His uncle was proud, and sent him on a pilgrimage to the Terra Platform when he was nineteen. They gladly hired him after watching him repair a civilian-class engine faster than their overseer did when he worked the line.

After a year had passed he felt truly comfortable in his new home. He had a sense of belonging, and the pressure did him some good. He was fit from lifting engine parts for examination and repair every day.

Everything changed when his uncle died. It was from there that things had begun to go downhill. He embraced living above Terra, though; something about being away from those he loved made him feel less connected to them. He felt like a ghost, and that was just the way he liked it from then on.

After awhile being away from it all wasn’t enough. He thought of life as useless, and took up smoking as a result. He liked the taste, the smell, and the way others looked at him when he used. He felt intimidating, worthless, and wasted, someone others would deter from being with. He didn’t want to make any connections he wouldn’t be able to keep; he’d made that mistake too many times before.

PART 2 – ACT 1

He threw his clothes into his workbag like bin-boys sift through trash, and then squished his bad down so everything would fit. He was packed and ready to leave, head back to his home.

He walked to Shipping and Stationing, it was a trek he hadn’t made since he got there.
 
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how do you judge anyways?

  • Score shall be taken out of 50 points,
    • 15 for Style
    • 10 points for theme
    • 10 points for pacing
    • 10 points for creativity and originality
    • 5 points for eloquence
Style is distinct to all writers. It's the consistency of how they write. Style isn't something you pick up automatically; it is what comes after years of writing and finding out what writing techniques the writer likes best. You can tell that a certain work is written by someone because of how it's written. Style is hard to catch from one piece of work, though. You'd need to know what else the writer has written because what you look for in Style is someone's writing habits. Not bad writing habits, though; good writing habits like being able to hold a certain amount of detail or how much the writer integrates themselves into the story.

I'm guessing that Theme is easy points. Just make sure that the story has all elements of a Space Opera. At the same time, theme changes from story to story and usually only implied. You have to read the entire story to understand the theme, the message that the story has. Sometimes the theme is easy to find. Writers with a higher writing standard hide the theme to make sure that their readers are paying attention to what they are reading.

Pacing is how fast/slow the story moves through time. Consistency is best here, make sure that the story doesn't have ten pages dedicated to one moment, skip three days in-story, then do it again, skip five years, have 60 pages, skip a week, etc. A slow example is spending ten pages describing a vase. Yeah... These aren't the best examples of pacing, because you'd need to get fairly far into a story before saying that the story moves too fast or too slow. The writer does have the right withhold key information, is why.

Creativity and Originality speaks for itself. It changes for every writer, so giving advice here is moot.

Eloquence shows the reader how the writer has mastered the English language. Vocabulary, connotations, grammar, conjugations, it's all here. The big one in my experience as a writer and editor-of-sorts is knowing your synonyms and make sure those synonyms are being used the way they should be used. Here's a good example: What's the difference between anger, hatred, agitated, rage, and ire? They're all related to anger, but the implications for each are slightly different; you can't just simply replace anger with any of the other four and say it works. Trust me, any writing instructor/teacher knows when this happens, because of how frequently it happens. They're not the same word. If they all had the exact same meaning as anger, there's no need for them.

Hatred - Anger with strong dislike, aversion, and/or hostility.
Agitated - Agitation can lead to anger, but you get things like this and it's easy to point out people aren't using a Thesaurus correctly. This is more like annoyed or disturbed. It can also mean excited, but these days we don't use it for that, anymore.
Rage - Anger and violence put together.
Ire - Very strong anger. Can also be wrath of the same degree.
 
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omg a wip wtf! Working title, by the way. Haven't really reviewed grammar stuff:


Space Crazy

Nads rose and fell.

"Jeez, it's pie, I swear!"

The priest crossed his arms and sighed. "Why everyone listens to you is a mystery. I certainly don't anymore, and neither does God. You've tricked us all more than a few times."

Nads rose and fell again, leaving a sweaty outline on the floor.

The cook set one dirty hand on his hip and thrust a pointed finger toward the priest's face. "Listen, Jeez, do you have a problem with pie, or something?"

"Pie, just yesterday, you insisted that your legal name was Cake. Why must you play these Games with me?"

Nads rose and stayed upright this time, taking a break from her sit-ups. "Hey, dicksmack, nobody cares what your name is. Just finish preparing the damned simili simili-beef bourguignon and shut up."

Ianele the priest nodded. "It seems our Lord Above agrees with the captain, for once. You'd best listen, or feel the wrath of both your divine superiors." He winked at Nadija. A frustrated vein exploded somewhere in her sweaty forehead.

Nadija captained this vessel. Its name was irrelevant, since none of its illiterate crew actually knew it. Ianele the priest, often called Jeez by his companions, liked to believe that he could read, but in reality he was just exceptionally good at spontaneously generating sentences that sounded right, and used this talent to feign comprehension.

Pie was about to burst of anger, when he suddenly glimpsed the Doctor's long auburn hair and petite physique at roughly 1/1.618th of the way through his field of view, and shrank in a puff of steam.

Doc' shifted uncomfortably in her AspergerSecurehelmet™ and stared at something in the distance that didn't exist. “Hi,” she mumbled, “I am ready for dinner, mom.” She was disobedient when she first joined the ship's crew, until Nads noticed that the Doctor always craved breast milk. Convincing Doc' that Nadija was her mother was the easy part.

The crew settled down on the floor and slowly began gnawing at their stringy simili simili-beef bourguignon. Each person brought forth the day's tidings and other remarks: Nads talked about a muscle she had never noticed before; Pie discussed how delectable their food was, and how much it resembled actual animal meat; Jeez contributed a prayer of some sort; and Doc' reminisced about her university days.

"You use the hash protection system... onto the back of the queue... solve an advanced matrix, vector or differential... use these engineering principles to construct a garbage container similar to this one... try overclocking your—"

"WHAT? A garbage container?!" replied the entire crew, jointly dropping each of their mangled rat dinners (they were eating rats, by the way).

Doc' actually faced Nadija instead of staring at her feet. "Building garbage containers is a trivial task. The most common way currently uses a construction method called Galactic Dumpster Injection which when coupled with amortized analysis of augmented red-black tree lazy deletion and assuming that the Cartesian product of any family of nonempty sets is a nonempty set itself, the rest follows. This procedure clearly implies that we are in such a garbage container now."

Nobody understood nor heard this nonsense anyway because Ianele had been flailing his arms in the air and yelling in tongues for the past thirty seconds, and Pie had been wailing as well. Nads bolted to her feet in an instant, like a rainbow shooting out of a gay man's mouth, and began pacing.

"Of course, your unrest seems logical, due undoubtedly to our impending death," added the Doctor. "Some might say this is a disadvantage, but in modern times, stellar incineration truly is the most efficient method to dispose of trash. I believe I can feel my blood temperature rising even as we speak."
 
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