Agincourt

This is a discussion about the story Between the Lines by Comicality. As always, there may be spoilers below so please consider yourself warned if you continue reading before reading the story itself. Eli, the first-person narrator of this story, is a college student, apparently in Chicago. As the story opens, he is having sex with his boyfriend Chris. "I never considered myself a bottom before I actually found my first boyfriend here in college," he writes, as Chris is drilling him on the bed in their dorm room. "But Chris...mmmm...Chris was everything that I imagined having an actual 'boyfriend' would be like. He was cute and sweet and sexual...I was lucky to hook up with him when I did." Almost immediately, however, the reader -- though not Eli -- detects all kinds of warning bells about this relationship. It becomes obvious to the reader, though apparently not to Eli, that Chris is not such a great find. He is, in fact, pretty much a boor. Eli is evidently so infatuated with him, and, more so, infatuated with the notion of having a boyfriend, that he somehow papers over the fact that Chris is an inconsiderate slob who seemingly cares nothing about Eli's well-being and views him primarily as a convenient and submissive piece of ass. I have to admit that when I first encountered this story, I had to stop reading it. Eli just seemed so masochistic. He made excuse after excuse for Chris in his narrative to the reader of the story. He professed not to mind when Chris ordered pizza with mushrooms, even though Chris knew that Eli hated mushrooms. And he rationalized the fact that Chris really didn't show him the kind of affection that a true boyfriend ought to show. Well before the first chapter was ended, any reader would be ready to slap Eli and tell him to come to his senses. The story has a kind of "show within the show," as Eli is in the midst of writing a highly personal story -- gay romantic fiction. (At least we assume it is gay.) He is in a creative writing class, and in that class he encounters another student named Devon. Devon is a dreamboat, cute, talented in writing, and apparently just as shy as Eli. It is obvious to the reader that sparks are destined to fly between Devon and Eli, even though Eli seems oblivious to them at first. Somehow, though, Chris's essential boorishness and lack of real consideration for Eli's essence starts to penetrate Eli's infatuated consciousness. To Eli's moral credit, he feels great guilt about questioning anything about his "relationship" with "his boyfriend, Chris." By this time, of course, the reader has gone beyond wanting to slap Eli and probably feels the urge to strangle him. In the fourth chapter, which is the last one written so far, Eli finally gets up the nerve to signify to Devon that he is interested in something more between the two of them. He sets his feelings down in an impromptu piece of writing that he reads aloud to the creative writing class. It is straight from the heart, and it would seem that Devon could not miss the message, even though he is not specifically named in the piece. The woman teaching the class effuses that the piece is terrific, and then asks for class reaction: I think it's really sad. But, like, in this really beautiful way. That largely sums up my reaction to the story. It is very sad. Eli is wasting his time trying to have any kind of meaningful relationship with Chris. In fact, although there is no actual mention of it in the story, I believe it is a virtual certainty that Chris is probably shacking up with others behind Eli's back. Here Eli has been this faithful companion and servant to Chris, putting up with his slovenly ways, his drinking, and his general fecklessness, all the while floating on this unrealistic romantic cloud. It is almost unbearable for the reader to observe. [continued in reply to this post]

I have tried repeatedly to post a new 5CBC topic, but I keep getting an error message stating "You must enter a post." My apologies for cluttering the forum with this test post, but it's very frustrating to have written something and then not be able to post it. A

In the next round, should the series continue, I would like to nominate the story Door Number Three by Ronyx. A

I'm trying to figure out what's become of this endeavor. It seems like I am posting in a vacuum. I'm thinking that if no one else wants to participate, I'm more inclined to post about stories that I choose myself. I'm not trying to whine . . . I'm just wondering what the point of having this schedule is if no one else is paying any attention to it. A

This discussion concerns the story "Derailed" by LemonFresh. There may be spoilers so you may not want to read this message before reading the story. The story is set in some unspecified time and place, presumably in the future. The narrator is 14-year-old Cameron, who is hiding with a number of others deep in an abandoned subway system. He and the others are hiding because they have been infected with some sort of virus that gives them special powers. His is a kinetic power that allows him to pick up and move (or smash to bits!) other physical objects near him. The group he is with operates a sort of Underground Railroad to locate and smuggle to safety others on "the surface" who are infected. This group is run by an archetypical moody and somewhat inscrutable leader named Corbin. Young Cameron is unhappy because he has not been allowed to accompany the teams that go to the surface. He is told that his power is not sufficiently under his control. An experiment run by another denizen of this group, computer whiz Mark, demonstrates that emotions have a strong effect on how Cameron's power manifests itself. This is especially true if something triggers a memory of Cameron's mother, who was lost (we're not entirely sure how) some 10 years earlier, probably in conjunction with Cameron's presence underground. Cameron is secretly fond of another young lad named Seth. The two of them tend to hang out together, and share a sleeping tent (though nothing happens between them). Cameron is afraid to say anything to Seth for fear he will lose the boy's friendship if his attraction is revealed. For his part, Seth does some things that cause the reader to wonder whether the feeling is mutual. After the experiment run by Mark, which culminates in Mark's electronic laboratory being smashed to pieces by Cameron's mental power that lashes out due to strong emotions, Cameron is sent to see another inscrutable figure named Magashi. This 60-year-old "master" is highly reminiscent of Laurence Fishburne's "Morpheus" character from The Matrix. Indeed, we see Cameron and Magashi engage in a training session involving physical combat that echoes the similar session that Neo and Morpheus engage in during The Matrix. Magashi tells Cameron that he's not ready to go on missions because his powers are not sufficiently under his control. Mark shares this view. Nonetheless, as Chapter 5 closes, Cameron is summoned by Corbin and told that he will be going on the next mission to the surface, a supposedly routine mission to pick up a new group of infected people on the surface. Cameron overhears a heated debate between Corbin and Mark, who opposes having Cameron go on this mission. Mark accuses Corbin of having a double standard involving another character named Andrea, a gifted healer (who has several opportunities to heal Cameron during these early chapters). The implication is that Corbin and Andrea have a secret love affair going. It's not entirely clear why such an affair would be wrong, much less why it would have to be secret. Corbin is unswayed, and as the chapter ends Cameron is on the train headed for "the surface," swallowing some nano-technology potion containing little gizmos that will fool the sensors of the bad guys on the surface who try to round up infected people. Even by chapter 5 there are still a number of unanswered story questions. What really happened to Cameron's mother? What is this infection, and how does it spread? Why are the people on the surface so terrified of those who have enhanced powers because of the infection? In many ways, the story seems to be a blend of the misunderstood mutant of X-Men fame, with the dystopic world of The Matrix, complete with bad guys (similar to Agents) ready to pounce on anyone who deviates from the norm. The one towering issue in this story is one of craft -- it is riddled with typographical errors, missing words, misspelled words ("breaks" instead of "brakes"), and some general sloppiness. Nonetheless, it is a promising saga, and if one can overlook the technical problems it appears to offer some interesting reading. A

Hope everyone is having a nice holiday. A

This thread is for discussion of the story Mean Streak by Darion. There may be spoilers so be warned if you read on without having read the story first. I don't have much commentary on the story, as it is unfinished and there is obviously a lot more to go. But there are a number of problems with craft I would point out. I wasn't crazy about the constant Holden-Caulfield-like commentary that peppered the story. It's not so much that the observations weren't germane; it's just that piling the information on like that disrupted the flow of the story. I was distracted by the shifts from third person to first person. In Chapter Three, Reese worries about how to tell his mother that he's gay, but in the most recent chapter he says that she knows he is gay. I was confused that Reese's mother is named Chantel Mendez but he is named Reese Jenkins. The father (Mike) just seems like an unmitigated jerk, but his behavior is kind of inexplicable, and he has no real dimension. All in all, it seems like a story in significant need of editing, for consistency if nothing else. I can't really tell what the story is about since it is still in its early stages. It appears as though it will follow a fairly conventional path of "boy meets boy," and I'm not sure what real challenges the lead character (Reese) faces other than a general predisposition to needless angst. Since his mother's last name is Mendez, I assume there won't be any problems with Reese (whose ethnicity is unspecified) hanging out with a Latino boy like Diego. And so far everything with Diego seems to be working out. His friend Jason is being protective and supportive, with only the faintest hint of possible jealousy. I'm waiting to see what, if any, central conflict will emerge in the story. A

I think it's better to draw inspiration from people you know and events you've experienced, but not try to put those people or events into the story with any great fidelity to what actually happened in real life. There are several reasons for this. First, of course, there could be legal repercussions, but that's the least of my concerns, actually. What I have found is that it's easier to construct a good story if you are free to depart from what actually happened and make dramatic and story choices that best serve the story. Thus, the second and far more important reason is that trying to "write from life" can be too limiting. One's mindset moves from constructing a good story to the different discipline of reporting what happened. Having said that, I think there's every good reason to be alert for interesting elements, quirks, and character traits that can be incorporated into a story -- either directly, or by taking their opposite. Thus, if we have an acquaintance who is a neat freak, we can incorporate that trait into one of our characters, even if that fictional character does not otherwise resemble our real-life neat freak friend. Or we can take the opposite tack, and use the friend as inspiration to create a character who is an unbelievable slob. If we have an acquaintance who constantly checks e-mail a smartphone, we can incorporate that quirk. I think it's more fun, in many ways, to maintain the freedom to send characters in whatever direction we want without worrying about real-life counterparts. I have taken great joy in making characters who embody characteristics that I wish I had, and finding out vicariously what it would be like to have those characteristics. The last thing I would add is that I suspect every writer may unconsciously incorporate things from life even while holding a strong intent not to do so. A story idea may appear in their head, which at the time seems original, but may actually derive from some actual life event that for some reason has fallen below the consciousness horizon. I don't think there's any way to avoid this. A

This thread is for discussion of Lonely Differences by Johnathan Colourfield. As always, there may be spoilers so be warned that if you haven't read the story, you may not want to continue here. I actually have very little to say about this story. The genre is not one that I particularly relate to. Conceptually, this story reminded me a lot of Comicality's We Are Many. It's kind of a bait-and-switch, in the sense that the story seems to promise an interesting romance and outcome, then everything goes to hell at the end. In both stories, I am unclear what point the author seeks to make. Is it a sense of hopelessness, like Mark Twain's predestination-oriented works that he wrote very late in life? I don't find a lot of reward from stories where the outcome is for the hero to find that the game was completely rigged against him all along -- he didn't have a chance. In other words, as soon as he starts down the story path, his doom is a foregone conclusion -- he just doesn't know it yet. Nothing he does can save him; no amount of virtue, cleverness, shrewdness, heroic effort, skill, daring, or pluck will make the slightest difference. And there seems to be no particular reason for him to be chosen for this doom -- it's just a manifestation of the "shit happens" principle. I don't read stories in this genre as a rule, and I'm sure there may be something I'm missing. Or maybe not. In any case, this was my reaction. A

I think it is a very context- and genre-related issue. This particular category of story calls for this particular kind of stage-setting. We expect it. Still, it needs to be handled with some deftness or else it calls too much attention to itself. My view is that it is awfully easy to overdo the stage-setting. It is very common to read Nifty stories that begin with a sentence or two of action, then the author immediately says, "Oh, by the way, I should introduce myself. I'm 15 years old, blond, not bad looking, pretty good abs that I've worked on a lot. Oh, and by the way, I'm gay." It's very intrusive. The story I'm currently writing begins as follows: 15-year-old Ryan Brady was not accustomed to receiving any mail, much less formal-looking envelopes such as the one he now held in his hand. Its engraved return address showed that it was from the "Watkins Research Institute," with an address he recognized as being located just south of the UCLA campus in Westwood. The elegant ivory envelope was bulky, and clearly contained several sheets of paper. The letter, of course, contains a proposition that turns this character's world upside down. But you don't need to know much about him in order to get into the story. I also think there is a massive difference between writing in a first-person versus third-person point of view. In the third-person POV, it becomes easier to let the details of setting unfold in a natural and organic manner. In my story, for example, we hear Ryan's mom call him to dinner, and at the dinner table we learn that he has a younger brother and that his father is gone most of the time, traveling on business. But these details come out as part of the dinner events; they are not announced. In first person, I think it takes a lot more contrivance to set the stage. Either the narrator has to lay it out for the reader, or there has to be an early encounter with another character who brings up the stage-setting issues in conversation that the narrator reports. Much depends, also, on the kind of narrator we have. Elizabeth Peters, in her Egypt-based Amelia Peabody mystery novels, has them narrated mostly by Amelia, an adult with a literary flair, who can lay out her thoughts and opinions on what is happening and how she feels about it because it is in character for her to do so. Teenagers, on the other hand, are not known for their verbality. Having a 15-year-old expound on things the way Amelia Peabody does would be ludicrous. On the whole, I don't mind a little initial mystery as the story and setting unfold. I certainly agree that you must be consistent throughout; there is no excuse for changing horses in midstream. A

By the way, this same author also publishes under a second pen name. Jack Edwards. Stories under both names can be found at Nifty. A

This is a discussion of the story "Masquerade" by "Josh." It is found here: http://awesomedude.com/josh/masquerade/ I'm going to try my best to avoid spoilers, but it is very difficult to do. It is kind of like trying to discuss the movie "The Sixth Sense" without revealing the shattering secret that comes to light at the end. Be warned -- you may not want to read on unless you have finished the story. I recommended this story because it is so different from many stories we see. It has a lot of coming-of-age elements, but also some pretty remarkable twists. One thing that strikes a reader immediately is the author's spare, almost Hemingway-esque writing style. There are hardly any adjectives or adverbs; only the essential ones appear. The story is told in simple declarative sentences with hardly a trace of literary embellishment. There may have been a metaphor or simile here or there, but I can't remember any. It really is about the most basic and stripped-down writing I can remember reading. (This is fairly typical of other stories by this author as well.) It's interesting, because conventional writing wisdom calls for more complex sentence structures, more colorful and imaginative metaphors and similes, and many other techniques that this author eschews. Truly, the actions and events drive this story, without any coloration by the author save in the selection of order of presentation. One would think, with such austerity, that it would be hard to convey any emotion or sentimentality. One would be wrong. Even though I had read this story before (albeit some years ago), it brought a tear to my eye in several places, especially in the 4th and 5th chapters. I also laughed in other places. Overall, the story presents a unique, almost unimaginable set of circumstances, with an almost unimaginable fortuity that these particular young people's lives should happen to intersect as they did. The "fit" between the two principal characters at the end was uncanny. For all the heartbreak that could have occurred, I found the ending immensely satisfying. I hope others did as well. A

So, right now we're reading "Masquerade" with a target of posting comments on or after Thursday of this week? A

When I read this, what jumped to mind were two movies: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and Chinatown. These movies have been out long enough that I assume any sppoiler danger is long past. William Goldman's Cassidy script portrayed the two outlaw buddies as seeming to have a pretty charmed life, even as they were being pursued by the crack Pinkerton team all across the southwest. WHen they miraculously escape and flee ot South America, it seems like their luck is holding out against all odds. Somehow, though, by the time of that final scene with the Bolivian cavalry, it becomes obvious that the road is coming to an end. I have read that Robert Towne's script for Chinatown went through numerous iterations, because there was a lot of disagreement about the proper ending. In the final version, though, it becomes clear that Jake Gittes (the central character) has lost -- he has gone down to defeat, at the hands of the corrupt man he sought to expose and take down. Both of these endings seemed to flow organically from the progression of the respective stories. Indeed, in some ways, it's hard to imagine different endings that would seem as plausible. I also think of the aftermath of the final Harry Potter book ("Deathly Hallows"). Yes, Harry managed to defeat Voldemort, but at great cost. Of course, much of that cost was the product of the actions and/or self-sacrifice of others around him (including Dumbledore), but just as every kid of my generation had his heart ripped out when Bambi's mother was shot by hunters, readers of the Harry Potter series got their share of heartbreak as well. The one unforgivable use of death and calamity (kind of like an Unforgivable Curse in Harry Potter) is where the author uses it to cheat. One of the most towering examples of misuse comes in Arthur Hailey's novel Hotel. This was one of his trademark "anthology" novels, where there were a number of different story lines involving different sets of people, all entwined in this one book because all of those people were guests, visitors, or employees at the fictional hotel. Hailey did an amazing job of spinning complex webs of intrigue, deception, guilt, blackmail, jealousy, and other story intricacies, and the reader could well wonder how on earth Hailey would manage to sort it all out by the end of the book. What they didn't count on was him cheating. A few chapters before the end of the book, a number of the key characters all step onto an ancient elevator in this hotel. It is at that moment that a mechanical part in this elevator chooses to fail. All of these key characters fall to their instant deaths at the bottom of the elevator shaft. Presto: Story problems solved. By brute force. I never read anything else that Hailey wrote. After that stunt, he didn't deserve my attention. I think that, like so many other things, it all depends. Certain genres of story call for satisfying, upbeat endings. Romance novels, Tom Swift or Hardy Boys books, all are expected to have positive endings. Mystery novels and thrillers, similarly, are expected to have the protagonist succeed. But in other settings, there are certainly other stories to be told. If someone ever writes a work based on the life of Tyler Clementi, the young man who leapt to his death from the George Washington Bridge on September 22nd, that story is not going to have a happy ending. It really depends on what kind of emotional roller coaster ride the author chooses to take readers on. A

Thanks for adding this. A

I realized that I hadn't really addressed the actual question, but rather only talked about techniques for conveying the world once invented. No doubt journals or text files on the computer containing notes about the world would be helpful. I think everyone is different in this. James Frey (How to Write A Damn Good Novel) recommends writing out a lot of preparatory stuff in advance of the actual writing. I'm not good enough to do this properly. I have to start writing something first. I use the journals to keep track of all the details I've laid out, in as much detail as possible, so I can refer to these details without having to hunt through the entire manuscript every time I need to confirm something. It also reminds me of little items I've dropped into the narrative that I may have forgotten about later. I do find it useful to lay down some biographical/backstory information about the characters early on. This allows me to make sure that the characters are actually different from one another. If I don't do this, a lot of my characters will seem like clones of each other (basically versions of me). As for mythological worlds (finally getting to the subject of the question): I think that no matter how distant in time or space the mythological world may be from our present world, and how different the environment and beings, readers need some kind of anchor to the familiar. Unless there is a story reason to change certain things -- and any such changes should be made sparingly -- then most of the characteristics of the mythical world should be what readers expect from their experience with the actual world. For instance, when an object is released from the hand, it should fall to the ground (i.e., gravity). When it hits the ground, it should make a noise. If it is fragile, it should shatter. If a device mounted on the wall emits a signaling tone and a character goes over to interact with it, it should behave like a telephone or an intercom. If a character works hard on some physical activity, he or she should tire. And so on. Gene Roddenberry (whom I met when he came and gave a talk to the writing students at my college) said that Star Trek, for all of its space-age sophistication, was at heart nothing more than Wagon Train set in the future. In other words, underneath the photon torpedoes, the Tricorders, the warp drive, and the transporter, human stories of ambition, greed, jealousy, corruption, triumph, and heartbreak were being told. And it's interesting how some of the most sophisticated technology on that show was instantly obvious and understandable to viewers. When a patient was lying on one of those electronic beds in Sick Bay, for example, the audience immediately understood the significance of that monitor panel on the wall, coupled with the periodic "doonk" sound of a heartbeat. When Dr. McCoy held that little round shiny thingy (actually a salt shaker, I later learned) over a patient, with the funny sound effect that went with it, we instantly realized that it was some kind of scanner to determine the status of things under the skin. We didn't need to be told -- the logic filled itself in. Yet it was quite advanced, and not something we had when the show was on the air (nor today, for that matter). The Transporter was also self-explanatory. (It was actually introduced as a way to save the money that would have to be spent on filming actual landings on planets in a spacecraft.) My thought, then, is that mythological worlds may have a lot of cosmetic differences with our own world, but that a lot of the underlying characteristics of the mythological worlds should remain anchored in the familiar. Specific changes should be made, first, for express story purposes, and second, for atmospheric purposes (but only within reason). Otherwise, if nothing on the mythological world behaves the way we would expect, the story will not be interesting any more, because it will be too frustrating for the reader. Moreover, such a story would be far more challenging to write, because the author would have to constantly guard against doing anything "conventional." That seems like too much work, and it's unnecessary. Indeed, I think that keeping the mythical world grounded in the familiar adds to the story value. In the Harry Potter books, for example, for all the witchcraft and wizardry that could do such remarkable things, there were major limits. No wizardry could bring someone back to life from the dead. And Voldemort's attempt at immortality carried with it a terrible, ghastly price. Thus, I would say that in creating the mythical world, a writer should not make the world so ideal that there is no opportunity left for conflict or loss. There should still be room for all the human frailties and emotions that drive a good story. A

One of the difficulties in a mythology situation is finding ways to convey the key information to readers without simply dumping it on them. It is a mark of skill to be able to carry the story along and reveal the necessary mythological info bit by bit, organically with what's going on. Otherwise the story begins to sound like a bad comic book. One common technique is for characters to start talking about something the reader obviously won't be familiar with, causing the reader to become intrigued with whatever it is. Only later is it revealed what this mystery something is. Actually, this is a common storytelling technique in general -- the author controls the revelation of information. Think of all the things that happen at the very beginning of the first Harry Potter book, with a mysterious figure (later revealed to be Dumbledore) arriving on Privet Drive, putting out the streetlights, then McGonagle and Hagrid arrive (she initially as a cat, he on a flying motorcycle), etc. J.K.Rowling makes no attempt to explain these things; rather the significance is revealed bit by bit as the story unfolds. Another technique is to have the main character confronted with the same mystery the readers are confronted with. In other words, as the story opens, the main character finds himself in a situation where he needs to explore and discover what's really going on in his world. This is clearly the case in Wizard's First Rule by Terry Goodkind (now seen on television as The Seeker), where Richard Cypher discovers, step by step, that he is a rather special person in rather special circumstances. With this approach, the readers find out what's going on right along with the main character. Thus, it's plausible for the revelations to come along when they do. A

I'll see if I have anything to suggest beyond the ones I submitted originally. A

OK, I give up. I've said my piece. William Faulkner could get away with breaking rules, but he knew what they were. Same with James Joyce. And no one would claim that Absalom, Absalom! or Ulysses were particularly easy going for readers. Quite the opposite, in fact. So unless our desire is purposely to create obstacles for readers, it is my view that it is best to follow reasonable conventions that readers expect to be followed. You could also publish your story in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS but readers would not appreciate that. Any reputable book on English style, or specifically on the topic of dialogue in fiction, would agree with the principles I have set forth. Just grabbing a few from my bookshelf: Garner's Modern American Usage by Bryan A. Garner, at p. 655: "the comma separates a direct quotation from its attribution ("Honey, I'm home," Desi said.)" Revision and Self Editing by James Scott Bell (Writers Digest Books 2008) at 119-120 ("Attributions"): Every single example given follows the format I have described. Writing Dialogue by Tom Chiarella (Story Press 1998) at 144: "The period appears after the dialogue tag. The following would be incorrect: 'It's like a candle in the wind.' he said." "The dialogue tag still acts as part of the longer sentence; it is not capitalized." And, as with the previous book, every single one of the many examples given in this books follows the format I have described. "SHUT UP!" He Explained: A Writer's Guide to the Uses and Misuses of Dialogue by WIlliam Noble (Paul S. Eriksson, Publishre, 1987): Every single example follows the format I have described. Dialogue by Gloria Kempton (Writers Digest Books 2004): Every single example follows the format I have described. Notably, not once in any of these references is any example given where a quoted sentence of dialogue ends with a period, followed by an attribution that effectively starts a new sentence with a capital letter. The Chiarella book specifically states that this would be wrong. But I'm not going to belabor the subject. If anyone can point to a reputable source that approves the idea of ending quoted dialogue with a period (and close of quotation), followed by an attribution that begins with a capital letter, I would certainly be interested to see it. I am fairly confident that no such authority exists. Meanwhile, therefore, I stand by my original comments. A

I think the last part of your message is especially important (namely, integrating bits of action and setting with the dialogue). This prevents long stretches of disembodied dialogue, that tend to turn the story into more of a stage play. I often find myself going back into a dialogue scene and adding these bits in a second pass. Sometimes I discover that the bits I add make some of the dialogue redundant, and it can be removed, because an action taken, or a facial expression, conveys the same point and does so more naturally and organically than just saying it. Doing this also allows the author much closer control over the pacing of a scene. Obviously, too much description and activity interspersed with the dialogue may slow things down. But by having this control, and having the ability to vary pace, the overall read becomes less fatiguing to the reader. I guess what I'm really saying is that well-crafted dialogue fits in closely with everything else that's going on in a scene. It shouldn't call attention to itself or seem forced and unnatural. Here is a snippet I wrote several years ago that illustrates some of these points. I'm not claiming that it's the finest thing ever written, just that it shows striking a balance between talking, thinking, and action: Looking at this again, I probably could have pulled out a few more "he said" attributions. But the main point is that the characters weren't just standing in an unspecified place and talking at each other -- they were doing things. I find it helpful to incorporate that stuff. A

I stand by me reference to literacy, because one of the main methods by which people learn to write novels is to read other novels (as well as short stories and other fiction). The conventions for handling dialogue are there for any reader to see. It is not necessary to wait to be told how to do it. A

One of the things that absolutely grates on my nerves seems to be proliferating in internet stories. It is the splitting of quoted dialogue, and the statement of attribution of that dialogue, into separate sentences. Here are examples taken from an actual story: No, No, No! I don't know where this notion is coming from, but it's not the way dialogue is handled. You don't put a period at the end of the dialogue statement (within the quotes), and then start a separate new sentence with a capital letter for the attribution. You put a comma at the end of the dialogue, then continue the sentence with the attribution (he said, she said, etc.) with no capital letter. I'm guessing that modern word processing software is partly to blame. If you type a period and a space, many word processing programs will, by default, automatically capitalize the first letter of the next word you type, assuming it to be the beginning of a new sentence. When people put a period at the end of dialogue, rather than a comma, the software may be causing the capitalization of the subsequent attribution. But what this means is that the person doing the typing doesn't understand the proper conventions to use. If you are going to put an attribution after some quoted dialogue, the dialogue is ended with a comma inside the quotation marks, and the attribution continues as part of a single sentence. You don't type a period inside the quotation marks to end the "dialogue sentence." You use a comma, and then make the attribution part of the overall single sentence. Wrong: "I can't find my car keys." She said, pacing around the room. Right: "I can't find my car keys," she said, pacing around the room. Perhaps it's a sign of the overall decline in literacy these days, but I wish it would stop. A

I kind of got tired of being the only one posting anything on the stories. I was unable to find this story within the window of time assigned to it. I may look for it again if I have some extra time. Meanwhile, I'm not sure what's going on with a revised schedule. A

There are still two stories from the current (August) schedule that haven't been done yet. Those probably should go at the head of the next schedule. A

I agree with Nephylim's suggestion that we put the reading schedule on hold for the moment. Since I have already read the next story ("Masquerade") this won't affect me anyway. A