Guest

Pronouns

Editing

Title

1

Amelia Armande

they/them

Jason Buck

Tourist

2

Joshua Crisp

he/him

Marina Crisp

Whalescream

3

Jason Buck

he/him

Tom McNally

The London Underground

4

Marina Crisp

she/her

Amelia Armande

Bottleman

5

Tom McNally

he/him

Joshua Crisp

Penny

The beach stretched hot, blank, endless. The mute bathers stared. King Seagull sat upon his ill-gotten mountain of plunder, innocently left upon the sand. Thus began the infamous sandal scandal.

We’ve had pig fuckers, kiddy fiddlers, tax dodgers, and climate deniers. Legislators, deregulators and bargain-barrel despots. Crooks and cowards and tinpot sabre rattling, but our kings are overthrown by parties. Rule Britannia

Only when I entered the place where drinks were drunk and drunks were drinking, I noticed my doppelganger, enjoying the life I heard about from the acid lips of others.

An utter outrage! read the headline,  you absolutely won’t believe what they’ve gone and done now! Just wait until you read this juicy tale!
Full story revealed after 12 month subscription.

Warm-up - 30 words or less, no title, prompt is: 'scandal'

Somebody must be vaporised today, who must it be? Who will be food for the rags, grist for the mill, lubricate the tracks conveying the tanks of workplace chat? You?

Amelia Armande first draft

Working title

Roads were impractical for travel through the city - the only way to travel was by tube. Laying my body down into the river of air flow, I braced, but it was surprisingly gentle. Then we were off - looping around the monolith skyscrapers, occasionally ducking into the humid canopy below. The hollow ringing of the daily commute echoed among the trees like pan pipes from another dimension. A memory blinked through as I burst through the treetops - all the dreams I'd had of flying as a kid.

Word count: 86

Amelia, your editor is:  Marina Crisp

86 words
Why are we in the landscape?
Reason for exploring the place

Roads were impractical for travel through the / THIS - perhaps they travel often? or city -
NOW? Suggest a different past - as in when they dreamed of flying

 - the only way to travel was by tube.

Does the narrator open a door? Stand under a chute?
Laying my body down into the river of air flow, I braced,
EVEN STILL*/ ARE THEY USED TO IT OR IS IT NEW FOR THEM?
but it was surprisingly gentle. Then we were off - looping around the monolith skyscrapers, occasionally ducking into the humid canopy below. The hollow ringing of the daily commute echoed among the trees like pan pipes from another dimension. A memory blinked through as I burst through the treetops - all the dreams I'd had of flying as a kid.
*e.g:BACK WHEN THE AIR WAS FOR PEOPLE, NOT TREES etc etc - a reason for the tubes?

Word count: ??

Amelia Armande second draft

Tourist

I had to leave my car at the city boundary. The jungle had claimed the old infrastructure. The only way to travel here was by tube. Standing under the chute, I braced, but the air flow only felt warm and gentle. Then I was off - looping up between monolith skyscrapers, occasionally ducking into the humid canopy below. The hollow ringing of the city commute echoed among the trees like pan pipes from another dimension. A memory blinked through as I burst through the treetops - suddenly I was five years old again, dreaming of flying, holding my cape out behind me.

Word count: 100

Joshua Crisp FIRST DRAFT

Whalescream

Vast are the oceans, and rich their music. The  swelling of the tides, the cymbals of the cliffs, the deep thrum of distant, destined horizons. A velvet tapestry to carry whalesong. The waters and currents the bars and cleffs, the mournful minims carrying haunting remembrances of mothers and grandmothers past, great legacies of family and the depths. Whales listen. Whales learn. And whales sing.

And as captain markus was discovering, as he slowly twisted the horrible metal through bleeding blubber, whales screamed. And would be made to confess.

Word count: 88

Joshua Crisp your editor is:  Tom McNally

Whales listen. Whales learn. And whales sing. The ocean is a vast velvet tapestry to carry the music. The  swelling of the tides, the cymbals of the cliffs, the deep thrum of distant, destined horizons.  The waters and currents are the bars and cleffs, the mournful minims carrying haunting remembrances of mothers and grandmothers past, great legacies of family and the depths. The world harmonised to the singing of the whales.

And Captain Markus slowly twisted the metal through bleeding blubber, and hoisted up the doomed quarry. His crew harmonised to the screaming of the whales. Now the whales scream. They wail, they beg.

And would be made to confess.

Word count: 110!

Joshua Crisp SECOND DRAFT

Whalescream

Whales sing. The oceans a vast velvet tapestry to cushion-carry their music. The  swelling of the tides, the cymbals of the cliffs, the deep thrum of distant, destined horizons. Whales sing. Waters and currents are  bars and cleffs,  mournful minims carrying haunting remembrances of mothers and grandmothers past, great legacies of family and the depths. Whales sing. Whales sing and sing.

And captain markus was their conductor. He made them sing.. As he slowly twisted the metal through bleeding blubber, and hoisted up his doomed quarry, the whales sang. They screamed. They begged.

And they would be made to confess.

Word count: 100

Jason Buck FIRST DRAFT

The London Underground

It was people who chose steam as a way to move objects from place to place: Packages, memos, letters, all tied up and parceled into little cylinders that whizzed along pipes.

When the rats found out, London became accessible, in the most delightful way. Each rodent, once they had had their ticket checked and punched by the ratty conductor, squeezed themselves into the tubes, and by the miracle of pneumatic pressure were propelled across the capital at thrilling speeds.

Of course, this gave our furry friends access to the halls of power, and access to influence the lives and liberties of the two-legged vermin who trod the pavements above them.

Word count: 110

Jason Buck, your editor is: Amelia Armande

110 words
Like the intro, and the punchline
Trim it down without losing the guts. Remove adjectives? Too flowery?

I like the intro - I feel like the punchline can be tightened up just a little. ‘Two-legged vermin’ is a great phrase, I just want the lead up to it a bit punchier.

I think you can afford to be a little bit more immediate, which could help trim words.

It was people who chose steam as a way to move objects from place to place: Packages, memos, letters, all tied up and parceled into little cylinders that whizzed along pipes.

When The rats found out. London became suddenly/delightfully accessible, in the most delightful way. Each rodent, once they had had their ticket checked and punched by the ratty conductor, squeezed themselves into the tubes, and (by the miracle of pneumatic pressure) < (could be cut, but I like it) were propelled across the capital at thrilling speeds.

(Of course, this gave our furry friends) < (see if you can find something more immediate for this) access to the halls of power, and access able to influence the lives and liberties of the two-legged vermin who trod the pavements above them.

Word count: ??

Jason Buck SECOND DRAFT

The London Underground

It was people who chose steam as a way to move objects from place to place: Packages, memos, letters, all tied up and parceled into little cylinders that whizzed along pipes.

The rats found out.

London was now suddenly,delightfully accessible. Each rodent, tickets checked and punched by the ratty conductor, squeezed themselves into tubes and, by the miracle of pneumatic pressure, were propelled,at thrilling speeds.

It also gave our furry friends access to our halls of power, able to influence the lives and liberties of what they saw as the two-legged vermin who trod the pavements above them.

Word count: 100

Marina Crisp FIRST DRAFT

Milkless Music

First draft

The alarm blared out. Again. Someone had broken into the lorikeet enclosure. Surely it wouldn’t be…not after last time. Belinda turned the key to lock theTasty  Fun Frog Fantasyland and hurried over to the lorikeet’s, one hand firmly pressed against her head against the wail.

Her suspicions proved correct. He had escaped the artist colony where he had been banished to.  The water musician. There he had laid out his wretched milk bottles, like terrible fat pan pipes, filled with various levels of cruel clear liquid. The birds were all over him, transfixed, as he blew his terrible music, ignoring the sirens. Why does he do this? No one knew. Soon Belinda herself was still, hands at her sides, head tilted up to the haunting music of the milk man,

Word count: 130

Marina Crisp, your editor is: Joshua Crisp

The howl inside the breeze confirmed her creeping suspicions; he had escaped his banishment to the artist colony for wayward ornithologists. And sneaked through Tasty-Fun-Frog-Fantasyland. Again. The water musician was here. He had laid out his wretched milk bottles in the lorikeet enclosure like terrible fat pan pipes, and the birds were all over him, transfixed, as he blew his terrible music, ignoring the wailing sirens. Why does he do this? No one knows.

Belinda tried to keep her hands firmly pressed against her head against the wail, but

soon Belinda was still. Hands at her sides, head tilted up towards the haunting music of the milk man.

I have reordered it to make it make more sense, and cut you down to 107 words, but there’s more to lose. Probably water in water-musician, or hyphenate to cheat.

Word count: 107

Marina Crisp SECOND DRAFT

Bottleman

The eerie howl inside the breeze confirmed her creeping suspicions; he had escaped his banishment to the artist colony for wayward ornithologists. Again he’d sneaked through Tasty-Fun-Frog-Fantasyland. The water musician was here. Belinda ran, hands pressed to her ears, to where she knew she would find him, The lorikeets.
He had laid out his wretched milk bottles like terrible fat pan pipes, and the birds were all over him, transfixed, as the wind whistled his terrible music.

Belinda tried to muffle it- but too late. soon Belinda’s hand’s fell to her sides, head tilted up towards the haunting music of the bottleman.

Word count: 102

Tom McNally FIRST DRAFT

Penny

The ancient magic worked. Your wish has been transferred into me. My alloys are charged and the Universe is watching. I must embark by falling, plummeting into darkness to an unseen end. I rush from your hands and the world turns cold.

What will I take with me? Your mother will be healed. Your accountant will find a way. Your home will be spared by the invaders. I can sense the ground rushing up to meet me.

I thump.

The well is dry.

That’s not going to cut it. Better luck next wish, chump.

Word count: 95

Tom McNally, your editor is: Jason Buck

Jason Buck’s edits
When is the reveal of the protag

More texture words

Title gives away too much

The ancient magic worked. <PARA> Your wish has been transferred into [through / to] me. My alloys are charged and the Universe is watching. I must embark by falling, plummeting into darkness to an unseen end. I rush from your hands and the world turns cold [and dark, and silence].

What will I take with me? [‘take’ with me? Maybe ‘what will I give / bring to you’] Your mother will be healed. Your accountant [accountant too ‘silly’ - choose a more serious / dramatic profession] will find a way. Your home will be spared by the invaders [different word - invaders too much like space invaders - or different baddie words]. I can sense the ground rushing up to meet me. [‘The ground is rushing up to me, and I land’]

I thump. [Just ‘Thump’]

The [this?] well is dry.

That’s not going to cut it. Better luck next wish, chump.

[Too frivolous - lots of hope at the beginning, now I feel foolish. Maybe more about sadness, with a fervent hope]

[Generally - I like the feeling of how the story changes from something that feels sci-fi to something more prosaic, but nevertheless holding magic.]

Word count:

Tom McNally SECOND DRAFT

Penny

The ancient magic worked.

It transfers across my surface. My alloys are charged and the Universe is watching. I must embark by falling, plummeting into darkness to an unseen end. I rush from your hands and the world turns cold.

What do I take with me into the void? What will come back out? Your mother will be healed? Your solicitor finds a way? Your home spared from the approaching soldiers?

Ah, the ground is rushing up to me. Soon we will see.

Thwack.

This well is dry!

Well that’s not going to cut it. Better luck next wish, chump.

Word count: 100