Exercise 9: Post Here!

[Tamur]

This thread is for participants in the Mead Hall Writers' Society writing group to post exercises from Lesson 9: Character Defines Plot, or Vice Versa.

After you've posted, you're encouraged to review other entries, and discuss the assignment over in the general discussion thread.

[Prince Cobra]

Character Defines Plot
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Year:1295
Place:Constantinople, Byzantium
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Nicephorus moved the pawn and smiled at Dyogenus. His friend replied to his smile and then stared at the chessboard.

“ He will ultimately destroy you, Dyogenus, “ the man from the left of Nicephorus said.


“ And you call this man my friend. I will certainly not give in without fighting, Constantine Matsakes! “

“ The you will certainly die, “ Nicephorus smiled again.

“ Good. Check, Nicephorus “

But as Constantine suggested the resistance was useless. The black figures prevailed and soon the white king was defeated.

“It is getting quite nosy here,” Nicephorus said after the game ended and stood up to close the window. However, as he reached the window he only stared at the yard. Constantine had a certain idea what was the reason for this behaviour. Alexius Doukas the father of Nicephorus was expected to arrive at any moment. Nicephorus hated his father. Alexius Doukas was one of the most powerful men in the Empire but he was also one of the most ambitious and unscrupulous. In his family he was even worse behaving like a tyrant. And he considered Nicephorus as his failure. They seemed to be too different. It was true Nicephorus was a spitting image of his father; he had his black eyes, his beautiful but snakish face, his black and straight hair. But Nicephorus was a romantic person and he had the talent of a poet. And unlike his father he could still love. Yes, he did not fall in love with the best person. Dyogenus Branas was not a bad company but he was a man, not a woman. And what was worst for them was that Nicephorus Doukas had to marry six months after he had finished his education. Yesterday that happened and their time was running out.

Constantine tried to rise but he met the eyes of Dyogenus who stopped him. Dyogenus Branas approached Nicephorus and stared at him. “ Are you well? “ he asked and his voice was slightly trembling worried for his friend. Few people differed as much as these two. Nicephorus was always pale and constantly looked ill. He also preferred to close in his room and to read books. Dyogenus Branas was just the opposite: he never neglected his education but he also paid much attention on sports: especially riding and also fencing and swimming. His brown eyes, brown hair and darker skin also contrasted to Nicephorus Doukas. Their ambitions also differed them. Dyogenus Branas dreamed to become a general and to fight the enemies of the Empire. But in his love for Nicephorus, he was ready to stay out of the army and to become a courtier. Nicephorus had different dream. He would enter in battle only if he had to and it was none of his dreams. He only dreamed to surpass his father and to remove his shadow from himself. Unlike his friend, Nicephorus was ready for no compromise with this. Dyogenus often feared for his friend. He was sure that Nicephorus was not fit for politician. He was wrong.

“ I am well, Dyogenus “ Nicephorus lied to his friend. He was not but he did not want to show his weakness to the others. He preferred to suffer alone.

“ You are not. Please sit. “ Dyogenus closed the window and took his friend to the chair.

“ I am well, my friend, “ Nicephorus said but made no attempt to stop his friend. He also preferred something better than watching the return of his father. Then Nicephorus took the bottle and sip a little wine in his cup. Then he sip some to his friend and proposed some to Constantine

“ Thank you, Nicephorus but I can not drink. You know I am at work “

“ Yes, my father sent you to guard me, I know. “ then he drank from the wine and added, “ Come closer, Constantine”

Constantine moved his chair closer to his friends.

“ Good, “ Nicephorus whispered. Although they have taken measures, there was always risk of being overheard. “ My father will call you after lunch, right? “

Constantine nodded.

“ Constantine, I will never forget what you have done for me. You must continue to mislead him. He should not know about Dyogenus and me. He suspects but he is not sure. He also should not know about that walk yesterday. We already discussed what you should tell him. Right? “

Constantine nodded again.

“ Good. At first I distrusted you but I was wrong. One day I will repay to you. “

Constantine Matsakes nodded again and Nicephorus laughed loudly so that he could easily heard.

“ Nice gossip, Branas. Poor man! “ Then he gave a sign to Constantine who left the room. Only three months ago Alexius Doukas who had learned from his loyal retainer Loukas Matsakes that his pupil is ready to receive his first tasks called him But Constantine found out very quickly that it was against his principles to do what he was ordered. He could not spy Nicephorus. It was not fair to betray Nicephorus whose only guilt was that he was different from his father.



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Plot Defines Character
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August 1561, Takeyama castle, Central Japan
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His name was Yamasade Yoshimasa. He was a close retainer of the last warlord of the main Hatakeyama branch – Hatakeyama Takamasa. Yamasade made a step further. He put his hand on the massive stonewall that had saved the Hatakeyama clan for so many times. Yoshimasa was thirsty and hungry. The day was extremely hot for the late August and the food was insufficient. He looked up and peered at the hills where the perpetrator of the chaos had built his camp. The evil came from nowhere, from the provinces of Awa and Sanuki, which were situated on the remote Shikoku Island. But such an outcome was expected. For decades the various warlords, or daimyo, in Central Japan struggled for power and they had forgotten about their duty to the Shogun, the rightful ruler of these lands. The Shogun had lost any authority and had become pawn in the hands of the daimyo. The cunning enemy from Shikoku first infiltrated as retainers of the warring factions but soon started his own independent game. One by one the fortresses of the leading Hosokawa clan fell in the hands of the invaders and eventually the enemy entered in the capital. What happened next was repeating custom in these days of civil war and uncertainty. Having no other choice, the Shogun nominated the leader of the victorious enemy as deputy Shogun or Kanrei. And the war conflict in Central Japan became even more bloody contrary to the hopes of the Shogun. This was the beginning of the rule of the Miyoshi clan and their first Kanrei Miyoshi Chokei.

Japan split: some recognised the new Kanrei, other openly objected and there were clans who chose the silence as their answer. My lord, the mighty Takamasa did not restrict himself to words but chose to fight. He found loyal allies in the neighbouring Tsutsui clan and so the war against the curse of the Miyoshi clan continued.

A samurai means “ a man who serves” He is not allowed to object his master and he should follow him to the very end and beyond. There is no forgiveness for a failure: the honour is vital for the samurai and without it life is of no worth. For a samurai whose honour had been damaged there is no other way but to commit seppuku, a ritual suicide and thus in pain and sufferance to wash out the shame from his name. I was also there on that council where Lord Hatakeyama made his choice. Then I did not simply obeyed him but shared for the new Kanrei and that there was only one way: to fight and to release the Shogun from his role of prisoner. The order in Central Japan would have been restored and the clans of the Hatakeyama and Tsutsui would have ruled in glory and peace. Now after so many moons I start to realise this was nothing but a beautiful dream. The temptation of the supreme power was great and in these dishounorable times where people betrayed their own masters and brother fought against brother theory was one thing but reality was another. But the illusion is like an alcohol: it takes time to get sober.

The winter passed and the spring began. The war was resumed. The Miyoshi army surrounded us in our capital but we received news that the Miyoshi invaders were pushed out of the Tsutsui lands. I remember the enthusiasm we all felt when we heard the news. We believed the end of the war was nearing and the Miyoshi would soon be defeated. How wrong we were!

The enemy was patient and like a giant snake he strengthened his grip on us. The more time was passing, the more men the Miyoshi concentrated. The attempt of our ally Tsutsui to distract the enemy failed: the capital Kyoto was besieged but the Kanrei behaved as nothing had happened. Furthermore, the more time was passing, the more arrogant he was. He refused any proposals for peace with the Hatakeyama whilst negotiating with the Tsutsui.

During the siege my wife became pregnant for the first time. It was not the right time and we knew that but some things just happened because that was the will of the Gods. First months of her pregnancy went well but we were finishing the supplies. Diseases were also very common. My high rank still helped me and my family was not suffering as much as the others. In June she gave a birth to a child, a girl. She was born dead. By that time my enthusiasm had finally disappeared. I had started to ask myself if my lord was wrong. It might have been a mistake to challenge the Miyoshi lord. After all Hosokawa were no different. Cooperation could have been sought, not war. Or maybe my daimyo was blinded by the greed for power, which destroyed many others before him.

I wanted to share my thoughts with somebody but I could not. My wife should not be worried, she was recovering; my friends should not know: they could think I was a coward. And it was too risky to share with anybody else: this could be called treason and I was expected to give example. These were my thoughts when my dead child was being prepared for funeral. But there was no funeral. The body was stolen and eaten by several starving warriors. They were caught and hanged. At that time we were still punishing for such practices with dead bodies. Eleven months had passed since the beginning of the siege of Takeyama.

In the next two months nothing changed to better. No help was coming. The enemy was growing stronger and more arrogant. Earlier this day a high ranked samurai of the Miyoshi spoke before the main gate of our stronghold. He told us his master appreciated our bravery and is ready to spare us if Lord Hatakeyama admited his defeat and committed suicide. This was a great offense for our master but the situation was hopeless. Nobody drew the string of his bow to shut the mouth of that messenger. Instead Lord Hatakeyama went in his palace to consider his offer. Maybe he had realised how far his people had gone.

“ Yoshimasa! “ he heard familiar voice. His tiredness vanished and he rapidly turned back. He bowed to his master who slightly nodded to him. Hatakeyama Takamasa spoke,

“ Tomorrow is the final day for the Hatakeyama clan.” Hatakeyama daimyo was pale but he kept his voice calm. ” We lost enough honour hiding behind the walls and dying of hunger. Blood is what only can wash it Hatakeyama clan was born from the war and sword is what will destroy it, my friend. And we will be remembered. “

Then Hatakeyama Lord stared at the setting sun and silence fell. That was the end, Yoshimasa thought. He always wondered if he would be ready to face the death when his time came. And to his amusement he finally was. The doubts in his master disappeared. The fears for his family did too. The samurai had won. There were things more horrible than death. He had realised the death was inevitable but the oblivion was not. A man had to live in a way he would not be forgotten. An old clan like Hatakeyama was no different: it could not just slip out of the stage where it dominated for centuries. It had to die there, if it cannot win it. For the power of Hatakeyama was their fate. A man could not choose his destiny but he could always choose the way he would face it. Suddenly Hatakeyama Takamasa stretched his hand and pointed at something. It was the horizon. From the valley to the sky it was all red. As if washed by blood. Miyoshi blood.

[Timsup2nothin]

Dead or Dying


Albert, Tori, and Steve shared the rent on a battered bungalow style house in a tired neighborhood. It was close enough to the local junior college that they could, when the need arose, get to the campus by bike. They each owned a car, and for the year and a half they had lived there at least one had always been running, but that wasn't a sure thing to continue and the bikes were good insurance. Sometimes they rode just for the exercise, or because gas money got tight.

They all worked; another state of affairs that held no guarantee of permanence. Jobs came and went, part time, full time. They all figured someday there would be a career. Someday being defined in a very nebulous way that usually involved completing a degree first, sometimes transferring and getting a 'real' degree first. None of them had ever shown any sign of being in a hurry.

Then Albert fell off the deep end.

Tori and Steve were making dinner when he walked in. They saw the red face, beaded with sweat, and exchanged a puzzled look. Normally Albert's car would have announced his arrival at least a block in advance. It needed a muffler, badly. "Dude, where's your car?" Steve asked, reasonably enough.

He should have been braced for the blast. It was pushing a hundred degrees outside, and there was probably no happy story behind Albert walking home. The string of obscenities was almost uninterrupted by words that held actual information, and it went on for some time. The gist was that the car was at the school, wouldn't start, and was in a timed lot where it was likely to be getting a parking ticket shortly. Tori tossed Steve her keys and suggested the two boys go and push Albert's car to a better location while she finished getting dinner ready for all of them.

"I am not going to push that heap anywhere," Albert raged. "They can ticket it. They can tow it. They can light it on fire." He flopped onto the couch.

Steve cocked his head and thought. Over the years of their friendship both he and Albert had made furious stands of what they considered principle that had been more about fury. As is often the case for young men when the fury ran out the principle was missing, and all that was left was wonder at the mess that had been made. A large part of their friendship had been built on the not infrequent occasions where one had quietly averted the mess for the other. He nodded to Tori and walked out the door. He was sure that tomorrow or the next day Albert would be happy to take a ride to reclaim his car without having to pay an impound charge. No point in suggesting that now, but when the time came there would be the usual gruff gratitude.

"He can move it if he wants," Albert told her, "but it won't matter to me."

Being a girl has advantages. Tori could offer directly contradicting opinions that testosterone and the heat of the day would make too dangerous for Steve. "You'll feel better once it cools down. Maybe tonight you and Steve will find out it's an easy fix." None of them were mechanical geniuses, but the last time her car had failed her Steve and Albert had bound the throttle linkage together with a paper clip that was still in place. A cause for optimism at the very least.

"I don't need a car. I joined the army." He stood up abruptly and walked down the hall to his room, slamming the door.

Tori was stunned. If Albert had said he didn't need a car because he was sprouting wings it would have been easier for her to believe.


Steve returned to find spaggetti congealing in the pan, sauce bubbling over low heat, and Tori on the couch with her face streaked with tears. Albert was still in his room with the door closed. "He said he joined the army."

"He meant that he was going to, not that he had," Steve assured. "When bad things happen we all think of crazy ways out, but they don't mean anything. It is broiling hot out there and he had a long walk to heat up, so he's a little wild. He's probably over it already. He'd laugh if he saw how upset you are."

They were both surprised when Albert spoke from the hallway. "I wouldn't laugh. I'm sorry you're upset, but I said exactly what I meant. I signed the papers before I walked home. I leave in two weeks. I wanted to finish my classes, and the recruiter wanted that too."

Silence flooded the small house.


They sprawled around the living room, picking at plates of spaggetti. Tori had been friends with Steve and Albert since the end of their sophomore year in high school. Steve and Albert. There was no one who was Steve's friend, or Albert's friend. She had gone through school from third grade on with them, and she had never known a time you could make friends with one without the other.

In their sophomore year she had given her virginity to Steve's older brother Dave. She refused to say 'lost'. That would imply that she hadn't been willing, and she had been. That she had not fully understood the terms of exchange didn't make her a victim. Something precious 'lost' might be found again, once given it was gone. When Dave went off to college and let her know that he had no intention of looking back it was Steve and Albert that had gotten her through it.

"It was that girl last night, at the park, wasn't it?" she asked Albert.

The night before all three of them had been off work, and had no classes. They had gone to the nearby park after the summer sun had long set, and sat on the cool grass. Albert and Steve always joked about how much easier it was to pick up girls when she came along. The blond was cute, and Tori had to admit that she would not have been likely to stop to chat if it had been just two guys sitting in the park. When she moved on many hours later Albert had walked her home. He had returned in surprisingly short order.

"No it wasn't," Albert said. His voice told both Tori and Steve that he was lying, though they both guessed that he might not know it himself. "It's just that we're going nowhere, and I'm tired of it."

Steve turned to Tori and put on his 'translator voice'. "Twenty-one years old with roommates, so can't bring the shy ones home. Broken down car isn't very impressive. Finishing third year of a two year degree program because work cuts into class load. Not much of an income because classes cut into work. Albert's not a meal ticket. That's what 'going nowhere' means. You're right, it was the girl at the park."

Tori turned on Albert before he could deny it. "If your hormones are dragging you into the army I'll knock them out of you right now." Over the years she had slept with both of them, both at the same time on one memorable occasion, but none of them had made any habit of it.

Albert looked shocked, then miserable. "It isn't just that."

"Not 'just that' means that is indeed part of it," Steve said, still in the translator voice.

"I know that," Tori snapped. "Even Albert knows that. You could probably go find that blond grubber and get proof of some sort if you needed to, but you don't. Does he?" She peered at Albert from the corner of her eye.

"No. I give. She was probably part of it, but I've been thinking about it."

"Probably part of it," Steve repeated, then trailed off under two withering glares. No more translation was needed.

"Were you thinking about it last week when we were talking about how stupid the war is?" Tori asked. "Were you thinking about it when we all agreed that being under oath excused the soldiers, but we couldn't see how the military was gonna survive without reinstating the draft after this botch job?"

"That was about the reserves," Albert argued feebly. "I wouldn't join the reserves."

"Oh. So you understand that the rosy 'one weekend a month and two weeks in the summer' isn't exactly the party it's cracked up to be, but you think signing on for the whole enchilada makes sense? We elected a man who ordered a unilateral invasion of another country...then we re-elected him!" She was shouting now. "This country might elect someone willing to take on the whole world so we can drive SUVs, heck, we could elect Hitler or Attilla, and you'll be in his army. And you'll know it. What are you gonna do then? Why would you put yourself in that position?"

There was only one honest answer to give. His body would be as safe in the army as it was on the streets of his home town, and probably return unscathed after three years. But all three of them knew that Albert's soul was dead when he said "I just need the money."

~finis~



The Seed


There were ten tanks. The people who emerged from them were humans, of a sort. It only took four years immersed in the nutrient solution for the bodies to grow to full adulthood, but they had been grown from good old human DNA. Well, mostly. The equipment had been designed to make certain necessary enhancements to the genome. It would take many centuries for the planet's atmosphere to get sufficient oxygen levels for them to venture outside, but expanded lung capacities reduced the number. They had also been reinforced to withstand the gravity. They knew that when they saw themselves in mirrors, which was a shock the designers of the seed ship could have thought to avoid.

Their last memories before waking up in the tanks were of Earth. Dwarfing the shock of their altered appearance was the shock of recognizing that they were duplicates. The human beings they remembered being were no doubt long dead, having lived out their normal lives. They remembered joining the seed ship project. They remembered contributing their DNA. They remembered having their brains read at a cellular level so that complex machines could guide the growth of the brain in the cloned body. Their personality and their memories would be duplicated in some distant future, some distant place. They never gave any thought to the reality that they would also be waking up in that distant future, that distant place. They had always thought of themselves as themselves and the duplicates they contributed as...something else. But the duplicates remembered thinking those same thoughts.

Because of who they had been, even as they reeled from the shock a nagging awareness burned into them. These ten knew the protocols that were programmed into the seed ship. There was no one here to meet them. After four years growing in the tanks that had to mean there was no one else here. They all knew what protocol would have them among the first lot out of the tanks. There was something wrong. Very wrong.


The seed ship had landed in a valley. Over the centuries of its travel it had accumulated a vast store of interstellar gas, which the ion rockets had expended in the one and only use of their existence. The sandy surface of the valley had been seared to glass, which then crumbled under the immense weight that settled upon it. The seed ship was built in orbit, and once landed it would never rise again. It had passed three other planets before landing here. They had all had life of their own.

The ship had not encountered any intelligence. It had not passed those worlds because it was programmed to live and let live. The selection protocol that guided it to land here was strictly based on the fact that it carried everything it needed to produce an earthlike ecosystem on this barren planet, but not what that ecosystem would need to compete with native life. It had passed three worlds, defended by nothing more complex than bacteria, to land here.

The sides of the valley were lined with collectors. The designers of the ship had called them solar collectors, then stopped in bewilderment when they realized the energy they would collect would come not from their old friend Sol, but some alien star. Whatever they were called, the ship had unrolled them as soon as the ground had cooled sufficiently from the landing.


The native life form had experienced the horror of losing millions of lives in the fiery cataclysm of the ship's landing. The cause of the disaster was beyond their comprehension, as if the source itself had descended on them. They were beginning to make inroads back into the valley when the collectors rolled out over them, cutting them off from the source. The explorers died in darkness.


The seed ship poured out billions of bacteria. The bacteria thrived. They floated in the carbon dioxide atmosphere, excreting oxygen as waste, binding the carbon into the long chains that would, over an age, develop into the same sort of organic molecules that gave rise to life on earth. Soon there were trillions, then quadrillions of the bacteria. They started clumping together, settling onto the surface.

The natives were larger than the bacteria, but not by much. When their crystalline structure grew that large it would break, forming a new individual. They did not move, except when the atmosphere was so disturbed as to blow them along, which was rare. Their exploration of the valley had been a multi-generational process of growing into the dead zone. Now, even though the bacteria were tiny, and translucent, they fell between the crystals and the source.

In their crystalline structures the grains captured energy from the light that fell upon them. That energy was directed, channeled, stored, used, and released. Among the most vital uses were the constant breaking and reforming of molecular bonds in the center of the grains. The shifting relationships were comparable to the linking of neurons in the human mind. The grains had no motion, but they had thoughts, memories, and ideas. Energy released by the grains carried information. They could not shout over the source, but when the source was not in the sky the sands glittered with their communication. Long before it blocked enough of the daylight to be a danger the bacteria blocked this much lesser light, isolating the grains. They would die; isolated and alone. They began to fight back.

The first grain to discover the secret tried to spread it, but the surrounding grains were masked by a film of bacteria and could not understand, and eventually they died. Isolated from its fellows the grain wondered if it was the last of its kind. There was no need to spend energy on communicating, so it harbored its reserves for the task. Every night, streams of hard radiation burned back the scum of bacteria that covered the grain and cut off the source. Slowly the grain went insane. Eventually, it stopped the burning and died in the darkness. Other grains were slower to discover the secret, but luckier in its application. The knowledge spread.


Sensitive antennae had picked up decades of human activity as the ship accelerated away. It had stored the data and played it back without understanding it. The ten colonists had watched the buildup to the final war, then seen the data stream end in a titanic flash as their fore-bearers annihilated themselves. The seed ship had recounted the end of humanity with no remorse, no compassion. The first leader of the human colony had been selected by the seed ship, by a protocol established on a long dead planet with no idea what circumstances that leader would face.

The weight of responsibility for the colony was heavy. Knowing that the colony was all that was left of humanity magnified it beyond endurance. He was brought from the vat because the atmospheric transformation had progressed exactly on projection for two years, then slowed to a trickle. Defying any explanation physics could provide the entire surface of the planet outside the valley had become radioactive.

~finis~

[MountainTroll]

Part 1 – the plot will shape the characters technique

As the Scandinavian peoples have trolls, the Irish have Leprechans, the French have their own version of little people. They are the Lashmors. Their society is rooted in a mountain village on the French speaking side of the Alps. They believe deeply that a society is no better than its cooking. They travelled to the Alps, along with a mass migration of little people from the Fertile Crescent around the time of the Great Migration in the human world. By 400 AD they stopped in the green foot hills of the Alps and decided this was the perfect place to set up bakeries, and other establishments soon to be know around the world for their dedication to sauces and creams.

Before long the foothills filled in with people, and the Lashmors moved into the higher elevations of the mountain valley closest to them. They send scouting parties into the low land regions to gather herbs, steal poultry, and catch up on the latest news.

After one scouting party, the news was bleak. The Dwarves (which you can read about in any Grimms Brother fairy tale book), were beginning to expand their empire. Lashmors are not warlike in general, but are very proud. If it comes to trading insults with a dwarf, and the Lashmor’s cooking is not appreciated, which it seldom is by dwarves, then a fight will likely ensue.

The guild of bakers is all for baking a year supply of bread and setting off in search of a new land. But, the cream specialists and chocolate makers feel it is best to hunker down and defend the rich pastureland it is so convenient to plunder. The other guild members are more concerned with how this coming war will affect food fashion. Will army rations become all the rage? And if so, what really can one do with a tin of spam?

The German dwarves will initially get a foot hold in the mountain valley, through promises of better ingredient suppliers and cheaper goods. They promise large factoies for producing the Lashmor specialties. But soon, after their vulgar table manners are noticed, along with their shoddy German produce, the Lashmors will seek out alliances with their Northern neighbours (leprechauns and trolls included). They will band together to drive back the intrusive dwarves. This will engender good will between the NATO alliance (Northerners Against Tasteless Onions) and many potlucks and picnics are seen in the future as they live happily ever after, with sentries constantly posted, watching the dwarves mining along the boundary line.










Part 2 – The characters will shape the plot technique


1. Jess was always piping up in Anthropolgy class. Whether the topic was Western conspicuous consumerism or which cultures use yams as a form of monetary exchange, he was right in the thick of the discussion. His passion was digging to the root of various cultures rituals.

2. Jan (Short for Jadwiga Janikowski) is the daughter of a Polish immagrant family. Also interested in cultures she becamse friends with Jess when he recognized she was Jewish and had a wealth of knowledge when it came to Eastern European religious history.

3. River, son of a hippie couple, gives of an air of “whateverness” to most people. But after flunking the first test in Intro to Anthropolgy, he made it a point to introduce himself to Jess, who seemed to be the emerging brains of the class.



These three spend the semester discussing various forms of society, and what could be done to improve the general state of the mess they all agree the world is in. A Peace Corps volunteer gives a moving presentation towards the end of the semester.

River is finished with his degree in “General” studies. He never got around to deciding a real major. Now he decides to sign up with the Peace Corps and do some good. It will also get his parents off his back about what his plans are.

Jan also decided to sign up, feeling that she owes it to others, since she was saved from a life of Eastern European poverty. She feels that in each slide the volunteer shows, that could’ve been her family in a refugee camp. That could’ve been her grandmother sitting toothless and starving at a roadside.

Everyone expects Jess to sign up for the Peace Corp as well. When he doesn’t fill out a white enrolment form, a fight breaks out in the hallway outside the classroom after. His two friends accuse him of being false, and shallow. He tells them he intends to go to law school and get rich. All society is based on money, so history and study proves that he should get as much of it as quickly as possible or face the Darwinian selection that many cultures in the Amazon were facing. Money is power. Then later he would find a way to wield his power for the good of others - when he had enough.

And what is enough? This discussion outside the classroom is left up in the air, but the plot would follow it’s threads while tracing the paths chosen.

[Tamur]

Closing for evaluation... thanks you three, and welcome Stephen!

[Tamur]

Stephen Asen


Character Defines Plot

Nicephorus moved the pawn and smiled at Dyogenus. His friend replied to his smile and then stared at the chessboard.

“ He will ultimately destroy you, Dyogenus, “ the man from the left of Nicephorus said.

“ And you call this man my friend. I will certainly not give in without fighting, Constantine Matsakes! “

“ The you will certainly die, “ Nicephorus smiled again.

“ Good. Check, Nicephorus “

But as Constantine suggested the resistance was useless. The black figures prevailed and soon the white king was defeated.

Chess is a good way to set up the scene that follows -- though with the ending mentioned the game becomes a kind of minu-closure at the start of the writing, which puts up a wall against reading more. Try varying the outcome (i.e. interrupted game), so it's unexpected in some way.

“It is getting quite nosy here,” Nicephorus said after the game ended and stood up to close the window. However, as he reached the window he only stared at the yard. Constantine had a certain idea what was the reason for this behaviour. Alexius Doukas, the father of Nicephorus, was expected to arrive at any moment. Nicephorus hated his father. Alexius Doukas was one of the most powerful men in the Empire but he was also one of the most ambitious and unscrupulous. In his family he was even worse behaving like a tyrant. And he considered Nicephorus as his failure. They seemed to be too different. It was true Nicephorus was a spitting image of his father; he had his black eyes, his beautiful but snakish face, his black and straight hair. But Nicephorus was a romantic person and he had the talent of a poet. And unlike his father he could still love. Yes, he did not fall in love with the best person. Dyogenus Branas was not a bad company but he was a man, not a woman. And what was worst for them was that Nicephorus Doukas had to marry six months after he had finished his education. Yesterday that happened and their time was running out.

Four of these sentences start with "And" or "But", rephrase

Constantine tried to rise but he met the eyes of Dyogenus who stopped him. Dyogenus Branas approached Nicephorus and stared at him. “ Are you well? “ he asked and his voice was slightly trembling worried for his friend. Few people differed as much as these two. Nicephorus was always pale and constantly looked ill. He also preferred to close in his room and to read books. Dyogenus Branas was just the opposite: he never neglected his education but he also paid much attention on to sports, especially riding and also remove fencing and swimming. His brown eyes, brown hair and darker skin also contrasted to with Nicephorus Doukas. Their ambitions also differed them. Dyogenus Branas dreamed to become of becoming a general and to fight fighting the enemies of the Empire. But in his love for Nicephorus, he was ready to stay out of the army and to become a courtier. Nicephorus had different dream. He would enter in battle only if he had to and it was none of his dreams. He only dreamed to surpass of surpassing his father and to remove removing his shadow from himself. Unlike his friend, Nicephorus was ready for no compromise with this. Dyogenus often feared for his friend. He was sure that Nicephorus was not fit for politician. He was wrong. A good way to build anticipation.

“ I am well, Dyogenus “ Nicephorus lied to his friend. He was not but he did not want to show his weakness to the others. He preferred to suffer alone.

“ You are not. Please sit. “ Dyogenus closed the window and took his friend to the chair.

“ I am well, my friend, “ Nicephorus said but made no attempt to stop his friend. He also preferred something better than watching the return of his father. Then Nicephorus took the bottle and sip poured, maybe? unless this should be "poured", the following is difficult to understand a little wine in his cup. Then he sip poured some to for his friend and proposed some to Constantine.

“ Thank you, Nicephorus but I can not drink. You know I am at work “

“ Yes, my father sent you to guard me, I know. “ then he drank from the wine and added, “ Come closer, Constantine” It was good to explain Constantie's role.

Constantine moved his chair closer to his friends.

“ Good, “ Nicephorus whispered. Although they have taken measures, there was always risk of being overheard. “ My father will call you after lunch, right? “

Constantine nodded.

“ Constantine, I will never forget what you have done for me. You must continue to mislead him. He should not know about Dyogenus and me. He suspects but he is not sure. He also should not know about that walk yesterday. We already discussed what you should tell him. Right? “

Constantine nodded again.

“ Good. At first I distrusted you but I was wrong. One day I will repay to you. “

Constantine Matsakes nodded again and Nicephorus laughed loudly so that he could easily be heard.

“ Nice gossip, Branas. Poor man! “ Then he gave a sign to Constantine who left the room. Only three months ago Alexius Doukas who had learned from his loyal retainer Loukas Matsakes that his pupil is ready to receive his first tasks called him. Even with commas to delineate the phrases here, this sentence is awkward. Consider separating into a couple of separate sentences. But Constantine found out very quickly that it was against his principles to do what he was ordered. He could not spy on Nicephorus. It was not fair to betray Nicephorus whose only guilt crime? offence? was that he was different from his father.

I like the plot twist of the father's spy durning to counterspy. It also makes me wonder what Nicephorus has planned to gain power.


Plot Defines Character

His name was Yamasade Yoshimasa. He was a close retainer of the last warlord of the main Hatakeyama branch – Hatakeyama Takamasa. Yamasade made a step further took a step forward. He put his hand on the massive stonewall that had saved the Hatakeyama clan nice historical detail for remove, unnecessary so many times. Yoshimasa was thirsty and hungry. The day was extremely hot for the late August and the food was insufficient. He looked up and peered at the hills where the perpetrator of the chaos had built his camp. The evil came from nowhere, from the provinces of Awa and Sanuki, How can you say "nowhere" when you then list the exact provinces? which were situated on the remote Shikoku Island. But such an outcome was expected. For decades the various warlords, or daimyo, in Central Japan struggled for power and they had forgotten about their duty to the Shogun, the rightful ruler of these lands. The Shogun had lost any authority and had become a pawn in the hands of the daimyo. The cunning enemy from Shikoku first infiltrated as retainers of the warring factions but soon started his own independent game. One by one the fortresses of the leading Hosokawa clan fell in into the hands of the invaders and eventually the enemy entered in remove the capital. What happened next was repeating custom in these days of civil war and uncertainty. Having no other choice, the Shogun nominated the leader of the victorious enemy as deputy Shogun or Kanrei. And remove the war conflict in Central Japan became even more bloody contrary to the hopes of the Shogun. This was the beginning of the rule of the Miyoshi clan and their first Kanrei Miyoshi Chokei.

Japan split: some recognised the new Kanrei, other openly objected and there were clans who chose the silence as their answer. My lord, the mighty Takamasa did not restrict himself to words but chose to fight. He found loyal allies in the neighbouring Tsutsui clan and so the war against the curse of the Miyoshi clan continued.

A samurai means “ a man who serves”. He is not allowed to object to his master and he should follow him to the very end and beyond. There is no forgiveness for a failure: the honour is vital for the samurai. Without it life is of no worth. For a samurai whose honour had been damaged there is no other way but to commit seppuku, a ritual suicide, and thus in pain and sufferance to wash out the shame from his name. I was also there on that council where Lord Hatakeyama made his choice. Then I did not simply obeyed obey him but shared for the new Kanrei not sure what this means and that there was only one way: to fight and to release the Shogun from his role of prisoner. The order in Central Japan would have been restored and the clans of the Hatakeyama and Tsutsui would have ruled in glory and peace. Now after so many moons I start to realise this was nothing but a beautiful dream. The temptation of the supreme power was great and in these dishounorable times where people betrayed their own masters and brother fought against brother theory was one thing but reality was another. But the illusion is like an alcohol: it takes time to get sober.

The winter passed and the spring began. The war was resumed. The Miyoshi army surrounded us in our capital but we received news that the Miyoshi invaders were pushed out of the Tsutsui lands. I remember the enthusiasm we all felt when we heard the news. We believed the end of the war was nearing and the Miyoshi would soon be defeated. How wrong we were!

The enemy was patient and like a giant snake he strengthened his grip on us. Good image The more time was passing passed, the more men the Miyoshi concentrated. The attempt of our ally Tsutsui to distract the enemy failed: the capital Kyoto was besieged but the Kanrei behaved as nothing had happened. Furthermore, the more time was passing passed, the more arrogant he was. He refused any proposals for peace with the Hatakeyama whilst negotiating with the Tsutsui.

During the siege my wife became pregnant for the first time. It was not the right time, and we knew that, but some things just happened because that was the will of the Gods. The first months of her pregnancy went well but we were finishing [COLOR="Blue"]depleting?/COLOR] the supplies. Diseases were also very common. My high rank still helped me and my family was not suffering as much as the others. In June she gave a birth to a child, a girl. She was born dead. By that time my enthusiasm had finally disappeared. I had started to ask myself if my lord was wrong. It might have been a mistake to challenge the Miyoshi lord. After all Hosokawa were no different. Cooperation could have been sought, not war. Or maybe my daimyo was blinded by the greed for power, which destroyed many others before him.

I wanted to share my thoughts with somebody but I could not. My wife should not be worried, she was recovering; my friends should not know: they could think I was a coward. And it was too risky to share with anybody else: this could be called treason and I was expected to give be an example. These were my thoughts when my dead child was being prepared for funeral. Good to set background for his thoughtsBut there was no funeral. The body was stolen and eaten by several starving warriors. They were caught and hanged. At that time we were still punishing for such practices with dead bodies. Eleven months had passed since the beginning of the siege of Takeyama.

In the next two months nothing changed to better. No help was coming. The enemy was growing stronger and more arrogant. Earlier this day a high ranked samurai of the Miyoshi spoke before the main gate of our stronghold. He told us his master appreciated our bravery and is ready to spare us if Lord Hatakeyama admited his defeat and committed suicide. This was a great offense for our master but the situation was hopeless. Nobody drew the string of his bow to shut the mouth of that messenger. Instead Lord Hatakeyama went in his palace to consider his offer. Maybe he had realised how far his people had gone.

“ Yoshimasa! “ he heard a familiar voice. His tiredness vanished and he rapidly turned back. He bowed to his master who slightly nodded to him. Hatakeyama Takamasa spoke,

“ Tomorrow is the final day for the Hatakeyama clan.” Hatakeyama daimyo was pale but he kept his voice calm. ” We lost enough honour hiding behind the walls and dying of hunger. Blood is what only can wash it Hatakeyama clan was born from the war and sword is what will destroy it, my friend. And we will be remembered. “

Then remove Hatakeyama Lord stared at the setting sun and silence fell. That was the end, Yoshimasa thought. He always wondered if he would be ready to face the death when his time came. And remove To his amusement he finally was. The doubts in his master disappeared. The fears for his family did too. The samurai had won. There were things more horrible than death. He had realised the death was inevitable but the oblivion was not. A man had to live in a way he would not be forgotten. An old clan like Hatakeyama was no different: it could not just slip out of the stage where it dominated for centuries. It had to die there, if it cannot win it. For the power of Hatakeyama was their fate. A man could not choose his destiny but he could always choose the way he would face it. Suddenly Hatakeyama Takamasa stretched his hand and pointed at something. It was the horizon. From the valley to the sky it was all red. As if washed by blood. Miyoshi blood. This last is a well done process of reasoning out his fate. It convinces the reader.

There was too much history given at the start. It should have been woven in amongst the characters more, maybe in conversation. There is too little interaction amongst the characters. I wanted to see how the main character spoke and acted in situations.

[Tamur]

Timsup2nothin


Dead or Dying

Albert, Tori, and Steve shared the rent on a battered bungalow style house in a tired neighborhood. It was close enough to the local junior college that they could, when the need arose, get to the campus by bike. They each owned a car, and for the year and a half they had lived there at least one had always been running, but that wasn't a sure thing to continue and the bikes were good insurance This is great at painting the backdrop. Sometimes they rode just for the exercise, or because gas money got tight.

They all worked; another state of affairs that held no guarantee of permanence. Jobs came and went, part time, full time. They all figured someday there would be a career. Someday being defined in a very nebulous way that usually involved completing a degree first, sometimes transferring and getting a 'real' degree first. None of them had ever shown any sign of being in a hurry.

Then Albert fell off the deep end.

Tori and Steve were making dinner when he walked in. They saw the red face, beaded with sweat, and exchanged a puzzled look. Normally Albert's car would have announced his arrival at least a block in advance. It needed a muffler, badly. "Dude, where's your car?" Steve asked, reasonably enough.

He should have been braced for the blast. It was pushing a hundred degrees outside, and there was probably no happy story behind Albert walking home. The string of obscenities was almost uninterrupted by words that held actual information, and it went on for some time. The gist was that the car was at the school, wouldn't start, and was in a timed lot where it was likely to be getting a parking ticket shortly. Tori tossed Steve her keys and suggested the two boys go and push Albert's car to a better location while she finished getting dinner ready for all of them.

"I am not going to push that heap anywhere," Albert raged. "They can ticket it. They can tow it. They can light it on fire Good, lightens up the mood." He flopped onto the couch.

Steve cocked his head and thought. Over the years of their friendship both he and Albert had made furious stands of what they considered principle that had been more about fury. Great line, I can see backwards into their friendship from this As is often the case for young men when the fury ran out the principle was missing, and all that was left was wonder at the mess that had been made. A large part of their friendship had been built on the not infrequent occasions where one had quietly averted the mess for the other. This paragraph is an insightful glimpse into their relationship He nodded to Tori and walked out the door. He was sure that tomorrow or the next day Albert would be happy to take a ride to reclaim his car without having to pay an impound charge. No point in suggesting that now, but when the time came there would be the usual gruff gratitude.

"He can move it if he wants," Albert told her, "but it won't matter to me."

Being a girl has advantages. Tori could offer directly contradicting opinions that testosterone and the heat of the day would make too dangerous for Steve. Good observation "You'll feel better once it cools down. Maybe tonight you and Steve will find out it's an easy fix." None of them were mechanical geniuses, but the last time her car had failed her Steve and Albert had bound the throttle linkage together with a paper clip that was still in place. A cause for optimism at the very least.

"I don't need a car. I joined the army." He stood up abruptly and walked down the hall to his room, slamming the door.

Tori was stunned. If Albert had said he didn't need a car because he was sprouting wings it would have been easier for her to believe.


Steve returned to find spaggetti congealing in the pan, sauce bubbling over low heat, and Tori on the couch with her face streaked with tears. Albert was still in his room with the door closed. "He said he joined the army."

"He meant that he was going to, not that he had," Steve assured. "When bad things happen we all think of crazy ways out, but they don't mean anything. It is broiling hot out there and he had a long walk to heat up, so he's a little wild. He's probably over it already. He'd laugh if he saw how upset you are."

They were both surprised when Albert spoke from the hallway. "I wouldn't laugh. I'm sorry you're upset, but I said exactly what I meant. I signed the papers before I walked home. I leave in two weeks. I wanted to finish my classes, and the recruiter wanted that too."

Silence flooded the small house.


They sprawled around the living room, picking at plates of spaghetti. Tori had been friends with Steve and Albert since the end of their sophomore year in high school. Steve and Albert. There was no one who was Steve's friend, or Albert's friend. She had gone through school from third grade on with them, and she had never known a time you could make friends with one without the other.

In their sophomore year she had given her virginity to Steve's older brother Dave. She refused to say 'lost'. That would imply that she hadn't been willing, and she had been. That she had not fully understood the terms of exchange didn't make her a victim. Something precious 'lost' might be found again, once given it was gone. When Dave went off to college and let her know that he had no intention of looking back it was Steve and Albert that had gotten her through it.

"It was that girl last night, at the park, wasn't it?" she asked Albert.

The night before all three of them had been off work, and had no classes. They had gone to the nearby park after the summer sun had long set, and sat on the cool grass. Albert and Steve always joked about how much easier it was to pick up girls when she came along. The blond was cute, and Tori had to admit that she would not have been likely to stop to chat if it had been just two guys sitting in the park. When she moved on many hours later Albert had walked her home. He had returned in surprisingly short order.

"No it wasn't," Albert said. His voice told both Tori and Steve that he was lying, though they both guessed that he might not know it himself. "It's just that we're going nowhere, and I'm tired of it."

Steve turned to Tori and put on his 'translator voice'. "Twenty-one years old with roommates, so can't bring the shy ones home. Broken down car isn't very impressive. Finishing third year of a two year degree program because work cuts into class load. Not much of an income because classes cut into work. Albert's not a meal ticket. That's what 'going nowhere' means. You're right, it was the girl at the park."

Tori turned on Albert before he could deny it. "If your hormones are dragging you into the army I'll knock them out of you right now." Over the years she had slept with both of them, both at the same time on one memorable occasion, but none of them had made any habit of it.

Albert looked shocked, then miserable. "It isn't just that."

"Not 'just that' means that is indeed part of it," Steve said, still in the translator voice.

"I know that," Tori snapped. "Even Albert knows that. You could probably go find that blond grubber and get proof of some sort if you needed to, but you don't. Does he?" She peered at Albert from the corner of her eye.

"No. I give. She was probably part of it, but I've been thinking about it."

This dialogue is good. It shows how well they know each other.

"Probably part of it," Steve repeated, then trailed off under two withering glares. No more translation was needed.

"Were you thinking about it last week when we were talking about how stupid the war is?" Tori asked. "Were you thinking about it when we all agreed that being under oath excused the soldiers, but we couldn't see how the military was gonna survive without reinstating the draft after this botch job?"

"That was about the reserves," Albert argued feebly. "I wouldn't join the reserves."

"Oh. So you understand that the rosy 'one weekend a month and two weeks in the summer' isn't exactly the party it's cracked up to be, but you think signing on for the whole enchilada makes sense? We elected a man who ordered a unilateral invasion of another country...then we re-elected him!" She was shouting now. "This country might elect someone willing to take on the whole world so we can drive SUVs, heck, we could elect Hitler or Attilla, and you'll be in his army. And you'll know it. What are you gonna do then? Why would you put yourself in that position?"

There was only one honest answer to give. His body would be as safe in the army as it was on the streets of his home town, and probably return unscathed after three years. But all three of them knew that Albert's soul was dead This is an interesting interpretation to tack onto his response when he said "I just need the money."

The conversation and backstory flows smoothly. These character seem real and interact realistically. Nice!



The Seed


There were ten tanks. The people who emerged from them were humans, of a sort. It only took four years immersed in the nutrient solution for the bodies to grow to full adulthood, but they had been grown from good old human DNA. Well, mostly. The equipment had been designed to make certain necessary enhancements to the genome. It would take many centuries for the planet's atmosphere to get sufficient oxygen levels for them to venture outside, but expanded lung capacities reduced the number. They had also been reinforced to withstand the gravity. They knew that when they saw themselves in mirrors, which was a shock the designers of the seed ship could have thought to avoid.

Their last memories before waking up in the tanks were of Earth. Dwarfing the shock of their altered appearance was the shock of recognizing that they were duplicates. The human beings they remembered being were no doubt long dead, having lived out their normal lives. They remembered joining the seed ship project. They remembered contributing their DNA. They remembered having their brains read at a cellular level so that complex machines could guide the growth of the brain in the cloned body. Their personality and their memories would be duplicated in some distant future, some distant place. They never gave any thought to the reality that they would also be waking up in that distant future, that distant place. They had always thought of themselves as themselves and the duplicates they contributed as...something else. But the duplicates remembered thinking those same thoughts.

Good clear explanation of an unusual setting

Because of who they had been, even as they reeled from the shock a nagging awareness burned into them. These ten knew the protocols that were programmed into the seed ship. There was no one here to meet them. After four years growing in the tanks that had to mean there was no one else here. They all knew what protocol would have them among the first lot out of the tanks. There was something wrong. Very wrong.


The seed ship had landed in a valley. Over the centuries of its travel it had accumulated a vast store of interstellar gas, which the ion rockets had expended in the one and only use of their existence. The sandy surface of the valley had been seared to glass, which then crumbled under the immense weight that settled upon it. The seed ship was built in orbit, and once landed it would never rise again. It had passed three other planets before landing here. They had all had life of their own.

The ship had not encountered any intelligence. It had not passed those worlds because it was programmed to live and let live. The selection protocol that guided it to land here was strictly based on the fact that it carried everything it needed to produce an earthlike ecosystem on this barren planet, but not what that ecosystem would need to compete with native life. It had passed three worlds, defended by nothing more complex than bacteria novel way to look at it, to land here.

The sides of the valley were lined with collectors. The designers of the ship had called them solar collectors, then stopped in bewilderment when they realized the energy they would collect would come not from their old friend Sol, but some alien star. Whatever they were called, the ship had unrolled them as soon as the ground had cooled sufficiently from the landing.


The native life form had experienced the horror of losing millions of lives in the fiery cataclysm of the ship's landing. The cause of the disaster was beyond their comprehension, as if the source itself had descended on them. They were beginning to make inroads back into the valley when the collectors rolled out over them, cutting them off from the source. The explorers died in darkness.


The seed ship poured out billions of bacteria. The bacteria thrived. They floated in the carbon dioxide atmosphere, excreting oxygen as waste, binding the carbon into the long chains that would, over an age, develop into the same sort of organic molecules that gave rise to life on earth. Soon there were trillions, then quadrillions of the bacteria. They started clumping together, settling onto the surface.

I'm fascinated to see what this turns into...

The natives were larger than the bacteria, but not by much. When their crystalline structure grew that large it would break, forming a new individual. They did not move, except when the atmosphere was so disturbed as to blow them along, which was rare. Their exploration of the valley had been a multi-generational process of growing into the dead zone. Now, even though the bacteria were tiny, and translucent, they fell between the crystals and the source.

In their crystalline structures the grains captured energy from the light that fell upon them. That energy was directed, channeled, stored, used, and released. Among the most vital uses were the constant breaking and reforming of molecular bonds in the center of the grains. The shifting relationships were comparable to the linking of neurons in the human mind. The grains had no motion, but they had thoughts, memories, and ideas. Energy released by the grains carried information. They could not shout over the source, but when the source was not in the sky the sands glittered with their communication. Long before it blocked enough of the daylight to be a danger the bacteria blocked this much lesser light, isolating the grains. They would die; isolated and alone. They began to fight back.

The first grain to discover the secret tried to spread it, but the surrounding grains were masked by a film of bacteria and could not understand, and eventually they died. Isolated from its fellows the grain wondered if it was the last of its kind. There was no need to spend energy on communicating, so it harbored its reserves for the task. Every night, streams of hard radiation burned back the scum of bacteria that covered the grain and cut off the source. Slowly the grain went insane. Eventually, it stopped the burning and died in the darkness. Other grains were slower to discover the secret, but luckier in its application. The knowledge spread.

The death of this bacteria is so sad! I can't believe that I'm rooting for the others to succeed. It must mean good writing is afoot...

Sensitive antennae had picked up decades of human activity as the ship accelerated away. It had stored the data and played it back without understanding it. The ten colonists had watched the buildup to the final war, then seen the data stream end in a titanic flash as their fore-bearers annihilated themselves. The seed ship had recounted the end of humanity with no remorse, no compassion. The first leader of the human colony had been selected by the seed ship, by a protocol established on a long dead planet with no idea what circumstances that leader would face.

The weight of responsibility for the colony was heavy. Knowing that the colony was all that was left of humanity magnified it beyond endurance. He was brought from the vat because the atmospheric transformation had progressed exactly on projection for two years, then slowed to a trickle. Defying any explanation physics could provide the entire surface of the planet outside the valley had become radioactive.

This is definitely an example of "writing outside the box". A futuristic interstellar war between bacteria was not the first thing that popped to mind when I read Tamur's assignment. Very creative, cleverly written.

[Tamur]

MountainTroll

Part 1 – the plot will shape the characters technique

As the Scandinavian peoples have trolls, the Irish have Leprechans, the French have their own version of little people. My initial reaction was, Do they really? Never knew that. Ha! They are the Lashmors. Their society is rooted in a mountain village on the French speaking side of the Alps. They believe deeply that a society is no better than its cooking. This made me smile, very extraordinary criteria =) They travelled to the Alps, along with a mass migration of little people from the Fertile Crescent around the time of the Great Migration in the human world. By 400 AD they stopped in the green foot hills of the Alps and decided this was the perfect place to set up bakeries, and other establishments soon to be know around the world for their dedication to sauces and creams.

Knowing the assignment, I immediately started worrying for them right here!

Before long the foothills filled in with people, and the Lashmors moved into the higher elevations of the mountain valley closest to them. They send sent? some tense shifting going on throughout, so I'm not sure which one you want scouting parties into the low land regions to gather herbs, steal poultry, and catch up on the latest news.

After one scouting party, the news was bleak. The Dwarves (which you can read about in any Grimms Brother fairy tale book), were beginning to expand their empire. Ah, I think, those rotten invaders! Lashmors are not warlike in general, but are very proud. If it comes to trading insults with a dwarf, and the Lashmor’s cooking is not appreciated, which it seldom is by dwarves Funny, but an important cultural detail, then a fight will likely ensue.

The guild of bakers is all for baking a year supply of bread and setting off in search of a new land. But, the cream specialists and chocolate makers feel it is best to hunker down and defend the rich pastureland it is so convenient to plunder. The other guild members are more concerned with how this coming war will affect food fashion. Will army rations become all the rage This is, again, a good culture detail but very funny? And if so, what really can one do with a tin of spam?

The German dwarves will initially get a foot hold in the mountain valley, through promises of better ingredient suppliers and cheaper goods. They promise large factoies for producing the Lashmor specialties. But soon, after their vulgar table manners are noticed, along with their shoddy German produce ouch!, the Lashmors will seek out alliances with their Northern neighbours (leprechauns and trolls included). They will band together to drive back the intrusive dwarves. This will engender good will between the NATO alliance (Northerners Against Tasteless Onions I've finally given in and laugh out loud here) and many potlucks and picnics are seen in the future as they live happily ever after, with sentries constantly posted, watching the dwarves mining along the boundary line.

This is positively hilarious. Again, not a take on the assignment I had expected.

Tamur: Agreed, very funny. I think the challenge here will be point-of-view. How will you tell this story so that the reader gets the overall picture, but still centre on a few characters?


Part 2 – The characters will shape the plot technique

1. Jess was always piping up in Anthropolgy class. Whether the topic was Western conspicuous consumerism or which cultures use yams as a form of monetary exchange, he was right in the thick of the discussion. His passion was digging to the root of various cultures rituals.

2. Jan (Short for Jadwiga Janikowski) is the daughter of a Polish immigrant family. Also interested in cultures she became friends with Jess when he recognized she was Jewish and had a wealth of knowledge when it came to Eastern European religious history.

3. River, son of a hippie couple, gives of an air of “whateverness” to most people. But after flunking the first test in Intro to Anthropolgy, he made it a point to introduce himself to Jess, who seemed to be the emerging brains of the class.


These three spend the semester discussing various forms of society, and what could be done to improve the general state of the mess they all agree the world is in. A Peace Corps volunteer gives a moving presentation towards the end of the semester.

River is finished with his degree in “General” studies. He never got around to deciding a real major. Now he decides to sign up with the Peace Corps and do some good. It will also get his parents off his back about what his plans are.

Jan also decided to sign up, feeling that she owes it to others, since she was saved from a life of Eastern European poverty. She feels that in each slide the volunteer shows, that could’ve been her family in a refugee camp. That could’ve been her grandmother sitting toothless and starving at a roadside.

Everyone expects Jess to sign up for the Peace Corp as well. When he doesn’t fill out a white enrolment form, a fight breaks out in the hallway outside the classroom after. His two friends accuse him of being false, and shallow. He tells them he intends to go to law school and get rich. All society is based on money, so history and study proves that he should get as much of it as quickly as possible or face the Darwinian selection that many cultures in the Amazon were facing. Fascinating use of anthropological knowledge! The opposite is so expected. Money is power. Then later he would find a way to wield his power for the good of others - when he had enough.

And what is enough? This discussion outside the classroom is left up in the air, but the plot would follow it’s threads while tracing the paths chosen.

I like the clear backgrounds and motivations for these characters. It makes sense, they seem real from the description. The twist that Jess puts on his understanding of cultural history is really jarring, in a very good way -- totally unexpected and thought-provoking.