Dorthe’s Comments (group member since Jan 03, 2019)

Dorthe’s comments from the Science Fiction Microstory Contest group.

Congrats, Bill

Congrats, Sam

So after several readings there were seven stories I really really wanted to vote for. I've picked one. Doesn't mean I don't love the other six and like quite a few more.

Yay for extra days - and for the requirement to read all of the stories.

FIS is Danish for fart ....

Jot, I have posted 'In the Bleak Midwinter'.

And thank you, Andy - that was indeed a good writing month :o)

In the Bleak Midwinter
(Originally from December 2013)

‘I want all of you to get as much sun as possible, while we can.’
‘How much time is there?’
‘About four day cycles,’ Alonzo said as he moved on to the next group of sunbathers. All the inhabitants of the small colony were out here today, gathered on the terrace. He had seen old movies where people did this for recreational purposes; on Libyka, the intricate algae tattoos covering bodies of young and old were the only source of nourishment. And night was coming.

‘Boss,’ Daniel Cobb asked, ‘could you tell us again – what exactly is happening? Are we turning around?’
Alonzo perched on a sun bed, angling his body for maximum exposure. Might as well get what he could. ‘We aren’t turning,’ he explained to the teenagers around him, ‘Libyka always shows the same side, our side, towards Apollon. That’s why we have daylight all the time; the colony was built on this side for a reason. And as you know, Artemis orbits Apollon, so we have the two suns some of the time, the big one and the little one. Problem is, now Thule is moving in between us and both suns. And Thule is huge. Libyka is going to be in shadow for a very long time.’
‘Why does it do that all of a sudden?’ Daniel asked.
‘Turns out it’s part of a regular cycle,’ Alonzo said, ‘only it’s so long that the last time was before the colony was established. So no-one was here.’

‘How will we live,’ asked Nellie, ‘without sunlight?’
Now that, Alonzo thought, was the pivotal question. The old woman looked frail already. She wouldn’t last long in the dark. He mustered up all of his fake optimism.
‘There’s a team out looking for a new vein to mine,’ he said in his most confident voice, ‘and when they find it, the Feds will come running. Either with some way of keeping us going, or temporary evacuation.’

Sarah was less easy to placate.
‘Do you really think they’ll give a sh-‘
‘Language, young lady.’
‘The Feds don’t froggin’ care about a bunch of froggin’ cons on a dead rock! Dad, they’ll cut their losses and leave us.’ Bemused, he saw that she was crying. He put an awkward arm around her.
‘Something will come up,’ he said. ‘We won’t die here.’ If only he could believe that. If only he could protect his daughter.


A week later, the search team radioed in. They had located a huge mineral vein, easily accessible and only a hundred kilometres away.
Alonzo hurried to call Olympos; but the connection was dead. The Feds had written them off when the shadow fell across Libyka. He recalled the search team.

***

A barge set down lightly in the gravelly sand. Three men emerged, wearing bio suits against the cold winds. The surface temperature on the planet had been steadily dropping, creating new wind patterns.
‘See, there’s the settlement. I told you.’
‘But is there anyone here? And why do we want to meet criminals?’
‘They stopped sending cons out here generations ago, you know that. These people are descendants, of guards as well as cons. But yes, where can they be?’

Once inside the hab hive, the three men stopped short, shocked. Everywhere lay skeletal figures on cots, wrapped in blankets. They were alive, barely, but in a pitiful state. The dome was quiet apart from the faint humming of generators and an occasional weak coughing. There was a faint smell of rotting pond water, particularly incongruous after the arid sterility of the surrounding landscape.
The visitors decided to not remove their suits at first, as they surveyed the scene.

‘Are you sick?’ Jasper asked a man who seemed capable of communication.
‘No,’ the man said faintly, ‘we’re starving. We need sunlight to nourish us, and it’s been dark for a month now. Several have died.’ He coughed. ‘The Feds ignored us. We even found a new mineral vein, but it was too late.’
‘Sunlight? Like plants? I thought that was a rumour,’ Malkam said. ‘Fascinating.’
Jasper shot him a glance. There’s a time for scientific enthusiasm and a time for tact.
‘We have algae implants for photosynthesis. The only life support here is sunlight. Or used to be,’ Alonzo added in a fading voice.
‘Guys,’ Baldwin broke in, ‘the UV lamps from our conservatory. Might they work?’

So the three visitors to the old penal colony lugged lamps and cords from their barge to the hive and set up UV lights in the main dome, where the starving inhabitants were huddled against the cold and darkness outside. They helped them undress, revealing the ornate and colourful tattoos.

‘Looks like a party,’ Baldwin observed, when the dome was full of light and colour and scantily clad bodies.
A lean young woman got up from her cot, basking like a cat in a sunbeam, and went over to the man they had talked to earlier. She sat down beside him and laid her head on his shoulder.
‘Best party ever,’ Jasper confirmed.

Thank you, Jot, for including a story of mine - I had completely forgotten that one! and had thought of posting my December 2013 story, which is still among my favourites.

Congrats Jack!

I'm all for a thread critiquing past months' stories on a rotation basis.

That leaves open, though, the question of where and how to comment on current stories - if at all. The chat thread (this one) ought, imo, to be free of story-specific comments to not influence voting, and to avoid spoilers for those who do not read stories as they are put up.

Well, for once the voting is the easy part of hanging out around here ...

Anyway -
@J.J.: Thanks - the cock soup would be followed by a Spotted Dick, right?

@Andy (both of you, actually): well said.

Is it, Mr Preville, a part of negotiator's job to systematically insult people?

I, for one, do not find 'witty repartee annoying' - what makes you think that?

The annoyance that I let slip into words is all about someone setting themselves up as a lone voice against The Group and claiming to fear retribution or castigation from said entity. Or, as the case may be, proposing to shake up (or break up) an alleged monolith. Alleged, of course, being the operative word.

As you yourself mentioned, we all have very different styles of writing, presumably reflecting - in part at least - different personalities and backgrounds. Thus, critiquing is a challenge and a welcome one at that; I know I deliver all too rarely - mostly because I feel that if I comment on some stories I should comment on them all, and there are only so many hours in the day.
So, a proper framework for critique is, in my opinion, a good thing. A separate thread, so one doesn't stumble on spoilers while looking for chitchat, and a system for determining which stories to work on when.

I wanted to share with y'all a private joke from my story - no spoilers: Cocio (pronounced with a non-logical [k] in the middle) is a Danish chocolate milk ... for some reason I only just realised how it might sound to English-adapted ears.
https://www.google.dk/webhp?sourceid=...

My story is up.

Vacation is when you go somewhere ...
by D C Mills
750 words

The letter was delivered by hand.
Luna thanked the boy, hesitated and then gave him an apple in recognition of the journey he had made. She watched him make the calculations: better to eat it at once or save it for future bargaining? A precious commodity, this small apple, and perishable. He munched it in three bites, speed-savouring.
'Thank you, ma'am,' he muttered politely, already scurrying off.

Luna opened the letter carefully so as not to ruin the paper. The unmarked envelope had value. Inside were only a few words.

Come up and see me.

***

'So,' Sky said, 'you're going on vacation.'
'I told you, it's only a visit,' Luna insisted, pulling on her best clothes. 'I'll be back.'
'I'm not holding my breath.'

***

During the long walk through the tunnels, Luna thought it over. If Sky was right, would she accept the invitation? London Below was her home; she hadn't been born here, as Sky had, but she couldn't remember anything from before. She knew the tunnels, knew the people. And the rats.

***

The guard eyed her suspiciously, as she held up the note to the camera. He seemed to communicate with someone, then buzzed open the outer door of the airlock.
Even after the decontamination spray – or maybe because of it – Luna felt grubby in the gleaming white interior of the tower's groundfloor lobby. The daylight flooding in hurt her eyes. And this was only ash-filtered light; impossible to imagine clear sunlight pelting down on the world.

Two white-clad persons appeared.
'Uncle apologises for not being here right now,' one attendant chirped. 'Come and have a drink and a bath while you wait.'
Well, why not.
Luna was undressed ('We'll have those cleaned up in a jiffy') and left to soak in warm, scented water while sipping a drink whose name startled her ('Cock-yo') but turned out to be a smooth, opaquely brown liquid with a sweet and foreign taste.

Emerging clean-skinned and wearing soft, new clothes into a large room overlooking what was left of London Above, she met him. The man they called Uncle.
He was younger than she had expected, and not ugly, as she had expected.

'They say you're looking for a consort,' she said. No point in small-talk.
He raised an eyebrow, smiling. 'Of course they do. Well, they're half right. Come, I'll show you.'
He led her to another elevator than the one she had come up in. 'It is my fortune that most of our research facilities were already underground,' he explained while they rode down, down, down. 'I have been able to continue my family's work during these past two decades. Almost,' he added in a sombre tone. 'We did lose staff, and supplies have not been easy to come upon. And of course, no internet. You do know about the internet?'
'I've heard of it,' Luna said, 'I'm not really sure I can imagine it, though.'

The elevator stopped. Beyond the doors another white hallway and a curious contraption, like a short bench set into a box, four wheels under it. A car, Luna realised. Like in pictures.
'Hop in,' Uncle said, and the whole thing moved on its own. Not like pictures.

'You must have felt sunlight on your skin,' Uncle said suddenly. 'Do you remember it?'
Luna shook her head. 'I was only a baby then. Yellowstone happened on my first birthday.' But he knew that.
'A heavy burden for a child,' he said. 'Born in 2016 and then that.'
'My ma used to say I was the only good thing happened that year,' she said, immediately embarassed.
'Your ma was a very wise woman,' he said, and she could detect no trace of irony in his voice.
'Do you think things would have righted themselves,' she asked, 'given the chance?'
'If it hadn't been for Yellowstone, you mean? Perhaps.'


They arrived at a set of doors; Uncle stared into a camera, and the doors opened.
In the vast hall, several more cars sat, bigger than the hallway one, and closed. People like the attendants above moved about.

'In the first decade or so, brief forays to the outside were all we could manage,' Uncle was saying. 'But since then, while the ash has cleared somewhat, we have developed our vehicles. We're even working on a ship. You see,' he said, turning to her, 'I intend to conquer the world. Want to come?'

Luna had no need to think. 'I could use a vacation.'

I'm really not trying to pick a fight here - I can't be bothered with that sort of thing - but any claims of being ganged up on I can only see as empty posturing. Getting this loose group of highly individualistic writers, and whatever else we all are, to act in concert would be like herding cats.


As for critique, I second the proposal of a third thread; it could be for in-depth analysis, spoilery quotes and all, leaving the kiss-on-the-cheek comments to the Comments thread. Anyone can then choose to stay away from that thread to avoid spoilers to unread stories, or get into a discussion without having to hold back quotes or comments.

The format of the critique may warrant a thought; in my story tellers' group, critique is given in third person. At our monthly workshops, a teller of a story sits down apart from the (half) circle, maybe even back turned, and the others comment and critique ON the story and the way it is told, not TO the teller. In that way, it becomes less personal, and the teller does not feel compelled to reply to all, if any, of it.

It is amazing, and somewhat depressing, how one very inisistently chatty member of a group can rock the boat and even make other people feel like bulls in china shops. So don't worry, Justin: there are no minefields here, and you have done nothing to apologise for.
Maybe I should apologise for promiscuous use of metaphors? Nope, it's only a new breeding ground for imagery, just what we like.

Anyway, imo, discussions during the writing period - before everybody has posted their own story and had time to read the others - should be general and, if they touch upon anything relevant to any actual story, absolutely non-spoilery. Quoting the final, twisty, line of a story is not cricket.

Extra stories are welcome, so please do post them; I agree with Carrie that they should be in the comments thread, leaving the story thread 'clean' and easier to read through for voting.

As for the voting rules themselves: can we agree to accept them as they are? They do seem to work, though I personally am not sure how. No worries, though.
This is supposed to be fun, guys, not a stressful tiptoeing around other people's perceived sensitivities!

@J.J. Great story - and thanks for the film tip, always (well, not always, but this time) fun to revisit an 80s classis :o)

@Carrie - and Dean - what a brilliant little audiobook!

Interesting stories so far - not least Justin's inversion of the vacation concept :o)

Thanks, Paula :o)