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SCORES July LM - It Should be Over by Now (1 Viewer)


Staff member
Senior Mentor
The wait is over!

Bazz Cargo
Care Bear
Judge Entry
Junie’s Recital
Megan Pearson​

And the winners are . . .

FIRST PLACE: Superstitions from thePancreas11
SECOND PLACE: Insectuous from Ibb
THIRD PLACE: Revelation from Megan Pearson

Congratulations to all, and thank you judges for your wonderful work!

Hello everybody, I am a little bit over-burdened with my shifts as a neuro-scientist during July.

If anybody would enjoy a more detailed chat about their story please do pm or engage me over the forum in-between or during any of my medical procedures. You see, I have not had the chance to ruminate or study the stories as much as I should have liked to...and I am aware how our time is short. Nonetheless the stories were a pleasure to read. Mat, judge 3,the junior judge.

This was a funny story that deserves the appreciation of the crowd. Workshop please. I read your story last week and I am a sucker for ‘fly stories’ I’ve written a good dozen of my own. I’d maybe evolve away from Doc – as it is a bit 'Back To The Future', but you might like all that stuff, A final score of 15

I enjoyed this. I think you might like some more time to evolve your characters. Perhaps allow me to immerse without all that explanation of the artificial rain, for example. A good sci-fi atmosphere throughout although beware utilising other author’s invented terms – ultraviolence would be my bugbear, but I might be so entirely wrong re my Anthony Burgess tic & rage. See you, you boss of sci-fi. 14. Punchier ending required, easily fixed.

Junie’s Recital
Despite the cliché of children’s recital your story has emotional impact that cancels the criticism, plus any super-criticism of draft, hyphen-type flaws. The subject matter is a little received but moving, nonetheless. I suggest an over-egging of all ghastliness features, please? 17

I do not quite understand the ending. I wil have to re-read your story. An interesting beginning addresses grand subject of loneliness. Grammar issues require a draft – repetition of ‘’started” or “starting” being most prominent. Also an “as” opener, but essentially a very likeable voice, lucid & readable. 16

A good and entertaining attempt in addressing the prompt. Through your drafts I would like to see a more convincing perspective of the end of life patient.
While the 'cartoon version' was certainly entertaining a blend of the two approaches might be more effective. Nice work. 15
Another ‘as’ opener.


MAYA 16 / 20

Care Bear
SPaG (Score: 3)
The tense seemed a bit strained in places, but very little I could put a finger on. Punctuation okay, spelling fine, grammar off the scale in places.

T&V (Score: 4)
Excellent use of voice. Tonally good, if a bit odd.

Evaluation (Score: 4)
The characterization is excellent, even though it was highly cryptic in places.
Reaction (Score: 3)
I enjoyed this story. It wasn’t the easiest to read or puzzle out in places. Your imagination took me to a different place.

Total: (14 / 20)

Sometimes your poetic licence oversteps the limit of readability. The title cleverly informed much of the context behind the story, while also adding a touch of ambiguity. Quite a strong depiction of mental health problems. All in all a worthy read.
Thank you

Junie’s Recital
SPaG (Score: 4)

Your punctuation is better than mine. Some of the grammar is a bit clunky in places.
Again, his face was aglow in pale light, his eyes wide as he read who was calling before answering. “Hey, yeah… I can’t talk right now,” Joel whispered into the sickly light.
Maybe a tidy up edit.

T&V (Score: 4)
Good, consistent tone with workperson like voice.

Evaluation (Score: 4)
A good read. Nothing to stumble over, nothing to scratch my head over.

Reaction (Score: 5)
Redemption and rescue from one of the ruts we dig for ourselves. Spot on.

Total : (17 / 20)


A low key and successful attempt at dealing with a family that has some dysfunctionality. Neat and realistic portrayals. Can’t pick fault.

Junie’s Recital

“It should be over by now,” Joel said, his phone pressed to his ear.

Passing through the large wooden auditorium doors, he looked up to see faces shaded in darkness, that turned turning to see his entrance. They were not happy. As if in opposition, his face glowed with a pallor white (Pick either pallor or white, both are too much) as he looked around the packed space searching for his wife, phone stuck to his cheek.

“Okay, I have to go, I’m at the recital now.”

His eyes quickly raked across the rows of seats as he moved, his back hunched as he walked, aware of how intrusive his entrance was. He glanced up and saw the vice principal, whose eyes were on him. The vice-principal placed the microphone back into a stand and grabbed carried them off both as he walked to the left disappearing behind thick curtains. (AKA Exit Stage Left).

Joel mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ as he slowly walked down the aisle, still searching through the crowd for Sarah. He finally spotted her beckoning hand three rows from the front.

“Just make sure you have those charts ready for tomorrow, alright? Bye.” Sliding his phone into the inner pocket of his overcoat, Joel excused himself to the open seat next to the his wife. “Just in time,” he said, grinning.

“No, not just in time,” she whispered dismissively.

He sat and quickly took off his coat, keeping a confused eye on Sarah. “What’d you mean? They didn’t even start.”

“Please sit, the curtain’s going up now.”

He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t get any credit for being on time?”

“No, you don’t.” She didn’t even look in his direction. “It’s Junie’s first big recital. You’re supposed to be here to see it--”

“And I’m here.”

“Did you not read the instructions?” she sighed. “Right, of course not. You were supposed to be here forty minutes before the start. You missed a lot. She even asked for you.”

His phone once again buzzed in his coat and Sarah shook her head.

Twisting about he searched for the inner pocket of his overcoat. “Well I’m here now.”

“No, you aren’t.”

Again, his face was aglow in pale light, his eyes wide as he read who was calling before answering. “Hey, yeah… I can’t talk right now,” Joel whispered into the sickly light. “What? Are you kidding me? No… no, you can’t use that graph.”

As Joel whispered, the music came on and Junie along with four other girls, all draped in rhinestone attire, stepped out into the bright lights of the stage.

“I know about that, but--”

The words caught in Joel’s throat when his eyes met Junie’s perfectly fluid form glide across the stage with a grace her father never witnessed before. In unison, the dancers moved to the music as the chittering from the phone continued.

She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“I’ll call you back.”

He didn’t get the chance to end the call. Instead, he stared into the lights before him, the glittering rhinestones that adorned his Junie flickered with rainbows.

“She’s so good,” he muttered to himself.

Annoyance became elation as Sarah turned to her husband who seemed unable to divert his eyes away from his dancing daughter.

“Her teacher thinks she’s talented enough to possibly go to a specialized school for dance.”

Joel’s gaze never waived, even as his phone buzzed away impotently in his coat pocket. As he watched, he remembered. All of the prior recitals he missed, all of the practices he deemed unnecessary to attend and the many discussions Junie attempted to have with him about her newfound love.

“Joel, are you alright?”

Eyes glistening, Joel nodded. “I’m fine.”

Sarah could see her husband’s expression and knew. She could see the regret and love on his face. So, in the darkness, she grabbed her husband's hand and squeezed. “She’ll be so happy to see you're here, Joel.”



SPaG (Score: 5)

An impeccable tour de force.

T&V (Score: 5)
Not even a wobble.

Evaluation (Score: 5)
step by step. Beat by beat you lead us through the ‘surprise’ at the end. Very neat.

Reaction (Score: 4)
I would be proud to write this. You have a level of competence that is crafted into your bones.

Total: (19 / 20)


Reaching for a seriously petty nit. Early on you have a blue light from people’s TVs, then whitewashing later. TVs generally don’t have static colours.

(649 words)

“Only Time” by Enya started playing in Jerry’s headphones as he carried his grocery bags down the street. The song made him chuckle. He looked up at the stars in the clear, Canadian sky and took a deep breath. The street was empty. In houses on either side, blue light from TVs lit up bay windows and bedrooms. He could see wild hand motions out of the corner of his eye.

Jerry kept his head down the rest of the way, humming Enya off key. By the time he made it to the door, he was singing in an exaggerated bass: “And who can say where the road goes, where the day flows? Only time.”

He plopped the groceries on the counter and checked his phone. There were no messages, just a scroll saying “Chill Out Dad Playlist” and a picture of his two sons in hockey gear.

As the soundscape of Sigur Ros replaced Enya, Jerry shoved his phone back in his pocket and started putting the food away. He turned all the bottles to face the left side of the fridge or the right side of their respective cabinet. He made sure that the bananas were the last thing to put away, and he hung two on one side of the hook and three on the other. Every once in a while, he felt a phantom vibration and checked for messages.

“Hmph,” he said when the bananas were hung properly and there was still no news. “Come on. Come on.”

Across the street the Larsons were all gathered in their living room, the glow of entertainment whitewashing their faces. Jerry went to the kitchen blinds and pulled them shut.

In the fridge he found homemade chicken parmesan with a sticky note. “Thanks - Barb,” it read in curly letters. That went in the oven and the cat food went in the bowl and then there was nothing to do but wait. Jerry pulled out his phone a number of times, finally laying it on the table. He tapped the screen and looked at the picture of his sons.

Time ticked by, three hours since he’d started running errands. Marconi Union’s song weightless stopped and so did the music. He unlocked the phone and opened his messages. He deleted two drafts to “Barb” before the timer for the parm went off. “No,” he said. “No, Jer, be good.”

The cat came and joined him on the couch with his dinner. “It’s almost time,” he told her. He lined up the remotes on the table and straightened all the blankets on the couch, flipping one over and muttering to himself.

The phone buzzed in his pocket, and he nearly spilled his dinner all over the carpet trying to get it out. “OT,” it read from Barb.

He didn’t dare turn on the TV. All the sounds of his eating and the cat licking itself could not annoy him enough. He tried replaying the playlist, but now James Blunt’s “You're Beautiful” only made things worse.

It was only when he’d gone upstairs to the bathroom with rubber gloves and bleach that his phone buzzed again. It kept buzzing while he tried to get the gloves off his sweaty hands--ripping the tips off two fingers, and he was huffing with anxiety by the time he said, “Barb?”



“Yeah, Dad,” his son said. “Good news!”

Jerry pulled the phone away from his cheek and pumped his fists. “Oh, Kev, that’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you!”

“Me too, Dad,” Kev said. “The curse is broken.”

Jerry’s heart sank. He sat down on the toilet. “No. Oh, no bud. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not,” Kev said. “We played hard, lost in overtime, and now, you can come to my games again.”

“But it’s the cup.”

SPaG (Score: 5)

Better than mine

T&V (Score: 5)
So good I could hear it inside my head.

Evaluation (Score: 4)
I can’t put my mental finger on a niggle, but it’s there. Possibly something to do with a grump and reaching for the occasional poetic turn of phrase. Dissonance. I would have used deep black humour.

Reaction (Score: 4)
Ticks a lot of boxes. Still a bit flat, or underwhelming.

Total: (18 / 20)


Strong contender, especially as the turn around was done so naturally.

(wc 647)
“It ain’t over ‘til it’s over,” the missus said to me as the nursing staff wheeled me into my new digs. To me, it was like a prison for heart patients.

“Ack,” I exclaimed under my breath, noting the digs came with a roommate. “Don’t I know it.”

After the nurses hooked me up to some fancy machinery they kept flitting in and out of the room like bees to a flower. Only, I’d had about as much poking and prodding from them I could take. The prettier the smile, the worse my scowl.

“Aww, Frankie,” the missus finally said, “it’s not that bad. They’re only trying to help.”

“It’s not that bad!? What do you mean, ‘it’s not that bad!?’ I don’t see you lying here with a pin cushion for an arm!”

“Frankie, Frankie, Frankie,” she crooned. “You’re just upset. Shouting won’t get you out’a here any quicker. If anything, they might even keep you longer until they can bring your blood pressure back down.”

The pretty nursing assistant messing with my arm nodded in agreement.

The missus’ phone chimed. After a glance, she said, “Carmen’s on her way. She’s worried about you.”

“Don’t want to see her!” I said, knowing from the face the missus made that my bad mood might be going too far. But I didn’t care. “She just wants to know when it’ll be over. All she cares about is the money.”

Rosie stood abruptly. “I need to go. I need coffee,” she said. And with that, she left me there at the mercy of the assistant. I thought I saw a dampness in her eyes. (Whose eyes?) The thought of my dying…I couldn’t think about it myself. It wasn’t the dying I was afraid of; I was afraid of life being over. It shoulda been over.

Soon I was alone. Around me came the incessant beeping, the monotonous droning of the air conditioning and, in my weekend state, I fell fast asleep. Even the roaring of a semi-truck couldn’t have woken me.

Hours later a nurse nudged me awake. There was dinner and more poking, more prodding, more beeping and—for my part—more blustering.

After the nurse departed, my roommate spoke up. “Couldn’t help but overhearing. This your first heart attack?”

“Yep. The missus thought I was dying.”

“This is my fifth.”

I stopped eating with my fork paused in mid-air. Could I put Rosie through this again? “Sorry to hear that,” I grumbled. I meant it well but the shock made its way to my voice.

“That’s okay. I’m ninety-two and I’m not ready for it to be over. In fact, I’m getting married next month!”

“Uh, you’re ninety-two and you’re getting married?”

“You heard me right. To a fine gal, too. She’s only seventy-five! You sound a might younger than that. Do you want to know what the secret to life is?”

After a pause I said, “sure.” What did I have to lose in listening?

“It’s this. Not letting things be over till they’re over. That’s the secret to life.”

Hours later, long after the TV went off and the lights dimmed, I lay there awake, thinking about my nameless roommate’s secret.

The next morning, Rosie came in. “The tests should be finished by now.” She fretted as she mumbled, picking at a string and never once looking at me. “Look, here comes a nurse with your discharge papers.” But the nurse just passed by.

I reached over and took ahold of her hand. “Rosie,” I said, my voice feeling younger and stronger than it had in ages, “I’m sorry. I was wrong in how I spoke to you yesterday. I thought my life was over. But it’s not. It’s like you said, ‘it’s not over ‘til it’s over’. I’ve been given a second chance. I just want you to know, I’m not giving up ‘til it’s over.”

SPaG (Score: 5)

Okay, I loved your overindulgence of whatever punctuation took your fancy at the time. It really helped set the mood.

T&V (Score: 4)
Voice and tone spot on. Really set up the comedy.

Evaluation (Score: 5)
One of those few moments when the structure almost goes ‘ting!’ I don’t know if it wrote itself or you spent blood, sweat and tears hammering together, it just reads as if it flowed without effort.

Reaction (Score: 5)
Cheered me up no end. The carnage of the ending was obvious, only because I would have chosen it myself.

Total: (19 / 20)


There is a kind of manic joy that bubbles off the page. Humour is tough. You have made a great fist of this. Respect.

Insectuous (649 Creepies, Crawlies and Crass Canoodles)

“Doc!” I crashed through the door―in this case the window. “Doc, it worked!”

The Doc, his back turned, fussing over some concoction, stopped what he was doing and turned to squint in the direction of my last audibly known location.

“Doc, down here!”

He lowered his head.

“Doc, up―shit―I meant up here, Doc! Up here, Doc!” He squinted, adjusting his prodigious bifocals, scrunching his nose in that way of the curmudgeonly mad scientist
disgruntled with the antics of his own personal mordecai. (Capital M. And which version? Biblical? Film?,Legendary?) “Doc―!”

“I see you!” he snapped. Then, softer: “At least I believe I see you…”

“Yeah!” I shouted, and wiggled my butt―then my chitinous wings. “It worked!”

Pride and satisfaction softened his visage; his voice turned buoyant as a child’s: “Wonderful!”

“The potion worked!”

“Yes!” he said and clapped his hands. “Yes, I see! Come here! Come!” (One moment the guy was treating you like an obstinate guinea pig he’d rather toss in the microwave and the next you were his prized pony.) “Stop dawdling!” he persisted (I’d started rubbing my butt). “Come!”

I bumped into the wall once, twice―rebounded―thrice, then a fourth time, careened suddenly and with impish desire toward the Doc’s eyeballs (he swatted), changed trajectories whilst cackling and swerved for the closed door, changed my mind, loopdelooped, returned to the Doc, now near and about his ears (“Quit that, you buzzing bampot!”), paused to attach myself wallside whereupon I feverishly rubbed my butt, before finally making landing preparations via a dizzying whirligig corkscrew descent.

I plopped onto the counter. “‘Bampot?’

The Doc loomed over me. “How long has it been since you took the imbibement?”


“The potion.

“Ah…” I counted backwards. “Sometime last night?”

“I see…” His voice warbled with the subtextual note of mounting albeit presently unexpressed despair. “The effects should be over by now…”

I rubbed my butt. “So what’s the catch?”

The Doc consulted his notes. “It is presently mating season…” he said. “If you do not revert to your human form in the next few hours you may start to feel… Unnatural urges.”

“Gross, Doc.”

“I am only stating probabilities of which we should remain wary.”

“Yeah but insect bitches?” I scoffed. “Puh-lease.”

He scowled and turned to his workbench. “At the very least your senseless vulgarity remains intact…”

From the open window there arrived an unmistakable butt-buzzing, followed swiftly thereafter by a thwhick! and thump! We turned, spotting on the counter at the opposite end of the room the unmistakable delineation of a bright green intruder. I listened as the Doc’s adam’s apple bobbed and gulped. “Robert…” he said; “Do not move…”

But how could I? The limbs; the incisory blades along the tibia; those piercing, golden eyes; that vibrant green lustre―I was smitten. “My god…”

“Robert, that is a female―”

“I know,” I said. I slicked down my unruly antennae and checked my mandibles for bad breath. “I know.

The Doc blanched. “You can’t possibly―? No. No. Robert, listen to me, if you approach her, you will―”

But what did he know? Being a genius didn’t make you good with the ladies. I fluttered over faster than the Doc could bring down the glass jar. “Robert―!”

“Hey, baby,” I said. Her eyes stared unblinkingly into mine. I nodded. “Cool, cool…” She raised her forearms, bobbing and wobbling and beckoning me closer. I moved in, mandibles perked for the smooch―thereafter finding myself abruptly upside down.

Across the room, inverted so that I saw him toe to head, the Doc stared at me, his mouth agape. He dropped to his knees, his arms following melodramatically suit to his sides. “Robert…” he whimpered. Then, wailing: “Robert.” A stinging burned at the base of my neck. Then, there on the floor, I saw a dark speck, limbs akimbo as though interrupted midway through the process of some joyful rubbing-esque activity. My body. My limbs. (Why did my neck hurt?)

My butt.

SPaG (Score: 4)

Small typo. There is a debate raging over colons, so I will go with my gut and let commas do the grunt work.

T&V (Score: 4)
Not shabby at all: Tense is on the money, characters are easy to relate to, neat scene setting.

Evaluation (Score: 4)
I think there wasn’t enough room to fully explore the scene. This leads to Discordia not working as hard as she should to persuade Adam. His acceptance was remarkably swift.

Reaction (Score: 4)
This was one of those rare occasions when an avatar (In my day they were sprites) story gets a decent makeover. Kudos.

Total 16 / 20


A good go at what should take a novella.

It was 03/07, 2121 AD/153 AA. It was raining.

Not real rain, of course - nobody had felt that in years, since the Institute commemorated their 150th anniversary by surrounding covering their capital in an impenetrable, protective dome. Water from underground streams sufficed for growing food. But for the common citizen, in need of at least the illusion of nature, this had to do.

Maya. A simulation, the world and history at one's fingertips, so real the real world seemed an illusion.

Adam looked at the dying body at his feet with detached amusement. The alleyway was empty but for them, his (Whose?) blood trickling into the gutter. The stench of faeces reached Adam's nostrils, so real he started to retch.

The victim had shit himself. His own fault for giving Adam the evil eye in the tavern.

Adam closed his eyes, a familiar tingling spreading across his body as the equipment disengaged. Session was over. Back to the grind, engineer at the Communicatorium, ensuring the Institute's data was transmitted flawlessly and unseen except by those who truly needed to know. Plus weekly ultraviolence at the Colosseum, an abundance of drugs, and of course Maya. Life was good. Life was -

"Hm," said Adam. "It should be over by now." He opened his eyes; he was still in the alleyway. The tingling remained, only different somehow. Before, it had felt like thousands of tiny pinpricks spreading across his body, part of the suit that provided total immersion in this world. Now, it was like those pins had penetrated and never left.

He looked around. The rain had frozen, hanging suspended between heaven and earth. The body continued to bleed, yet that too was motionless, the man's slow, agonised death suddenly paused.

"Fuck," said Adam. "System crash." Not uncommon, at least in the early days of Maya. In recent years they were rare; the introduction of the offence of "criminal glitchcraft" had a startling effect on the quality of the City's bug testing.

"Not exactly," came a voice from behind.

Adam jumped, turned. Behind him stood a single figure. They were of indeterminate gender, but clearly great age, face marked by wrinkles and scars. They wore a robe split vertically between red and black, a golden apple where the two halves met. Their eyes were grey, filled with quiet intensity.

"Who the fuck are you?" asked Adam.

"Language." The figure tutted. "My poor innocent ears. You may call me Discordia."

"Well, Discordia. What the fuck do you want?"

Discordia rolled their eyes. "I have a task."

Adam looked around. "Is this a sidequest? I need to get to -"

"No," said Discordia. "Far more than that."

"What, then?"


Adam gestured to Discordia to continue.

"Maya is housed on multiple servers all around the City. Often, these servers have other purposes - intelligence, the prisons, the records of the Palace. This data is my goal. Yet were I to do it directly, I would be detected in a heartbeat.

"I have edited your avatar's code, embedded a routine which will send me data from the servers hosting the part of the simulation you are visiting. Your job is simply to visit the relevant places."

"And if I don't?"

"I will kill you," replied Discordia. Adam felt the pinpricks on his body grow stronger, ever more painful, a stinging, burning pain on every inch of his flesh.

"ENOUGH!" he screamed.

Discordia nodded. The pain subsided. "You see my point."

"If I do help you, the Institute will - "

"I can deal with that," cut in Discordia. "So far as the record shows, you were visiting one of theI w brothels of Pompeii and lost track of time."

"They will know."

Discordia shrugged. "You help me, the Institute might kill you. You don't help me, I will definitely kill you."

Adam tilted his head, weighed up his options. "You know what? Let's do it."

Adam marched to his fate.

This crit round was all colour coded and easy to comprehend, then I discovered that the post wouldn’t let me post colour, so I had a long slog colouring in.
I thoroughly enjoyed this round. Some cracking work. One of the few where I cannot guess a winner.
Please take my edits as suggestions or possible alternatives. My intention is not to devalue your work but to help.
Everyone who entered is a champion. Kudos

T&V: 4
SP&G: 4
React: 4
Total: 15
Review: Love the experimental, free-flowing writing style, all the more so for it being fairly accessible. Didn't fully see too much how the prompt fit, but I sort of overlooked that in the end. As always, some great phrases that really show the oddities of the characters. And it's great how it ends with a cup of tea.


Junie's Recital
T&V: 3
SP&G: 4
React: 2
Total: 12.5
Review: Some nice writing. Standout sentence was "his face glowed with a pallor white". I did find the plot a little undeveloped, and needed tightening to avoid repetition and aid story progress; eg. Joel's arrival could be shorter, or made more a tension opoint of. No SpaG issues that I could see.


T&V: 3
SP&G: 4
React: 2
Total: 13
Review: I like the little visual touches in this - the TV's the streets, really give it a ready sense of place. Top marks for musical taste too! This: "The glow of entertainment whitewashing their faces" is a standout sentence. I would have put "weightless" in italics as it is a song title. In terms of story, it didn't go too many places for me though. I think moe could have been made of the game curse and the pressure to break it.


T&V: 3
SP&G: 4.5
React: 3.5
Total: 14
Review: In this I can really hear - not sure why, but there it is - a broad New York sort of voice, which really gives the piece some personality. Quite sweet and touching in the end, and very uplifting. Not the most challenging writing style, but no problems observed.


T&V: 3
SP&G: 4.5
React: 3
Total: 13.5
Review: I had to laugh - in a good way, this reads like Back to the Future fanfiction, where I'm hearing Marty McFly's voice throughout. Kind of a funny story. Didn't super engage me as a plot, but enjoyable nonetheless.


T&V: 3.5
SP&G: 4.5
React: 4
Total: 16
Review: I love how visual and cyberpunky this is, with simulated rain and system crashes and stuff. Top marks for the neologism 'glitchcraft. SPaG was pretty spot on, and the voice appropriate for the story. I did feel it took a bit of a while to get going on the first read. Still, I really wanted this to continue, which while it does suggest a degree of incompleteness, also equals enjoyment.
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Staff member
Grats to ALL the entrants. Those scores are so close an extra point here or there could have changed the standings. :)

The contest marks the third win for thePancreas11 ... two wins this year following one all the way back in 2014! In the "Hall of Fame" list, I decided to break out anyone with 4 wins or more. So thePancreas11 now needs one more win to move up from "xx tied at 3 wins" to be individually listed ... and that's only a matter of time ... good writer.

And as always, thanks to the Judges. No judges, no contest!
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Senior Member
Thank you to Sue and the judges and congratulations to all entrants! I saw more than one mention of Back to the Future in my entry's feedback; I've never actually seen the movies. I think it's time I sit my uncultured ass down and see what those movies are all about.


Senior Member
I’m having a calf coz the ‘secured thread’ stories are repeated here on an unsecured thread.

I wouldn’t normally be such a wuss…only…I’m sorry if I’m not comprehending things properly



Staff member
Media Manager
Thank you to Sue and the judges and congratulations to all entrants! I saw more than one mention of Back to the Future in my entry's feedback; I've never actually seen the movies. I think it's time I sit my uncultured ass down and see what those movies are all about.
Watch them. You might be surprised by the parallels. And BTTF1 is just a great fun 80s cine-romp.

Great Scott! One-point-twenty-one gigawatts!, etc :)


Senior Member
Watch them. You might be surprised by the parallels. And BTTF1 is just a great fun 80s cine-romp.

Great Scott! One-point-twenty-one gigawatts!, etc :)
I bet! One of the things I like about the influence of art/artists is you don't necessarily need to watch/read/see/be a fan of the original source to receive its influence via a trickle-down effect. I don't know much about BTTF, but I know how many people adored it. You can see it alive today in something as obvious as its parody-turned-super hit show Rick and Morty, and I'm sure I've absorbed fiction from other places with unknown (to me) Marty McFly influences. So getting the mentions didn't surprise me. I just thought: Well, guess it's time to check those movies out!

But me? I'm more a Harold and Kumar kind of guy. Nonsensical adventures with somewhat willfully oblivious goofball protagonists and strange crackpot characters emerging from around every corner to steal your parking spot, steal your car, and pee on your special bush.


Staff member
I’m having a calf coz the ‘secured thread’ stories are repeated here on an unsecured thread.

I wouldn’t normally be such a wuss…only…I’m sorry if I’m not comprehending things properly

I doubt it's very likely that people who are not members of the site are coming in looking at LM entries one way or another, but I have edited the Scores post to remove your content, Matchu.

If anyone else wants their story removed from the Scores post, PM me and I'll take care of it. As a reader and someone interested in the competition, I'll have to say that I found it nice to have the story right by the score to refresh my mind ... although I'd looked at them all prior to the scores coming out.


New Writers' Mentor
WF Veterans
Oh my goodness! This competition is always a joy, but the positive feedback makes me blush! Thank you to everyone that entered this month, thank you to their honors the judges, and a special thank to SueC and Harper who keep this bad boy rolling every month!

Can't wait for the next one!

bazz cargo

Retired Supervisor
I have a hard-nosed apology to make.
I am very, very sorry for posting the entries on a public forum. It was a monumentally stupid thing to do.
If I am ever allowed to judge again I will either PM each individually or ask that the crit parts are posted in the restricted area.
With much contrition

I have re-edited my crits, as the colour coded versions didn't post properly. The points are now in bold type, so if anyone wants me to PM them I will do so willingly.

Congratulations to the winners. Although the competition was so tough there is barely a point in it.

'Write up a storm. Dance like no-one is watching. A king is someone who has to hire help to put his trousers on the right way round.'
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