Summer 2016 Nationstates Short Story Contest

[Equestria and Griffon]

ATTENTION:PLEASE SUBMIT YOUR ENTRIES TO THIS THREAD BY 7/31/16!

[USS Monitor]

ATTENTION:PLEASE SUBMIT YOUR ENTRIES TO THIS THREAD BY 7/31/16!

The deadline in the OP still says 7/15.

[Unitaristic Regions]

ATTENTION:PLEASE SUBMIT YOUR ENTRIES TO THIS THREAD BY 7/31/16!

Thanks, great!

[The first Galactic Republic]

ATTENTION:PLEASE SUBMIT YOUR ENTRIES TO THIS THREAD BY 7/31/16!

The deadline in the OP still says 7/15.

Yeah so which one is it?

Also is that OP word count up to date?

[Free Swiss States]

Title: Pink roses on her grave
Word count: 280

Link to story on Google Docs

[The Grene Knyght]

^^^Great story, friend^^^

[also, bump]

[Infected Mushroom]

I do have a story idea... not sure whether or not it's going to be too cynical even for NS...

Can't really say if it I can fit it within the word limit (I'll have to test it though I think its a focused enough narrative). I actually had a few other ideas before but the word limit made it impossible to write it.

[The Grene Knyght]

I do have a story idea... not sure whether or not it's going to be too cynical even for NS...

Can't really say if it I can fit it within the word limit (I'll have to test it though I think its a focused enough narrative). I actually had a few other ideas before but the word limit made it impossible to write it.

Honestly I think you should just post whatever you've got. The judges aren't in a position to be too picky, since we only have 1 entry so far (mine's coming soon, as soon as I come up with an idea, plan it out, write it, edit it, trash it and start again, etc etc etc...)

[Evilland of Evil Business]

Title: Footprints
Genre: Abstract
Word Count: 325

[The Grene Knyght]

Here is my humble offering:
OMEGA.exe
Wordcount - 574

[Anollasia]

I normally don't write stories, but I'm taking writer's craft next year, so I might as well try early on. The word count is 1081.

“Where to?” asked Burnham.

“Off to Penelope’s. There’s something we need to talk about.”

“And what may this little something be?”

“Goddammit Burnham! You may be my friend, but that doesn’t mean you can just ask me all about my private life!” And without a word more, he continued his way off to his sweetheart’s residence.

“Penelope!” he shouted as he discovered the door was unlocked.

No response. As he climbed the extensive staircase, he soon heard noises coming from her bedroom, specifically grunting noises. “I knew it...” he grumbled. He started to the bedroom door and suddenly opening it, shouted, “AHA! GOTCHA!!!”

But it was not what he had expected. It was only Penelope, sitting in bed watching a documentary on mating animals.

Penelope looked at him quizzically, “...Fine, you got me, Nick. I have a keen interest in biology.” Nick looked back at her with a mix of confusion, embarrassment, and a hint of shame. “What? Haven’t you ever seen a girl who likes to learn? These documentaries are very informative, you know. Come, sit with me. Let’s watch it together.” Penelope told Nick pleasantly.

Nick stared at her blankly and said, “There was something I thought we should talk about.”

“What is it?”

“The thing is...in the shock of things...I actually forgot.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright, it should come back sometime. Now come and watch TV with me!”

Nick slowly settled in bed, next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Not exactly my idea of a romantic night.” said Nick jokingly to the river of blonde flowing from his shoulder.

Penelope laughed nervously.

...

An hour later, the doorbell rang. Penelope descended the staircase to open the door. “What are you doing here?!” Penelope exclaimed upon opening.

“I just came to visit, sweetie...have you forgotten your father?”

“You shouldn’t have come here, James.”

“James?! I’m your father, Penelope! Have you no respect left for me? None at all???”

Penelope slammed the door, only to be countered by her father’s brown shoe in the doorway. “Please, just let me in. I need to talk to you.”

With a sigh, Penelope reluctantly opened the door and let him in. He wandered into the living room and sat on a brown leather couch and rested his head back. “I’m aching from all that travel.”

“What is it?” Penelope snapped at him as she stood, overshadowing him. “Spit it out!”

“Well, you know...” He scratched his head confusedly, “I forgot now.”

She placed the palm of her hand on her head. At that very moment, Nick, who was in the bathroom, entered the room. “I was looking for you, but you weren’t in your room...” His words drifted off upon sight of the older man. “Who is this man?”

“Oh, nobody-”

“Don’t be silly!” the man blurted out, “I’m Penelope’s father. And who are you?”

“My name is Nick. I’m Penelope’s boyfriend.”

“So you’ve got a boyfriend, huh?”

“Penelope, you told me your father died...” Nick said confused.

Penelope was now being crushed by the pressure of her lies and poor choices of the past. There were two choices: either to tell the truth...or feed everyone more lies.

“He did die.” Penelope looked back at the man and coldly declared, “This is not my father!”

Her father, shivering, attempted to refute her statement, “Penelope...what has happened to you?” He held his hands in the air, as if to touch her precious face. Then he directed his words to Nick, “She is lying, my boy. Penelope left us during high school without us knowing. We thought she was on a school trip to camp, but she actually escaped to this town. Eventually, we found out from her friend-”

“Will you just shut up?!” Penelope bellowed. Silence followed. Then, a moment later, the doorbell sang its song. Penelope headed to the door, relieved to be saved by the bell.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered to the beau at the door.

“I came to visit, babe.” He said and proceeded to head inside.

“No! I’m bus-”

“Who is it?!” shouted a voice from the living room.

“Oh, just a salesman...”

“Me? A salesman? Penelope, have you been smoking something? Did you bang your head somewhere? Who’s in there?” The man at the door exclaimed, barging past her. Arriving in the living room, he was face to face with Nick and Penelope’s father. “Who are you and what are you doing in Penelope’s house?” he asked them.

“I’d like to ask you the same question.” Nick responded. “Penelope, who is this man?”

“My name is Tony Valentine.” the man declared coolly. “I’m Penelope’s fiancé.”

Nick stood in silence for a few seconds. “I knew it...” he mumbled, a look of anger slowly filling his face.

During all of this, Penelope was just watching in pure terror, covering most of her face except her eyes with her delicate hands.

“Penelope, I always felt that something’s been going on, but I didn’t trust myself because I’ve been wrong many times before. I completely trusted you, believing you could do no wrong. But this time, my feelings have been right. And now I remember what I was going to talk to you about.” Nick immediately left the house, never to return.

Next was her father. He stood up, leaving a mark of his rear on the couch. “I am absolutely disgusted by your actions, Penelope. Escaping your home, cheating on two lovely young men, and treating your father worse than dirt! What has gotten to your head?!?! Why, I would punish you...but you’re no longer my daughter.” He too, left.

Lastly, there was Tony Valentine. “Daughter?” He stared straight into Penelope’s pain-filled eyes. “You told me your father died.”

Penelope, tears in her eyes, managed to let out the words, “It was...a lie...”

“What other lies have you told me?”

“That you’re the only one, that I was born in this town, that-”

“I bet you don’t really love me like you always say.”

“But I do!” Penelope was bursting with tears at this point.

Tony shook his head with disapproval. “You can’t make it in this life with a house of lies. Eventually it will collapse.” And that was the last of him.

Penelope fell to the floor, weeping. After what felt like an eternity, she tried to use a pillar to support herself so she could get up, but the pillar tumbled over.

Penelope’s house of lies was collapsing.

[Ruclax]

Short Story: Kiros

The cool wind tickles my face as I stand in a crowd of some thousand people in twilight darkness with black, sharp rocky ground stabbing my feet: but this was worth it. I am seeing above the clouds. The sea of white waves gently riding the wind makes this even more worth it. The purple hue of the atmosphere and the mountain ranges above the clouds are so stunning: they simply command silence: a silence that relaxes your whole soul to simply look and admire. Admiring the scene around me for some time, I look around me, the many people dressed in the best they could find (even if it meant they wore a different colour tunic), and see her. Oh, the beauty: beauty unmatched, even by the mountain ranges, sunrise, sky, stars, and wonders around me. I still see her as beautiful. After everything, I still see her as beautiful. I turn away and look back at the open enormity to my left.
It is nearly Sunrise now, and my neck sufficiently hurts. It’s beautiful, the sunrise. I turn back to look: her eyes ablaze with the sun, turn to me, slowly. I look forward. I look back the sunrise. I look, anywhere else. Finally, I hear it: the angelic voice of the priestess soars through the air. The sound is depressed, but southing; of a dark, deep, and petrified love. it swirls around the thousands, and the thousands are commanded to silence: I’ve never see that before. She, even, in her beauty, seemed transitory in this holy sound. Everyone made not a peep on this mountain top. That angelic sound being herd while the sun rose from its slumber in the middle of an open sea of white waves must have put us all in reverence never before experienced. The priestess and the priests slowly walked down an open isle that we all had made. The priestess kept singing her dark and deep rhythm of love and majesty. I can’t see much, besides little specs of the procession; although, we all could hear. Trying to catch a glimpse of the process, she turned and looked at me: our eyes met. My soul hurt. My soul cringed. My soul died a little. Please stop looking at me, please. Please, I beg you. I can’t. The blueness of them destroys me now. She slowly looked away. Why does it have to be like this? I looked back at the view to my left and held ,y head there until I herd the trumpets.
The brilliant trumpets sounded hard and held their tune for an unreal amount of time: it commanded attention, changed the atmosphere even; brought us from a southing mysterious song to a deliberately dark and majestic tune: they are going to start the Sacrament. Today is the holiest time of the our peoples calendar; it's called the Most Holy Solemnity of the Afterlife. They do an elaborate ritual called the Sacrament of the Bridge and the Body. It's supposed to open the Doors of the Afterlife and gain an audience with Anubis, the God of the Afterlife and our patron. Now, I’ve never seen anything mystical in my entire life; in fact, I don’t believe in any of this, but our beliefs and the tradition that come from it have held this city together-it’s a positive thing, I suppose. For me, it’s the beauty: everything the priests and priestesses do are always pleasing to look at. Today, though, is different from the usual Rites: I’ve herd only rumors of what they do for Sacraments (which are only done on very special occasions which fall every couple or more than a couple of years) since no one ever sees it. The last Sacrament to be done was twenty years ago, before I was born. This Sacrament is said to be done every one hundred years: today is the morning of that day: it’s a big deal. I stand on my tip toes, and see some of the lower temple: beautiful. It’s something to look at. No one knows who actually built it. Legend says, or so says the priests and priestess, that Anubis commanded his angles and demons to build it; I’ve never seen it this close, and I get why people would say that too. I mean the thing is huge, and the type of stone and stuff made to make it doesn't even belong here. In fact, I don't think any other village or city has it. The wide and huge steps are all white marble, . with giant pillars surrounding the area of the same beautiful marble. The marble steps and pillars surround nothing but two large doors made of volcanic and dark glass mixed with silver; that’s odd, two elegant, dark, doors in the middle of nothing but a large uplifted bed of marble and marble pillar directly in line with each other, only spaced from the other maybe 20 feet; you would think a God would want more. I try and tip toe toward the middle of the isle to see more: one of the priestess open the first door, and I see there, in the middle of the first door and in between the other shit one directly behind it a way back, a magnificent altar. The Altar has three statues of Anubis. I start to shove people has my curiosity and awe push me closer. One of the priest chant: Ah, okay; They call these doors The Door of the Dead and the Door of the Living, and the altar- the Altar of the Afterlife and the sacrament is called the Sacrament of the Bridge and the Body. The chanting starts to dip down into a terrific and awful rhythm. Then servants of the priest and priestesses start to walk down the isle with a women, clothed in beautiful bright purple and silver linings. I’ve never seen such a garment, ever. The servants swing gold things which pour out a deliciously rich aroma: the incense. I close my eyes and smell fragrance, and breath out: how relaxing. I move and shove a little bit more, only gaining a few steps forward, but it’s something. Finally, everyone reaches the first door.
The High Priest and High Priestess look toward the Sun and extent their arm toward it: we all look at the magnificent scene before us: the white waves of the clouds becoming lighter now, the sky is painted with orange and gold, and the mountain ranges shining true. We all simply admire the scene, then the High Priestess open her arms and singing that wonderful chant, and the High Priest start to do something, but I can’t see what; I start to push a little closer. Just when I gain some ground, everyone suddenly bows. I finally have a clear view; the High Priest and Priestess extent there arms toward the Altar as they kneel. Someone tugs on my garment, and I hit his hand and reaming standing: I look intently. I finally figure out that the eyes of the statues of Anubis around the altar are glowing; the rays of the sun hitting them directly. Wow, that’s something. But, what else? In my frustration, I start to kneel myself; there’s noting to see, then we all hear and feel it: a absolutely hard pound of the entire ground of rock beneath us shakes us all; almost as if something had just punched the entire floor of rock we are on. I immediately look back at, as everyone still kneels, at the altar, and I can’t believe what I see: the eyes on the statues of Anubis are on fire with a purple fire; the High Priest announces the Sacrament as begun and that our Sovereign Lord is now watching. I go prone and start to make my way toward the front: I need to see this. I need to know this is real. Is this real? I start to push forward, making my way toward the front: this will take some time, but I need to get up there. Can all the stories be true? Is Anubis real? Trumpets sound thrice, and the singing starts to grow louder. I look up again and see the servants helping the High Priestess undress. She starts to walk toward the first door, opened before her. I stop in awe of the scene: the golden rays of the sun striking her body, the purple fires (that I’m still trying to make sense of), and the gold altar shining back at me. I feel a heavy tug on my cloths; I look back and see her, Sarah.
Her blue eyes melt me; but no, not after what she did. I can’t. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know. Sarah, please leave me alone, I think.
“Kiros! What are you doing”, she says in a hurried whisper.
Right then, the trumpets sounded thrice; I look back at the altar and the High Priestess. The door shuts in front of her, as I see her lay naked on the gold Altar.
Sarah tugs at me again.
“Kiros, get down, or you’ll anger Our Lord”.
I looked back at her and twisted my arm away from her, harshly. Looking at her a moment, I then continued to make my way toward the front, and finally I reached it, without, her.
I herd the High Priestess say loudly from the other side of the door:
"Anubis, my lover, on your Most Sacred Solemnity of the Afterlife, I beg permission to enter the Second Door, to gain an audience with you in your immaculate and most holy presence, to acquire any knowledge you might want to bestow on us, and, my lover, to prove our devotion to you so that we may have protection and your affection in the afterlife”.
Then a loud trumpet sounding noise shook the ground: the thousands yelped in fear. I stood in shock. It was’t out trumpets. Then a flare of fire. I looked back up at the scene, purple fire started to engulf the First Door. Black smoke start to ooze out of the white marble and spread, like a fog around the marble, and the door started to-just-disintegrate in front of everyone. The door was no longer there, so I saw the High Priestess on the Altar there, surrounded by purple fire and ball smoke oozing-there-from there statues of Anubis, still with eyes ablaze. The ground shook again and the purple fire from the eyes of the statues bursted out and swirled-as if a tornado-around her and around the entire temple. I looked closely, in absolutely awe, at the High Priestess: she moved her hand toward her hips, then lower-her tongue out in a most seductive way-and started to moan. Her moans were amplified, and carried over the multitudes; like an echo. She rolled her eyes back with her tongue and said in a most sensuous way:
"My Lover, I offer myself to you: my body and my soul as a sign of my love for you. I always loved you and will for all eternity. Make straight, my lover, if you see fit and deem myself and us worthy, the path and open the Doors before us."
The priests and High Priest then sound their trumpets; the ground shakes with every sound of the trumpet..The High Priestess moans louder, louder (it echoes the trumpets steady in their tone). The purple flames grow bigger and bigger and bigger until it engulfs the altar and the High Priestess. The fire then, swirling around her, twirls itself around the black smoke and High Priestess levitating her off the Altar. The trumpets get louder, the moaning gets louder, the fire's warmth burns and then she is taken higher until all I can see his the fire and smoke that engulf her. She, in this web of fire and smoke, is carried to the Second Door and then the noise stops. The trumpets, the moaning, the purple fire all stop dead. Her body twirls and twirls and twirls and until the all I see is black and purple and then, she’s gone. There’s another tug on my cloths, so I looked down.
“Kiros,”, Sarah says, as she hold ankle, shaking a bit. “I’m scared”.
I lift her up, everyone else still kneels or quakes in fear on the ground.
“Did you see-“
A loud clash, and then black smoke pulsates from under our feet.
“No! You must stayed bowed!” screamed a priest from the temple.
I tuned back to Sarah: she was being pulled downward in the ground.
I grabbed onto her hand and yelled for help. Others wanted to help, but they were afraid: the priests kept screaming to stay down.
“Sarah, no’”! Her blue eyes descend downward, and i saw her no more.
I started to tear as I knelt there, looking at noting but dark rocky ground. I sat there crying. The thousands around me doing nothing but looking with regret. Why. Why. Why, I kept asking myself. But then another question came into mind: why do I still care?
I sat there for hours, even after the thousands made there way to the base camp on mountain when the High Priests said the Sacrament was over. Only a few priests remained at the temple. After a while, I moved and sat at the edge of the cliff—the dark rocky edge stabbing my thighs— looking out into the night sky, the moon, its enormity, watched me back. I watched the white waves of clouds, now saturated in silverfish moonlight, rush towards the mountains afar—I watched, sat there, in this trance like misery, and teared. I teared for her. I still loved her; even after what she had done, I still loved; in fact, I wasn’t quire sure what I was angry anymore—maybe it was my fault, like she said. Did I push her away. Did I make a mistake? Did I push love away? Looking at the moon, thinking about how I might be wrong, how I might have been the guilty one, thinking of how I was wrong—maybe—and about how it might have been for her. Maybe she was hurting more than I; maybe she, like me, died a little inside when she saw me, knowing she couldn’t have me and that I didn’t want anything to do with her. Maybe, it’s me. Then I herd, later, footsteps, the crashing of pebbles down as someone took steps to come where I was. I looked back and saw a black and purple clad, black bearded, and blue eyes priest, of some years: the same priest that screamed at me to kneel. He sat down next to me: the two of us look at the night sky before us. He said nothing. I continued staring into the scene on front of me.
“I don’t know what to say; Sometimes these things happen because Anubis wills it”
I turned and looked at him, straight in his eye; He looked away in the distance.
“Was she someone special?”
I kept looking into the distance and breathed slowly.
“Listen, why don’t you come into the Temple; it’s cold out here.”
I sat there—looking at these white waves of clouds swimming over these vast ranges, this moon and then, after a long time of silence, finally—
“—Can you help me”, I asked.
“Yes, it’ll be hard—but— there are ways”
I started up the dark, sharp rocky edge—the wholeness of the scene behind me—toward the temple, a light in the dark distance.


“We must be quick, now!”.
We climbed, and climbed, and climbed until at least we reached the Temple—an erie yet strangely comforting place when it had no ritual taking place there and started towards it.
“Quickly now—quickly”, he said as his robe blew back, violently, in the wind as he walked harshly toward the huge marble steps surrounding the elevated temple.
The Temple was completely casted in darkness with only the scene from the left offering it a slight touch of light—not even the marble glowed, its color so in opposition to the scene. We entered near the bare golden altar where the High Priestess vanished. He started to grab things from the pillars off to the side: trying to light the candles around the altar. Looking at him in the near darkness, the moon only seeping through us, I asked:
“Father, what’re you doing—can you just get her back?”
“No, Kiros, I can’t, but I can try to appeal to Darzies, our Almighty Father: if he can hear us, then maybe he will grant you…someway”
I stood there, as he said this lighting the candles in some sort of surreal state: I’ve never seen the gods in action until today; in fact, I’m sure the entire village is in awe, and I’m sure now that Polikies, will be the next King.
The priest started to swing incense: “In the Name of our Condition, in the Name of Suffering, and All Our Pains, and Trials, Hear me, Almighty Father Darzies; you know already what our hearts ask of you: Oh, help us”
I knelt before the Altar: all my trust in the gods. I closed my eyes, the moonlight which lit the scene now vanished before me, I prayed with all my heart. I don’t know how long it was that I stayed there like that—kneeling on the marble— but all I knew was that I didn’t feel a thing. No one answered. This thing—this god—would be allowed by our so called ‘Almighty Father’ to take her. All these years, the priests, the teachers, the people would praise the gods, would treble before their statues; and now, when we come face to face with one, they take what we love. They take her. There is no justice.
I stood and started to walk down to the base camp, kicking the lose rocks over the edge of the cliff—falling down, though the sea of of clouds, sure to make a furious impact on whatever it landed in or on.

[The first Galactic Republic]

All Stars Fade

I really took advantage of that word count.

It would have had a happier ending if the word limit was longer.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1bm2 ... NR4PVg/pub

Edit: Hate the ugly published Google Docs formatting.

[Respubliko de Libereco]

I think it's just past 8:00pm EST, but since no one has officially stated that entries are now closed, I'll try to enter this anyways:

The Garden

The desert at night was truly a sight to behold, magnificent and terrible in its sheer vastness. Dunes stretched, unbounded, from horizon to horizon, silver and eerie in the moonlight. The sky was so clear, so black, and so full of stars that I felt as if the whole world were exposed to the abyssal depths of space, as naked and barren as the moon itself. And for me, it might as well have been - the air was as cold as the grave, and I could scarcely breath (though in truth my throat burned not for lack of air, but for lack of water).

That night, I knew that the sepulchral arch of the night sky would be my tomb. A tomb older and grander than any forgotten king's mausoleum, no doubt, but a tomb nonetheless. As I stumbled forward over drifts of white sand that could just as well have been snow, I knew in my heart that there was no hope - and yet my legs must have had a mind of their own, for they pulled me ever forward, however much I willed myself to simply lay down and die.

For hours I stumbled on, over dune after featureless dune, each seeming taller than the last. And as I was about to collapse, I crested one last dune and saw, to my astonishment, the Garden.

The first thing I noticed was the lake, as still as glass and speckled with the reflections of stars. Along its banks stood towering cedars, the likes of which no man alive has seen. These were not trees as they exist nature; these trees were perfectly proportioned, as straight and mighty as the marble pillars of the Parthenon when Athens was in its prime. That stand of trees alone could inspire a thousand painters for a thousand years, and not one would come close to representing its true beauty. And yet, the cedars were nothing compared to the splendour of the garden as a whole, whose multitude of tranquil glades bedight with radiant blooms and verdant foliage spread over the entire valley.

And from those sprawling meadows, rugged vineyards and moonlit orchards drifted all manner of exotic scents. Powerful floral perfumes vied with the aromas of succulent fruits, competing to grasp my attention in a strange and beautiful battle. But somehow, despite the cacophony of fragrances, a single scent stood out, and awoke in me the ancestral memory of a taste that I have never known, but whose spirit still lingers in the blood of all mankind.

The moment I recognized that scent, my delight turned to horror. The garden seemed to grow darker and more distant, its supernatural beauty giving way to a no less supernatural wrongness. Suddenly, the sky was split by a flaming sword, illuminating the cold desert night with a terrible red glow. I cannot recall the nature of the being that held the sword - though I am certain I saw it with my own eyes - but I know that what I saw filled me with shame, and fear, and the knowledge that this place was forbidden to me and my kind. And with that revelation, I fled back into the desert that would become my tomb.

[Respubliko de Libereco]

Also, hopefully just posting in the thread was sufficient, without doing the whole Google Docs thing?

[Krugeristan]

I don't have Google docs.

Can I post a link to my Quotev account if I publish something there?

[Equestria and Griffon]

ATTENTION:SINCE NO ONE IS TAKING PART IN THE JUDGING,I WILL JUDGE THEM ALL IN POST COMING TONIGHT.ALSO,I DO NOT KNOW WHY THIS IS IN CAPS.

[The first Galactic Republic]

ATTENTION:SINCE NO ONE IS TAKING PART IN THE JUDGING,I WILL JUDGE THEM ALL IN POST COMING TONIGHT.ALSO,I DO NOT KNOW WHY THIS IS IN CAPS.

Really no one?

Really appreciate it.

[Respubliko de Libereco]

ATTENTION:SINCE NO ONE IS TAKING PART IN THE JUDGING,I WILL JUDGE THEM ALL IN POST COMING TONIGHT.ALSO,I DO NOT KNOW WHY THIS IS IN CAPS.

Really no one?

This hasn't exactly been the best-organized NS Short Story Contest of all time.

I initially offered to judge if necessary, but I don't think there are enough entries that it would make sense for me to retract mine and judge instead.

[Free Swiss States]

ATTENTION:SINCE NO ONE IS TAKING PART IN THE JUDGING,I WILL JUDGE THEM ALL IN POST COMING TONIGHT.ALSO,I DO NOT KNOW WHY THIS IS IN CAPS.

bump

[Anollasia]

This is so dead right now.

[Respubliko de Libereco]

This is so dead right now.

The problem is that the previous contest died hard (but ultimately wrapped up okay-ish, albeit a year late), and then someone with no previous experience hosting these contests started a new one immediately, in a different format than usual, without taking any steps whatsoever to avoid the problems of the previous contest (i.e. lack of judges).

[The Blaatschapen]

I've unpinned it now.

When it was started, I had the assumption that it would be like the previous one, so I pinned it (just like the previous one).

Given the lack of input, meh. I unpin.

[Forsher]

This is so dead right now.

The problem is that the previous contest died hard (but ultimately wrapped up okay-ish, albeit a year late), and then someone with no previous experience hosting these contests started a new one immediately, in a different format than usual, without taking any steps whatsoever to avoid the problems of the previous contest (i.e. lack of judges).

I broadly agree, with the qualification that the problem last time was more or less that even though we had back-up judges, the back-ups fell through too. The problems, to some extent, started with the one I judged (from the start anyway) where two of the three judges were very slow (myself included), but the difference then was that the slow judges finished what they started.

To some extent, it is possible these contests became victims of their own success and ended up with too many entries to be able to find a replacement judge (task too daunting) as we used to do prior to the last three (this one included), and we always managed because we always needed one.

I think the only way to fix things is a culture shift -- judgements and entries each coming in at the same time, with a say 30 day entry period and a target for contest end another 30 days after that. Deadlines work. Even when social guilt is the only harm of failure.

[The first Galactic Republic]

You know, since some of us still care, can't we just try rating each other's stories?