Gigi's misc writing.

Imacreamoo

Poem Ideas that might be good before I forgor

The horror of sending an email to an email that doesn't use my deadname
A sonnet to the politics of a love of a razor, and the love of a mother
Band names and dreams shared with ‘Father’
I should finish the poem about dovetails
Victor Frankenstein's notes for that semester he studied English
Poets don't make money, but novelists don't either
Debating polyamory
Loosing, loosing, loosing.
Victor as a trans man, making the monster
Something made up of Los Campesinos lyrics, idc that it's impractical.

I think these are all poems about being queer. In so many ways, the pain and the love and the fear.

Last edited by Imacreamoo (Nov. 13, 2025 21:36:32)

Imacreamoo

James and the Cold Gun - Kate Bush / “The Man With The Golden Gun.” - Lulu (430 words)

Jake wrapped the shawl over his head as he wandered through the marketplace. He kept the pistol tucked in the waistband of his trousers, brought two sizes too big for that reason and in hopes he would grow into them, hidden by a thick coat. No one blinked twice at him as he pushed away from the crowd of people corralling around the palace. In his few months of freedom, the dazzle of the royals hadn't captured him. Every time he saw them, the Crown Prince and his wife, he could imagine Petra's smug poise as she pushed away a meal so her muscles would deteriorate and she'd fit in better amongst the nobility. But more than that, he remembered his mentor pressing his first weapon in his hands and saying, “If you really want to survive, you'll need this more than you'll ever need a figurehead.”

He snatched a loaf of fresh bread, shoelaces and rotten tomatoes from every other stall, slipping them into his bag before carrying on his merry way. He passed girls from his childhood, who they might have been if they'd grown, he supposed, but ignored them. It was as he was swiping a spare set of bullets, Izzy loathed the standard sets, claiming they were ‘too unlikely to splinter’ and ‘too well made.’ This, as he would tell his Officer when returned, was the mistake.

A guard pressed their sweaty, heavy hand on Jake's shoulder and grunted, “Is illegal to have weapons on ya while Your Highness is talking.' His accent too thick too have stemmed from the army. His eyes grazed up and down Jake's body, which made him shiver. ”Whatcha need dem bullets for righ' now.“

”Hunting.“ Jake said, ”I live in the woods. I had no idea the Prince would speak today. Honest.“

”Posh ain'cha for a forest twirp.“ He pinched Jake's muscles, ”Strong too.“

Eyes were starting to turn. Leafland hadn't seen a good public execution, or even brawl, in a good thirty years. The ex-military in the crowds probably drooled at the thought. Jake twisted his arm away and stepped back, the crowd making way. The guard took another step forward. So Jake pulled the gun out from his pants and flipped the safety off. He raised it at the guard and smirked.

”Step back will you?"

Jake's wrist was steady as he calculated the risks of actually pulling the trigger. But as he stepped back the next time, no one got in his way.

Last edited by Imacreamoo (Nov. 4, 2025 18:21:15)

Imacreamoo

|Word War Proof is offering context / already written prior to the war

Connie had told Doctor Patil about well, finding Ron bloodied and bruised and him talking to himself on the landing. She stared at him during their next session, “We need to change strategies.” She said, pushing all the paperwork on her desk away from herself. She’d taken down the cartoon poster about smiling and how things get better. “Because you’re getting worse.”

“I don’t think I’m getting worse.”

She levelled him with a stare. “You are. Normal people don't attack their dads Toby. The violence, it's going to hurt you, even if you don't think it will. People will see a record - and you will get a record at this rate - and they'll turn you down from jobs. If you work with me, I can make sure we never get to that point. I know it feels far away now but it's closer than it seems. You need to work with me here.”

Toby reckoned he wasn't going to live long enough to care about measly things like jobs. What were his job prospects with a strange man stalking him? Who would hire the crazy? He had two choices here and honestly, the violence was better because at least he would be capable of getting away with that. He didn't need to see the faceless man to know he would approve of Toby's decision because he felt a familiar static preen in his mind.
“what? I work with you and then I don't get a job because I',m crazy?” Toby asked, his shoulder shiffering upwards like a jolt of electricity rushed through

Imacreamoo

SWC Weekly #1

Poem: (130/100 words)

Puberty reaches out to him with female worms
that enlarge and swell, crawl to bottoms and bleed.
grab his tongue, and pull, drooling out, squirms
on the roof of his mouth: a naughty kids deed
a Mother watches, every eye on the womb
of ensuring her sons home-soiled doom
and, a dull razor cuts the lifeline of a heart
like a torn down bush, branches on hard-
panelled bathrooms floors, of marred
life. When forced to play a method part.
the bleeding hole is only natural; or smart
boys keep plasters close as if a guard
for the nick of the skin, and sickly bombard
of what first contact with the infestation restarts.
A razor to a man is passed from Father,
A razor to a girlboy is Mothers weapon stolen.

Songwriting211/200
And I'll find heaven later, somewhere on the stars of my heart
Of what used to be mine
Once, upon, a time.
When Loneliness is an old man. He takes my hands,
we learn to ballroom dance in the gap of space and time
Who are dancers like ourselves

And song writing isn't really my thing. I gave it a try, which my mother used to say was better than nothing.
So I decide I'm going to try the Taylor Swift approach where
I make references to things I don't quite understand and write about my love life
And hope the leader reading this hears a nice backing track
Something that sounds like dooo doo dooo do dooo.

And I'll find heaven later, somewhere on the stars of my heart
Of what used to be mine
Once, upon, a time.
When Loneliness is an old man. He takes my hands,
we learn to ballroom dance in the gap of space and time
Who are dancers like ourselves

My partner sends a sonnet I sent once three years ago
The twenty ninth of many, where it is better to be with the love than merely thinking of them
But more than a jungle encroaches my love but a whole sea between us.

Screenwriting 789/300
1: EXT. A CALL CAR PARK, LATE EVENING

ESTHER, 20, Jewish and in smart casual clothes, approaches a dented, black mini. As she reaches the vehicle, her phone buzzes loud . She stops, checks it, places it back into her pocket - can't be bothered. It rings. The chorus ‘Ghostbusters’ by Ray Park Jr blasts. Esther picks up.

ESTHER:
Kyron I am working.

KYRON (O.S)
I have a lead. On you know who.

ESTHER:
And?

KYRON (O.S)
You know I can't do this alone.

ESTHER:
I have a job.

KYRON (O.S)
At a call centre. You can get better pay and do it remotely.

ESTHER:
Not for the NHS I can't.

KYRON (O.S)
Now you're making excuses. We both know you'll do more if you come.

ESTHER:
I don't even know where you are.

KYRON (O.S)
You have contacts. Come find me.

BEEEEP. He hangs up. Esther stares at her phone for minutes before typing a message to JOE. It reads ‘Have you seen the kid recently? Or know a case he’d have picked up?' She's about to send it when a news article pops up. ‘FOSTER CHILD, ANDREW DOE FOUND DEAD IN LONDON.’

ANDREW DOE'S, 18, brown wavy hair, body is mutilated. Organs, the heart, is missing. Esther is unfazed by the image. She climbs into the car and drives away, speeding.

2: INT. COSTA COFFEE, LONDON. 6AM NEXT DAY.

Esther and KYRON, 18, brown wavy hair, in a torn up leather jacket, are by the window seat. Esther has a black coffee, Kyron has an iced latte. A collection of newspapers are scattered on the top. They detail several grisly murders, including Andrews. To the side is Kyron's leather bound, stuffed notebook. The shop is humming with customers but none are staying, all too busy with their jobs.

ESTHER:
Are you really doing this?

KYRON:
I don't know.

ESTHER:
I'm not quitting my job. Hell. I'm not staying if you're ‘not sure.’

KYRON:
You'd only say: I told you so.

ESTHER:
I'd attend your funeral as well.

(Both laugh briefly)

ESTHER:
(a lot more somber)
I'd probably arrange your funeral.

KYRON:
I've discovered I quite like living.

ESTHER:
More than you quite like Boo?

KYRON:
… I have to do this. It'd be different if he just killed me and moved on.

ESTHER:
But this is more than just you.

KYRON:
I just keep thinking, what if one of those boys survive, and they wake up to find Boo standing over them and he says ‘You just remind me of someone-’

ESTHER:
Unlikely. His fixation is on you.

KYRON:
Ghosts are unstable like this.

ESTHER:
But predictable. You're the object of his business. He won't switch that up.

KYRON:
But I'm not dead yet.

ESTHER:
No.

KYRON:
It's unusual

ESTHER:
Very. Loved one is usually the first to go. Then there's rapid deterioration. It's why we find malicious ghosts so fast.

KYRON:
I know.

ESTHER:
Boo is too organized.

KYRON:
I know.

ESTHER:
You knew him best. What do you think?

Kyron pushes his notebook towards Esther. She opens it. There are pictures of BOO, 16, alive, well-dressed, bruised and with his arm wrapped around a woman's waist. Pictures and news clippings of the recent killings, including Andrew Doe's - all of boys who look like Kyron, orphaned and from London. There's theories, cross comparisons in red ink to other ghost cases, references to other journals. The entire notebook is FILLED. At the very end is a picture of 13 year old Kyron, baby-faced, cheeks flushed and skinny, kissing a shadowed figure.

Esther goes green. She slams the notebook shut and shoves it towards Kyron, Kyron takes it and puts it away. He watches her and waits.

ESTHER:
What do you think he'll do next?

KYRON:
Wait.

ESTHER:
I don't think that counts as waiting.

KYRON:
He's waiting for me to come back to him.

ESTHER:
Will you?

KYRON:
I want too.

ESTHER:
He'd end you.

KYRON:
Not if I forgave him. Not if we got back on the road, just the two of us. No phones, nothing but us.

ESTHER:
Then why did you call me?

KYRON:
You've been trying to reap him since we met.

ESTHER:
It wasn't personal.

KYRON:
Exactly.

ESTHER:
I don't understand.

KYRON:
I need your help. To do this.

ESTHER:
You don't have to do this. I could take your information and do it for you. It'd take a week, tops.

KYRON:
He's leading me on. He'll escalate if I quit, quicker than you can catch him.

ESTHER:
You have a plan?

KYRON:
The beginnings of one. I have a hotel room as well.

Kyron stands up, latte unnfinished. He exits the shop. Esther follows after him.

Speech 1073/400
This round had an infoslide explaining utilitarianism
This house prefers a world where a small robot flies beside everyone’s head and scolds people if they violate utilitarian ethics. OO Speech

Panel, Government tells you that these robots are going to prevent more pain coming about in the world because public shaming. As Leader of Opposition, I'm going to tell you two things, one: These robots are going to be ineffective and two: that creating these robots is contradictory to the utilitarian beliefs government holds.

So, why are these robots going to be ineffective? The reason is simple, the majority of the world do not hold a Utilitarian belief. Most of the world is religious. Using the UK for an example, there are more Christians than atheists. Almost all religions, have a sense of duty that drives their sense of morality. In Christianity this is to ‘Love your neighbor and love your God.’ Loving your neighbor, is never going to look like killing someone to lessen their suffering because that goes against how Christians define love. But, euthanasia is going to be encouraged in the society that promotes utilitarian thinking. Even religions which are more focused with the consequences of actions have different end goals than Utilitarians. Buddhists want to escape cycle of samsara so they will prioritize what will help them achieve that in their values. This is going to make these drones ineffective because people will prioritize their values over peer pressure. This is literally scripture for several religions, to put your religious values first. But we've seen this with recent protests as well. Activists for trans rights, for Palestine, still march when met with police force. These people hold their values about their concern for how they're perceived by friends or the law. If pressure from tangible consequences like prison isn't enough to dissuade these people, why will a little robot do that.

Secondly, I'm going to flip Prime Minister's argument that these robots uphold Utilitarianism beliefs. The creator the theory, Bentham, created something called the Hedonic Calculus to help people decide what decisions were good, and we'll apply this too these robots. We've already discussed why certainty of their success isn't likely so lets discuss the other elements: How pure is the goodness of this act? It's impure. For one, it doesn't prevent the pain of the initial act and then, beyond that, it publicly humiliates the person who committed it. If the act was intentionally evil, that person most likely doesn't care for the public shaming, right, because in this world they'd know the risk and have decided to go through with it anyways. But people who were well meaning, now they feel bad, that's more displeasure that gov wants to avoid. And this isn't going to teach them how to use the hedonic calculus in the future either. It's just going to teach them avoidance because of the shame of being wrong. At the least, that shame is just internal, and we all feel shame when we fail, that's intuitive. And it will be worse when someones mentally ill right? Someone with depression might be led to believe their a bad person, the world would be better without them so they should isolate or die. Someone with OCD could be triggered because they cannot avoid a constant reminder of their compulsions. Also, is the duration of the effect of the bot going to be as long lasted than if the government had just invested that money elsewhere. Eventually hearing those buzzes is going to mean nothing because as we've established, it won't stop people doing behaviors deemed harmful. Eventually, you learn you can never appease the bot because humans don't have all the factors to accurate make consistent utilitarian decisions, so any positives that could have come from the shame dissipate to apathy. The result? Any duration of the possible pleasures isn't going to be long. So, what do we have? We have a lot of money going into something that won't guarantee rich and long-lasting pleasure or happiness. If governments really want to make the world better using Utilitarian principles, they are better off investing in making ethics a mandatory school subject and reforming prisoners and the mental health serves in the NHS. These would help aid the ethical education of people, lead to a better society and are more certain, more pure and have longer durations. So they outweigh the bots.

Why are my other options better than these bots? Let's go one by one: The ethical education means that we will be helping people develop a worldview outside of themselves, possibly for the first time. People don't question ethics often, we just care for ourselves and those close to us which leads to selfish and bad behavior. But thinking about the wider world is neccessary if we want to see a better world. The government can be Utilitarianism the default ethical theory if they want too. What this will do is it will mean people will understand why something is good or bad and if they understand why, they're more likely to be able to apply it in new situations. So it's more certain in making sure understanding of morals is passed down, since people can learn to acclimate it with their pre-existing values. It's purer because no one is shamed for being wrong and it's going to last longer because these people will remember the moral of those lessons, even if they don't remember all the actual content. Reforming prisoners is going to lead to less reoffenders, - this has been statistically proven if we compare reform systems like Switzerlands reoffence rates to retrubition ones like the US, they're higher in the US. less reoffenders, less crime, less bad in the world. Finally, poor mental health, especially regarding cases like personality disorders, is what causes some, not all, to cause crime. Because it's justified in their head based off their skewed worldview. If they can get help, these worldviews can be changed, they can, similarly to prisoners, be intergrated into society better. Simularly, we have research pre-existing about how to help people with reforming or with poor mental health, so we can be more certain that these changes will have positive impacts. The goodness is pure, especially regarding mental health patients, and for prisoners, contact between them and their victims - if they did commit a violent crime - can be limited to decrease a loss of this purity. Finally, these people will learn how to cope, how to act properly and hold values on why. So, it's going to be longer lasting.

Thank you, please oppose.

Last edited by Imacreamoo (Nov. 9, 2025 14:22:34)

Imacreamoo

Pumpkin daily 281 words
“Why are we carving a pumpkin again?” Toby asked as he pulled out another handful of gunk from the inside of the vegetable. It seeds stuck to his fingers and it smelt sickly, like someone threw up honey milk - both sweet and sour at once. He pinched his nose and washed his hands in the sink then wiped the excess water on his pants, “And can't we like, buy an emptied pumpkin out from the shops. Who wants to do this?”

“Taking out the guts is the fun part.” Blaire said, smirking when Toby gagged at the mention of guts.

Casper nodded, “What else do young kids do? You can hardly hand them a knife.”

“For adults then.”

“Boring adults don't carve pumpkins. Fun adults like gutting their creation.”

“I'll pass that onto Mum and Dad then.” Toby grumbled. Blaire froze, the orange sludge slipping through her fingers and landing on the tiled floor with a SLAP. Casper averted his eyes from the two of them. Instead he grabbed a paper towel and crawled to pick up the mess Blaire had made. She side-stepped him and backed away, towards the front door. Toby sighed, “That was a bad joke.”

“It was.”

“I'm not enjoying this. The… gutting.”

“Yeah. We can tell.”

“Would you do my pumpkin?” Blaire scrunched her eyebrows but Toby was sure he could convince her to change her mind. “Come on Blaire Bear. I'll get them off your back for a few nights.”

Toby knew that made Casper divert his attention back to them but Toby kept his eyes on Blaire as she narrowed her eyes and stood up straight before offering her hand, “That's a done deal.”

Imacreamoo

Switch genres: Romance -> Drama -> Horror (788/500 words)

As autumn turned and everything began to die, Toby had the realization that maybe this time, just this once - he would leave with the knowledge that something was alive at the end. The orange leaves crunched under their foot and piles of conkers collected under trees. Toby picked one up and turned it around in his hand, running his fingers across the cold smooth shell. He jogged to where Casper stood, five paces in front, and pressed the conker into his warm calloused hand. Casper squinted as he examined the conker so Toby cupped his palm, ensuring it wouldn't fall onto the ground.

His cheeks flushed as he said, “You should plant that.” The warmth was still unusual and the butterflies in his stomach made him want to throw up but in a good way. “So that our love can live forever. As a tree.”

Casper laughed, like the sound was forcing its way out of his throat. “God I don't mean to laugh.” He explained, “Just a conker? Really?” which just made Toby snort himself. He tried to think of a funny retort, something so he could prepare to hear Casper laugh again and record it so he could listen to it when they weren't together and pretend; but every time Toby wound up so mesmerized that he forgot until it was too late. So he ended up staring at Casper with wide waiting eyes instead. Casper pinched the brim of his nose, huffing affectionately and tucking the conker into his pocket.

For the rest of the walk, Toby grasped Casper's hand. It was wet from sweat, rough and clenched his hand back with force but it was perfect. Casper kept his nails trimmed to appropriate lengths and religiously cleaned the dirt out from under them. Leaning in, he could smell his sharp aromatic deodorant and also the sweet blood right at the surface of his skin because the sheet of a shirt didn't protect him from the transition of November to December. Toby bit his lip with his fangs, hard enough that skin broke and droplets of blood dribbled into his mouth and down his chin.

It wasn't until they reached the start of the road to Toby's house that Casper stopped. They had slowed the closer they got but in the mouth of the road, Casper finally turned to look at Toby rather than feel him. He wiped the blood off his chin, leaving a red stain and then sucked on his finger.

“That would have hurt.”
“I didn't realise.”
“It takes a lot of energy to break skin like that. Let me check it out.” Casper said, running his finger up to Toby's mouth and parting it. He pulled the lower lip and stared at the red hole on the left side and hummed. “Biting your lip is a nasty habit. It'll get you caught one day.”
“It would get me caught how?”
Casper pressed his finger against Toby's fang, applying pressure to the roof of Toby's mouth, with a blank expression. “It's too circular. Most bite marks are ever so slightly square.”
Toby pulled away and Casper let him. His heart pounded, he didn't have enough blood to rush through his veins and the world tilted on it's axis as Toby struggled to breathe. He needed to run but his legs stayed stubbornly still.
“How long have you known?”
“Ages.”
“Turning.. me in?”
Casper was silent. “I don't want too.”
“Right.”

Then Casper continued to walk, hand clutching the fabric of his pants. Toby wanted to scream. He wanted to grab Casper back and bite into his neck and watch the blood squirt out until they were lifeless and meaningless together. He wanted Casper to stop him from the draining state of his life, shoving a stake through his stomach. It had to be Casper. He'd only allow Casper to do that too him. But Toby couldn't make himself run his mouth and beg and plead so instead he walked alongside Casper, shoulders straight as they approached his house.

They stood outside the door together, and Toby clicked his tongue. “Blaire.” he asked, “Do you think Blaire is a vampire?”
“No.”
Toby nodded. There wasn't anything else to say as he knocked on the door and hoped anyone but Alicia and James would open the door. Fruitless, and childish his brain hissed as it began to cloud over from reality. There was no escape, escape from what? He could feel it slipping through his fingers but he knew it for a fact. There was no escape.

The door creaked open and a pale, dainty, clawed hand reached out of the darkness, grabbed Toby by the leather jacket and tugged him into the house.

Imacreamoo

Critiquaire 484 words. Link to piece.

Okay! Hi!
To start off, I like how bizzare this piece feels, with the sky falling and our narrator being unreliable regarding what's happening! I think it's a really interesting concept. I wish we had been able to see more of the world, maybe had a better understanding of why the characters are like this or why the sky is falling? Even if the answer is just as bizarre and metaphorical as the rest of the piece

So, critique!
I think you could have developed a better sense of place in the piece. Part of the reason for this is that sometimes our narrator lives in an apartment but other times they have rats on the street so I'm not sure which it is. And I didn't really understand why this choice was made. I think a better sense of place would have elevated this piece because it would have grounded it more in my mind. It kinda exists in a vacuum in my mind. I think even if it was just like, bizarre, if it was still more consistent and present it would be better. If nothing else, it would give the sky falling down more specific weight.

Generally, I find that the piece is unnaturally choppy. I don't think choppy scenes are necessarily bad (you read my work which is also. Significantly choppy) but I don't really understand what the point of it was? I imagine it's to create a sense of reality breaking - but then I'm not sure why it was breaking in that specific way. Like. I imagine it's metaphorical but I don't understand all the metaphors going on because I think they get slightly lost in the bizzare nature of the work. (I have similar opinions around Katie, Benny and Allison where I think any sense of characters are lost in the plot. But I don't think this is a main part of your story, since their lines are purposely repetitive.)

I think a good way to kind of develop the piece in light of my critique is kinda of just adding more description? This is especially relevant to my discussion around space but also, taking a bit more time on each scene because of the description would slow it down and make it slightly less choppy. (Like, transitioning?) I also think this would allow me you to keep the bizarre nature of the plot - which like I said at the start, I like.

Thank you so much for letting me read this. Please keep writing

it's great!
Also normally I do go into more depth, like line edits but I'm without a laptop right now, so sorry.

Imacreamoo

Esther and Kyron are sitting at a bus shelter.
Esther: You know how this ends. Right?
Kyron: This time could be different.
Esther: Things are rarely different with our job.
Kyron: I trust my judgement.
Esther: You’re judgement is not better than mine.
Kyron: I know Boo better than you. Better than anyone. He doesn’t want anything new. He’s happy as things are. That’s why he’s different. My judgement on him is better.
Esther: Stop being ignorant.
Kyron walks away. She grabs his wrist
Don’t leave!
Kyron: Get off me! This is why you're alone.
Esther: I’m sure he doesn’t like you either. You won’t let him leave. You won’t let him seek out what he really wants. What if he wants peace?
Kyron: Shut up. It’s not like that.
Esther lets go
Esther: Why not?
Kyron: He could leave if he wanted too. I don’t hold him in place like a dog! If he needs more ‘peace’ than I bring him, he can find it elsewhere. See, that’s the difference between want and want. I want you too leave me alone but I don’t want it enough to go, like, crazy and evil.
Esther: You’re kidding me
Kyron: Why?
As he speaks, he steps closer and closer to Esther until he cages her in
Esther: Give me some space first … Hell, I see, hundreds, thousands, of emotionally volatile reapers, like you, more concerned with themselves than duty. They all think their ghost was different, got angry when that was challenged? Do you want to know what happens to them? To the ones who didn’t take a step back from their feelings? They die. And I have to clean up their messes.
Kyron: Well, what if I don’t ‘take a step back?’ Huh? What would you do about it.
Esther: I’d mop up your dead body.
Kyron: Bit cold isn’t it. Like, why are you giving me this lecture? If you care that little.
Esther: … I don’t want to find you dead because of something avoidable
Kyron: … If you really care, then look at me and listen.

Last edited by Imacreamoo (Nov. 9, 2025 18:04:44)

Imacreamoo

Critique for Skylar! Read her original piece here! (599 words)

Hi Skylar! Thank you for letting me do this while I'm stuck at the launderette during cabin wars. Anyways. Here is the your critique. (It's more of a commentary but. Y'know.)

> Good Afternoon and welcome to the Afternoon news….
Skylar this is hysterical. What a great start for something that's going to be comedic

, mocking cliches! Made better by Miranda trying to do this with a straight face. 10/10 actual comedy technique.

I think Casey being smiley despite it all is also great. I think if you spent more time playing the two off each other and establishinh the differences (setting Miranda up as the straight man and Casey as the joke) I think this could have had a stronger punchline than “clearly not understanding at all.” Also I think it could set up Miranda's straight man as another joke because while complaining about professionalism she is being. Very unprofessional.

You stole my line. Etc… this is so unprofessional from them both but I think Miranda comes off worse because she's the straight man here and not otherwise presented as comedic. I think slight reframing would lead to this seeming more like bullying - which for obvious reasons isn't ideal and I assume not what you were going for. Once again, I think establishing Miranda as petty and hypocritical in a “funny” way could make this scene come across better.

I'm confused about who Kiara is. I imagine she's someone else at the station, another reporter, but her introduction being her laughing makes her seem more like a laugh track. Not an issue unless you want her to be taken seriously later, then this kind of bites you. I think a better way to have her play *both* roles is too have her be introduced by Miranda or Cassidy ("now we'll be moving to X where the Kiara is with the actress. If we are mocking the BBC.)

Generally I think from Kiara introduction the scene is messy? Kiara seems to do the headlines but she does different headlines (the trains iirc) than what Miranda and Cassidy did (which is an additional issue on top of the fact Miranda and Cassidy already have done the headlines making Kiara narratively unnecessary besides being attention away from the two.)

I DO like that you divert the attention away from Miranda and Cassidy. I think it sets up their fight very well and is just a very good technique to use when you have a limited narrator (in this case, limited because we only see what is going on at the news station). Now we, the reader, are In Media Res of the fight. And whoops. So are everyone else.

Once again, unprofessionallism 102 and I'm obsessed. I'm obsessed that they have to get told their on air. I think my one gripe with this is that Miranda seems like someone who'd be meticulous about not being seen bickering on TV. There's an element of OOCness which having this comedy hit requires, once again I think showing it's more performstive for Miranda than general care would be good.

Conclusion because I have 5 minutes left on my load till I have too cook dinner (sadge uni student things): I think if you were interested on editing I would focus on Miranda's characterisation. The dialogue is very direct but I think being short and comedic, it gets away with it but it might be something to bear in mind in the future. I really like you contrast the two and use it to create humour!

Thank you for letting me critique Skylar!!

Imacreamoo

BREAK TIME! (Debate reflection) (357/250)

Hi everyone! Are you ready for the most boring, 250 words about debate known to mankind? (this is actually probably good for me because I'm swinging at a competition this Saturday and I want to not be a flag for the bin room because swings are usually like, not competitive people) (Also my team name is SWING state and the two teams members acredited to just me are ‘Gi’ and ‘Gi’ (obviously using my real name but y'know,))

Anyways, lets examine, why did I get 71 and 73 on my speaker points because they are actually diabolical and I need to be averaging 75 on a bad day (preferably higher)

Okay:

1: I am not comparative enough. This came up A LOT at Cambridge so it's not even like I don't know this. I need to be able to prove the positive impacts are exclusive to our side. (This can also be included in weighing. This is probably why my highest scores / strongest praise was for whip speeches. I am good at weighing, generally, I just need to remember to do it.)

2: READ THE MOTION! A rise debate I need to talk about the rise, a policy debate I need a policy, especially if I'm OG. OO in a policy motion, I need to consider if a counter-policy may be good. Do NOT ignore the specifics of the motion. PLEASE, ESPECIALLY If I'm CG/CO. Its such a good extension, please future me, please.

3: Mechanize. I often assume the judge will know things to be truthful (like muesuem stuff requires upkeep.) but this could fall flat on me if this becomes a point of clash. HELL! Be willing to make under mechanized things a point of clash if I can prove the point of comparative true. There is a balance here, as I know from the tram case, but I've gotta do it.

4: On this note, I need to remember the fundamental principles of debating well. Mechanize, Impact, Weigh. In that order. Place rebutt / rebuild in front if I'm second speaking.

5: WATCH THE HAMLET DEBATE. See if I can bully Skylar into it.

Imacreamoo

Proposed Poems From a Half-Open Closet

Puberty reaches out to him with female worms
That enlarge and swell, crawl to bottoms and bleed.
Grab his tongue, and pull, drooling out, squirms
On the roof of his mouth: a naughty kids deed
A Mother watches, every eye on the womb
Of ensuring her sons home-soiled doom
But, a dull razor cuts the lifeline of a heart
Like a torn down bush, branches on hard-
Panelled bathrooms floors, of marred
Life. When forced to play a method part.
The bleeding hole is only natural; or smart
Boys keep plasters close as if a guard
For the nick of the skin, and sickly bombard
Of what first contact with the infestation restarts.

A razor to a man is passed from Father,
A razor to a girlboy is Mothers weapon stolen.

They call it “Time Bomb Town.” “Tick, Tick Boom Town.”
Trickling like treacle, bloody beasts with tarantula teeth,
Baboon brains, bombs on bottom, at the floor of the bay
Tick Tock, on the clock, teetering time towards the counting
counting, twining branches of the box, breeching, twisting
squeezing, at the bathroom door, tiny model time bomb town
tentacles trawling beneath both Boys and Belle's, squeezing-
BOOM

He said
“Blessed are the queers on the pew
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who pray,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the protesters,
for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who are missing a rib,
for they will be filled.
Blessed are the lambs turned away,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the doubting
for they will see God.
Blessed are the reborn sons,
for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are transformed through death,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

God flings a whip from his pistol grip.
And strikes a match against his thigh.
By friction on palms calloused patch.
I think I see one tear in his eye.
In inky dark I first see the spark.
First warmth of home not so far.

Hamlet grieves, topsy turvy, upside down,
Purposed funeral rites are what he craves,
But he'll never stop seeing the Ghost around.

The Wrench watches from the castle with a frown
But as he stands for hours by the graves
Hamlet grieves, topsy turvy, upside down,

No one will kill him, if he doesn't wear a crown
The haunting figure, cursed to maim and never saves
But he'll never stop seeing the Ghost around.

town
B
Hamlet grieves, topsy turvy, upside down,

A
B
But he'll never stop seeing the Ghost around.

A
B
Hamlet grieves, topsy turvy, upside down,
But he'll never stop seeing the Ghost around.

(Villainette, Ghost as a metaphor for trauma / leaving transphobic families / the closested self.)

A mother's stare weighs like a man, heavy or fleeting
Dovetails cling together, like birds of a different feather.
Her hand in your heart, clenching it, feeling it beating
Pressing against the lace, all this for the weather
She doesn't stroke, is gentle, never asks, always
Or only once, like ill-fitting clothes returned with receipts
You have to avoid her eyes for the remaining summer days
She's fulfilling look that will help slip into the sheets
But you're still growing under the greatest star
A plant in a pot, in a garden, about to bear fruits
Climbing up the trellis, feeding bugs not yet in a jar
Learning how to remain firm and freed from your roots
Between dusk and dawn there's deserving it.
Daytime is for discovering how to make your old self fit.

I beg him: do not go gently into the night
B
Doing so will only fuel their radical plight

It'll never be easy, our living is a fight
B
I beg him: do not go gently into the night

,right
B
Doing so will only fuel their radical plight

appetite
B
I beg him: do not go gently into the night

flight
B
Doing so will only fuel their radical plight

A
B
I beg him: do not go gently into the night
Doing so will only fuel their radical plight

(I don't think this one is using enough imagery? Might redo? Bring theme into Hamlet poem?)

Last edited by Imacreamoo (Yesterday 22:12:06)

Imacreamoo

Hiya Leopard! Let's start! Piece

Beyond The Grave:
I am going to be harsh and also partially lean into my preferences here, but I think the opening of this poem (from ‘beyond the grave’ to fine.' are significantly weaker than the actual chunk of the poem - same with the final stanza (“Prefer that explanation.” to “Cheery Stuff, hey?”) It feels like a monologue / half a dialogue to give the context behind the poem. In your main poem there is ‘you’ and there is ‘them.’ which gives a clear indication of the speaker and listener. When you throw in ‘I’ as well, it gets confused regarding the relationship between the three. You could spend more time on the dialogue - perhaps make it it's own poem - or you could cut it to make the roles easier to understand. Personally, I would make it a new poem or cut it. Get to the point of the main poem quicker.

Regarding the main poem (from ‘imagine a gravestone’ to ‘Dead.’)
I like a lot of your imagery and wording (such as ‘time will grave-rob the truth’ and ‘locks of hair curl around the empty skull.’) There are some parts where it is very on the nose, which, hmm, I think part of the poetry is getting to dance around the simple truth but also I can understand why you do it for impact at the end. I think for me the image of the grave is so intrinsically linked to death that it doesn't reach it's full impact. You could either dance around the ending - maybe talk more about time passing - or you could completely change your imagery.

There are some parts which read like prose with odd line breaks but this isn't necessarily bad if the line has broken there for a reason. Structure and the split of stanza's is kind of my main problem? The volta / change point of the poem occurs on 6th line of the first stanza, where the audience is reminded that actually, the memories will pass. Then there's a new stanza at line 12, for no reason that I can tell? I think I'd have the line break on line 6 and the rest one stanza? Especially since you aren't following one set form.
Also, personal opinion, I am not a fan of the line break between ‘beloved,’ ‘dearest,’ I don't see what impact you get from it a comma wouldn't. Think about how your poem reads and looks.

Rotting Platitudes:
I like the imagery of rotting fruit throughout the poem here, especially regarding the name. I also think the use of stanza's here is much better than in ‘Beyond the Grave’ since they're all clearly addressing a common saying people say at funerals. Honestly, I'm just going to show you what edits I would make here rather than type them, because their on a much smaller scale.

‘love never dies’ apparently,
that's what they say.
load of good that was,
my heart’s compost now.
it lies deep in the ground, enshrouded
in mulch. Sprouting mould at the edges
like a warm winter coat,
but maybe that’s how it’s meant to be…
the worms lean our names by heart
as they churn a vat of euphemisms
that fuel the comforting inferno of lies.

‘they’re proud of you’ supposedly
well, nobody’s ever received a gold star
from someone 6 feet under.

‘never forget them’
but honestly?
my name will soften in your mouth
like old fruit-
the memories have long passed their expiration date.

‘they’re in a better place now’
funny, But if anyone’s been
to heaven they’d have sent a postcard
or posted a selfie I could like.
there’s no good in that now,
no service underground.

It’s all very well saying forever,
but forever decomposed first.

Mostly, I've removed the informal elements of the piece, edited some of the stanza lines and added some things to ‘They’re in a better place now' to make it flow better. I think your language and direction for this poem is the strongest of the 4.

TTYL
I think a poem made of texts is cool but you have to balance ‘would anyone ever text this’ with ‘I really want to use poetic language.’ I think the most obvious example of this for me is ‘maybe a hashtag would help’ because, well, in what what world would a hashtag help? It's a relatively stupid question. On the flip side though, the hashtag probably represents something, how commercialized our lives have become maybe?

As the poem pulls out, I think the mix between full sentences and abbreviations are weird. Also, generally I would think more about stanzas and why you're starting new ones where you are.

We ‘regret’ To Inform You
I liked this one.

-
Sorry that as we got further through the critique it got more vague. I got tired

.
Some of this is personal preference, you know your work best. My closing lines to you would be: Your imagery is good, think about stanzas.

Imacreamoo

Critique for Skylar! Original.

I think you'd be best off starting the scene with just dialogue, specifically cutting out Miranda and Casey's dialogue tags. I think they tell us a lot of about them which is shown well in the dialogue, especially Casey's ‘Isn’t that nice!' comment. I adore her.

I love the change to Miranda poking Casey from the original. I think it captures her cruel high standards of the job while this completely flies over Casey's head. I do wonder if you'd get the same effect cutting some of Miranda's dialogue tags so I think that is your call to weigh up, which one you think is more important to the piece. I also wonder if ‘hisses’ is the right word for Casey. Hell, I wonder if there would be a comedic element in Casey outright stating Miranda's improper conduct on live TV like “Why'd you pinch me?” Make her seem oblivious to kind of up the contrast and consequently, some of the comedy. I also think it would keep Casey's ditzy kind of voice.

I love the next bit about the train strikes and the robot boy. Peak character voice. I think regarding the maths shortage, it might be worth considering who your narrator is. Are we 3rd person close to Miranda? (Then the serious tone comment makes sense) or is it omniscient and also just happening to portray Miranda in the right. I think consistency would be helpful here.

The introduction of Kirara is smoother, makes more sense in context and is a major improvement

I think the Lizzie Kiara scene could have the chance for a one hit wonder of a joke. Lizzie has a distinct voice but she doesn't really lead to a joke, likewise nor does Kiara. I think there's a chance here to have another failed news section or the two could be hyper able to contrast the mess of Casey and Miranda. Basically, while I know you need to take the audience attention away from the main 2, I think this scene should have it's own mini story / a separate impact on the reader.

I think the fight could use with some use of the two's body. Whose throwing their arms about, whose pinching their nose, whose sprawled across the couch uncaring. Actions in this way can be a really good way to create character where voice can't. There isn't anything wrong with your dialogue but I think this would elevate it!

Obsessed with Miranda coming across worse in the ending - maybe some of Casey's reaction as well?

Okay conclusion! Final thoughts! Your voice is good, I think writing in some action, even small, so the characters don't just exist almost as a script with notes. Also with this, I think setting would be helpful since it sets the tone for what actual type of news this is. You know, is this BBC in front of the greenscreen images or is this Good Morning Britain? Both these things can also be used for comedic effect which, y'know

Imacreamoo

Personification of my local gay bar (322 words)

Dorlene wakes up at four pm everyday and refills her taps and cleans her glasses. She also does this in the evenings, but there's this habitual need to not be bored while she waits for the real reason she's alive, which is the evening. Every night, she steals one pound thirty pence from her drunk friends so they can play pool and she swaggers around campus, not yet fully dressed in drag but glitter on her chest, and says, “You know, I'm cheap.” she winks and then there's quiz night going on in the back of her bar.

Quiz night has similar faces to her friends who wake her up on Wednesdays at four thirty and make sure her eyeliner is slick, her padding is realistic and that she shines like a walking rainbow. On Wednesdays, they sit there with lemonades and canned coffee they think they smuggled without her careful eye noticing. She does, of course, she does, but they keep her open and relative. Where would Dorlene be without her four thirty on a Wednesday friends. On quiz night, they come with friends, some who stare a second too long at her lips before they look away with shame. A few step foot by her and pinch their faces as if her hints of perfume are enough to burn their delicate noses. But they stay for quiz night and she stands there ever-present leaning over the host, watching them and daring them to leave.

Quiz night isn't for everyone but that's okay. Dorlene isn't for everyone either. She's there for her friends, to wrap an arm around them when they cry and to share the best hairdressers in the city. She catches the visiting Drag Queens and offers them a bottle on the house and she glows with pride when a new person walks through her door for the first time and realises they are coming to a second home.

Imacreamoo

Sometimes, your voice is the only reason that stops me from setting the entire solar system on fire

“Sin.” Anne said, hot on the demons heels, “Sin, this is not productive. Toby wouldn't want you doing this. Casper definitely wouldn't. I don't. What are you even getting out of this?”

Sin thought long and hard for a moment as they stared at the cosmic bomb in their hand. In their defense, the solar system is only a small part of the larger galaxy, it wouldn't effect hell, ergo it wouldn't effect Sin's daily life, and it wouldn't effect Heaven, ergo Toby's plan to kill God would also be uninterrupted. It would be the best place to set off a cosmic bomb which was within a reasonable distance of travel. However, when Sin explained this, Anne's jaw dropped open. She had to physically hold it shut with an entire hand for a good old minute before she could bring herself to reply.

“Sin.” She said, in a deadly serious voice, “Sin that would destroy Earth.”

That caused Sin to blink because it was relatively fond of the planet, as fond as a demon could be of anything that wasn't torture or mutilating people. Although there would undoubtedly be some other planet that they could focus their attention on. It thought better of telling Anne this because that would upset the human seeing as it was her birth place and all and she couldn't conceptualize anything beyond herself just yet. So what Sin said instead was, “It would mean there'd be a sudden influx of people in Hell.”

“Including Casper. Who would probably call like, some weird clause out of whatever deal he and Toby have that results in him being freed, possibly going to heaven. Even if you don't care about the world - surely you don't want to deal with a heartbroken Toby?”

That sounded closer to Sin's idea of torture, and if they were put in charge of themselves, that would probably be their ideal way of torture but alas, Sin was many things but a fan of pain was not one of them. So it sighed. “Right. So the power of love means I can't blow up the Earth.”

“Yes.”

Sin from a few years ago would probably have tried to one up the power of love anyways by blowing up the cosmic bomb right next to Earth so that nothing survived but smithereens. That Sin was not familiar with second hand heartbreak yet and that Sin certainly couldn't image it would be that long or that hard to deal with. Ah, youthful times.

“But I want to try out my cosmic bomb.”

“Then do it, in like, another galaxy.”

That sounded, reasonable. Sin nodded and began to float outside of the milky way and towards the stars hundreds of trillions of miles away. Anne floated alongside them.

“Why?” Sin asked.

“Why what?”

“Why are you following me? You did your job?”

Anne raised an eyebrow like Sin had said something truly and utterly insane. “I want to watch the cosmic bomb blow. I think it would be beautiful to see a star get burned. Is that even possible?”

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