BenCrucifix, The Reader
I made a story on here once.
I plan on doing so again.
I mean its been over a year since my last one and I've written about two pages of the next one, so that's progress right?
The world has been ruled with an iron grip by the evil Lord Enigma for centuries. Hidden within the impenetrable fortress of Castle Conundrum, he is all but undefeatable.
But you are an adventurer, and it is your job to defeat evil overlords, no matter what the odds.
Can you puzzle your way through Castle Conundrum and defeat the evil Lord Enigma?
An entry for the Riddles & Puzzles competition 2016.
Overall Winner: Riddles & Puzzles 2016
Recent PostsNYCMidnight Flash Fiction on 8/26/2020 8:05:15 AM
Lol, yeah I'm not really sure where they got their definition for flash fiction from.
The Trampoline Terror on 8/26/2020 8:04:44 AM
So my intention here, rather than a "rip off", was to do a spoof of common mystery/ detective story tropes. "The butler did it", the detective messing around with the suspects before the big reveal, and caricatures of the Cluedo characters. I guess that I didn't quite pull that off in the way in which I had hoped, which is a shame.
The Trampoline Terror on 8/25/2020 1:49:29 PM
Location: A country club
Item: A trampoline
Inspector Clue scrutinised the collection of people sitting before him. Professor Damson slouched in his seat, mauve suit crumpled, tie loose around his neck. He absentmindedly swirled an untouched glass of port, staring unseeingly at where the corpse had lain on the lawn.
Despite being sat in a plastic garden chair, Colonel Dijon lounged comfortably. He wore, as always, full military staff uniform, unfazed by the midday sun. Gazing lazily around the garden, an arrogant half-smile rested within his well-groomed goatee.
Miss Pimpernel reclined luxuriously, taking a drag from her cigarette. Editor at Femme Fatale Weekly, she belonged on a page from her magazine. Dark hair fell elegantly down her back, and she wore a low-cut red dress. She breathed out the smoke, and it drifted languidly upwards.
Slumped in his chair was Reverend Chartreuse. Green jacket resting upon the back of his seat, dark patches showed under his armpits as he struggled with the heat. His round face was pale and queasy. He stared unhappily at the half-empty glass in his hand.
Stiff-backed, head held high, not a single crease was visible on Mrs Pheasant’s cyan suit. Her hair was contained in a low ponytail, any stray greys lost in a sea of brilliant blonde. The wrinkles around her eyes could be called laughter lines, if not for the fact that she never laughed.
Finally, Mrs Alabaster wore a simple blouse and skirt, hands resting in her lap. Thin white hair was pulled into a bun. She wore her wrinkles proudly, proof of a lifetime of experience. Her eyes rested on the inspector, waiting patiently for him to begin.
Clue got to his feet, and those not already watching him looked up. “You all know why you’re here. Dr Joseph Jet rented this country club for the weekend, bringing you together to celebrate the life of his father, Jeremiah. Yesterday, he was found dead. I suspect foul play.” He paused, expecting an outcry. They continued to watch him. “Each of you had a reason to want him dead.” This garnered a greater reaction, each suspect slyly sliding each other suspicious glances.
“Professor Damson,” he said, turning to face him. “You were once a colleague of our late doctor’s late father. Although Jeremiah moved on, he was generous enough to continue funding your experiments. You were upset by his unfortunate demise, but you were perhaps even more upset when Joseph informed you that you would no longer be funded by the Jet family.”
“Colonel Dijon,” continued Clue. “You’ve been a lifelong friend of the family. After Jeremiah’s death you took the time to visit his son and comfort him in his time of need. But when you arrived you found Joseph to be drunk and belligerent. The moment your back was turned he stole your Bentley and crashed it before even reaching the end of the road. This classic car, your pride and joy, destroyed at his hands.”
“And how about you Miss Pimpernel? One would think that you would be distraught at the death of your fiancé. Yet you have not let a single tear run down your cheek. Had you come to hate the love of your life upon discovering his affair?”
“Reverend Chartreuse, it was only with the help of your dear friend Jeremiah that you managed to defeat your alcoholism. I’m sure his passing away must be difficult. Yet he is not the only friend you recently lost. Patch, your canine companion, died only last week, after an unfortunate accident involving a Bentley.”
“You never liked your nephew, did you Mrs Pheasant? He took after his mother, the evil woman who stole your baby brother away from you. When Jeremiah died you found out that you had been cut off from the family fortune and it was all going to Joseph. Did that prove too much for you to bear?”
“And finally, Mrs Alabaster. You worked for Jeremiah for many years. A kind employer, he always treated you well. I understand his son was less kind, and you were often subject to racist abuse. You were pleasantly surprised when Jeremiah included you in his will, and understandably angry when Joseph found a legal loophole to have you removed.”
“You all have a motive. Instead we must look at the method. Having briefly examined the body, I can confidently say that the weapon used to kill Dr Jet was this trampoline.” He gestured at the apparatus on the lawn behind him. “Someone maliciously double-bounced him into that neighbouring tree, with intent to kill.”
“Several suspects can therefore be ruled out. Professor Damson, of course, is paralysed from the waist down, and unable to leave his wheelchair. Similarly, Mrs Alabaster requires the use of a walking stick, and so I suspect her unlikely to frequent trampolines. Colonel Dijon has an intense phobia of trampolines, making them an unsuitable first choice of weapon. And at the time of the incident Reverend Chartreuse was quite drunk, requiring both Mrs Pheasant and Miss Pimpernel to assist him to his room.”
“In fact, none of you committed this heinous crime. I say instead, the butler did it!” Several of the others gasped, and they turned to face the man who had patiently been stood off to the side with a pitcher of water, ready to assist any who needed hydrating under the hot sun.
“William here is an amateur trampolinist. He’s even won several competitions. This very weekend in fact, he was intending on attending an international event. The prize money would have been enough for him to leave his job and pursue trampolining full time. But alas, Joseph forced him to come here, threatening to dock his pay otherwise. William Wigglesworth, I hereby charge you with the murder of Joseph Jet.” His monologue complete, Clue smiled smugly to himself.
“Inspector, I have just one question,” said Mrs Alabaster. “If you knew the killer all along, why didn’t you just say so?”
“Oh, this was much more fun, don’t you think?”
NYCMidnight Flash Fiction on 8/25/2020 1:48:28 PM
A few months back I discovered NYC Midnight, an organisation that runs several different writing competitions. Thinking this might be a fun way to get myself to write a bit more, I signed up for their flash fiction competition. 48 hours to write a story of under 1000 words, following some prompts: genre, location, and an object that must be included in the story at some point. There are four rounds, and then some nice cash prizes to win (once I beat the other several thousand contestants of course).
Remembering that this website I occasionally make brief appearances in exists, I thought a forum full of writers would be a good place to get some constructive criticism on my entries. (I'm a slut for feedback.)
CYS Podcast AGAIN on 7/29/2020 2:32:05 PM
Oh wow, I had no idea this was a thing. I'm slightly sad that my story appears to be the last one they did, I must have scared them off.
Welcome to Earth: Opening scene on 5/11/2019 2:22:04 PM
Just to start off, here is the first thousand words of Welcome to Earth.
The ringing phone pierces through the fog of alcohol that’s misting up your mind and drags you kicking and screaming out of your sleep. Without the protection of unconsciousness your head instantly starts pounding, your throat begins to lather itself up with sandpaper and every muscle in your body competes over which aches the most.
Deciding to open your eyes, you quickly realise that your decision-making process isn’t very good. The blinding light of a gloomy room stabs into your vampirically sensitive eyes. Screwing your lids shut, you let out a little groan of pain.
The phone carries on ringing relentlessly.
Letting out a little sigh, you swing your feet over the edge of the bed and, trying not to trip over the small elephant sleeping on your floor, stumble across the room to where you dropped your mobile last night. You look at it curiously. A phone number has been painted on the back in purple, next to a small sticker of a banana.
You try to figure out exactly what happened last night, but it’s all lost in a mist of drunkenness.
You’re snapped out of your reverie by the sudden silence of the phone stopping ringing. You glare at it angrily, before returning to your bed, stepping gingerly over the snoring pachyderm.
Just as your head hits the pillow, the phone starts ringing again. You pick it up. “Stop ringing!” you yell at it, before putting it back down again.
It doesn’t listen, and carries on with its relentless racket. You lie there for a moment longer before giving in and answering the phone. “What?”
“Dude, CIA activity is off the charts!”
“Fuck off Terrance.” You’ve heard Terry’s conspiracy theories a million times already. It’s enough to send you to sleep, not that you need much encouragement for that at this moment in time.
“No man I’m serious, do you have any idea how many men in suits and sunglasses I’ve seen walk outside my window this morning? Three! I’ve consulted my notebook, and there’s only meant to be one on Saturdays, and he doesn’t normally walk past my house until five past eight. This is clearly suspicious activity.”
You blink slowly. “Are you telling me its not even eight o’clock yet?”
“No, its three minutes past now.”
“Wait, please just hear me out man. I know you don’t understand just how dangerous the government can be, but they’re clearly up to something at the moment. You need to open your eyes dude.”
You do as he says, not even remembering closing them. You’re clearly much too hungover to be dealing with this. “The CIA aren’t even our shitting government Terry. We’re not American. Even if we were, why the fuck would they be interested in a stoner like you?”
“Do you really think countries keep their secret services to themselves? You’re even more naïve than I thought.” He barks out an annoying fake laugh. “Besides, they’re not interested in me, they’re interested in the spaceship that landed in your garden last night.”
The line goes silent for a moment as you process what he said. “You might need to repeat that.”
“Don’t you remember? You’d just finished vomiting on the church down the end of the street when it came flying out from a cloud and crashed behind your house. You said I was just imagining things because I’d taken a shit tonne of MD, but Hanno saw it too, ask him.”
“You probably were imagining things, you do way too many drugs Terry. And I don’t trust Hanno, he’s fucking nuts. There’s no such thing as spaceships dude.”
“Just go check your back garden, I bet you there will be a smoking spaceship wreck out there. I’ve got to go, I can see a woman with a pram out my window reading a newspaper. Something fishy is clearly going on here.” The line goes dead.
Not wasting any time with getting back to sleep, you shut your eyes. Terry and his spaceship can wait a little longer, you think.
“What was that about me being nuts?”
Your eyes snap open. With a groan, you force yourself up into a sitting position. It doesn’t look like you’re getting back to sleep this morning. The elephant is looking at you expectantly. “Apparently you saw a spaceship last night.”
“I did. It crashed into the garden. Why does that make me nuts?” Hanno glares at you angrily.
“Well it would hardly be the first time you convinced yourself you saw something stupid. Remember that time you were at the grocery store and thought you saw a zombie in the vegetable aisle?”
“Its not my fault if people go around covered in blood and torn clothes.”
“She’d just escaped a rapist! She’d managed to get away and hide in the store, and then you tried to bash her head in with a shopping basket.”
Hanno harrumphs at you and looks at the floor sheepishly.
“Look, you’re not going to get offended at me for calling you nuts, are you?” With a horrendous hangover and a supposed CIA insurgency going on, an angry elephant would be enough to make this day a living nightmare for you.
“Don’t worry,” says Hanno, much to your relief. “Us elephants are famously thick skinned. But let me remind you, we never forget. If I ever hear you call me nuts again I will stick my tusk so far up your arse you’ll choke on it.”
You’re not too worried about his threat. As famed as an elephant’s mind may be, Hanno had the memory of an amnesiac with Alzheimer’s. Besides, you’ve known Hanno for years. He’s threatened to impale you with his tusks multiple times, and its yet to happen.
Ben's Blog on 5/11/2019 2:18:44 PM
I wouldn't actually classify this as a blog, I just enjoyed the alliteration. Think of this more as an infrequent spew of words about how my writing is going. I made a 'motivational thread' here eons ago, but I couldn't be bothered to go trawling through the forums looking for it, and it clearly didn't work as intended, so here we are.
I've got a bunch of writing projects I've started on over the years, but I never manage to bring them to fruition. It's a problem I've noticed in myself. I'm great at starting things, not so good at finishing them. Write a few pages, rewrite those pages, get distracted and then realise months have gone by and I've not touched it. Get inspiration for another project. Repeat.
Does anyone here have any tips on how they deal with this problem? I can't imagine I'm the only person here who struggles with motivation when it comes to writing.
There are a bunch of 'projects' I started with the intention of publishing on here. I've decided to try and actually complete them all over the next few months, just to prove to myself that I can do it before attempting an actual book I've got plans for. I will be posting updates on my progress here, and any feedback will be very welcome. I'm a glutton for positive feedback, but constructive criticism would be great too.
1. Welcome to Earth
This is the first one I'm going to try and finish. This is relatively short compared to the others, and had a bit more planning already done with it, so seemed like a logical place to start. A very brief rundown of the plot: You're an alcoholic living with an angry talking dwarf elephant. An alien crash lands in your back garden, and you have to deal with the fallout that comes with it.
2. Return to Castle Conundrum
Castle Conundrum was the one story I actually published on here, and I'm still proud to say even won a competition. But being rushed out in a few days it was a lot shorter than I would have liked it to be, and there was a lot more I would have liked to have done with it. Not sure yet if this is going to be a sequel, prequel, equal or just plane old rewrite.
3. Port Paradise
"Port Paradise, the legendary city of pirates. It is here that you were born and raised, and here that you now seek your fame and fortune. Will you become a legendary pirate lord? Or just another corpse in a back alley, like so many before?"
This was the very first idea I came up with after joining cys way back in 2014. I was 16 at the time, so the bits of it I can still find are ridiculously cringe worthy. But I still think its a fun concept and have some interesting ideas in mind for it, so I'm looking forward to writing this.
4. Generic Fantasy Dungeon RPG
A tongue in cheek take on shitty fantasy RPGs, this was originally just intended to be a play around with the site to see what I could and couldn't do with variables and items and the like. Nothing much was ever made of this past the basic concept, so I am tempted to just scrap it completely.
5. Dark Crusade
Based upon tonnes of world building I've been doing over the years for what will eventually someday become a series of novels, this was my intended entry for the Epic fantasy contest last summer. It quickly became a sprawling mess and, coinciding with me starting a new job and new relationship at around the same time, its no surprise I hadn't gotten very far with it by the time the competition deadline came around. It's still an enormous beast of a story, so this one may take me a while.
Contest SHAME 8: EPIC SHAME on 9/29/2018 4:10:43 AM
I don't genuinely blame Bucky, that was just a poor attempt to be humorous on my part copying what other people had said above.
My reasons for failing this are entirely my own, and mostly come down to a mixture of poor time management, lack of prioritisation and just bad discipline.
Still, even with the shame, I'm glad this contest happened, as I thoroughly enjoyed writing what I have actually got down so far of my story, and I'm looking forward to actually finishing it at some point.
Contest SHAME 8: EPIC SHAME on 9/25/2018 3:14:00 PM
I've got a couple of different excuses I could use for my pathetic display of not completing this on time, but instead I'll just blame Bucky for giving us a difficult contest.
Even though I didn't complete it in time for the contest I still enjoyed writing this story and plan to continue with it, so hopefully it should be completed over the next couple of months.
Congrats to those of you that did complete it!
Dark Crusade - An Epic Progression Thread on 7/16/2018 5:07:11 PM
That sounds like some solid advice, but if I'm capable of getting up that early is yet to be seen.
Making the side branches shorter is probably the way I'm going to go. If I really want to I can come back and flesh them out into full paths at my own pace once the contest is over.
Thanks for all the advice though! Having someone take an interest and encourage me definitely helps.