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All Hallow's Tales - RESULTS!October 31, 2012 - Time to put the chainsaws back in the shed, hang the skin-suits up in the closet and announce the WINNERS of this year's All Hallow's Tales Contest! Competition this year may have been less crowded than in previous years, but no less fierce! Please help me congratulate this year's winners:
FIRST PLACE:

Harvest Time by =Tobaeus
First Prize

1,000 points courtesy of Points Pool donors.

$20 Amazon Gift Card from `Memnalar

Dripping Blood Bookmark from `Memnalar

dA Print of winner's choice from #CRLiterature

6-month premium membership from #CRLiterature

3-month premium membership from `Memnalar

£50 worth of tokens in =TheSkaBoss' browser game Lyrania.*

Furies 3She was a doctor once. Neurosurgeon under a classified government stipend, one of the most sought-after pairs of hands on the planet, and off. She'd been rated for orbital tours, and had cared for billionaires, presidents, and those whose power couldn't be described by credit or office. Her hands could mean life or death, both for patients, and for business.

Now Irina's hands were self-replicating nanopolymer over a titanium skeleton. She could pass for human in low light. Her polymer tint carried the Afternoon Mocha swatch, mixed specifically to the ethnic profile of her duty sector. She was speaking Susurrus to a cluster of unlicensed labo

Bagger LemSometimes Lem wondered how they saw him in the moments just before. An old girlfriend, an ex-husband maybe? Their mom or dad, or maybe a long-dead Army buddy. They saw what they wanted to. All Lem knew was the look on their faces when their gaze met his, when their minds told them he was something other than what he was. They always wore this beaming smile, an expression of damn-it's-good-to-see-you. They kept that look as Lem ripped their throats out with his teeth and slopped up the blood with his tongue.

He could tell himself they died happy, that the last thing they saw was the person they most wanted to see. It was comforting. He was lu

"All Hallows Tales" Fiction Contest

Generously sponsored by prize donors and the following Groups:
:iconfocusonlit: :iconbeta-readers: :icontransliterations:
"I keep seeing these people, all recognizing each other. Something is passing between them all, some secret. It's a conspiracy, I know it."
- Elizabeth, Invasion of the Body Snatchers
"You see, I take these glasses off, she looks like a regular person, doesn't she? Put 'em back on...formaldehyde-face!"
- Nada, They Live
"One thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach, all the damn vampires."
- Grandpa, The Lost Boys
"Watch out for the weirdos, girls."
"We are the weirdos, mister."
- the driver and Nancy, The Craft
They seem like normal people. They go to work every day, keep their lawn nice and trimmed, and pay their taxes on time. They vote. They go to school. You run into them at the mall, or at the playground with their kids. Such nice folks, upstanding citizens

VerdigrisThe sun was red the day Slicker died. She watched him fall a hundred levels, to shatter against a fat, reinforced gas pipe, shards of him breaking across archways and supports and cables, plummeting into the foggy void below. His blud drenched a cluster of backup valves. It dripped from the nozzles, thick and syrupy.

Slicker was unsticking the gears on the Bigtime, with such focus that he paid no attention to the approach of the Quickhand, making its minute-long journey around the Bigtime's face. He had clamped safety cables to the supports, but was careless. The Quickhand caught a support line, and dragged him off the gears, sending him plu

Two Paths: PrologueI am no poet. I can only write about what I see and hear. Marae tries to teach me so that words come easy when I write in my book. At the end of the day is when I write, long after night falls. I don’t know what day it is.

Marae is asleep now. I should sleep, but I can not. I can hear them, outside the walls. I can hear the laughing. It does not sound like laughing, but that is what it is. It sounds like dogs. Like hell. Animals outside our walls, walking like men. I can not say what it sounds like. Marae maybe could, but I have no words. They are not men. God would not make men such as this.

We are dead. I must say it to myself. I wil

Transliterations: Modernising Myths

So it's Valentine's Day here and I'm off to buy shoes to go with my posh frock for my fancy dinner because blue moons just come around sometimes, but I thought I'd pop in to remind you that there's approximately forty-eight hours left to submit something for the contest. So to all you stragglers, you revisers and last-minute magic-makers, you photo finishers: pull all the stops out, stop arsing about and get those entries in. Think of it as a Valentine's gift to words.
At the request of participants and for the sake of my own failing sanity, the Modernising Myths Contest will be extended by ten days. This means that the new deadline is February 15, giving you until the day after Valentine's Day to complete your entry--and if you still need more time, I suggest cancelling your Valentine's Day plans and finishing it then. Because we all know you love writing more than you love your partner. And if they're reading over your shoulder, I'm sorry, but they had to know som

Real Men of Genius

Bud Light Presents: Real Men of Genius
(real men of genius!)

Today we salute you, Mr. Devious News Article Rejector Guy.
(Mr. Devious News Article Rejector Guy!)

One hundred people loved the article, but what do they know?
(wake up, sheeple!)

Anyone can lend their public support, but your faceless thumbs-down will be heard around the world.
(anonymity is my friend!)

For you, it's not about the content or the cause, it's about the DDs you've never received on your erotic furry fiction.
(just don't understand me!)

Yours is a lone voice now, but soon the faceless masses will pour in to reject this article along with you, just as soon a

Two Paths 30: SleeplessShe beaches the skiff about a mile downstream from camp. The only light is Gunan’s emerald glow overhead, the only sound in the still air is borne from Elene’s exertions as she hauls Karl’s corpse to dry land.

Elene prays that Borenz is quick with the shovel and axe, if indeed he heeds her instructions at all. Her grim work must be done swiftly if her suspicions hold true and the innkeeper's son was killed by Dmitar's whip. It seems impossible, as the bandit leader lies dead and buried miles behind them. If he carries the blood of Slurrum in his veins, as Elene suspects, no grave will long hold him.

She prays, too, that none

And Bricks were ShatThe All Hallow's Tales results are here: http://memnalar.deviantart.com/journal/All-Hallows-Tales-RESULTS-266602843
Halloween was fun. I've got photos in my scraps.
Do let's remember to go thank `nycterent for her superb service as a Gallery Moderator/Community Volunteer. Web sites change, drama ebbs and flows, but good people and good effort are why this site is unique. Naiya is good people. Tell her so.
And yeah, +spyed has shaken the Etch-A-Sketch again. Sta.sh is here, and from my brief fooling around with it, it looks pretty cool. News articles are gone and now Journals can be faved. While that does a great deal for consistency, efficiency and simplicity, I'm not thrilled at the further moves toward a decentralized, word-of-mouth community. News articles were a good place to find news about things without having to watch the right people or groups, and now that tool is gone.
But eh, fuck it. Web sites change. That's kind of the way it always has been. There's a reason thes

from Dom, to Mordaunt

He stands atop the Abbey's highest tower, his plain robes whipping about in the powerful eastern winds. The Elsa valley yawns far below, enshrouded by mists thrown from Soaring Falls. Above, the night sky is brilliant with stars, and the thin, curving sliver of Pwixac, the blue moon, rises at his back.

Men call the blue moon the Sister of Mysteries. When she rules the sky, it is said the veil between the worlds is at its most thin, and the old ways are strongest. The blue nights are alive with spells and ancient spirits.

It is one such spirit that drives Dominic to this lonely tower, to be buffeted by summer winds. He recalls his mother's w

2. Lem's MelodyThe Mission's security gate wouldn't open all the way. Some crackhead spent an hour slamming himself into it when Sister Constance wouldn't let him in after dawn, so now the rail was bent. Lem had to turn the rolling bag sideways to fit it through the door.

The battered TV shrieked at Lem from its cage on the wall. Some stupid show about college kids scaring themselves looking for ghosts in abandoned mental hospitals. The day room - Lem never got tired of the irony - was mostly empty, except for Melvin in the corner mumbling to himself, Sister Constance glaring from her desk behind smudged, bullet-proof glass, and a girl.

It was the girl th

4. Lem's DebtsAfter the girl had put away a cup or two of warmed-over pig blood, and Lem felt comfortable that she wouldn't run off, he left Melody at the table and went in search of Sister Constance.

She was in the day room, handing out clean blankets as they trickled in. Lem nodded at the ones he knew. There was Pryor, always first in line. He looked at Lem with his good eye on the non-burned half of his face. Next was Sketch. He traded a drawing to the Sister for the blanket. She held it up to the light. A perfect rendering of St. Mark's Cathedral lit up at night, right down to the rivets on the door and the security camera above it.

"It's beautiful,

Over a Wasp, Down a MountainDuring the years before I stuffed a Ford Taurus full of my earthly belongings and pointed it toward Texas A&M, my family had an annual ritual involving a dying piece of technology. Every year, never at the same time, either Mom or Dad would find some kind of reason to go shuffling through the Buffet, an ancient piece of furniture with which I grew up, guarded for decades by an ugly ceramic frog that Dad won in some contest or another.

The Buffet was festooned with drawers, one of which was solely devoted to stacks of tiny boxes of Kodak slides. What are slides, you ask? You see, kids, before we could take pictures with our telephones, our ca

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Neil Gaiman on the "Golden Age" of Comic

by `Memnalar, Dec 10, 2010, 1:54:53 PM
Journals / Art News / Literature

Author, screenwriter and anthology editor Neil Gaiman describes the joy and challenge of picking The Best American Comics.

[http://www.npr.org/2010/12/09/131937258/neil-gaiman-selects-top-american-comics-of-2010?sc=fb&cc=fp]

18 Comments

Neil Gaiman on the "Golden Age" of Comicby `Memnalar

Journals / Art News / Literature

©2010-2013 `Memnalar

~orphicfiddler Dec 11, 2010

*fan girl squee for anything talking about Neil Gaiman*

Goal: Meet the man and his lovely Amanda Palmer - whom I had a slight obsession with long before they ever got together - and just chat with the pair. So many famous people I'd just love to talk with over coffee or shots or something . . .

Reply

`Memnalar Dec 11, 2010

Indeed. I've always wanted to sit with William Gibson. I love his tweets.

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*xlntwtch Dec 31, 2010 Writer

Yes to chatting with William Gibson. Neil Gaiman: some very excellent, some so-so. What does Gibson 'tweet' about? Damnme, wish I was a youngster who even knows what the heck Twitter is...

Reply

~Elmara Dec 11, 2010 Student Writer

i want me some #SutureHQ graphic novel guide!

Reply

`ndifference Dec 10, 2010 Professional Writer

Calls to mind Suture's guide to graphic novels, part one. Seems part two is looooooong overdue.

Reply

`Memnalar Dec 10, 2010

Is part one posted? I couldn't find it, but that probably just means I didn't click the right thing.

Reply

`ndifference Dec 11, 2010 Professional Writer

I thought there was a stand-alone news article. I'm fairly certain, but I can't find it.

It's also at the bottom of Vol. 9. [link]

Reply

`Memnalar Dec 11, 2010

Thanks. Quite a thing. I almost forgot to read the graphic novel bit after everything else, although I did enjoy it.

Reply

`ndifference Dec 11, 2010 Professional Writer

The comments on that issue are very interesting.

Reply

~mreid973 Dec 10, 2010

You had me at Neil Gaiman.

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