I know it was just too much content at one time. I'm trying a different approach now, 2 paragraphs at a time. I figure the entire novel will last until we really run out of oil.



THE
WALKING
AARDVARK

AArdvark wrote:I tried this on Groucho a while back but lack of response made me depressed.

I apologize for the tepid response from the knobs over there. You truly are a pearl amongst the swine of groucho.org.

Err, wait. That's not right. It's just that this kind of thing is a tough one to respond to. Trying to get people to respond to your handiwork is difficult under any circumstance, but especially when dealing with the average BBS user, who, when faced with a page full of text, will feel their eyes glazing over and read maybe the first couple sentences and perhaps a random word or two from the body.

You shouldn't take it as a slight. Bugs' MP3 didn't generate much feedback either way, either.

We can always collect them and make them a weekly feature at the main JC site, like how I did with my brother's NFL power rankings two years ago.

Walt Gibson wrote for the Shadow mgazine from the early Thirties right up till the fifties, I believe. He would write on a first draft basis and the magazines were twice a month for the longest time. That's about 24 full length novels a year. the quality is about what one could expect for that kind of output. I got a whole bunch of the text files before they were pulled off the internet and I realised, 'Hey! these need work!" At least re-writes. So I set to it with some of the better ones and added better characterization and subplots.
And humor. Why write anything if it's not funny.
So if it pleasse the peanut gallery, I will post some of them.
Remember, they are pretty long posts. I would hate for anyone to give up on them just because of the size alone.
I think that's what killed the idea on Groucho. Nobody comes here to read books.

THE
INFINITE
NUMBER OF MONKIES
AARDVARK

The second version is much, much better than the original. The jiffy-pop story conveys the "pleasure of text" in a way the first version doesn't. I mean, hell, the popcorn validates the entire bit by itself, without regard to there being any more or less.

Am I to understand that you did not write the first part, Vark?

Maybe I should add illustrations then.

or maybe only 2 paragraphs per week.

THE
VISUAL
STIMULATION
AARDVARK

I just realized that I never read through the repost of this on this forum because it was too long, but I just spent the last 45 minutes reading rewritings of Garfield cartoons somewhere else. I am mine own enemy.

Yes, yes, post them all. I am a big fan of the slowly-unveiled thread.

I got the whole novel done, all twenty something chapters. think If I post them one chapter at a time (like Stephen King did with Green Mile) I would get a response?

I tried this on Groucho a while back but lack of response made me depressed. Things might go better here.
Have to be warned however, that Conde Nast publishing owns the rights and would not be very receptive. Neither would Shadow purists who really liked the stories unchanged. Maybe a base hidden from prying searches or something. Make me sleep better at night.


THE
SOME KIND
OF PALAGARISM
AARDVARK

My first comment is that I am going to reformat this for you and make it word-wrap compatible in Notepad.

OK, reading this now. I will give you my take on it and turn this into Varks' Reading Workshop by lunchtime tomorrow. FINGERS IN PIES, Varkus, fingers in pies!

This is the modified passage. I changed the names to make it more interesting.

------------------------------

The gangster grinned as he showed his ticket to an inner guard. He was
ushered along a corridor to the warden's office. At that spot, progress ended.
An anteroom was jammed with men - newspaper reporters, guards, and other people, the kind that slow down on the roadside, looking at the twisted wreckage of an accident. Looking for blood and guts.
Torgo spoke to one of the uniformed men standing outside the Warden’s office. He stated that he must see the warden at once. The guard thrust him clenched fist in Torgo’s face. Torgo could see the knuckles were scarred from much usage.
"You can't go in there," growled the guard. "Not a chance, young fellow.
Warden Barringer is busy."
"But I must see him -"
"You'll get your chance. He'll be out pretty soon."
"Before the execution?"
"Of course. That's why all these scumbag reporters are around here. They're going downstairs with the warden."
Torgo Muckrat nodded. He knew that he would have the opportunity he wanted. In reply to his question, the guard assured him that this was the only door to the warden's office. Torgo planted himself at a convenient spot, and listened to the talk between two newspaper men who were standing close by.
"Less than twenty minutes now, Zeke," one was saying as he looked at his watch.
"Yeah," replied the other. "you nervous, JimBob?"
"No. Why?"
"Well, you keep scratching and fidgeting. I guess you're hard-boiled, though. It gives me the willies to think of a fellow being snuffed out while we watch."
"I’m scratching because of the poison ivy I found growing back of my place two nights ago. And as for watching the bird get fried, well-“ he bent over and cupped his hand to his mouth. He spoke softly into Zeke’s ear, but loud enough for Torgo to overhear, ‘it gives me a boner.’
He straightened up again and clapped his buddy on the shoulder with a laugh.
“ He gets juiced, does the electric jive dance - that's it."
"How long does it take to kill them, JimBob?"
"That depends. He gets whomped, then the physician makes an examination. If it looks like he’s still moving, they do for him again."
"How often?"
"You can't tell. That reminds me of a couple years ago when I was covering an execution is Texas, Zeke. They had this guy in the chair and fried him right good, but you know what? The crazy son of a bitch had one of them jiffy-pop popcorn things stuck down his pants. They turned the juice on him for the second time and all this popcorn erupted out of his crotch! Funniest damn thing I ever seen! He had left his fly open just for the occasion. Fucking popcorn everywhere! The guards looked like they had the biggest joke in the world just played on them. Nobody knew what to do. Standing there watching while popcorn was blastin’ out his zipper and drizz’lin down his pantlegs. Har Har, I still get a kick out of it. One crazy motherfucker that guy was.
“What’d the warden do?”
“Aw, he had the guards pick it all up after they took out the body and I guess the screws ate it later while they watched ‘the longest yard’ on TV.”
“That’s fucked up, Zeke.”
“I guess it is, JimBob, I guess it is. There’s some funny people in Texas.”
Torgo was listening mechanically. This conversation was of little interest to him. He was watching the warden's door.
"The juice burns them, doesn't it?" Zeke was asking. "I hear it smells like roast pig. One jolt ought to do the trick, right?"
"Electricity is funny," returned the other reporter. "I guess there's such a thing as getting too much of it in one shock. They use alternating current in most pens, on that account. It does burn bad, though. Smells like bacon.” He grinned, “Or popcorn. There's talk of installing AC here, instead of the shitass DC they got now. I would just turn it on and then go for a beer. Come back in ten minutes or so. That’s what I would do."


THE conversation continued. JimBob had a hazy idea of just how the procedure went, but he managed to convey to Zeke that there was a difference in the effects of direct and alternating currents. While the two ghoulish reporters were still discussing the matter, the door of the warden's office opened, and a
squatty, gray-haired man appeared, with two uniformed guards behind him.
"Hey it’s the warden!” One of the reporters cried.




THE
MODIFIED
AARDVARK

An Exerpt from a modified book:


OK. this post is the original text. The setup here is a criminal is going to be executed in the prison. Another criminal has just arrived with a pardon blackmailed from the governor.

----------------------------------------


The gangster grinned as he showed his permit to an inner guard. He was
ushered along a corridor to the warden's office. At that spot, progress ended.
An anteroom was jammed with men - newspaper reporters, guards, and others
who were to witness Silk Elverton's execution. Tim spoke to one of the
uniformed men. He stated that he must see the warden at once. The guard thrust
himself between Tim and a glass-paneled door. Tim could see the words upon the
barrier:

WILLIS BARRINGER
CHIEF WARDEN

"You can't go in there," growled the guard. "Not a chance, young fellow.
Warden Barringer is busy."
"But I must see him -"
"You'll have your chance. He'll be out pretty soon."
"Before the execution."
"Of course. That's why these hounds are around here. They're going
downstairs with the warden."
Tim Mecke nodded. He knew that he would have the opportunity he wanted. In
reply to his question, the guard assured him that this was the only door to the
warden's office. Tim planted himself at a convenient spot, and listened to the
talk between two newspaper men who were standing close by.
"Less than twenty minutes now, Jake," one was saying.
"Yeah," replied the other. "Do you feel nervous, Bob?"
"No. Why?"
"Well - I guess you're hard-boiled. It gives me the willies, though, to
think of a fellow being snuffed out while we're looking on."
"There's nothing to it, Jake. He gets the juice, does a wiggle - that's
all."
"How long does it take to knock him, Bob?"
"That depends. He gets the hot shock. The physician makes an examination. If it looks like there's a chance of the guy being alive, they give him another shot."
"How often?"
"You can't tell. Generally, they're shooting the juice through a body
that's already dead. It's just a humane idea, I guess - so there won't be any chance of life remaining. The autopsy comes after the execution has been completed, anyway."
Tim Mecke was listening mechanically. This conversation was of little
interest to him. He was watching the warden's door.
"The juice burns them, doesn't it?" Jake was asking. "One jolt ought to do the trick."
"Electric current is funny," returned the other reporter. "There's such a
thing as getting too much of it in one shock. They use alternating current in most pens, on that account. It burns bad, they say. There's talk of installing it here, instead of the direct current which is used in this place."


THE conversation continued. Bob had a hazy idea of just how the death
current acted, but he managed to convey to Jake that there was a difference in
the effects of direct and alternating currents. While the two reporters were
still discussing the matter, the door of the warden's office opened, and a
squatty, gray-haired man appeared, with two uniformed guards behind him.
"The warden!" Tim heard some one say.



THE
ORIGINAL
AARDVARK