Not Ready to Go (1011 hits)
Category: UberMadness!Rating: 0.3 on 47 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by UberMadness! (View user info) at 2005-08-02 09:10:03 EDT
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Entry 1
"They thought it a disgrace to go forth in a group. Each entered the Forest Adventurous at that point which he himself had chosen, where it was darkest, and there was no way or path."~13th century text on the Arthurian Cycle, as quoted by Joseph Campbell
I was half-asleep in Connor's lap when I heard the news anchor's voice chirp,
"Sad news from the Baltimore Zoo tonight---the three ravens, Edgar, Allen, and Poe died this afternoon from unknown causes."
Every muscle in my body seized up. Three ravens. Three ravens had started this whole thing.
She continued,
"The playful birds had been the city's mascots since they first came to the Zoo shortly after Baltimore welcomed The Ravens football team. A press release from the Zoo this afternoon stated that there is no reason to suspect West Nile Virus, and that a full epidemiological investigation is underway. At this time, no other birds appear ill."
Three dead ravens... I could only begin to imagine what it meant. I don't remember Connor turning the TV off. The next thing that I remember was the jarring ring of the telephone and feeling him gently untangle his limbs from mine so that he could answer it.
"She's grown very silent," I heard him whisper. "Yes, I will. Don't worry." There was a long pause. He sounded agitated when he spoke again.
"Yes," he snapped. "I know what I have to do."
He handed me a massive sweatshirt and ushered me into the car with a look on his face that ached for answers. I didn't have any to give him; my own mind was whirring with questions and memories and fears about the signs---three dead ravens... He put his hand gently on my thigh but said nothing. We slipped into the October night and as the bare trees reached out like arms toward the car window I felt myself shifting into a light trance—that happened a lot now when I was in the passenger seat, something about the rhythmic hum of the pavement underneath and the blurring scenery outside the window.
Three ravens had started this whole thing. That was a memory that I needed no second-sight to retrieve...
This all began the day I'd set up camp in Barnes and Noble with towers of books shielding me on all sides, "The Tao of Physics", "The Golden Bough", "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone", "The Mabinogion," "Advanced Tantric Sex"...(ok, it was "Tantra for Dummies") I'd read them all before. At the next café table a little girl was casting spells on her frappuccino. It refused to move, or change color, or grow a prince, but her magic was not to be discouraged. She danced around the coffee concoction with elaborate arm movements and secretive whispers and when she felt the magic was complete she sipped the potion and looked up coyly at her mother who was scrawling something into a tight black book. I briefly considered asking the mother to grant me custody; they were that clearly mismatched. A few minutes later the mother tucked a copy of a big red book with Dr. Phil's face on the cover under her arm and took the little witch by the hand, dragging her toward the checkout line. I sighed and went outside for a cigarette.
I sat on the curb with my legs splayed out to the sides, my white thighs reveling in what would probably be their last day in shorts for the year. The sky was black with birds and I craned my neck to watch them. It was one of those flocks that seemed endless, blanketing the whole sky. Everything disappeared except for the beating of hundreds of wings until I heard a small voice next to me say,
"Look. Those three ravens are talking to you."
It was the little frappuccino witch. She was standing right beside me pointing at three black birds that had perched themselves on the hood of a car directly in front of me. I've never seen such unnerving stares as the ones belonging to those birds.
I blinked. "What are they saying," I asked, unsure if I was humoring her or asking her to humor me.
The girl leaned closer to me and whispered, "Morrigan, it's time—"
And with that I heard the sharp voice of her mother call, "Get over here! You know not to talk to strangers."
The little girl cried, "I'm not ready to go, Mommy!" and she no longer sounded so mysterious. The ravens were unmoved by all of the loud human dramatics. Her mother was unmoved by her whining.
I sat still and stared at the ravens. Morrigan...did she call me Morrigan?
*
The night got darker as we passed from the suburbs out into what's left of the farmland out in the western part of the county. Connor's hand vanished from my leg. Something wasn't right. I reached over to rub the back of his neck and felt the subtle resistance I'd noticed before in so many other people, an auric blockade that feels almost like the push of two magnet ends with the same charge. I pulled my hand back.
"I'm sorry," I said.
A fox ran out into the road and Connor hit the brakes.
"Why are you sorry, Tessa?"
"Because I've done something to make you want to leave me." I tried so hard not to sound emotional. "Either that, or you know something about what's happening that I don't know..."
He turned the car down an unlit gravel road. Our bodies bumped and jostled as he navigated over the rocks. Something was very wrong. Connor was not a creature of moods and silences like me, not a secret-keeper. His warmth had drained leaving behind a mechanical man performing his function of driving me safely to Cathvad's farm.
All he said for the next two miles was, "No...you haven't done anything."
We turned down Cathvad's narrow driveway and the branches of his weeping willows scraped at the top of the car.
"I'm to let you go here...not supposed to wait..."
"Connor, don't do it like this! Please! You've been my ballast since I started this whole thing, the only person who understood what it's been like for me to have to open myself to see the unseen, the only person who has loved me even as I've transformed into this new person..."
He was silent. The willows scraped the roof.
"Connor, the ravens weren't for you. Don't be afraid."
He stopped the car.
"Cathvad is about to tell you a lot of things." He put his hand on my shoulder. "Please know that I really do love you. It wasn't part of the plan, but I swear by every god and goddess that I know to swear by that I love you and I wish that I could follow you."
"I never doubted—"
"You will."
"You can follow me anywh—"
"No, I cannot."
He pulled the car up to the doorway.
"Goodbye, Morrigan," he whispered. He pressed his lips into my cheek and the tenderness of the kiss made it hard to keep breathing. I pulled back.
"What did you call me?"
His eyes were shining with the premonition of tears.
"Morrigan. It is your name. I wanted to be the first..."
He kissed me on the mouth, holding the back of my head gently with one hand. A loud whack on the car made us both jump. Cathvad was looming beside the car, looking even more like an ancient wizard than usual in a hooded cloak, his icy eyes glowing. He'd smacked the car with his prized staff to get our attention and was shooting Connor a look that would make anyone cower. Conner turned away but I heard him whisper,
"I know you can do it. I'll always love you."
I could ignore Cathvad for an hour just to stay and ask Connor all the questions I needed answered. His stares had never frightened me.
"I'm not ready to go, Connor. I want—"
"You're ready, Morrigan. You have to be."
Connor unlocked the car doors and Cathvad grabbed the handle and flung the door open. He thanked Connor and offered me his hand. I walked with my teacher into the house and refused to look back as the man I love drove away.
Morrigan. Two pairs of three ravens... Somewhere Connor couldn't follow...
*
Cathvad's house was more like a den and an alchemist's laboratory than a home, filled with assorted jars and books and the smell of burnt sage. His owls hooted all night—he was an avid falconer. Though he made a concession to change the spelling for ease of pronunciation by 'ignorant modern people,' he'd chosen his name after the prophetic druid from Irish myth—the one who predicted a life of sorrow for Deirdre by hearing her scream when she was still inside her mother's womb.
"I can't wait any longer, Cathvad. What is happening? What is it about the ravens?"
He offered me a seat across the oak table. Everything in his home was made of oak.
"You know what three ravens mean. You know what physical death means. It is time that you stop relying on me so much, my dear."
He'd never used words so tender. I recited like a kid in Catechism class.
"Alright...ravens are the bird of The Morrigan, and she signifies strength in battle, ruthless feminine warrior energy, the threshold of life and death, justice and revenge... She's a triple goddess, existing in three phases like the moon...The dead ravens are a threat?"
He handed me a cup of tea. He always brewed some in advance of my visits.
"Come now, think metaphysically. What does death mean?"
I finally understood. My voice came out in barely a whisper.
"Irrevocable change. Movement from the physical to the spiritual. A shedding of identity..."
My teacher smiled.
"Tonight is your long-awaited initiation. You've been nearly ready for so long now but I had to await a sign. This is it, my dear. From now on we will all know you by your true name, your true nature."
I was holding my breath. All I wanted was Connor but all I had left of him was an echo of his voice saying, "I know you are ready...I really do love you...I know you are ready..."
Cathvad stood and motioned that I should do the same. I followed him out into the garden where he picked up his broadsword and indicated that I should kneel. The ground was cold on my knees. The metal felt surprisingly warm as he rested the sword on my left shoulder.
"From now on, be known to yourself, to the world, and to the world of Spirit as yourself. Be known as Morrigan. Be known as Morrigan."
My head felt suddenly heavy and the next thing I knew I was coming back to consciousness on the couch in Cathbad's den. He looked slightly amused.
"Have a nice nap, Queen of Battle?"
I rolled my eyes. "Very funny."
"Listen, the transformation is happening, Morrigan," his eyes were so intense that they seemed to have absorbed me. "That's why you see the old religion bucking and kicking and desperately trying to hang on. It's why they are writing best-selling series about Revelations, why they are so obsessed with Apocalypse. They know that Christianity's period of control is almost over, and they're not ready to give it up yet."
I wondered why he was going over this again. Everything from the astrology I'd studied to the comparative mythology to a simple understanding of historical cycles had made this obvious from very early in my training.
"Of course, their prophesies are correct in so many ways," he continued. "The inaccuracies are not in the things that the Biblical prophets saw but in their interpretation of the visions based on their own values and in subsequent errors of translation and editing as the books were canonized, but you've already learned these things...I suppose the time has come for me to stop dawdling and tell you the meat of the matter." He rested his hand on mine and made a visible effort to soften his face.
"You know the mythology of your name, Morrigan. You know the warrior goddess crying out over the battlefields and you know the goddess of justice and death. You know that she comes as maiden, mother, and crone. You know her three ravens. But if we've done our job correctly, you don't yet know what the word 'Morrigan' actually means."
I nodded my head in ascent.
"—rigan—" is a Celtic root meaning "queen". You see it in other goddess names like Rigantona, and so forth. The prefix "mo" means "great".
I felt a damp coldness crawl up my back.
"You are not merely an incarnation of the goddess. We are all incarnations of all gods because the gods were created to express that which is ineffable and eternal and holy and larger than any single human being—yet they came from us and they are us. No, there is another reason you have been given this name."
He encircled both my hands with his and spoke with all the gentleness his gravel-scraped voice could muster.
"You are the Great Queen, Morrigan. The Great Queen of the next age, the Warrior Queen who will issue in the golden dawn of humankind's next enlightenment, and who will teach us how to honor the darkness of the womb, the darkness of death, the darkness of the unknowable secrets."
The moment seemed too cinematic.
"I don't want this, Cathbad. Lord...I'm not ready for that kind of responsibility. I want to go home to Connor, ok? We can talk about this soon, maybe work something out. And what does all of this Christian prophecy make of me, if I am to do what you say I am to do?"
He towered over me, evoking an almost Rasputin-like mystique.
"It makes you the Whore of Babylon."
I couldn't help but laugh a little.
"Listen, this is all very flattering in a uniquely pagan way...but I'm going back home to Connor."
"Connor is not there. His part is over now and you will not see him again."
Yes I will, I thought. Yes, I will.
"Connor was chosen as your guardian until this time. It was essential that you fell in love with him so that you would let him protect you," my teacher let a little softness come into his voice. "It's time to let go of those illusions, Morrigan."
An ocean of rage welled up inside of me and I let go of a tremendous scream that sent the owls into a fit. They continued to make wailing sounds as I crowed at my teacher,
"I am NOT READY and I DO NOT ACCEPT! If I am Morrigan as you say that I am then you must know that I will pursue justice, that I WILL NOT ACCEPT being manipulated by any false installment of love. I WILL NOT BE USED FOR YOUR PURPOSES, CATHBAD!"
I am nobody's whore, I thought.
I walked out into the night. I could be at home in the darkness, in the unknown. The willows draped over the pathway making it resemble a cave, or a birth canal. In my mind I could hear my teacher whisper,
"It's alright...you're just not quite ready to go."
I kept walking.
"But very soon, you will be. You will be..."
(to be continued)
- VS -
Entry 2
"Oh, turn this up. I love this song," Ned said.Wes rolled his eyes and slowly turned up the volume. Ned began singing, making wild gestures and using the handle of the rake as a microphone. Wes muttered to himself, "What a friggin' idiot."
"I heard that," Ned said, then after a twirl, continued with, "C'mon kid, can't you get into this? It's a song about lost love."
"I've never even had a girlfriend."
"Oh yeah? What's the matter with you, son?" Ned asked.
"Uncle Ned, I'm only fifteen years old!" Wes shouted.
The two of them continued to banter back and forth as they tidied up around Ned's farm. Since the sun was about to set, they hurried to get all of the equipment put away, and tried to get everything ready for the next day of work.
They finished dinner, which they both worked to prepare, and Ned took his place on the front porch like he had every night since he first bought the farm. Wes only had three things to occupy him: the telephone, his CD player and the little television set that only got five channels.
His parents didn't allow him to take anything else.
Wes was expected to call home at least twice a week, and after flipping through the channels and realizing that he was bored with all the CDs he had packed, he decided that now was as good of a time as any to get in touch with her.
Before he called, he quickly checked to make sure that his uncle was in his rocking chair. When he saw that Ned was sitting on the porch, he called his mother.
The phone rang.
"Hello?"
"I don't understand why you had to send me here for the whole summer, Mom," he said.
"Wes, we aren't going to get into this right away. I told you my reasons before, and they aren't going to change. You know, it would be nice if you were friendly toward me," she said.
"Do you think I want to be friendly?" he asked.
"Do you think I want to put up with your smart mouth?" she asked.
"Look, Ma, I just don't want to be here. Uncle Ned is a freak. You had to see him today. He was singing into the end of a rake and dancing. It was embarrassing," Wes said.
"There's no one there to see you, so I guess you'll live," she said.
Wes sat quietly as he twirled a lock of his short blonde hair around his finger.
Adele, his mother, took a deep breath and continued, "I just want you to learn about what it means to work hard, Wes. So far, you've done just about whatever you wanted in this life."
"Yeah, well, today I learned that I can't do whatever I want," he said.
She imagined his face wrinkled in a scowl and that made her crack a smile. Wes always tried to appear tough when he was angry, slightly raising his voice, stomping around the house and slamming doors behind him. To her, he would always be a little boy crawling around the floor in his diapers and dancing to the songs on Sesame Street.
This was why she never got upset when he started to give her attitude, although lately, his increasing anger toward her did make her uneasy.
Again, she spoke, "Wes, you know what? In a few weeks you'll be coming home. Until then, just put up and shut up. Remember, you did this to yourself."
Instead of saying her usual, "I love you," she simply hung up the phone, which shocked Wes. He thought to himself, "Christ, did I make her that angry?"
Slowly, he walked up the stairs to his room and plopped down on the bed, where he stared out of the window at some hawks that were circling in the distance. Certainly, he wasn't an angel, but did he deserve to spend his whole summer on his uncle's farm? He should have been diving off of the low bridge into the river and smoking behind the school with his friends.
"This fucking sucks," he muttered as he lay down on his bed, put his headphones on and turned the volume up on his new favorite band, the Pale Saints.
As Wes was lying down, Ned was walking through the front door of his small house. "Hey Wes! Wes? Wes? Can you hear me?" he shouted.
There was no answer, and Ned rubbed his hands together and nearly skipped over to the closet, where he opened the door and began to reach toward the back with both arms outstretched. After a few moments, he pulled out the one thing in the world that mattered to him the most.
His guitar.
Once again, he took a seat in his old, beat up rocking chair on the front porch and began "warming up the old feelers," as he liked to call it. It was dark, and the closest person was Wes, but he hadn't answered. Just to be sure, Ned called out to Wes one more time, and when he heard no response, he began to sing,
"I can see why you think you belong to me,
I never tried to make you think, or let you see one thing for yourself
But now you're off with someone else and I'm alone
You see, I thought that I might keep you for my own"
It was at that moment that Wes got up from his bed to go down into the kitchen to get a drink. At first, he thought he was imagining the deep, clear voice he heard singing, but he soon realized that it was reality. The closer he got to the first floor, the louder the singing became.
"Heh, someone's singing Mom's song," he said as he peeked through the window.
He would have been shocked if he hadn't caught his Uncle Ned numerous times singing into various objects, like the rake, the handle of the plunger or a cob of corn. The thing that surprised him, though, was the fact that his Uncle had never broken out the guitar in front of him. Wes was careful to be silent, not because he didn't want to get caught, but because he was enjoying his Uncle's rendition of one of his favorite songs growing up.
"Amie, what you wanna do
I think I could stay with you
For a while, maybe longer if I do"
The next morning when Wes and Ned sat down for breakfast, Wes began to hum, "Amie." Ned looked at him with a knowing eye, but didn't say anything, and neither did Wes. After a short while, Ned joined in add they both either hummed or broke into song at various points during the workday, but they never spoke of what had happened the night before.
++++++++++
Every night, it was the same routine. Ned would call upstairs to make sure that Wes was either asleep or occupied with his own music, and every night Wes would pretend that he didn't hear his uncle calling him. As soon as Ned would step out onto the porch, Wes would sneak downstairs and listen to him sing songs like, "There's A Tear In My Beer," "Now You're Gone," and, "I'd Rather Go Blind."
Wes sat on the floor and leaned up against the cabinets, and tapped his toes along with whatever song his Uncle Ned was playing.
++++++++++
"Wes?"
"Yeah, Mom," he said as he switched the phone to his other ear.
"I have something I need to tell you," she said.
"What's wrong?"
"It's Ned. He's dead, Wes."
"Um...oh," Wes said as he tried to hold back his tears.
"The funeral is on Thursday."
"All right. I'll have my secretary clear my calendar and I'll be there in the morning," he said.
The next morning, he took a flight from Los Angeles to Philadelphia. His brother was waiting for him at the airport, and when they met, they hugged awkwardly and engaged in idle small talk.
They were both in agony during the two hour drive home. For years, they hadn't gotten along, but it was understood that at any family get-together, they would at least put on the front that they could tolerate each other.
When they arrived at their childhood home, they could barely navigate through the house because of all the family members and friends who had gathered there. Hugs and kisses were around every corner, tears and sighs were settled in on every chair. Wes scarcely had a moment to breathe, and didn't realize the impact of his uncle's passing until very late that night when he had finally crawled into bed.
The following few days went exactly as Wes expected, and after his Uncle Ned was finally buried, he began making plans to go back to Los Angeles.
His mother saw him typing away on the computer, and she asked, "Hun, what are you doing?"
"I'm getting ready to book my flight back home," he said.
"Well, I have some news for you. I need you to come with me to Ned's farm so that we can go through his personal belongings. I know that you know every nook in that house," she said.
"Yeah Mom, but I have to go back to work," he said.
Adele glared at him and stated, "I can't believe that you're in such a hurry to get back. I need your help, Wes."
She moved toward him and put her hand on his shoulder, while using her free hand to turn the monitor off.
++++++++++
For the first time in ten years, Wes was about to walk into his Uncle's house. When he pulled his mother's car up to the front of the house, he remembered being a teenaged kid with a chip on his shoulder and a devil may care attitude. For a moment, he imagined himself as a fifteen year old again, and it made him shake his head and laugh.
He had always been aware that he knew nothing then, but at that moment, he realized that he didn't know anything at all.
Slowly, he turned the handle and pushed the door open. Adele was beside him as he stepped into the house where he spent many, many summers. Wes thought of the first time his mother had taken him to the farm, and how angry he was with her.
First, they went upstairs and emptied out the closets, which were practically bare to begin with.
"Heh, I guess good old Ned didn't have too much?" Adele asked.
"Nah, he was always wearing the same clothes and stuff. There probably isn't much to find around here," he said.
"Well, we'll just try to get everything out of here so that there won't be problems when it's time to sell," Adele said.
After spending very little time upstairs, they began going through the first floor. When Ned opened the door to the closet, he was surprised to find it so full. Adele was in the kitchen putting all of the pots and pans into boxes as Wes began to pull huge boxes down from the top shelf of the closet.
Wes set them on the floor and reached to the back of the closet where he pulled out Ned's old guitar, and he gingerly set it on the floor. That was one thing he knew he was surely taking home with him.
He turned back to the boxes, opened the lid of a shirt box from an old department store, and found a bunch of little papers, some with lots of writing on them and others with only a line or two. As he sifted through the box, he realized that he was looking at lyrics to songs that Ned had written. Some of them were titled, and he found masterpieces such as, "Can't Believe I'm Crying," "Why'd You Have To Leave?" and "The Sweetest Girl I Ever Knew."
His fingers moved the papers about as he tried to discover more treasures that were hidden within. On the bottom of the box were two perfectly flat pieces of paper. He picked the first one up and read aloud, "Wes's Song," which was simply a melody. On the other paper, it read, "Not Ready To Go."
A quick check of the dates on the papers showed Wes that "Not Ready To Go" was written about two weeks before his uncle had passed away. He read the lyrics softly to himself,
"Still have so much to say to you
Still have so much I need to do
Still don't know how I make it through
Still have a heart that's sad and blue
And I'm
Not ready to go..."
Tears shot into his eyes as he thought of his frail old Uncle Ned sitting in his rocking chair trying to think of words that rhymed with "you." A little half smile spread across his face as he thought of Ned feeling success when he finished the rhyme. They weren't the most profound lyrics, but in reading them, Ned felt as though he had seen straight into his uncle's mind.
Wes folded up the papers and shoved them into his pocket. After wiping away the few teardrops that had rolled down his cheeks, he continued to go through the boxes, and most of them were filled with letters.
As he was getting ready to put everything into a big garbage bag, he noticed a small pink and white checked box that he had not noticed before. Wes picked it up and sat down at the table, where he took the lid from the box.
It was filled with black and white pictures of his uncle as a young boy. There were pictures of him at school, playing with his dog and tons of other little moments of his life captured on film. One by one, he went through the pictures as his mother continued to pack the kitchen away into boxes.
Just as he was about to put the pictures back into the box, he noticed one that he hadn't seen before. It was a picture of Ned and Adele.
They were kissing.
He flipped the photo over, and on the back, it read, "Canada, 1977."
With a shaky voice, Ned said, "Mom? Can you come here for a second?"
As Adele came around the corner, she saw the picture and quickly grabbed it from his hand.
"What the hell? What the hell is going on?" he sputtered.
"Wes...I...I wanted to tell you for a long time," she said.
"What did you want to tell me? That you slept with your brother and got pregnant with me?" he shouted.
"No, it wasn't like that," she said.
"I don't fucking understand!" he yelled as he knocked the box of pictures onto the floor.
"Ned!" she shouted as tears poured from her eyes.
"Mom...tell me right fucking now what is going on," he said.
Adele could barely sit down at the table because she was shaking so hard.
"Wes, Ned is your biological father. When I got pregnant with you, we weren't married and he didn't want me to keep you. So I left him and took care of you on my own," she said with a quivering voice.
Wes collapsed to the floor and began to sob, and Adele continued, "I met Michael, the man you have come to know as your father, and we got married and raised you as our child. And then Ned found me and said that he wanted to get to know you, but neither one of us wanted to upset you, so we decided that we would pretend he was your uncle."
"Why the fuck would you lie to me?" he shouted.
"Neither one of us had a choice. We were trying to protect you!" she said.
"Protect me from what?" he shouted.
"Honestly, Wes, how would you have dealt with this? At least you're older now and you understand a little more," she said.
He didn't say a word. He ran out to the car with Adele chasing after him, and he peeled out of the little dirt driveway. And he drove and he drove and he drove until he ran out of gasoline. Then he sat on the side of the road and sobbed.
++++++++++
"It's time for your midnight serenade," Wes said.
"I love that, Daddy," Cheyenne said.
He laid out a little blanket and sat Cheyenne down in front of him, then he took his place in the old rocking chair on the front porch of the farm. With the guitar propped up on his lap, he looked at her and asked, "What would you like me to play?"
"Um...my favorite!" she shouted.
"Oh, you want to hear Daddy's song?"
"No, the other one," she said.
"'Not Ready To Go?'" he asked.
"Yeah, Daddy. I like that one," she said.
"Your Grandpa wrote that," he said.
Wes gently ran his fingers across the strings of the guitar, and for a moment, he was that little fifteen year old again, hiding in the kitchen listening to the sweetest music he had ever heard.
In his daughter's eyes, he saw the same wonder, and at that moment, all of the lines had been drawn.
Sitting on the porch of the old farmhouse, he knew that he was home.
Entry 1:
AlwaysAnEagle
bob
Circe
Davros
indoninja
JMG114
loki
Magicaddict
MANICMOTHER
omnifica
Slovin
Snark
SpikeGoddess
thecaes
ThineJericho
zakalwe
15 eligible votes (16 total) *
Entry 2:
absolutes
Adamdidit2u
BLITZKREIG_BOB
CaptainThorns
Confuzitron
ConorJS
darko
doctorj24
dodahdave
DonkeyOnTheEdge
electrictoothsyndrome
firefly
GodChicken
jack11058
Jack_McCallum
jgreening
kimmy02721
Kre8rix
munkeypants
Natsukau
Pentameter
rad1101
RyuFu
satchel
sparkle_pink
Spuds002
stevie_says
supadupapupa
thorpe
25 eligible votes (29 total) *
* Eligible votes are those made by users who had either (A) posted 3+ messages OR (B) written 100+ [lowered from 750+] reviews as of the beginning of the UberMadness! competition.
User Reviews
Submitted by SpikeGoddess (user info) at 2005-08-04 17:59:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Congrats Pentameter!
You know, before I began this competition I promised myself that I would take a risk with everything I posted in the competition. I never expected to make it this far b/c I took such a huge risk in writing a play for my round one entry...so it's cool to have gotten this far. The "tbc" was a risk that didn't pay off, but I'm not sorry for doing it. Thanks everybody who read my stuff and thanks for the fun ride!
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-08-04 14:04:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I'm glad I didn't rate either of these.
Submitted by dodahdave (user info) at 2005-08-04 11:59:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
While I enjoyed entry #1, the To Be Continued pissed me off.
I don't think that's kosher in UM.
I liked the simplicity of #2.
Submitted by kimmy02721 (user info) at 2005-08-04 11:34:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by MANICMOTHER (user info) at 2005-08-04 10:59:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by thorpe (user info) at 2005-08-04 10:33:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by loki (user info) at 2005-08-04 09:48:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
tough call
Submitted by jack11058 (user info) at 2005-08-04 08:42:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
1) couldn't get into it, and much of it was hard to understand (i'm not very bright).
2) loved it, mainly because of this: http://www.ubersite.com/m/61410
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2005-08-04 03:50:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Yay music.
Submitted by supadupapupa (user info) at 2005-08-04 02:36:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
to be continued...??!!
Submitted by zakalwe (user info) at 2005-08-03 21:31:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-08-03 17:12:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Spuds002 (user info) at 2005-08-03 16:22:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2005-08-03 16:12:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WOOOO GUITAR
Submitted by AlwaysAnEagle (user info) at 2005-08-03 15:24:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
MAN that ruled.
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2005-08-03 13:53:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by absolutes (user info) at 2005-08-03 13:21:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2005-08-03 12:50:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-08-03 12:26:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I would like to see entry 1 continue the story after all of this is done.
Submitted by Slovin (user info) at 2005-08-03 10:51:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Magicaddict (user info) at 2005-08-03 08:02:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by ThineJericho (user info) at 2005-08-03 06:38:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Damnit, I really didn't want to .. the continuation was horrible in the contest, but I've got to vote for number one.
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2005-08-03 03:55:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Enjoyed both of these.
Entry 1 just gets the vote, even though Cathvad became Cathbad halfway through.
-Dave
Submitted by ConorJS (user info) at 2005-08-02 23:47:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Not too much of a competition.
1. Goddesses? Ravens? Welsh/Celtic Druidism? Lack of an ending? Come on.
2. Gets my vote. Good story, readable, enjoyable, not too surprising, but that's okay
Submitted by GodChicken (user info) at 2005-08-02 18:33:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2005-08-02 17:23:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
WTF I'M NOT READING ALL THAT!
Author 1, I think your (to be continued hurt you). That and I don't like starting off a post with someone else's words.
Author 2, I hate scene changes that use +++++++ or whatever breakers. Despite this I liked yours better. (but only because the filename).
Submitted by Adamdidit2u (user info) at 2005-08-02 16:04:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Entry one was fantastic, what the fuck is up with a "to be continued"?
Submitted by Natsukau (user info) at 2005-08-02 15:55:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by satchel (user info) at 2005-08-02 15:55:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by RyuFu (user info) at 2005-08-02 15:01:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
#2.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-08-02 13:54:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Wow, entry 1 was really really rich. Lots of things to do with it. I liked the sense of mystery and foreboding. Seems like a lot of research was done here...I'd like to know the legend that prompted this story.
Entry 2...something about this just rubbed me raw. I'm not sure what it is. I hated the revelation that Ned was his father...somehow that ruined it for me. IT's like when you think a story is about one thing, but then it turns out that the story is about something else, except the something else that it's turned into isn't as good as the something you thought it was.
Submitted by doctorj24 (user info) at 2005-08-02 13:30:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
BOTH AUTHORS:
Can you please get things in order? Is it CATHVAD or CATHBAD? Is it NED or WES? Especially you #2. You switched out Ned and Wes (mostly calling Wes Ned) that it was hard to follow your story sometimes. I always forgive the first offense, but multiple times? Come on, have some care.
Still, #2 was the better writing.
Submitted by Kre8rix (user info) at 2005-08-02 13:25:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-02 13:03:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Jesus. ROUND THREE!!! ROUND THREE!!!
The one that isn't to be continued wins... beacuse it actually ended.
Submitted by stevie_says (user info) at 2005-08-02 13:02:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
TBC?
Submitted by firefly (user info) at 2005-08-02 12:29:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Confuzitron (user info) at 2005-08-02 12:17:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by SpikeGoddess (user info) at 2005-08-02 12:05:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by DonkeyOnTheEdge (user info) at 2005-08-02 10:53:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I liked the twist in number two.
Submitted by bob (user info) at 2005-08-02 10:53:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
wow.
ill bet $10 that i know who is entry 1
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2005-08-02 10:36:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2005-08-02 10:34:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I can't vote for a post without a proper ending.
It was pretty good, but so was the other post.
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2005-08-02 10:24:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I wanted to vote for #1 all through reading #2.
But then #2 wrapped up, and took the vote.
Submitted by Pentameter (user info) at 2005-08-02 10:23:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Meh
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2005-08-02 10:12:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I can't say that the characters were well written in either story. Entry one was plot driven and entry two also seemed a bit forced, although I didn't see the twist coming. However, the protagonist's reaction to the twist seemed to fall more in line with "how we all think it would happen" rather than how it actually would happen. Imagining an adult running out of a house and driving until he runs out of gas because he's upset with something... I don't know. Didn't seem altogether realistic. Then again, thankfully, I've never had to deal with such a situation.
This was a little tough. I liked entry one's use of archetype and metaphor, although it seemed a little too obvious (three ravens, three ravens, three ravens) and it might go over the heads of most voters. Also, as I've recently discovered Morrigan in my readings, it resonated all the clearer. The paradox here is that while it seemed rather forced, it was based upon a mythology that is itself cyclical and predictable, only because it's the fundamental story that grounds everything. I think it needed a bit more to convince me that Tessa is an incarnation of Morrigan, rather than a victim to some crackpot. Also, the "To Be Continued" didn't help matters.
Keeping these factors in mind, I'm going to have to base my vote on writing style.
Submitted by omnifica (user info) at 2005-08-02 10:04:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2005-08-02 09:22:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment