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Unsheathed #79: Editing again!
14 years ago
Once more we enlist the help of hacksawrat extraordinaire 
foozzzball to dissect a couple pieces of prose sent in by our listeners. The prose is reproduced below for your reading pleasure, then go to the episode and see what we make of it all.
http://www.kyellgold.com/kkcast/unsheathed.rss
or find us on iTunes!
Snippet #1:
Glass [working title]
“What’ll it be sir?
“Whiskey, neat.”
“What kind?”
“Well.”
“Four Dollars.”
The exchange, accompanied by a squat glass of amber rotgut sliding across the bar, was just another reminder that the cougar was not welcome in this bar. The cougar was expressionless as he sipped his fourth whiskey of the evening, the bartender setting his change directly in front of him. An outsider would not recognize the affront, at least not until he had seen it repeated, over and over again. Four times a visit, five days a week this very exchange occurred. It was a message sent by the bartender, that in an establishment where a drink could be ordered with a raised eyebrow and an imperceptible nod, that no matter how much whiskey he drank, this cougar would not be a regular. The title “sir” was another barb in a bar where everyone else was “hey you”, “bub” or “you ‘ol sonuvabitch”. In the six months of clockwork neat whiskeys, neither fur had asked or offered a name.
It was an accident of need and geography that kept the cougar coming back, this bar being the furthest away from work he could stand before stopping. It was also convenient to the package store on the walk back to his apartment. He drained the last sip of whiskey and slid the glass toward the back of the bar, along with the change from his final drink. Standing up, he strode to the door, displaying no effect from the four drinks, save perhaps a slight shift from predatory cat toward inscrutable feline. He left behind his empty glass, on his way to replace it with a full bottle from the package store, en route to his empty apartment.
Snippet #2:
“Listen here, you old ghoul,” Hartford said, pushing himself up from the column and poking his finger into Fairbank's chest. “I know what my people need. I know what this whole empire needs, as a matter of fact. Just you watch. After today, there's no telling what the empire will be capable of.”
Pushing the ferret's hand away from his chest gingerly, Fairbanks said, “Believe what you want, Hartford. I won't stop you. I've been a councilman longer than you've been alive, though, so I would advise you to listen to my words.”
The ferret slouched back against the column, folding his arms and tapping his claws along his elbows. “Whatever you say, sir,” he said. “Why are you here, though? I've never known you to revel in defeat before, and Emperor Nolan didn't force any of the councilmen to attend the proclamation.” He looked warily at the old, smiling rabbit.
foozzzball to dissect a couple pieces of prose sent in by our listeners. The prose is reproduced below for your reading pleasure, then go to the episode and see what we make of it all.http://www.kyellgold.com/kkcast/unsheathed.rss
or find us on iTunes!
Snippet #1:
Glass [working title]
“What’ll it be sir?
“Whiskey, neat.”
“What kind?”
“Well.”
“Four Dollars.”
The exchange, accompanied by a squat glass of amber rotgut sliding across the bar, was just another reminder that the cougar was not welcome in this bar. The cougar was expressionless as he sipped his fourth whiskey of the evening, the bartender setting his change directly in front of him. An outsider would not recognize the affront, at least not until he had seen it repeated, over and over again. Four times a visit, five days a week this very exchange occurred. It was a message sent by the bartender, that in an establishment where a drink could be ordered with a raised eyebrow and an imperceptible nod, that no matter how much whiskey he drank, this cougar would not be a regular. The title “sir” was another barb in a bar where everyone else was “hey you”, “bub” or “you ‘ol sonuvabitch”. In the six months of clockwork neat whiskeys, neither fur had asked or offered a name.
It was an accident of need and geography that kept the cougar coming back, this bar being the furthest away from work he could stand before stopping. It was also convenient to the package store on the walk back to his apartment. He drained the last sip of whiskey and slid the glass toward the back of the bar, along with the change from his final drink. Standing up, he strode to the door, displaying no effect from the four drinks, save perhaps a slight shift from predatory cat toward inscrutable feline. He left behind his empty glass, on his way to replace it with a full bottle from the package store, en route to his empty apartment.
Snippet #2:
“Listen here, you old ghoul,” Hartford said, pushing himself up from the column and poking his finger into Fairbank's chest. “I know what my people need. I know what this whole empire needs, as a matter of fact. Just you watch. After today, there's no telling what the empire will be capable of.”
Pushing the ferret's hand away from his chest gingerly, Fairbanks said, “Believe what you want, Hartford. I won't stop you. I've been a councilman longer than you've been alive, though, so I would advise you to listen to my words.”
The ferret slouched back against the column, folding his arms and tapping his claws along his elbows. “Whatever you say, sir,” he said. “Why are you here, though? I've never known you to revel in defeat before, and Emperor Nolan didn't force any of the councilmen to attend the proclamation.” He looked warily at the old, smiling rabbit.
I call 'heavily drinking author tries to express what the state of his soul is like rather than telling a story where something happens' ;)
Very easily solved if something happens to the cougar on his way to the package store, but in that case why are we only looking critically at the setup where nothing is supposed to happen, change or develop?