Chatterbox: Pudding's Place

What is this?

Mei coming on one month early?

Hi y’all. For those who don’t know, I was a superactive CBer from 2016, your resident fangirl and annoyance. I’ve changed quite a lot since then, and I promise I’m less cringey now. :) I’ll do an update on my life soon. The reason I’m coming on early is because I’ll actually be on a plane half the day of the reunion, so I want to meet everyone beforehand.

So hello! How has everyone been? If you guys could tell me about the major events that happened (wars, etc), some new people that joined, that would be great.

Since I’ve gotten older now and all you oldies are too, I thought it would be cool if we used this thread to post our writing and see how it has changed. This is a nice exercise to see how far you’ve come, but also to have someone look over your work to improve it even further. Apparently some famous authors were readers of the ancestor to Cricket. We’re that next generation. We can’t take over that bestseller list if we don’t help each now, can we?

1.) Find a piece of writing that you’ve done recently. Preferably something you haven’t polished and rewritten a thousand times and submitted for an English grade. I’m not going to give a word limit, but please don’t go crazy.

2.) Choose someone else’s step 1) and critique it. I’d spend time on this if I were you, the other person will appreciate it.

3.) After yours is critiqued, find something you wrote from more than two years ago. If you were on the CB then, then you can use an RP excerpt or something. It’s going to be cringey, and you’re going to hate it. Just do it. We’ve all been there, we’re all ashamed. Don’t worry.

4.) Critique your own piece.

5.) See how far you’ve come!

I’ll start:

1.) I did write this for English class, but never ended up using it for a grade. It was part of a flash fiction unit, a type of story called a “single-sentence story.” So yes, it’s supposed to be all one sentence. :)

When the sky turned different colors, the girls would sometimes congregate on steps, laughing, talking, not like they didn’t have a care in the world, but like they knew the depth of the world and could talk about it, laugh about it, sing about it and create things, beautiful colors and sounds and shapes that would surprise you if someone told you the creations came from Earth, and they didn’t, because the girls shaped their artwork from the stars and the mountains and the sea, collaborating, reveling in each others’ company, perhaps looking up to see a boy once in a while: They weren’t great at hiding their crushes, they really weren’t--they blushed and stammered--but instead of drowning in their feelings, the girls took them and molded them like clay, statues, tributes to one they admired or loved, and while they were at it they shaped trust bonds between them out of molten stars and rock and lava and birdsong, and when it was time to leave, whether for class or to return, the girls would kiss each other goodbye and walk away--no, run away-no, dance is the word, the way they flit, so graceful and light but not delicate, more like they knew every inch of the ground they stepped on, and as you watched them leave with halos shining over their heads you’d think they were training to become goddesses, because they were.