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Welcome to the thirty-fourth Crowdfunding Creative Jam! This session will run Saturday, October 18-Sunday, October 19. The theme is "Paradigm Shifting Without a Clutch." (Visit the Creative Jam over on LiveJournal.)


Crowdfunding Creative Jam

Everyone is eligible to post prompts, which may be words or phrases, titles, images, etc. Prompters may request a specific creator, but everyone else may still use that prompt if they wish. Prompts may specify a particular character/world/etc. but creators may use the prompt for something else anyway and post the results. Prompters are still encouraged to post mostly prompts that anyone could use anywhere, as this maximizes the chance of having creators make something based on your prompt. Please title your comment "Prompt" or "Prompts" when providing inspiration so these are easy to find.

Prompt responses may also be treated as prompts and used for further inspiration. For example, a prompt may lead to a sketch which leads to a story, and so on. This kind of cascading inspiration is one of the most fun things about a collective jam session.

Everyone is eligible to use prompts, and everyone who wants to use a given prompt may do so, for maximum flexibility of creator choice in inspiration. You do not have to post a "Claim" reply when you decide to use a prompt, but this does help indicate what is going on so that other prompters can spread out their choice of prompts if they wish.

Creators are encouraged, but not required, to post at least one item free. Likewise, sharing a private copy of material with the prompter is encouraged but not required. Creative material resulting from prompts should be indicated in a reply to the prompt, with a link to the full content elsewhere on the creator's site (if desired); a brief excerpt and/or description of the material may be included in the reply (if desired). It helps to title your comment "Prompt Filled" or something like that so these are easy to identify. There is no time limit on responding to prompts. However, creators are encouraged to post replies sooner rather than later, as the attention of prompters will be highest during and shortly after the session.

Some items created from prompts may become available for sponsorship. Some creators may offer perks for donations, linkbacks, or other activity relating to this project. Check creator comments and links for their respective offerings.

Prompters, creators, and bystanders are expected to behave in a responsible and civil manner. If the moderators have to drag someone out of the sandbox for improper behavior, we will not be amused. Please respect other people's territory and intellectual property rights, and only play with someone else's characters/setting/etc. if you have permission. (Fanfic/fanart freebies are okay.) If you want to invite folks to play with something of yours, title the comment something like "Open Playground" so it's easy to spot. This can be a good way to attract new people to a shared world or open-source project, or just have some good non-canon fun.

Boost the signal! The more people who participate, the more fun this will be. Hopefully we'll see activity from a lot of folks who regularly mention their projects in this community, but new people are always welcome. You can link to this session post or to individual items created from prompts, whatever you think is awesome enough to recommend to your friends.

From LJ "Culture Shock" prompt

Date: 2014-10-19 06:24 pm (UTC)
dialecticdreamer: My work (Default)
From: [personal profile] dialecticdreamer
Warning for language, and worries over homophobia.
Culture Shock


Sunlight dripped over his shoulders like warm honey. Gideon loathed it, kept his back to it. Rejected it.

His summer construction job had been fine until everything went to pot half an hour ago. He did what he was told, moving supplies, picking up dropped tools and more importantly, dropped nails and screws, occasionally moving sealed buckets of adhesive, or tar, or whatever the job boss said that guy over there needed and why was /he/ standing around like a brick?

The crew treated him like a skinny punk kid, which, well, they were probably right. He'd been counting weeks until he turned eighteen for about...three years, really, and he'd firmly topped out at an underwhelming five-eight, maybe a buck-forty on the scale. With boots.

When he'd applied right before school let out for the summer, entirely because his mother walked past their real office every day on the way from the bus stop to her job at the vet's and mentioned it just as often, he'd been petrified, so scared that he was /sure/ he'd flubbed the interview. Instead, he'd been hired, and then he learned to deal with the constant, jangling fear, doubled. When would the sly remarks meant to be “funny” start? When would someone destroy the tools he was supposed to carry, just like the rest of the crew? Or his boots? His gloves? It didn't matter what they /were/, the point was to take them away to show him he wasn't wanted.

It was boring, exhausting, annoying and decidedly /macho/ work, and he thought he'd kept his head down well enough to avoid attracting attention, until the client had seen him slide of the back of Shea's motorcycle this morning, and realized that the skinny kid was being bussed quite thoroughly by a taller, muscular man with a suggestion of beard, and a single raven-black braid nearly to his waist.

The crew had already seen and ignored it in public, of course, since he'd been working with the same crew for five weeks, but when he crossed through the designated break area on days Shea dropped him off, he got teased... about riding as a passenger on the motorcycle, rather than any other... riding... he wanted to do.

Last week, he'd been called, quietly and privately, into the site office, where his boss had dropped a new pair of stiff leather work gloves –better quality than he'd been able to afford, these were all leather-- on the desk for him, ordering him to pay attention to safety. It wasn't until he'd been ready to try them on, near the stack of brooms he'd cleaned the day before, that he found what /else/ the boss had given him. In the palm of one glove, a foil packet. In the other, the business card for a place called “the Bridge,” which billed itself as a non-alcoholic social club. Written in a neat diagonal slash across the back were the words, “I expect you'll want the day after your birthday off.”

He /still/ hasn't been able to puzzle out which of a dozen different 'tones' the boss might've meant, and the man's brisk bark, bordering on rude, was as inscrutable as ever. The client, arguing fiercely with Mr. McKennon, faded into the background. He kept setting up for the day, but he was waiting for the heavy bootsteps, the hand on his shoulder, the vaguely polite, “We don't think you... mesh... with our work culture.” Or, more likely, just a brisk, “Take a hike, kid.” He'd /almost/ gotten enough –

A heavy step made him jump. He scowled at the last broom he'd cleaned yesterday, still too damp to put to use today, and stood /it/ up to face the monster sunshine, propped against the office trailer. “Man, what a blowhard,” one of the roofers declared. He paused, then asked, “You okay, kid?”

He gaped at –Oh, Rudy. Shit! Rudy was actually /named/ Arthur, but earned his nickname by making the crudest, most direct observations Gideon had ever heard.

“You heard what he said,” Gideon couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. His body and brain were both coiled for a fight.

“I'd call him a dick, but I thought you /liked/ those,” the other man laughed. A hand as big as Gideon's head thumped onto the teen's shoulder. “C'mon. Boss says I'm supposed to put you to work.”

“I thought--” Gideon blurted.

“What? That we're a bunch of low-forehead, macho white dudes and your our token Black, gay, teenaged mascot?” Rudy's laugh rumbled low, even as he shook his head. “Naw. Unless mebbe you're also disabled and mentally ill?” He sounded shockingly hopeful of the prospect. “Then we'd have a full house, all in one kid so skinny I could probably fit you in my lunchbox.”

“But--” He just couldn't seem to find two words in the blank /noise/ inside his head right now.

“Kid,” that enormous, heavy hand landed painlessly on his shoulder again. “Stop starin' at us like we're the tigers in a zoo. Haven't you noticed you're on the same side of the bars as we are?” A tiny shake, meant to get his attention. “You're a construction worker, too, or will be when you finish learning the basics.”

(at the ending)

Date: 2014-10-20 02:52 am (UTC)
thnidu: glowing light bulb. tinyurl.com/33j2v8h (light bulb)
From: [personal profile] thnidu
Oh! GOO-OOD!!

Re: (at the ending)

Date: 2014-10-20 02:55 am (UTC)
dialecticdreamer: My work (Default)
From: [personal profile] dialecticdreamer
Glad you like it.

Rudy really needs his OWN warning label, though.

Re: From LJ "Culture Shock" prompt

Date: 2014-10-20 08:01 am (UTC)
dialecticdreamer: My work (Default)
From: [personal profile] dialecticdreamer
We can absolutely put this in Polychrome, easily.

The difference between giving Arthur the nickname Rudy and smearing him into paste is that Rudy says what people /think/, but does so in a way that's actually much softer and gentler than it /seems/ from the straight wording.

Some guy calls, "Hey hottie!" to a woman passing by on a job site, he'd probably catcall back, "Go home and learn manners, you boor!" If it's the kind of almost-assault, right on her heels but not touching that implies that the jerk has /practice/ at this, the whole crew would jump in, and tell their non-fighter (Gideon) to show her into the office and get her some water.

I'm very glad you like this.

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