/lit/ - Literature

novel like yu yu hakusho in which a thug-like drop-out fights daemon

interested because i am a thug-like drop-out

No critique thread, I'll start

The next day, Nikolai woke up to see the newspapers glowing a golden hue. With a single grunt, he put a blanket over his eyes and tried to fall back asleep. Yet as he was about to do so, he remembered the letter. Hoping that it was nothing more than a dream, he tore the blanket off his eyes and began searching the ground. After a few seconds, his eyes locked onto the letter, and his chest began to heave.
Nikolai was once again paralyzed, yet this time it was less out of fear, and more out of ignorance. Eventually his catatonic state vanished and he was able to snatch the letter off the ground and begin glancing over its content. Despite how hard he tried, the letters of each word mingled with the rest of the paragraphs, causing everything to appear as cryptic jumble.
Feeling defeated, Nikolai flung the letter across the room, and resumed trying to fall back asleep. Yet once again, his efforts culminated in failure when he realized that his mind was consumed by the letter.

What are some of the most beautifully written works of prose?

Specifically in the English language

How do I overcome writers block? I know what I want to write about and what's gonna take place, but how do I do it, without dreading it? How do I get a clear picture in my head of everything that'll take place?

>>11648082
Not to mention his fucking bear that he owned, Byron was a real G

>>11400232
For sure, the romantics were way cooler. They were gonna make byron fuckin king of greece he was that much of a g

Please friends help...


Once I breathed from rose lacquered, boundless airs,
And came to a breath wondrous, and so rare,
Yet, gusts then robbed this ether of its fare.
Once robbed, I gazed upon that ether's death,
And clutched my lonely, last rose lacquered breath,
Propelling it to engulf my lungs' breadth,
Impelling it to fill my very heart,
So that it would from my blood never part,
And so it would from my lips not depart.
Yet, soon my lungs began to abrogate,
And then began my throat to palpitate,
Compelling my heart to ever so ache.
From the aches my face began to tremble,
And tears dropped which I tried to dissemble,
But my lips began to disassemble
And from them I ejected oil,
The purulence of a breath which spoiled,
Being shown that to waste went my toil!
Yet alas, this breath shall wander elsewhere
And though never will its stench leave the air
I shall follow the wind to leave despair.

The sculptor ever so with ardor sculpts,
Enduring every monstrous tool's insults.
For over his woes, throes, and listless soughs,
Is a thing which exceeds a mind's repose.

Above such is his lustrous marble bust,
Which shimmers as it was with stardust buffed;
Forever to stand while he to death bows.
And right before the scythe through his neck plows,
He shall remember that though his soul leaves,
And his kith and kin shall so ever seethe,
They shall remember he is always near,
For they'll find the bust which he held so dear,
And as the bust like alabaster gleams
They shall remember all that he esteemed.
Please help guys...

ITT we critique each others work.
https://pastebin.com/g1iZG2VX

Beyond the aching lapis fields,
Which causes tears from eyes to reel,
Lies in utter darkness
An orb burning in starkness.

It burns a hue no coal could master,
Polished in brilliant alabaster.
And as this lonely beast from heaven dangles,
By a single silken threaden tangle,
I snap its bare thread,
Without a solemn dread.

And I bring it close to my heart,
Swearing from it to never part.

Yet, once I bring my eyes to peer,
I find a lonely coal of woe and fear.

And now I let the wind the ashes take,
For now my heart ever so quakes.
Please anon, I need help...

Lets start a poetry critique thread?
Last time we had this it was good

>>9800044
because great men are above conventionalities like 'gender' or 'consent'