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/lit/ - Literature

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>> No.19385766 [View]
File: 93 KB, 1200x838, Writing on a typewriter.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
19385766

Yesterday I realized I can just write at work and email my text pieces to myself. Provided the day is slow and I don't get interrupted by customers needing help with their stupid bullshit, I could potentially have hours of extra writing time per day.

>> No.17973466 [View]
File: 93 KB, 1200x838, Writing on a typewriter.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
17973466

>>17970414
>Any progress on your novels?
Yes, I'm done now. I was never going to become the next Faulkner, the next Nabokov or the next Joyce, but I hid behind the language barrier to avoid criticism for months, maintaining an illusion that was fun to live in while it lasted.
This will be my final post on /lit/. I've been humiliated and exposed as a fraud. My writing is pretentious, infantile, banal drivel. My observations are dull, my language grade school level.
My tenses are mixed up, I use colloquialisms, ellipses and onomatopoeia. I mix tired and trite idioms together to obfuscate their unoriginality with a veneer of irony.
I was never cut out for writing. I began writing my "book" on January 6th. Since then I've produced 66 thousand words for it. These words are a tide of garbage without value, without insight, without form. The themes of time, space, infinity, memory and pointless duelling are not present in my work. It was never real writing, it was anime and weebshit. Look how many words I wrote, because apparently literature is bodybuilding and just aimlessly typing will somehow improve my writing. I don't even know what genre it is that I'm writing. Is it autofiction? A comedy? A picaresque?
Regardless, I have failed. Goodbye.

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