/lit/ - Literature

>>23495576
The last time I posted in here (scifi noir pulp trash writer here) I wrote until I ran out of ideas. I've taken the time to sit, think, vibe, and figure out the back end of my novel. And now I have it (I think). All that's left is to slam out the prose. Just so everyone else knows, you can make it, and I believe in you.

>>23398398
As requested by >>23393776 here's a paragraph of the project I'm working on, which is sci fi schlock. It's first draft material, for sure.

The sun was setting in glorious golden, orange, and purple hues as it slipped below a boxy horizon of low income apartments and industrial buildings. Gus gripped the wheel inside his car and listened to the engine fans kick off. His eyes scanned the parking lot, mostly cheap shitboxes, and glanced at Mikey’s.
Mikey’s was a grungy diner, a large one story restaurant with a square footprint, squeaky overstuffed booth seats, out of fashion chrome everything, and exterior bulb lights which ran on every straight edge of the trim. Twenty-four hours, salad bar, and burgers so greasy it would be considered an ecological disaster to throw them in the ocean.
Gus clicked off the already hushed radio with a swift flick and then reached into the breast of his blazer jacket. His palm gripped around the body-warmed steel of a chunky pistol, which he slid out of its jackass-style shoulder holster.
His eyes looked over the dark gunmetal gray of the gun. An ancient Colt-style 1911, chambered in .45 American-Auto Rimless (Pistol). It had been in his family for generations, and if his late father’s tales were to be believed, it had been brought over from Earth itself. Or a version of it, at least. Nothing in it was original. The frame had been replaced with a high-speed feeding ramp variant, the slide and barrel swapped out with a shorter ‘Commando’ configuration, the aftermarket trigger group was so crisp that the pull felt like a glass rod snapping, and of course white pine checkered grips which snugged into his hand better than most pairs of gloves he owned.
It was an heirloom piece. He knew which parts were installed by his grandfather, which his father had swapped out, and which upgrades he saw fit to swap in. There was a shoebox somewhere in his apartment with enough ‘old’ parts collected over the generations that one could build several complete firearms just from those bits. But those weren’t his pistol. Only this one was. And his latest contribution to the family pistol was a ghostly holo-laser crosshair sight which hung in the air like a neon specter a few millimeters from the frame. It flashed into existence from an emitter hidden within the fully adjustable backup night sights, activated whenever the grip safety was engaged.
Gus took in a slow breath, nodded, and pulled the slide back with a crisp snap, loading a cartridge into the chamber and locking the hammer back into battery. His thumb smoothly flipped the safety back on with a snick as he slipped the pistol back under the hem of his silver-metallic blazer and secured it under his armpit in the holster. Slowly, he let his breath out and reached for the car’s door. It was time to make some friends.

I can post some more samples that aren't /k/ indulgences if anyone would like.