/lit/ - Literature

Any good crime novels of the 80s and 90s? I am interested by the advancement of forensic science during those eras.

>>21987105
Little Dorrit. I like Maggy, she's nice so far.

>>21887260
not the same anon but here's my attempt:

In the bleak recesses of my squalid dwelling, illuminated solely by the perpetual glow of my computer screen, I often find myself pondering the eternal question, "To be or not to be?" The self-same quandary that plagued the Danish prince, Hamlet, now torments me in the twilight hours of my existence. My soul, like that of the Ancient Mariner, is weighed down by an albatross of ennui, an insurmountable burden that casts its dark shadow upon my weary heart.

As I recline upon my tattered chaise, surrounded by the disarray of my habitat, I contemplate the fate of Gatsby, the great and tragic figure of American literature. I am no less consumed by my own elusive dreams, yearning for a life beyond the hallowed confines of my digital cocoon. My eyes flit across the screen, taking in the words that dance like the notes of a mournful sonata, forever out of reach. I am Ahab, forever chasing the white whale that is fulfillment, a quarry that eludes me in these bleak and bitter hours.

In the digital realm, I find myself akin to the disillusioned Underground Man of Dostoevsky's tale. My thoughts, my musings, my utterances – all seem so feeble, so futile in the cacophony of voices that populate this virtual abyss. Like a modern-day Sisyphus, I labor tirelessly, pushing the boulder of my discontent up the slope, only for it to come crashing down again, leaving me exhausted and disheartened.

In the solace of the night, I am visited by the specters of the literati who have come before me, great minds who have navigated the labyrinth of the human condition. I fancy myself Dante, lost in the dark forest, seeking the faint glimmer of Beatrice's guiding light. Yet, I am bereft of a Virgil to lead me out of this infernal realm, to show me the way towards the heights of Parnassus.

The irony of my plight is not lost upon me, for I am simultaneously blessed and cursed by the wealth of knowledge at my fingertips. As I traverse the furthest reaches of the Internet, I am reminded of Tantalus, tormented by the proximity of that which he could never grasp. My thirst for enlightenment remains unquenched, and I am left to wallow in a liminal space between ignorance and wisdom.

In the twilight of my days, I turn to the somber beauty of Keats and his Ode to a Nightingale. The very air around me seems to echo the poet's plaintive melody, a lament for the fleeting nature of joy and the inevitability of sorrow. I am drawn towards the siren call of the nightingale, a dulcet hymn that beckons me from the depths of my own despair.

And yet, as I stand at the precipice of my melancholy, I cling to the hope that perhaps, like the eponymous protagonist of Camus' The Stranger, I may one day find solace in the absurdity of my existence. Until then, I remain a captive of my own making, a tragic figure lost in the endless sea of cyberspace, forever seeking the elusive shores of contentment.

>Spend time working on my book
>Go to bed happy
>Don't spend time working on my book
>Go to bed filled with stress, dread, and anxiety
Does this happen to anyone else?

say it

prev >>21558298

>protagonist is writing a series of love letters and poems for his wife
>protagonist also suffers from STEMfaggotry, and as such, has never written or appreciated a love letter or poem before, and likely lacks the necessary faculty to do so
What advice do you have for our hero?
How should he go forth in his quest to gain the faculty to appreciate poetry, i.e. a soul?
Is the idea of writing a yearly love letter/poem for your wife on your anniversary romantic enough to attract and keep a female audience?
Do you /lit/izens have any ideas for how such a series could be written, in terms of themes and subjects? Even generic subjects and themes would be appreciated.
Keep in mind that the main character likely also has some level of undiagnosed autism, in addition to lacking a soul.