/lit/ - Literature

mfw no ebooks of Lautreamont's works

>>2744185
>not liking Waiting for Godot

ITT: Otherwise seemingly intelligent, high-minded people argue the merits of a book and/or author based off subjective reasoning and childish bickering.

I fucking love the Internet.

>>1384797

Those guys are up there cause they gave generously.

I know this isn't the place to ask for advice, but i'm not sure where else I could ask so here goes.

How do I hone my style in my writing? I've been trying to define myself lately but I seem to be all over the place with my consistency and it's very troubling. Any advice /lit/?

Sup /lit/ give me a critique on my latest short story please? It's titled Hopkins' Witch.

I stride silently down a beaten country road, a white picket fence to my right and a looming forest to my left. The stick in my right hand makes clicking noises and chips old paint off as it slowly pats itself against each post in the decrepit fence. I've walked this road hundreds of time, coming here whenever my mind needs to be soothed. Except it's different this time, I don't desire to walk the normal route back -- I wish to walk and never return. I've been living with my mother for the past few years. She's a moping mess, always mourning the loss of my father. I can't stand being around her. She hardly says a word, always whispering about how things would be better if my father were there. He disappeared one haunting winter and soon became the gossip of the village. He was a hunter and the last I saw of him was when he was packing his bow and arrows for his final voyage into the forest that hangs over me like a tyrant to my left.

I glance over every few seconds, expecting to see him there with his confident grin and a fresh kill in his hands. I curse the trees and the roots keeping them alive. The local priest told me that I shouldn't blame nature, but blame my father's tyrannical attitude toward wildlife. I punched his front teeth out. I haven't heard much of him since then, though I see him every time the town meets for their weekly zealot gathering. People think it's strange that I'm so violent. Say I'm just like my father, cocky and easily provoked. My attitude is justified. They all forgot about him, even praising his disappearance. I should take his old bow and show them some respect.

Hey guys I come here with a request for you to give a read to one of my short stories and offer some feedback. I would love to hear any criticism you have whether constructive or not. It's title is Hypothermia.

Crouched down beside the lake that nearly took my life. My hair drenched and my hands trembling as I pick up a single stone from the mud on the shore. I reminisce on the events that took place not more than half an hour ago. I stepped upon the frozen surface of the lake, a large rock in my hands. My intent was to end my life. Use the rock to break the ice at my feet; to let the chilled depths suck me in. I gave one last look to the overcast sky and breathed a sigh. A sigh that I hoped would be my last. I exhaled all the breath from my lungs, not wanting to give myself a fighting chance. I dropped the rock, and felt the ice tremble beneath me.

A beautiful crack spread beneath the rock and under my feet like the smile of a demented man. I felt the final shudder of the frigid lake and it gave way to my weight. A final smile spread across me as my hair shot upward and my legs were thrust down. The water was indescribably cold. I felt it burn my eyes and turn my skin to a ghostly pale. I grasped the rock as I sank and held onto it the way a mother would hold a child; Cradling the catalyst that set my life spiraling down.

My eyes gazed up to where the ice gave way and I felt as cold as the water. A lethargic stare at the cloud filled sky, barely visible through the small space of chipped and broken ice. I planned for this to be my last look -- But the clouds parted, giving way to a gleam of overwhelming sunlight. It filled the water, revealing the various aquatic life that had stopped to lay witness to my demise. I looked at them, knowing none of them would understand what they were seeing and then looked back up at the light. I was still slowly sinking as the light hit the water, and I could almost feel its warmth in the overwhelming chill.