/lit/ - Literature

I paid a cute girl at my uni 15 dollars to take a picture with me in order to convince my mom and coworkers I have a girlfriend

Her mind was chaos. The neighbors to the right were blasting salsa and the neighbors to the left were blasting bachata. And below her, in the kitchen, her mother was blasting Bollywood songs. The three rhythms clashed, destined to never be in sync, though they each made her feet ache to dance. To drown them out, she plugged in her earbuds, pressing shuffle on the playlist. The Columbia white guy crooned to her, asking if her bed was made, if her sweater was on, if she wanted to fuck. She skipped the song, and now he crooned about playing tennis. She couldn’t take him seriously. No thanks, Ezra. I have work to do. So, she was left with no other option but to put on Work by Rihanna.
She’d started listening to Vampire Weekend when she went to high school and wanted attention from the boys that she’d never seen before. Naturally, The Black Keys, Arctic Monkeys, and alt-J followed. Suddenly she was binge watching Arrested Development and Mad Men. Bollywood movies took the back burner. She hadn’t been keeping up with the new dancehall music; her cousins made fun of her for not knowing the latest Vybz Kartel song. The only person of color she had a crush on was Zayn Malik from One Direction. In fact, the only other people she crushed on were straight white men. She refers to this period in her life as “The
Dark Ages”.

If these were her Dark Ages, the times when everyone had the plague and no one could read, then when were her good times? If you asked her, she’s respond quickly.

“Fifth grade,” she would say. “That was the best year of my life.”

She was sitting at her desk trying to focus on her paper, but the rhythm kept calling out to her. She found herself dancing in her seat. Her hips bounced every time Rih told her to work. Soon she was up out of her chair, watching herself in the mirror, making gun signs with her fingers and doing body rolls.

>take writing course
>smart, cute girl sits who sits right across from me the whole semester handwrites a full page review gushing about my story, telling me she loves it and thinks I'm the best writer in the class
>everytime I went to class after I thought about thanking her, but always backed out because I'm terrified of talking to women
>don't say a word to her all semester
You'd have to put a gun to my head to make me start a conversation with a woman, especially an attractive one. I wish I was attractive or at least had a large penis.

I love writing goofy teen-ish romance in scifi/fantasy/superhero settings. A lot of reputable people have told me they like my stuff and I've gotten lots of positive feedback online, but I have no connections and I'm terrified of rejection and despise being assertive. I'd like to try my hand at self publishing even if I only ever accrue a small hand full of readers, but I don't know what to do and I'm scared shitless of trying.

I like having all my stories take place in the same universe/continuity. Even if they don't tie into each other in a tangible way, I like knowing all my characters all exist concurrently. Am I insane for doing this?

I'm repulsed by sexuality. I can't look at nudity, porn, and especially rule 34 without feeling genuine pain.

I think I have a pathological fear of women. I've never started a conversation with one my age. I only ever talked to them at uni if they spoke to me first or we were in some group project.

To satisfy my desire for a girlfriend, I write romance fiction. I base the girls off of past crushes or beautiful actresses. The guys are handsome, confident, intelligent versions of me who are good with women.

I submitted a 3000 word portion of a short story to a writing club I attend. I don't know what they're going to think of it.

Walking home at 3:26 in the morning, not my best move. With that in mind, I pick up the pace a little. How I managed to lose track of each of the 4 friends I went out with and end up at the very end of Hughes is beyond me. I check my phone to see if it will miraculously turn back to life: nothing. Dammit.
“Hey, Alanza!” I turn back to see Garrett loping towards me. He’s not my favorite person in the whole world, but it beats walking alone, so I wait for him. Garrett’s face resembles a golden retriever’s face after fetching a tennis ball, never tired of the relentless game. “What up, my little Mexican jumping bean?”
“I told you to stop calling me that.”
Garrett smacks himself roughly on the forehead, “God, my bad dude, I’m trying here.”
Sure you are, dude.
We walk together in silence for a bit. Garrett clears his throat, “So, what are your plans for the rest of the night?”
“I’m going home to watch Broad City and eat Cheetos. You?”
“Sounds fun, but you know what would be even better? If you came over my to my apartment right now.”
Sighing, I stop and look at him, “Look, Garrett, I’m tired and I just want to go back home, ok?”
“My apartment is so close though, and I have Cheetos.”
“Tempting, but again, I just want to go back to campus.” I try to start walking again, but Garrett grabs me by the arm. “Let go of me.”
His grip tightens, “My apartment is literally right there, Alanza. Tons of girls would be dying to be in your shoes right now.”
“Garrett, I said let go of me.” I try to pull my arm away, but his hand is like a vice. Before I even know what’s going on, my left arm comes swinging around, hitting him straight on the cheek. His hand lets go of me, and my right hand goes straight up and into the bottom of his jaw, and I can hear his teeth snap together. I sprint away from him, and I can barely see five inches in front of me when I run into a dark mass.

>>7818725
>2016
>baneposting