/lit/ - Literature

FLYING BIRDS
I am the sun and the moon
I am the cold of the midnight darkness
My face is made of shadows
My heart is a flying bird
Fly away to where your words don't hurt me my sweet girl
Childish dreams, my thoughts are made of wind and sand
Slip away through my crumbling hands
I'm a cheater, i'm a liar and a thief
I stole your words and i made them burn
Lying feels so good when will i ever learn
My sweet girl give me childish dreams and flying birds
I am the sun and the moon
I'm sad i went all dark to soon
My childish girl
Give me flying birds to calm my burning heart that will never bloom
I have a face of darkness and moon shadows
And all i want is flying birds

>>12919884
have you considered an Audobon Society membership?

>>12919967
I would if i had any spare money lol. I like birds

TITLE:
>School: Day 1, Hour 1

I was thinking of writing out a few mildly autobiographical short stories
kind of like this. Any tips on improving it? Maybe on the description of
the room, or the interactions between the people? I am trying to keep it
close to reality but I feel like style is better than realism. Or is it?

>>12920048
Also I notice the spelling mistakes now, kind of rushed it

>>12919993
I think that came through in >>12919884
where there atmosphere imagery fits the avian theme, where I think we're reminded of the ancient theme of the fickleness of women, who when you think about it, do present with a great deal of bird-like behaviors, case in point hen-pecking and all the intrigues born of egg-swapping and filial cannibalism found parallel between the worlds of the modern slut same as the epochal bird.

>>12919884
This feels like it would make a good song.
Especially
>Fly away to where your words don't hurt me my sweet girl
Feels very nice to read out loud. Very lyrical and rhythmic, rolls off the tongue.
The first half is really good, but the second feels a bit too human, maybe too real? It has a kind of contrast to the first, more abstract half.
>I'm a cheater, i'm a liar and a thief
Is maybe a bit too straightforward.

Overall my favorite part is the rhythm, especially in the longer verses, as well as the abstract, almost ghostly theme.

I'm constantly told I have to read more books and study how they dictate. Everytime I write something in fanfiction they call my work clumsy and lacking of an editor. So I come to you friends. Is my work really as terrible as they say?

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1pvEDqA_RBm48EpbXcYKMgR9eMKDaGvz8uP4ZlBzWliY/edit?usp=drivesdk

>>12920180
>Everytime I write something in fanfiction
>fanfiction
This place is for OC only, go back to Faglr

>>12920263
But sir, this is original content I have posted.

bump

In those dark, snow-battered days there was no sunlight - only white rolling plains carved up by black roads, divided themselves by white, blinking lines.

The only place that was different was the entrance of the Great Mine. That giant mouth, howling with wind that caught it sidelong and cycled endlessly down its throat, flashed orange from hazard lights, flickering against the shabby concrete walls like a fire that gave no heat. I used to watch it from my window, pressing my hand against the single pane of glass, as my father was lowered inside with a dozen identical men.

https://pastebin.com/h0RSeDga

>>12921035
I miss winter and snow and enjoyed this. The author has experienced some of Earth's most aesthetic weather

This is my first short story. I am a philosophy student but since i like Nietzsche i realized i should be doing art instead of philosophy. Besides i don't wanna be an academic, i want to sell books and live in the alps someday.
I tried reddit with little luck so i tought i'd come back to good old 4chan.
This is kind of an existentialist dostoyeskian syle story set in the time of online forums.
http://onlinesein.blogspot.com/2019/03/in-flesh-short-story.html

>>12921496
Can you post some text so we don't get rootkits and malware from your blog? I'm not browsing from within my virtual farraday client

>>12921504
can i post 1200 words? There's no malware tough (that i know of)

>>12921527
3000 word post limit on /lit/ iirc

>>12921563

Some of his friends found it weird when he told them about what he had in mind. Others found it reasonable. It clashed with some’s general values or maybe also with the image that they had of him. Be it as it may, he had decided to pay a visit to a whore.

In 22 years he had never had a romantic encounter with a girl. He was extremely introverted and anxious, he longed for human contact but when these actually took place he felt overwhelmed. Only in the abstract realm of the internet, adopting a language different to his own, could he express himself freely. Art and media kept him sane by providing a tamed down version of others, a brief glimpse into other souls. In music, he could aprecciate faceless voices. In movies, strictly bounded by the four cornes of his television screen, the talking heads were devoided of their umbearable sublime presence. He grew so accustomed to this readily digested version of the world that the imputs and outputs, the sounds and images, the smells of the outside were now too much for him. Anyway, he still had a desire for something that he couldn’t find online: the flesh. Falling down the rabbit hole of internet sexual deviance, he had found an online forum of bdsm. This website was strange: it offered you a collection of lustful gifs hand-picked by hot perverted girls, but you also found pseudo-intelectual discussions on the topics of politics, feminism and sexuality in general. Interesting philosophical problems were presented in the struggle to reconcile the fiction of bdsm submission with the western ideals of free-thinking individuals… but what made this website stand out from the rest was that it organized meet ups - people actually met, in the flesh, and the users were proven to be what they claimed: real persons. Going though the endless list of degenerates, submissive boys, girls and in-betweeners, doms, dommes, etc. he found her. She stood out from the rest: she didn’t identify with a “role” but as a libertine, she was a psychology student, a painter, a follower of ayn rand’s philosophy and, of course, a sexy slut – but this one seemed to have a soul too.

That afternoon he was in a mental state he had known before: he wasn’t relaxed (as usual) but he wasn’t nervous either. Certain times, when the anxiety was too umbearably high, a good chunk of his nervous system simply shut down; he was in a cinic state of mind where his general mood was monotonous, things and events around him simply appeared in a neutral way, his anxiety was gone. After a good number of cigarettes and a tall glass of whisky he went out - the same idylic strech he walked to go into his college quarters, sometimes triunphal steps, most of the time a nervous stooping gait in fear of an exam he finnaly didn’t dare to face, or also a simple fear of others, of foreign gazes.

This sterch he walked in his cinic mood as he’d met the girl at the entrace of the school. He stood there and observed each woman that passed, since he hadn’t seen her face yet. He had built a model of her from the bits and pieces he saw online. Her torso and her bronce-coloured skin were the strongest blocks onto which he added a bit of a nose he had catched a glimpse of in a pic, of her bright blue eyes, her black hair, her red lips, etc. Still, any girl imperfectly aproximated or challenged the model until one stood out as a likely match: She walked past him and stood in the other corner of the entrance. He couldn’t ask the girl if she was herself so he called her. When her phone rang, their eyes met. His body gravitated to hers quickly, a kiss on the cheek, “I couldn’t ask you if you were you” “ah that’s ok” ”How are you?” “Good, you?” “…Good…”.

Now the same strech but in reverse. They talked, about the university they were leaving behind where she had taken a couple of courses on philosophy, of her damiration to ayn rand, of her hobby as a painter, of his humanist kantian morals, of her hatred for altruistic ideals (not necessarily opposed, of course) until they reached his house.

Some days afterward, when he had to report back to his friends, he made a good balance out of the situation. However, his chronic addiction to nicotine, the whisky and the nervous anxiety all made the actual act imposible… still, his skin did touch hers, his lips hers, his tongue met another of its kind for the first time. For days he obsessed with her. He would had called her right away since, without any doubt, he had fallen in love. Now, you may well think of his situation as pathetic but you have to consider that this was the first woman who touched him in more than one sense. The instaneus flesh he had so easily accesed seemed to hide, and it probabbly did, a profound vastness. Inspired he wrote her a poem titled “Sublime Whore” he intended to show her:

“We spent like two weeks learning exactly what "Sublime" means, definition distilled down to "a terrible beauty" ... like something so large and overwhelming, it's frightening, exciting, and beautiful all at the same time. It makes you feel overpowered in comparison. Examples - a stormy open ocean, big mountain ranges, the night sky without light pollution, etc. ... or maybe - even particular human souls, even though contained in the flesh - their very force of presence is sublime.

That afternoon, a warning and a question stemmed from your lips: “I am a person” and “Does it disgust you?”. Although not simultaneous, they are remembered together. On their own, they didn’t mean much. Together, they ask a different question: “I am a person, does it disgust you?” You are less than a dream, something to long but never reach – more than an object, something to possess for once and for all. The embrace I longed so much reached in an instant, an instant all too short – yet long enough to catch a glimpse of what lies beyond your bright blue eyes. You offer your flesh fully and yet do remain an unmerciful teaser”

He waited to call her, he thought a week was the bare minimum reasonable time to wait before doing so. Then, he left it for later. He wanted to see her, but he had given her so much thought that his anxiety was building up extremely. Another week passed, then another, another and then he messaged her. After some minutes she replied with a meagre “I don’t work anymore, kisses”.

He felt like a coward, he hated himself for being so idle. The monotony of life, his loneliness, all seemed to be caused by the same thing: his cowardice. He read his poem once more before deleting it. He lit up a cigarette, served himself a tall glass whisky and wrote this note: “When you are idle, the whole world is a temptress whore”. Maybe he’d included in a poem he could share anonymously online.

END

>>12921035
>That giant mouth, howling with wind
Wind howls, something doesn't howl "with" wind. You make a lot of.. errors? unusual stylistic choices? like that. Flashed *from*, entrance *of*. Watch *it* from, not just watch from.

Overall i like the tone and imagery, though.

>>12921573
Taking the first four sentences, i can't get neat what you're doing. The writing is clumsy before we get near the subject or setting.

>Some of his friends found it weird when he told them about what he had in mind. Others found it reasonable. It clashed with some’s general values or maybe also with the image that they had of him. Be it as it may, he had decided to pay a visit to a whore.

try

> Some of his friends found it weird when he told them what he had in mind. It clashed with the image they had of him, this decision to visit a whore.

I'm not going to claim that edit is perfect, it isn't, and it's far from the only way to say what you're saying, but you're not actually saying anything more than that. That's not addressing the slightly clumsy "decision to visit a whore," which i'll take the heat for. Pay for sex felt like it was too far from your original phrasing.

This is called: Woman!

Take a look in my cave.
Bent, fetal I am in front of the embers.
Dressed in tatters, eyes alit only some
but enough to behold my love
just 12 feet from me.
Blessed wind from the east – her hair
like windy burnt and golden banners of
Kingdoms marching. Colors like
late sun lit fields, but
amber waves of grain bow their crowned heads,
shamed.
(the embers rousing now)
My will then dormant moving – her eyes
and lips a searing tandem,
and with mine they are aligned.
O, I’m dreaming now –
Utterances just behind my mouth
when she smiles,
the clouds parting so I
may see the white heat of God –
that beam toward which
I’m inexorably drawn –
I hope I don’t misspeak them aloud.

Half heaven caught, red hand over spray,
Smiles, clouds in his eye before bed,
In wooden buoys his decrepit bay
Riles, afraid of what lies ahead,
Yet hearken her song over waves,
Child, remember all that is said,
And when turquoise does dampen the flames,
This moment he'll never forget.

...and it really was extremely sudden, the way it struck him that, good heavens, he understood nothing, nothing at all about anything, for Christ's sake, nothing at all about the world, which was a most terrifying realization, he said, especially the way it came to him in all its banality, vulgarity, at a sickeningly ridiculous level, but this was the point, he said, the way that he, at age 44, had become aware of how utterly stupid he seemed to himself, how empty, how utterly blockheaded he had been in his understanding of the world these last 44 years, for, as he realized by the river, he had not only misunderstood it, but had not understood anything about anything, the worst part being that for 44 years he thought he had understood it, while in reality he had failed to do so; and this in fact was the worst thing of all that night of his birthday when he sat alone by the river, the worst because the fact that he now realized that he had not understood it did not mean that he did understand it now, because being aware of his lack of knowledge was not in itself some new form of knowledge for which an older one could be traded in, but one that presented itself as a terrifying puzzle the moment he thought about the world, as he most furiously did that evening, all but torturing himself in an effort to understand it and failing, because the puzzle seemed ever more complex and he had begun to feel that this world-puzzle that he was so desperate to understand, that he was torturing himself trying to understand, was really the puzzle of himself and the world at once, that they were in effect one and the same thing, which was the conclusion he had so far reached, and he had not yet given up on it, when, after a couple of days, he noticed that there was something the matter with his head

https://pastebin.com/Bnkqnvrg
I'll give feedback to others a bit later

>>12919884
I like it but it’s not my cup of tea

>>12922281
Yuck.

>>12922281
I'm really into it but it's not really for me
I love it but it's not my thing
I think it's amazing but I'm not a fan

>>12922281
Terrible

>>12922289
>>12922294
>>12922373
Aristotelians

Trying to get my opening paragraph right.

He was dressed as always in a frock coat and held himself exquisitely straight, chest out, one hand in his bosom, the other behind his back. A perfect toupee, black as pitch, and with a waxy parting, smoothly covered his head. His face, selected without love, with its thick sallow cheeks and some- what obsolete system of wrinkles, was enlivened in a sense by two, and only by two, bulging eyes. Moving his legs evenly in his columnar trousers, he strode from the wall to the table, almost to the cot –but, in spite of his majestic solidity, he calmly vanished, dissolving into the air. A minute later, however, the door opened once again, this time with the familiar grating sound, and, dressed as always in a frock coat, his chest out, in came the same person.

>>12922458
My opinion: i thinks it's too descriptive to the point where i'm struggling to imagine what the man looks like

Who here
>Write all the interest bits, spend days tweaking them to perfection then get bored filling out the inbetween transitional stuff and give up
I've started twenty+ stories and haven't finished one please send help

>>12922466
This. Stop telling me what he's like and show me, have him react, want stuff, think things - noting that doing nothing, not wanting anything and no thinking are doing things too, as long as you tell me that's what he's doing.

I hear I hear
Echoes, sailing over me
Meat left behind - for now
I'll come back for it when I'm stronger
The repetition, the frequency, the echo, the rumble
It's me and I'm it
I'm onto it and it's onto me
It takes me where I should be
But I'm a fragmented cacophony, not the orchestra
Yet.
I hope I can sing this to her.

>>12920180
Anyone wanna crit this?

>>12922728
Crit other peoples you nigger

there is knife's handle shoved into cunt. When you fuck her, knife's Edge is cutting your balls. Pain is incrementing and pleasure is decrementing, both are approaching limit in opposed infinities when you cum, overflowing blood and sperm, screaming in last dismayed spasm

Is this a good sentence?

Generations ago when Abraham, who for lack of a better term I will hereby relate to as the father of my father’s father, sought to settle the land he suddenly came into possession of by way of the one true king, he realized hereupon that the most necessary addition would be some set of markings on the land to indicate outwardly the extent of that which he now called his.

>>12922943
Disturbing, but not in a good way. Too gratuitous to be considered interesting, too short to be considered intriguing

>>12920180
>Nothing to see, nowhere to go, a constant view of ceaseless sand. The sun lights the way to the earth blinding all who stare into its massive size. A loss of coherency when someone tries to gain a semblance of happiness. It is the meandering thought of what's possible becomes lost in the all consuming reality of life. A crop of people that sit in their hovels, some old cloth covered their bodies as the unyielding sun assailed their lives. Never a chance for delightful chat or meaningful conversation. Just the basic animalistic instinct so not to be overheated by the suns constant rays. Only the body language of suffering was translated across the rows of people that tried to escape the sweltering heat. But, the usual agonizing day of doing nothing productive while getting softer continued. Their minds lost and their motivations undeveloped, they just lay there waiting for a semblance of anything worthwhile

This is one of the worst pieces I've ever read. I simply cannot make it past this paragraph, it's that bad. Are you 14? Genuine question. You seem like you've read nothing beyond YA. What are you trying to achieve with this?

>>12923413
I had to pause a couple of times to make sense of what you where saying. Too wordy

>>12923434
i think it was supposed to be

>>12922501
I hope you don’t call yourself a writer

>>12923736
Don't be so agresive anon. Most people who post in critique threads wouldn't call themselves writers

Is this an acceptable introduction? No action yet though, just description.

And a zephyr was worming its way past the sprained skyline and its sickly nightlights, scraping and scraping against the inanimate concrete blocks of the city. Shrieking drowned in cement hues that were encircling each other into austere diziness ― an arrangement of watercolour-spattered streets.

The cadence had gone all splish-splosh, splish-splosh, end-fractured before any trace of human soul made its way out on that drenched evening. It was all just the trill of ants crazying about after an autumn torrent accompanied by the sluggish Vesper tolling in the far-off.

>>12921573
>>12921578
>>12921582

I think now that you've worked out the essential story elements, you can consider where you want to begin. The reader must be seduced to the maximum, so with their slightest effort and energies they are caught in your slick trap and are off to the races. But you have to get them first. You have a good starting sentence but I think maybe that character exposition and background could come after the reader cares.

>>12924292
The reader should need less effort to boot up your world. The reader must be drawn into this world. What is it about it?

>>12921989
primal and ethereal if a bit thirsty, but please spell out "twelve." thank you!

>>12924292
The words you're using to describe the action is not really working

>a zephyr was worming
>the sprained skyline
>sickly nightlights
>scraping and scraping against the inanimate concrete blocks >Shrieking drowned in cement hues that were encircling each other into austere dizines
>splish-splosh, splish-splosh
Just...no
Try to describe it as if you where telling someone about it irl

>>12924395
Hmm, should I start with something more intriguing? I thought I could set the mood for the rest of the piece in these first two paragraphs. You're probably right. I tried to make it interesting rhythmically(with the second sentence lacking a main verb, repetition and a striking onomatopoeia) rather than narratively, but I guess I failed.

>>12924419
Oh. I don't know what to say to this, mostly because I 100% see where you're coming from. It's just that I wanted to go for that awkwardness in word choice. Now, if it's not enjoyable, I guess my decision was not a good one, unfortunately. Thank you, by the way!

>>12924436
Not failed, just perhaps discovered compelling improvements for your reader's speculative sake. You're fine tuning something to be computed by someone else's brain, like preparing a seductive meal

>>12924318
Thank you for your reply. That's the best feedback i've gotten yet. If i understand you correctly i should jump to action before developing character traits.

>>12924415
thanks senpai

This is the first ~200 words of my novel and the first timing and location header. I've been told it's not enough to introduce people to character, but it does an okay job introducing the setting.

>>12922281
I like it, and think it has potential, but I don't think the first stanza is really necessary. I feel like the second stanza alone is too weak, but the first doesn't feel necessary enough to keep. Maybe just make a couple different stanzas leading to the same "Blueprints of logic-" and see if its any better.

The Protector
In the dark green grasslands of Eastern Canada, a vigilant guardian stands and watches over many shapes of life. It carries the entire sky on its shoulders to shield those living underneath. The sunlight is brought to a halt by its broad body and countless hand like leaves, lodging the sleeping bats and rescuing the cold blooded salamanders from the sun's wrath. It will bloom acorns to eventually drop onto nature's dinner table for the neighbouring critters. The fabric of the birds nest is made from the flakes of its body, as it holds the nest out of the way of danger. An indentation forms in its chest, where young foxes will be raised, a home that repels the whipping wind. Farther along its arms, the fingers cup to become a crook for squirrels to make their homes. The leaves will become the bed and blanket of those who reside with the guardian. Everyday it expands its sanctuary, offering its protection to the young plants growing below, it stands unwavering even under the load of the rainfall or the threat of the thunderstrike. The air surrounding around it was coated with moisture from dew; the air was refreshing to breath. Even the raindrops chose it to be their home, soaking into the hard skin and eventually fueling the growth of moss patches. It bore the moss like a medal, to illustrate the extent of its service. Nothing could bend its confident posture, there was not a blinding blizzard, a monstrous monsoon that could loosen its grip on the earth. The strength of the tree is its devotion.

This is perhaps a bit different but I hope you guys can give me your advice, since this is most likely also true for trying to get published:

I am having issues coming to terms with writing not that seems best to me but what my professors prefer to see. I realize I will jeopardize my grade if I instead of following the profs advice, write as I see fit; specifically in sentence structure, length, and most frustrating to me, the fact outdated words, or words not typical in usage even for an essay ought to be omitted.
How do you deal with managing to write the style someone expects from you therefore going against how you yourself would typically write? This is especially annoying since it varies from prof to prof, some more lenient others harsh and penalizing.

>>12925208
to take this microcosm of human existence and expand it: you are encountering the divide between the individual and the social, and it is the writer's cross to bear for his entire career to bridge that divide. They seem irreconcilable, but the ideal is to reconcile it. Some people get close, but most focus on one or the other. You are struggling between your own writerly idiosyncrasies and the expectations of the academy.

>>12924522
too many adjectives. cut this shit down and your words will sing. there's a writer in there somewhere

>>12925068
based locale, cool idea, but quit it with the archaisms
>surely
cut it
>passive voice
cut it
>moonlight on its fade
just write fading moonlight
>my slumber lasted a few moments more than the moonlight, and then barks from the first mate called for all us done with our morning meal to report for oar duty. I awoke another day without food.
I think this sounds better

時間を持て
なければ、気持ち
を持ってみて

https://a.uguu.se/vLKKhNQ7BmsA_Mygarbagestory2.0revised.docx

>>12925208
I cannot speak of someone who has been published yet, but I have lately been treating writing as a vessel for more important ideas than my own, and do seek to develop a talent worthy of readers. If we are gifted to ever write, because regardless of literary skills, it is still a gift to write if you have working faculties and motor skills to do so, we owe something to the mysterious origins of the universe maybe, maybe god, maybe other people, our family and friends, maybe the abstract idea of truth. But we should serve something higher than ourselves. American culture is inimical to the understanding that the individual matters barely if at all and our impact to the world is largely decided by forces much greater than us. We are at best strong swimmers in a current of trends driven by larger set pieces. Seek among all that what truths you wish to compose and proceed as you see fit. For dealing with academia, you are in one of the most developed and resourced organizations for testing your writing, truly testing it, sink or swim, finding whether it works sight unseen by others of many backgrounds. Don't let the tempers and hormones and fears of being young completely cloud the opportunities before you. Make good use of them.

>>12925284
All good suggestions. Thanks.

>>12925259
This is the nicest comment I've gotten on here, thank you! If I may, is it alright to ask which adjectives you are talking about? The beginning is drenched in them and I'm aware, did you mean only those? Or do you think others in the rest of the text are excessive as well? I felt that towards the end they flow a tad more naturally and they are not as disruptive, so I would love to hear your thoughts if you have the time.

>>12923423
can you be more specific? I won't believe you unless you use actual reasons to why it was terrible.

>>12925475
this part of the trick of being a writer. I pretty much only use adjectives to describe things and situations that a person doesn't already know. things that are self-contained forms, well understood, like sunsets for example, I rarely use adjectives to describe. i'm not sure if that makes sense. my personal style is a lot more terse but adjectives are only important when describing things that are ambiguous, not self-contained. Also some adjectives don't make sense like:
>disheveled graveyard
maybe decrepit? idk
>dusking horizon
just say horizon at dusk or sunset.
This is probably totally incoherent but take from it what you will.

>>12925719
This is actually really useful, thank you! I guess if the object already implies a certain characteristic, there is no narrative reason to describe it.

Many people singled out "dishevelled cemetery" and I feel like that's a shame, cos that's an actual intentional metaphor I was going for, making the gravestones look like hair strands and shit to give the feeling of that old graveyard where all the stones are just planted randomly in all directions. I guess I just ended up confusing the reader more.

>>12925711
Nothing said.
Nothing of interest said.
Nothing of importance said.
General style of writing is uninteresting and lacks any discernible talent. It actually feels like you are trying to copy someone who copied some YA fiction and then tried to make yourself appear intelligent to the masses - you don't btw.

Dear Chelsea,
It has frequently been remarked that the involuntary reminiscences of recent pleasing episodes can vividly imbue chance instances in days afterward with fervent pleasure. This very pleasure is, however, almost always stamped with bittersweet melancholy, for while we temporally indulge in sentimental recollections of past happiness, we often simultaneously cannot help but feel that these most joyous moments were mere exceptions to our drab actuality and near-perpetual unfamiliarity with unblemished joy; that the truly beautiful can only exist in our memory and lofty abstraction, and to expect it ever to materialize in reality is to entertain fantasies that can only end in woeful disappointment.
I write this letter with an enlightened sense of how preciously rare my current degree of happiness is, for my conception of our engagement on Thursday night has all the pleasing qualities of a sweet remembrance, but none of the somber sort. This is partially due to the fact that it was just as enjoyable as I could have hoped for and more. Nothing at all fell short of my expectations, (at least nothing of consequence), and everything important was completely to my satisfaction.
Yes, the food was nice, the ambience, (aside from the music and its volume), was palatable, the service was excellent, (with the exclusion of our server’s comments about the menu items’ expense), but it was you, Chelsea, who made the night. While I knew you would be lovely, never in my grandest fantasies could I imagined that you, (or anyone for that matter), could be so pleasant and—dare I say it—enchanting.
When I said you outdid yourself through your appearance that night, I truly meant it. Never in my life have I seen you, (or any girl for that matter), before my eyes more gorgeous in all my life. I would have complimented the dress itself, but I was so bewildered by your beauty as a whole that to have complimented your attire would have been to distract from your overall radiance. (And you know, it’s the woman who makes the dress, or if the dress makes the woman, it only minimally does so and has no other purpose but to accentuate and emphasize her pulchritudinous physique).

>>12925965
(2/2)

While I am compelled to nauseatingly pour sincere adulations upon this page concerning your eminently effulgent face, the luxuriant silkiness of your hair, and your resplendently perfect charm, I shall refrain from doing so. I cannot command the humbling courage to formulate drab descriptions of my fondest memories of that night through the cold medium of prose. No remotely adequate result could be attained through my efforts to illustrate the sublime grace you displayed.
Were a single word I said above a specimen of flattery, it could at least be my consolation to claim the quality of comprehensiveness and svelte ornamentation in my power of compliment. Alas, I meant everything I said, (and a great deal more).
Every time you gave me a kind remark, a laugh at a comment I made, or even a smile, I was immensely surprised. It’s not that I think myself too low to please you, only that I am truly overwhelmingly happy that you can be pleased by such simple and natural acts on my part.
In retrospect, (and quite immediately after the fact), I know my question as to how you wished to be kissed was immensely silly, but you didn’t seem to mind, so I’m blissfully content with my slip. (Of course, I already asked toward the beginning of the engagement for you to forgive any blunders I may commit from by inexperience with this sort of social intercourse. My only hope is that my eternal and unceasing cordiality can atone for my unavoidable awkwardness in interacting with the fairer sex).
I have written far more than I should have, but I feel now as if I have scratched the surface of articulating all the jubilant emotions I experienced on Thursday night and in the succeeding days.
With tender regard,
Patrick Berry
P. S. I have recently procured some vanilla almond milk and can cheerfully say it’s surprisingly delicious. My mother also likes it and the carton was finished off rather quickly. I know you didn’t mean it as a suggestion, but I’m highly thankful that you told me about it.


*I wrote this while attaching a sent of almond biscotti and vanilla to the letter. To a real person who actually received and read the letter*

>>12925792
Then what should I do?

>>12924292
I like the imagery, and we sort of write in a similar fashion.
But as the 2 other anon said, replace some of the words
'Worming' and some other abstract wordings are alright, 'sickly' doesn't really provide the reader anything to base it on
>'Splish-splosh, splish-splosh'
>scraping and scraping
Drop some of the repetition, think of other ways to describe constancy of actions

My work btw:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XQcH8RhGBCNrYecV1YDmDLp7tO7oh_T4J19TNg841VY/edit?usp=sharing
for the context:
Sci-fi work with Baudrillardian stuff and technological eschatology themes, set in dystopian HK inundated with refugees from the mainland, half of the chapters written in interrogation transcripts by military officers or memoirs
This one's a transcript about some masturbation cult arising out of the ruins of HK

>>12924976
Maybe your next steps are not that clear or discrete. You are conjuring emotions in people and that will be a slightly different sensual blob for each reader. You will want to ensure something essential that is yours is felt by each of them, drawing readers into your story, however you choose to do that. Picture a New Yorker editor reading your first sentence. They read thousands of submissions a month and are programmed to detect literary novelty, but live their lives mostly finding none. Can you grab this person? Can you ensnare them into your world so they cannot help but read the next things you write?

>>12926063
Not him but everything you said can be edited out in that paragraph. If it doesnt add anything, delete it

>>12925719
Not him but what you said about self-contained forms speaks to me and helps shed light to when writing feels overly florid or 'over-written'; slogging down imaginative participation by chucking on minutiae to common forms that can stand for themselves - like a flower or emotional expression. Sometimes simplicity is the best approach and more satisfying to read as it feels like you're unravelling the work with the writer. Sorry if that doesn't make sense I'm trying to work through these things to improve my own shit too.

Not him but what you said about self-contained forms speaks to me and helps shed light to when writing feels overly florid or 'over-written': slogging down imaginative participation by chucking on minutiae to common forms that can stand for themselves, like a flower or emotional expression. Sometimes simplicity is the best approach and more satisfying to read as it feels like you're unravelling the work with the writer. I hope that makes sense I'm trying to work through these things to improve my own shit too.

>>12925719
Not him but what you said about self-contained forms speaks to me and helps shed light to when writing feels too florid or 'over-written': slogging down imaginative participation by chucking on minutiae to common forms that can stand for themselves, like a flower or emotional expression. Sometimes simplicity is the best approach and more satisfying to read as it feels like you're unravelling the work with the writer. I hope that makes sense, I'm trying to understand functions to improve my own shit too.

>>12926480
I can't seem to do that myself. Can anyone teach me how to write, it seems a lot harder than I expected.

Your girl, she wanna kiss my glock,
Too bad bitch, I only like cock,
These niggas, to you, they're brothers,
But me, I'll make them my lovers,
Don't hate on me, don't throw a fit,
I'll slob on your knob and use a lot of spit,
Throwing fists, looking for a fight,
I'll bend you over and enter where it's tight

>>12924522
Yeah, not too bad. I half-agree with the other anon about adjectives, but after the first few paras it settles down. I will say that half the time you get caught in your own trap with the ornate sentence structure. A a lot of the time it works, but for it to be finished it needs to work every single time. I'm not sure but there might be a lot of work in that.

>>12926552
Literally ask yourself if it adds to the story.

>>12926558
>but me, I'll make them my lovers
Probably could better, avoid the introduction of the subject when you use a possessive, its redundant
>dont hate on me, dont throw a fit
Negatives always take away from a piece like this. Turn these negatives into something like:
They hate on me
They throw a fit
Or any representation of the other on you to show you are up against the odds of you vs them.
>I'll slob on your knob
Kek, Kings Dead
Last line should keep at least same syllables as previous especially when context doesnt change and there isn't any revelation.

Better than some actual pieces in this thread/10

Well, here goes nothing...

Please help me clean my writing up


The Ego has now become ones own God in the Newest century. By the taking of one's own personal beliefs and the application of the greatest ideas in the existential mind of it's philosopher, they can put the entirety of all their beliefs and faiths into the idea that a Sovereign God does not exist.

By killing their loyalty to the ultimate idea of God, the faith of a Sovereign God, they all also claim that God is subjective at either - the start of creation ( evolution, co-evolution, race theory or Abrahamic creation and it's sub-types) or at the end of life ( judgement, and eternal life ).

This also means that they are putting ego as their own God. Ego, being the combination of one's soul, and body. It is essentially the face of ones spirit, but not the mind of the spirt. Just as our Face is the way for our body to communicate, the ego is the face of the spirit.

When, we put all our idealogies ( faith and her beliefs ) into the idea that everything is subjective then we see the decay of truth in almost all of reality. By the destruction of the realm of objectivity and entering the realm of Pride ( see the fall of lucifer ) , we find our virtues the first to fall ( the angels of morallity ).

The Lubbock sky sprawls. It covers and hangs. It’s massive and expansive and unescapable in a way that would be totally unfamiliar to someone who is used to mountains, hills, or even semi-dense forestry. As the autumn sun sets the heavens are woven with the same threads that colored the puebloan blankets from hundreds of years before. The puebloans have long since been rounded up and banished to select areas of New Mexico or Oklahoma. Or worse, they’ve been killed on behalf of some misguided attempt to secure eternal salvation. Some of them took white husbands and wives, as did their children and grandchildren. Well within their rights to do so, of course. But have no doubt; such an action was at least partially responsible for the way things are now. As the pink and orange and red and purple turn darker to grey then black, Roy sits on the stoop of 178 64th Street. The steps that support his gluteal region were constructed in a project that solved a problem predicted to obtain, but never quite did. The city planner of Lubbock, Tx, Jason Jeffries, had anticipated a large population influx to Lubbock in 1973, as the OPEC oil crisis intensified. But the oil boom that Texas Tech economists had predicted never met the heights imagined, and thus the five story walk-up section-eight appartments that Roy now inhabited was somewhat unneeded and totally unfit to meet Lubbock’s, as many social scientists would phrase it, serious poverty problem. All this was, at best, apparent to Roy deep down, but entirely unclear to his conscious self.
So the steps that Roy now covered with his stone-washed light blue denim jeans were approaching their quinquagenary. One that was unlikely to be celebrated in the way that the Golden Jubilee was paraded in 21st century England. The matte black cowboy hat that rested upon his unkempt hair laid low over his face, casting a shadow above his lips. The strong westerly breeze blew down 64th street, making his dangling earing dance, suspended from his ear. The stop sign on the corner had marked time all afternoon, as the shadow rotated around the axis of the silver, gleaming pole. Condensation, little tiny drops of water, dripped down Roy’s glass bottle of malt liquor. A wet circle stained the light grey concrete where the bottle rest, cap all uneven and hanging from the spout.

>>12926160
What you're saying makes so much sense. You're right, 'sickly' does lack a sense of definition. Could it mean 'drooping'? 'Coughing'? 'Pale'? Who knows what part of sickly I took, especially when applied to light.

I've actually read a part of your work in the previous thread and I agree that we write descriptions similarly, but holy shit our action could not be any more different. This is a full-text by me and I typically still try to blend action and description. >>12924522 I also realized that that description sucks ass at drawing the reader in; there are no questions to be answered, no bizarre event or place, just a description of some place in Eastern Europe.
I have to do some rewriting. About your piece, from what I've read it succeeds to draw my attention, so that's a win from the start. It is a bit explicit in imagery for my taste, but it also manages to capture that urban, Japanese back-alley feel in the beginning and I'm a big fan of that.

>>12926626
Goddammit. The long strings of adjectives are an import I did from my mother tongue, trying to keep a certain style. In Romanian literature, adjectives aren't as frowned upon as in English, but I'm writing in the latter so I have to figure out how to make it work. As you've probably noticed, the whole piece has little to nothing happen - just a long description-like reminiscing of disjointed(not really) events, so this makes it even harder to pick which adjectives to do away with. For example, 'rather commonplace' has 'rather' not for any purpose diegetically, but to show from the very beginning that the narrator's recollection is a tad spotty and unsure. That still doesn't change how bad the first sentence is in terms of flow. Thank you for your words though! I'll have to decide where I might have gone overboard with my flowery prose.

>>12927096
Yeah, ok. English being your second language explains a lot. Don't mistake me, unsual use of English is terrible right up to the point it works, and then it becomes fantastic. The fact you're getting a 50/50 hit rate is pretty dam nice given how unusual some of the constructions are. The problem is that until you finish and find a properly literate native speaker, you won't be able to edit for that.

Also, do me a solid, this one is mine >>12926703
:)

Half heaven caught, red hand over spray,
Smiles, clouds in his eye before bed,
In wooden buoys his decrepit bay
Riles, afraid of what lies ahead,
Yet hearken her song over waves,
Child, remember all that is said,
And when turquoise does dampen the flames,
This moment he'll never forget.

Can I contract "does not do" to "does not" or "doesn't" for literary purposes?

When we first met, I never felt something so strong
You were like my lover and my best friend
All wrapped in one with a ribbon on it
And all of a sudden you went and left
I didn't know how to follow
It's like a shock that spun me around
And now my heart's dead
I feel so empty and hollow
And I never gave myself to another the way I gave it to you
You don't even recognize the ways you hurt me, do you?
It's gonna take a miracle to bring me back
And you're the one to blame
And now I feel like
Oh, you're the reason why I'm thinking
I don't wanna smoke on these cigarettes no more
I guess that's what I get for wishful thinking
I should've never let you enter my door
Next time you wanna go on and leave
I should just let you go on and do it
Cause now I'm using like I bleed
It's like I checked into rehab
And, baby, you're my disease
Damn, ain't it crazy when you're love swept?
You'd do anything for the one you love
Cause anytime that you needed me I'd be there
It's like you were my favorite drug
The only problem is that you was using me
In a different way than I was using you
But now that I know it's not meant to be
It gotta go, I gotta wean myself off of you
And I never gave myself to another the way I gave it to you
You don't even recognize the way you hurt me, do you?
It's gonna take a miracle to bring me back
And you're the one to blame
Cause now I feel like
Oh, you're the reason why I'm thinking
I don't wanna smoke on these cigarettes no more
I guess that's what I get for wishful thinking
I should've never let you enter my door
Next time you wanna go on and leave
I should just let you go on and do it
Cause now I'm using like I bleed

>>12927293
Okie, thanks!

I read your piece and, you know, there's a reason all my stories are in first person, past tense, and that is I can't do, nor recognize, good dialogue in English. Ok, this isn't the reason, but it's a nice segue into why half of your work is perfectly fine to me: simply because I don't know if your dialogue is fine. All I can say is that I like it.

The actual narration is so fluid and nice, apart from certain sentences that either feel like they should have ended sooner, or just plain old confuse me. The tote-crocodile-gay-schemer sentence for example sounds so amazingly out of place that I have to imagine it was made that way to disrupt the pace of the story, because diegetically it just seems forced in, even as a fragment of indirect characterization.

There was also a part where I think three hads just found their way into they story and the repetition was very striking. '[...]had he wanted them to. He hadn't wanted them to, but still they hadn't tried.' This reads very badly in my opinion, especially since it's not even different instances of had, they're all auxiliary verbs in past perfect.

All in all, I'd say this is the kind of style that I want to avoid when writing, not so much because it's bad, but because it's difficult to pull off correctly. I feel like you did it correctly for the most part.

I'm sorry for the late reply by the way.

and she greets the world early, lover

rise ahead, and lasts long after bed;

red eyed, she told cockerel: another

few moments, for too soon to be wed

Pls give me some feedback - I wrote this in 5 minutes but I kinda like it

The seven grim-faced, raggedy, dirty and armed men split into two bands. Four galloped towards the smokestack at the very front of the locomotive. The other three diverted towards the tail where the carriages ended.
Since those who represented law in Portland had already stripped Mr. Tinkers of value he did not have much for the armed gang to take. His fears laid more with the other passengers and if this gang had any form of clemency. He looked around and saw loved-ones hugging each other and men racing up and down the train trying to figure out what the brigands planned to do. He went back to the open window next to his seat and looked out once more. The four men at the front leaped onto the train and he could hear them beating the driver from inside his cab. Between them and Mr. Tinkers were seven carriages. Behind him, the other three approached at a faster pace, hurling demands with thick Texan accents. One pistol whipped a defiant young man across the nose which caused the passengers to shriek.
"I wan' every man, woman and child to empty their pockets! Slow an' steady like. I wan' hear coins and jewels clanking and I'll know if it's a gun," shouted the perpetrator. Mr. Tinkers had a good look of him as he poked his head from behind his seat. The vocal and armed man wore a brown bowler hat that seemed one size too big and a blazer caked in dust and loose fitting. He had a patchy beard and crooked teeth which Mr. Tinkers noticed when he snarled at some of the women. Him and the other two brigands were half way through the carriage next door when Mr. Tinkers looked again in the other direction. The four at the front were equal in their terrorizing. One of them carried a large sack as a depository for the coins, papers, pearls and gemstones they received.

everyone here fucking sucks. stop posting your shitty bits so even if you criticized you can dust it off with "well at least i wasnt really trying." post your best or nothing at all, unless you can consistently churn out readable shit, but if you could you probably woudlnt be posting here

>>12929564
okay retard

>>12929564
having a nice weekend?

>>12929570
any counterexamples? ive seen plenty of these threads and only once or twice has anything halfway decent been posted
>>12929577
it's meh but better than the post would suggest

>>12926546
Glad it helped. It’s one of the big contradictions writers have to bridge: forms as self evident and forms as discovery of themselves

>>12929633
>>12921989

>>12928894
Give me one good reason why I’d read this instead of playing RDR2

>>12928779
Thank you. Your comments are different to those of my friends, which is a good thing. It's taken me a long time to get this work to this point, and one of the things i've learned along the way is that there's only good criticism. There are certain words you can repeat just about endlessly in English - to, a, the, was, etc. I would have thought 'had' was one of them, but maybe i didn't get away with that.

>>12929564
I need some love, give me what you've got (>>12926703)

>>12919649
Would anything similar to Les Champs Magnétiques have worth in modern society?

>>12919967
>the warm wind gooshed my gash

>>12926703
>>12930308
very boring, way too descriptive and static, especially towards the start. if you want to depict scenes like that take up painting. it should be dynamic

>>12929564
Actually mad and namefag ahahaahah

>>12922281
is this good?

>>12931062
I appreciate the feedback. I've been criticised for being too descriptive, and clearly haven't worked hard enough.

Waffles. Hot and golden brown, buttered and syruped liberally. These are not Belgian waffles, these are American waffles. Delicacy is condemend as degeneracy with every bite. Poke them: fat and sugar bleed out. Eat them: the best waffles you've ever tasted, no doubt. A moment of crunch followed by the sensation of melting. Would you like strawberries on top? Blueberries, both, or whipped cream? Whatever your choice may be, you will find nothing compares to the taste of these waffles.

>>12929564
What the fuck do you think critique threads are for?. Also post some of your own shit, retard tripfag

Its probably pretty bad, but here's some of it

>>12931421
theyre for critique, but critique is worthless if you dont put effort into it

heres a lil story i wrote, i admit im a bad writer myself
The fat, happy boy squealed at his father's return from work: in his hands was a bag from the toy store. This was not an uncommon occurence in the home of Amon Yates. With a brief hug the fat, happy boy seized the bag from his father. Inside was a model reproduction of a space shuttle alongside a model reproduction of the astronaut. The fat, happy boy rushed to his sandbox to open this present. All his energy had been devoted to whatever study of space travel he was capable of: this shuttle would fit comfortably alongside his lunar rover, several antiquated space ship models, and many astronauts. When he was angry he would break the arms of the astronauts his loving father had purchased to make his son happy. Then his father would try, usually in vain, to repair the broken gift he had gave. His son would assure him that it was alright, that he felt terribly, and return to amusing himself with the other gifts he had received. He had already seen the hurt in his father's eyes. His father would not let him play with the other boys his age; his mother agreed that they were a corrupting influence, and compensated by devoting herself to the keeping of him and her home. The fat, happy boy had developed a complex space program already by the time he was finished with elementary school. He once attempted bottle rockets, but did not find the effort to produce the total satisfaction that his space program brought him. The scientists and ground crew came and went unceasingly, while the space men would enter into rockets and watch over the night sky. His father would never cease to bring him more gifts until he entered high school. But the fat, happy boy was careless and would frequently break them, or else leave them to be broken, and look into his father's eyes for the recognition of betrayal and futility and rejection. By highschool the fat, happy boy had lost his desire to play with the others; he did not understand them, and they certainly could not understand him. He would have been sad, but fat, happy boys do not deserve the recompense of sorrow. At school he would flaunt the expensive clothing his parents could afford. A look of fleetingly satisfied insecurity could be seen when he exited and entered his mother's British sedan. All the teachers admired their fat, happy boy. The fat, happy boy eventually forgot his desire to play with the other boys, and his father no longer needed to be forgiven, for he had done what was best. The fat, happy boy was to follow in his steps and lead the company, though not until several lengthy discussions with his father persuaded him to enter business instead of astronomy.

>>12931658
The fat, happy boy never realized that his space program had been a fantasy detached from any reality and that his understanding of rockets never surpassed what a preschooler was capable of. The look of fatness, and happiness, was fixed permanently on the boy's face when he was shot dead during the first night of the uprising while admiring a model rocket in the encyclopedia his father had purchased for him.

>>12928882
what does anyone think of this?

>>12930308
Are there words you can repeat like that? I would imagine all those words repeated could get exhausting, but that's maybe the ESL in me speaking. Sure, they can take part in certain writing techniques like polysyndetons and yada yada, but in those cases they're used to emphasize something. Just repeating "was" or "the" within a short distance from each other indicates, in my opinion, lack of technical vision on the part of the writer. It doesn't help that auxiliary/copula verbs repeating usually make it seem like all the sentences follow the same structure. But then again, my view on writing in English is probably very different from a lot of people's, so take what I say with a grain of salt. I just hope it could prove useful in the end for you!

>>12929564
Don't know if you're still willing to read stuff, but I'm curious what you think of mine if you have the patience to read through it. It's my best piece in English. This one: >>12924522

I'm working on a piece that's far from completion, but I'm about 50 pages in and I'd like to get some feedback in case I've been screwing up hard. Is that acceptable for this thread? I'm new to /lit/.

>>12920048
It's pretty bad. Nothing you describe interests. You create no images and your paragraphs start the same way: "I arrive in the school"; "I walk into the classrom"; "I've arrived".

By the frigid frost of that Christmas Eve
You held my hands atop our city, scared to
kiss me. But as You grabbed me by my sleeve,
i felt your heart pounding, and i held You
by your cheeks and breathed You in. Days and days
since have passed and i couldn't have gone a
single one without Your sweet loving gaze.
The pastel sunset of that trip in May
shines brightly in my minds eye, like the tear
that You shed when You sat on my lap to
tell me You didnt want the end to near,
and my heart shattered that this truth hurt You.
We've been apart longer than together,
but those short months i'll cherish forever.

>>12930422
I changed gash to flower in the most recent draft, FYI. The character at this point in time hasn't roto-rooted her cooter on the campus' cillium of cocks, let alone the tapestries of tumescences that lurk in the greater city, so it's appropriate and accurate to choose a vaginal slang that denotes virginity, restraint, purity and delicateness. The gash is something earned later on.

bump

>>12932017
I like it a lot
Have you written anything else?

>>12931607
anon, why would I read something 'probably pretty bad?' post it in the next critique thread with some chutzpah

Heard throughout our super polity
Legends of girls’ carnal frivolity
Spreading themselves everywhere like they’re mops
Seekers of pussy butchery for their vaginal chops
Capitalism’s feminism gets blame’s full brunt
Yet ladies stymie their bedding with nary a grunt
“Experimentation! Self love!” such girls will claim
Requesting innocence from any and all blame
Then to her next pumping of priapistic cream
All drilling and adoration, the girls life’s a dream
No matter the cervical or fallopian mire
She’ll permit only strange cocks, “Please, its dire!”
The gorings torque her flower to the maw of snapper
So most men instead choose her less beefed braaper
Her eggs grew forelorn of all worldly hope
Seeking amity with herpetic warts to cope
And how did her flower’s beef jut out and sprout
Spooking from her cunninliguists the shrillest shout
“Eat my beef, faggot, and taste my Nuva-ring”
Say the harlots that hasten to a pussy eating fling
But stay secret about their innard’s pooling spunk
Self righteously dripping on that pussy-licking punk
Along with remnants tucked into her labial wrinkles
Those bestial semenal Africanized sprinkles
Terraforming her cunt until fertility was murky
Ghostly howls sneak from her vajay-jay-jerky
Sisters in sluttiness teach esoteric stretches
While milky Khazars whisper useful kvetches
Training their beef to endure all phallic wrought
Kegeling and queefing until pussy guts are taut
Training for the future devoid of coital blunder
Modern women embody warm holed plunder
And so it has been since soiled romps in the bog
To those acrobatic interracial sex circuses of Prague
We thank our progenitor, filthiest Gaia
And graciously await the phallic forestry of Yonia

>>12919649

butterflys the first time I saw you
said
I'm a dirty dancer I like to talk to much
I'm a tarantino scence, like lighting in your closet
breathing farrah faucett, caustic neurotic
I'm like Mike, infatuated with your glory
so I'll wisen up practice and be boring
but should I need to
I'll climb a thousand mountains and kiss as many saints
I'll follow you to Judas and laugh as I get fanged by snakes
should I need to
should I need to

Bedrooms the last time time I saw you
like purple smoke, champaign eyes
meetings with those blue jeans, bleachers, and desks
"Should I wear a red" and "yes"
but it's an old spell
it's just it's still works on me
cornier than lifetime movies
going steady catching feelings
cars with a view overlooking you are
so addicting
you are all of my passions inside of a pistol
that shoots confetti popcorn and cotton candy
orange sweatshirts, straight jackets, when I miss you

It's dress up and cross talk
onions days and the black socks
fall light and foilage dressed in gothic
fashionably late
seizing the moonlight's gaze so soulful
maybe bringing it a little closer
I know because I was falling a little harder

>>12936262
this is me btw

As Kai stepped out of Liana's office he knew exactly where he would be headed after a terse stop at his living quarters. He opened the door leading to the outside section of the school. As he passed by the massive tower in the center, he would not let his eyes off it. It was a good bit higher than the gargantuan walls that surrounded the university, giving off a sense of true size. It was nearly 200 feet tall and cast an immense shadow. Kai too, was being stared at. Whether it was his attire or simply his fame was unclear, but the stares were plentiful nonetheless. A couple minutes later and he had reached his room. As he entered he was welcomed by a powerful, floral scent. The color layout was a mix of red and white, as you would expect. It was about the size of an average living room and was fitted with cabinets, drawers, a couch, a bed, and a top of the line TV. The positions of the furniture were well done and offered fluid movement across the room. Other than a closet and bathroom, there were no other doors leading to additional territory. It was overall smaller than what Kai was used to, but he had no complaints, especially because of the sheer extravagance. He set his suitcase down onto his bed and unlocked it, revealing a few sets of clothing under a mysterious, brown book and an equally captivating navy blue crystal. He picked them up and drifted off for a second. As he returned from his thoughts, he inserted the book and crystal into the back pocket of his pants. After unpacking, Kai headed back towards the tower. Upon reaching it, he attempted to open its massive gates. To his disappointment, the doors seemed to be locked. He tried once more, this time using a little more force and pulling it upwards for no real reason. Amazingly, it worked. The door opened up, allowing him to peek inside. The inside looked...nothing like expected. While the outside looked coarse and intimidating, the inside was soft and leisurely. There was a light pink, round carpet in the middle with three couches of the same color, two of them curved to match the circular flooring. The window slits let in a satisfying amount of light and the top of the tower was made of thick glass, allowing even more of the sun's rays to seep in. Kai stepped in cautiously as he scanned the hundreds of books inserted neatly into their shelves. As he took a few steps in, an unpredictable event occurred. The walls behind him changed into large, arc shaped glass windows, much like the ones he had seen before, but this time, they were much more transparent. The glass was smooth and tinted purple with extremely small lines of stretched hexagon shaped stone running down it.
Kai was awe struck. It would seem that he had walked into some sort of magical structure.


1/2

As he looked around in amazement, his eyes fixated themselves towards the central couch's apex, where a woman's bare leg was hanging from. It retracted itself as the person lying on the couch sat up, opening their eyes and looking right at Kai. She had light blue eyes and long, messy, white hair.

Mysterious Woman: (Inhaling deeply) Yep, by the look on your face I can tell exactly what you're seeing right now. Now that's weird...how did you get in here, exactly? Not just anyone can open that door, you know.

Kai gathered himself within a moment's notice, but the woman in front of him was rather unusual. She was wearing a white t shirt and very short jean shorts that covered only a quarter of her thighs. She was taller than Kai, who was 5'7" himself. Her body was the cross between an amazon warrior and a goddess.

Kai: I pulled the door upwards. It was a lucky guess.

Mysterious Woman: Hah, how very, very lucky you are, but I'm sorry to say that you wouldn't be able to open that door so easily even if you knew the trick. You're hiding a secret from me, aren't ya?

Kai: Any secret I hold is gossip compared to this tower. No amount of money can buy you shape-shifting walls.

Mysterious Woman: Oh really? (Smirking) And how would you know?

Kai: I refuse to answer your question.

The woman looked down as she smiled and abruptly broke into laughter, pulling her head up. She walked uncomfortably close to Kai who leaned backwards and squinted his eyes in suspicion.

Mysterious Woman: (Inspecting Kai from head to toe) So yoooou're Kai. It's hilarious how obvious it is. The stone faced son of a millionaire who just so happens to know magic. What a fantastic turn of events!

Kai: Magic...where did you come to this conclusion? (Closing his eyes briefly) Hmph...There's no point in trying to hide what you've already deciphered. Yes, you are correct. I am one who can control magic.

Mysterious Woman: (Putting her index finger under her mouth) Man, who would have ever though... A randomly selected student, being a magic user? Your fortune must have rubbed off on us, too.

2/2

I made a facebook page so I could post my writings for free. I used a 15$ credit "post boost" to advertise the first chapter, and of the 150 or so people it has reached, 35 of them took a liking to it. This is part of the second chapter. It's a light novel.

>>12931658
>>12931667
You thought you could defend yourself by calling yourself shitty, but I'm sorry to tell you that's not the case. Of all the stories I've read, this is the most base and cliche heap of shit I've ever read that hasn't come from a 14 year old.

I love how you so hypocritically tell others not to post shit work, but post shit work to be critiqued yourself. I was thinking "maybe he's at least good", but na, your shit talking has no substance to back it up.

Do you really think people don't put effort into the writings they post here? They're trying to improve and it can be difficult to pinpoint exactly what is wrong with your own work without the input of others, because in the end you will always be majorly biased, for or against your work. Retard.

Pardon my lady, please halt thy soft step
Glancing at your shoes zapped me with pure pep!
From heel to toe tip how your feet slope superb
Those peds trek a tread whose aesthetics reverb
Silence no more for those tootsies do so beguile
Melting the mind’s accrued cute feet stockpile
Haunting me now your wiggly vivid feet
Painted toes and arches and sole cleavage accrete
A mouthful from your toes would hit my brain wild
Devouring all ten sates hungers most Rothchild
String up the tits-guys and for the assmen, death marches
Tiddy meat’s all plastic so give me scrunchy arches
What I will give you is so pure, a worship exquisite
Don’t you dare lend those feet to another affectionate
I shall gnaw and nourish your dirty epidermis
And lick clean your foot filth sincere and earnest

>>12936619
the struck dog barks the loudest lmao

also i wasnt looking for critique itt (altho i have in the past). i thought my story was funny, and that's really all i care. i only posted it because someone asked to taste a sample of my oeuvre

>>12936819
Nice gay quote. I've never posted my work here, so what you said didn't even apply to me. I'm fighting for my fellow anons.

>Funny
No...it wasn't.
>I have in the past
So you just proved my point.

>>12936833
whenever i posted in the past it was well received btw

Bongs beers and breasts
A lazy boy for when I rest
A too small white vest
And the knowledge that Im the best

>>12936841
I see you're good at lying as well.

>Using a 9gag tier meme
Yeeeeaaah. Stop talking to me. I won't allow people this degenerate to speak to me.

>>12936857

>>12936863
I wish I could report you for posting this shit. You're not making me angry, by the way. It's just a bit cringe worthy and harms your own image more than anything.

You remind me of Charlie Zelenoff. That one guy who asks people to spar with him in boxing and even when he get's his ass kicked after sucker punching them, he runs away and proclaims he won and that the other person should accept their loss. You're quite a brazen parasite.

>>12922281
>I like this but it's not my cup of tea

>>12936871
>i know you are but what am i

>>12925242
very coherent, great wording and structure, the content is well thought out and rich with substance. I give this paragraph a 10/10

>>12936875
That's not even my argument, but I'm interested in how you got to that conclusion. Care to elaborate? That is, if you have the capacity to do such things.

>>12936887
*snap*

>>12936893
Haha. Don't worry about it, dude. I put you into a situation that you couldn't win no matter your answer. I hope the other anons here liked seeing you put in your place.

>>12935078
Based

>>12936916
see
>>12936871

Any way to make this opening stronger?

>>12936928

>>12936967
this but unironically

>>12936841
Also that makes me happy. If your garbage is considered good, then my work is already far above what I thought.

>>12936980
OBSESSED

>>12936987
I'm obsessed with getting the last word, yeah. Only when arguing chimps, because if I'm arguing someone I respect and think is smart, I expect them to already know if they won or lost.

Your instincts probably made you embarrassed, though.

Please don't judge me for my choice of genre, I just want to know if I'm too far over the cringe line for something that's already anime

>Jean stayed silent as we looped around the block, something I would have been infinitely grateful for if I didn't sound like an asthmatic with heatstroke. How he managed to move that quickly without making a noise was anyone's guess, but that his legs were a good deal longer than mine meant I was jogging to keep up.

>“Okay, hold up.” He said as we neared the opposite corner from where we started. A quick glance told us the stag hadn't moved, at least insofar as it was still pacing the street we had first seen it. We came to a halt behind an old brownstone, one with a sizable staircase leading up to the front door, and a basement apartment that even in the real world would have been inhospitable.

>Jean made a whistle that sounded somewhat like a bird call, and from the other end of the street I could hear Emma answer in kind. “Alright newbie, here's the moment of truth. Got any change on you? I only need a nickel, but a quarter will do too.”

>“What are you about to do?” I asked, dropping a quarter in his palm. He flipped it easily between his fingers like he was clearly showing off.

>“Remember, that demonstration I mentioned? Well, pay attention, because this is what the quarter's for.”

>Almost one cue, something that might have been either a marble or a ball bearing shot through the air. It struck the deer hard enough to draw blood, but not hard enough to put it down. It immediately bolted in the opposite direction of the shot, and unfortunately, that direction happened to be right towards us.

“Was that on purp-”, I began, but I didn't get a chance to finish before he flicked the coin in the air and sparks started flying, and that's when the honest-to-freaking-god singing began

“'Cuz it's one for the money! Two for the show! Three to get ready! And four to-” he flicked the coin out of the air, not like it was a coin, but like it was a bullet. A tank shell. A stainless steel railgun slug fired off at one third the speed of light and kicking up a cloud of dust like an explosion where it landed.

Unfortunately, where it landed happened to be at a right-freaking-angle to where he was aiming, which for point of reference, was the brownstone staircase we were currently cowering behind.

>“-oh no.”

>>12937002
this post is the last word. all words after dont count

>>12927010
>>The steps that support his gluteal region were constructed in a project that solved a problem predicted to obtain, but never quite did

This sentence tripped me up but damn, this is a pretty magnificent two paragraphs

>>12927010
I really like Lubbock and that part of Texas in particular. Its such an embarrassingly superior state. Texas is so polite about permitting California and New York to receive all this cultural acclaim because if those yuppies moved to Texas they might upset the balance of things.

>>12937018
You replied to my post, so you're basically saying my post was the last one that counts. GG

>>12937005
Can't even tell it's anime.

God, correct my pen and print out all our favourite music!
If you have a preference, grant it mine - allow me to abuse it!
The words won't own it and dance,
I squig their angles to make sure,
then flush away to join the sharks,
who feast and
fart them yours.
Concerning fresh meat,
are all wannabe poets kept to these mores?
I'll say this poem shat me out,
you'll nod and shunt me
in the drawer.

>>12937118
haha you fell for my ruse

>>12937111
>if those yuppies moved to Texas they might upset the balance of things.
This needs to happen

Making a thing of flash fiction. This is page 5

>>12937238
You rused yourself, ginger.

>>12937285
>This immense tower, which is you, clearly. The tower is you

Wo, thanks! I like it.

>>12937413
nah

>>12937416
you're welcome, tower

I just can't sleep and feel like writing shitty poetry

El sol en tus ojos
Espejismos producía,
En mi cara, sin parar reían
Creando un Oasis en arenas movedizas.

El Sahara en tus labios
Derritiendo mis pies con cada paso
Caminando por las dunas que definian,
De tus labios a tus voluptuosa mejillas.

Las dos cuevas en tu rostro
Resguardan la caldera que humeaba,
Un vapor que empañaba mis ojos
Al comer tus labios con mi alma

Llovizna de tu voz,
Con truenos en cada silaba
Como un relámpago tu adiós
Un remolino ladrón que se lleva mi vida.

Desolado,
Una tormenta inunda mi pecho,
Hace flotar mi corazon hasta que naufraga,
Por las islas de mi traquea;
Perdido,
En la bahía de mi boca,
Se desvanece al calor de mi amargos suspiros
Y se ahoga entre cada babeante sollozo;
Sufriendo,
Es consumido por mi llanto agonizante
Enterrado ahora yace en mi papilas
Dejando sin capitán,
A este navío errante

This is part of my harry potter fan fiction. I will write all of it in poems.

Envelope of darkness,
dry earth,
devoid of love,
shaped his reign,
marked , with the bodies of the slain,

The dead, asleep at their graves,
Their stories, sewn at the very end,
as the dark lord consumed, the brave fell,
No one left to listen, nor anyone left to tell

Fading hope, dwindling order,
were rekindled by the prophecy,
The one to conquer you know who approaches,
his strength will pave a way,
his arms will weave a resurrection
laughter, love, learning will fly again,

The prophecy is exposed, hidden are its details,
But the dark lord will fall,
Professor exclaimed.

>>12932470
This was really sweet and wholesome. Good read

>>12937853
>harry potter fanfiction
Jesus christ

Roland Tael was seven when he lost his home in Fallenburg to the steel-shod and shanked legions of the lizard’s dragoons, when they emerged unexpectedly from beneath the city. Huge and heavily scaled, the figures had been alien and terrifying to him, and to the dozens of other orphans with whom he shared his home, and his name. When the creatures burst in through the double doors of the four-story stone building where he lived, the chaos had been complete, and in seconds the frightened children had flooded over and on top of each other as they struggled to get up the stairs, trampling their adopted siblings in their rush to seek refuge away from the horrible beings.

The creatures dwarfed each of them more than forty times over, and they very nearly had filled the vertical space in the unusually high ceilinged home from stone to strut. Perhaps that was why they didn’t seem to take any notice of the screaming and scrabbling children as they fled up and away. While at the time he had been out of his mind in overwhelming fear, after-the-fact his thoughts had been completely preoccupied with examining, in abject horror, the events of that day; he supposed it was possible they had considered the children to be too small and insignificant to be worth their attention, and too powerless to matter.

>>12938010
He had certainly felt powerless. As one of the older wards of the House of Tael, whose members were nearly exclusively adopted orphans, it was his responsibility to care for those of his siblings who were far too young, small, and inexperienced to tend to their own needs or protect themselves. It was a responsibility in which he felt he had failed, and though the creatures had not pursued or harmed any of the children, the young ones had watched, horrified, from the fourth story window as the defenders of the city died uselessly in their attempts to resist the unflinching brute force of the reptilian warriors.

Over the years, the shame he felt grew too great for him to bear fruitlessly, and by the time he had come to enlistment age on his fifteenth birthday, he was already a devoted student of warfare. He trained in all manner of force of arms, but despite his attempts to put on a brave face, each time he found himself confronted with an opponent, he felt that same seed of cowardice that had been planted all those years ago sprout anew in his heart, and so as his military service continued he had gravitated toward the art of the bow, in the hopes that putting distance between him and his adversaries might help to steel his courage.

>>12938013
In time, that fearfulness became a tenuous ally to him, heightening his senses and cultivating a paranoia in the field that some of his fellows found a useful antidote to complacency. Not one to be caught flat-footed, his uncanny knack for seeing through the calm of peace before the storm of an ambush proved a valuable asset on long range patrols, and it may well have been a foregone conclusion when he was assigned to the Northmen’s Guard. The ranger unit was known across the Ralkean Empire as the wardens of the wilds, a rough hewn and scathingly sharp blade of order held vigilantly against the throat of chaos in the untamable lands at the upper reaches of imperial territory.

By then, he had grown to some renown for his exploits, and for his twenty fifth birthday his adoptive father, Roman Tael, presented him with an exceptional gift. In Ralkea, longbowmen like him fought with lithe bows crafted of yew, or weltwood. Those sturdy, powerful, and tall weapons relied on a mix of extraordinary strength and unerring precision to hurl projectiles many hundreds of meters at foes who dared approach the territories over the vast plains to the East, the mountains to the North and South, or the seas to the West. Roland was intimately familiar with them, which is why when he received his gift, he didn’t recognize it.

>>12938015
The object he was presented was too heavy to be a bow, it weighed no less than twenty pounds. It was certainly made of the wrong materials to be a bow, having been crafted from unrecognizable metal alloys, odd mechanisms, and braided metal cables. Though the quiver with which the device was prevented was obviously full of very long, finned, and sharpened projectiles, even the projectiles themselves were worked from inscrutable metal, and the starkly matte black patina of their points ran completely at odds with what he expected from an arrow. Still, the compound greatbow felt right in his hands, and when he held it he felt something he had not experienced since before that day eighteen years before: when he held it, he felt safe.

Before long, he had cultivated the same mastery with this new weapon that he had become known for as a longbowman, but unlike a longbow’s manageable weight and inexpensive projectiles, the greatbow’s adroitite fixtures were large and cumbersome, and its heavy adamantine alloy bolts were nearly too valuable to use. Consequently, the tool had been relegated more to the role of a status symbol than a true weapon of war, and it stayed that way for quite some time. When the throngs of the lizard army once again took the field, Roland’s feelings of safety were destroyed, and when he was called to the field, the bow came with him.

>>12938018
The lizards were unrelenting in their advance, and as they won battle after battle with ferocious tenacity, the people of the Empire had serious doubts as to whether their advance could be stopped. The thickly armored lizards resisted bombardment by bow, and their formations adapted too quickly to be meaningfully damaged by bombardment with cannons. Attempts to outmaneuver their heavy armies were foiled by flyby air cavalry raids, halting Ralkean troop movements with nets and short spears dropped from drakeback at altitude. Ralkean shield walls were helpless against the crushing fury of the monstrous heavy shock dragoons, whose sixty pound battleaxes and pyramidal swords could cleave through ten men in a single swing.

When the commander of the 23rd field regiment of sword and bow was forced to protect a still evacuating hamlet from a ceaselessly pursuing foe, he was forced to make a desperate gambit in the hopes of buying time. To the lizards, he sent a single unarmed rider. To his men, he sent out a volunteer order: the lizards had agreed there would be a duel the next day at first light, to determine the outcome of the battle. The nation whose champion was victorious would take possession of the battlefield and its surrounding territory without further contest or violence, and the loser would retreat immediately.

>>12938022
The commander called for a volunteer, one soldier who would accept the challenge to fight the reptiles’, no doubt, unbeatable champion. Victory was not needed, he explained, because merely delaying until morning light to hold the duel would buy time enough to evacuate the people of the town, achieving the unit’s mission, but the survival of the volunteer was doubtful. After the announcement, a sense of foreboding fell over their encampment, and even those among the troops who boasted frequently of their combat prowess laid low, wondering who, if anyone, would dare choose to march to their death the next day. If no volunteer emerged, the men did not know if the commander would pick randomly from their ranks, or even take to the field himself.

Roland was overwrought. The soldiers of his unit were his brothers and sisters, his second adopted family, and he felt as if it was his duty to protect them from the lizards at all costs, as he had failed to do in his youth before, but to his boundless shame he could not bring himself to volunteer as champion. In a manner of speaking, that choice was taken away from him when he was summoned that night to the commander’s tent. He entered to see the commander standing with the second lieutenant of third platoon, bows and shafts, and when they saw that he arrived, they began to outline their plan.

>>12938027
The next morning, each army formed ranks in parade, the Ralkeans producing their formations at the base of the hill to the West, and the lizards standing shoulder-to-shoulder, shields at the ready, in the shallows of the downward sloping ground to the East. At the first signal, each champion marched the two hundred and fifty meters from their formation to the round zone of freshly cut grass that was designated as the grounds for the duel. The lizards had sent their largest dragoon, a hulking being nearly 14 meters tall, wholly clad in scales of gleaming metal, and wielding a pyramidal sword nearly as long as it was tall.

As the Ralkean champion approached the ring, the dragoon looked at him with a mixture of confusion and pity. The small figure wore modest armor, and wielded only a wooden shortbow, a quiver half full of odd metal arrows, and a flimsy-looking lance. Behind and above him, the dragoon saw the Imperial flag slowly being raised along a hastily erected mast at the top of the hill to the West. Underneath it, the Ralkean champion seemed almost pathetic, a ramshackle warrior serving under a half-raised banner. From the dragoon’s perspective, he could see no glory in defeating such an opponent. At the second signal, the duel began.

>>12938033
Before the break of dawn, Roland woke from his brief rest, and walked outside of his tent and up the hill in front of the camp, where he found a makeshift flagpole had been installed overnight. He took up lengths of multi-colored ribbon, and tied them at carefully measured intervals along the pull rope used to raise and lower the banner on the pole. Once he was satisfied with the adjustments he made, he went back to his tent, grabbed his weapons, armor, and equipment, and started to trudge West, away from the camp, the hill, and the dueling ground, toward the hamlet atop the next hill over.

When he reached the top of that Western hill, a fair distance before reaching the hamlet, he searched around until he found the wooden post he had placed there before going to bed the previous night, and when he found it, he put his right heel against the post, where he stood for a few hours and waited. When he heard the first signal sound faintly over the hill to the East, he picked up his compound greatbow from the ground. Once he had it in hand, he selected one of the long metal bolts loosely sitting in his half-full quiver, fitted it to the string, lifted his bow, and looked through the mechanical sighting device integrated into its construction. He watched as the flag slowly ascended the flagpole, trailing tiny colored ribbons from its guide rope as it did so.

>>12938041
He set his bowsight on the flag, and its rainbow of ribbon streamers, aligning the tiny wire guidelines of the sighting device with the banner and each of the rope’s ribbons as they climbed, tracking it the entire way. When it finally stopped ascending, and dipped slightly again, he followed it carefully through each of those movements, exhaling deeply as he did so. Finally, he drew the bowstring tight, pulling with all of his strength against the composite metal bow as it creaked and groaned under the stress of his draw, and he waited. When he heard the second signal, he released, and let his arrow fly.

The duel was over quickly. By all appearances, the Ralkean champion felled his adversary in one blow, a low deflection bowshot at point-blank range, using an absurd projectile which had neatly punctured through the dragoon’s heavy armor and lodged itself completely in the fighter’s chest, bringing him to the ground, and forcing him to yield to his much scrawnier opponent. The lizards recovered their champion, and evacuated him from the battlefield to treat his wound, and as he returned, the Ralkeans hailed the second lieutenant of third platoon, bows and shafts, as a hero.

>>12938049
As promised, the lizard army retreated, surrendering the territory they had been sure to capture only a day earlier, and it would be hundreds of years before they would attempt to seize that hamlet and its lands again. In many ways, Roland never quite found the courage he believed that he had lost so long ago, when Fallenburg fell to the lizards, but the courage he inspired in those who fought alongside him, and in the people of the nation he protected, far outshone any he might have lost on that day, which is why to *this* day, Roland Tael is more commonly known by another name, "The Finger of God".

>>12938010
Pls get cancer
>>12937450
Not other guy but bad reddit tier memer trying to get rises out of people. Sleeper af desu. Just post something good or critique others, stop trying to act superior to others and help them or leave them alone.

Also, stop baiting, people are actually falling for it lmao

>>12937966
How's the content? I think I can write a left vs right story in hp universe and earn shekels.

>>12938232
Is hp even profitable now? I mean, after jk basically destroying a lot of her fan base with these made up info

>>12938246
>made up info
... it's fiction

>>12938253
>... its fiction

Doesnt mean she can turn around and say a character is a fucking pineapple identifying as a train stop every year

>>12938361
Widowed* not windowed, whoops

>>12937285
please my family is dying

>>12937151
well, that's good I guess. still feel kind of embarrassed looking at it now

>>12937285
I like it a lot, one thing that stuck out as slightly awkward was the phrase 'thermal energy exchange'. Slightly ruined the fairytale tone I think. Cool little piece.

posted this on the /write/ thread. It's a horror story with a ghostbuster.

https://pastebin.com/h4BNUCVb

NOTRE DAME DE PARIS, at six we saw:
Green and grey, but livened with red fire.
'That was a grand display of all the Arts,
God's, Man's, the Devil's' the crowd admired,
Stiff-necked, steely their hearts.

I just wrote this today. I’m brand new to story writing and trying to find my style. I don’t expect it to be very good, but I’d like to know if I’m moving in the right direction at least.

The roped-off perimeter of the salt fish water festival was to the left. Probably an art and craft and fish water show. People need those things. A palm tree too, big one. People need those, but not as much as concrete. Sweat was soaking so I stepped inside. “just a coffee, please.” I used a card. Should have gotten water too.

So the thing is, if I can... well I just need to figure out what all this means. You see, She must not dislike me because She’s friendly to me and I don’t think I was too forward because She still seems comfortable talking with me. She could be too nice to say anything. Maybe She doesn’t know. No, She had to notice because I said it with my eyes and Her eyes knew what I was saying with my eyes and body language and words. She’s got to know and she... um She’s got to know and She’s ok with it because She didn’t shrink back at all. Not even...not... my heart is pounding so it must be real.

Nobody in the coffee shop was staring at me. They were looking at the news in the corner; Paris was burning. Three birds flew by and I knew what it meant.

>>12941034
Drop the capitalization, unless the protag is meant to be a stalker or something, in which case, whatever. It's decent. Third para is weakest, feels wooden.

How's the style? Too simplistic?

>>12941103
Ok, I mostly did that to emphasize how much he's obsessing, but I didn’t mean for it to sound psychotic. The third part was also an afterthought, and looking back, it doesn’t match the tone.

>>12941121
There is no style desu.

>>12941164
Sure, definitely not bad though. Maybe the setting briefly mentioned in the first para (carnivalesque stuff) could make for an intriguing contrast with current events in Paris if developed? Idk

>>12941171

>>12941164
Rereading that, I think it's mostly just the first sentence of the third para that bothers me. Try and rework it perhaps. I assume you wanna keep the narrative focused on the protag's subjectivity, but I'd ditch that here, try describing the patrons in such a way that their actions themselves make it clear they're paying no attention to him, instead of just saying so, 'from the protag's perspective' (so there's no 'me' in there if ya get me). I'l stop sperging out now, gl

>>12941211
I like that idea, thanks

>>12941294
Noted. I’ll play around with that tonight

>>12940982

>>12919649
>made this on a speed(amphetamine paste) binge
why do the days pass by dreadfully but go by in haste,why has yellowstone yet to erupt, why has the sun yet to explode,why can't i stay stable, why am i so sensitive, why am I so annoying, why have I placed such a burden on everything, why am I typing this, who am I typing this to, who is reading this, why cant i just be happy,why am i dirty why do i keep getting these headaches,why do my eyes have to be so big so they dry up so easily making them burn, why are my teeth bleeding,why am i such a burden to everyone,why cant i just go away, why dont you just go away for a bit it wont make a difference,why am i typing here? to who?, i've managed to do nothing but inflict pain into those who love me and those who come with the preposition to love nothing more nothing less,if only there was something to hang from in this house, if only i can guarantee myself to not exist would such an attempt take place,why cant i find happiness anywhere?everythings tiring everythings o-so tiring everything is exhausting me to bits,a few more years i think, im psychic so i know a few more years, not now surely not now but a few more years, im a lazy complacent piece of shit that needs to shrivel up in die before i place the burden of my existence and the everlingering shadow on those who only prepropose love,no one ive placed such a burden one can have no such strong feelings toward me because im a wreck a wreck a carcrash a bridge falling apart people want to be my friend to cherish their self better,no one cares no oncaresnoonecaresnoonecaresnoonecaresnoonecaresnoonecares if your reading this no-one-cares nobody 0 dont talk to me anymore dont talk to me anymore accompany me off the bridge and ill be finitely grateful, i need a gun, why am i writing a blog entry hehe , why cant i sleep why am i living why do i live why do i have to live its such a fucking chore im tired of it exhausted i dont want to deal with this shit anymore i cant be happy or sad for any extent of time i cant be satisfied i always have to exhaust my self for fucks sake fuck off let me rest let me fucking breathe i cant take this shit anymore fuck you fuck all of you burn in hell whywhywhy all i fucking ask im sick of this shit why dont i jump off a fucking bridge fuck you dont fucking talk to me fuck you piece of shit fuck fuck fuck i have the ability to do absolutely nothing terribly its all i have to fucking to why do people place expectations that are unfucking reachable why do people think im smart or do people not think that all? I suppose I give myself too much credit my intelligence its the only thing i cherish and its below average-average no doubt im not made to do anything i want to do in this world fuck you piece of shit

>>12941650
I don't know why the way this is written reminds me of Heart of Darkness and the schizo writing of Gibson in some parts of Neuromancer(also maybe Hypervirus land?)
>fuck you dont fucking talk to me fuck you piece of shit fuck fuck fuck i have the ability to do absolutely nothing terribly
anon...

>>12941650
im never doing drugs

>>12941715
Actually im heavily influenced by Orphan Drift,I love Hypervirus, specifically the whole second half of fanged noumena. The spawl trilogy was great too? I guess influence is easy to see in those that have read the same as others.

All Through The Night

Moonlight
Fogging down
From winter
Mountain clouds
Shine the crystal
Lights of town
Down on the soft fleet of the cool night
On the busy streets; downwind heel all in the fire sight
Cough and breathe wind silent steel all through the
bright night
All through the night
To add soft peace
To tune spring leaves
To yearn in
At night
Feeding heat lamp
Of its breathing gasp
Its echo stain unto the night
In an echo chamber past,
Oh, a new light has passed

https://vocaroo.com/i/s0FquYfM5jtC

Crit my voice

>>12942571
You'd pass off as a high elf or something. In terms of standard narration, not my kinda voice, to be honest. Good brit-voice too

>>12942615
The hidden Truth to Harry Potter, and it's fashion of apocolpse. Harry Potter is a book about Jews, Witches, Muggles, and Mommy and Daddy ( Culture ). This entire book goes against the reality of this world, Unlike Lord of the Rings.

In Harry Potter we discover a world, a world of witches and wizards. And no, I don't wonder why.
Harrpy Potter is a discourse on a prospective reality where two different people Live.
They are normal people, like you and I, but then there is a people that... aren't really people, but they live among normal people, and sorta act like people, and hold cards and play games, drink, laugh, have fun like people. But they in realities of their own. Normal laws don't apply to them, they walk in a spiritual side of the world where only occasionaly there will be a normal couple, normal people, that'll have a kid that is found to be special, he'll age a bit, mature a bit, and then be diagnosed as "freaky", then the child will be heard about in Wizard agencies, and taken into wizard schools, and the parents wont get a say in the option.

>>12942618
Nigga all I'm saying is it's not my cup of tea. Keep doing it, though, you're not bad.

>>12942626
thanks

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07QRY4QW2
I'm an idiot and made a thread for this when it belonged here. Its a short story I put on Amazon to see if I can get passive income. I've made it free right now. Its about an orgy where people don't stop showing up.

>>12919649
been writing hard story my life what lit think? Good??

>>12919649
Fog-lights roared to life in a blinding haze above him. In his Lysergic acid diethylamide induced state, he unwittingly mistook them briefly for a UFO, and cowered in fear as if discovering fire for the first time.
The pain in his back left molar speared his attention, leaving him briefly considering his death by a wisdom tooth he had refused to get taken out the past two years out of pure pigheadedness.
“The Green Lantern,” or so called by his co-workers for living in a townhouse affixes with that very name. That, & his penchant for nipping all the bud he could, which he smoked, consumed, vaporized, & combined with nearly every activity.
The only clear time it had gotten him in trouble was when he slept, & subsequently became attached, to his superior officer & elder by a decade, Nina. A feat he achieved most likely only because of her shared penchant for good fucking weed.
After she inevitably became bored of his youthful outlook on things, it led to things becoming awkward at the home office when orders were to be issued. Too many questions start getting asked and so Jim Wilson was assigned to the psychedelic research department. It was a natural career move for him, & helped quiet the whispers from his co-workers, just not the ones he thought were, most likely, just in his head.

>>12925965
>>12925969
are you the main character of an epistolary novel or something

Dimeter with a snaking-alternating quatrainic rhyme - internal rhyme - rhyme scheme, with four quatrains a poem?

Or should I learn more about Old English form and write some odd Modernist stuff, like Pound did?

I am not uploading my third-rate Coleridgean platitudes to be ridiculed.

Hey guys I have to write a short creative piece for my literature class, this is how I have started it:

And Then Came The Rain
Soul Of Whale
Died 2022

The light, which is mine, and is pure, and can never be destroyed or damaged. From closed eyes I watched it go.

I was in the arctic waters I knew so well. My home, my home, and through the place in pale light I slept.

The last sound left me, and I died.

-

I laid there, in rest, in sickness, in exhaustion. The last musings of my mind consumed [exhumed?], and settled. A sleepless dream over. A tired light come home to rest. With all the haste I was once created, I am now destroyed, and dreams of hail freeze my soul.

>>12943620
eh, not a fan of this whole drug-based writing. sounds too muddled. i didnt get past the third sentence.

>>12943100
sounds pretty good from what i can tell. i like the title, nice childish language but with adult topics.
other than that theres not much i can say since i cant actually download the file it seems.

>>12942571
to posh sounding, its like you are thinking about pronouncing things in a certain way, rather than just reading the words in a way that sounds natural.

>>12942202
>Fogging down
this is incoherent to me.
actually a lot of the words feel incoherent to me. i get the abstract style but it really needs more coherent word choice else it doesnt make sense and distracts from the subtle meaning its trying to convey.

>>12941650
i liked this, sounds genuine and flows rather well. though i get certain undertones i dont really like, a bit too much self-important complaining i think?

>>12941034
has an interesting rhythm to it, though i dont really know whats going on exactly. too much inner monologue at an inappropriate time maybe?

>>12941121
interesting characters, not bad. dont know what else to say except i liked it, and i didnt think i would.

>>12919884
Sounds like lyrics "used to be my girl" the last shadow puppets faggot

>>12942571
are you midlands?

>>12940982
this is interesting

you know i think they should leave it as a burnt ruin rather than rebuilding it.

>>12943745
It doesn't really mean anything it's just imagism that I wrote while on acid. Fogging down was just meant to depict the moonlight being shrouded by clouds. Thx tho I get u.

I don't think this one is as good but I wrote it the same night.

Is the cigarette burning embers
Breathing in cool air
Again
With smoke ringing off
Its white funnel cape beaconing
Out

By the stagnant wave lanes
And the do-worldies
And all of the people
From town
Ill stand from here then I’ll
Look in with you
From the porch

And Ill ask as entrails of smoke
Ascends us
Some more

To take with me you
From here
Forevermore

there's interesting ways to introduce psychedelics that are original and they take alot of work for the setup. to do correctly, they're probably among the most difficult thing to instantiate. you must be a maximalist

>>12943868
meant for >>12943620

>>12919649
I became increasingly unhappy as I sat among the faint mumbling and incessant shoving of dawdling couples. Couples as of lovers couples as of friends. I sat alone on my only link to others on fingers flipping over the keys. I wrote many strange things that hour trying to block out the white noise. I was once a son of a Rich third world landlord, seated atop every hierarchy. Other times I was a lonely soul looking for love sometimes miles away sometimes inches depending on the reaction I sought. I blazed through the vague ideas I had about myself, putting down whatever carciture of myself I believed would cause the most upheaval within those digital halls. I wanted people to know me yet I did not know myself. I looked at the laughing masses around me and felt disgust. What lost people. Truly they lacked the intellectual capacity for failure in all endeavours of life. For the crushing realisation that no one admired or respected them. That epiphany was what had ruined my life. Surely all of them would have it too someday. Definitely.

>>12919649
Breakfast: three pancakes, cooked pale gold, each, with the exception of one, which appeared to be twice the diameter of its counterparts, seemingly identical in shape, texture, and apparent fluffiness; two eggs, both sunny-side-up, with surprisingly neat whites; one thick strip of bacon, sparkling with specks of grease and broken in the middle; one dollop of butter surrounded by syrup, with which it tentatively intermingled; a glass of orange juice, in which suspended pulp sank slowly and unsteadily to the bottom; a can of coke that faintly popped every few seconds; and a ceramic cup of coffee, a goldfinch perched on the stem of a flower depicted on its side.
Looking it over, he sighed: not only had he eaten the same meal yesterday, but his meal had met his gaze with the same expression: a smiley face. Thoroughly disappointed, he picked up the fork placed neatly by his plate and went to work dismantling it, finding it fitting to start with the bacon that conspired to form its mouth. As he did so, the chirps and chatter of birds, interrupted only by the intermittent bark, lilted in from outside, lazy and passively noticed as the soft light filtering through the shades.

Half heaven caught, red hand over spray,
Smiles, clouds in his eye before bed,
In wooden buoys his decrepit bay
Riles, afraid of what lies ahead,
Yet hearken her song over waves,
Child, remember all that is said,
And when turquoise does dampen the flames,
This moment he'll never forget.

and she greets the world early, lover

rise ahead, and lasts long after bed;

red eyed, she told cockerel: another

few moments, for too soon to be wed

>my novel opening

>>12941650
this gave me PTSD of my own speed binges but at least i had the sense not to write like this.

>>12939626
not bad honestly

>>12943756
Agreed

>>12943745
ty I get what you mean by those 'undertones' it can get dry if extended out too much. I usually write a pages length or a essay of me talking about something unrelated to my essays(phil. major). The plan is either (A) compile all these 'entries', if you will, and make a blog for me to post every other day.(B) Compile all my essays on the unrelated topic and work for a publish somewhere(my university can help)-hopefully urbanomic or (C) Compile my critique on essays Capitalism,Modern dread, and a few other things with these little entries and find a publisher then. My essays are overall focused on stagnation so going through the 'book' and finding these little entries would be cool as it reflects the writing well, puts an impression of our time.
>>12944232
Good or bad? Im intrigued to here what you'll think about it

>>12919649
Twigs crunched under Speare’s boots, shallow breaths expelling vapour from his mouth. The backpack pressed its full weight upon him. He remembered the myth of Atlas, the mighty titan who was forced to hold the heavens upon his shoulders. He used to read and study old books written by people of bygone civilizations, ancient Greek and Egyptian beasts and gods littered the pages, it captivated him. He did not know if gods existed, alas he knew beasts did.
Hearing the chatter from the encampment, he realized how quickly he finished his trip, lost in thought often he would reminisce of the bygone age, when skyscrapers had glass in them and when buildings were full of people and when it didn’t smell like smoke all the time and when you didn’t have to worry about getting cold and when gods used to exist and when there was a heaven.
The patrol guards gave a nod of acknowledgment to him and lowered their makeshift spears, made of sticks fashioned with various nails and bits of broken power tools. Before he could reach his cabin, children ran to him shouting his name and asking for whatever relics he managed to bring. He took his backpack off and finally took a deep breath.
“Sit” he calmly ordered and the children obeyed. Speare has earned respect among the cabins. He took out a book from his backpack and saw the children’s eyes light up, the intrigue he brought, stories of countries far and wide. On the cover it read ‘Norse Mythology’ he handed it to the enchanted children and they ran off without a “Thank you.” Speare smiled.
A shuffling occured in the bushes. The whole camp went silent. Guards drew their guns. They watched the bushes, whatever it was ran away. The camp stayed quiet for another couple of minutes before a murmur slowly rose again. The children shouted again and their mothers talked. Things were good in the cabins.
He entered his cabin and realised how tired he was. His whole body was aching from the trip to the town, luckily he didn’t confront any abominations. Hunger didn’t bother him that evening and slumber crept up on him.

>>12944848
A flash, followed by a shattering sound. Screams from all direction, the burning. Speare was there when it happened. After the smoke went down he hid, he did not come out for he knew it would not be safe. Humans possess instincts and survival is vital a cornered animal has nothing to lose. Days went by and Speare hid. When he came out he felt alone; the streets were barren, buildings were crumbled husks of what they used to be. He knew it was radiation that was corrupting the centre so he left, he walked and walked and walked until his soles bled. He left his life behind, his love, his possessions except for what he could pack. He arrived at the barren “Solitude Birches” campsite. He found some supplies there and established a camp. Over the years survivors arrived, Speare welcomed all of them. A memory of his trip arose, the children looking him in the eyes, smiling and then running off with another of Speare’s books. He remembered a shuffling in the bushes, a screech arose and a shadow leaped towards him, a flash followed by shattering sounds. Screams from all directions, the agony. He saw the camp ruined, collapsed cabins and bodies littering the ground. He wanted to scream however he couldn't.
Prometheus was gripping him. It took speare a while to realise where he was, his familiar cabin and his own bed. The visions induced sweat, he woke up tired again. It was good to see his old friend. Comforted, Speare stood up and went to make himself some tea.
“It's so good to see you again”, stated Prometheus and started laughing hysterically followed by a cough which bent him over. The blind man’s morbid humor always brought at least a half smile to Speare. The man was an object of mystery to speare, having arrived to the campsite wearing welding goggles his tool box in hand and jumpsuit on he already knew Speare’s name. Speare knew not how the man managed to find his way completely blind. He claimed to possess the sight and be able to talk to machines. He became the handyman of the campsite, restoring the generator and creating various helpful structures. Speare had no clue how old Prometheus was and could not get himself to ask, yet the man’s sometimes unexpected wisdom signified a lifetime of experience. Speare lifted himself off the bed, dressed into his fatigues and headed out through the oak door.

I will post more if this gets enough responses.

which sounds better
>crowned by expectation(s)
or
>wear those expectations like a crown

>>12945664
the first. also they both mean different things

>>12945667
>they both mean different things
eh

>>12944119
I like this. One suggestion though, instead of:
>but his meal had met his gaze with the same expression
try
>but *the* meal had met his gaze with the same expression
It prevents you from using 'his' twice in the same sentence and smooths out the flow a little bit.

This is based off of a dream I had. It's also pretty bad.

>>12945701
I think I agree with you, though for a completely different reason: using "the" sets up a little conflict that makes it seem more insolent and foreshadows the punchline.

Notre Dame de Paris, at six we saw:
Green and grey, but livened with red fire.
"That was a grand display of all the Arts,
God's, Man's, the Devil's" the crowd admired,
Stiff-necked, steely their hearts.

Marked by a pillar of skyward smoke, it
Sang louder than ten cathedral choirs
For the storm within and the peace without.
Everyone secretly backs a fire.
Two things I'm sure about.

>>12945673
Not him, but think of what it means to be crowned, and think of what it means to wear something like a crown. The agency, the authenticity--both are different in either situation, so that a character can be made arrogant or noble, brave or cowardly, etc or etc, depending on which description is used.

My fingers ran along the oversized collar on her beaver coat. Its thick leather, which had served her as a dutiful barrier for most of the day having cocooned her in the safety of herself, suddenly and unexpectedly welcomed my touch with its smoothness. The tension in my arm gave way and I drew her into my chest her nose resting comfortably in its centre. The act of creation sprung effortlessly from the weaves and dances of our bodies which nature had entwined. A world created, just for us, well apart from the hum drum of the clustered underground, a protective shelter from the tunnel wind exploding towards us from beneath the chaos of the circus. There we made our brief subterranean home as we awaited the inevitable carriage that would whisk us on our different journeys through the Piccadilly line to be spat out into our adjacent futures. My fingers slid naturally towards her neck, finding refuge against the gentle throbs of her heartbeat that persisted beneath her jaw. I felt her life echo through mine as my fingers unconsciously measured the iambs of her pulse. I was at once intoxicated and indoctrinated. The beat skipped along the length of my arm which had coiled protectively and rather hurriedly around the back of her neck. This rare harmony excited my heart on which her head was slumped. As my blood rushed with renewed purpose through my being hers did also. We stood still a moment, as the feedback loop of our hearts swelled on towards the frontiers of our anatomy.
This non-moment, this milquetoast discharge of pity from a tired and broken girl, giddy at the oncoming prospect of her departure took on significance only in my mind. The rhythm was sufficient to confirm my wishes that had, over the past two hours, been extracted from their premature burial. The petty circumstances and turpitude of the past that had ravaged our Eden had no effect on our necessary, chemical affinity. It was in this moment that she was mine again, and as always, I was hers. This event, immediately recorded by me and barely appreciated by her, was so perfectly singular that it inhabited a place beyond the flippancies of emotion. Agency and nature had conspired to create a new little infinity for us in that moment, a world in which we might suspend our animation, eternally to return.

>>12945919
oh that's neat
thanks anon, never thought of it like this

The drunken driver has the right of way
The loudest have the final say,
The wanton win, the rash hold sway,
The realist's rules of order say
The drunken driver has the right of way.

The Kubla Khan can butt in line;
The biggest brute can take what's mine;
When heavyweights break wind, that's fine;
No matter what a judge might say
The drunken driver has the right of way.

The guiltiest feel free of guilt;
Who care not bloom; who worry, wilt;
Plans laid better are rarely built
For forethought seldom rules the day;
The drunken driver has the right of way.

The most attentive and unfailing
Attentiveness if unavailing
Wheresoever fools are flailing;
Wisdom there is held at bay;
The drunken driver has the right of way.

De jure is de facto's slave;
The most foolhardy beat the brave;
Brass routs restraint; low lies high's grave;
When conscience leads you, it's astray;
The drunken driver has the right of way.

It's only the naivest who'll
Deny this, that the reckless rule;
When facing an oncoming fool,
The practiced and sagacious say
Watch out - one side - look sharp - gang way.

However much you plan and pray,
Alas, alack, tant pis, oy vey,
Now - heretofore - til Judgment Day,
The drunken driver has the right of way.

To Symon of Worcester, Graecian legend became alive. Parched, sun-weary, he stumbled onto it. Nestled within a forgotten inlet, not far from his master’s galley, the beauty slumped. Her marble walls reduced to rubble, her stairs cracked and fallen - the pillars that once upheld her crown toppled. Despite the heathen significance of the place, Symon couldn’t but lament the fane’s lonely ruin. Its aura moved him. The wild around felt her pain, masking the bruises of rude hammer-blows and doing its best to conceal the wrinkles of time. Despite it, Symon’s archer eyes had pried back the visage of pagan past.

Memories recurred of student halls of his youth. Illuminated vellum, tomes brought from Italy depicting the flower of Hellenic noble youths in war with Troy. Agamemnon, Achilles, Ajax. The elysian warriors fabled by the mystics of that golden age. Its chivalry secretly allured Symon, but he wasn’t as rash to dash an outward mien of piety. Clerical tutors being men of God, they weren’t keen on indulging their proud, impetuous students in the destructive passions of life before Him. Guilt arrested his excitement. Mass had never stirred this in him, as he now stood before a home of false gods.

Furtive steps took him closer. As if ensouled, a harsh dirge of sea-wind shrieked at his approach. Turn back, the salty breath exhaled, cutting into his doublet of murray. You are no supplicant of She. The Englishman forged on, relieved by the odd disappearance of sun behind mounting cloud. Faces peered up at him as he strode, submerged in hard earth and veined by vine. Carved eyes delved his own, enchanting him with a spirit belying inert rock. The corpses of idols; some strewn, bisected, while others entirely shattered. Exultant biblical verses echoed in his mind, the verse of the Church Fathers and Hebrew victors over idolatry. Perfectly chiseled, immaculate in their fealty to God’s creation, stone limbs reached out at him, or clawed toward their severed torsos grotesquely. All the more unnerving, for instead of revulsion he found himself admiring the Satanic forms. Never had he seen artistry like this in all his travels. Thunder answered the evil thoughts, a downpour washing the grime from his brow. What course could there be but to enter now?

WIP

This is what i have so far for the project of a bildungsroman that i provisionally titled "Degeration"

Laying on the sofa,an improvised replacement for the typical divan or swooning couch, he gave one last glance at her long seductive legs which - adorned by translucent black silk - seemed to suggest the very idea of infinity. He heard her words but it’d be more accurate to say he felt them; oblivious to any meaning, the vibrations alone carried him slowly and throbbingly away. The upholstery beneath him confused itself with the whole of the earth; he found himself submerged into a vast place; a desert perhaps, except the hot sand was replaced by the warmth of her bronze-coloured skin: A land of massive hills and valleys; a valley, covered in mist from a sacred stream and abundant with life… As her red lips moved and her mouth opened, the whole of the earth beneath him resonated in a steady rhytmic temblor until there was nothing but void under his feet. The voice compelled him to keep falling...

The first remembered flesh, he was on top of his distant cousin in a room which served as the changing room for the two boys at the summer house. The half-drawn blinds allowed strips of golden light to reveal the shameful act, projecting onto their nakedness and on the white sheets. “What is it? Do you want to play the man now?”

It wasn’t pleasant to remember that but he had felt the need to do so from time to time. It was almost a sense of duty, this memory seemed of some significance and it may have been lost if not revisited somewhat regularly. Now it was the first time that he was telling the story to someone else and he felt relieved, as if rewarded for all these years of duly guarding these misty vanishing images. It’d been transmitted and he was finally discharged of his responsibility, He opened his eyes and was pleased to see that more than fifteen years had passed and that he was home again.. He lurched forward and kissed her while grabbing her hip; she set her notebook aside.

>>12919649
The wind swirls over the deep
Yet the waters lie unstirred
Twin poles may never meet

Hidden in boundless night,
He sits, He watches, He breathes.
Silence; waiting in an empty tomb.
Yet a thought remains,
What does the air share with the earth?
Then a voice, a vision.

Lumps of clay rising above the dirt
Leaping and shouting
And glory and joy.

A great tree carries light upon its shoulders.
Below lies the fallen leaf
Trampled, withered.

Man of field and man of flock
Two they come and two they bring,
One hated, One loved.
Who can discern between them?

A sheepskin unfurled o’er the mountains,
The banner of heaven, bearing bloody writ:
That which is cut off
Will be united in the end
That which we give up
Will be restored
In the throes of death.

The body and spirit
Are torn apart
As the dove descends
Upon the weary world.

I need advice, i can't write dialog worth a shit and my description is lacking. I believe i can write about emotional states well enough but that's it. Here is a paragraph from a scrapped booked please tell me what's wrong.
>As I saw the mother and those tiny bodies emerge from the wreck I did the only thing I knew how to do. I pulled out my camera. Like it was the instincts of a savage animal I snapped as many shots as I could from inside my car so the police wouldn’t notice. I didn’t know if this was breaking news or not, I didn’t care. This is what I lived for, what I wanted. What we came here for, unbeknownst to Rachel. The horror faded, the pity faded, all the was left was joy. Behind the camera I wasn’t in the same reality as everyone else, I was a spectator, I was watching a movie, art unfold as I watched the blood drip down the gurney while they wheeled those innocent beings away from the wreck. It was an amazing experience.
It's edgy but out of context, i was writing a horror novel.

To destroy with fury is beautiful, to destroy your ego, yourself is to be a little closer to the broken and a litter farther away from the flawed. To break down the lies you speak, screech to others like a banshee. To disassemble the false pretense you are greater than savagery, that you are whole as you are. Not connected to the wilderness of this plane.
To create your finite span of limited ideals in the vortex of fury and share them with others is being possessed by vanity, to walk the line between heaven and hell. To walk through fire while staying poised and to speak fluently is an act of a demigod, an action of prowess from nothing.

lmao all the critiques in this thread

>>12948113
This post has excellent format, I really enjoyed the “lmao” part it really jingled my pringles, really thungled my bungles, really gave me an erection If I’m being quite perfectly honest.

>>12948122
yikes tryna be edgy. Mom I'm gonna make it as a writer because im not like everyone else huehue

>>12948141
Alas when the layers of satire fall and the curtains lift all that’s left is the will of the tendie mongrel “oh mother” he says “but mother I wanted my deceased pheasant cooked well” ‘‘tis but a joke” angerly he strikes the plate but what is life without trendies?

Rate me but no h8 pls

>>12935078
i like this

>>12947734
I would recommend you make this one sentence: you're clearly ramping up the energy and intensity in this passage as it continues, and making it a single sentence--a single thought--one that begins as a breeze and drops its composure, bit by bit, to take on the full force of a gale, would be far more effective.

This is autobiographical. rip

>>12945985
>which had served her as a dutiful barrier for most of the day having cocooned her in the safety of herself
A bit redundant and not very concise. Consider condensing.
>suddenly and unexpectedly welcomed my touch with its smoothness
General note: adverbs aren't innately evil, but you should always think about whether there isn't a more descriptive, emotive, or effective means of describing something, because, often, there is. Additionally, think about Eliot's notion of the objective correlative when describing something.
>The tension in my arm gave way and I drew her into my chest her nose resting comfortably in its centre
I don't know if proper grammar is something you are going for, but if it is, this ain't it. It's perfectly fine not to adhere to the common laws of grammar, but you need a good reason or consistency with what laws you break.
>My fingers slid naturally towards her neck, finding refuge against the gentle throbs of her heartbeat that persisted beneath her jaw.
Good. Not too little, not too much. Direct, descriptive, emotive. More imagery like this.
>This non-moment, this milquetoast discharge of pity from a tired and broken girl, giddy at the oncoming prospect of her departure took on significance only in my mind.
Aim to make every direct comment from the narrator like this. No one really gets anything from a person recapitulating the same tired descriptions of intimacy that have been used for millennia. People do, however, respond to something like this--that is, something that appears a fleshed--out emotion that is at once relatable and indicative of a character's distinctness.

>>12944207
best in thread
>>12944203
second best in thread
>>12926558
best of the bad in the thread
>>12932470
third best in thread
>>12935078
maybe one of the best in thread
>>12937853
stop writing

>>12946296
I really like this. I've always been a fan of repeating lines, but if I had one qualm it would be that the line keeps the same meaning. Try to change the meaning of the line with each stanza, maybe try again and tell a story about a loved one being injured/dying in the accident. Keep up the good work!

>>12949695
its a poem by ethan coen (the director)

>>12919649
I wrote up my usual day (Eric is not my real name.)

https://pastebin.com/74VGqX6T

I was thinking of adapting it into the beginning of a horror story, probably with vampires in it.

>>12947734
I think it's pretty good. Wouldn't really change anything so far. The other anon recommends turning it all into once sentence, but that doesn't feel right at all to me. It would run on for far too long, and even though you can technically do it, I'm not quite sure how skillful one has to be to make it work.

>>12949259
I took this as a challenge and the best i could do was three sentences and it's not as good fug.

Beauty lies in a single grain of sand. Ignition, a strong gale force of fire to mold the many thoughts you keep into a sharp edge, mirror or window. Fury is the aspect of titans that has flowed down our bloodline and lead to the moment of recognition that we are savages, through fire we speak, through pain we are born and brought into the world and into fire we return.

>>12929564
>tripfag

>>12950623
'...mirror or window'
Either explore this in more detail or drop it. I'm sure it's meant to be allusive but it comes off like you're grasping slightly.

'moment of recognition that we are savages'
Needs a comma, or maybe delete the 'that' and use a semicolon

The first sentence feels disconnected, commit solely to the fire symbol - sand etc. muddies it, unless you go deeper and connect fire and sand together in the creation of glass to link it with your mirror/window thing, but that'd probably require dropping the short, tightly flowing thing you're trying.

Otherwise it's decent, though in general I'd say if you're gonna use an 'archaic/mythic/allusive' style (idk how to describe it) you need to be sure what you're saying has novelty, which I think this is very close to having, or it comes off as parody/cliche. I realise you said this was just an experiment/challenge, but I thought I'd mention my thoughts anyway lol, gl

>>12922093
I liked that a lot anon. Could use some tweaking maybe but I liked it. Reminds me of Crossing the Bar by Alfred Lord Tennyson a bit

Like a quicksand, sinking deeper into the maw of despair there is no inspiration. A void so unfulfilled we look for things, things that destroy us further. A cliché of course but the emptiness is so pervasive and insidious that obsession is born from the dust that occupies your sanctum. A temple degraded, graffiti spelling out “love” next to broken beer bottles and an empty ash tray.
There is nothing more holy than the void, it is purgatory. Being unable to feel or think, it is clarity. This obsession with pain pervades our every thought. Refusal to change, refusal to grow. The stubborn necessity of man and his lust for the forbidden. Fruit so intangible to us we only know sorrow, believing there is something. Looking into the face of the void and the fruit, the snake. We see the face of god is a reflection, his broken failures forced into the world clawing, scratching to survive and present ourselves as greater beings. We are.

>>12923413
Fuckin sucks. You wrote the life out of the sentence.

>>12926552
>teach me how to write
1) Teach yourself how to read

>>12943683
sum1 pls give feedback on this pls :-DD

>>12952938
Hey give feedback to others :)))))

>>12953330
i did x-DDD
its in the post right after the one i wanted feedback on :-^)

>>12953371
None was on mine:) gl with getting feedback:)

>>12952938
>>12953461

There's a new crit thread, try your stuff there

>>12953461
haha okay faggot
how the fuck am i meant to know which one is yours anyway? x--DDDDDD

>>12953481
I didnt post baby, u mad tho aw bby u mad

War, the division of the self. Caught in a vacuum of terror and righteous anger. This maelstrom of heinous acts brings out the best and worst of man. Terror, very few have witness the aftermath of such raw devistation on the psyche, something that evades most people working to strive to avoid it. But terror is our savior, to be overcome with a force so greater than yourself you are but a babe in the talons of a hawk. True innocence stolen away as you fight to unveil what makes you, you. To lift all notion that you cannot do the undoable, the unthinkable. Freedom. Anger is to dispose the actions which are inherited by terror, a symbiosis of emotions that make you the man you always strived to be.

Bump I didn’t want to let the thread die.