/lit/ - Literature

Genre fiction welcome in this edition of /Critique/ by the way.

>>13506923
There are a few spelling errors, but it is very interesting and well written otherwise. Is it about alchemy, or something of the sort? Are you interested in alchemy?

>>13506923
masturbatory and boring

>>13507161
100% this.
Not even masturbating the reader.
It's the author having the reader watch the author masturbate and then ask, "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"
Trying writing for someone other than yourself.

I liked it, very much something you have to slow down to read though. That being a good or bad thing depends on what you want I guess.
Here's my grinding mill. Have fun. https://justpaste dot it/7i9lt

>>13507577
Wow, that was bad.
I hope this is was one of those "I'm intentionally trying to make it bad" sort of things, because otherwise, I don't know where to begin with how many problems there are with it and even I did, it's not worth the effort.

The bad days don’t come often anymore; at least, the real bad ones don’t. Yet they come regardless, and the pain they bring is concentrated and direct. A momentary flash of intense pain washing over and taking away any sediment of happiness I had been vainly holding on to.
Maybe I let it go. Maybe I push it away.
Then, afterward, a different kind of numbness sets in. Not the neutral work-a-day nonsense that more akin to the lack of feeling. This is a painful numb feeling like a lacking in everything, but there’s nothing to feel.
--
And when at last that void is filled in the hearts of men who have known the pains of bitter loneliness. All one can think is of the beautiful times once before and how they were never there to share them. And still, all one can do is but look ahead to when again the same bitter loneliness returns. Yet, times will carry on unchanged; unaffected by their separation. Then, at last, it becomes apparent that its not life that is too short, but that the time with others is.

I don't know it too late to think.

>>13507577
1st sentence you say the home was built to burn, like wood, then you say it's like fire. And what's going on in the first 2 paragraphs?

Introducing a character's name before we have a reason to care about them, unless immediately followed by one, immediately primes me to dislike them.

The whole intro is unnecessary, start with what is interesting.

All these little cinematic details and bits of description sound like you're trying to be language imitating a camera. But language isn't a camera so write in a way that's natural to language.

>>13507662
The good news is the writing evokes exactly the feeling it describes. The bad news is, guess why.

>>13506923
>No critique thread up.
are you retarded or something?

>>13507662
This looks like an angstpost on VampireFreaks by xxLordPainedSoulxx

>>13507662
>The bad days don’t come often anymore; at least, the real bad ones don’t. Yet they come regardless, and the pain they bring is concentrated and direct. A momentary flash of intense pain washing over and taking away any sediment of happiness I had been vainly holding on to.
>Maybe I let it go. Maybe I push it away.
>Then, afterward, a different kind of numbness sets in. Not the neutral work-a-day nonsense that more akin to the lack of feeling. This is a painful numb feeling like a lacking in everything, but there’s nothing to feel

>>13507697
This one was created before that one.

>>13507697
Write "critique" or "criticism" in the OP if you want your thread to show when people search that....

>>13507631
>says it's bad
>but doesn't give one small reason why to go on
How can I ascend to beyond shit if I can't see what's wrong, friend?

>>13507700
Lol yeah, that's fair I do genuinely want to die, but thanks for giving me a chuckle tonight friend.
:^)

And among the leaves there lay a toucan with a broken wing. It laid very still in the grass, it listened to the pitter patter of water nearby, it listened to the wind racing through the leaves in a never ending race to the edge of the rainforest, and it listened to the panting of an animal burst through a clearing right in front of the toucan’s eyes and then through the undergrowth away from whatever was chasing it. The toucan’s breath fastened and it tried moving away from the clearing but it was laid on its broken wing and moving at all caused immeasurable pain shooting all the way through the wing up into its head; the toucan waited on the ground to try again, mustering up the strength, it somehow clambered onto its feet and without a second it began to hop towards the closest bush and when it reached the brush, it tried hiding inside of it but the growth was too thick and the thorns too sharp and the toucan jumped back so it’s wing wouldn’t suffer any more.
And it settled upon another bush, just a little across the clearing: it had red berries and leaves had fallen on top and a large branch from one of the giant trees, and the toucan knew it would be safe. It hopped across the clearing carefully as little water droplets began to shower its nose, and it stood in front of the bush nibbling at a berry before entering and it stood enjoying itself for the first moment before the fall and when it stepped again, a branch broke underfoot. It cast its eye to the side for a better look but there were only leaves and it stepped inside the bush.
And as it settled down, there was another crack, and this time, a heavy breathing filled the air.


wrote this in about 5 minutes, does it build any tension is what i wanna know :)

“Summer is setting.” Mr Blake said.
For his step-daughter, the words bore resounding joy, as if the stars would align after a pregnant pause, as if the world would be choked in its humidity and reborn in an instant with its passing, as if the summer falling away among brown and red leaves (and those little chocolate seeds that her brother collected every autumn and set about piercing them with needle and thread until he had made a suitable weapon to compete against other boys, swinging them over and over until one cracked the seed or ones knuckles) settled that the little light on the horizon turning the sky warm shades of orange, yellow, and red would be visible to her eyes; yet for the moment she settled on a streak of sunlight waltzing in a dust gown and retrieved three dolls from her house that had to be kept beside the mantle piece (which had a great watercolor painting by a famous painter if you believed her mother) and set them down in the light because the brilliance of the setting summer could transfix the strongest and smartest of men and the prettiest of women and when her mother would discuss the painting she would always speak about of mice and men telling her daughter “You will want to marry a great man,” to which little Victoria would ask why and she was told she was very pretty and that a great man will change the world more so than a great love - the conversation would soon traverse into new grounds, a topic of her step-father’s choosing as he often moved conversation away from marriage and beauty.

>>13507715
Well, alright then.

>The boy’s home was built to burn.
>the home was simply nothing without a constant internal flame to engulf everything around it.
>Only two rocks were needed to make the sparks, the third family member simply watching his house burn before him.
Starting out with a metaphor like this is dumb. Most people are going to think you mean it literally and then be confused and drop it right away. Two rocks = parents.fighting in this silly extended nonsense.

>was the mystery of how dangerous the world really was.
Rolled my eyes at this melodramatic angst where domestic squabbles are HOW DANGEROUS THE WORLD IS.

and then it stops all momentum and goes into irrelevant masturbatory and angsty introspection

>nor did he even know alcohol existed, yet he knew the concept
This is a bad authorial voice. It's basically self-inserting as a the narrator and it's distracting. Not just this part.

>it was breakable by no more force than a word or the wind.
Seems unlikely, even by their own description.

How would his son not have seen his arm before?

This dialogue, especially for the mother, is really bad. Basically paper cut-outs of a person. Just talking heads saying what the author forces them to say.

>loaded gun out of holster
Are there even guns in this setting? What sort of setting this even is supposed to be is very unclear.


>“But then I’d lose my amazing, completely believable tale of tragedy.”
FACEPALM

There's so much else, there really is.

>>13507754
No, it does not.

>>13507764
Meandering dreck and dross.

>>13507793
What's wrong this mine >>13507764
Thanks in advance:) it's still in early development

>>13507809
Is this something to be an anthropomorphic toucan? Because you are anthropomorphizing a lot.

There isn't any tension for me because I couldn't care less about the toucan.


I assume this would be your ideal demographic and how they would react to it:
>OH NOES! BIRD HURT! =(
>YOU CAN DO IT BIRD, I BELIEVE IN YOU! =)
>OH NO, BIRD HAVE PROBLEMS! =X
>BIRD SAFE! =D
>WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO BIRD NEXT!? XD

Maybe they'd feel a bit of tension.

>>13507834
"something" should be "supposed"

>>13506923
Ballad of my dead wife
To hold the towel with which he wipes your translucent skin
Oh to lay my ear on the last beat of your veins once again,
I’ve kept your eyes in a white whiskey
Feverishly preserved now and tomorrow
You never felt in great comfort around me
Yet you lay in such rest, an elegant ease against the firm chestnut
I see you dance against the shadows
You were so tall then, my dear my love of fourteen Augusts
My warmth of fifteen summers
In your little sleep
You’ve found paradise across my glowing eyes
I saw you dress in a cult like white each evening
Such pain blooming across your low shoulders
As you wept into your ever coming sleep
You whispered well into my dawn.
Fade into my minds renown., fade out of memory
& grow an eternal warmth!

>>13507834
that wasn't mine...

>>13507784
Ah. Okay.
The only thing I'll defend is that the line you facepalmed over is sarcastic.
But yeah.

>>13507854
Seems not. My mistake. I was too eager to write about how dumb it was that I ignored that it wasn't what you wrote.

As for what you actually wrote, try reading it aloud. Way too many commas and parenthesis creating long run-ons that are far too much to read in a single breath as well as just being an unfortunate stylistic choice.

Also I don't really much more to say than it meanders all over the place while not really saying anything at all. What it does say is presented to be believed by authorial fiat, rather than showing why these assertions would be the case.

A lot of it seems to be there just because you want it to be there rather than serving any purpose. To me anyway.

>>13507860
I realized it was sarcastic. That was what I was facepalming about. He's mocking himself, but it's also meant to be taken seriously by the reader. In a way, it's you mocking yourself because you believe it's worthy of self-deprecation and yet you wrote it as such anyway.

So this guy who lives alone goes down to a bar at 3 in the afternoon for a pint. No one is there besides the bartender, who he abhors, so he orders an extra 2 pints just to be able to get though the small talk. 5 minutes in he's throwing back the second beer and trying both to ignore what the bartender is saying and listen in out of sheer curiosity and boredom. If you asked him why he listened at all he'd tell it he'd rather put a bullet in either ear than listen to this peppy fucker spew 10 more words from his gob like the piss flavored beer he served pouring out of the tap. Anyway, he hears the guy say something, while he cleans out the first empty glass, which he practically picked up the second it was put down, something about a man who had been in the bar the night before. Finishing the second beer, he nearly winces when the bartender reaches out his hand to grab it from him, and immediately considers punching him in the face before handing it to him begrudgingly. He always drank the first 3 as fast as possible, you get more drunk that way.

"Have you met him before?" the bartender asks?

"Who exactly?" he responds, obvious oblivious to the one sided "conversation", as it were.

"The man in the tailcoat?"

"Oh yeah, he's been here once or twice." he says, completely unaware of who the man in the tailcoat was.

"Really? I've only ever seen him here the one time, I guess you really are just here more than I am!" the bartender responds with the most infuriating grin one could imagine

What followed was a few minutes of silence, with only the sound of a rag cleaning glasses, and a mug being set down on the counter to be heard. Only until the bell rang, signaling the door being opened, did anything worth remarking happen.

"The man himself!' said the bartender

A man in a tailcoat, sits down at the bar, and asks for a glass of water.

"How was your anniversary?" he says

"It went perfectly" says, the bartender

"Did she like the gift?"

"Yes, she said it was exactly what she was hoping for!"

"That's good, guess it was a good thing I was here, wouldn't you say?"

"A great thing really, who else would have had those exact shoes for 10$?"

"I was on my way to the thrift shop, when I decided to stop here for a pint. My wife won't be needing them anymore."

"Glad you did. She really did love them."

The man in the tailcoat pulls a gold stopwatch from his pocket, checking it, he says:

"I guess I didn't have as much time as I would've thought. I'll have to get going."

He stands up, and begins to leave the bar, not before putting his hand on the shoulder of the other man, and saying:

"Next round's on me, eh?"

The bell chimes again, and the man in the tailcoat is gone.

"What a character!" says the barkeep, with the same grin

"A real stand up guy." the man says before finishing his third beer.

1/2

>>13507889
its meant to be a child who is thinking this, so like a stream of consciousness thing - thanks for the advice btw! Probably am just trying to be too alike Joyce and Woolf etc

>>13507897
Before he could ask for another, the bartender's phone rings. Checking the caller ID with a puzzled look on his face, he says:

"She never calls when I'm at work."

Flipping it open, and pressing it to the side of his face, he says

"Hello?"

His expression slowly changes from and inquisitive worry to one of utter terror and disbelief.

"W-wait, w-what? Who is this? Why do you have my wife's phone?"

"What's happening, who is it?" says the man on the stool

"T-they...broke?" says the bartender.

"What is it? What's happening?" says the man on the stool

"O-okay, I'll be right there."

"What's going on, is everything alright?"

"M-my wife, sh-she fell..."

"Is she alright? What's wrong?"

"I have to go" said the bartender, before throwing on his coat and running out the door to his car.

The bell stops ringing, and the man is left alone in the bar. He waits until the car is gone, and reaches over the bar to pour himself another pint. He catches a glimpse of something shiny out of the corner of his eye, the gold pocket watch, resting on a ten dollar note on the bar beside him. He picks up the stopwatch, and presses the button to open it. It flips open, and the man sees that there is only one hand, and one tick at 12 o clock on the face of the watch. it ticks closer and closer to 12 as he stares in disbelief, why would anyone create a watch like this? Why would the man in the tailcoat pretend to check it before leaving? Why would he leave it on the counter? Suddenly, the hand ticks one final time, and reaches 12. He feels something cold pressed against his ear, he turns to see the man in the tailcoat pointing a gun at his head. Before he could even think of why it was happening, or why the bell never rang. The man in the tailcoat says:

"Be careful what you wish for."

And a gunshot rings out through the streets.

2/2

>>13507889
I guess King's tier list is right. I've been trying to write for years and this is what my brain comes up with.

>>13507904
>>13507897
If you are going to do this much just dialogue, you may as well just go all the way and eliminate the beginning and ending exposition.

https://therumpus.net/2014/08/the-dialogue-novel/

Even so, rather unnatural dialogue.
Telling the reader what questions they ought to be asking is a rather "bold" choice.
Unclear what you are going for.
Best guess is that it's the opening to some conspiracy thriller or similar, but I may be entirely wrong.

>>13507950
It was just an exercise to see what I could come up with so it's not really very formal and all kind of me just straining one out for the sake of being able to

The end chunk of my prologue.

https://pastebin.com/2WbUQv9k

Accepting all input! Also posted in the Lit/SF discussion thread.

As they reached the end of a block, a car veered past them, with its tires sloshing a bucket full of water in their direction. Without hesitation, Nikolai turned around and told Albin to follow him. They weaved their way through a multitude of alleyways and backstreets, many times even back tracking, until they finally reached the cemetery. The graveyard, which was on the outskirts of the city, was fenced by rusty iron bars that spiked at the top. The main side of the fence, was split in two halves by an entrance which was wide enough to allow a crowd of people to pass through without touching shoulders. Whether it was torn off by an angry group of mourners, or because of the joints had rusted away, the gate of the entrance had fallen on the ground, outside of the cemetery. When Nikolai and Albin crossed over the metal and into the graveyard, their feet dug deep into mud. The ground ate and retched every step that they took, so that before having walked a meter away from the entrance, their shoes were caked with mud. While they weaved through the graves, Nikolai kept his eye out for the markings that were etched on top of each headstones. Those markings told him which row and column he was in.
Albin was enamored by the mossy statues that towered above the headstones. While some statues depicted men pointing swords towards whatever was in front of them, other statues were of men sitting on top of horses, gallantly striding towards the unknown. Many of the faces of those statues were withered away by the years and elements. Their expressions, some of which had stood still for what seemed like centuries, were barley definable. When Nikolai told Albin to stop, he was surprised to be in front of a gravestone that lacked a statue to tower above it.
“This is it?” Albin asked.
“This is it. Tonight’s the night,” Nikolai said while grabbing the shovel out of the bag.
The rain had started to pour harder, and lightining and thunder began to incesentantly dominate the sky.
“We should’ve gotten two shovels,” Albin said, barely able to hear himself.
“What was that?”
“We should’ve gotten two shovels,” Albin yelled.
“It’s alright. One of us is a look out, while the other digs.” Nikolai strained his voice against every word he said. After arguing with one another, Albin agreed that he’d look out, while Nikolai digs, so long as they could take turns.


1/3

Begining of a thing
Nettie Lonesome had two things in the world that were worth a sweet goddamn: her old boots and her one-eyed mule, Blue. Neither item actually belonged to her. But then again, nothing did. Not even the whisper-thin blanket she lay under, pretending to be asleep and wishing the black mare would get out of the water trough before things went south.
The last fourteen years of Nettie’s life had passed in a shriveled corner of Durango territory under the leaking roof of this wind-chapped lean-to with Pap and Mam, not quite a slave and nowhere close to something like a daughter. Their faces, white and wobbling as new butter under a smear of prairie dirt, held no kindness. The boots and the mule had belonged to Pap, right up until the day he’d exhausted their use, a sentiment he threatened to apply to her every time she was just a little too slow with the porridge.
“Nettie! Girl, you take care of that wild filly, or I’ll put one in her goddamn skull!”

>>13508086
The first pile of dirt which Nikolai threw behind him, was heavy with water. In fact, every shovel full of mud that he would fling back, was more water than it was it was mud. And every time he would go back to remove another pile of mud, water and more mud would simply spill back into the hole, making his work seem endless. Eventually, Nikolai reached a depth where he could dig without a significant amount of mud pouring back into the hole, however by the time he reached that point he was exhausted and so asked Albin to take his turn. Albin began to dig and with the second pile of mud that he pulled out of the ground, he realized what had made Nikolai so tired, so quickly. Yet he would not allow Nikolai to see his exhaustion and so he continued digging well beyond what he would have normally been able to endure. The hole went up to his knee by the time he handed the shovel to Nikolai.
“We should have brought a bucket,” Albin yelled.
“What for?”
“The water.”
“We’ll get through.”
Nikolai then continued digging. While Albin was the lookout, he sat on top of the gravestones and looked at Nikolai. Nikolai was mumbling uninteligable sounds to himself and every so often he’d look up at Albin, who would quickly turn his head away. When the hole was up to Nikolai’s waist, the men switched off. Albin would continue digging for far longer than he did the first time, and although Nikolai was conscious of it, he did not mind. After an hour passed by, the rain had only started to pour harder. The hole was starting to flood with water, and the mud itself, no longer able to absorb any more rain, leaked copious amounts of water. Yet it only took a single glance at Nikolai’s eyes for Albin to keep on going. By the time the water level reached his ankle, Albin felt a thump travel through the shovel and into his arms. He took another jab at the ground and once he was able to hear the hollow bang of a casket, he hurridley climbed out of the grave and said, “We reached it!”
Nikolai jumped into the hole and Albin followed. After the two man cleared the mud off the casket with their bare hands, they opened the coffin with a struggle. A cloud of dust followed, and while Albin’s heart tremored against his ribcage, Nikolai began breathing heavily. In the coffin there was nothing more than a pile of dusty clothes, beneath which lied a skeleton. Nikolai was the first to plunge his hands into the casket and begin picking the bones out. All Albin could do was sit in the corner of the hole, while he stared at Nikolai passionately throwing the bones over his shoulder.
“Come on and help,” Nikolai said while picking up the bones. Albin reached into the coffin and pulled out a femur. He could barely hold on to the porous bone and so he threw it back into the coffin. Yet he tried again and this time his grip did not fail him.

2/3

>>13508098
While he placed the bone just outside of the hole, he saw in the distance an unceasing ray light which inched closer towards his position.
“I think--,” Albin said, but was quickly interrupted.
“I think we got it all,” Nikolai said, but before he could climb out, a white light enveloped a grave and voice bellowed over the unceasing thunder.
“Stay right there!” it said. Albin obeyed the voice, but Nikolai knew that he didn’t have that luxury. With one smooth motion, he jumped up, grabbed the man’s leg and pulled him down. On his way into the hole, the man hit his head against the ground, causing a chunk of mud and grass to clop into coffin, and onto the pile of clothes.
“Get the shovel,” Nikolai yelled, while wrestling with the officer. When Albin got the shovel, Nikolai had already gotten the man pinned beneath his knee. Albin extended the shovel towards Nikolai, who responded with a glare.
“Hit him!” And before he could even register his thought, Albin had already sent the shovel crashing down into the officer’s head. He had no idea whether he hit the officer with the corner of the shovel, or with its broadside, yet what he did know is that upon impact, the officer no longer struggled. While he laid in the coffin with a gash in his head, Nikolai got up and brushed tried brushing the mud off of his pants. The officer twitched while blood pulsed out of his wound. When Nikolai looked up at Albin who stood there hugging the shovel, he looked back down at the police officer and covered his head with the clothes which were in the coffin. He then climbed out of the hole and began placing the bones in the duffle bug. Nikolai then pulled out of the mannequin and jumped back into the hole. The coffin was not big enough to fit both the mannequin and the police officer, yet after adjusting the man’s appendages, he barely managed to fit both of them in there. While trying to shut the coffin, Nikolai was having a considerable amount of trouble. At first he reopened the coffin and tried adjusting the man’s body again, yet despite seeing that both bodies fitted perfecetly in the box, he looked to his left and saw Albin’s leg in the coffin.
“Get out of there!” he yelled.
“Sorry,” Albin said and after a few seconds, he climbed out the hole. When Nikolai climbed out, he extended the shovel towards Albin and said, “It’s your turn.” Albin only looked at him with wide eyes. Nikolai’s pale skin and formless cheeks startled him. The way Nikolai’s arms seemed to twist towards his hand’s, whose fingers were barely discernable to Albin, made Albin’s heart sink.
“Take it,” Nikolai said, jerking the shovel forward.
“I don’t want t--. I can’t.”
“Yes you can. Just take it.”
“I can’t Nikolai!”
“Yes you can Albin! We’re this close to getting our inheritance. Don’t ruin it for us; don’t ruin it for your brother.”
The mention of Pyotr made Albin’s heart stop.
3/3

>>13507577
It was very hard to follow along. Although the prose in itself wasn't all that bad, the odd use of metaphors (especially in the first paragraph) confused me.

Also the premise was hard to follow. Do they live in the wilderness? Are they outcasts? etc

>>13508093
Really good tone, but it some wonky sentances here and there, which made the piece hard to follow.
examples:
> pretending to be asleep and wishing the black mare would get out of the water trough before things went south

> Nettie’s life had passed in a shriveled corner of Durango territory under the leaking roof of this wind-chapped lean-to with Pap and Mam, not quite a slave and nowhere close to something like a daughter.


But for sure it has a good tone, which seems to match the characters and what not

>>13508118
I agree with this anon.
Overall well-written, at least relative to what else has been posted here, if not in general.
Good job.

>>13508137
Any work you posted that you want critiqued?

>>13508046
bumping this!

Haven't done anything since middle school

https://pastebin.com/kpbW9Wna
>The gavel slammed against the steel desk to produce a crowd silencing echo. Immediately the mass of people that had assembled found seats in the dimly lit gathering hall. Surrounding everyone were the cold gray walls of metal and plastic which stretched beyond this room for a mile in either direction and has acted as a home to generations of people.

>While the gathering hall everyone had collected in normally went by Gatsby's today it fulfilled the job of presenting as a court room. At each exit sat intently 2 guards adorned in the trademark State Blue of the ship's military whose light blue pants and jacket was rumored to be the same color as the sky back on Earth. The guards stood looking in to the room past the public towards the 3 officials sat at a table elevated above the others. The officials sat at the head of the court room looking to the lone man sat at the only table between the crowd and the 3.

>“Todd Welder, you have been accused of the crime of Trespass, Murder, and Theft of Knowledge” The official kept his gaze at the paper in front of him. “How do you plead?”

“I’m no good at these things,” mumbled the Worker to the stranger on his left. A beautiful young woman. Blonde hair against a slim black dress. Before she could answer, she’d taken notice of the mud the Worker had tracked through the place. His old boots caked in fresh slop from the job site.

“I just don’t know what to say. They’re right there but they’re not.” The Woman was truly puzzled. Not wanting to be abrupt given the situation, she replied as best as she could. “I don’t think anyone is good at funerals. Nor should they hope to be.” The Worker groaned and maybe mumbled something under his breath.

The woman questioned “I’m sorry, what is your relationship with the deceased?” The Worker turned toward her with a grimace. “I’m in the construction business.”

She waited patiently for him to finish his thought until she realized it had already been completed. “One of your co-workers?” “Nah, one of my projects. We built a man out of pure mahogany and reinforced steel. I had just been given an apprentice role with the new company and we were given a one week deadline to complete the construction of a man made of pure mahogany and reinforced steel. He was the end result and now... all our hard work was for naught.”

The woman began to distance herself from the presumably mentally ill worker, who turned his gaze back to the casket. She turned her back and made her way closer to a crowd of family and friends. In the distance, she could hear the Worker wistfully remark, “We are the new Gods.”

>>13508046
https://pastebin.com/RMUMcL5u

Just had a bit of fun with what you wrote. Take it as you please.

>>13508242
I thought this was a good reduction of my voice - my prose can get kind of self-indulgent periodically. That said, some of the larger narrative stuff that'd otherwise be foreshadowing is lost here - the flashes of light in the courtyard are actually light magic, not fire, because the kid's mother was a dark sorceress. The armies attacking are the 'good guys'.

Otherwise, pretty good. Here's a bit from later with some other characters fighting.

Joshua gave Kellihan his cheekiest grin and took a step backwards, lifting his sword until the tip was level with his waist - he held it at the middle of his body, blade pointed forward and tilted downward just a hair. He could still hear shouting around him, but for the moment he was focused - and when the half-sworder tensed, Joshua saw it and prepared.
Kellihan lunged inwards, driving his weapon forward - but at the last moment he angled it downwards, aimed to drive into the top of Joshua’s boot. The boot, simple leather, would have provided no resistance against the sharp blade - but the prince was already moving backwards and the sword struck only sand.

“You’ve had training,” The champion commented. “From whom?”

“From him,” Joshua said, jerking his chin in Bellamy’s direction - the blonde knight was engaged in battle with a trio of shouting men, grinning and taunting them despite the pressure raining down from every side.

“I see,” Kellihan said flatly. “A bit unfair, but that’s life.”

The battle began anew - and as they fought, anger grew in his attacker’s eyes. Joshua would have expected the constant stream of thrusts to tire the man out and slow him down, but if anything he seemed to be speeding up.
His teeth were gritted now, stepping forward in aggressive motions.

Finally, he released the middle of his sword and reached out for Joshua’s hauberk - and the prince stepped inward, batting the champion’s sword aside with a simple right-to-left flick of his own. His sword descended to his left side, hilt clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and then he brought it back upwards in a sharp motion like a two-handed uppercut.

It had much the same function - although they were too close together for the blade to make contact, the hilt and pommel of his weapon slammed his opponent directly in the jaw.

Kellihan was lifted onto his toes by the force of the impact, hands dropping sharply to his side, and then hit the ground.

>>13508266
Hmm yeah, since I don't know the story I had to fill in the blanks myself.

Overall I would say you've written some very nice sentences, but the main problem I see is that you tend to mix diction levels, ie you'll use phrases and terms that belong to different contexts in the same sentence. Especially problematic is the use of contemporary phraseology with language supposed to evoke the middle ages.

>>13508275
Hm .. yeah, that's a good point. I'll work on it during my next round of revisions. 18 chapters and 55k words so far, so it's good to get stuff like that sorted in advance.

>>13508183
The dialogue is cringey and cliche. Also try to use stronger phrasing instead corny poetic shit when you're describing something. Other than that, it's got a nice sense of rhythm to it and the overall writing is solid.

>>13508474
Thank you for the feedback, the last thing I sat down to right was a bunch of flowery bullshit without actually saying anything so I tried to remedy it with this one. Can you point to a line you think is poetic shit so I know what particularly to avoid?

Everything in life costs money except for our love. Even when the dogs have cut me down they will not take this from me. I am there. From misery to misery and from defeat to defeat I am there. The loose ends of life will knot themselves.
When the bend and sway of road savages my happiness the blossoms of your love will line the highways of my miserable insanities to remind me that in a world where no one shares anything, you and I share everything.

>>13508340
The narrator is too pathetic to be relatable. He need to dominate the story more.
The flow of information is not seamless. It feels abrup between "...and get up early," to "I sat my pencil down..."
This is definitely on a higher level than most other writers though.

>>13506923

>>13508859
How many homosexual cliches can you fit into one paragraph!

>>13507764
>>13507889
If its purposeful, to create a sense of a childlike mind in the writing, would that make the writing better? I.e. the girl interested in the sun setting is because she can return to boarding school opposed to staying in a loveless household (I'm trying to get an 8-10 year olds mind in this to set up the next one which is a night in college which this afternoon affects)

This is the first paragraph though but I guess I could try make more succinct/interesting if it's not.

Just about the authorial fiat, what part are you referring to?

bump

>>13508859
cringe writing style, "mother hit me for that one"

make it mother hit me for that at least

I'm slowly learning
Turning, turning
Into something new and real
Alive

Slowly realizing
Something, something
I love is actually real
Alive

I'm surely dreaming
Nothing, nothing
Could ever be this real
Alive

Hold close your longing
Making making
You command it be real
Alive

Outside a quiet night on the farm. The night is full of stars. An old man, looking like some downtrodden troll in the near dark, holds fast onto a length of rope fastened to wooden beams along the short grass. The air is so clear and the night so calm that the old man’s haggard breathing can be heard crisply even at a distance. Up ahead warm light from an unseen fire illuminates the old man’s way. The old man stops and lowers his hood. His face is lined with deep wrinkles which grow deeper from worry. There is a buxom middle-aged woman stood nearby at the entrance to her home, blocking some of the light from the fireplace inside.

She calls out, “Any word from the others?”

The old man spits onto the grass and wipes away the bit of drool on his nobbly chin with the back of his forearm.

“Nah” he says, shaking his head, “The Innkeeper says he ain’t seen the boy since the day before yes-ter-day eve’nin. He says ‘it-be mighty irregular that Tobe ain’t been seen drinkin’ it up in there with the other lads.’”

“It’s not like him, Deegan!” says the buxom woman, ‘My boy hasn’t ever missed his supper two nights in a row, he’s a good-for-nothin’, but the least y’eh can count on ‘im being on time for his mummy’s cooking! So where is he?!’

Old Man Deegan knew this not to be an accusation. He was aware that Sophie-Ann knew he didn’t think much of her son at the best of times, but she trusted Deegan at his word during situations like this. Once Deegan had been offered the position of village Mayor, but the old man had turned the position down stating ‘I ain’t survived fe’h seventy-odd years to work harder than when I was a boy. Let a lively lad have-a-go at the job.’

>>13509809
In lieu of Old Man Deegan a younger man was given the position, but only after the old man had given his unofficial sanction of approval. The village had only continued to grow and prosper since then.

Now Old Man Deegan is sat inside the small farmhouse with Sophie-Ann, who sets down a large bowl of stew onto a wood table. Old Man Deegan however doesn’t have eyes for the stew, but rather for the deep cleavage-line of the middle-aged woman. Now those are a fine pair, Deegan thinks to himself, taking out his pipe and lighting it without once looking away from those beauties.

“Would you like some bread?” says Sophie-Ann.
Old Man Deegan gives a small gesture of ‘no thank you’ before helping himself to the stew. Sophie-Ann, having little else to do this time of night, goes to the window, her fingers nervously tugging on the front of her dress.

“I’m sure the boy’s alright.” says Deegan after taking a puff of his pipe, “He’s probably got drunk and is sleeping off the symptoms in some other farmer’s haystack.”

“But what if he’s hungry?” says Sophie-Ann, “My poor baby boy…”

Old Man Deegan helps himself to some of the stew. As he eats he thinks to himself, No wonder your boy is a pig-headed lout, you’ve coddled ‘im day and night.

A little bit later Old Man Deegan has finished his stew and put away his pipe. He stands, slowly, wearily. “Alrigh’ I’ll be off home now.”

Old Man Deegan has his wrinkled liver-spotted hand pressed gently against the front door when Sophie-Ann brings herself so close to him the warmness of her breath can be felt on his face, her eyes, wet with concern, blinking as they look pleadingly into his.

“You will look for my boy, won’t you? You will find him for me?” she says, her hands which are tough from daily work on the farm still somehow feel soft as silk to the Old Man who hasn’t been with a woman in over a decade.

“I’ll keep askin’ about” says Deegan, voice craggy from the unexpected closeness of the woman. Now her breasts, warm, large, and yielding, are pressed into his shoulder.

“You’ll find him?” says Sophie-Ann.

Deegan hesitates for a moment. In truth he plans to look for the boy over the next few days regardless of any reward, no bribery needed. But if Sophie-Ann was offering compensation who is he to object?

“I’ll find him.” says Old Man Deegan, “Sharpish.”

Sophie-Ann rewards him with a lovely wet kiss on his bony cheek, her face rosey-red and flustered now. “Thank you, Deegan. Good night.”

“Good night.” says Old Man Deegan, and he sets out into the night again.

Bump

A red truck shook down a trodden country road.There was a small antennae on top, as well as a black folding cabin, inside of which held a small television screen. In front of it was an air mattress, some books, along with empty bottles of whiskey and tequila. A man named John, of around forty seven, with long black hair and a ragged t-shirt, smoked a cigarette, quietly singing along with the radio. For hours he had driven, passing through empty counties and abandoned lean-to’s, stopping for gas or to use the bathroom. The trip had taken him two days travel, and he had been through truly desolate landscapes, of which he never knew would serve him purpose.

The truck lurched to a stop at a lonely intersection, the first of it’s kind for miles. OF course, no other cards idled around. Surrounding him completely were the rolling steppes of the states south of Arnham and east of the Carbon and Cenito Mountains. He took the oppurtunity to turn down his music and light another cigarette, the last of the pack. A sign, reading ‘Crafton 10 Miles’, stood just past the truck. Oppressively blue and gentle, the sky was, in the far distance, pierced by two smokestacks, which exhumed powder gray steam higher and higher. He drove the ten miles east and hit Crafton, a farming town of 2,450. He didn’t know of any hotels, but his disgust for his conditions gave him a near supernatural will, empowering one into existence. It was just past a bend in the road, and sat behind an imposing stone chimney with a gated entrance. The parking lot was near empty, not surprising given the location and time of day. HE emerged from the truck with a black backpack and a thick book under his arm. A run-down Dodge was in front of the door, and an obese woman with blue shorts and shirt rummaged around the trunk, smoking a cigarette. Upon entering, he was greeted by a small old man in suspenders and a Swords cap, who was watching a small television.

Quit lazy-posting you lazy bitches. It's a critique thread you must critique.

>>13508859
Isn't this Red Rising? The writing is fucking embarrassing.

>>13507662
i liked it, really good at evoking a feeling through words.

>>13507754
really nice. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live and die as a wild animal. The pain, the fear, it all must be so intense, but there is no one to write about it, there is no story of the despair, the hunger, the pain of living

>>13507843
Reminds me of the literature classes on romanticism I had in highschool. I can't feel this on a level any deeper than "aesthetically" though, maybe cause Im not into women but who knows

>>13507728
"If, by some chance, one of us tried to unburden himself or to say something about his feelings, the reply he got,
whatever it might be, usually wounded him. And then it dawned on him that he and the man with him weren't talking about the same thing. For while he himself spoke from the depths of long days of brooding upon his personal distress, and the image he had tried to
impart had been slowly shaped and proved in the fires of passion and regret, this meant nothing to the man to whom he was speaking, who pictured a conventional emotion, a grief that is traded on the market-place, mass-produced. Whether friendly or hostile, the
reply always missed fire, and the attempt to communicate had to be given up. This was true of those at least for whom silence was unbearable, and since the others could not find the truly expressive word, they resigned themselves to using the current coin of language, the commonplaces of plain narrative, of anecdote, and of their daily paper."
-Camus

AOC frazzled, seizing Trillhan’s hands
“Our time’s run out! Ill, make for the badlands.”
Petrels roaring above, the pair egressed
Their thermals masked by each savvy headdress
Matte muzzles, suppressed, their crew rolled quiet
Operating beneath dusk’s grey striate
Coldly, they survived by chicanery
Duping by feigned injured knavery
Chirping or hooting from marks’ three-o-clocks
One coiling, slinking up shadowed catwalks
Synced by signals from shared love of Muppets
Playing stupid games attracts comeuppance
‘If the mercs stayed home, they’d have faired better.’
‘Beats brunch with any DC trendsetter.’
Blowing gunsmoke like dandelion pods
Notching new counts from those swiss-cheesed shill squads
Trillhan spied two drones, her lifelong sixth sense
Snaking beneath sharp ravines, outcrops hence
The pair made good time to the forelorn LZ
Certain to face headlong the worst frenzy
Clap of klieg lights, Brock and his femme queer goons,
Varied pudgy aposematic loons
Trillhan unphased, eyes upon AOC
‘Is it too gross to bury them at sea?”
Seventy xirple strong, leathered Brock sneared
“Renounce USA, else these cannons smear!”
Three sennights’ of raiding, cleaning Shareblue
Exhausting fusillades and thermite spew
Shaivist brutal, elephantine sabots
Security was lax from Trump’s pay cuts
Kneeling shills begged, faces’ mucosal sheens
Girls vied in quips before spilling their beans
Stripping bloodied smocks and yoga attire
They bonded by a mobile hair dryer
Sneaking separate from the new ruins
AOC thankful for time with Cubans
Rendezvousing only at the next site
The pair oft tired to win without a fight
Pumping Kolokol-one in two or three
Rumoring exposure, transparency
Loosing rabid mastiffs and bright tree frogs
Cinematic shill ends help them saw logs

He was stuck. Trapped by this man in a tweed suit that smelled of liquor. A blank page between the two. "What do you see?" The stranger asked. He stared intently at his patient. Eyes glazed, no care or compassion shone though the small glasses that lay upon the crooked bridge of his nose. As the silence grew longer, sweat stack upon his brow, and with a single wipe with his frail hand he took it away, and with it fixed his wispy, brownish hair. "I asked, what do you see?" The intruder asked once more, more sternly, this time. Adam, the trapped young man, winced at the inquiry. He had nothing to say. There was nothing. Nothing upon this page. Nothing in his mind. He was empty, or at least, he felt so. Then, so abruptly, did a sharp tingle shake in his spine. Set upon by fear? Curiosity? Along with the shiver, came a visage of a snake, sprawled elegantly on the empty page. It was of beautiful emerald and gold, shimmering in its nonexistence. And it was gone. As soon as it appeared, it was no longer there, a fleeting hope. Adam opened his mouth to say that he had seen something, but he had already forgotten. He only remembered a line, maybe. Was it a line? Did he just blink? Either way, the man was not pleased. They had already been sitting there for hours. Staring at this blank page.

>>13511175
Got me lol

>>13508769
Good ideas thanks

>>13511409
It's posters like you that keep me coming back to this board. Never ceases to amaze me how I can go from laughing at myself to a moment of deep thought elicited solely by a well placed Camus quote. Truly a board of extremes. Positive and otherwise.

>>13509818
i like!

>>13511524
>Then, so abruptly, did a sharp tingle shake in his spine
this is the only sentence portion I think feels a little awkward but other than that I like

I wrote this but I can;t tell if I suck

also I'll review, but not on this post, I want someone to be honest

>>13511516
the first paragraph portion is trying to tackle a pretty big concept and it kinda isnt enough to realy tangle with such a big idea, but the second paragraph is a refreshing followed and your writing is good and consistent htroughout

>>13508340
the present tense of every sentence makes the main character come off as neurotic and a little alien. I don't know if that's what you
re going for, but the insights of the narrator are interesting enough that I'd keep reading regardless of the intended vibe

While he placed the bone just outside of the hole, he saw in the distance an unceasing ray light which inched closer towards his position.
“I think--,” Albin said, but was quickly interrupted.
“I think we got it all,” Nikolai said, but before he could climb out, a white light enveloped a grave and voice bellowed over the unceasing thunder.
“Stay right there!” it said. Albin obeyed the voice, but Nikolai knew that he didn’t have that luxury. With one smooth motion, he jumped up, grabbed the man’s leg and pulled him down. On his way into the hole, the man hit his head against the ground, causing a chunk of mud and grass to clop into coffin, and onto the pile of clothes.
“Get the shovel,” Nikolai yelled, while wrestling with the officer. When Albin got the shovel, Nikolai had already gotten the man pinned beneath his knee. Albin extended the shovel towards Nikolai, who responded with a glare.
“Hit him!” And before he could even register his thought, Albin had already sent the shovel crashing down into the officer’s head. He had no idea whether he hit the officer with the corner of the shovel, or with its broadside, yet what he did know is that upon impact, the officer no longer struggled. While he laid in the coffin with a gash in his head, Nikolai got up and brushed tried brushing the mud off of his pants. The officer twitched while blood pulsed out of his wound. When Nikolai looked up at Albin who stood there hugging the shovel, he looked back down at the police officer and covered his head with the clothes which were in the coffin. He then climbed out of the hole and began placing the bones in the duffle bug. Nikolai then pulled out of the mannequin and jumped back into the hole. The coffin was not big enough to fit both the mannequin and the police officer, yet after adjusting the man’s appendages, he barely managed to fit both of them in there. While trying to shut the coffin, Nikolai was having a considerable amount of trouble. At first he reopened the coffin and tried adjusting the man’s body again, yet despite seeing that both bodies fitted perfecetly in the box, he looked to his left and saw Albin’s leg in the coffin.
“Get out of there!” he yelled.
“Sorry,” Albin said and after a few seconds, he climbed out the hole. When Nikolai climbed out, he extended the shovel towards Albin and said, “It’s your turn.” Albin only looked at him with wide eyes. Nikolai’s pale skin and formless cheeks startled him. The way Nikolai’s arms seemed to twist towards his hand’s, whose fingers were barely discernable to Albin, made Albin’s heart sink.
“Take it,” Nikolai said, jerking the shovel forward.
“I don’t want t--. I can’t.”
“Yes you can. Just take it.”
“I can’t Nikolai!”
“Yes you can Albin! We’re this close to getting our inheritance. Don’t ruin it for us; don’t ruin it for your brother.”
The mention of Pyotr made Albin’s heart stop.

>>13513059
Thanks Anon, and yeah, I agree. I think writing about anything general/universal enough is pretty hard without sounding grandiose or banal—I don't know if it's salvageable, maybe I'll just skip that part and write something less abstract.

>>13507764
this contains a 273-word sentence. fix that first.

>>13508086
pretty smooth prose. a few errors with commas and such (e.g. "the main side of the fence, was split in two halves ...). i love the imagery of "the ground ate and retched every step that they took."

>>13508183
a real judge wouldn't ask the fucker to "state his cause." he'd just convict him. guilty is guilty.

>>13508193
is referring to people with an uppercase generic noun cliché yet? because it ought to be.

>>13510375
a better writer than me told me that dashes are a crutch. you have three different lengths of them, like estonian vowels. also people will know when you steal shit from fucking spongebob, you amateur wumbologist. pull your head out of your cunt.

>>13513045
>ichor
waaaaaaaaay too purple. take out every other adjective and see if it's still a story.

>>13514269
>>13507764
Can you give this some feedback

>>13514269
>a real judge wouldn't ask the fucker to "state his cause." he'd just convict him. guilty is guilty.
Ship justice is different justice

Excerpt:
The old man stood at the window looking out at faces he did not recognise, people he could not love. Young and old, wealthy or poor, all had been touched by the change which swept through the city like a wind of death. And indeed, there were fewer in the streets than before; it was morning and he counted from his window only a dozen or so, all fleet-footed and buzzing. Each departed as the day drew on—he heard them chattering amongst themselves, speaking of strange countries and customs—until at last they left him behind.

Ducking to avoid the overhead beam he regarded his little room. Nothing more than what was necessary. Once he had enjoyed some luxury in his living but no more. It is as if everything is floating away, he thought to himself, leaving never to return. Everything siphoned off to that far place of which the strangers spoke. It was this thought that amplified his grief when he looked to the painting mounted on the right-hand wall above the hearth. He let out a whimper as he shuffled toward that oil artwork, a scene of worldly instruments, of vials and calipers, brushes and dials—tools of a different age. He rung his hands before the frame, gazed up at it with reverence, then crossed skittishly to the desk near to it. A book lay open there.

Been told that I have, "Good sentence variation" and a solid, "Narrative voice," although I'm fairly sure those people were just being nice. Feel free to tear apart.

>>13506923

(I just wrote this in another thread. Please give me pointers on my writing. I didint post stuff Im righting now cos its too incoherent and i plan on rerwriting it)


In his heart sammie the frog knew he was tainted. He is a criminal and he is about to give himself in its the right thing to do as his mom tough him, and why would he disobey her more now?

Following the guilt of his act which had started to consume him moments after it had occurred he had set his mind to give himself in only stopping by his home to put on his pajamas so that the police would not waste clothes on such a deplorable creature as himself. But on his way to the police office doubt had started setting in and freedoms kis was on his neck as if seducing him not to go, "The wind" he thought "ive always loved the wind on me, best enjoy it now before I rot away" the words echoed in his mind mechanically as his heart was numb with shock.he could not fully grasp the crushing weight of the underlying concept behind this neither could he fully grasp his surroundings, he was in a sort of trance upon the rock he stood on.

And then suppresed thought started burst in his mind like an unholy catharsis.

"No"

he waited tensely for his morality to fight against this thought and when it did not happen he cautiously continued his train of thought like a child would silently move while attempting to take something they shouldn't

"Why should I give up my freedom? For what? Im already a dreg and as soon as society receives this knowledge from the bloody mess ill be treated as such until the coppers pick me up and then ill be pleasantly forgotten like a inconvenience by those housewives and there twin faces" he spat to one side "HA!" he croaked "fat chance" he took of his pajamas and set of far away to find freedom

And thats how sammie the frog became sammie the wiseguy

>>13506923

(I just wrote this in another thread please give me pointers on writing the other stuff ive written is lacking of anything worthy of serious consideration yet)

In his heart Sammie the frog knew he was tainted. He is a criminal and he is about to give himself in its the right thing to do as his mom tough him, and why would he disobey her more now?

Following the guilt of his act which had started to consume him moments after it had occurred he had set his mind to give himself in only stopping by his home to put on his pajamas so that the police would not waste clothes on such a deplorable creature as himself. But on his way to the police office doubt had started setting in and freedoms kiss was on his neck as if seducing him not to go, "The wind" he thought "I've always loved the wind on me, best enjoy it now before I rot away" the words echoed in his mind mechanically as his heart was numb with shock.he could not fully grasp the crushing weight of the underlying concept behind this neither could he fully grasp his surroundings, he was in a sort of trance upon the rock he stood on.

And then suppressed thought started burst in his mind like an unholy catharsis.

"No"

he waited tensely for his morality to fight against this thought and when it did not happen he cautiously continued his train of thought like a child would silently move while attempting to take something they shouldn't

"Why should I give up my freedom? For what? Im already a dreg and as soon as society receives this knowledge from the bloody mess ill be treated as such until the coppers pick me up and then ill be pleasantly forgotten like a inconvenience by those housewives and there twin faces" he spat to one side "HA!" he croaked "fat chance" he took of his pajamas and set of far away to find freedom

And that's how Sammie the frog became Sammie the wiseguy.

>>13516674
>Following the guilt of his act which had started to consume him moments after it had occurred he had set his mind to give himself in only stopping by his home to put on his pajamas so that the police would not waste clothes on such a deplorable creature as himself.
Your prose is a nightmare. I stopped reading after this.

>>13516715
Holy shit. That's abysmal. Was this written when drunk?

>>13516674
This might be the worst thing I've ever read on this board. Maybe ever.

>>13516715

Thanks

Ill check out sources on prose and try to make it better

>>13516751
>Ill check out sources on prose
Books. Sources on prose are books. Just. Read a fucking book.

>>13516674
Is this a joke? It reads like an 8 year old spamming his keyboard and then some illiterate adult shoving in "big words" here and there to give it some intelligence. This is fucking trash beyond trash.

>>13515278
Anyone? Much appreciated.

>>13516759
>>13516747
>>13516732

did int think my English was that bad

either way thanks for the feedback

>>13516783
Man, it seems you can barely type. I'm sorry if you're not an English speaker. I was too hard on you if that's the case, but if the language is primary then... Shit.

>>13516770
If you want people to crit your work you should offer critiques as well. The only way these threads work is if everyone crits before posting their own.
>>13515278
I find the rhythm of your sentences a bit monotonous, in all honesty. Your prose is fine, not impressive, but not bad by any means. These two paragraphs seem like they come from the middle of a story, but if this is the start of something it annoys me. I really dislike when an author uses being vague to impart mystery. Like
>Everything siphoned off to that far place of which the strangers spoke

I wOnDeR wHaT tHe PlAcE iS!!!

but thats a personal thing. i think it's over done.

>>13516795

lol, im writing English for English people to read if thats how you feel about it, its fair critique even if English is my second language

>>13516817
Thanks for the critique. I suppose you're right. It is a bit of a cliche, isn't it, to allude to something in such a way? I can see why it would be annoying. Can you point to monotonous sentences? I'm not saying there aren't any, I just actively try to vary my sentence lengths and create as natural a feeling as possible. A long way to go, obviously.

Thanks.

>>13509035
Not that anon, but the voice of the narrator here knows too much, and the whole thing lacks the dreamy quality of childhood. If you're aiming to write from the third person perspective of young Victoria as it were, you need to try and think like a kid. Kids don't know a lot, which you seem to be trying to portray here, but what you fail to realize is that most kids will make up for their lack of knowledge with theories, or imagination. Kids aren't stupid, they just don't know enough to understand what certain truths are, but they're still trying to figure things out, and what you end up with is a child filling in the blanks with all kinds of strange ideas. An example from my own childhood: when I was a kid, probably about six or so (your character is older than that, but still), I didn't yet really understand the concept of gravity as a natural law. Seeing that things like balloons could float and needed to be tied to strings, I somehow got it into my head that the reason we kept flags on flag poles was because they too could float away if untethered. I kept on with this erroneous belief for some years after, since I had decided it was true in my head and never mentioned it to anyone, eventually of course discovering that flags don't in fact float away into the atmosphere.
What is key is the childish sense of understanding, and filling in the blanks with strange ideas about things they fail to understand, but with their own simple wisdom, they yet manage to comprehend in primitive ways. One thing children have over adults is their perception of emotion is more keen, so they tend to make logical leaps with emotional substitution.
Another thing about the looking back when she's older, is that you can highlight the difference between her childish understanding and her new adult understanding. Perhaps she remembers fondly the way she thought as a kid.
I recommend you read some kid's lit, like The Little Prince or Alice in Wonderland. Children enjoy fantastic stories because they don't entirely require suspension of disbelief. They simply believe and enjoy the exercise of imagination. Imagination is like a muscle, and children have strong imagination because they make use of it. As they grow and understand, they have less need of it, and it falls to disuse.
That's what I think anyhow. Hope this helps and makes sense.

>>13515326
I don't get it but I like it
>>13515278
i know it's not really an action scene, but it could use a little more 'sharp points' if that makes sense? like it feels soft and kind of melds together, but your language is really nice
>>13514269
I like it, whats the context?
also I'll try to de-purple my stuff, thanks for the crit

>>13516886
>>13509035
Also, one more thing. As to the actual prose, it is pleasant and fairly vivid, if a bit purple, but the run on is very distracting. The reason you write in varied sentences within a paragraph is to give the reader time to digest each idea as they read it. Think a little bit more about both specifically what you're trying to say here (what ideas you want to impart) as well as what action and emotion you're trying to convey to the reader. Then write sentences based on the progression of ideas and emotion. It adds strength to your writing and makes it both more pleasant to read as well as more understandable.
I particularly enjoyed the phrase "yet for the moment she settled on a streak of sunlight waltzing in a dust gown", I can imagine the sun meandering its way down the sky. You also impart the stress of her parent's relationship fairly well, the mother's snide comment about marrying great men is written in a way that makes it clear that Victoria didn't understand it, but an adult reader will. There is definable some good work here, you just need to restructure it and try again for that magical wonderment of being a child.
Another book I'd recommend taking a look at is What Maisie Knew. It does well to portray a child grappling with the social politics of adults and trying to understand.

There were many girls like her working for the Spilazzo Mob. Girls from families who couldn’t pay off their debt, homeless women, women who couldn’t make a living for their children and in their moment of indigence decided to bargain their life away to the Mob. They seldom spoke of their situations to one another beyond a few words. But those same few words coupled with suffering eyes told stories more profound than even the weightiest tomes; and so it was a general rule that each girl had an unspoken understanding of the situation the others were in.

>>13516992
>stories more profound than even the weightiest tomes
Don't start off saying you're talking about something deeper than previous books, it's awful.

"So, you're into this black magic shit right?"
He gazed with glassed eyes at the deck of cards lazily shuffling through her hands, a shard of sightline in some moments hanging on a glimpse of a cup and a wand, on others moreso on her fingers and thighs, a gold ring on her right.
"Tarot is hardly black magic, at its worst it's a random numbers generator flavored by very loose symbological tolerances, at its best its just a snapshot taken of the heart of those that dare stake their lives on 78 pieces of cardboard".
She placed the deck at her side and they passed a bottle of spirits betwixt themselves, cutting clashing figures amongst the dashing pine, rays of a dying day's sun filtering through the needles with the cool breeze of the eve. She took a sharp slug and shook as it hit her throat. He took one of his own in turn.
"You have to admit though," she said. "They're some fine lookin' pieces of cardboard".
"All horseshit spun about like a wheel on a gypsie's cart" came the reply.
"Well, they did start out as regular gambling decks".
"Just like the peasantry to raise their shitty lots to the same stature as the heavens".
He took pause and let the moment die out, lighting a cigarette. Fingers of the sun still clung through the branches and barely crested the hills, the dark steadily encroaching and bringing with it the colder heirs of the night.
"Do me a reading".
"You're not getting anything fancier than a three card spread I hope you know, I'm no expert and I can't be fucked to remember how they all go. But right, alright! Fine."
She grabbed the neck of the bottle and took it from his hands, replacing it with the deck.
"Shuffle that, and think of a question while you do it".
A furtive narrowing of his eyes flitted across his face as he deigned to entertain the request. A haughty tone emboldened by the spirit rebelling within him carried on the wind with his exhaled breath: "About fucking what?".
"Anything, everything, the call is yours" she said, sipping from the bottle with teacupped hands.
"And don't tell me, I prefer my readings as plain as all can see".
He exhaled once more as he shuffled the deck, the cigarette hanging from his lips breathing back into his eyes. A minute and a half later he motioned his lack of knowledge in the proceedings and she wordlessly took the cards back from him. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, let it out, and took the top three cards and lay them face down between their seated forms.
She flipped them over one after the other. The Fool reversed, the Three of Wands, and The Tower.
The fortune teller took the last card, and said: "Your past is your future."

As my predecessors in crime, I had once been traveled
Though sands and seas unknown I’ve been shown
It had taken much time, I had with knowledge been saddled
Lands I’ve owned, bones I’ve thrown, planes I’ve flown
I celebrated my hundredth year, at many sights shed a tear
I believe I shine; I lead a clean mind not addled
Meditated in places queer, braved dangers despite fear
Only when at rest I sighed, my experience cannot be denied
I returned to my chamber at nine, yet with my heart my grappled
Despite having tried, I have at once died.

>>13516886
dude thank you so much. If you have anything to drop then i'll look over it! >>13516967 i've written like 40k of this which will probably be cut down a lot but hearing some actual feedback and where to improve has made me feel so much better about it. Thank you for the recs, i'll read them this week!

Doing a sample article to try and get a job writing articles and blog posts and shit. Would really appreciate an opinion on this first bit.


A PSYCHEDELIC QUESTION

When people hear the word psychedelic, they think, otherworldly and outrages things. Most succumb to flashes of the drugs that fueled the latter half of the sixties which inherently threw psychedelic chemicals into a category of criminality. By then, LSD had become their problem child. So, next time you thank your dealer, make sure to thank Uncle Sam too. Although, there had always been the natural alternative, Peyote, Ayahuasca and Psilocybin mushrooms just too name the staples. Most of these have been submitted to a schedule 1 drug felony. Schedule 1 interprets the drugs of it’s caliber too have no medicinal value with a heavy risk of psychological and physical addiction. While I can agree with the government's opinion on most of the drugs listed as a schedule 1, I cannot help but to be enamored with the idea of a psychedelic experience, improving a life medically and or mentally.

>>13518385
check your spelling before posting?

>When people hear the word psychedelic, they think, otherworldly and outrages things.

change people to
>you
it influences the reader and makes it more personable

>Most succumb to flashes of the drugs that fueled the latter half of the sixties which inherently threw psychedelic chemicals into a category of criminality.
Very unpersonable. It is not an essay, you are not trying to argue academically, you are writing for the public, right? Make it for them, not for pseuds.
> threw psychedelic chemicals into a category of criminality
this sounds political, what's the point of it? Is this a political piece hating on the criminalization of drugs?
>By then, LSD had become their problem child.
change their to your if the target audience is druggies
>So, next time you thank your dealer, make sure to thank Uncle Sam too.
reads ok, directly at reader, ok
>Although, there had always been the natural alternative, Peyote, Ayahuasca and Psilocybin mushrooms just too name the staples.
check spelling, like jeez. Are you trying to shill drugs or not. Decide. Giving more information regarding different natural drugs is irrelevant if you don't know why you are writing.
> Most of these have been submitted to a schedule 1 drug felony. Schedule 1 interprets the drugs of it’s caliber too have no medicinal value with a heavy risk of psychological and physical addiction. While I can agree with the government's opinion on most of the drugs listed as a schedule 1, I cannot help but to be enamored with the idea of a psychedelic experience, improving a life medically and or mentally.
so you are shilling drugs? Have the key focus in your mind and write from there.

>>13518385
Reads as someone that's never really been into drugs and has just skimmed a bunch of wikipedia articles.
As someone that has done some high as fuck doses of mushrooms and acid, you clearly haven't touched them yourself.

>>13518381
>i've written like 40k of this which will probably be cut down a lot but hearing some actual feedback and where to improve has made me feel so much better about it.
>40k
Very nice anon, and I get it about receiving feedback. It can be such a relief, that's why I enjoy these threads. I don't have anyone irl to really seriously critique my stuff and anons have helped a lot in that regard, so I like to give back occasionally. I would recommend taking my advice with a grain of salt, but nonetheless I'm glad if it helped.
Very best of luck to you.

>>13518446
No ive done psychedelics. Thats sorta what im going for. Im trying to make money not write anything important desu my man.

>>13518440
You know its funny i originaly had people as you but changed it.
>its not an essay
Youre right. I think it definetely needs to be more perosnal.
Im not shilling drugs or anything and the political stance only comes in to play because i want to go in the mental benefit of psychedelic drugs do to the recent news of places decriminalizing it and what not. And yeah i should work on that spelling lol. Thank for the advice man. Im thinking about ending that into with a question to flow into the topics.

On the average night, I oftentimes find myself here at this window, staring at the city in the distance. Seeing my accomplishments fills me with pride, and reminds me of my purpose. Tonight however, nature conspired to steal the world away from me, and so there was nothing. Nature, I learned a long time ago, largely creates unfortunate, unchangeable realities.
To the existential spite of nature, Fritz and them were roaring in the courtyard, which was unusual for this hour. Normally, the delivery cart of carcasses arrives, they tear through its contents like a knife through wet paper, and their lust is normally sated. Yet, here they were, primally howling as I once knew them to do so, their desire dripping from each vibration. I could not see them, but I was glad I could not. Let them revel in their inhumanity and let the shadows see them as monsters. Let them temper themselves to a standard of humanity we agreed on, and let me see them as the people who I owe my accomplishments to.
Out of all of us, Fritz and them cared the least about their inhumanity or their appearance. I know this simply from how long I’ve known them. They gave up on achieving that dream of human decency a long time ago. Everyone involved gave up their humanity a long time ago, though it could be argued that the Colonel and the Captain never stopped trying to embrace theirs’, now a ghost of the long-since dead. Still, time has made us content with our irreverence, and with our actions. But, when you are in the position we are in, you require a certain humane nature, which we manage to bring. Even if I carry the brunt of it.

>>13518550
that wasn't meant to see negative btw, but it seems like you have an opinion, use that opinion, don't water it down. Try reading more of similar texts too! Gl with the jobs btw :)

>>13518797
All good in the name of critiques my friend! I appreciate the words and ill take them too heart. Maybe i should just write out my oponion, itd probably come out more genuine. And thanks man hopefully it works out. Id like to mention that this is just a sample writing peice. They asked for a sample of writing too see if i get the job.

>>13514269
Imagery is incredible. Prose has some chopiness here and there, but its nothing that a round or two of editing can't fix.

I also wanted to comment on the cursing. Of course I know its a stylistic thing, so take what I say with a grain of salt. (I may be very wrong, and afterall I'm learning as well).

Nonetheless, sometimes a lot of cursing may seem jarring and choke up the flow of the piece. Ask yourself to what extent it is necesary, and see if you can portray the emotional power of the curse word using other elements.(for example, imagery, dialouge, actions, etc.)

See how necessary the cursing is. Nonetheless, the imagery was beautiful and the prose was pretty good. Please keep up the good work and keep on writing!

>>13514269
>>>13510375
>a better writer than me told me that dashes are a crutch. you have three different lengths of them, like estonian vowels. also people will know when you steal shit from fucking spongebob, you amateur wumbologist. pull your head out of your cunt.
lol good catch

as for yours, I like a lot of it. Only thing I'll say is about this:
>Julie McConnell walked home... A snow sky.
I feel like this should all be one sentence (so ice: A snow sky instead of ice. A snow sky); or leave out the snow sky sentence altogether; or salvage it by adding a verb so that the snow sky does something. When you restate an image in plain prose by way of summary or explanation it seems like you’re breaking the 4th wall to tell the reader directly what you’ve just said because you lack confidence in your more difficult image. "A snow-sky" accomplishes nothing but that. You try to make it poetic by brevity, but it’s flat and static.

>>13518918
good catch to you too! it reads a lot smoother when you take that out. danke.
sorry for being so abrasive, too; I probably shouldn't crit people when I'm drunk
>>13518885
the cursing is mostly specific to the narration about this character. it won't be showing up in most of the piece, but I do see how it could be pared down a bit. thanks!

wrote this in 8 minutes :/

i found god in the slaughterhouse
between the ribs
snouts, muscle, tendons and teeth
like pearls in their embryonic peacefulness
i saw him
smiling
the swinging limbs covered his eyes
they hung like Christmas ornaments
or bodies hanging from The Bridge
red angels circling around
praised be
they sing, or screech,
you can’t tell the difference anyways
sobbing, screeching, laughing
my ears catch each note, each whimper
for even the wailing of a sacrificial pig
is better than molding silence.

>>13519046
>good catch to you too!
uhh I'm not the person you were critiquing, I'm just some fucking guy, sorry for the confusion

https://pastebin.com/r8auDrFa

>>13507754
Why would I care about a dumb bird? You've given me no reason to feel for it. In order to build tension, I need to know why I care about the bird dying or not dying. It's not badly written at all, but it sort of meanders along.

>>13507897
>So this guy who lives alone goes down to a bar at 3 in the afternoon for a pint

yikes...

INT. INN
An innkeeper ushers Andre and Philippe into a private room brightly lit by a fire of logs at the far end, where the Marquis and the Chevalier sit in hushed conversation.
The noblemen share an ominous glance as Philippe makes his way toward them.
Andre closes the door, then follows his friend to the table in the back.
MARQUIS
You oblige me by your prompt courtesy, M. de Vilmorin. A chair, I beg.
Philippe takes a seat across from the Marquis and the Chevalier.
MARQUIS
(noticing Andre)
Ah, Moreau? He accompanies you, monsieur?
PHILIPPE
Oh, he—
ANDRE
If you please, M. le Marquis.
The noblemen share another glance.
MARQUIS
Why not? Find yourself a seat, Moreau.
Andre sits down next to Philippe.
PHILIPPE
It is good of Your Grace to have allowed me to continue the subject that brought me to Gavrillac.
The Marquis crosses his legs and turns to face the blaze, holding out one of his gloved hands.
MARQUIS
The goodness of my request we will leave out of question for the moment.
Philippe's eyes shift to Andre, then back to the Marquis.
PHILIPPE
But I am grateful that you would consider to hear me plead their cause.
The Marquis stares back at Philippe over his shoulder.
MARQUIS
Whose cause?
Philippe is baffled at the Marquis' ignorance.
PHILIPPE
The widow and orphans of this unfortunate Mabey...
The Marquis looks from Philippe to the Chevalier, who smirks.
MARQUIS
My object in requesting your audience is related to ... expressions you displayed during our brief acquaintance at Chateau de Gavrillac. It is on the subject of those expressions, monsieur, that I would hear you further.
Andre grows tense, sensing something sinister in the air.
Philippe appears no more than mildly surprised.
PHILIPPE
I am at a loss, monsieur. To what expressions do you allude?
MARQUIS
It seems, monsieur, that I must refresh your memory.
The Marquis recrosses his legs and swings sideways on his chair to face Philippe directly.
MARQUIS
Infamy was the word you used to describe the act of summary justice upon this thieving fellow Mabey, or whatever his name was. You did not retract that word when I informed you that it was by my orders that my gamekeeper Benet proceeded as he did.
Andre freezes.
Philippe considers his words carefully while the Marquis draws a GOLD SNUFFBOX from his pocket.
PHILIPPE
It would seem Your Grace believes justification for the deed which is not apparent to myself.
MARQUIS
That is better. That is distinctly better.

>>13519390
i meant did the writing style build any tension from this small part. Thank you for explaining that it didn't! I was just testing out new styles to try and improve my writing

I had a dream where everything was where it needed to be, untouched and pristine. You were in this dream next to me, you looked up to me as a smile slowly crept upon your face. That tender, bright smile that had infinite strength in its grace and gentleness. It felt like it could move mountains, and it certainly moved my heart.

Reaching out to me I took your hand as you lead me to these great plains, and in the seemingly endless horizon of grass there was a single tree upright. There it stood, proud in defiance of it’s loneliness. Watching over us was an pantheon of different shades of blue in the sky. Bright pastels blending with the darker tones uniquely that created a resonating harmony that permeated the air in these fields.

Laying in the cool of the shade under the tree we rested. No words needed to be spoken as just by a quick glance at you I understood anything you wanted to say. It felt like I knew you better than anyone, like you were and are the second half of my soul. In your eyes were these mirrors that reflected your feelings, they took the shape of the cosmos, a microcosm in your retinas.

But as soon as I closed my eyes I woke up from the dream in a state of deep confusion. I was in a quagmire of a situation, how can my dream feel so real to me? I tried to recall that face that led me to the great plains and to under the tree, but it was fading away from me. Perhaps this is a premonition of a future that is yet to come, perhaps it is a glimpse into a moment from another life, or perhaps it is a vision of something that could never be.

All I remember from this epiphany is your smile and how it made me feel and your shimmering eyes and the universe I saw in them. How can such a dream make me this way? I’m now left with the an aching heart for the person I don’t know... or maybe I do? Shown three options of what this was I shall chose the active destiny. This will be something that has yet to come, as I intend to make it so.

>>13518753
You use commas where you shouldn't and don't use them where you should. Also, the constant stops don't create cadence, they create annoyance. Try connecting clauses with semi colons to make it flow more.

>>13519347
Terrible, incredibly cliche, alien and unrelatable to the reader. Write what you know, not what you see in anime,

>>13519347
>>13507897
These are so bad I actually feel embarrassed that this board claims to be intelligent and sophisticated. They're clearly written by 14 year old kids, so I want labour the point. But fuck me. This is the sort of stuff I'd expect from some 90s underground fan-fiction website. Truly terrible. I'm not just saying that. One guy writes in informal 2nd person prose and the other reads like some Naruto fan-fiction written by an autistic child.

A serpent in a sea of formaldehyde. A kind of marine worm, the lettering on the tag too worn to tell. A scorpion with its pincer frozen in a point of attack. All swimming in a sea of forgetful phosphorescence. Caitlin looked these specimens over, but the sound of an unquiet group distracted her from the panel upon which she had set her attention.
'Disgusting', said one girl, inquiring of another. 'Why do they even keep them so long?'
The other pulled at the frilly purse of her companion. 'Bugs? Gross. What happened to things with fur?'
'Let's go back.'
'Totally.'
'Now this is cool,' remarked a young man who was evidently part of the noisome gathering. He pressed his face to the pane. 'Five more minutes.'
'What now?'
'Look—a fuckin' deformed frog.'
'You're sick, James,' said girl one.
'Sick,' two rejoined. 'Let's go.'
'Shit, of course, I heard they even have live stuff somewhere,' said James, his attention collapsed. 'No way. Check this out. Watch.'
Caitlin's brow furrowed as she watched the other two plod toward an exhibit singular among the rest for its greenery, soil and shade—a forest plot in miniature. A couple of seniors gave wide berths as the youngsters broke into hysterics. One of them had evidently told a joke and the commotion attracted the attention of a few interested onlookers, but the three were blocking anyone from seeing what lay inside as they cackled and stumbled over each other.
'It's called a live exhibit for a reason,' James mocked.
'Well, I don't see anything live in there'.
'Yeah, where?'
He coaxed them forward. 'You have to lean in. See?'
'Nope,' they said.
James rapped on the glass and the minutest movement from the thing inside caused one of the girls to scream. A large-bodied spider had moved out of the foliage in which it had lain hidden and undisturbed.
'Tarantula!' James sputtered. 'Much cooler alive than dead. Right?'
'Jesus, not funny,' the two agreed.
A kind, elderly woman stepped into their circle. 'Excuse me. You're not supposed to disturb the—'
James continued tapping. 'Yeah, okay, whatever.'
'Could you stop?'
'Why?'
'It doesn't like that.'
One of the girls huffed. 'How do you know, lady?'
The elder paused, taken aback. 'Behave.'
Caitlin then watched as a man appeared from behind a nearby column. He laid a gentle hand on the senior's shoulder. The elder stepped back to let the newcomer—clearly an authority in some capacity—deal with the troublemakers.
'Theraphosa blondi. It can't see you,' he said. 'It's more afraid of you than you are of it. I'm going to have to ask you to move to another area or vacate the building entirely. CCTV is in operation.'
The boy had finished toying with the creature. He laughed nervously. 'You should let the thing go. A bit cruel to keep it locked up in there. Geek.'

>>13520675
For context, it's the beginning of a short story in which a reclusive and shy woman meets a museum curator. They both share a love of nature.

>>13520675
confusing who is saying what

The boy said: "I am sad"
And for he didn't know what to do
He went to his parents and told him how he felt.
The parents now felt sad too. They told their son: "You are way too young to be sad. I have stress at work and dealing with things you aren't even aware of. Kids are meant to be happy. Go play with your friend"

And so the boy tried to be happy.
But when he was a teen he still felt sad, so he went to his friends. The teen asked: "Are you guys sad too?"
But in disbelief and laughter they replied: "We are just trying to have fun. Nobody likes being worn down. You just need to kiss a girl."

And so the teen found a girl that not only he kissed, but who also kissed him.
But when he was a man, the boy still felt sad. He was afraid to tell it again. But as his girl wished him to be honest, he found the courage to say: "I am sad." And he broke her heart. "I failed to make you happy, I am a let down. Go take care of yourself."

And so the man went not to anyone but himself. And what he found inside, he tried to express. On paper he could write: I am sad. Without fearing harm. He could ask himself why. I am sad. I am sad. But he would still feel sad, for the emptiness he saw could not be expressed. Until he started to feel more for the I and the am than for the sad. I am. I am and this is why I am sad. But still, I am. I.

>>13520689
dropped after the first line, literally nobody, NOBODY has ever said

>I am sad
replace it with >I'm sad
yeah it's less "epic" but way more believeable

>>13520689
>i am sad
lmao

>>13520697
You never felt sad fren?

>>13519474
Very old fashioned, but comfy, in that Alexandre Dumas way. The constant description got in the way, though. Let the dialogue speak for itself. A play format would be better.

>>13520700
the writing is dull, and anyone who reads the sentence without feeling any sort of boredom would be incredible

Suddenly the sun hit the store window and I saw James bent far over the pavement reaching out for something. I swivelled round, dashing past the statue that was my wife Isabel, and swooped him into my arms. A shout followed the blast of a car horn, then a head shaking furiously out of the passenger window. I set my boy down and shook him by the shoulders.
‘Look, dad!’ he laughed. He produced a little black beetle in his hands and spun with it. ‘It’s Khepri, dad, see? The beetle’s Khepri! Watch, the pavement’s hot sand!’
I had to bite my tongue as I ran for Isabel, release all tension—nothing must be transferred. Both hands trembled at her sides, tears were in her eyes. I held her close, wanted to say something. We just stood there in the pavement as my son pronounced the coming of the scarab god. Then over Isabel’s shoulder I cursed myself when a group pointed and stared, turned their heads back toward us even as they passed, laughing. That was the first strike. Khepri, I found myself thinking, let the sun set sooner. Could I not take Isabel to James’s dreamland—could all of us not live there? I shook my head at the absurdity of it all.
‘Peter,’ she said, “I was doing so well.’
‘Oh, Is—so well. It’s alright now. We can always turn back, try another day. Look, it’s not far.’
But without another word she went to her son and knelt to see what he had found. Looking after her and beyond her I saw the street and its downward slope like a gauntlet—all the shops were grey, and the bodies of the shoppers were as one shapeless mass closing her in—and I knew today would be difficult. Isabel smiled as our boy put the creature into his shirt pocket and I wished everyone would turn to smoke and make it easier for her. But that was wrong: the world was full of noise and people and she would have to face it sooner or later. Just as I had.
I had told her before we left that we did not have reach the end of Main Street. All that mattered was that she tried—and she had tried. I did not want to shatter the moment between them, make them aware of the staring eyes and the whispering tongues. My son in his world and my wife in hers.
‘You can take your scarab with you. Just remember that your mother isn’t well outside, okay? That was dangerous.’


From 'Paean', my short story about a husband's attempt to 'cure' his wife's social anxiety, though really it's a celebration of the other. Each of the family members has their own quirks and oddities. It's inspired partly by the scene of Merricat Blackwood at the beginning of We Have Always Lived in the Castle.

>>13520706
It's sincere, fren.

Will critique others later

>>13519786
>it's loneliness
*Its.
>an pantheon of different shades of blue in the sky
*A pantheon. And "different" is unnecessary.
>Bright pastels blending with the darker tones uniquely that
"uniquely that" reads awkwardly. You should place uniquely after the verb.
>permeated the air in these fields.
"These fields" is redundant.
>No words needed to be spoken
"to be spoken" is redundant. Is English your second language? Just wondering.
>by a quick glance at you
"at you" is redundant.
>you were and are
The present tense is out of place. You're describing a memory. If you really want to speak of two different pasts, it should be past perfect and then simple. "You had been and were". I don't understand what you're getting at though.
>that reflected your feelings,
Comma splice.
>But as soon as I closed my eyes
"But" is what follows after a comma. If you want to start a sentence, use however.
>I was in a quagmire of a situation,
Comma splice.
>how can my dream feel so real to me?
Watch it, you slipped into present tense.
>but it was fading away from me
How does this work? He just described everything in the past tense, so he clearly does remember it. Think about the implications of the tenses you're using.
>Perhaps this is a premonition
From this point on you switch to present tense-it's very clunky. Choose one tense and stick to it.
>I’m now left with the an aching heart
>the an
Reread what you write.
>for the person I don’t know.
For "a" person I don't know.
>or maybe I do?
Search for a less awkward way of saying this.
>as I intend to make it so.
This should be either "For I intend..." or "And I intend..."

>>13520700
No, the only people who get sad are WOMEN and HERMAPHRODITE WOMEN. And, because I have a BIG, MEATY COCK between my MASCULINE thighs, its quite obvious to everyone that I am the peak MALE SPECIMEN that ever was or ever will be. And as such I have NEVER once been sad in my life. The only emotions I've ever experienced are the EUPHORIA of EJACULATING my SEED into a woman or homosexual male to prove my physical overlordship over them, or the intense RAGE of being DENIED anything that is rightfully MINE.
I would be sorry for all you lesser PSEUDO-MALES attempting to emulate me because it will only end in FAILURE, but being sorry is for WOMEN and HERMAPHRODITE CHILDREN, so instead I will just laugh at your blatant patheticness.
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

>>13520675
Nothing wrong with this, really, beyond being kind of dry and not setting any specific mood. The scene is too long for the point it's making--it could start with "James rapped on the glass and the minutest movement from the thing inside caused one of the girls to scream." and not any information would be lost.

>>13520706
>>13520695

>>13520725
>We were living

terrible way to start

>nevertheless, it was precisely this ... spent in that house

wtf is this word vomit.

anyway regarding the whole thing it unironicaly reads like you are trying to use as many words as possible to fit into a word count

>>13520689
Ignore the buggers.
>And for
Pick one or the other.
>They told their son:
You can skip straight to the dialogue, the speaker is clear.
>I have stress at work and dealing
You switch from simple to continuous; pick one. So either "I have stress and deal" or "I'm having stress and dealing"
>The teen asked:
You don't need to preface every line of dialogue with this; have confidence in your reader's ability to infer.
By the way,
>"Go play with your friend"
His parents tell him that, but he only does it when he's a teen. This creates a confusing timeline. Did he not have friends as a kid? Did he wait until he was a teen to obey his parents? I'd cut that line.
>On paper he could write: I am sad. Without fearing harm.
This should be one sentence.
> for the emptiness he saw
You don't see emptiness, you feel it.
Nice ending.

>>13506923
>Aquarius

no sorry. write a blog.

>>13520725

The New Yorker and MFA machine would love you. Your nearest urban literary scene would welcome you with open arms.

I think it's boring. Too on the nose. Mothers, fathers, families. Disgusting. Who are these people? Just vague approximations to express your ideas? Are there hallways? Empty rooms? "Cooties" is a terrible cheap and ugly word, I'm not 5 and I don't want to see it unless you're writing about 5 year olds. Why is the house haunted? The feminists would eat that shit up, they'd scratch you on your chin and say "very good anon, except it's climate-haunted specifically." Anyways, don't say 'haunted' then and not get into it.

This could be in Best American Fiction, which is to say, it's garbage.

>>13520787
Shit like this pisses me off. Just an observation: don't call that guy's work garbage. Everything is relative. Check out
>>13519347
>>13507897
Before calling someone bad. The guy you critiqued is god tier compared to them.

>>13520712
>Suddenly the sun hit the store
What does 'suddenly' add here as opposed to starting with 'the sun'? It implies a previous calm, making us wonder what happened before line one.
>I ran for Isabel, release all tension
The phrasing makes it seem like there'll be a third action in this list, but there's not. So I'd add 'to' release all tension.
>Khepri, I found myself thinking, let the sun set sooner.
You're being purposefully very cryptic, but I'm able to follow you along. Except here. I don't know what he's trying to say.
>But
But goes after a comma, not at the beginning of sentences.
>From 'Paean', my short story about a husband's attempt to 'cure' his wife's social anxiety
No need to explain, friend, the story makes it clear.

>>13520725
The opening rant about non ownership is really interesting, but the narrator is dull and his thoughts don't seem to have something to say.

Miller waited till the autumn winds died before he spoke again. He turned his collar up and, strolling coolly along the path, one hand in his pocket, indicated a newsstand with his cigarette. We passed through the gate and entered the park.
“Suppose you’re on a train; that’s life going, going on. Kids are glued to the windows because they like the speed, find something funny in the way the trees whizz past and the mountains stay the same. Everything’s new, there’s excitement and thrill. Dad’s reading that day’s paper or finishing important work while mum casts her sentinel gaze over her chicks or gloats with other mums. Seniors find rapture in crosswords because, damn it, the mind needs it. Their stop’s first, life’s over. Where are you?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
One ought to care about these things, he implored—care because it was the right thing to do. Life was in the signing of one’s name, the folding of an envelope, the race to absorb the fleeting facts of the everyday. Danger was everywhere, he said, so it paid to know when it might strike. He groaned and walked off.
The ash of the cigarette he’d pinged away lay heaped like a mountain crumbled to dust. I delivered it to the bin mere feet away and caught up. “Miller, where am I?”
“One of the kids grazes you and you’re none the wiser: you’re asleep in the middle row.”
Taking our usual positions at the start of the trail—we had half an hour before heading back to the office—Rowan Park Lake came into view. A boy controlled a boat from the bank which sent up a blinding spray as it sped across the expanse. Exultations followed as it effortlessly cut the wind, skimmed the surface, lifted itself into the air, and landed safely on its hull. As clouds parted the revived sun made the jets of water, blasting as if from a firehose, look like an exploded diamond through the mesh of light.
We took seats on the edge of the bank. I could sense his stare as he sat hunched over with his arms wrapped around his knees. He tapped his foot with a kind of nervous energy. Then he paused, looked at me with a grin, took a deep breath for the barrage:
“Christ, maybe you needed more time away, is that it? Do you even know who’s leading the election? No? Okay, take it down a notch, then. Who won Fifty Facts last night? Why can’t you care, Charles?”

>He sees me.
>Charlie dropped to her hands and knees. She was wedged behind a row of arcade games, cramped in the crawlspace between the consoles and the wall, tangled electrical cords and useless plugs strewn beneath her. She was cornered: the only way out was past the thing, and she wasn’t fast enough to make it. She could see him stalking back and forth, catching flickers of movement as he passed before the gaps between the games.

>>13520855
Okay, you're clearly on a better level than most of what's been posted so far. No obvious mistakes. I hope this isn't the beginning of your story, though, because I can't get a feel for the characters. Miller seems to be asking lots of philosophical questions while Charles is out of it and unresponsive, and then Miller gets ticked off and groans about Charles being part of society? It doesn't really follow. I hope Charles lacking agency and thoughts is on purpose, but it makes me wonder why Miller is going on about the train with such a guy.

A low and painfully unfamiliar laugh trembled out of the barn’s shadow, and Nettie cocked the whip back so that it was ready to strike.
“Who’s that? Jed?”
But it wasn’t Jed, the mule-kicked, sometimes stable boy, and she already knew it.
“Looks like that black mare’s giving you a spot of trouble, darlin’. If you were smart, you’d set fire to her tail.”
A figure peeled away from the barn, jerky-thin and slithery in a too-short coat with buttons that glinted like extra stars. The man’s hat was pulled low, his brown hair overshaggy and his lily-white hand on his gun in a manner both unfriendly and relaxed that Nettie found insulting.
“You best run off, mister. Pap don’t like strangers on his land, especially when he’s only a bottle in. If it’s horses you want, we ain’t got none worth selling. If you want work and you’re dumb and blind, best come back in the morning when he’s slept off the mezcal.”
“I wouldn’t work for that good-for-nothing piss-pot even if I needed work.”

>>13519786
>>13519474
>>13520675
>>13520712
>>13520855
>>13520897
>>13520881
Why do you assholes not critique others?

>>13520897
This flows perfectly. Crystal clear.
Except this
>his lily-white hand on his gun in a manner both unfriendly and relaxed that Nettie found insulting.
Not only this is hard to picture, I don't get what's insulting.

>>13520896
I appreciate that. Perhaps it was stupid of me to post something from halfway through. I mainly wanted to see how that bit of dialogue came across. The point about the short is that Charles finds it exceedingly difficult to connect with Miller's interest in politics and the news. He was in an accident which made him view life differently and granted him a sense of perspective. Miller, his coworker, is trying to get him to get him to take an interest in all the gossip and events of the day.

>>13520921
I'd make it more personal, then. Miller seems to be giving a lecture, just listing different ideas. And Charles doesn't express his opposing worldview, not even in his own thoughts, making him more boring than Miller. As it is, Miller's train metaphor is more interesting than the actual story.

>>13520941
Oh, he does express his views at certain points, but I know what you mean. Actually, a major focus of the story is Charles' not being able to express what he really thinks. He finds it difficult to counter Miller's fast talking reproaches whereas in his head he's thinking about how little all of it really matters. I use images to back this up in places, mainly appeals to the vastness of nature, shortness of life, etc. But thanks, I'll do another pass on all of this with your changes in mind.

>>13520953
Critique others asshole.

>>13520956
I will.

>>13520961
Well? Page 10. I'm waiting.

>>13506923
Opinions?
Will give critique on others in a bit

>>13506923
You spent so many words, so many valuable bits of electrical energy, to say so little.
Blather less, write more.

>>13507577
I'm unsure how old the boy is, though given his mother's influence over him, I'm imagining he's young and from an antiquated society.
The narrator uses too big of words to talk about his experiences.
Kids from the middle of no where in pre-musket times probably haven't ever read a word as long as adrenaline.

>>13507577
Can you stop posting this garbage every thread? Just give up already, it's obvious you don't have what it takes to be a writer.

>>13523563
Don't tell him that. Tell him he doesn't have what it takes to be a writer YET.

>>13523703
Might as well tell him he does have what it takes to be a writer.
Stephanie Meyer got published, after all

>>13507897
>>13507904
>So this guy
stopped reading here

“Good morning, Kira.”

“Morning, Diggs.” I groan and sit up. The cabin’s comfortable and warm, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a huge jump down from having my own room.

Diggs nods at me. He’s a big man, on the tan side, and gruff. That’s all most people see about him out here.

He makes up for me being a short, pale woman rather nicely, I think.

“Is Mae up yet?” I cough toward the wall.

“No. The crockpot’s on, though.”

I take a whiff, but all I get is a reminder of how much snot is stuck inside my nose.

“Long night of getting ingredients, then?” I ask as I pull on my jean jacket. I can get properly dressed after food’s in me.

“Either that or she’s caught your cold.” Diggs smirks, stepping over to the crockpot and pulling the lid off. “Stew again. We need to buy some chicken, make this taste good.”

I cough and wave my hand. “In this weather, we’d be lucky if we could get eggs.”

The phone rings, and I grab it. “Warden Station three seventy nine, Tritona speaking.”

“You gotta get down up to the Hill Farm quick, Kira. One of those mutts ate Dotty!”`

“Is the perpetrator still present?” I fight the urge to sigh.

“Yes. He ain’t runnin’, but Mrs. Hill might kill him if you don’t get your ass down here!”

“I’m coming. Try to keep things calm until I do.” I set the phone down.

“What’s the issue?” Diggs says as he slides a bowl over to my end of our table.

“Some beast munched a cow down at the Hill farm.”

“The shit we get dragged away from food for.” He smirks. “You want me to handle it?”

“No. I’ll take care of this, it's probably just a young one that lost control.” I sigh and head into the bathroom to get dressed. “Thank God it’s cold. Won’t be as many people to gawk.”

>>13523748
>“Good morning, Kira.”
Stopped reading there. What?

>>13523756
like kira noir

>>13523776
Who the fuck is that?

>>13523748
Here's a little tip for you; you're not neatly as capable at writing as you think you are. You should probably give up, miserable no talent

>>13523784
Joke's on you, I already knew I had no talent. Appealing to that is not a good strategy.

1/2
In the tunnel I noticed I had a choice of three. While I thought it very kind of them to offer me this, I do wonder if they realized what a dilemma they were sending to face me.
The trouble was, if I looked at your reflection in the left window I missed the actual image of you and your reflection in the right. And if I looked in the right I had the same problem but the other way around.

At first I thought I should probably settle on one of the mirrors as they were soon to disappear, but that idea quickly wilted, and my attention was drawn back to the center, occasionally checking on either side.

I must say I did question the authenticity of your nap a few minutes before. As the train left Loughborough I suspected it could've been a device to avoid conversation. I'd barely considered this for a moment, however, when a heavy breath and a gulping sound that I decided would be too embarrassing to fake led me to conclude that your nap wasn't fraudulent.
I found it difficult to concentrate on anything else as you slumped beneath your coat. Delighted that we'd waited until this hour to travel so the evening sun got its opportunity to skip across those sleeping cheeks, but unnerved by the prospect of being removed from the opposing chair to yours. I knew it was reserved but hoped that whoever had reserved it had fallen over.

It looked as if today I'd be safe. The train wasn't too busy but I did take a moment to recall the time when I was less fortunate.

I remembered it with a chilling vivivity we were on the way to Brighton.

>>13524240
2/2
I knew it was going to be his seat as soon as I saw him on the platform, unzipping, checking, zipping, and rechecking things. Something about his face suggested that he had for years had a mustache and had not long since removed it. He wasn't going to think twice about disposing of me, especially considering then he'd get the chance to sit with you.
Though his hiking boot-march through the carriage was rather revolting, it wasn't this that made my hands tense up into sour claws of nausea. It was the way he said it.
"You're in my seat."
No "excuse me," no polite uncertainty, just the rigid, hideous fact. The thud with which it landed expelled all my preparation. Before I remembered my plans to pretend to be asleep, deaf, French, or only sat there because someone else was in my seat, I was walking to find another vacancy.
I ended up dwelling unhappily beside a girl with a boys bum. I knew that because she walked too far past when she returned to one of what I thought to be two empty seats when I sat myself there. I fidgeted until our reunion on the platform, where you brutally informed me "That man was really rather pleasant, actually."

Today I thought I'd better make sure that couldn't happen again and I pulled the ticket from the top of my seat. It took a few attempts and the facade of hanging a jacket to finally complete. I was terribly cautious. There's a threat of punishment for such deeds by fine as far as I understand, but those shackles were at the back of my mind as I crushed the reservation in my hidden fist. Folding and squeezing as if it were that beast on the way to the seaside.

Fortunately, there was no retribution. If anything the train got quieter as the journey continued.
And so in the tunnel, unable to decide, my head flicked through this trilogy of angles, angel after angle, until we were out the other side.
My frantic twitching no doubt caused the man at the adjacent table to narrow his eyes at the very least, I imagine. I don't know for sure.
I didn't have time to add him to the cycle.

Critique this:
1/2
In the tunnel I noticed I had a choice of three. While I thought it very kind of them to offer me this, I do wonder if they realized what a dilemma they were sending to face me. The trouble was, if I looked at your reflection in the left window I missed the actual image of you and your reflection in the right. And if I looked in the right I had the same problem but the other way around.
At first I thought I should probably settle on one of the mirrors as they were soon to disappear, but that idea quickly wilted, and my attention was drawn back to the center, occasionally checking on either side.

I must say I did question the authenticity of your nap a few minutes before. As the train left Loughborough I suspected it could've been a device to avoid conversation. I'd barely considered this for a moment, however, when a heavy breath and a gulping sound that I decided would be too embarrassing to fake led me to conclude that your nap wasn't fraudulent.
I found it difficult to concentrate on anything else as you slumped beneath your coat. Delighted that we'd waited until this hour to travel so the evening sun got its opportunity to skip across those sleeping cheeks, but unnerved by the prospect of being removed from the opposing chair to yours. I knew it was reserved but hoped that whoever had reserved it had fallen over.

It looked as if today I'd be safe. The train wasn't too busy but I did take a moment to recall the time when I was less fortunate. I remembered it with a chilling vivivity we were on the way to Brighton.

Critique this:
1/2
In the tunnel I noticed I had a choice of three. While I thought it very kind of them to offer me this, I do wonder if they realized what a dilemma they were sending to face me. The trouble was, if I looked at your reflection in the left window I missed the actual image of you and your reflection in the right. And if I looked in the right I had the same problem but the other way around. At first I thought I should probably settle on one of the mirrors as they were soon to disappear, but that idea quickly wilted, and my attention was drawn back to the center, occasionally checking on either side.


I must say I did question the authenticity of your nap a few minutes before. As the train left Loughborough I suspected it could've been a device to avoid conversation. I'd barely considered this for a moment, however, when a heavy breath and a gulping sound that I decided would be too embarrassing to fake led me to conclude that your nap wasn't fraudulent. I found it difficult to concentrate on anything else as you slumped beneath your coat. Delighted that we'd waited until this hour to travel so the evening sun got its opportunity to skip across those sleeping cheeks, but unnerved by the prospect of being removed from the opposing chair to yours. I knew it was reserved but hoped that whoever had reserved it had fallen over.


It looked as if today I'd be safe. The train wasn't too busy but I did take a moment to recall the time when I was less fortunate. I remembered it with a chilling vivivity we were on the way to Brighton.

>>13524266
2/2
I knew it was going to be his seat as soon as I saw him on the platform, unzipping, checking, zipping, and rechecking things. Something about his face suggested that he had for years had a mustache and had not long since removed it. He wasn't going to think twice about disposing of me, especially considering then he'd get the chance to sit with you. Though his hiking boot-march through the carriage was rather revolting, it wasn't this that made my hands tense up into sour claws of nausea. It was the way he said it.

"You're in my seat."

No "excuse me," no polite uncertainty, just the rigid, hideous fact. The thud with which it landed expelled all my preparation. Before I remembered my plans to pretend to be asleep, deaf, French, or only sat there because someone else was in my seat, I was walking to find another vacancy. I ended up dwelling unhappily beside a girl with a boys bum. I knew that because she walked too far past when she returned to one of what I thought to be two empty seats when I sat myself there. I fidgeted until our reunion on the platform, where you brutally informed me "That man was really rather pleasant, actually."


Today I thought I'd better make sure that couldn't happen again and I pulled the ticket from the top of my seat. It took a few attempts and the facade of hanging a jacket to finally complete. I was terribly cautious. There's a threat of punishment for such deeds by fine as far as I understand, but those shackles were at the back of my mind as I crushed the reservation in my hidden fist. Folding and squeezing as if it were that beast on the way to the seaside.


Fortunately, there was no retribution. If anything the train got quieter as the journey continued. And so in the tunnel, unable to decide, my head flicked through this trilogy of angles, angel after angle, until we were out the other side. My frantic twitching no doubt caused the man at the adjacent table to narrow his eyes at the very least, I imagine. I don't know for sure. I didn't have time to add him to the cycle.

A poem I wrote:

They fight with their hearts
leaving bruises on the souls

Not in hopes of hurting but
In belief of healing together

One can't live for the other
So the other lives for both

Perfection of the highest degree
revealed by the erosion of time
a twisted reality they so lovingly embrace

I mockingly jeer for my confusion
leaves me in distaste

I understand now that I, too,
want to share the same fate

Not with them but with what they have
A gift of inspiration for what to seek

>>13507631
>>13507664
>>13508107
>>13523554
>>13523563
>>13523703
So, decided fuck that shit and started redoing it so that it isn't mc-kid-sadboi-story-time, literally tonight some hours ago.
Better?
https://justpaste dot it/4fevv
I'm gonna crit some stuff in the morning.

>>13524523
Probably should mention that I pantsed that shit prose wise. So yeah, throw me in the furnace, it'll help me run faster probably.

>>13524523
>>13507631 here. This is much better in comparison to what it was previously. Good work.

I'll only ask about one thing this time.
>meerkat
is this the author telling the reader, or does the protagonist know about meerkats and the behavior described? If so, how does he know?

>>13524599
That was an author thing. I thought it was a bit shakey of a description in general too but ever watch meerkat manor? That shit was intense as balls when they hide from other meerkats in their own tunnels.
But yeah, I just realized I switch from author voice to Quinn's voice. (that part about the guards getting a gun to open the door was a quinn thought)
Probably will just remedy it later with established quinn thoughts and make the narrative points stem from author.
Thanks for the crit, shit helps.

everything you see if a reflection of you
It's all crash. Rolling smog, billowing through all the towers I see. Walking the street, wearing shades and can't be bothered. Colourful magic, bolt-grey sky turned black by sun's absence and the food smells amazing and awful all at the same time. No old nations can live through this. It's all coming down. I. I am I, but am I really?
The new old thing with all that digital cash. Tighten it up. And now the damn guy wants to be his own president. We could all be our
own president. Taking a trip down the block, the lights are always on. Who's paying the electrical bill? Big city, little city, doesn't matter. No towns. National Park? Who? Never known. If only for a few. Alright I'm going I say and said. Back off, I think and thought.
Man we're living and moving, shaking even. Take it all down. It's new, it's fun, it's fresh. Wow. I believe it. Maybe. I buy it.
It's good and I'm out and walking again and it is great, I like the sounds but hate the scene and everything is bright with that digitalness that I can see right through. Disgusted. Go home. Home I go if I have to but I have to because what is there to do. Maybe nothing. Everything there is to do
is everything I don't want to do. Don't you think it's time. It is time. Time to go home. No, not that stupid. Is it right now or later, it's always too late to tell, or too early. Doubt it. Doubt. Why should there be doubt. I go home but wish I was anywhere else and I see the rolling plains of some distant Nebraska
coming out beneath me and its come off a roll like big sheets of wax paper but the wax paper is dirt and greasewood and grass and canyons. The concrete smells of rain. It is rain. I feel a drop. Did I? No. Yes. No. Yes. Felt a drop. Come on drag the damn thing. Fuck. Damn. Shit. Watch it lady. God damnitt.
I wish I could fuck her. He could fuck her. Stop. It's late. Anyone but here. I have been walking long.
Bad, bad, naughty, naughty. Back in Boston it wasn't like this. I was a character but real. Acting but not. I don't know, can't explain it. In the Neponset I went down the drain. And this shit keeps going on. The lights and the action and the noise and it's a mistake. God's honest mistake. And it's so good. No one
can even hear it. I can see it. And they kill us and the missionaries die and there's no one else but it's okay cause I go and meet God and he hates me and I like it. Connect it all I would say. It's all there. The puzzle pieces of this space and all that's inside and outside past the geometric heavens that lie complex and abstract though right under our noses when we go through the haziness of real time sleep dream activation modification through a flat ellipses draining through blurry visages and carry-on flacidness of two-day old gods coming to terms with the minutiae of the powerful kingdom of righteousness that comes from our perspective proper tier of man.

not posting the text because I'm paranoid about plagiarism, but I've got a scene where I'm trying to establish that my setting may look like a silly nonsensical fantasy world, but it's a dangerous environment, and I want to check that it's solid and memorable without being edgy

>After emerging from underground and finding the nearest shop closed, the MC sighs in frustration and kicks a stuffed animal across the street
>shakily, the stuffed animal lurches to its feet and lets out a pitiful noise of distress before vomiting blood and collapsing
>the noise elicits attention from other stuffed creatures in the area and before the MC even has a chance to fully process what just happened, beasts with thick felt hides and teeth made of fabric shears and sewing needles are loping after him with astonishing momentum
>he doesn't make it far before their tooth and claw bears him to the ground with unexpected power, and begin savaging him before the inevitable rescue by a mysterious figure who himself ends up injured

>>13524690
It's hard to really judge this desu.
I like the general idea but I don't know the set up so judging how well you establish it is pretty much not possible.

Is this you summarizing what you are writing or is are those lines the actual prose? I really hope former.

>>13524642
I both love and hate this, you have combined a state of mind and desire for expression I share with you absolutely with a bunch of particular styles of speech and paths of thought that repulse me.

Useless critique without specific points, I cant root through it all, but at least know someone saw some brilliance in this post, so you are doing something right. Could be even that the parts I don't like are just my own particular hangups.

Would that the wind,
The soft-sounding breeze,
Bore the sound of my sighs
To her ears. Braaapp

>smoke some weed at 10:00 PM
>fuck around on computer for an hour
>jack off, take a shower
>start writing as I'm coming down
>relaxed and focused, able to write more flexibly and with a heightened sensitivity to sensation, emotion, and metaphor.

When do you guys get your best writing done?

>>13525452
honestly, right on a self imposed or actual deadline is when I get my best done

>>13525452
Early in the morning, so that I can go back to relaxing.

>>13524418
bump

>>13525452
Writing in the morning feels to me like drunk writing. Later in the day I'll look at my morning work and wonder what the shit I was doing. Night writing is for me, even if I'm exhausted, somehow that red eyed irritation actually kind of fuels me, in a bit of a hazardous way.

>>13524724
its the former, as I said im not posting the prose

>>13507177
Perfectly said.

Her love lay like a labourous leave
Upon my tongue: a luscious queef.

ignore highlighting, that's for my personal use

>>13526946
I can't ignore the highlighting.
What do slaves and slavers have to do with the water?

>>13527002
they don't, i'm using google's comment system to make notes about literary devices and allusions

>>13527002
Who would want to collect slaves when they could be fetching pails of water?

>>13527026
This is just one of the hard hitting questions that the next generation of literature will force us to ask

bump

I'm >>13526946 and I never posted any critiques, so here are my critiques.

>>13524690
I think that kicking a stuffed animal is kind of autismo and so I don't really know if you can make it sound non-edgy. Maybe the MC starts walking home and sees a stuffed animal in the gutter, then walks a little and sees another in a bush, then keeps walking and sees one under a car, and pretty soon he is seeing stuffed animals everywhere he looks. He looks over his shoulder and they're following him on foot now. He starts running and one jumps out in front of him. Something more gradual
>>13524642
My only critique is that it gets a little incomprehensible at certain points. The lack of punctuation is rough, and the phrasing can be confusing. I know it's because it is a stream of consciousness, but sentences like "Alright I'm going I say and said. Back off, I think and thought" are kind of painful to process when reading.
>>13524418
I can tell that you write with passion but maybe you should focus on "show don't tell". For example, instead of "They fight with their hearts" you could've written "Two hearts, in the throes of combat" and instead of "Leaving bruises on the souls" you could've written "Every night they drench their souls with blood, and cannot lift the stain in the morning." If you show what you mean, the reader will interpret what you meant from the imagery. But if you tell the reader "The crow was an asshole", they're just gonna think "Oh ok, I guess the crow is an asshole for some reason."
>>13524268
I like it a lot. It can get frantic at times, and maybe needs more punctuation. But other than that, enjoy the flow.

>>13526946
>concrete thundercloud as big as an ocean
This is a bad metaphor. The expansiveness should related to the sky.

>river of ash and soot
>you might understand why
No, I would not. Thunderclouds have nothing to do with ash or soot. If you had meant smog or similar instead, then sure.

I have almost no idea what is going on here. Is this a pimp watching his streetwalkers personally? Seems inefficient, if not unrealistic.

>>13528466
soot it what "smog" is made out of, and ash is byproduct of coal combustion.

there's not a lot happening in this scene, it's just a first gaze/glimpse at the town.

-Who could have think of that?
-Probably a lot of people, a bunch or a handful at least
-So many?
-Yeh, out there there are like one hundred or maybe even twelve people at least, like that one flock of birds passing by when the eyes are well closed for a split second
-So many?
-Each one of whom chasing their own dreams… probably even more than one dream at a time, people tent to have like twenty seven or maybe even up to two or three dreams
-So many?
-And how many do you think we have?
-We as the fulfilled organisms which we are, here below the rotten earth and the ethereal fungi, latent into our own apotheosis, only one as such…
-Kaj tiel estis kaj tiel estos
-The answer will plummet down the cascade of the giraffe´s neck
-But the question always was and already was here
-Who is?

The tremulous prowl of a mechanical chimera,
Rustled fetters from an inimical hollow,
Vertiginous breaks in the predacious hum;
Make silent steps scurry.

An idle car blinks its burning eyes,
Nocturnal beasts climb a chain link fence,
A patch of grass blades twitching;
Undisturbed by darkened skies.

in the predacious prowl of a mechanical hollow,
ass blades twitching;
Vertiginous hum;
An idle car blink fence,
Make silent steps scurry.

Undisturnal hollow,
Nocturbed skies
A patchimera,
chanical beast breaks its burning;
Make silent steps scurry.

Please link back to what you wrote when responding.

>>13508340
This is a strange and interesting voice.
I like the magical realism, assuming that's what it is.
There's a lot of potential here, but it can only be seen obliquely.
It's very uneven.
I don't dislike the opening, but I don't understand how it relates to rest of it.
Unfortunately, I don't know if you'll be able to sustain it for any longer than a short story with only style.
I'd sum it up as "obscured" or "muddled".

>>13508757
yawn & eye roll

>>13509771
The "repeat same word twice in the 2nd line" doesn't seem to be working well.

>>13509818
I can't properly judge this.
The writing is fine, but I have absolutely no interest in this sort of story.
Seems like the sort of thing that if done well would be well received by critics, but commercially unviable.

>>13510313
Written well, but doesn't make me want to read any more of it. Similar to prior statement.

>>13510375
I would refuse to talk to you in person and walk away because you radiate obnoxiousness.

>>13511496
This may be the worst sludge of political nonsense and pseudo-intellectualism that I've ever seen.

>>13511516
This is a blog post, not a story.
Its title is "Why We Writers Are So Great".
The second part is the same and its title is "What A Life I Have".
>8 in the afternoon
8pm is not "the afternoon"

>>13511524
It's rather repetitive. The premise could be interesting, but the way you've written it doesn't make me want to read more.

>>13513045
Are there no characters? Is this a overview of a the history and details of a fictional location?

>>13513083
It's confusing, but not in an interesting way.
Two male relatives have a police officer in a coffin with a mannequin and they are collecting bones.
Somehow the bones are related to their inheritance.
Are you are calling the remaining part of the corpse a mannequin or is that something separate?
I may be misunderstanding a lot.

>>13514269
You have "Sophia" and "Sophie".
I hope this isn't the protagonist.
I personally wouldn't read something with someone so disagreeable to me.
I don't want to say anything else.

>>13515278
Did you write after seeing the image you used, or did the image come afterwards?
It's fine, but nothing draws me to it. It's "wistful', but I don't think you can carry on with that alone.

>>13515326
No.

>>13516674
Thanks for this. It was educational.

>>13516992
All telling, no showing.

>>13517990
These aren't characters. This is the author talking to themself.

>>13518753
While reading I was thinking about how one can learn a lot from critiquing, but that switched over to remembering what a nightmare the slush pile can be.
Whatever supernatural fantasy this is supposed to be, you've managed to go about it in a very boring way by narrated by a very unlikable character.

u can really tell from these pieces of writing who has actually read >3 books in the last year and who hasn't.

>>13529039
>Are there no characters? Is this a overview of a the history and details of a fictional location?
it's the opening paragraphs to a fantasy book; there are loads of characters and the story is going to be the main draw of course, but I figured if my writing sucks ass I better get that told to me before I get far in
also I really went into detail because I didn't want people to not understand where they were or what was going on

>>13519155
i like it, beautiful imagery

>>13519155
I don't even know what I would say about this.
Poetry is too much of a pain to do anything about.
All I can say is that it didn't have the slightest effect on me other than to wonder if you were traumatized by a slaughterhouse and this is therapeutic poetry.

>>13519347
Are you planning to self-publish this on Amazon and sell it for $0.99?
I was skimming through it and thought, well, maybe some idiotic preteens will buy it and read it. Then near the end there's a graphic sex scene and I began to wonder if the point was for the horny kids to read it go WOW!!!!!! THEY ARE MAKING THE SEX!!!! I MUST BUY MORE!!!!! THIS IS THE BEST WAY OF PORN!!!
That being said, I think you've achieved what you were going for, a specific sort of trash pandering to the lowest.

>>13519474
This doesn't work by itself.

>>13519786
This isn't a story. It's a dream diary.

>>13520675
>>13520675
>said girl one
You don't write dialogue well enough for it to do basically everything.
Apparently your protagonist is almost non-existent, Caitlin I assume.
I guess you could have her be more present as she becomes less shy and reclusive.
Sort of a thing where it seems like someone else is the protagonist, but over time, someone else is shown to the protagonist actually.
It's an interesting idea, but I don't know if it'd go over well.

>>13520689
I can only hope this is an example of Poe's Law.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poe%27s_law

>>13520712
What sort of life does this boy have to be going on like this? Really doesn't seem to be that much about what you state it's about.

>>13520725
>>13520787
>>13520832
Thank you for writing this critique. I entirely agree with you.

>>13520855
>>13520896
Mostly agree with this critque, but also maybe I'm doing too many of these at once.

>>13520897
Lots of weird word sequences.

>>13523748
What is going on here.
>mutts ate dotty
>He ain't running
>beast munched a cow
>young one lost control
wat

>>13524268
You've written a misogynistic creep.
Hopefully this is a thriller and not a "romance".
I could say a lot more, but I'll refrain.

>>13524642
DID YOU KNOW THAT THERE IS NO NEED FOR ANY SEMBLANCE OF COHERENCE OR ANYTHING ELSE AT ALL WHEN DOING STREAM OF CONSCIOUS? JUST LET OUT ALL THOSE FEELS! FEELS GOOD MAN!

>>13524690
You think far too highly of yourself.

>>13528532
I'm glad you've amazed yourself, if no one else with your abstruse dialogue.

>>13529221
It's a horrendous idea to start with an info dump.
If the characters are what matters most, start with them and intersperse details about the setting and plot as it goes on.

>>13529331
does it change it if that's literally the last info before character's start talking? or should I really just open up with the dialogue/character action?

Probably should post as a regular reply instead of a bunch of replies. Whoops.
https://justpaste dot it/4fevv
Please help me not suck massive dong

>>13529470
Oh and fuck forgot to crit OP. It's kind of hard to follow, but I also could be dum.
I just don't really know what the FUCK is going on. But, I was not bored.

Intro to my novel.

>>13530078
shit that was actually good I could picture the car falling down a lane and crashing

I'm quite satisfied with the two first chapters of my novel but not the third and fourth one, should I rewrite them?
The main problem is the info dump.

>>13530109
Thanks mate. I've had an idea stirring for a while for the next big sci-fi series (though I hesitate to classify it as mearly sci-fi) and I'm excited to finally get into it.

>>13530109 (me)
>>13530138 (me)
I am so unsatisfied with those chapters that I write these kinds of battle scenes in my free time, just to forget I mostly wrote shit.
https:// justpaste dot it/374kq
What do you think, anon?

>>13529470 here
>>13530078
Shit's delicious. You got a bunch of nice details down without bogging us like we're about to go on a hike. I'll read the justpaste that you posed in the morning when my head is a tad clearer.

>>13530078
>idiot gets himself too excited thinking negative thoughts and causes himself to have a panic attack and crash

It's badly written.

>>13530210
Wow, that was dumb.

>when you try to write a womans story like bukowski but without the alcoholism and horse races

also the guy cries during sex. if anyone is interested in the full story i'll post more.

>>13530481
Fail at posting. That text looks awful.

It's all very mundane, but a lot of people like that I suppose if it's well-written.

>>13528729
I don't know what a few of these words mean

>>13507662
You use the word 'pain' two sentences in a row. I know that you're trying to get the reader to think of pain, and you do. But replace it in either the first or second sentence.

This thread seems dead, should I make another one?

>>13531630
no

>>13531642
Cool. Kind of new here, what's considered dead around here? Wait until it's deleted?

>>13530453
Not cool, what's dumb? It's the story of a drunkard that is cursed into becoming a wolf to atone for his sins after conducting a genocide.

I get my style is far from your usual masturbation but what's that argument?

>>13531886
damn, you're up your own ass and what's worse? You're a terrible writer. Learn to stop and we would all be better for it

>>13530446
What's bad about it

>>13532312
>"that's dumb"
>"you're a terrible writer and up to your own ass"
> was about to respond about your lack of clarity but then realizes your life must truly suck to be so mean on the internet
o... ok anon... your arguments convinced me... in the end, it seems I'm not fit to write anything good in this life, right? you're so much better than me

>>13531658
yes

>>13532431
Btw the guy responding to you isn't me, the one who wrote about the car crash. I never got around to reading yours

>>13532481
I know, I wasn't talking about your work (which I found good and far more digestive than what I usually read on /lit/) when mentioning masturbation lmao

>>13530799
>>13530481
I agree with this anon, conversation is terrible and the writing is monotonous.
https://gyazo.com/871f54f85366badf42dd816de9cbee7e

>>13530481
Poorly written, uninspired, hackneyed smut. The most banal cross of boomer-incel misogyny.
>blow up doll “babe”
>”chiseled jaw”
>muh modern age tinder degeneracy
>”whorish”
Actually maybe self hating horny boomer ladies would want to read this.

>>13506923
holy shit cringe

perfect way to start the cringe thread

i tip my hat to you

>>13507577
ahahahahahahaha

>>13507662
hahahahahahaha

>>13507754
ohonononnooo hahahhaahaha

>>13507764
hahahahahahaha

>>13519347
Either this is an epic troll like someone posting joseph andersons "work" as their own or my last time on this board of intellectuals

>>13532715
Reee ignore that one it's gone forever and this one replaces it
https://justpaste dot it/4fevv

>>13532921
read one sentence and quit, its just as shit as the first thing

>>13532970
But why friend? To git gud I must know why you found it super dum.

>>13529319
>Are you planning to self-publish this on Amazon and sell it for $0.99?
I was skimming through it and thought, well, maybe some idiotic preteens will buy it and read it. Then near the end there's a graphic sex scene and I began to wonder if the point was for the horny kids to read it go WOW!!!!!! THEY ARE MAKING THE SEX!!!! I MUST BUY MORE!!!!! THIS IS THE BEST WAY OF PORN!!!
That being said, I think you've achieved what you were going for, a specific sort of trash pandering to the lowest.
Planning? I already am. *highfive*

>>13532981
posting that garbage in the first place while not being able to see that its garbage just means that youll never make it anyway. Going by it sentence by sentence like the other idiot cringelords who produce equal shit in here wont achieve anything

>>13532981
>like a
>like a
>like a
>like a

>>13533002
>>13533012
Ah. Thanks.

>>13533002
>>13533002
But.
The question anon.
Is it YA.

>>13532981
https://justpaste dot it/2fv3s

>>13533186
You're the first person to give it any edits beyond the sprint where I wrote it. Thanks.

>>13533186
It's still garbage

https://jpst dot it/1Nemi

>>13533343
Pinpoint what exactly is garbage, so as to provide criticism (the scope this thread).

>>13510375

This is the most insincere thing I have read.

>>13533486
Poster doesn't deserve it if he can't fucking see it. Same goes for you dumbass. You tell ME why it's garbage so I can see if you can fucking read.
It's obvious his work is garbage from the start, no amount of editing can fix that shit.
so yeah >>13533303 stop making the excuse that it was a sprint. Try to clean shit all day, it will still be shit.

>>13533186
>https://justpaste dot it/2fv3s
Chapter 1 is good, Chapter 2 not so good.
> information dumping is making it a really hard read
> I don't like the whole sanctuary and racism against spellmarkeds when they are more powerful than the common people. Have you ever read Radiant?
Quinn isn't relatable, make him weaker or something

>>13532745
Why? What's wrong with it?

This is a poem a girl wrote for me. The title is a reference to the date of foundation of rome (because my name is Romulus)

i’ve been there at least
28 times before
but never have i seen
someone as beautiful
on the upper dance floor
when my friends
take my hand and
again i’m
out of the door
i see my past
andmy dark desire
his eyes are better
than i could ever
ask for
i sit on that sidewalk
as i did for months
at 3 o’clock
if i knew the truth
would have bent my
knees in reverence
andthe cruel difference
starts to show
as the story unfolds
only royalty like that
could be worth
his own weight in gold
- april 21, 753

Could post pics of her if you guys want

>>13535128
The poem in the pic is another one of hers, the title is the date we first met, it was at a party

>>13535128

The text poem is pretty decent for the Rupi Kaur school of poetry. If she wrote these for you, they must be fairly private though; I'm not sure I'd share too much more of hers.

Poem

Falling adrift in the soft bedded sea
I reach my hands out though nothing calls for me
And I rock alone, a young child adrift in the oceanic mind
Staring above at star shined and gleaming skies
Wondering what more could be out beyond
Wondering if I should even care all
But importantly, realizing how small
We really are
And whether the light from ashore
Or the breathless call of god in the portrait sky
Could ring me to leave my destined path
No; neither could, not a chance would it be
For I need to know my fate, which is coming for me

>>13535128
>my name is Romulus
bull fuck shit. Are you kidding me?
proofs?

Sometimes “it” brings them out, but I have them anyways. I don’t know.

I was in the psych ward for a week recently. There were a lot of light flashes (and I get less light flashes and more like…”pictorial” color images. “Pictorial”-- I don’t know if that’s a word, but more picture type things.) Before I even did any drugs I used to get unusual dark shadow type-things. Back when I was a kid. So I’m not really sure what that is on that level too. I had auditory hallucinations and stuff like that back then. They’re supposedly formulated to make people take drugs and rehabilitate themselves, to gangstalk them into mental institutions to take drugs, until drugs like that have worn off.

There are a lot of things that I can’t do. Like right now. I couldn’t check myself into a mental institution and take drugs because I can’t do that. I have a voice that I can remember in my head. Not as like an auditory hallucination, just like, I remember. I think it was someone when I was a little kid. This person walks in a 7-11 parking lot, probably someone moderating my house to go walk across the parking lot. This is supposedly a “faith thing”? That they have- that they have people walk and they say that they are “faith things”. Like I said, they keep having rappers walk across the parking lot, that those were people from the local prison or whatever that they were interviewing. I don’t know. A lot of these people seem kind of offensive to me. They’re uh, just not that great.

I look at a lot of this stuff. I mean, I don’t know the people so I really don’t know. I haven’t been eating, I haven’t been gangstalked. I’ve been eating only once a day for the past couple of days. Today I fell asleep from like, four or five o’clock in the afternoon to like eight thirty at night. Mostly had perfect energy around nine or ten o’clock. I did jogging type tai-chi in a small circular area for like an hour or so.

>>13536046
autobiography

>A short sketch

From afar, their coupled form could have been a rock seated deep in the sand dunes. One was on top of the other's body. He could not tell which was man and which woman. They could have been two young buggers, he simply didn't know, but they thought theirs was a private indulgence, clearly, and the sensation he got watching them behind the rustlings greens was not dissimilar to raising one's voice in mass for no reason, which was one of those early memories of his he could not remember had actually happened or if he's thought once, as a child, could be a spot of excitement, and had hid away the urge somewhere, sometime for when he might be able to muster the humiliation in the eyes of those close to him. Unable to move closer without exposing himself, he had to find satisfaction not in the image of the lover's act, but the pleasure of knowing he had been watching them.

He could make his way round the circumference of the semi-circle of shrubs enclosing the beach to get a closer look. It would be a risk, moving near the road. He was himself conscious of prying eyes. He moved quickly, close to the wing, and submerged himself again. Something sounded like breathing, he feared. Through a crack in the surface of branches, he spotted a figure in reflection, rubbing his chin. The figure, the man, old and crow's footed, looked at the intruder and greeted him.
'It's a fair sight, isn't it?' the old man said.
'Yes. Does it fascinate you?'
'Yes. I remember it many times, but only in unfinished pictures. I am a poet, you see. I think to write of love, one must know it in all its hues. Memory is like a traitorous friend. I prefer to trust my eyes.'
He did not know what to say, at first. 'Well - have you found a new line, yet?'
'Not yet,' the old man said, and returned his gaze to the lovers, 'The Muse is but whispering to me.'
The intruder also got back to looking. It was a woman underneath a man. Once he saw this, he could find no other interest in their act apart from predicting when the surf would touch their feet and force them to move. He went home, and left the old man to his art.

>>13525452
Drunk or after a workout.

>>13532921
Do you want advice? Really? I can give it to you.

Couple of sonnets I wrote for my GF. Obviously not expecting much cos they're quite personal, but I liked them so I thought I'd share and see if you guys could offer any advice for next time :)

#1
No man on Earth could dare to comprehend
The monumental joy I’ve felt these nights
We’ve spent as one, that always seemed to end
With sneaking back to rooms and masking bites.
The days were dry, but when the moon arose
And blessed our guarded cells with urging light
Our eves transformed to scenes of wine and clothes
All spilt across the suite in teen delights.
Your raven locks and tender form inspire
In me such adolescent love, likewise
Your curves and sensual touch still set afire
This carnal psyche, the cause of my demise.
So I pray to God this testament of heart
Will please you well, for if not I shall depart.

#2
It seems a lifetime past since last I felt
The spring of prancing joy upon my heart,
And yet mere weeks with you, my love, did melt
And cause all dreadful feelings to depart.
Each night we spent entwined among the reeds
Of tranquil France sent waves of hope and warmth
Along my soul, as I would try to plead
Just one more hour before we headed forth.
How sad that now we must depart for near
A month, three weeks of aching lust and urge
‘Till then, at last, we’ll meet again, my dear,
Allowed to finally let these yearnings surge.
So do not fret, you never left my sight;
It won’t be long till we can finally share the night.

you must have heard of the sweet little girl that got hit by a silvery truck
the sky had turned blue and the tree had fallen too when the evening finally struck
poor mother oh my your sweet melody forever and ever tamtamdaradie
when the moon and the willow and the cat cellar door
found the girl of the bosom asleep on the floor
and the sound of her horse and the ship in the sky
and the blue had turned back to the white of her eye
and the house and her hum and the ramtamtamtam ----
......
......

>>13538339
Sure. I've gotten mixed reviews. Whatever advice it is, do keep in mind that what you saw is a rushed first draft with absolutely no editing of the details.
I'm going to rush this sloppily in 30 days and fix it all later.

https://pastebin.com/76kGM4Eb