/lit/ - Literature

Is it cringe? Honest feedback please.

>>21967034
It's cringe because it reads like a High School essay. The content is compelling and reminiscent of Notes from the Underground, but the voice is not nearly as humorous or interesting.

>>21967047
It is inspired by Notes, at least the first part. How do I do better? (Here is a draft of C2)

>>21967061
Stop using this antiquated style (you're not pulling it off, it just sounds juvenile because you don't have a good sense of rhythm with it). Try something more informal and modern. Write as if you're talking to a friend or someone younger than you.

Take the first sentence as an example:

>I can see you. I know you. I can gaze into your eyes and look behind them, behind the smiles, the mask, the ice. You're hiding. You're obsessed with yourself. And you hate me for noticing. But don't. I'm obsessed with myself too.

>>21967077
Ok, thank you, I appreciate it

>>21967088
As an addendum, you could try and train yourself to better write in that style, but I would still advise against it because Notes from the Underground already exists. I'd much rather read a modern take on it than retread familiar ground.

>>21967092
It is in part a 21st century adaptation of Notes from Underground. In the first part the character rants about more modern problems like consumerism, NPCs, etc.

I do deviate from Dosto later on with a dream chapter in a play format (inspired by Melville)

>>21967034
Notes from the underground is too well known to imitate. You are not only imitating the substance but also the style, which makes it all the more obvious.

You cannot rewrite a book that has already been written.

>>21967112
how's this part?

Crits pls


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Elizabeth always parked herself a distance away from the larger group when bedding down, for the noble purpose of her monastic dignity and station. Her bed and tent were obscured by some patches of bramble and one of the gargantuan willow trees was placed between her and the main fire. She lay on her bedding, having finished her nightly verses and her unspoken hymns, her mind turned upwards. The sailors had been looking on her as she walked ahead of the group that day, she could feel their scorching gaze on the back of her body with each step, each mile. This was not unexpected for her, it occurred whenever she left the sanctity of the nunnery. For her, the external places that due to her role she visited often where definitively ‘places where men will have their eyes on me’ and as a secondary characteristic held the particular function of her visit to that place.
‘Men do not look at gold or jewels with nearly so much keen intensity.’ She thought.
‘The world turns on the object of their desires, all men are inwardly Agamemnon. What are honours, titles, social displays of wealth but proxies for potential satisfaction of their yearning? This is the steam for all human activity. Silk and spices are valued for their capacity to signal purchasing power, excess of currency. Currency is a token of being owed quantities of gold by the state. Gold itself is non-productive and an abstraction of value. But even that value is mere representation for what they see in me, walking ahead of them. That arrangement of fat and bone, skin and bright hair, the lower part of the torso swaying to the left and right with each step, firmly straddles all activity in the world. What I give up for you Lord! My abstinence from that terrible power is the weight of my sacrifice for you, heavenly father. Who can say they offer as much as this?' She thought.

1/2

>>21967194
She rolled to lay flat on her back and rubbed her thighs against each other. She had never attained the little death, through the first kindlings in the teenage years into the full blossom of her adult prowess, not once had she succumbed to that state. She slid her middle finger down the middle of her glistening vulva, feeling the exquisite softness of the plump flesh.
‘What men would do if they could see this.’ She thought.
She tenderly grazed her body with minute pressure until she felt the rising surges of ecstasy, assaulting with the full force of the profane on her will. And there she stopped. There was nothing in her worldy form that did not yearn for her to continue, only might of spirit bade her stop. The unbroken chain, like the papal succession, was maintained, and another link added to that splendorous thread reaching from her heart to the heavens.
‘This I offer to you too, Lord. In your heavenly beauty I find a greater ecstasy’ She offered her prayer.
She kept her legs apart while her breathing slowed, allowing no further contact to tender flesh.
The temptation was not over, and would return many times that night. But, embodying the holiest aspect, in her as in the saints, she had certainty she would defend her unbroken chain.

The campfire crackled.
2/2

>>21967194
>Search...
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>3.08 KB | None |
lmao

Will /wg/ mage fun of me or give me advice if I post my royal road isekai?

>>21967204
Yeah...
Pls crit me though

>>21967204
I am using this in my next novel. God dammit it's gonna pretend to be retarded so much.

Did you not notice the existing /wg/ thread?
>>21961108

>>21967265
"Excession" by Iain Banks features several conversations between A.I.s, with liberal use of e-mail style headers.
"Stand On Zanzibar" by John Brunner does something with its between-chapter segues.