/lit/ - Literature

my character writes his own story and doesn't try to get people to do it for him

>>3644297
Thank you!
/lit/ is finally rebelling against these write-it-for-me threads!

>>3644297

bazinga!

sees: homeless people

hears: CHUK-CHUK CHUK-CHUK CHUK-CHUK SCHEEEEEEEEKSSSSSSSSS, PSSSHHT--PFFFFT, SHHEEE

smells: stale semen

>>3644297
I'm not a writer, I just read.

>>3644299
Go read some genre fiction pal like you usually do pal.

There is too much sound to hear any of it, so the brain treats it like silence. two girls at the end of the car lean close together and their lips move soundlessly. There is tho old honduran lady in the melon colored apron and the blue shirt and jeans with her foil-lined shopping bag. From the rolled up mouth comes the smell of food: large warm pork and rice and bean burritos, el cubanos and tamales, fried plantains and meatball sandwiches all wrapped in their own aluminum skins and sold for three dollars. This is an express so there will be no station stops, and only two more transfer. She got on the train with two bags and is down to her last half, so she is wary. As much as three hundred dollars is now rolled up in her fanny pack. She only takes cash, and does not give change. I purchase a cubano from her dwindling stock and sit next to a retired nurse who volunteers at the library. I want to see what book she is reading. An Agatha Christie in a dull green dust jacket. The train begins to roll.

>>3644287
Asylum-bound linoleum nailmarked by the likes of W. Ryder being dragged of to more intercranial shocks, the scarface red of the smudgy chairs floating out of place, fat people wear running shoes to comfortably stand still. No stockmarket for the Asians today, just puzzlement at post-confusian attempts at droll. The temporary neighbore's harline creeps towards the spine, no fun now, just garlicky residue in starched shirt collars without a wife to make it right. The red led glow incomprehensibly to daylight eyes, a man taps his feet impatiently on the strap of his bag — never saw a terrorist in shorts before.

He sees Kilgore Trout, looking like a hobo, although he won Nobel Prize just twenty years ago. Actually, he wrote one story similar to occurence. It was called Breakfast of Champions.

If you want a book that's pretty much all this, read fucking Lowboy by John Wray.

>>3644287
Looks like every subway train.
So nothing.

>>3644478
The hell it does. That is one clean subway. The one I ride every day doesn't look like that, the one I ride is packed and dirty.

>>3644354
this is pretty good.

>>3644536
test

>>3644309
>smells: stale semen
Piss and cat litter. But for some reason, everything smells like cat litter in my stories. Do you think I'm trying to tell myself something?

Sees different people immersed in their own thoughts, hears people talking in the phone, smells cheap perfume. Because he knows cheap perfume.