/lit/ - Literature

>>5791357
What do you mean with
>his imagination lost any purchase reality
?

I first read it as "perchance of reality", then I re read and sort of took it as some gambling term, as if he had no backing up to his ideas.

You should be careful with needlessly complex words like
>miasma
>proactive
>wallow in his own
>life-sapping
If you use words the reader won't see in regular everyday conversation it's characterization; and if you don't justify having it with some kind of payback the reader will feel cheated.

>>5791381
I meant "purchase on reality" as in grasp or hold

As for the needlessly complex words, thats just the natural flow of my writing, unfortunately. I dont have any real intention with it. Is that bad?

>>5791357
cliché as fuark. nothing new or interesting, neither regarding conceps nor regarding aesthetics. would not read.

>>5791396
>This single paragraph from a longer work isn't original at all!
>It's shit
I bet you read for plot.

>>5791393
As a writer you need to adapt your prose to your content. Whether you're Nabokov writing Lolita or Palahniuck with Choke, how a story is written conveys meaning to the reader even if nothing is said connecting the narrator and the character.
Also, if you try to write situations where your prose is justified you'll feel a greater connection between technique and content and you'll find something interesting or at least personal to say since you'll be commenting on yourself.

>>5791357
I don't think he used any words that were "needlessly complex". In fact, I actually quite like it OP, but I feel like I need to see it in wider context in order to give you any really effective criticism.

>>5791416
this is a response to
>>5791381

Hey!
I wrote silly poem (called the Boat) and English is not my native language so.. what do you guy think?

Eli Thomas embraced his old lovers in succession, said the sorrys he could never speak while awake. He sat on top of the city, on a huge iridescent dome, and watched the sun rise in a half-arc across the starry void. “It is well that there should be stars and not just blackness,” he might have thought if he could think in words. For, thus gripped by the fantastic colors and swirling eddies that exploded in daylight over the earth, not just at it, his mind stirred excitedly and blankly in surprise and delight.
He threw off his covers and his spine shot up, normal to the bed and the horizon. A few moments ago he looked down and watched all the people moving beneath the glassy surface whose curvature he could see but which covered the flatness of all the earth. Now he put his face in his hands and rocked for a few moments trying to understand what had just happened. The majesty and supreme joy began to fade. He solidified like a stone covered in the goose feathers of his blanket. His forearms were goose skin and his ears began to notice the white noise of the heating unit he kept on the floor.

In roughly 60 seconds, he was acclimated to the newness of this unnew world. He recalled his name and his duties for the day with reflexive unhappiness. Eli Thomas had a soul that hated chains, and saw chains everywhere.

>>5791418
Yeah, I assumed you were answering me. I did say that if its justified it can work, but you have to chose your words to convey the right meaning. It's a huge part of writing.

Can someone review my shitty prose so I can go back to wallowing in my own mediocrity please?

Thanks

>>5791441
Try to make that twice as long. If you want to show off you have to show off, if you rush it you make it look as if you were just trying to obscure your ideas. Even if you want a clear aesthetic intention you should remember that the point is communication.

Does that make sense or did I miss read your work?

>>5791357
>How easy it... person from another

is actually a nice sentence, in image, in word choice, and in rhythm.

All of the others are flawed in at least one of those ways, and most in more.

>specimens of beauty

is absurd. It could only ever work in a first-person narrative where you intend on depicting the main character AS absurd, but here, since the voice is the author, it sounds objective, and thus awful.

>He briefly wondered at their personalities, even imagined that they might be interested in them

I'm sorry there's no more in-depth way of saying this, as rhythm in language isn't an exact science, but if you don't 'hear' how stunted and crude this sounds you might be tonedeaf in regards to language.

Too lazy to do the rest. The images/ideas presented in the latter sentences are stronger, more precise, and 'human,' but, again, absolutely no sense of proper word choice and rhythm.

>>5791731
>if you dont 'hear' how stunted and crude this sounds you might be tonedeaf in regards to language.
I think the issue might be that those two parts should be two separate sentences. There's no reason for them to be tied together.

>>5791674

It doesn't have much point. Just a dream really.


Eli Thomas embraced his old lovers in succession, said the sorrys he could never speak while awake. They told him things like, “it was never supposed to happen the way they did.” All wrongs were made right, and there was much love and forgiveness.

He found himself sitting on top of the city, on a huge iridescent dome, and watched the sun rise in a half-arc across the starry void. Fantastic colors and swirling eddies exploded in daylight over the earth, not just at it. “This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and am likely to see again. It is well that there should be stars and not just blackness.”
He threw off his covers and his spine shot up, normal to the bed and the horizon. A few moments ago he looked down and watched all the people moving beneath the glassy, curved surface. Now he put his face in his hands and rocked for a few moments trying to understand what had just happened. The majesty and supreme joy were fading. He solidified like a stone covered in the goose feathers of his blanket. His forearms were goose skin and his ears began to notice the white noise of the heating unit he kept on the floor. He tried hard to hang onto the feelings of perfect forgiveness. The light of a thousand world’s suns, a few moments ago breaking through his eyes, diffused into dots of green and red noise as blood beat through his eyelids.

In roughly 60 seconds, he was acclimated to the newness of this unnew world. He recalled his name and his duties for the day with reflexive unhappiness. Eli Thomas had a soul that hated chains, and saw chains everywhere. He saw chains in this recurring vision of forgiveness. She used to live with him in the apartment but she left to go live in his dreams amid much anger, shouting and the unstoppable decay that is love’s death. Eli Thomas knew he had said sorry a thousand times, but it never captured the sincerity of his will. He could never arrange words in such a way as to say, “I wish for you a dome in the sky, I hope it is your lot to see beauty unbound.” It always came out cheap and mechanical, stuttering and blundering.

There were so many occasions in life which Eli understood to demand some sort of prosaic commentary, some profundity taken from the heart and packaged into nice words. He would wish for the entire world to pause for a moment so he could try and put it into words just as it was. Invariably he would be interrupted, or he would stutter, or he would think of something that was too beautiful for the situation at hand. He would grab her by the arm, look into her eyes, and say “Look, I’m sorry. I really am” instead. Then they would go home because it started to rain, drink Coca-Cola and put a can of soup on the stove. He imagined love would be something constant and always forceful. Every goodbye had to be heartfelt and every embrace long and warm, full of love and forgiveness, with all wrongs made right.

>>5791731
also the word idly would be a perfect replacement for briefly

OP here, thanks for both the kind words and the criticism. For those who suggest a diction which is more suitable to the plot/ theme, what words would you suggest?

>>5791357
OP, definitely want to reply to the image you posted.

i want to say something about this psychological analysis. i think it is precisely the dreams of the narrator which prohibit him from reaching out to the others on the train. that, as well as the attitude toward them. they are specimens! gorgeous, unsuspecting specimens. in this mindset, it is absolutely impossible for the narrator to communicate with the others on the subway. but if the narrator chucked this attitude and inner monologue it would be exceedingly easy to simply say hello, and make small talk (the height of compassion and philosophy) with anyone, anywhere, just to pass the time, which is all we are doing here anyway!

>>5791426
this is charming, given that you are not a native speaker, but also because it is cute and simple. just to touch up on your grammar the second line would need to be reworded, perhaps as "and he never wrote a note"

a lad with a whip moved toward a donkey
the donkey brayed melodramatically
the lad lifted the whip but it was clearly a whip designed
for an adult to use.
the old man had said to whip the donkey, and he sat a distance away
on the porch, the tip of a wheat plant hanging from his mouth.
he ordered this of the boy
for entertainment purposes, for he was old and cantankerous
and loved to see a youth perform a pointless act of brutality.
yet when he say the youth unable to wield the heavy leather whip
he felt anger
and moved to the boy, with disappointment
and the boy felt two things
one, he felt glad he did not have to whip the donkey
yet he felt scared of the old man, for the old man's wickedness was glaring
like sun in his eyes.
and he felt the man rip the whip from the his hand
and the man yelled for the lad to stand aside and watch! look here!
and the old man whipped the donkey, which could not run,
being tied to a post,
and he whipped the donkey again and again,
til blood, from the donkey
and sweat, from the shrivelled, fervent man
dripped on the baked sand, fallow ground, weeds.
the lad cried,
and the man called him a sissy. go to your room, then, sissy!
play your video games! drink your soda,
you are no kin to me!
the boy entered his room, began playing an online game
and yelled obscenities to his teammates and enemies
that would make the old man very proud, indeed.

>>5792449

you had me until video games. I want to know more about the old man, not the kid. I don't like your line breaks. You can't seem to decide if you're writing a poem or a story.

>>5791426
Is the daughter in the poem the daughter of the man in the boat? If she is, you might want to say "the daughter cut her own hair" to make it more clear.

>>5792336
How do we expect us to know what your plot or themes are?

>>5792527
thank you! absolutely true. the last few lines seem as if they were thrown in after the fact, in some attempt to bring modern relevance to a poem that belongs to another time period setting. the charactersare not fleshed out enough, and perhaps free verse isn't the proper method at all for this narrative.

Hey lit.

I've posted this about 4 times now, looking for some good critique.
http://pastebin.com/11ZFiTKz

I go back and forth between confidence in my work and I wrote this at a low point, so I look at it and think its shit with no Idea how to fix it.

I'll be happy to give my thoughts on someone else's work if I can get some constructive criticism here.

>>5791426
This is actually nice.

>>5791756
Good point, it'd definitely improve it, although I think it's still crude sounding.

>>5791783
Good choice, much better for the rhythm.

I wrote the first chapter of a book, it's around 23 pages. Would anyone be willing to read it? I've been writing it off and on for a few weeks.

>>5792621

Classic sea-storm, nice descriptions, your language flows effortlessly.

Reminds me of the Seafarer or Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

Didn't care for this bit:

" The taste of brine, salty, similar to a gourmet drink spiced by a mixture of minerals—I quite liked it. A drowsy heart embraced the ocean's pressure, cradled by absolute aqua; a soothing weight to my bones. My tears mixed so seamlessly with the tides and that's a beautiful thing."

Needs more panic and desperation. Death is something we kick and scream at, I think.

here's me:

>>5791775

>>5792664
I should of mentioned the second part is supposed to be peaceful / clam. The protag has been through rough shit. I attempted to transition into a more sentimental feel by mentioning his dreams.

I'll get on yours in just a moment.

Here's mine, experimenting with some stuff right now.

Mojave desert.

Lonesome samurai is belletristically training with katana, his movements elegant from long practice. Everywhere tufts of dry shrubbery, white as bone. Sunset now and on the horizon a man advances toward the samurai.

''Hey, Pete.''

''I do not acknowledge that name during these hourse'' samurai says. ''Did you bring a sword?''

''What the hell are you talking about? Pete, you told me I--''

''No matter. I've got a spare sword here.'' From the ground the samurai picks up a katana, sheathed, and throws it to the man; lands against his body, man says, ''Ow! Fuck man that hurt!.'' Samurai now: ''Let us begin the duel.''

''Pete, what the hell is wrong with you? Why do you wanna fight me, I'm a film critic for chrissakes. Is this a joke I'm not getting?''

The samurai points his sword at the man. ''Look at him, ye Gods! Here is the man who has been polluting the minds of millions of people with his writings. A champion of mediocrity, a defender of all that is wrong, the man who rapes muses -- is he not guilty, ye Gods? If death be his fate, as indeed it is the fate of all, then let me deliver it, so as to make it righteous, just, give it a point. Here's my blade -- here is Truth.'' The samurai strikes a combative pose, poised to slash.

Samurai's enemy says whimpering: ''Jesus, Pete, what's wrong with you, I--'' With one swift move the samurai decapitates the man. Body falls and head rolls. Pool of blood widens in the dust. Desiccated shrubbery twists and strains to drink it.

Sunset, its red splendor spread across the desert. In silhouette the samurai moseys away, knowing his enemy to now be the food of vultures.

>>5792683
here.

>>5791775
>Eli Thomas embraced his old lovers in succession, said the sorrys he could never speak while awake.
Said doesn't flow that well here, while its written in past tense, you're implying he does an action while he embraced his old lovers.
>in succession, saying the
>in succession and said
Imo those make more sense gramattically

>a thousand world's suns
just a little too cliche for me personally.

>I wish for you a dome in the sky
I actually liked this, just a hint of poetic without going off the deep end.

>Every goodbye had to be heartfelt and every embrace long and warm, full of love and forgiveness, with all wrongs made right.
I also like this since it tied in with the first few lines.

I liked it, it had some great imagery at points, a little cheesey when it comes down to it, but everything romantic now days is. Keep it up, I haven't seen many writers with poetic prose in their short stories.

>>5792747

Cool thanks for the pointers. It's just a dream I've been having. No story, nothing else.

>>5792621
Gonna be a cunt and bump this thread.

Anyone who'd be kind enough to give their thoughts on my work will get mine on theirs.

Squdy tines adnubilate horrescent, trepang-associated

trephination afore my ingression. Gelid, knurled capiscum us

ensconce? Audemus jura nostra defendere! Ingurgitations ere

anatine lollops fain suppurate nescience.

gaay

>>5792704
>belletristically
what? do you mean like belles-lettres? what is this even supposed to mean?

>>5794005
Doesnt it mean warlike?

>>5796203
bellicosely

>>5791357
An interesting premise but the text is a bit too complex and contrived. Also the fact that "He" refers to the passengers as specimens is way too try-hard, why not just call them people?
Anyways here is what I am writing, it is a historical novel about a Swedish viking that goes to Constantinople and meets the emperor then becomes a Varangian.