/lit/ - Literature

-Fuck you.
-I don’t care, I’m not driving.
He pulls out in the middle of nowhere between two cities and between our start and our destination.
-Well I’m not either, I drove until now and I’m tired and I want to smoke too.
-You can smoke while you drive.
-Say we get stopped by the police.
-I don’t even have my license. ‘sides, look in the back. We’d get fucked anyways.
-Still. I’m not driving.
The sky burns, short-circuited, earthward extremes flaring up faintly with pollution. Engine’s ticking along cooly, breaking through the low-volume radio chatter like an erratic bass beat.
France looks up from the backseat, half made joint held in his hands.
-Why we stopped?
-Marco doesn’t feel like driving anymore.
-So?
-So we’re not going anywhere.
He mumbles and looks down getting back to what he was doing. In the front seats we stare ahead, moodily. Marco lights a cigarette and goes through his iPod to find an album he likes and I do the same, awkwardly.
I wonder if maybe we are competing somehow, both of us making up rules in our minds. My cigarette won’t light up.
France hands me the roll-up and I start smoking that angstily instead, looking at Marco, trying to juxtapose the burning paper to his face. He looks back at me and stare at each other with the roach between us.
Luca starts laughing way back in the car it sounds like, a reflexive smile bursts waxy in our faces.
-You guys look like monks with like, a sword between you. You look Wuxia.
We laugh a little, relax. Marco takes the roach.
-Look, just get us there okay.
I say. He looks at me, than back at the road.


Here you go

>>6331747
its a short story about a homeless teenager


There’s a quiet spot along the river that she liked. It was down under the Sixth Street Bridge, on the west bank. There’s a grey brick wall on one side with poorly done, unintelligible graffiti, and scraggly and unkempt grass growing from the cracks in the sidewalk that pours over into the rocks that transition the walk into the river. She came here at night, to sleep. There was a little nook between the wall and the hill beside it, a dip in the land that was actually quite comfortable to sleep in. The grass covered well enough that she would go unseen in the dark. She had a small 6x6 tarp she stashed under one of the rocks so that she could lay there without the feeling of morning dew and dampness soaking her; it also worked as a blanket to burrito in. She never showed anyone this spot, lest they attempt to steal it. She woke early in the morning, and tried to stay away from the area during the day; she didn’t want anyone to know that’s where she slept. She’d been there since spring, and it was September now

>>6331775
>-
Was it because you read Ulysses ?

>>6331775
This is very bad, sorry. It is pretty much as generic a "teen"/ YA situation can get; smoking rollies, boring minimalist conversation about nothing, being moody. Its trying desperately to be cool.

But...
"The sky burns, short-circuited, earthward extremes flaring up faintly with pollution. Engine’s ticking along cooly, breaking through the low-volume radio chatter like an erratic bass beat."

This shows you can write, you're just not. I'd suggest the following for improvement:

1) Change what you're writing about. It reeks of try-hard cool dudes as I've said.
2) If it doesn't contribute anything, cut it.
3) The conversation doesn't seem real. It seems jerky, as if you the author imagined the conversation. Of course, this is what you did, but this isn't what the reader wants from dialogue. It needs to be more natural.

So yeah, I think the problem is with your choice of topic and slightly try-hard dialogue & characters, rather than any innate inability to write. This is just my opinion, though.

>Heat rose from her pussy like piss steaming in the snow. It hit my face and I began to salivate like I just woke up in the middle of the afternoon and my mom told me she had already ordered KFC and it was on its way. I couldn't wait to eat that KFC. I mean, pussy.

>>6332759
>Its trying desperately to be cool.
>Trying
Get with the times grandpa.

>>6332810
>Heat rose from her pussy like piss steaming in the snow.
Incoherent besides vulgar.
>KFC
You eat too much fried foods, anon.

>>6332827
>incoherent
>"much foods"

>>6332810
Why do women always have to write about their meat curtains?

Even reading the Bronte sisters, it's vagina this, vagina that.

Get a life.

>>6332837
Wow you wouldn't think he could make it back into the corporate world after retirement, but anything's possible I guess.

>>6332845
It's all they got

>>6332837
Ah, the "s". I see.

>>6332845
I didn't write it, bozo.

>>6331775
>than back as the road
good job anon

Breaking a spiral flat, a painting was stuck in his face, a chapter of 36 thousand memories, he wasn't alive, embracing abstraction made him that, he was stormed by light, his existence was a constant implication of everything that preceded him, he turns his head to the mental camera as one could view him, and spoke words that shook you, perhaps it was beautiful.

>>6332864
Who says it's not some other woman?

And he sat. For so long his legs left the world of consciousness and his mind began to wander all across the fields of blue and green he found himself in. Drenched in sweat and dark blood that pooled in the grass beneath him, making shapes in the grass that he sometimes touched and moved to make room for other things to touch and move. He couldn't help but think back to days of steel and concrete, when grass was kept controlled and muted against grey skylines and grey grounds to walk in grey times. He thought of flame as he looked at the grass, wild and untamed by man or beast, flowing like a river of great godly aeration. And he thought of men. He thought of good and evil and thought of in-between things and great goods and greater evils like men that bled on grass and men that provided causation. He thought of women and their earthly wiles, and in his time he saw them full chested and full of life dripping from wet cunts and red stained beds where life could leave in an instant, or be brought forth from untellable aethers.

I'm getting in on the vamp craze. 1/2

I kick in the door.
It comes off it's hinges as the old wood splinters inward, and I step inside into a scene straight out of a slasher movie.
Three dead girls. Mangled throats, thighs and wrists. One has a chewed off breast. How did he get three into his apartment? Hookers probably. Which means there will be either an agency or a street pimp who will come looking for them. Blood everywhere. How in the seven hells am I going to clean this up? Burn it? No, the fire would spread. There are people in this building.
And then I see him. Standing over the third girl, fangs out, blood dripping from his chin, naked. He's frozen like a deer caught in the headlights. Trying to wrap his blood-drunk mind around who I am, what's happening here.
He's ugly. Balding, thin brown hair, long face, tiny eyes. That's highly unusual. Vampires tend to turn attractive humans because, well, they're attracted to them. Let's be together forever and all that bullshit. Immortality never saved anyone from being shallow.
So, a stupid, talentless and ugly human somehow becomes a vampire. Who turned this guy? Why? What the fuck is going on here? Thinking about this, I'm starting to feel like someone is yanking my chain.
"Well hello there friend. I'm John. John Wessex. You're having quite a party in here, aren't you. 120 Days of Sodom up in this bitch, huh? "
He swallows. "You...I can smell you, now. You...you're like me. Oh, God. Help me. Please."
He starts shaking. He starts crying.
I''m on the clock here. Even this late at night, someone might walk through the outside corridor. City that never ever fucking sleeps.
I walk up to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"It's all right. This isn't your fault."
He keeps weeping, kneeling over the dead girl that stares at the ceiling. "I...I tried to stop. I trieeeed. But it hurts. Inside."
"I know. I know. I want you to tell me who did this to you."
"W-who?"
"Who made you this way? What happened?"
He starts wiping at the snot from his nose, looking up at me and back at the dead girl.
"Some...some girl from the club."
"The club?"
"Y-yeah. Rain. Club Rain. She was...she was so beautiful, I couldn't...I couldn't believe she was even interested in me..."
"And after she made you into this, she just left you there?"
"She...she said 'go and have fun, boy.

>>6333068
2/2
. Have all the fun you want....'"
This idiot is a distraction. Fantastic.
"I'm soreee...."
I pat him on the back.
"Shhh...It's all right. Calm down. Describe this girl for me, okay buddy. What did she look like?"
"Beautiful...dark hair, green eyes. Tits like-s-she was-"
"Beautiful, yeah, I get it. Don't worry buddy, we're gonna fix this, okay?"
"R-really?""
"Yeah. Really."
I take out the bowie knife from my back and stab him through the spinal cord. His brain stem disconnets from his body and he goes down. Of course, within a few minutes his body will fix the damage. So I grab his head with my free hand and start sawing through his neck.
After that I'll have to further mutilate the wounds on the other corpses so they don't look like bite marks anymore.
John of Wessex, Knight of the Realm, mutilating dead girls. I've lived too long.

This is now a vampire literature thread.

>>6332748
Just like it more than other ways of saying "these dudes are talking now". Haven't read Ulysses yet.

>>6332759
Thanks for the criticism! Really appreciate it, and I can say you're mostly right. This particular excerpt is one I've been trying to fix for a few days, and I think I'm just going to excise it and use what good imagery I wrote otherwhere. Maybe taking a scene out of the middle of my work wasn't really a good idea. Writing interesting scenes while trying to write "minimalistically" really is harder than I though it would be. Thanks for the insight, again.

>>6332870
What are you on about bro.

>>6332672
Your prose, I'm afraid, is at the moment not very interesting. You're telling more than you're showing (eg, the grass covered well enough; doesn't really say much) and your imagery is kinda stale. Read the first few pages of Suttree, or maybe, if you're going for something a little less crammed with details, The Orange Eats Creeps; they're relevant to your subject matter, and may give you some inspiration. Other than that I guess it's fine, I personally enjoy stories about homeless people so I'd read more.

>>6332975
Sod off and read Blake Butler and Gary Shipley. Than maybe come back and improve what you wrote.

>>6332994
I enjoy it, reminds me of the style I'm using for a story of mine, but I think you should make it more streamlined, use simple words, avoid the thesaurus-alia you used in the second half, and maybe the vulgarity. It's fine if used organically, but just dropping a cuntbomb like that stinks of high-brow edge. Make thine prose holy, hallowed.

>>6333068
>>6333076
I too was 16, once. If you want criticism: lose the gimmicks, lose the faux-colloquial dialogues, lose the genre savy wink wink nudge nudge unless there's a reason for it, lose the overdone metaphors. More importantly, dull that fucking edge or just throw the blade away pal.

>>6333112
Got an idea, all those posts you replied to, rank them, from best to worst.

>>6333127
ur post is best post anon :^)

>>6333146
This is a very good reaction picture.
Sorry for shitposting, sage

>>6333112
Vamp guy here. You're gonna be pretty mad to find out I'm gonna get published. Hey the advance is just fifty grand but that's better than nothing, especially for a book i wrote half drunk during a four week period. I'm telling you man, VAMPIRES. Commercial gold. And best of all, they will publish ANYTHING with vampires in it.

>>6333112
You just don't git it, ime too deepe five you.

>>6333176
Well, that's great for you anon.
I hope that you're

- not bullshitting (wich is probably the case)
- are satisfied of your work and are okay with it being part of your posterity forever (wich shouldnt be the case)

>>6333185
Oh, I don't really give a shit. I just need money so I can travel and I hate actual jobs. Plus, come on, a man has to know his limits, and I'm never gonna write the Great American Novel anyway. You should write a vampire book too. At least it will get you in the door and then you can try selling them something serious.

>>6333176
Not even mad, good for ya mate. Send us a copy, will enjoy reading through it half drunknly - as I believe it'll be best experienced.

Being an alcoholic, he drinks every day. It is not his joy. It is a poision he willingly takes, for his body craves it and his weak will, which he is wholy aware of, breaks apart. Some ask him, why does he do it? Why reduce yourself to a state wherein you are so disconnected from the preconcieved realieties that you feel no discomfort after having had urinated in your pants and sleeping with them in your cold, wet bed? Is it that you are trying to escape your life? What has it brought? An unsuccessful marriage, children that you never see, humiliations that bring shame to your being every time that you think of them? Oh, not even these humiliations are worth it. It is the mind which is killing him. The conscious mind, which sees all the trouble around you, the problems of daily life and so forth. Everytime sobering up, only to find that you life in conditions wherein your sister is breaking her back at lowly paid work and your mother is barely making it with her pension, only to buy you alcohol, so you wouldn't feel the sting of withdrawal, you feel that it is overly pathetic. Your worn clothing, looking dreafully, your food, mostly made up from the cheapest row of prefabricated foods and the constant bother from the bank, seeking to get back money that you simply don't have, always reminds of how pathetic your being is. The memory of having denied proper Christmas for your family; as they had made their meager feast, you kept bothering them with your shouting, as you wanted a cigarette or something else. Their disappointment, as they couldn't have the peace just for one night, that peace which is taken granted for many and thus celebrated. No. They couldn't even have that.

>>6333103
More pls

I regretted watching the segment on Ali. The local anchorman was shamelessly professional. He had that manicured, paternal-care voice all the newsmen use when they talk about bad things happening to young people. Pictures of Ali flickered behind him as he spoke and I could tell they'd all been airbrushed. She looked like some magazine wet dream, shiny and otherwordly. The anchor highlighted all her activities and abilities, how promising she was as a runner. Then it cut to Ali's co-president in student government, a weepy, shrill girl in a tight black dress who talked about bonds that can't be broken and justice and how hard this was for the community. She ended her speech by turning to the camera and calling on her fellow Rams not to lose hope even when things seem their darkest.
After the interview the anchor leaned in and furrowed his brow for the segway to the suspect, an obese skinhead with a prior for sexually assaulting a minor. Some bulletpoints about Nevada sex offender legislation appeared on the screen before the anchor moved on to the solution, tighter sentencing for similar cases because this man would still have been in prison had the laws remained the same. He wrapped up by calling the whole ordeal a tragedy, expressed sympathy for her parents and brother, and set up a gun violence segment before it cut to commercials. The whole bit was maybe 5 minutes.
I wasn't sure how to react. I felt like a cigarette so I went outside. As I smoked I wondered why I hadn't cried, just watched, and I debated whether to burn myself with the tip before I realized the whole idea was stupid. A few other options came up, putting my hand under the lighter, cutting somewhere, but I knew they were just empty gestures and imitations. My arms were so restless I couldn't sit still, they desperately wanted me to do something but I couldn't think what. I just sat and tapped my foot and smoked and shivered and I couldn't tell time.

>>6331747
I annotated scene so to not draw on your attention.
He stumbled out of the line, a deafening shriek dragging from his bloodied throat. The sound of his torment carried to the opposing body; though it was their foe in anguish, a shudder ran in every man, be he widower or adventurer. Waving his weapon wildly, his step failed, punctuating the howl. He drew up and paid no heed to his soiled uniform.
The Swordsman came forth, and as the men stirred, deciding whether to charge the wounded Prince, he would let no other approach him. He drew his weapon and thrust it into the mud, running hard and only managing not to stumble as his boots slid, catching the wounded from a second fall.
"This wasn't you." he grunted, taking his arm to carry him back up the hill. "You played the part of a prince, and there was no stopping him. This is not over, I assure you."
From the silver ranks in the east came a white cavalcade, Frederich at the head, charging hard and drawing the Swordsman's attention as his boots, caked with black earth, met the chalky stone of the bald crown of the hill. Setting Lothaire down, he lamented his disarming, seeing the Prince in armor, and at his flank the Imperial Hammer had returned in his midst, sword in hand and a bandage over his eye. He became grim as neither army hindered their ride, and riding out of formation for a moment, the Hammer reclaimed his blade from the soil and reset his bearing, arriving just as Frederich dismounted with his impossible grace.
Bearing no cane and but a trace of his oft exaggerated limp, he approached determined. He signaled his retinue, who beset the Swordsman with arms, ignoring the kneeling Second Prince and his blade, which he had managed to grip while his feet had failed. This Frederich repeated, as he walked past his guard and confronted the Swordsman directly. A faint smile drawing precariously died as he spoke more loudly than their distance demanded, “I don't know what is proper, for you or I, though I suspect the justice of the General will spare you, though you canceled his last offer.”

>>6335301
cont.
The Hammer approached from the left; mid-stride he flicked his reclaimed blade to bloody the Swordsman's left arm. “I again claim victory, and I do spare you once more.”
Presenting the bloodied weapon to Frederich, he hindered the violent thrust of the Swordsman, knocking him back some distance away from the congregation. “But your part in this scene is over; you may only withdraw lest you as yet fear not death.”
A second scream shot through the valley as the sword found a second blood, protruding far through the Prince's chest, wetting the immaculate livery of fair Frederich, never easing his hard face. The voice of the Swordsman sounded fiercely as he fought with fist the Hammer to little avail, and his hands skinned and bled as he was again struck down. Frederich turned and faltered.
He too found the earth to his knee, and waving off his men, he felt a hand on his shoulder—accompanied immediately with the sickly sounding of metal sliding through flesh. Lothaire leaned his face to his outstretched hand, handing the sword hilt-first to his brother. “You falter, for you have forgotten your cane and your rod is in the mud. Here is your sword.” He found the rocky crown and died as Frederich trembled, never turning.

Sorry everybody I'm too tired to rate your stuff, here's the last thing I wrote tho:

--

how far from face to floor were you
a fourth your father's height
how far he were how far from you
as a distant star

>>6335301
>>6335306
Sorry dude, this is pretty bad. It's poorly written generic fantasy shit, a bad imitation
>>6335332
I like it

1/2. Just a scene from this drama thing I'm polishing. Wrote it when I turned eighteen and am just typing it up now, had other things to write. This scene takes place 2/10s' into the story.


They sat for a while, watching a documentary on Ants. Dean couldn't believe the complexity of their nests. Only nest wasn't the right word, it was more like a small township. The damn thing had a garden, a nursery, a queen chamber or “Throne room” and even pantries full of stored food. Dean was stunned and knew he’d have to do a huge ass canvas of some kind of ant city. The credits rolled eventually and Chloe looked at her watch “It’s seven thirty” She said “I’ll go see him.”
He was their man, a Vietnam vet everyone called The Sargent, even though he had been a paratrooper and nowhere near command. Once he’d confided in Dean that he’d rather not be selling the smack, but his pension was shit all and he still had connections from “The old days”. He was just an old, one armed man trying to make his way in the world. The Sargent had always reminded Dean of his father.
Chloe left, kissing Dean softly on the lips then he got ready to go face their landlord. He had a quick shower, well, what he planned to be a quick shower, to get the sweat off him, but ended up being a twenty minute affair. By the time he was ridding the elevator up three floors it was just after eight. Miss Dekins, the landlord in question, lived on the buildings top floor.
Dean thought slowly and carefully about what his approach might be. Would he simply tell her the truth? Maybe he and Chloe could just leave; Dean had always wanted to spontaneously run away. Dean would much rather that then have a conversation with the toad-like woman who had been nothing but cold after they signed the lease, beforehand though, he was all smiles.

>>6335339
2/2

It had to be done though, he would not let Chip go to the pound, where odds are they’d put him down. As he knocked on the apartment door of Miss Dekins, Dean thought his father would be proud of him, only a little, but proud none the less.
When Miss Dekins opened the door she let out a long sigh. Dean stood in her doorway, a black haired boy wearing a shirt with a smoking clown on it and a leather jacket. A jacket, Miss Dekins knew, would be hiding track marks.
“Hi Miss Dekins” Dean mumbled.
“Hello Dean. Rent problems?” she asked. The old woman had been waiting for this day since the pair of junkies had moved into her building. Mr Druggo over here would come knocking, hat in hand, begging for an extension: A day, a week. And what would she say? No. Sorry, but get the fuck out. There’s no charity here.
To her dismay, Dean shook his head.
“No ma’am, more like a lodging issue. My father-“
A cold hand of grief gripped Dean around the throat as he felt tears well in his eyes. He realized he’d only talked to Chloe about his father, no one else, and with Chloe he didn’t have to contain himself, but here was a place he couldn’t afford to break down.
“-he passed away, and one of his last requests was that I take his dog. I know the rules ma’am, don’t get me wrong, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
It did hurt to ask though, it hurt Deans’ heart, and he wasn’t hiding the hurt as well as he’d hoped. Miss Dekins could see the tears in his eyes and pain etched on his face. She had an unexpected surge of sympathy for the poor boy. Losing someone was hard, Miss Dekins knew that better than most.
The next morning she woke up very angry with herself for letting Deans’ sob story get the better of her. Dead dad or not, no dogs meant no dogs, but she figured what’s done is done. Besides, with those two junkies as it’s masters, Miss Dekins wouldn’t be surprised if the damn thing wasn’t dead within a week.

>>6333234
This reads tediously, try a more punctuated style. Definitely don't go full Palinuak, though.
>>6332975
Are you autistic?
>>6332672
Are you depressed?
>>6332810
Nonredeemable.
>>6332994
Half of this is purple prose, but I get a great sense of characterization from what doesn't repulse me.
>>6333068
>I'm getting in on the vamp craze
Godless, talent-less limpet. Reform your soul.
>>6335276
You walk through words on crutches; half of this relies on social jargon that will seriously date this work and its at the moment nonpunishable. You also don't really know how to form paragraphs.

This novella is not of quality. I repeat, this novella is not of quality. If you are reading these pages, you are wasting your time.

Close the book and kill yourself.

A couple of days back Manny had been at his apartment in Chinatown getting ready for a deal somewhere in North York. He was in the process of calibrating his scale when he heard a loud bang near his front door.
“Open the safe!” yelled a (presumably) male voice, dressed in the most generic black pants, black shoes, black hat, and black wool sweater. A similarly dressed androgynous entity (due to the ill-fitting clothing he couldn’t tell its sex without its voice) stood beside him. Both of them were holding pistols, and the one who spoke was motioning with the gun towards the safe.
As Manny looked into the eye of the barrel his mind instantly cleared and the adrenaline released into his bloodstream brought his heart rate to a jackhammers pace. As he turned around back to
Manny slowly opened the safe, and gave the robber about five thousand dollars in cash,and a good 2 ounces of weed.

<Youth leads the group of philosophers to Orator. Orator delivers a passionate speech, which rules the crowd. The philosophers are entranced>

Youth: Let there be no doubt, that in Athens lives a good orator.

<Philosophers murmur and nod in agreement, apart from one. He speaks:>

Philosopher 1: Wait on a minute everyone.. How do we know this so-called orator isn't just a good actor?

<Silence, followed by excited murmuring and whispers>

Philosopher 2: Maybe he just <seems> like a good actor!

<This encourages a reaction, a few philosophers even gasp>

Philosopher 3: How can one seem like a good actor, when seeming is in the nature of acting?

<Philosophers grow irate and ignore youth>

Philosopher 4: But haven't you yet realized? Seeming is the nature of good oratory!

Philosopher 1: Seeming is not good if seeming is not truthful! The true is good!

Philosopher 3: But oratory is the art of convincingness, not truth!

Philosopher 2: Then oratory cannot be good! It is a contradiction!

<Philosophers exit the stage in continued debate. Youth exits oppositely, frustrated>

>>6335339
***she was all smiles.

The burst of a gunshot reverberates around me. I scan the bus to see how the other passengers react. The gun fires again, but still nobody seems to have noticed. Nobody runs. Nobody screams. Another shot, and I learn exactly where the sounds came from and where the gun was pointing. The answer to both: my head. I scold myself for not realising it sooner. After all, I’ve been fantasising about putting a bullet in my head for the past two days.

>>6335404
the last line the philosopher #2 says doesn't make sense to me. its not really a contradiction. also it seems like you could just have 2 philisophers having this convo.
still i found it pretty funny

>>6335431
fucking lel

>>6335446
Glad it made you laugh.

>>6335338
Oh boy do I accept that; I gave you a character called the Hammer without any of the the story, when its used to shorthand a titled character that's never referred to by his name. I like my style, though, but I won't make this back-and-forth.

>>6335470
>I like my style, though
well as long as you like it, thats whats important

>>6332864
I've just been lurking here recently, but I've seen you post a lot and I'm wondering why you need a trip? Are you someone famous here or just want the attention?
I assume you're female as well since your display is a butterfly

I've been having dreams that you still exist.
Long after I've forgotten your voice. Your eyes. Your face.
But you're there.
Never really there, but a shadowed form with a twitchy smile and flowing words.
I say all the things I've wanted to for years.
I always wake up before I reach "I love you".

>He was in the desert now, a familiar place. Nothing was strange about this. He had dreamt of his desert a million times and would dream of it a million more.

Why read an excerpt when you can read the whole thing?

http://www.amazon.com/Taipei-Vintage-Contemporaries-Original-Tao/dp/0307950174/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1427707534&sr=8-1&keywords=taipei

>>6335625
Get out of bed, Tao.

>>6335624
>a familiar place.
>Nothing was strange about this.
>He had dreamt of his desert a million times
you say the same thing three times

>>6335404
This is good, very funny

>>6335664
No I don't, that's not true, you're wrong.

Their faces turned sideways, blank, lifeless. Their words spoken softly, as if never spoken at all. This was how it felt, and yet so much stranger was the choice of name-calling... so formal and, dare to say it, politcially correct. Wilson motioned softly, under his breath and under his amount of will, and spoke calmly, "Oh," his sigh filled the room like an unwelcome cold breeze, unsettling and ghostly, "And... I..." He was at a loss for words, dazed and confused. David took concern, yet understanding in his feelings and thoughts, "I understand tha tyou have... questions... and I will be happy to answer them." He breathed quickly with his mouth over his words, not once breathing in from the nose. He tilted his head slightly to the right, at about a thirty-degree angle, waiting for some kind of response. Wilson surely did have a countless amount of questions, as anyone would, yet somehow he knew deep down inside that no matter what he would not get the answers he wanted or personally needed.

CIA Rises. It's not done yet, not even close.

>>6335301
>>6335306

Honestly it's just difficult to follow which character you're actually talking about. One sentence "he" refers to one character, and in the next sentence "he" refers to another character, with no clear shift in perspective. This whole thing is telling, not showing. I can't picture any of this

Dylan was beyond drunk. His glassy, unfocused eyes slid over the bar, trying and failing to find an anchor, a point of focus. His lithe, willowy body was uncoordinated and faltering; each of his limbs had gained an independent autonomy and tried vainly to keep him upright. One arm hung above his head, held there as though by some unseen puppet master.

>>6331747
TYLER OAKLEY MADE MONEY OFF THE IRAQ WAR

keep reading about home interiors and aesthetics, but soon

christ will come back in the form of a brooding, dead rat

on your mother-of-pearl tile porch

a blackhead on your daughter's sultry, red cheeks

a candelabra burning wet dreams down to botox and beard hair

stop talking to me about leek-and-lemon-halibut quiches

and tell me about your local assemblywoman's ovarian cancer

i want to talk about my fucking parents

i want all the goth kids to read confucius and to be visited

by the ghosts of their ancestors and

i want mccarthy, john travolta, and all the closet fags to

come with me and read wilfred owen in drag

to make adam4adam profiles and talk to

past versions of themselves

i want to ask hillary clinton when i will stop forgetting and start accepting
thank you to my weed dealer for showing me what

you could have made me into

and god bless craigslist and lonely, muscular literature students

Considering the probability of being diagnosed with ovarian cancer as a female, he found it rather surprising to hear he in fact had ovarian cancer. Furthermore, he found it equally startling to learn that he had ovaries at all.

>>6335540
it's out of context, but maybe what you're writing about may be too generic. try exploring some unique experiences you've had with love and write about that, try to be unique in how you tell the story

>>6332672
cold, hard realism. it could work, but you may need some more graphic descriptions and analogy to convey what you're trying to say a lot better.

>>6336933
reads like a porno

>>6336940
"What?"
"I said-"
"No, I'm well aware of what you said. What I'm wondering is why you think I have ovaries."
"Sir, please. I'm a doctor. I went to Harvard."
"But I'm a man."
"Your point?"
"Please. Is this some sort of joke? Am I your millionth patient or something?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Now, there are a few steps we can take to control the cancer-"
"I don't have cancer."
"The tests would indicate otherwise, Mr. Langley. Numbers don't lie."
"I DON'T HAVE OVARIES! DO YOU SEE? HERE-"
Langley pulled the front end of his paper robe skyward, revealing his penis.
"-SEE? DO THESE LOOK LIKE OVARIES?"
"For Christ's sake! Get the hell out of my office, you perverted heathen! I will have you know that I am a happily married man, Mr Langley!"

>>6336963
>teehee so funny and selfaware and pomo
>i wonder if /lit/ will like it :DDDDD

>>6336981
Thanks. Make sure to buy a copy when it comes out in September

>>6336963
jesus pls stop that atrocity from being published

>>6336999
Reserve your copy on amazon next month and look for it in September, thanks for the support

Another excerpt

Langley noticed a red flag sticking out of his flowerpot. 'Again?' he thought. Leaning over the marble-topped island, he grabbed the bunch of bananas lying on the counter and picked the ripest looking one. He began peeling it from the bottom, which he had recently heard from a friend at the office was quicker and more efficient than peeling it at the top. In all honesty he had noticed no difference. If he had it was too minute to bother making the switch from top entry to bottom, but he didn't want to take the risk anyways.

>>6337031
10/10

>>6337063
Thanks dude make sure to buy a copy and tell your friends, maybe buy a copy for your friends

>>6337090
No problem dude, you too

>>6337099
Thanks man