/lit/ - Literature

http://pastebin.com/tLYMm3K1
Submitted it around a few weeks ago. I don't sincerely think it's even close to so good that people will be tripping over themselves to steal it, but FYI I'm one paranoid motherfucker, and I've already mailed this to myself, so it's no dice.

>>7759697
>The cart swings a daring hook along the monorail and hurls catapulted by its own velocity straight into the incinerator, the fire-pit of dripping masochistic ecstasy, the bleeding infected earhole of hell, screams abound, burning like newspaper, god, disrespect paramount, fuck!
>Sunglasses melted onto my singed face, I smoke a brown-paper cigarette out of the corner of my mouth clenching my teeth biting down on it like Clint Eastwood; flip ‘em up onto my forehead in an expression of maniac excess. The carriage seers on while I clench the breaks, hot to the touch, 100% success rate: on the ground, a charred body must be around seventeen years young gives me the thumbs up in rigger mortis, great.
This stuff reads like Duke Nukem the Carnie. I wouldn't want to read a lot of it but it's great in small doses as it is.

HS senior here

anyone wanna read my shitty college essay

This board is for discussing literature, not your shitty OC.
These threads are the worst cancer on here next to Bookshelf threads and the scifi general

>>7759677
I'd been the zephyrs along the broken backwoods roads, weighing on the gas, ghosting over the black highways of the night, someplace stuck between Nashville and Memphis, just far enough from both to keep its silence pure. As far as I could explain, I was a drifter, unmotivated, a ghost blown by the wind, but I was dead sure that the solitude that drowned me in ever second was real, breathable, oppressive, a symptom of the moonlight braving through the starry oaks, a forest made of some other people's memories. Not mine. My half-dead whip rolled on by, with nothing ahead of it.

>>7759725
thanks kiddo. I literally subbed in 'clint eastwood' for 'duke nukem' after deciding the latter was too silly.

>>7759756
That makes sense. It's definitely publishable, but I hope you can write in other styles if you want to not be stuck in a niche.

"Pricked upon the smooth, semi-pale, and rather gooselike skin, resting calmly over the muscle, bone, and fat, a lowly yet seemingly underestimated bug lay to rest. It did not quiver or bounce, no sound came from its tiny, incongruous mandibles. The mosquito was a little under or over sixteen millimeters in length, its long, slender, and smoothly bent legs placed themselves carefully. Its unproportionally small furry thorax faced proudly upward, allowing its trunklike proboscis to firmly place itself onto the host's epidermal surface. The mosquito's tiny spotted wings, about twice the size of its thorax, soared halfway high above where its abdomen should have been. It had no worry of the world around it, the world inhabited by alien creatures the size of mountains. Observing the world from its large, round eyes, the mosquito could only see what wonders these beings had erected, as well as the ones they tore down. No fuss, it may have thought, my well-being is not even slightly affected by their existence. The mosquito was almost certain it was full, no need to have another meal of blood, hair and dead skin again. Maybe it was the thrill of avoiding detection, of sucking blood once more to feed an intense urge deep down inside, burning as to divide soul and spirit, and thus... physically crushing his tiny body. The mosquito was no theologian, and so it did not worry; Maybe I could use one... more... bite."

Literally kill me.

>>7759776
is this a pretend excerpt from Mosquito Garbageman Omelette or whatever that fake book you guys made up is called?

I wouldn't say you couldn't be good. The sentences are a little repetitive: too many of them start with "it" or "the mosquito". That's my main complaint.

>>7759776
>underestimated bug
>incongruous mandibles
Those adjectives are meaningless in the context.
>meal of blood, hair and dead skin
Mosquitoes don't eat hair or dead skin. The piece as a whole strikes me as a school writing exercise; "Write something from the perspective of something unusual!"

>>7759796
>Mosquito Garbageman Omelette
Never heard of it but sounds entertaining.

What would you substitute?

im tired and drunk and warm belly in midst of october fall darkness and sad rainy downpour of lost dreams, lost in a drunken stupor talking the night away until the break of dawn when i wake up feeling worse off than i did before, i often dream of a better tomorrow waking up today wishing for a better yesterday, oblivious to today anyway, what does it matter to poor old me, im just a soul wandering aimless through life, so i find the answer to my problems at the murky backend i find at the bottom of a bottle, a warming feeling in my tummy and my problems subside - onset is the inhibition dispelled.

An October sunset flowed a wondrous array of soft colors across the sky. The beauty could be seen through a clearing of trees around a sea of oranges, yellows, and the occasional reds and evergreens. Down the clearing walked a man with lanky proportions adorned with surplus military gear. His black boots on the dirt coupled with the jangle of the gear in his olive pack gave him his distinctive sound that he had forgot he made as he made his way out of the trees and into a field. He stopped walking and slowly turned his head in both directions, taking in the sights and sounds that surrounded him. The calming of his noise brought back the serene sounds of the land that he had neglected for the duration of his grueling three hour hike.

>>7759677
You use this intellectual, verbose prose and out of nowhere it gets mangled with the bit about the "piece of shit chevy". Nothing wrong with describing things as a piece of shit as long as it isn't jarring in comparison with the rest of your writing.
Also, you say "that lonesome backwoods road"
and then the next sentence you say "the intense feelings of loneliness". It's redundant. The reader already knows that it's lonely by this point.
The rest is fine. Just be sure to include commas.

>>7759804
>Those adjectives are meaningless in the context.
How do I fix that? How do I infuse writing with meaning and why is it meaningless to begin with?

>Mosquitoes don't eat hair or dead skin.
I was more or less trying to say that hair and dead skin was gross and was mixed with the blood, making the mosquito look more repulsive.

>The piece as a whole strikes me as a school writing exercise; "Write something from the perspective of something unusual!"
That's why I came to this thread.

>>7759813
>all of that self deprecation in one tiny segment
At least spread it out my man.
Also what's up with your use of commas? I'm tripping all over with this clunky ass prose and have no place to regain footing thanks to your lack of periods.

>>7759826
>You use this intellectual, verbose prose and out of nowhere it gets mangled with the bit about the "piece of shit chevy".

Thanks for the feedback broh, and as far as that goes I just like mingling intellectual sounding sentences alongside stuff you'd hear some backwoods trucker say, kinda adds a bit of realism to it. mark z danielewski and Neil Gaiman are some big inspirations to me and they do stuff like that allot.

>>7759811
>What would you substitute?
Just change up the subject between sentences, i.e. "Adam stepped into the street. He was immediately hit by a car and blacked out. Adam woke up to the sound of Eve screaming" would be better as "Adam stepped into the street. A car immediately hit him, knocking him out. The sound of Eve screaming woke him up."

>>7759839
Okay, thanks.

>>7759837
>mark z danielewski and Neil Gaiman are some big inspirations to me and they do stuff like that allot
No wonder I don't like it

>>7759867
Bruhhh come on now house of leaves was that nigga shit

The story I'm writing is fantasy genre, I'm not native English speaker so there're probably some errors (translated on the fly):

<The rustling of armours and stamping of boots on the solid rock ground was the only sound breaking the silence in the narrow passage. With natural walls of volcanic rocks extending left and right, the only thing that could be seen when looking up was the night sky, with clouds painted in orange and red by the myriads of magma eruptions and fire explosions happening somewhere far out of the view of this group of unfortunate individuals.

"$charname01!! Is it safe?"

From behind a tower shield, through the opening in the helmet of the full-body armour, the vanguard screamed a "whisper" to the comrade walking ahead of the group.

$charname01, the most dexterous member of the group, a Professional Chef wearing a full grey $armourname01 set and carrying a red leather backpack on his shoulders, was assigned the task of checking the safety of the path beyond the next corner. Looking left, right and up many times, after making sure that no enemies awaited in ambush, he lowered his scarf and grinned back to the vanguard, who was waiting with anxiety a dozen steps of distance behind him with the rest of the group...

"What?! Can we proceed already or not?"

Not caring about the volume of her voice anymore the vanguard screamed from behind the tower shield. $charname01 who hesitated before giving the confirmation signal, stopped again to look at the status of his comrades.>

This is more or less the first page of my first book. I'd like to release it in both my native language and English, though the second one will probably be delayed a bit because I want to get better at English before releasing the translation.

Do you think I'm being too descriptive? is the style too boring? I don't know anyone irl who could give me an objective opinion, if you've any suggestions I'll be listening. By the way I use variables only for names of things and characters that might change in the future, I'm sorry if it was too distracting.

>>7759913
>$charname01

Its pretty well written but whats up with that mary sue name yo? is it like taking place in video game world

>>7759913
>Do you think I'm being too descriptive?
Yes

>>7759677
You use the word lonely (once as an adjective, once as a noun) two times in the first two sentences. Pretty bad start.
>intense feelings
wonderful description
>sea of grey
cliche
>cut through the abyss
>abyss
its shit OP
you could have said the same thing in half the words.
>>7759697
>monorail
?? you mean with one rail? how does that work? or do you mean a single pair of rails? clarify or take it out
>fire-pit of dripping masochistic ecstasy
i don't know how a fire could give of masochistic ecstasy. Use something else to try and describe the intensity, maybe the distortion of the air in the waves of heat.
>like Clint Eastwood
jesus, do u want to be taken seriously?
>in an expression of maniac excess
'maniac' in itself is a very broad term, and 'excess' is a shit word choice
I'd tone it down a bit with the capitalized letters and vague dialogue. It's interesting, and then obnoxious, and then annoying. There's obviously talent here, but really you're wasting it with edgy "oh suicide, burning inferno, flames, dead charred corpses, Clint Eastwood!" shit.

>>7759677
>lonesome backwoods road
show that it's lonesome, instead of telling. also, don't use the word "backwoods."

>towering oak trees
never describe a tree, or anything tall, as towering.

>drove into a sea of gray
just say "I drove." don't try to make everything poetic. "sea of gray" does nothing, and the night is black, anyway.

>my piece of shit Chevy
>cut through the abyss
>revealing nothing
>I have just read three unnecessarily long sentences for nothing

most importantly: don't get memed like all of /lit/, thinking that any amount of feedback will help you, if all you have are three sentences. write the whole story first, then revise, then show it to somebody.

>>7759929
kek well I'm writing the story and preparing the visual novel version at the same time, I left the variables in the original text just for convenience, I'll probably change some of the names I have in mind by the time I finish writing the first chapter, variables make it easier.

>>7759939
ah I thought so, I'm not sure how to fix that though, I tried debloating already a couple times but I can't manage to shorten it any more than this yet, some details like clothing, weapons and other appearance elements are related to the story, like for example the armour that the Chef is wearing was made from the leather of a beast that lives in certain regions of the world, where the story will eventually bump later; also the armour of the Vanguard is kind of important because it belonged to her dead friend and she's now using her identity to stay alive, that sort of things, you know. How can I deal with that?

>>7759942
>describe the monorail in more technical detail
>describe the heat in visual terms
>make an effort to be taken seriously
>be less "edgy"
you've really missed the point of this story. and your advice is really bad. i appreciate you taking the time, and saying i have some talent, and i even appreciate negative criticism in general, but this is just... terrible. terrible points made.

None with. Or too nigh forgotten. Hell steals vigor and platitude beyond necessity as one lays gay rivers running in place. That night I was raped.

>>7759776
put down the thesaurus. youre not impressing anyone
it's overly and unnecessarily descriptive, and, unless youre just writing this for the sole purpose of getting a shitty critique on /lit/, id recommend some serious brainstorming, because this is boring as shit.
>>7759813
angsty, i imagine some pouty college kid with a patchy beard writing this

>onset is the inhibition dispelled
i liked this line, and your prose isn't as purple as everyone elses in this thread. Seriously, rewrite, do some grammar work, and find some better words to replace cliche shit like "darkness, soul wondering aimless through life, lost dreams"
>>7759825
>The beauty
we shouldn't need you to tell us directly that it is beautiful
>distinctive sound
you couldn't find something better than this? doesn't everything have a 'distinct sound'?
>that surrounded him
this isn't really needed. We know he's in the middle of the forest, so he's obviously going to be surrounded by it. Either change it to something like "of the air" or "of the night" or take it out.
Otherwise, it's alright, though you could cut it down a bit. Took way too long to say "The lanky man with the military gear on his body stopped walking and listen to the sound of the forest at sunset."

>>7759968
think whatever you want, but don't post for a critique if you're just going to dismiss everything you don't want to hear

>>7759913
>screamed a "whisper"
this doesn't make sense. fix it.

yes you describe a lot but it would be better if you described more what the characters are thinking instead of the scenery. without this, we have little connection to the character and therefore little interest in whether they live or die.

>>7760001
I'll freely dismiss criticism by people who don't understand how to go about reading. I'm open to most commentary, especially that which is highly critical, but I'm self-aware enough to know that those were bad points. I shouldn't post in a critique thread if I'm going to be dismissive of criticism? You shouldn't critique in a critique thread if you don't understand postmodernism, irony, or, my god, even basically know what is good in literature.
But let's say I'm too close to my work to actually be able to differentiate between stupid criticisms and criticisms that I don't like. I can still imagine the short story that you're suggesting I write, and I'll tell you right now, it fucking sucks.

>>7760050
Sounds like i really got to you.
Look: i was writing the same sort of shit you're writing now a few months ago. People gave me the same sort of advice i gave you and i dismissed it by thinking that they didn't 'understand it'. I don't expect anything i say to change your mind. But trust me, you're in a phase. You'll grow out of it, and you'll look back on what you're writing now and cringe.

>>7760087
Nice try, but you can't trick me into thinking I'm an idiot. I'm smart enough to know what I'm doing and to know what you're doing.

>>7759913 (cont.)
Here is some page later:

<In front of the cave, that seemed to be the result of a huge volcanic blunder that fell on top of a narrow alley, two knee-tall beings were biting a piece of unknown flesh. Their profile resembled a bird, except they had no wings, their head was similar to a snake's, their whole body was covered with a hard-looking grey skin shaded with violet and their long thin tail could be compared to that of a lizard. If one were to give them a name, it would be something like Bird Snake or Wingless Lizard Chicken, it is indeed an 'Unlisted' critter.

"little sneks …here I come!"

Two knives hit the small beings right in the head and they fell to the ground without making any sounds.

It was a target that $charname01 couldn't afford to miss, their group didn't eat any fresh meat in the past two weeks.>

Here I'm facing the same issue with details I guess, though later in the story I wanted to add an element similar to a Pokédex, which the main characters will use to guide themselves through various situations (no it's not gonna be a "gotta catch 'em all!" fantasy spin-off kek I know that would suck), so eventually the future encounters with animals or monsters won't be described with the same level of detail, about that I want to create a couple of pages dedicated to the descriptions, like those you see in Fate/Apocrypha novel (pic related).

>>7760046
>this doesn't make sense. fix it.
What I wanted to say with that line is that the Vanguard whispered in a tone that sounds like a whisper but is actually a scream, I don't know if there's an English word for it (I don't know in my lang either to be honest), you know like when you run a lot and you get tired, if you try to say something while you're breathing heavily how it sounds funny? that kind of "whisper" I meant (that's why the quotation marks), but I don't know a better way to put it.

About other point you mentioned, yes I'm working on that too, though in that specific scene I already wrote something, it was in the next page:

<$charname01, who has never seen the face of the person behind that crumbling mountain of metal, but knew about her character, continued grinning; although he was aware that his friend didn't like being teased, he wanted to dispel the tension that he felt coming from her voice.>

Would this kind of description be good? I decided to use 3rd person narration for the whole story, but I'm also using some dialogues to express the thoughts of some characters later, like this in page 9:

<Creating a mosaic of different chants in her mind, $charname03 concentrated her magic in direction of the stone, though, for a moment the memory of a familiar face flashed in her mind.

‘Fufu... why did I remember that, at times like this...’

$charname03 chuckled silently under her helmet, then she continued with the ritual.>

>>7760091
Ah, i was wondering how long it took before you started talking about how smart you are.

You're not as smart as you think you are, and you'll know that when you grow up a bit.

>>7760143
He's right, you missed the point of the story. You don't even know what a monorail is.

why do you decide to write in a way in which no one actually writes or talks. like jesus christ what do you actually get out of books?

>>7760143
>>7760156
>You don't even know what a monorail is.

>>7759942
>>7760001
>>7760087
>>7760143
Yeah, you can completely ignore this guy. I just read the story and he clearly has no idea what he's talking about. The only changes I'd make would be "maniac" to "manic" and "d-e-a-d" to "D-E-A-D" but that's just me. Also you misspelled sears as seers and rigor as rigger.

>>7759697
there's potential but it goes on for too long and becomes wearying to read. it's like fifteen minutes of explosions.

>>7760518
It's not long at all though. I didn't check the word count but it actually seemed kinda short to me (I'm not the guy who posted it).

>>7760543
the problem is that it feels long because of sentence length and unrelenting over-the-top voice. the poster needs to learn pacing.

>>7760553
I think the sentence length is a little tiring at the start particularly but it's fine other than that.

>>7759677
"towering oak trees that eclipsed the moon blending together as I drove into a sea of gray" sounds a bit verbose to me.

pic related is mine, do as the OP says

>>7760675
>But why should this bother me? - he would have thought, had he ever thought to think - I have my horse to talk to and my friends the birds and I can hear them sing with the trees in the wind!

i wish i was Epiktetos

Waiting with practiced expectation, the murmured whispers distilled into the low whistling wind.

>>7760161
>why do you decide to write in a way in which no one actually writes or talks
lets dig up big J and ask him

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1DBFvEY263U3K9Y5ICqtGBXkHzL3W7Kfh4O5_AxM3EmY/edit?usp=sharing

I'm the anon who posts assignments from his playwriting class. The assignment this time was to do a 3 page play with a time strategy and I chose frame narrative. This is an extremely rough first draft just to get the ideas down. The class is pretty amateurish (not in a bad way just in a half the students are freshman way) so even something this rough holds up.

You might recognize the character name because he stars in the novel I've been writing since 2014 called Phuc Stevenson and the opening paragraph (and a few other excerpts (notably ones involving Thuy Johnston and Yeezus)) have been posted here in critique threads and spammed here by a small but devoted army of memers back when that was a thing.

This is one idea for where I want to take the character as far as the events after the novel go.

>>7760344
thanks, will do

>>7760518
>>7760543
>>7760553
>>7760575
a good kind of discourse, thanks. I'll think about that

Petite Poorgeoisie

Ilks, urchins, and other unsavouries clutter this muddied boot. For it is the jews, the capitalists, the immigrants...

People without land or territory - hydras of disguise with as many heads - all realized with a double neck, to two more heads, another neck and another, to four. The true figure, one to which we cannot count*.

How many does this monster have? We are loyal - we are the volk, the middle class, those who profit by the sweat of pay earned - we make adoration to the cause from free will (for we are not forced, because, surely, we would be the first to know?) and we are the water inbetween two banks. A torrent to meander according to historical dynasty and expectation.

Shamans of duty correct the infrequent trespass, always in a common good. A common health. Yet each day it is an emergency. How much must I care for the Palestinians? How much must I detest terrorists? Perhaps I must - “no”. No? “No, this is your life - it is your happiness, your pleasure - satiate yourself. Here no apple is worth its seed but each like another. Fight for your plot and bury yourself in the sun, for, if you do not, you shall never grow”.

*One thousand immigrants. Ten Thousand. A million. Ten million.

______________________________

Wretched, then?

What were the common demands of our kind, unscored in rich ink on the pages of our textbooks? They linger like some bond forgotten - a jester, a clown, mocking us in every act - present in the every day. To wake, to speak, to do. We are not without this. A field through which we pass - a structure of relationships that predestinate our goals, declench our nouns and inflect our verbs.

What expectations for success? Without a history, this is the primary question grappled in our dance. The footwork of the social relationship - between which we elide into fault and failure - only to gain by the marginal condition we are resigned to. Opportunity of willingness to bash, blast, and blunder others. To weaponize the ego into a memory of itself; a forever-necrotic living.

Competition. Is our demand its end? How can we? - it is nature. It is the sky. It is the past through which we travel and the river through which we flow. Beneath the silt sediment an Earth of natural wonders, diluted by contact. Competition between resources. Competition for air - for do we need compete for supplies of food and water to continue breathing - competition for sight and sound and colour.

Perhaps the marvels and extravagances need not a concrete barrier. Must politic remain as divided on this end as labour? The common demand for freedom. Freedom how? Freedom from. Freedom from an invisible scarcity; space at the expense of time. Freedom from drowning.

Aye, now we have a body - a mass through by which to pilot, the superstructures and shopping malls - and we have too our ship.

(1/2)

Risen from competition with nature - subsumed to competition with the self, a competition with competition, a contradiction internalized by the reproduction of a wider social being.

Competition. Competition the gun-powder of our advance onto foreign soil. Competition the ignition of oil. Competition the means of production.

We have freedom - a form of it. Is it enough? On this ark, we have no freedom for each other. Our primary desire in competition. Are we so unbearable? Us Jews. Us Hitlers.

The common demand of our kind is need - to relinquish the burden of the necessary and advance through the field of the desire. Two dreams crushed under the heel of competition. Competition must have you hate.

You hate already but competition demands hate through opposites; a systematized confusion conditioned from consumption. Hatred for hair and hatred for nails and hatred for everything you feel to hate.

You must remain anxious and burdened. A religious ceremony of atheists tying concrete blocks to those who cannot compete - to be thrown into that dark abyss from which we once crawled - four limbs, then two.

The ceremony takes place in the church of the home, and, then, in the church of the mind.

Unfreedom in freedom. It is our opposite. An alienation dealt with in substance consumption; decaying a boundary of dissatisfaction, yet never depleting a wider unbearable repressed truth. Sedated without a drug.

An opiate for a mass.

“Bear with production”. With rent, and the anxiety of poverty. With time slipping ever. Constricting the firm pulse of life, buried in a self-flesh of sand.

You must compete. You must compete. You must compete.

As though this were some dark truth. The cynic practices in self-doubt; the boundary of delusion to which we pretend an escape. No great horror marks this term but the prejudice of our thought to which it is pressured. The rank and file of competition is replaced with a misering joy. A joy which can count the value of itself in the seconds. A commodity of satisfaction.

For those with fates, it was destiny.
For those without, it was choice.


Bring dead this system.
Lynch its masters.

That is the demand.
Death to the bourgeoisie.

(2/2)

>>7761107
>>7761108
so wat do i win

>>7759913
>Rustling armor.

>john cage on a tuesday

What a marvel. You stop to gaze at the rows of the meat section displayed under heady lights. A canvas of reds, pinks, off-whites composing an incidental mosaic of flesh. A man passes, taking a package of beef. The composition stirs, becomes unbalanced, rights itself despite it. One merely needs to look, you think. But how many see for all their looking? A woman opposite takes chicken thighs; the work is indeterminate. You scan the wall: thighs skin ribs fat breasts bones liver. The homogeneity of the packaged constitutent flesh (glossy yet functional) belies the image of a previously whole animal.

It is the myopia towards a brushstroke in a landscape, not necessarily apathy so much as learned insensitivity, you think. You believe thoughtlessness blunts (astuteness moreso, you daresay), but so meditate on this moment. You see a pig and its shadow rising and falling as of the dance of the moon and sun; you sense a pulse radiate from the objects of its life; you see the trough from where it feasted indiscriminate and the wood that made the trough and the tree among many that supplied the wood, and you see the feed of the trough comprising the scraps and leftovers of the caretakers and the meals cooked to provide the scraps and the labor necessary to provide the meal; and then the components of the meal.

You trace the animal's lineage, of risings and fallings, invoking the primordial image of an eternal ouroboros coiled many times over. You see its death and butchering, its processing and packaging; you see it before you. You see the animal at the intersection of temporality and infinity. You and your shadow cross its path.

A distorted loudspeaker voice returns you to your summation. You blink. An agreeable muzak tune drones under the announcement of clearance of some certain steaks and already you can sense the bustle of movement. A moment and the tenor of the muzak is tempered by organic percussion courtesy of the gathering crowd. (But how many listen without hearing?) You step back, listen, and resume your shopping because you always did prefer a butcher for such purposes.

>>7759942
>>monorail
>??
How the fuck have you managed not to learn that word from the simpson's?

Heya dudes, new to this thread. English is not my native language, but I've practically been raised by American culture. This is the story I' m currently working on, hope you like it!

The howling wind fled across the desert. The massive sea of gold stretched beyond the imagination of man, its only inhabitants were the ever-shifting dunes; bound to a perpetual dance with the wind across the expanse. The golden sea only had one equal which could challenge its girth and persistence, and that was the bottomless ocean of blue, mirroring the desert from above; its azure surface was only broken by the ever-drifting clouds; eternal nomads shepherded by the wind. Somewhere, sometime, somehow, there may have been a fiery ring drifting across the sea of blue, but this is not then, nor when, neither how. Despite its magnificent beauty the desert was empty, because this was a kingdom of burning gold, which was ruled by the uncompromising law of fire; everything that was too soft to withstand its blazing heat would either wither or burn. But there exists a law of a greater order which dominates all, even the gargantuan desert, and that is the law of discontinuity: whatever rule that reigns will always be broken by an exception. And as such there was an exception to the doctrine of the desert: a life somehow existed in the land of void, and it came in the form of a man. This life was The Traveler, whose true name was long lost among the innumerable grains of sand, and what better name for a man who has ventured farther than any other of his kind? Yet despite the slow but steady beats of his heart, it is questionable whether this poor wretch could really be constituted as life; for the body of The Traveler was gnarled and old, his leathery skin was long ago robbed of its moisture and whatever clothes he once wore, were now little more than tatters clinging to his spindly limbs. Each step he took was agony, as the sand he trod upon was scalding hot, even the very air he breathed seared his lungs and water was but a distant memory from a long forgotten past. This golden purgatory was pure misery. But just as the man defied the desert, two striking blue eyes defied the wretched form of this man, their intensity forged by iron trials of old. Yet the fire these eyes bore were little more than an instinct, a habit programmed into The Traveler's body; The Traveler's mind had long since receded into the chasms of his consciousness, seeking shelter from the ever-eroding winds of the desert. As such, The Traveler was driven forward by the barest of will.

>>7761201
He's right. You need to an make it clear to the reader what this 'monorail' thing is. Wouldn't a train tip over with one track?

>>7759677

Use some fucking commas.

>>7759776

>Pricked upon the smooth, semi-pale, and rather gooselike skin

GRRM has done the 'goose-pricked skin' thing to death.

>>7759825

>Down the clearing walked a man with lanky proportions adorned with surplus military gear.

'Lanky proportions' is a bit superfluous. 'Lanky' by itself already gives a good impression of his proportion. I wouldn't use 'adorned' for literature in a modern setting; too formal/fancy.

>>7760161

Speech is the hardest thing to get right. And you're missing the point.

>>7761192

>You stop
>You see
>You trace
>You blink

You're trying to immerse the reader in a setting by turning them into your puppet. It's not going to work.

>>7761241

>The howling wind fled across the desert.

What is it fleeing from? This is a little vacant/pithy; unless you have previously (or will) clarify.

>>7761248

Sorry, but you're a retard if you don't know what a monorail is.

See: The Simpsons, Tokyo, etc.

Point taken, how about:
The forlorn voice of the wind howled across the desert.

>>7761278
>Monorail

You're out of touch. Simpsons hasn't been good for over a decade, and people don't watch it much anymore, and why would you expect a reader to remember episode 28b Season 4 or whatever, that's terrible writing. But maybe I'm not you're target weeb audience who knows every little thing about Japan.

If you want to get published ever, you need to understand that people aren't going to get you're obscure references. It's just a cheap display in place of obscure knowledge instead of actual intelligence.

Do you idiots really not know what a monorail is?

>>7761322
>It's just a cheap display in place of obscure knowledge
So instead of obscure knowledge it's a low price computer screen?

>>7761322
Everybody knows what a fucking monorail is

sheesh these 12 year olds on this board

>>7761322
its pretty common knowledge that Japan makes extensive use of monorails

If you think that's "obscure" then you might as well write children's books.

>>7761331

Nice misquote

>It's just a cheap display in place of obscure knowledge instead of actual intelligence.

It's rather than being intelligent, he could have some interesting trivia, which is less valuable. but instead of even that he just posts some cheap linguistic display of this 'monorail'

>>7761333
>>7761334

Maybe on some obscure weeb Japanophile lit forum. But not i n the real world

>>7761322
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monorail

Just stop please for fuck's sake

>>7761343
>implying that I didn't understand what you were trying to say
>implying that the full quote isn't wrong in the way I pointed out
>still implying that using the word monorail is trying to impress people with obscure knowledge

>>7761347
>these are the people trying to tell you how to write

>>7761353
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meiji_Restoration

>It's on Wikipedia, so everyone knows it.

Anyone can write those you know. It's just a bunch of sad weebs. That's why there's so much random anime wiki stuff

>>7761356

> Unronically using implying and thinking you won an argument

>>7761369
>he doesn't know about the Meiji Restoration
>girls_laughing.xcf

>>7761347
>not i n the real world
>i n
>>7761369
>unironically using unironically

>>7761376
>>7761378

Greentexting

>>7761392
>greentexting

>>7761392
>not greentexting

>>7761394
>>7761396

Not not green texting (you)

>>7761398
>if you don't use the arrow it's not greentexting!

>>7761168
is that unappropriate? how do you call the sound that your clothes do when you run or just move around?

Jesus christ, how hard is the word "monorail"?
If you've never heard of it, you can easily figure out what it means just from seeing it.
If you don't understand how a monorail could be physically possible, you could just as easily look it up

>>7761426
clothes do not make the same sounds as dry leaves or paper.
none of us incorporate armour into our clothes anyhow
leaves and paper are crisp and dry. cloth is soft. metal is hard.

I felt a nagging paranoia trail me as I waited for the days to turn into weeks, and then months. Somehow I was doing nothing at all, but sleep didn’t come easy to me. Anxiety ridden as I was, it eluded me, shadows taunting me on the walls, the moonlight no longer my friend, but now a swordsman, sparring constantly. I turned away from the window, but the light followed me and stuck to my eyelids. I couldn’t escape its sluggish dance, and rather than be comforted by its pale light, instead it spoke to me in long letters, drawling in a steady, low white noise. The paranoia came from that uneasy idea that they knew I had left early that one day, and they were simply biding their time, snaring me in their precious trap, until it was time to break my bones. Not uneasy enough to slip me under the panicked blanket that terror brings, though. Insomnia became my lover, and I got to understand her intimately under the endless hours of the dark sky.

>>7761433
that's true, though only one character is wearing metallic armor, the others wear leather/cloth, is there a generic word I can use in this case? (maybe "dragging"?)

>>7761463
clanging is good for metal. dragging is not good for anything. why would the sounds of leather and cloth be audible anyway? when i walk down the street i'm not heralded by the sound of my pants touching my shirt etc.

>>7761466
>why would the sounds of leather and cloth be audible anyway?
well, there're supposedly no other sounds in that scene, it would be total silence if it weren't for the characters moving around. If you wear a padded jacket or jeans you can probably hear the sound they make when you move, in normal circumstances you just don't notice because of the constant noise pullution that's surrounding us, though it's a negligible detail I can probably leave behind (it was just for the sake of immersion anyway, no special meanings), clanging as you recommend is probably the best choice at this point yep, let's go with that.

>>7761449
There's some good lines in here, but overall feels sophomoric and overblown. This could be good satire, or maybe a SOC passage from the point of view of a pretentious teenager character. If that's not what you had in mind I'd start chopping off the fat like:

"Anxiety ridden as I was, it eluded me, shadows taunting me on the walls, the moonlight no longer my friend, but now a swordsman, sparring constantly."

make it more streamlined and less wordy, like

"Anxiety ridden, sleep escaped me; the moonlight no longer my friend but a swordsman, sparring constantly"

_______________________________________

"I turned away from the window, but the light followed me and stuck to my eyelids."

take out "followed me and"

_______________________________________


"I couldn’t escape its sluggish dance, and rather than be comforted by its pale light, instead it spoke to me in long letters, drawling in a steady, low white noise."

Combine those first two thoughts, rework the sentence structure to make it less clunky. The part about the white noise is good and should be made more prominent

"I, unable to break its sluggish dance and discomforted in its pale light, am spoken to in long, drawled letters, a white noise steady and low"

_______________________________________

"The paranoia came from that uneasy idea that they knew I had left early that one day, and they were simply biding their time, snaring me in their precious trap, until it was time to break my bones."

You don't need to explicitly say where the paranoia came from, instead try to capture the essence of it

"Paranoia: The uneasy idea that they knew, were biding their time, intending to ensnare me and break my bones with heavy objects."

_______________________________________

"Not uneasy enough to slip me under the panicked blanket that terror brings, though. Insomnia became my lover, and I got to understand her intimately under the endless hours of the dark sky."

The first sentence "Not uneasy enough..." should be either integrated into the next sentence or dropped altogether. Again, as always try to say more with less words.

"Never slipping under the panicked blanket that terror brings, Insomnia became my lover, and she I came to know intimately under the dark, endless sky.


These are all just suggestions, but if you take away one thing just try to be a bit more economical with your words. This has potential

>>7761107
by far the best of the worst

>>7761568
Hey thanks for yourinput man. That means a lot to me that you said it has potential. Definately a big boost.

The character lives in a dystopia in the future. I don't want to give much away because I believe my idea is pretty good, but essentially its 1984 meets the radicalism of today.

I definately agree with it being overblown. Reading over it its basically all like that lol, so ill probably have to cut it down. But its just a draft anyway

>>7761107
>>7761108

p. good, may I ask what this is a part of?

>>7759826
>You use this intellectual, verbose prose and out of nowhere it gets mangled with the bit about the "piece of shit chevy". Nothing wrong with describing things as a piece of shit as long as it isn't jarring in comparison with the rest of your writing.

Exactly this

>>7761449
This guy >>7761568 hit the nail on the head. Good stuff but a bit too wordy and the sentences like "Anxiety ridden as I was.." seem a bit too heavy and clunky

-------------------------------------------------------------------------


Here's my post: http://pastebin.com/ka9uuHv2

I've never posted on a critique thread before and this is the first time I've attempted writing something. I don't read and write that much but I have begun to do this more and more.

Also, I know I will be destroyed for writing such a horrible edgy pretentious piece of shit. I know this. But if there is anyone here who could point out the specific things that I am doing wrong, I would really love and appreciate it.

I KNOW it's bad. But I can't put my finger exactly on HOW it is so bad. The theme is bad, yes. But could you please tell me where I'm erring when it comes to using the language?

(English is not my first language so a good sense of flow in large sentences is difficult for me to develop).

Please lit. Read this and just fuck my shit up.

>>7761322

You are exceptionally talented at being an idiot.

>>7759735
Shitty oc and literature aren't mutually exclusive homie

>>7761192
Incidentally, your use of 'incidental' is a tad redundant. Overall however, you write much and say little. If you pared it down you might have something. But to be honest, I can barely read.

>>7761241
I had a stroke reading this, though I enjoyed it very much, almost like vanilla ice cream covered in sprinkles. Though I don't like sprinkles.

>>7761709
>But to be honest, I can barely read.
>>>/lit/

>>7761331
>>7761333
>>7761353
>>7761654

It's bait* you tards.

*Bait need not be intentional shit posting. Raw stupidity also qualifies as bait and should be ignored as such.

And like a violent rose sprouting from the ground come spring he rose from his mothers ashes a poor needy child—"¡Pobrecito!" Lourdes, plump, flush, perpetually placated and poised, exclaimed at the whining newborn, glancing up against tears at a father struck by a now distracting duplicity: the balance of life and death, a weight from which words like hope and fate and love are inextricably borne, dredged from the confounding abyss of human consciousness; the desire for lapidary truth derives itself unendingly from the absolute lack thereof.
And that was the beginning of my, let's say, foray here on the luscious lousy rock they used to call Gaia but now barely call like an disgruntled ex (sure, she's the disgruntled one).

Caricaturesque, bereaved beavers beaming binding streamers in B-mers—what? Never mind; dams waste more energy than they store. Curious are the lips that quiver for a sliver of morbidity: pallid and limp, now. Prosaic prose—I guess I might as well get over with it now and break the fourth and final wall supporting this glass ceiling above my balding head: hi reader. I hope you don't die before finishing this story. Good, now for a commercial break.

>>7761754

>violent rose

More like 'purple prose'. When has a rose ever been violent?

Same applies to the rest. Read Orwell's rules ffs desu.

monorail dweeb anon made my day thanks you

>>7761732
hahahaha

Literally babby's first time trying to write because I caught feels over some gril. Just kill me if I wrote something 50 Shades of Grey tier. just kill me anyway.


She had become his manic state, if not its trigger he remorselessly pulled. The nights spent in her bed required days of unsteady mental recovery. The skin interface they shared became a sinuous medium giving access to such a state of satisfaction the brain lost its vital reference point for normalcy. The result was spending the days after neurochemically reeling. The wiring ripped out of the walls by callous thieves leaving only frayed stumps spilling useless sparks onto the floor, unable to reach their destinations, wanting only to reestablish their junctions. Synaptic clefts became silent vacuums, deserts of night renewed with the morning sun into verdant cacophonies. Moods proceeded as a wave along an axis of time, a wavelength a day, endlessly overshooting the zero he only hoped to delay. Amplitude diminished until normalcy, with secret regret, returned and the psychic distress of facing reality from that sober vantage lead his thoughts back to her, if only as a means of escape.


Yea I know I should try writing on a less trite topic...its just what motivated me at the time.

>>7761732
amazing

Monoretard the worst, even if he is baiting.

>>7761732
So FUcKing Epic!!!!! XDD Can't wait to see this up on r/4Chan.
*teleports behind you*
*unsheathes Le Narwahl Karma gold points*

>>7761892
I want to smell that hair

You can always tell a redditor from their posts.
For example >>7762026

>>7762046
Well played, friend. Gold 4 U. That screencap was epic. People falling for some guy's bait about monorails. So fucking funny and epic. XD

>>7762052
?

>>7762055
!

>>7762058
thanks for shitting up this thread guy

>>7762043
It kinda looks like he's got hot asphalt in it, and that usually smells pretty good so

>>7762066
You're welcome.

>>7762086
No problem

Nobody's getting good critique because monotard overshadowed all the writing with his b8. Look at all the uncritiqued posts

Can anyone critique this: http://pastebin.com/ka9uuHv2 ?
I am new to writing and would really appreciate specific tips and advice on how I can not be so terrible.

>>7762104
>Look at all the uncritiqued posts
They suck and the people who wrote them should give up writing. There, no uncritiqued posts.

The dog I'd had since 3 just died

Mediocre I know

>>7762139
Assuming you're old enough to be on this board that dog was at least 15.

>>7762104
monoretard was much more entertaining and insightful than most people in these threads

>>7762154
Wow! Can you guess what breed it was?

>>7762154
Congrats on your superb arithmetic, he was 17

>>7762171
Are you a salt farmer?

>>7762172
So what I'm saying is good for you your dog lived ridiculously long.

>>7762178
He was an old fart, not before his time

>>7762174
Excuse me? I was asking if you could determine the dog's breed, not my profession

>>7762217
Great dane terrier cross.

>>7761875
Every rose has a thorn.

1/3
"Dyed in the wool."

When Dallas was a young girl of eleven, she spent her summer as she normally spent the others by leaving her parents for a few weeks to stay with her grandfather. "Grampy" as she called him, lived alone on a secluded farm far away from the city. They passed their time together by either grampy teaching her things about firearms, (Dallas was always ecstatic about the practice, although it didn't go over so well with her parents.) or learning about nature or machinery. While bugs and motors were fun to learn about, her favorite past time was listening to the grampy spin tales about the campaigns of "the war." Hour after countless hour she would sit next to him on the front porch swing and ask him about what the service was like. Through all the information he shared, Dallas learned how to polish leather boots so that they shined like glass, how to read an old fashioned, non-digital map, and the basic mechanics of a weapon. One thing he always mentioned in his stories was the "damn shit-ass officers that never listened to intel reports". Whatever that meant. One day, while grampy was telling a scary war tale, he mentioned word she'd never heard before.

"And it was loud as hell, I tell ya. I could hear anything that was going on! The fellas next to me that left the trench never came back so I was left there to fight on my own. They told me to wait until reinforcements showed The shells kept coming down around me from all sides but I didnt stop shooting. Damn enemy was getting closer and closer. They kept popping their stupid heads up and I kept blowing them off. They were pushing hard to take my position and I was down to a few round left. I put down two more as they rushed me but my rifle was empty. And there was still one more coming.
The little girl's eyes grew wide.
"What did you do?" She asked.
"before I went off to war, my father, your great grampy, gave me his scattergun. I dropped my rifle, reached back and pulled it out and waited. When that last soldier came over the top I gave him both barrels at the same time. He was dead before he hit the ground. I carried with me the rest of the war and never needed to resort to using it, but I tell ya, if I hadn't had that scattergun on that day, I wouldn't be here and neither would you."

>>7763027
2/3
"A Scattergun?" She asked what's that? Is that like a pulse rifle?"
"Well, not really. Its got two barrels instead of one and it's not a digital energy weapon like all the stuff we have now. It fires good old lead. It isn't much good for far away targets but if you got a wild animal or an enemy soldier coming for ya, it's the best damn thing in the world."
"It's got two barrels? She asked excitedly. "Do you still have it?"
"Of course I still have it! Wanna see it?"
"Yes!"
Grampy led her to the trunk he kept at the foot and pulled the lid back. It smelled dusty inside and there on top was a stack of his uniforms still folded. Grampy reached into the bottom and pulled out a long wad of wood and black metal. Just as he'd described, it had two large barrels side by side on the end of a wooden stock.
"Now ya see here where the barrel looks cut down?" he pointed to the rough end. "I took a saw and cut it off so it'd be easier to carry otherwise it be too damn bulky."
If it's that powerful," she asked him "doesn't it kick a lot?"
"Hell yes, it kicks! My shoulder was red and purple for the next two days!"
"Can we shoot it?" She asked.
"Not a chance. You're too young for something like this." Dallas curled her lip to pout.
"Pleeeease?"she begged.
"Do you know how much this thing kicks? I was a strong young man and that thing put a welt on me!"
Please please please?"
"Your mother would have my rear end in a sling if she found out."
"I won't tell! I promise!"
"I know what'll happen. You'll hurt yourself and then you'll cry until bedtime."
"I promise I won't cry! An I won't tell mom or dad!"grampy'a sternness began to ease.
" I suppose one round couldn't hurt. But I let you do it, I don't want to hear any boo-hooing afterwards."
"I won't!"

>>7763031
3/4

Five minutes later, the two stood on the sunny side of the house facing a barn and a thick wooden post jutting from the ground. It used to be part of a fence but the lobe post was all that remained of it. Grampy placed an old aluminum can from the dust bin atop the post and joined Dallas standing ten feet away.
"I put two rounds in the gun and there's two triggers. You pull one and I'll pull the other when I shoot the other can. Go ahead and aim it."
Dallas hefted the heavy black steel high, trying to keep it level. She sighted the can between the barrels and reached for the triggers.
"Nice and easy." He coached her.
As she struggled to keep the weapon up, she tried to imagine the can as being an enemy soldier charging directly at her. Slowly she squeezed.
The resulting explosion surprised her. The can vanished, and Dallas was blown off of her feet. The shotgun sailed over head and landed against the house. For a second, she lay in the dirt, dazed from the recoil striking her shoulder. It hurt. It hurt more than anything. The sun was blinding and hot on her face until grampy stepped between them.
"Ha haaaa!" Grampy laughed. "Good shooting! That can won't be bothering anyone anymore!"
She wanted to laugh along but her ears rang and her shoulder hurt so much. She tried to stifle it but a whimper was working its way to her mouth
"No no!" He pointed a finger at her. "Don't you start with that. We had a deal."
She choked back the pain and used her other arm to push herself up.
"Did...did I hit it?" She asked in between sniffles."
"You blew it away!" He told her. "I couldn't have done better myself! Not get up out of that dirt and let your grampy show you how you do it."
Grampy picked up the shotgun, placed a can on the now peppered post and stood next to her.
"Now you watch this."

>>7763037
4/4.5
Grampy raised the gun and aimed it for a second but didn't fire.
"Oops, wrong trigger." he said. Then he raised it again before pausing.
"Dammit." He cursed. Which one did you pull?" He lowered the shotgun and bent it in half to see the shells inside. When he opened it, shot Dallas a quick look.
"Did you pull both triggers on this?" Another whimper was choked back long enough for her to nod yes.
"Yes."
"Why would you do that? I told you how hard it kicked with one barrel!"Grampy began to laugh again. "Well bless your little soul! No wonder the can completely vanished, there wasn't anything left! Ha ha!"
"Don't laugh at me!" Dallas said, choking back more tears. "It hurts!"
"I bet it does hurt!" Ha haaa! "Grown men usually don't pull both at the same time!" He kept laughing. "Why on earth would you pull both at the same time?"
Dallas lowered her head and mumbled something at the ground.
"What did you say? I couldn't hear you."
"I wanted to be brave like you." She said.
Grampy's face went slack. He set the gun down and he took a knee to wrap his arms around her. She winced when he got too close to her shoulder.
"Oh love," he patted her. " I knew you were brave." His face brightened again. "You'd have to be to get up after being thrown on your ass like you just did!" Dallas made the meanest face she could manage and punched him on the chest to no result.
"Stop making fun of me!" She said.
"Okay, okay, you're Grampy's a rotten guy. I'm sorry for laughing. Let's take a look at that shoulder can we?" Dallas pulled the neck of her shirt wide to reveal her shoulder. The nasty dark purple blotch was already spreading. He felt around the skin and muscles for a moment. "There's no soft spots, so you didn't break anything. You're going to be fine. You know what i think? I think A young girl should have a reward for being that brave. What do you want? I get you anything want. How about I take you into town for a cherry ice lolly? You love those, don't you? You can eat one and well hold another against your shoulder." He kidded her.
"I said stop making fun of me!" She said.
Ok, ok. Fine. It's funny but I'll stop. Now what do you want? Anything at all. Grampy will make it happen."
"Anything I want?" She asked
"Any...thing?"
"Cross my heart!"
Dallas pulled away from him and reached for the ground. She picked up the shotgun with her good hand and handed it to him.
"I want you to do it." She said.
"Shoot a can? I'll do it! Let me get another shell."
"Two shells. At the same time."
Grampy's face took an a more concerned look. The smiling face looked more dire.
"I don't know about both barrels, love. Your grampy is getting awfully old for that kind of thing."
"You said I could have anything I want and I want this."
"Wouldn't you rather have a cherry ice lolly? It's one or the other. You don't get both."
The girl thought it over a second. "Nope. Both barrels."

Here's a little passage, i hope you like it:
It was all a wound for him, still raw even this long after leaving school. He was simply lonely and wasting his own time walking around, thankful for the exercise. Like a curtain, pretenses drop and suddenly the crowd is fine with knowing they’re at the show to distract themselves, to stick a finger in the damcrack threatening to drown the night in bitter sadness, knowing not why they chose a show, this show. Does it really matter given the stakes? Raymond isn’t out “suffering for his art”, because he’s no artist, just a man who writes to light the torch, goes on long walks to flail wildly with it at the closing circle of wolves, eyes gleaming and ghostly floating closer, frozen in barely visible headsdown positions of attack. Was that why he felt so drawn to moral nihilism, so his eventual place in the wolf’s belly wasn’t any fault but theirs, no higher power to ordain a ritual limbripping. He would rather not see himself drawn and quartered by snapshot wolves in a grassy circle, the felt tips of evergreens jutting out of moonlight into the starless sky. There was something about the moon, though, that always captured Dit’s imagination, especially on nights where she was truly bright, when you could see her ghostly halo, white light bursting from her face. That gleaming, pregnant moon dominating the cloudy winter sky, mountains and frozen pine forests supporting their queen’s litter. Maybe a castle, all spires and buttresses and walkways sits on one end of a deep valley filled with nighttime mist, no light issuing from the elegant windows, sconces hardened in frigid passages laden with cobwebs, only the palest white light washing over the stones and ancient carpets, suits of armor, decorative weapons and crests, oil paintings of pasty and demure wig wearers centuries dead, solid and winding chandeliers, static for ages, surveying the darkened halls from vaulted ceilings. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to visit this somber, chilling world. He wanted to look from the web-laden windows on the silent landscape, the white ridges and crowded pines like snowcapped legionnaires at parade rest. He wanted to sit in the vast library, floors and floors of dusty shelves, leatherbound tomes, mobile staircases and an ever-present air of mystery, that somewhere in the dark and empty room lay a book he couldn’t find anywhere else, a book which would explain why the castle is empty even if the it satisfies fantasies with leftover aesthetics, why nothing lives in its vicinity, why no matter how many times he visits that castle before bed it never sees the sun. He feels a connection with that castle, he always has. Perhaps it’s a holdover from his long-haired gothic days, a part of himself which never grew up. Or maybe it never saw the light of day, or never felt a warm wind, and maybe it’s his fault that it’s that way. He walked on, his vision focusing now, looking out at the river.

>>7763045
Last/5

"Well, shit." He huffed. "I guess that's fair. Go put another an on the post." She did as she was told and grampy reloaded.The two stood, staring at the can in its final moments as the old man raised the gun she watched him lean forward in his stance. His fingers grasped the twin triggers. His face scrunched as he sighted the can. The explosion came again and this time it sent grampy back pedaling only to land on his behind as well The gun clattered to the ground a second time.
"SON OF A MOTHER-" he started before biting his tongue.
Dallas stood over him to block the sunlight as he'd done when she went down.
"No crying." She said to him.
"I'm not going to cry." He rotated his arm in place. "but there will be a bloody large bruise there soon." The two looked at each other for the longest time before grampy slumped and sighed. "Go get the truck keys off the table in the hall."

The two spent the rest of the afternoon on the porch swing eating an entire container of ice cream. Each one happy as could be with the other.

(To be fair, this is a slightly older draft but the scene is the same

Something I have written a few months ago. Thinking back to it, I was going for a nice Tao Lin-like (I know he's not memed anymore but I kinda liked him) hierographic thing. James Ferraro like if you will.

http://pastebin.com/UG0LEPgs

>>7761754
Sounds like a schizophrenically more serious Terry Pratchett. I particularly like the allitterations. Wish more people would do that - so keep writing!

>>7763054
Anyone?

>>7759677
Johuistance Rheiggannorre finds himself averring such a pleasantry as the chieftdom's ruler ordered his compliance of. Therefore, such a dissention led Rheiganoerre to find himself in a state of abandonment, thusly endeavored away from the pitious warmth of the grasp of societies subtle embrace of companionship. Johuistiance led himself away from the predicament with infallaciousness, therefore developing in his very inner being of self the desire to elucidate the crimes of the cheiftdom against him, and, in incredulous fact, against all those anti-bourgiouse peasantry who had opposed the bishopric's transfer of power away from the traditional circumference. Thusly, one such peasant-traveler passed upon the path of Rheigganorre as he made it's way accross the barren wastelands of such a land. A creature as destitute as he was therefore under-elated at the arrival of a stranger of the likes of him, and therefore this peasant came upon Rheiggannore as he found himself ponderring these contentions. One word from the peasant's mouth spellt death for the poor soul, as Rheiggannore was a tiger, and he found himself deliverating these issues with a stomach as empty as a recently emptied bucket.

>>7763325
next paragraph
the tiger Jouhistace Reaghanorre's heart was overwhelmed by the desire to right the wrongs of humankind with the absolution of a true and devoted activist, and therefore he found himself setting out on such a mission as he prescribed to himself to follow: he would progress towards the goals he outlined in his heart, which were to treat humanity as though they were all one in the same with each other, and additionally to make quite certain of the possibility that one should be free to pursue one's own intuitive passions of creativity, and therefore not be restricted by the anti-proletariat discrepancies in the "upper echelons" of the upper substrata of societal underpinnings. it therefore became clear to rheaggannorre that one tiger alone would be incapable of developing with such a task, and so he found himself in need of some assistance. it was for this reason that johuistance found himself recruiting the patronage of one Andolusarian Arrandarman, a Cretan nobleman of the proletariat of Crete. He was found by Rheiggannorre as he lifted his fishing spear from the nearby pond with a fish on it.

>>7763329
next paragraph (all I've got so far)
This time the future of humanity as decided by the fateful decisions of the most eloquent council of Pfarraande was developed into the mind of Rheaggannoire as the most important issue at the course of hand. it was for this reason that the tiger Rheiggannore of Antioch was on his mission to defend the poorer of the classes of society as his goal. He therefore made his way towards the cheiftdom, finding himself in need of the uttermost mental assuredness, which he was able to extract from the company of the most esteemed Andolusarian of Crete, who was a nobleman-turned-rebel in camæraderie with Johuistance. After the pair arrived inside the outskirts of the city, it was there that they entered the diverse inn which presented itself as the most welcoming to all travellers intense upon staying in the outermost portions of the town.

>>7763325
>>7763329
>>7763337
Big words, few of them really used appropriately. Not that it seems like you don't know what they mean or anything. The injection of them into the story is really awkward. It's like you wrote this thinking "you know what's great in literature? big words, regardless of context or any other aspect of quality". The fact that the words that you made up (character's name, etc.) are so unpronounceable makes me think that perhaps your whole 'big word' thing is ironic, in which case great, but I'd be worried that publishers won't be able to tell and will dismiss you immediately. If it's not ironic, then sorry pal, nice vocabulary, but you really suck.

>>7763027
I only read the first paragraph and skimmed the rest, but I've got a couple of things to say. They're both quite critical, so sorry about that. First, is it supposed to read as really innocent? It sounds sort of like it's partially from a child's perspective, "Grampy" being the most obvious example of this. In other places it seems to be narrated by a fully mature voice. All in all, it kind of reads like it's written for children: simplistic, to the point that I can't really relate to it. Second, I see no reason why it should exist. This sounds very harsh, but actually I find it's the biggest misstep made by aspiring writers of all skill levels. This story doesn't give me anything that I haven't heard before. No aspect of it is notably unique. In other words, if I heard what it was about, I would have zero motivation to buy it, and if I read up to this point in it, I would have zero motivation to read on. I guess you could say it's boring or redundant, but "doesn't need to exist" I think gives a more complete idea of what you ought to do to write better in the future.

>>7763325
>he found himself deliverating these issues with a stomach as empty as a recently emptied bucket

>>7763455
It's a small flashback. The important part is the shotgun.