/lit/ - Literature

If someone happens to understand spanish
El sonido del timbre sofocó sus palabras. Bajo el chirrido metálico que había empezado a tronar en el aire, los labios de Virgilia Aquinas (quien, a mitad del camino de la vida, ocupaba el puesto de profesora de primaria en una escuela pública de Greenville) aventuraron el inicio de otra frase de su lección sobre la física newtoniana que fue inmediatamente abortada al percatarse su dueña de que aquel tañido estridente, rotundo e inapelable como una trompeta arcangélica había irrumpido en la clase, acaparando todo el espacio sonoro y, con él, la atención de los alumnos, que ahora dirigían sus miradas hacia la esquina del techo desde la que el timbre bramaba su monolítica autoridad. El chirrido se detuvo de súbito tras unos segundos, dejando caer con displicencia el silencio abrupto sobre Virgilia Aquinas.
Virgilia sintió cómo, al cesar aquel cántico inicial, las miradas de los alumnos se posaban en ella con aire de expectación muda. La observaban acatantes, mansos bajo el repentino silencio y tras esa inexpresividad unánime que recordaba a la del mongolismo. Impelida por aquel silencio idiótico (en el que Virgilia Aquinas, un simulacro tras otro, percibía con inquietud una insolencia anónima, tan clandestina como carente de agente intencionado), se forzó a despegar los labios para comenzar a recitar las fórmulas acostumbradas.
--Bueno, niños, ya sabéis qué quiere decir ese timbre, ¿verdad?—se fijó al azar en uno de los alumnos de la primera fila—A ver, dilo tú, Ezekiel.
Ezekiel se levantó de su silla.
--Un simulacro de ataque nuclear, señorita Aquinas—volvió a sentarse.
--Eso es—corroboró Virgilia--. Es el segundo que hacemos esta semana. Y la semana pasada hicimos otros dos. ¿Alguien sabe por qué?—Virgilia no esperó el tiempo que habría cabido dejar transcurrir para que los alumnos asimilaran la pregunta y rumiasen, gestasen y finalmente expresaran en voz alta una respuesta. Dejó escapar de su boca el nombre de uno de los niños al azar y éste se levantó presto de su silla, sin dar signos de sorpresa por su repentina asignación de responsabilidad. Rodeado por las miradas y el mutismo de sus compañeros, el alumno recitó:
--Porque los rusos pueden atacar cualquier día, incluso mientras estemos en el colegio, y la única forma de poder sobrevivir es tomando refugio lo más rápido posible cuando oigamos una alarma y esperar a que el ataque pase y la gente de Defensa Civil venga a ayudar.
--Muy bien, Paul—Paul se sentó.
El silencio volvió a enseñorearse de la clase. Los alumnos mantenían ante Virgilia aquella expresión de expectación feligresa, sabedores de que su participación vocal en el simulacro había concluido.

>>8363420
Before I go on. Is this going to be a magical realism?

>>8363439
Nah

>>8363386
>was more further away

>>8363386
>not only accustomed to it
Drop the it.

Rewrite:

It was the reason why he was further away from home, further than usual. He hoped to find dangerous game. The animals left had moved further away from the village and he was forced to contend with what stragglers remained.

>>8363543
Thanks

>>8365009

sweet, use, of, commas, bro,

>>8363543

>rewriting it and adding 3 sequencial "further"s

Cmon anon, help him out proper

>>8365035
yeah. Now that you mention it I see a few I could probably get rid of. what did you think apart from that? or does that make it unreadable?

A Sci-fi / Low fantasy Hybrid I'm working on right now. Here's the Prologue.

Page 1 of 5

>>8365127
Page 2 of 5

>>8365131
Page 3 of 5

>>8365138
Page 4 of 5

>>8365146
Page 5 of 5

Give me all you got annons. I ain't gonna improve unless you tell me how much my works sucks - just make sure you specify, why.

>>8365036
Hey man I'm a drunk not an editor but fine:

>...but for reasons both strange and inherent he found himself drawn to the hunt. Big game was often the preffered target and with size came danger. But in the years that had succeed his ancestors Artsyomm found less and less those animals of stature (having moved further afield long ago) and was instead forced to contend with what stragglers remained.

Solid 4/10 there brah

>>8365127
>>8365131
>>8365138
>>8365146
>>8365154
Overall I really like it man, nice job.
There's just a few things. First of all I find it extremely unlikely for any kind of prison to be completely unguarded, I know you need to have Jinny meet the old man somehow, but it really doesn't make sense for there to be no one in a military installation.
Second, about her size, at the end of page two you mention that she was "About three to four feet" is she a different race or just extremely small? That would literally be a midget
Overall I really like it though, is it based in our world or a different one?

>>8365361
Just realized I forgot to delete my first Overall, sorry for being a tard

>>8363386
is English your first language?

>>8365009
fairly entertaining actually. and I relate. people used to comment on my height a lot and I hated it..
---

Grey air is thick with diffracted adverts,
plastic rainbows that fall through gutters,
past the blood-brain barrier,
osmosing with psychosis.

Teenagers huddle on a park bench
despite blue-sky warmth, transmitting
time's passage in a smoke-signal,
laughing at shapes in clouds
as if they couldn't strike lightning.

Constellations float on silence's surface tension
as the ocean sleeps, drifting in ripples
from the back of a humpback whale as it breathes.

Watch as potential turns to certainty,
dichotomies conquer possibility
and waves appear as particles.

A mirror in darkness is the most truthful.

Opening:

"Nah, no sign of it."
He tore his head sideways and raised and dropped his shoulders carelessly, a slight nod. The top of his head shone brightly, picked loosely with fine ash hairs that fell to the side over his ear. His face in general had the form, the spell of dishonesty. The low-sitting brow, obscured dry lips, wide oval chin and broad, charging nose. It was anyone's guess as to what it was that dropped the stone in my belly about him. I couldn't pin it, but the deception sat there, it did. Between two shoulders, it did. He hunched, he smelled, his head hung low and he chewed the skin from the inside of his lips and gnawed his cheek all under a single quiver, one jagged fleshy bounce beneath the shade of his greasy mustache, and so there was never anything specific in it. Just one big beating lie. I hated him.

Some nine miles north of Ansted, beneath the dew of a misty Appalachian valley, black insects whisper secrets in the undergrowth. They talk of things unsaid by locals, unwelcome memories and blemished histories, and their murmurs creep up the mountain slopes at pace with a rising autumn fog. A dozen abandoned cabins slouch against the valley walls, oakum bursting from their rotten sides and fallen hemlock leaves blanketing their sagging roofs and crooked doorways. It’s overcast and brisk, and that building insectile buzz stifles thought of anything beyond the invisible creatures that squirm in the soft loam below. By midmorning the vale is engulfed in their hissing drone, and eavesdroppers to the south catch echoes as they walk to work, several shuddering and hoping for an early cold snap tonight. The Ansted folks are only a couple generations removed from the Baptist squatters whose refuse lines the valley, yet they avoid the area like poison, telling their children to never play here and warning hunters from out of town that game is scarce. They don’t come north, and they suggest others do the same.

>>8365396
You're providing too much information. I literally only read the first two sentences but just some very very very basic feedback
>Some nine miles north of Ansted, beneath the dew of a misty Appalachian va
No some
> They talk of things unsaid by locals, unwelcome memories and blemished histories, and their murmurs creep up the mountain slopes at pace with a rising autumn fog.
Just "They talk of..."

>>8365361
- It's based on a post-apocalyptic earth after an advanced Master AI (that humanity relied on for daily usage) turned against it's masters. A thousand years later, Humanity lives on in medieval-esque societies surrounded by a plethora of advance technologies in which they have no idea how to use (they refer to them like the trappings of an ancient civillization - kinda like elves or what have you). Unaware that a branching intelligence of the Master Ai still lives. (he basically becomes the "Dark Lord" of this pseudo-fantasy esque world)

- Oh and I assumed 3-4 feet was big enough for a small teen. Guess I'll have to bump it up a bit - and yes she's human.

- I mentioned there was a celebration in the fort, but I guess I should also mention that they were undisciplined or didn't care much for the High Rulers.

Thanks for the read, senpai, please to know you liked it. Was it clear to read? Did it keep your attention? Was the prose shitty? Grammar wise, how was it?

>>8365368
>is English your first language?
No

>>8365435
I like it, I feel like that's something that hasn't been super often. Really the only other sci fi/fantasy I've read is Prince of Thorns. That shit was absolutely awful though.
For her height, ya that's definitely too short. Remember that agility, speed, strength, is aided by a larger body. It would much harder for a 4'8 girl to climb a wall, than for someone who was 5'10. The minimum I would go for someone who was as strong as her would be five feet, but that's just me.
I read there was a celebration, but leaving somewhere unguarded is a huge no no. I'm in the miltary, and people who fall asleep on duty get fucked up pretty good. Actually leaving your post would result in really severe punishment, though it may be different your setting.
It's good though, it's simple and enjoyable. I like the main character's personality, the old man is cool, and I liked the guard who was thinking she could be hiding in the cell. It's nice to have semi competent bad guys.

>>8365435
Oh, in the first page you mention a battalion is chasing her. That would a huge amount of people in real life.
It goes
Team
Squad
Platoon
Company
Battalion
A battalion would be at least several hundred people, and could be much more.

>>8363386
> This was an environment which the Artsyom a young man of no more than nineteen,

Is "Artsyom" his name? If so, remove "the". If it's some form of title/honorific, it can stay but you could consider making it italics to highlight it's your own invention. You need a comma after it whether or not you remove "the".

> was not only accustomed to it
was not only accustomed to, (remove the "it") Maybe make it "well-accustomed" to, to make it clearer that he was a) used to the environment, and b) liked hunting in it. Otherwise it sounds like a bad way of saying he WASN'T accustomed to it (since "was not (only) accustomed" is so close).

> but, for reasons he did not know, was rather fond of hunting.
You could use an em-dash here: but--for reasons he did not know--was rather...
You could also rephrase with "for reasons unknown to him".

Good start, OP!

>>8365466
That explains things. All I can say is: keep working on your grammar.
There's no use pointing out the specifics; it's something to work on in general. gl

I seem to have lost it
Like the wind that races on the shore
on a cold day but I still take my shoes off
and close my eyes against the light
Go deaf, go numb, go blind, go
No me, no talent, no-life, just
the goddamned cold
and the long-lost whisper that said, hear

may as well post this here.

These threads are kind of dumb though.
I mean, what are we critiquing here? Hardly anyone posts a full story, I'm just supposed to tell you if you rite gud?
No sense.

>>8365640
my friend, you have a golden post right above yours.

>>8365491
>>8365506

Thanks for the corrections senpai, and god bless you for serving in the uniform. I can't imagine it's easy, but we all have a job to do.

I posted this last thread near the end, just interested in getting more comments if I can, but my b if it's rude to post things AGAIN in these kinds of threads.

1/3

>>8365680
2/3

>>8365687
3/3

>>8365678
I really appreciate that! Good luck with everything friend

Grim work, aye, grim work
What is necessary and dark
Must be done, not enjoyed
But for later glory,
Which later comes.
Without fail the end is praised
“The beast is dead! The beast is dead!”
Yet others always creep.
Aye, they creep.
From holes and dens they exit,
And grim work again must be done.

bumping for justice

>>8365368
good but don't disguise meaning in obscure language. i enjoyed this

I never used to read as a child. I had a fear of books.
I had this fear of books because of old stories my grandfather would tell me while I was in bed before he would molest me.
Reading anything triggers these horrific memories.
I can't even write my own name without having a panic attack.
In fact, simply writing out this paragraph has pushed me to suicide.
Goodbye everyone.

>>8366203
Not sure if this is supposed to be in a poetic format or my phone is adding the line breaks.

Regardless, it's boring but hope you don't kill yourself rl.

I'm working on an episodic fantasy series, here's what I have so far (only 6 pages, double spaced)
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1cupymZa-7-hWz6UsNTAeikoTaNOFEsuiMoYkkkD77Es/edit?usp=sharing

"critiques":
>>8366224
Really like the prose of this one, nice word choices.

>>8366203
Not sure what the point of this was. Molesting people is bad?

>>8365843
Sounds like a Death Grips song, I like that

>http://pastebin.com/MVF49vre

we were assigned to do a "couplet poem"
whipped this up in a 30

>>8365368
great themes, but some weird handling on it
>osmosing with psychosis
is a bad line
The comparison of space and ocean is common enough, but you handle it well.
>Teenagers huddle on a park bench
is a serious change in register that doesn't add much to the piece

Final line looks like it's trying too hard to be a final line. I'll post a piece by me to see if you think you should listen to me (because you might not want to depending on how you feel about it).
>>8365553
You went crazy with the repetition. The go's are kind of excusable (because I can't find a quick way to fix them), but
>No me, no talent, no-life, just
>the goddamned cold
should be
>No me, just the goddamned cold

On Creating the Universe

I was alone in a dark,
when I made places.

I took my flesh,
and rolling into a ball,
I cupped this in my hand.

I pressed us into a stone,
and shattered it against the
vitelline wall of everything.

The shards shined as stars,
bright but feeble.

>>8366390
>http://pastebin.com/5am3YPLF

My shitty phone autocorrected "vigor" to "visor".
Fixed.

>>8365680
>Abyss
>Pope Albert IV
>There was never any pope named Albert in real life
>Catholic Church not Orthodox Chruch
>They were sat on our seats
>Not They sat on our seats

>>8366608
I'll have to take a look at that last line, I can see how it sounds odd. And someone already brought up the Albert thing too so I'm looking to have that changed.

Abyss is fine though. It works and is descriptive enough. If you think the word is cringey or something you should look past your connotation of it and just see if the word serves the purpose or not. But I think I understand your qualms fot the word anyway.

Thanks for taking a look!!

Anyone else wants to take up my shitty
Sci-Fi story?

>>8366800

Whoops forgot link to
>>8365127

>>8366733
It's okay, You have anymore to share?

Also here's mine

>>8365127
>Jinny then at the fourth paragraph its Vinny
>Base is empty for reason
its great overall. except for those two

>>8365127
Also Perhaps you should change Battalion which consist of 300-800 soldiers. (Too many soldiers). to either a section (which consist of two or three fireteams which are 4 men) or a platoon (30 Soldiers was the maximum if I recall correctly).

choice is yours

Kat's Special


we went out to dinner for our first date
stumbling home we looked around for somewhere dark to sit
we ate at each other
naturally someone walked by but silence stayed
moving home we embraced again in the kitchen
by then it was a hollow memory of better times
the light revealed averted sights
less hungry than before, the taste soured
things were left unfinished and we quickly split ways
now I sit out of pocket heavy of stomach and my heart is hamburger

>>8366937
>>8366949
Those two issues are being fixed right now thanks to another anon who mentioned them too, but thanks for the read senpai.

Anything else specific though? Was it easy to read? Did it flow well? Could you follow the story? Was the prose shit? Grammar wise - how was it?

Give me them juicy deets annon-senpai

>>8366983
It was easy to read. Prose was good. None of that purple prose. Couldn't really see if the grammar was had or not.
I would buy it once you're done writing it

>>8366966
What

>>8365843
This is nice.

>>8366197
thanks but
>don't disguise meaning in obscure language
how do you mean?

I suppose I obscure things because I feel as if my natural style is too straightforward, and that I should go against what comes naturally to improve. And also that obscurity makes for a more interesting read.

>>8366403
>bad line
hm ok
>serious change in register that doesn't add much to the piece
I suppose I could write something else, yeah

>Final line looks like it's trying too hard to be a final line
I see what you mean. To tell the truth, I tried to come up with others to add to it but felt like I was labouring the point.

I do quite like your poem. The idea of there being a wall before everything is quite counterintuitive but now I think about it, makes sense (the wall could be the laws of physics, or the "I" 's conceptual limits)

>>8367343
Straightforward is only an issue if you rely on cliches.
>And also that obscurity makes for a more interesting read
try to work on layering meanings so that you can have your straightforward and obscure too.

By serious change in register I meant that it was extremely casual language compared to the rest of the poem, and final lines are hard, man.

From his treehouse in the sky, Kid in Yellow comes down and begins picking a fight with nature. "And what," he says, "In the fuck is this supposed to be?" Indicating the phone book.
"Just another shade of yellow, kid." Sez Bermuz, the slug.
"You dirty fucker, thought you'd edge me out my own game, huh?'
"Nothing personal, kid. Just needed a decorator."
'Decorator for what, you shit - you're homeless."
"Don't know why you're so cruel, kid. I always figured you a coward, now I see you're just a Chinese."

Money: plato's genie out of the bottle. pray your little heart but it wont be wrestled back. wrongfooted in the global market and you lose your shirt while a south american nation loses their food supply. what to do if daddy gambles away our lives? what this means: truth is that money comes and money goes, so let us share indiscriminately and debauch until we find ourselves permanently disfigured, waking up in an alley with frostbitten fingers on a cold February morning. Time is three parts illusion, only one part necessity, and the future is an absurd concept. So let us reforge hedonism irresistibly anew, wrought as a glowing idol to light the whole world's way to hell.

And let us not forget the supposed need for sustenance and shelter. As if the water were not free, excrement not edible - as if a single thing were necessary. The grand deception, us bandits standing up among the animals and spreading nonsense, speaking words. As if we were not automatons. History: the laughing fascist. I wish I could say: come with me, open your pores, open up your throat, taste everything, live like a beast off the land, until eventually ferment smells like feast. And when you do finally die after countless days it will seem as though you have fallen into a feverish spiral of vomit, diarrhoea and muscular atrophy and you will sweat like a furnace though it be cold in the night, and time is stopped still, time running back and forth, and your mother murmuring to you from across the room while you beg her for a glass of water.

In any case, too much talk of fascists will make your brainstem swell until you see lizardpeople lurking behind every painted face. What is needed is more language for the sunsets, more rhythmic recordings, more jokes and less explanations. Take for example this bit of stage comedy: [with a comedian's drawl] So I was at my parents' funeral. Both of them had died in a car crash, right? I stand to deliver a eulogy I had written. As I walk to the stage, I'm wondering why my parents, twenty-five years divorced, are sharing a funeral. So I'm sweating. I turn to face the crowd and say "Hey, everyone, how about a joke? So what does the son say at his parents' funeral?... I don't know, because the punchline hasn't been delivered yet!" [silence falls; sudden gravitas]. My father rises in his casket to warn me of an impending danger: the joke is a metastasized cancer that has destroyed its own centre. I turn around and suddenly see God in the form of an obese German man, lard spilling sloppy from the burst folds of his planetary form. I meet the man's eyes, pale blue and watery, and in a flash I see the cosmos swirling down a funnel, perhaps a great Universal Toilet. An Eternal Return to the Drain. He says to me but three words: "Nietzsche is dead," and then an eagle named Small Government comes flying down from the blue bearing an American flag.

>>8366863
>Snow and trees... he was rather fond of hunting
>the animals pulled in
>forcing him to content

Interesting phrasing, I think they mostly work but they are sort of distracting to come upon. "Forcing him to content" seems wrong though, not sure if he's forced to become okay with the stragglers that remain or forcing to have to deal, contend, with the stragglers that remain.

And no, at this time I don't have anything else to share, but thanks again :)

>>8367401
Thanks mate

I'm going to attempt this again.. I feel like I have a better idea of how to write now

That's the point of these threads, I suppose, but often they don't serve much purpose..

>>8367636
I like this. I probably made little sense of it but nevertheless - good imagery

>>8367977
No problem, you're def off too a good start. Here's one of my older poems I think has a bit more in common with your writing, so maybe you can see some of the issues with the technical wording I have without looking at your work. (although your piece has much better structure concerning enjambments and it's themes are much more interesting).

Chipped Stanza #2

I spew black ink. Vomiting inside the endlessly
stretched balloon, I hope my bile is caught on
the concave, a disgusting constellation glistening
against the blacker canvas or net of ether.

Arrange the sopping granules into a tower
far enough from the shoreline to avoid the
waves, but don’t let the grains dry. Plagued
by Pointillisms, minutiae worry me
with thick heels on bent wrists. How to
describe the fractal! Sorting is so tiresome.

I long for that great smear. To make a clean
gradient. No longer stuck point by point, but
make a sweeping arc. Is it fire or leaves in
the wind? It’s orange, curving to the left.

I hope to sling my guts onto a cave wall and
have my insides coagulate into a painting of
Nimrod. I will plunge into viscera because
I’m not ready to confront the typewriter. Its
tacky clacking scares me. I am brickwalled
by abstraction.

ch1
sitting on city streets always a pleasure. traffic is an arterial flow, the city a desperately sick creature hulking with the machines that keep it alive. the city like any other living thing: a slow flame, a refrigerator running hot. the air by summer heat is saturated with sweat, smoke, haze, and it is delicious. you must enter into equilibrium with the environment. you spend the day in a sauna. sitting at the bus stop, a little glass greenhouse to bake in. i melt, nerves ooze out through the skin, osmosis with the environment. i peer out under hooded eyes sidelong like a fat cat in the sun. my brain ticks yet.

check phone. group chat. joseph.
"apparently the object of my desire has fallen into a full cocaine addiction. she hasn't eaten days. I don't think anything is gonna happen there. i'm gonna die"
she hasn't eaten days... yet. cocaine addict, eater of days. watch out joseph. consciousness resides in the brain.
joseph with endless girl trouble. joseph unwilling to take it in the ass; joseph our german romantic.
joseph looks like a young fascist, speaks like a grad student and has the bearing of an athenian. the slightest scratch and he is defeated.

onto the bus now, hop, skip, i'm a little schoolboy with my little schoolbag, i will sit here and read Blake like i am some cheap dollar store Ginsberg. i'm rolling through little suburbia and i have how marvelous a portal to the albion of the romantics. idiot fools they were. blake should have been burned at the stake. blake, burned at the stake. sobriety is hell, jesus christ.
i actually hate this. supposedly Bob once said that anybody who claims to be happy when sober is a liar; he was probably hopped to the gills on morphine, teaching Marcuse to a class of 19 year olds when he said this. maybe the same class that he supposedly told to go collectively jump off a bridge. i like the things Bob says, they have truth to them because they are utterances by a man with no faith in truth, making no attempt to speak the truth. i suspect they will grow into great apocryphal Events, stories in which the dean himself swoops in and begins casting spells to silence Bob. every people need their mythology.

check phone. group chat. joseph:
"I'm just gonna go into a bathhouse and let 40 random men line up to fuck me in the ass"
dylan:
"what you really need is to get into the mountains of the kootenays with 10000 hippies, if you were here you would either perish within a day or bed a thousand women"
good god that is a lot of women. nauseating hyperbole, sex become a tortuous series of wet rubbing motions. one thousand consecutive sex acts. good god.

>>8367868
>"Forcing him to content" seems wrong though, not sure if he's forced to become okay with the stragglers that remain or forcing to have to deal, contend, with the stragglers that remain.
The next sentence tells the readers that they weren't enough to sate him.

>>8366224
I liked this. Good descriptive imagery. I think "yummy snacks" needs changing if it doesn't tie in to something later though. It sticks out from the other descriptions.

>>8368324
Still, being "forced to content" is strange sounding.

Hi newfag here, thought Id share a segment from a fiction piece I wrote last semester. People seemed to like it, thought about exploring it more later. Keep in mind its rough but Im open to criticism. I can post more of it if anyone cares. Thanks!
>“There are two things in this world that cannot be denied; there are predators, and then there is prey. Man has the choice of being either.”
It was a cool April afternoon, the clouds convened above the renowned Westein Manor, begging for release. The residence on any other day was usually quiet, inert, but today new life began to stir the esteemed grounds. It was unfortunate however that it required a death to summon these new visitors. For the great Howard Westein had succumb to his long fought illness, taken in the night, and the only voice to be heard within the great halls was that of his attorney, Phillip Turlowe, reading the last will and testament of the late businessman. A gathering had been set within the derelict manor, where three guests found themselves residing in Howard Westein’s study, waiting to hear what was owed to them.
“That has been the mantra of the Westein’s for generations, and it is sole reason why I have accumulated such wealth and prosperity for this family.” Mister Turlowe continued.
He needed to clear his throat, for the air was laced with dust, agitated like locusts to the new intruders. Reading the words of a dead man to those who would hear him, though he had wished it would be to more…..sympathetic individuals.
Scattered around the study were the only remnants of the Westein family. Arthur Westein, the last living son of the late Howard, a man in his early thirties wearing a tailored suit with a crimson undershirt. Julia Westein, the only daughter Howard had produced, resembled what one may expect a small town schoolteacher might wear, her brunette hair braided like always. And finally the widowed Lillian Westein, his second wife, one far younger than the first, and the sort of spouse that one could hear at tea time gossip. Her black dress was intended for mourning, but given its price tag it was mainly for attention, or at least the Westein children thought so. Arthur sat in the center chair, fiddling with decaying leather, expressing a look of annoyance and contempt to those around him. Julia was leaned against a neighboring bookshelf, blank, lost in a nexus of her own thoughts until Mister Turlowe would commence. Lillian stood away from everyone else, entranced by a lit fireplace, fighting off tears poorly to the point Arthur remained convinced it was all for show.
“It is my hope that my children remember this always, for you will need to show ferocity in this world to survive, and claw for all that you hope to keep. I fear my days are short, and in my absence I worry all that I have built will be squandered away by my own kin.”

>>8368349
Forgot to post something for critique.

So I'm writing some lyrics and I want to describe a floodplain as being like a morass. Is there any suffix that works with that? Morasstic??

The life of someone famous. You get to see their life from their shoes. It all seems rather strange.


Vacuum. A crack in the seal. Life escapes. The cold. The void. I am in a house, the dimensions of which seem unstable. Better order food.

Later, I suppose I am back to school. All those moocs paying off. Given a choice between two ugly girls, I say "It has to happen on its own!" And trust that they know what I mean by that.

replete with everyone's favorite time traveling nazis.

ode to the shitty indian performers and senile people

in a theater auditorium.

Although the whole shebang is a recording, a virtual reality, I wondered what would happen if I interacted with someone.
I decided an innocuous route would be to ask him what the time was. To my surprise he answered. I did not expect an answer. And I gave them all the double finger in public on the camera (even though it isn't live.)


Apparently the whole row is filled with live audience, the rest is a recording. I'm not the only virtual viewer.
That just made my day. Other people are having this dream too.

Guberta, now ancient, tore off her wig and wandered on stage, weaving in and out of dancing acrobats and drag queens. She is raving about 1938. I remember that was when I last knew her, but do not give up my cover. "somebody get her off the stage!"

Ladies and gentlemen, the theater.

"Who is the son of Sam?"(he's the bad guy from before)

"I'll never give him up." Begins shooting at the rest of the cast.


"No one go into the bathroom!" A stern voice warned.

That's unenforceable. Eventually someone will make it into the bathroom. It's like terrorism, impossible to prevent.

"aaaah" Someone cries.

He's shot corporal courageous, but we already knew that would happen, the trailer gave it away.
A few subcontinentals raise their chairs over their heads, and politely interrupt proceedings during the climax, forcing everyone out of their chair to let them by. Apparently they had stolen chairs from the concessions and wished to return them before the end. Ruined the whole movie.

The cast continues time traveling until 2338, when the floor becomes lava.

I wrote this up really quickly and got real proud of myself. Please bully some humility back into me.

He found himself in a limestone hall whose massive walls were ornate with crystalline gold formations glistening with the scarce sunlight that penetrated the cavern through small openings in the ceiling in between rows of sharp inverted minarets, at the center of this halld stood an enormous hourglass with a wooden ladder resting at it's side. The hourglass was silver with lace drapings along it's edges that twisted in continuously lighter patterns of intertwined threadings streaked with azure gemstones on whose ends the metal itself seemed to sublimate, as ordained by fate. Inside the upper cauldron gold whirlpooled, producing the rumbling of a tide he tried desperately to stop, with hands bloodied he ripped protrusions of gold out from the cave walls and climbed to the top of the hourglass and there deposited his meager earnings in an attempt to replenish it, but the pace of the golden quicksand was too great and soon every last nugget of gold would be dragged down to the navel of the hourglass where it would be ground to dust before his bloodshot eyes.

Roast me

>>8368592
>When I was twenty years old I almost dated a girl.
Cliche, but go on

>She laughed, I played, the crusty-skinned retirement-teacher across the classroom stoically ignored us.
If you were trying to go for the play by play, why not just use periods instead of commas? Regardless, this sounds awkward.

>She said, I had a boyfriend with your name.
rip quotations

>one-room cage-cave
wtf is this. Also why hyphenate everything?

>Mig Bac wrappers
this cucked by copyright

>pray-pleaded
this is the same thing

>I thought of my ex, her face of disgust ... my side of the door frame.
i don't even know what to say

>flirt-girl
austim

>surprised me when when I opened it. Surprise!
kek

>I didn't turn the paper over. The semester was over. I closed the book and left.
Whatever hope of a plot you had died with this.

He took the challenge lightly. It's almost imperceptible that he took it at all. No question had been asked more than how this series of behavior was meant to come to a climactic end, revealing that Foster Quinn had been the hero all this time.
To look at him in real time is looking at digression itself. But in accordance to the plot, he is never out of shouting distance. He can be summoned to move things forward. However, as often as he drinks, it is easier to lead him further astray and let the story unfold itself

>>8369014
>First sentence
Seems kinda dull. How about "There are no more wonders, surprises, or good fortunes offered that amuse me."
>Single pleasant day
Seems kinda contradictory from the previous statement. If he already hates everything in the world then why view the day as pleasant?
>Malediction
Not arguing the use of the word but it sounds like you grabbed it from your word of the day calendar
>Sweet tastes bitter, lyric without rhythm, painting without color.
Perhaps a bit repetitive? Like "lyric without rhythm" but painting without color doesnt sound right to me. Perhaps "painting without passion">
And then the rest sounds kinda edgy.

A biblical farce:

In the Beginning, when all the lights had finally been installed, God commanded, "Let there be light!" and the foreman gave the signal for the power switch and there was light. "Good!" Yhwh said to himself, "This is very good" looking well pleased with the results. He and the contractor had been working at this corner of the universe for some time now, and frankly they were running a little behind schedule.Working from Yhwh's sketches the Demiurge was coating the planet with plants and animals, his specialty, when he noticed Yhwh farting around in a patch of clay. Seems he was building some crude beings, whose posture to head size ratio he immediately recognized was a recipe for disastrous back pains on the poorly conceived creatures. Noticing the Demiurge bringing up a patch of flora and fauna by the river, Yhwh raised his voice so he could hear, and beaming with pride he told the two new creatures. "There now, I have created you in our image and you shall hold dominion over all the plants and animals. Just to borrowing though, they're all mine really." The Demiurge bit his tongue at this. These things were to all have free will and would not like to be held dominion over. "I shall name you Adam and you Steve." After the Demiurge finished filling the river with fish he sauntered over to see Yhwh playing with his new creations. Already scolding them about which trees they could eat from. "Do you want me to make more of them?" the Demiurge inquired. "No no, this is enough." Yhwh assured him without turning around. "But how will they breed? I've made a multitude of the animals you designed for a very good reas–" "Adam and Steve will breed with each other."

>>8369334
Yhwh cut him short more than a little testily. The Demiurge tried to protest, but his client wasn't listening. "They are the favored people" god went on "and they will be fruitful and multiply all across the world!" The Demiurge stifled a laugh. Adam and Steve tried to do as their creator told them, but after a few hours god grew impatient with the lack of desired results. Neither one was getting pregnant. Yhwh stormed off in search of the Demiurge, who kept busy making some dinosaurs. Stopping beside a sheer mountain the god whispered harshly "Demiurge" and motioned for him to join him. As the contractor approached, the god took notice of the dinosaurs. "Why are they so big?" "It's in your notes sir" Demiurge produced the page with the size specifications. God furrowed his unfathomable brow. "Oh, um. Of course. –Hey, something is wrong with Adam and Steve. Please help me. Come quick." And upon their return god noticed that Steve had taken a little break from trying to get pregnant and was eating from one of the trees god had told him not to not so long ago. God bared his indescribable teeth. "Bad man!" he shouted and lightening struck him out of the tree cold. Adam had also been eating from this tree but he hid what was left of his share behind some bushes. Seeking favor he went over to the unconscious Steve, flipped him over and continued as god had instructed on how to make babies. "But this is where the feces comes out of, Yhwh." Explained the Demiurge. "Nothing is going to come of this but poop-babies." He went on to try and explain what was needed for procreation. A woman of the species. He proceeded to make one from the same patch of clay by the river. "Here. I present to you, Lilith." Standing new appeared a shapely and soft woman in pique maturity. with limbs, facial features and hair the same as Adam and Steve. Yhwh recoiled in disgust. "It's all knobby and pussie." (puss filled) Lilith scowled at the towering god. Immediately the two disliked each other. But Yhwh turned, grabbed the unconscious Steve and left before Lilith could object any further. So the Demiurge introduced her to Adam, who, still a little rattled from seeing his mate Steve struck by Yhwh's lighting bolt, was pleasant enough. A moment later Yhwh returned "Here! I call her eve" and presented what was most certainly Steve with a few modifications that made him/her look a bit more like Lilith, but really, you could tell it was Steve. The Demiurge felt very sorry for Steve, but this wasn't his world. "Whatever. You know you're going to have to make more of these. You can't get a thriving breed form just these three's genes."

[All I've got so far]

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HXykFVB2H8QBD1dvjHGQScSE30c-WBZs-XaiCt16T2k/edit?usp=sharing
Feedback would be much appreciated!

>>8369334
>>8369336
I hate this. Also if you're going to humanized God, at least think of some better dialogue

>>8369366
He's depicted as an idiot. Not a human.
It's a farce, but the subject seems to strike offense with you.

>>8369412
Hey Im not offended by it, subjects fine. Its just so.....basic? He barely speaks 5 words at a time. Are you going for a Monty Python Life of Brian thing or what?

>>8369438
It's going to be a little stage play in a far flung future. Story within a story. Maybe too heavy on narrator, but I could rewrite it with more dialogue later. Thank you.

>>8365286
>...but for reasons both strange and inherent(?), he found himself drawn to the hunt. Big game was often the preferred target, and with size came danger. But, in the years that had preceded his ancestors, Artsyom found less and less animals of stature -which had moved further afield long ago- and was instead forced to contend with the stragglers which remained.

It's like the blind leading the blind here.

For the record, I did not know butterfly was going to be posting their own biblical fiction before I starting writing this creation story and decided to post it here. If I had known I probably still would have, since I've been obsessed with this story for over a year now

>You know how it all began. It's a story told a thousand times by a thousand priests, each telling changing in a thousand subtle ways. You do not know the words, not that you need to. Words change, the meanings don't. It's the symbols that stand out, and in the beginning, and in the end, they are all that matters.

>Opposites, that's the start of it. Good and evil, light and darkness, yin and yang, space and time, the binary in question isn't important, just that it is the most important one of all, and at the time the binary did not exist, only a shade of murky grey. Two are one, but must become two eventually. That which is singular is unstable, and like a serpent with two heads, such opposites will always tear each other apart. The two split down the center like a zipper of gore and scales, but something is always left behind.

>The split is uneven, and it is because of it that we are around to see it for what it is. Space takes the liver, the stomach and spleen, and to time goes the still-beating heart. Ichor is spilled with each cardinal pulse, each droplet gleams with a world all on its own. With each passing second new streams are formed, each of them branching from the path of the same puddle. Time it seems, is not one river, but a thousand-fold tributaries born with each tick of the clock, each a product of another strange choice.

>One might imagine that those above us are eternal in every sense, that one day the flow would staunch and turn back upon itself, and time itself would resanguinate, but with each moments the clock ticks a second slower, and still ichor has long since curdled.

>From the ichor of the serpents was born the first god, he who embodies all uncertainty in all forms…

Give it to me straight guys

Should I continue?

>>8369902
Please continue

>>8369902
Did someone teach this kid The Move?

>>8371361
perhaps the worst thing I have ever read.
you desperately need new ideas, and if you're over 18 you need to stop writing entirely because that would make this irredeemable.

>>8371361

>I am so UNIQUE

As said by millions of edgy teenagers

Also, there are some true retardation gems in this

>science is the only true way of understanding the universe completely and not even science has a complete understanding of the universe

>For a creative and individual person, not a STUPID SHEEP, creativity is everything

>the only people who can know absolute truth, (YES COMMA) is a scientist who has the tools to measure the entire universe

Holy hell dude, this is so awfully bad I believe it's a top tier bait

>>8371472
>Holy hell dude, this is so awfully bad I believe it's a top tier bait
way to take those quotes completely out of context and act like they weren't part of a bigger narrative which you missed completely. Dumb fool. Then again, I shouldn't be upset that such small minded, attention deficient individuals would make such a dumb response to my work.

>>8371587
Laying it on a little too thick there, friend. Overall a weak parody of a (thankfully) dying breed of person.

>>8371609
>Overall a weak parody of a (thankfully) dying breed of person.
We're marching towards that inevitable Orwellian society you've been dreaming of, mmm?

>>8371609
And no, my work is not parody. I say things in a brash way, but I expect you to take it seriously because of the validity of the statements. What you've witnessed is a person speaking with conviction, a person who is convinced that he is not crazy, and in fact has something of real validity to say to the people of the world. The writing is filled with a lot of nuance, and it makes you really think about the world around you, and put your mind into a sort of escher esq state. That meaning, your mind creates a sort of infinite loop of paradox, but in it's beauty you can find many patterns which are pleasing to the mind. It's sort of a spiritual sentiment in a way, but in an entirely secular way, I believe the sentiment alone is ingenius, if I were to get a little proud of myself there.

>>8371619
>>8371636
I already told you, this character isn't believable at all and if you want respect as an artist you need to be more subtle.

>>8371645
Do you understand the genius of the works of escher? When I say that it creates an escher type paradox inside of your head, I mean in a sense that it gets you more in touch with what it really means to be a human being. The beauty of escher's work is that it creates a paradoxical world on paper, shapes which cannot exist in reality, a staircase which loops around itself which goes up forever. This is the state of the human consciousness itself though. How can something be made of small brainless molecules, who come together and create something which works as a single entity, it seems impossible. That's the beautiful of the infinite loop, the paradoxical absurdity of the human mind itself. That is what i was trying to get across in my work, however much you believe that it's trite and simply an attempt at trying to be another person. If you deny that my work is a true reflection of my feelings, then I'd ask you what my true feelings are, but seeing as you don't know me, I'd see that is impossible. However, it could be true that I just don't know myself, but then how do you explain my writing?

>>8369547
Hey i said i wasnt an editor

>>8371660
Take a look at that memoir faggot's posts in the archive, then practice on your own for a while, THEN come back here. Right now you're too stilted and unnatural to appear genuine (although we'll know you're not, the appearance is necessary).

This applies to your work and to your posts; although it might be more "realistic", realism isn't itself good.

>>8369334
>>8369336

Hey butterfly, I'll give your myth some criticism if you do mine >>8369734

The concept is funny, but the narration needs work. It's a bit bare-bones for the kind of story you're telling. It needs more wit to it.

Also, im a bit confused by your take on gnosticism. Gnosticism is a already a subversion of christian myth, with the Old Testament YHWH being the demiurge/devil. By subverting it again, you've looped back around to the start, defeating the purpose of it being gnostic at all.

That said, I laughed pretty hard at Steve.

>>8371671
I'm too stilted an unnatural? Here's something you should know about the writing process, friend. When I am writing, I do the thinking before hand. When I am writing, I have a thought which I had been thinking about for a while, and then I go and articulate that thought into words, and that's where the magic happens. But as you know, it's not a charade, I don't try to go and sit down and write something, and carefully construct it in a way that makes me seem like I'm trying to come off as someone I'm not. You obviously just don't know me, because when I sit down to write I simply relax and allow myself to be myself. The only time where I would restrict what I say and altar my own personality, is if I felt that someone who I don't want to be reading my work is reading it. I believe that you and I would both agree, this is one of the reasons that we use 4chan, is because we like to speak the way we want to speak without censorship. That's certainly the reason that I use this website so much, in spite of the annoyances; they're outweighed by the benefits of speaking freely.

>>8369547
>preceded
Tell me, how would the character find less game in a time before his own ancestors?

Here is one for /fit/

I wanted to share the only two pieces of poetry that I ever wrote, they were written in a time of my life that is so painful to remember. It took a lot of digging through stacks of old paper and being reintroduced to searing painful memories to find them. I wanted to share them though, hopefully revisiting those old thoughts will help me not be so troubled by the past.

Be aware btw, these poems are very bad. I'm just posting them so that maybe someone could rip into them and tell me I suck, or just tell me what they think of it, either way I just wanted to post them. It doesn't matter to me what people say in response.

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

I can feel the spiders in my mind beginning to awaken and slowly crawl out of their holes, ready to rebuild their webs after a tired sleep, avoiding the light. and the dust slowly settles on my mind as I slowly regress into a state of suspended animation. as my mind grows colder, and more and more dim, i can feel myself growing weaker, and the light in my eyes begins to fade as the last rays of sunshine blinks out from my window. and I die on the inside.

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

On second thought, the other ones are horrible, and painful not only in their mediocrity, but the memories that they bring back up in me. I was wondering if there's any piece of literature that somehow resembles my thoughts, or the writing style or something. I'm sorry that my writing sucks so badly, and I'm sorry if it was terrible for you to read.

Here's something from a couple years ago, cut me some slack grammar-wise. I was fucked up when I wrote it.

>>8372914
Shit forgot the image. Apparently I'm still fucked up.

If anyone took the time to read my short story, I would appreciate it. It's largely unedited but I would like some feedback.

>I'm Aus, so some things are spelled with an 's', not a 'z'

tinyurl dot com slash ElliotOliverDerma

(Type in its literal form).

>>8363386
>"content" instead of "contend"
Retard

>>8373137
Got anymore or is this it?

Just started this:

We stood on the platform, our hands tied behind our backs by itchy rope that was tied too tight. Before us stood a hundred people waiting for the trial to start. Beads of sweat rolled seamlessly across my body, caged against me by the shrunken t-shirt and shorts that I was wearing—that we were all wearing. A bright green light flashed slowly, illuminating the faces in front of me; their mouths were twisted and misshapen, their eyes completely focused on us, on me. The sound of footsteps emerged from behind, and from the tall, green curtain walked a short, stout man.

>>8373943
Anymore?

>>8372921
What is this?

>>8374378
A somewhat abstract story. Just think about it for a minute and everything will become clear.

>>8363386
i wrote this poem the other day

a winter night expresses my contempt for your heart
so lost so lonely,
and it's cries
but alone I'd despair
my written solace not so nearly
your equal

She put her plate out in the snow. Sometimes there were foxes. She had not told her grandfather it was snowing. Deep and blue black, she kept it as much a mystery as possible, taking the cold into her chest as flew down to the sea. The pines shook. Soon it would be Christmas. Their cousins across the sea would be cut down, one for the living room, in garish crystal habit, of a blind man and the girl who could really do without exchanges of gifts and warped Christian opinion and lips against the shrivelled cheek. The whole year was built on exchanges, never any in her particular favour.

The argument that separated them this evening was the invitation. The war was over now, she told him, slumped in his chair, sedated under Eau de vie, herself more than a little tipsy “Scott will be home.”
“Can’t afford him.”
“You can afford him fine.”
“Takes too much of everything. He’ll want what he thinks he’s earned.”
“But his first Christmas home –“
“What home?” Which had ended this week’s conversation.

I wrote this poem for my gf:


The day after you stole my heart I tried to call the police.
The phone rang, but I couldn’t get through.
I went to the station to describe them the thief.
But the doors were tightly glued.

I ran down the street in a frenzy,
Screaming and pleading for help.
But the roads were broken and empty,
And the wind had muffled my yelp.

My eyes burned with a need,
And my skin started to peel.
The hole in my chest began to bleed,
And the sky seemed surreal.
Afraid, I clawed at the dirt and filled the hole with worms.
Afraid, I glared at the sun and burned the edges of my eyes.
Afraid, I prayed my heart returns.
Afraid, I struck the air with cries.
And as I lie there, sobbing in the mud like a dog, the air replied with the sound of your voice.
And my eyes no longer burned, for in the place of the sun, there was your face.
And as the tears gently struggled to roll down my cheek, your heart wrung the worms from my chest.

I stood, and the sky fell atop my head,
Stiches and staples mended my bloodied wound.
A glowing coat of skin started at my fingertips and began to spread,
And I saw the world around me, and very nearly swooned.
My voice returned with a thunderous bellow,
And I began to stroll down a clean-cut sidewalk.
With every step I took, I whistled hello,
And in another moment, I’d passed another block.

I swung open the doors to the station with ease,
Looked around, and chuckled too.
My mouth spread devilish wide, suddenly pleased:
The day after you stole my heart, I could only see you.

>>8375041

Shut the fuck up.

I really don't know what I'm doing but I want to start writing longer stuff, but I feel like I have nothing to say after a few paragraphs. Should I just try to get into poetry? Any advice is appreciated, or just tell about your experiences with starting as an amateur writer and how it has evolved over time.

>>>
The door to the adjacent room.

It forms only as the sweat flesh and semen elapse through the bones of the cunt.

Swimming with this flesh, she pivots herself in rhythm to the corrosive drum of entropy. Your sense of balance, ups-and-downs, oscillate with each swivel. You begin to feel a stirring in your corporeal cauldron. Nausea, conflicting with that familiar friction and squirming brain games her fucks have produced in the past. But what even is even time even now? Transference, you start to vomit all over yourself, exhaling for the first time since the vacuum was established between her and your lungs. The plugs and the leather prevent her from realizing the alkalinity of the substance that is now lubricating the domain.

It didn't actually occur, the vomit that is, you only felt the sensation, an alternate frame of the infinite. The nausea subsides after the seventh slip and her structure goes limp.

Removing the plugs, she can here you now as you tell her, "I'm sorry about the mess", the door to the adjacent room is no longer there, and you are now alone.
<<<

>>8373943
>>8374002
Here's some more, I think I've finished the first paragraph.

We stood on the platform, our hands tied behind our backs by itchy rope that was tied too tight. Before us stood a hundred people waiting for the trial to start. Beads of sweat rolled seamlessly across my body, caged against me by the shrunken t-shirt and shorts that I was wearing—that we were all wearing. A bright green light flashed slowly, illuminating the faces in front of me; their mouths were twisted and misshapen, their eyes completely focused on us, on me. The sound of footsteps emerged from behind, and from the tall, green curtain walked a short, stout man. His eyes sat uncomfortably on the top of his head and he had a short, thick nose that took loud, fast breaths. The girl beside me began to mutter some sort of prayer, her words stumbling over one another as she trembled and bounced the tears off her face. I looked down at the people before us once again, and met the eyes of a young man with platinum blonde hair folded neatly across his scalp. He had a jagged scar to the left of his left eye that ran down the length of his face. The man had to have been about the same age as us, 18 or 19, and the side of his mouth cracked a devilish smile that said, “I win.” It could have easily been him up here, on this platform, shaking and sweating, silently begging for a quick death. Touché, I thought.

I did this...

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Trafficking-Sexual-December-Dav-Crabes-ebook/dp/B01JKQ1QU2

Just do the look inside thing. Or be a real pal & take the free (today) download. I may then become #1 in the free Erotic Horror hot 100!

>>8375091

Shit, a correction after rereading it:


Transference, you start to vomit all over yourself, exhaling for the first time since the vacuum was established between her and your lungs. The plugs and the leather prevent her from realizing the alkalinity of the substance that now lubricates the domain.*

>>8375100
>https://www.amazon.co.uk/Trafficking-Sexual-December-Dav-Crabes-ebook/dp/B01JKQ1QU2
this is the first legitimate (amazon DL) ebook I have DLd. Why did you write the book?

>>8367586
EarthBound as fuck

>>8369902
?

continue please

the grief of the early riser
is bound to his company,
who with phantoms war lonely
but, by your mark
fades into the dusk
and fogginess of dawn

on a morning to bring connection
you, adorned on display
painted with fine brush
what a warm alarm to wake to
(a wind, carries the scent)
and to be reminded

for its humors, our acquaintance
is furnished in the heart
(embraced, and accompanied)
how warm it is to see
the thawing into damp
of the early hours

they burn, torrid,
the embers once glowed
they glowed by our toes
soothing, after rainfall
before the day meets my cheek

>>8371587
>>8371636
>>8371660
>>8371701

You really wrote that? For a self-proclaimed individualist, you seem awfully hung up on social relation and the collective. I have a feeling you are really afraid of something, what makes you feel so unsafe in your skin?

>>8375197

This is why one should use buzz words at one's own peril. Once a cliche is invoked one begins to be judged by its standard. This is why I condiciously use neologisms of which only I know the definition.

>>8375119
Just something to do, aye?
I like cut-ups and stuff. Hope you enjoy it.

>>8375214
You are still a human dude, you can't avoid the fact that we are all typing symbols and making noises at eachother as a form of communication. You obviously sound like you want to communicate your thoughts, I'm not saying that that's unindividualistic, it's just you should always examine the dissonance in your thoughts, there is no such thing as a non-hypocritical human.

Really, the main thing you need to work on is articulation. Your way of saying the same shit in different ways is not engaging or even fun to read, especially when you try to cover it up with using the phrase "my first point", it's rather annoying.

Also work on the conversational aspect of your criticism, reference more writers or ideas that already exist, as it helps the reader understand that you understand that you are not original in your thoughts, no matter how many neologisms you create

>>8371587

>bigger narrative

Wow such a genious narrative about an edgy teenager, trully ahead of its times, deep themes all around.

Also, I was critcizing the PROSE you moron. It's horrible and embarassing. If that's what you set out to accomplish, congratulations, you did it and lost your time. If you didn't, then this whole thing just got a new layer of comedy

>>8371587
>>8371636
>>8371660
>>8371701
You're a shit writer with uninteresting ideas, deal with it.

I saw these replies and just knew they were going to be to that retard with the purple text.

>>8363420
ten cuidado con los adjetivos.

>>8373870

That's all for that story. I don't know if I should extend it for the sake of extending it or leave it as is.

She stomps cigarettes in high heels
Leaving charcoal punctuation where she goes

And when passers-by grimace at the sight of lit embers
She holds her breath
Full of nicotine and indifference towards the spite
Until there's nothing left to breathe out

>>8375168

I like it, anon. The adjectives explore the theme very well.

>>8375168

Yeah this is pretty good. I've seen you post this before, I'm glad you restructured it. Continue with this style and you'll get published.

>>8375341
Puedes detallar más?

>>8367586
Great ideas, horrible prose.

>>8375255

Alright now I just think you're on amphetamines. If you are >>8375197, then a little reading comprehension would tell you that I was using this as a tongue in cheek way of adding on to your point. For example, he says "I" where I used "one," it's an clear difference in writing style, obviously Mr. Pinkerton you have lost your touch.

>>8375657
and I thought I was saying something meaningful
>amphetamines
fuck, is it really that obvious?

Alas, your eyes grew dim,
but for my reflection in dark pools,
and all I felt was the revelation
we were both dead.

And that everything dies,
no matter how old or young.
Nowhere do we belong,
but in a dream that lingers
on a sunny afternoon, in a song.

&


There is a hushing on the grass,
soft and warm its caress
to me, not a care. I do not wish for more
just to sleep beneath the sand and the shore

I’m cannot stand, so let me lie
I do not ask for anything, dead-tired am I,
I bare my body, long for the seabed
I have come undone, arms far spread

A lonely soul might search the strand,
far from life and far from land

but I already sleep and all alone,
in my dreams there is my home.

----

Please critique, I wrote these a few years a go and have been tweaking them on and off. Needless to say they stem from a very sad time in my life. Still not happy, especially with the second one. I always have these great endings but the rest feels meh

>>8375731

I can sniff out medsposters easy peasy but only because I'm similarly, unnecessarily verbose. You'll learn to hide your power level eventually.

>>8375745
I'm only trialling 20mg, I don't know how to spend my days sometimes. I should probably be studying but I don't have that drive I usually get with higher doses. Maybe when I'm back in the academic environment and not in my mom's basement

>>8375765

XR? You'll get used to it soon enough, but don't up your dose for the sake of chasing the honeymoon high. Stimulants aren't magic, and you can't substitute them for motivation.

>>8375745

Stop stealing my scoops Hemingway!

Streetlight glow poured over the roadways

>>8375795

Sorry friend, I just looove talking about meds. P.S. crit my poem? >>8375357

>>8375100
And my book!

>>8375792
nah, and yeah I understand, I'm pretty familiar with stims, it's just got an actual Psychiatrist recently (rather than my past general physician) for SSRIs and panic attacks. I'm only about 2 weeks into a trial after a month of trialling 10 mg for stims

>>8375802
>>8375357
I like it, are you intentionally leaving out images for setting?

P.S. crit my shit >>8375091

>>8375802

I don't even know how to do poetry criticism. I prefer my noir fatales with more objectification. What's her bra size?

>>8375732
can't see what you're trying to get accross in the first 1. sounds redundant I feel. A larger use of metaphor would b appropriate.

the second one is rly good but the penultimate couplet seems out of place

>>8375830

what keywords do you use to get stims?

>>8375975
what do you mean?

>>8375975

Have ADHD is my suggestion.

>>8371361
every asshole with a tumblr account and spelt flour thinks the way you do. objectivity, place, and order are incredibly comforting, but perhaps you were made fun of at a family reunion for having spacers and you think they're the ones in the wrong. things are the way they are, and it's necessary to shut up for many years and develop yourself and truly think for yourself. you can shun religion, but you don't understand the incredibly warm feeling of being welcomed and acknowledged by a church. does being part of catholicism make you, by nature of association, a bigot without morals, likely with a child between your legs. i say no, from both personal experience and the common sense of realizing that not every person who embraces the positive aspects of one thing, necessarily embraces the negative of the same.

you are part of humanity. don't hate it, it's not good for your health to shun and automatically detest those around you. not everyone is interested in studying political philosophy, metaphysics, and music theory, etc. and why? because they are happy; they go to work 9-5; they come to their spouse, friends, and family; they watch television, and they go to bed. if said person is happy, why not embrace what they choose?

i think you'll find that most people embrace the arts as well. music, stories, jokes, dance, film, and even the very basics of philosophy are studied rigorously by every person who lives the average life. i work in a kitchen, so i see to some extent, a diverse group of people every day. they hear songs and tell stories of immeasurable humour and depth, they have a decent grasp on aesthetics, they can spin yarns better than most /lit/ posters, including you.

the short and skinny: humans aren't logical, the world is bigger than yourself, and things are more complicated than they seem. no one is out to get you. think more, and talk less.

godspeed and good luck on your writing, cheers!

>>8376192
btw, i recommend reading dostoyevsky for looking into the specifics of this sort of thing. notes from underground is a great start. fyodor casts a fucking gorgeous onslaught on nihilists and the same sort of defeatist and anti-humanity-based outlook a la your post. demons, crime and punishment, and brothers k should be on everyone's essential reading lists.

>>8376202
live life, friends. we're on a damn rock and our world is simultaneously confusing and full of wonder; why not enjoy the ride before the sun or ourselves end us for good?

If you're bored and looking for a free read, I would appreciate some genuine feedback. I can accept brutal honesty. In fact, I would love it.

This is a link directly to the .pdf file on my website:
http://www.ramblingsofawhateverthefuck.com/Ramblings%20of%20a%20Whatever%20the%20Fuck.pdf

Or you can visit www.ramblingsofawhateverthefuck.com and navigate from there.

Thank you for taking the time to read this post.

Is there really much point in writing fiction anymore? The postmodernists crammed so much into their work with such great effect, there's nothing left to do. No-one writing in novel form can top Pynchon's harmony of humor and intellect. There are no better ways to write a book - the novel is dead. Infinite Jest was a cheap joke at the funeral.

I can never write one single paragraph without deleting it afterwards. How can you read over all the stuff you wrote and feel decidedly proud about it? One paragraph can always be better, can it not? Which is the story I really want to tell? What approach should I have? How am I supposed to get better if I can't choose what I want to write about?

>>8368983
purple prose

No one is in my thread so I'll post here...

Premise of my new play;

A dispirited archaeologist invents a fictitious civilization to prevent the construction of a commercial poultry farm and win the admiration of his young daughter.
Meanwhile a stoic corporate investigator is dispatched to scrutinize her ex-husbands inconvenient excavation.

What do you think of this idea?

part of a short story.

Leaning on the edge of the skyscraper he cracked fingers like fish bones. Atop his cloud the builder imagined rich folk’s wives, mares of women that saw all manual workers as machines that create machines. Their husbands were money brushers; pigtailed street dogs that opened the same empty buildings over and over again, never worrying about the millions being lost.
Small scars resembling islets spanned from the tip of the builder’s hands to the start of his forearms, products of either amateur construction or from fights in his youth. He looked out, easily amused at the other cloud cutters, some of them painted blocks of cement and others Borgesian mirrors, a few of these products of his craft. Yet he felt no pride in their erection, for deep down he knew that he was useless at construction, nothing but a charlatan in a hardhat! Far too sensitive to be a manual worker, a man whose sole job is to show tangible results, he knew he was vulgar looking, but he was scared of action, insecure of even the most minimal detail of work. He was terrified of his co-workers that seemed to flow into their job, hammering while talking and laughing and even drinking, ready-to-hand heroes that made wonders off the salt of their backs.
The reflector of sky rumbled and the backwards breeze blew. The industrial elevator descended, buzzing its usual warning cry. Distracted, he spat bubble white down the shaft. A split second it took. A mesh of steel and skin.

>>8376719
Would only read if the daughter is raped

>>8376719

this sounds like it has a lot of potential and production would have a lot of fun with that premise

>>8376719
Stealing that, thanks!

>>8376719
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krippendorf%27s_Tribe

not the exact same, but similar.

>>8375098
Can someone critique this?

>>8375098
Its neither bad nor good

>>8375731
>>8375745
Huh, so that IS a thing.

What's it like above 30? I can't go higher because of emotional side-effects.

>>8377199
Nothing new, it's the interpretation, >reading for the plot &c.

Plus, that 14% rotten tomatoes rating doesn't exactly hurt him.

Does this poem need a title or does it make sense without one?

--

A.
May fever that narcotic bloom, a buzz
Of cranium stooping by light degrees—
A mouse like you, fucked up, oblivious
And numb, don't give a shit for poetry.

You stop, except your endings should come last,
Finale, exit, past the highway sign,
But no, your grapes (they're purpling in the grass)
Dye sculpture gardens, paint their finish lines.

B.
For love and fame, I hallelujah God.
Go sing me into words, body to flesh
This skeleton. That'll make mom applaud
Or she might not. What chorus could refresh
A fancy bust with nothing for a heart?
The rain comes down. My plaster falls apart.

>>8372921
sounds interesting. is that all?

>>8375759
I like that

>>8376263
I didn't read everything (so far). Sometimes, I think it was pointless trash (or I just don't get it), but sometimes you also have some interesting thoughts (I liked the Incept Fr #3 for example).
Maybe no masterpiece but better than the average stuff.
Btw, I think you think too complicated about life :) anyway, all the best

>>8375942


Thanks!

>>8377928
Thank you for your feedback.

Life's not a struggle, it's a wiggle?

how often are you plagiarized for posting in these threads?

>>8378091
haha, yeah, maybe that's the right attitude, at least when times are tough

>>8369547
but for reasons unknown and inherent, he found himself drawn to the hunt. He wished for large prey, mighty behemoths who in death would give Artsyom provisions and life for months to come. Most of these mammals moved far away from the village, escaping men who in the likes of the young man, simply hunted to live.

>>8376304
It helps a lot if you do an entire first draft before scrapping anything. Just accept that you will never get it totally right on the first attempt, and you'll edit the hell out of it, and don't even read the first paragraph until you've done a lot of paragraphs. It helps to use pen and paper.

Just choose a good short story or chapter idea and just write it. Then, even if you hate it, edit it.

>>8373252
It was clearly a joke. The whole paragraph.

>The fully colorized portion represents a fantasy she's currently having of actually being in the real (biblical) Garden of Eden, that she might be so lucky (according to her perspective) as to be the one whom the Serpent tempted to eat the forbidden fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil -- Eve. She worships the Devil, the Serpent, Lucifer -- so to meet her most divine deity in person, and actively participate in the commission of Original Sin, would be an enormous privilege and a great honor for her. For she believes that Lucifer and everything he did -- his rebellion against God, his corrupting of all mankind by giving them knowledge of good and evil -- were good; thus she looks back on those biblical events with rosy retrospection; hence the red, rosy tint which prevails throughout much of the video, which is set most of the time in the present and is not a part of her fantasy flashback scenario.

Any grammar police here? I'm afraid I may need to turn myself in for reckless usage of punctuation, but I'm not sure. I did the best I could but fuck it's really hard to tell what's correct sometimes.

>>8378613
>person, and
This comma is unnecessary. If the subject is the same before and after the conjunction (and), then you don't need a comma. If the subject changes, you need a comma. Of course, if you turn the "and" into a "to," the commas are fine.
>Original Sin, would
Also an unnecessary comma if you get rid of the one above.
>everything... were good
Technically this would be "was good," "everything" is singular.

Anyway, overall some of these sentences are so long that they become confusing, and the emdashes and old-fashionedness of it don't help. It's all correct, though, so I understood everything after a second read, and if that's the style you're going for, it's probably fine.

>>8376702
I like purple so I'll take that as a compliment

Feel my heart. It's racing. It always does these days. Even the thought of you sends my heart in a tailspin. I'll pose questions I don't know the answer. You're ripe for insight. Or should I say, the imaginary you. One that is made up of memories and impressions. A person 3,000 miles away. I'd cross that distance on my own two feet if I had to. My bpm skyrockets. I get excited. For an imaginary person. This ghost I'm conversing with is nowhere near the real you, despite your best efforts. I should
pay more attention.

I HATE IT

I won't sleep. My thoughts become consumed. I get way overstimulated. What if you felt every rush of my heart? You wouldn't get any rest! I would be far too ashamed. You probably think it unnecessary anyhow.

Looking for ways to make this better

>>8369295

Seems kinda contradictory from the previous statement. If he already hates everything in the world then why view the day as pleasant?

>There is not a pleasant day

?????

>>8368983
Rhythm mane. Three sentences that long read ridiculous and tiring.

>>8378657
>old-fashionedness
Is it? I'm not sure I know what you mean. Please explain.

And thanks for the tips about the commas. I don't mind using dashes, but I don't necessarily want to use them. I'm just not sure how to convey the ideas expressed otherwise. What would you recommend?

>>8378674
What's the context?

>>8378686
Don't see you fucks complaining when McCarthy does it.

In all seriousness now, maybe it's the way I read or something but it doesn't feel very tiring to me, in fact it feels like I lose the rhythm whenever I tried to put a stop. Also keep in mind that this is just one short burst of a section, it's not like I'm always that dense or ornate. But still, I'm open to ideas on what could be changed to make it flow better.

>>8377878
That's the whole story. However, I do have some reddit-tier horror. It's pretty cancerous though.

>>8378695
Fuck you sound pretentious

>>8378693
Reuniting with a lover after time and distance

>>8378705
All I said was my honest thoughts on it so you can go fuck yourself bitch boi.

>>8378709
Right. But, I mean, what are you planning to do with it? Is it part of a short story, or a monologue, or do you want it to stand on it's own?

>>8378695
I only read McCarthy when I was 15 or so (The Road and No Country For Old Men) and I don't remember shit.
Well it's boring to me. It would demotivate me if I opened a book on the first page and read that. Dunno, Faulkner also keeps dem sentences line after line, but he's telling you about something that happened or is happening and not only visually describing the place. Visual descriptions are not the best way of opening a story imo, even worse if they're that prolix. Also, the "character woke up and this is what he saw" starting is a cliche.

>>8378715
Ah, yes. I want it to stand on it's own. A short little piece.

>>8378690
Well, the dashes are fine, but you use a lot of them here. I guess that you're forced into using a lot of them because your sentences are too complex to be understood without them. That complexity contributes to the old-fashionedness, because modern writing tends to use simpler sentences. As well as that, there are a couple of other sort of formal/old-fashioned things going on. "that she might be so lucky (according to her perspective) as to" would probably be less formal if you got rid of the "as" in "'as to." Then, later, you use "thus" and "hence," which are both pretty old-fashioned.

The biggest thing you can do to make it feel more modern would be to split up some of these sentences. The last one, especially, is really long. Then again, there's nothing wrong with the style if that's what you want.

>>8378725
I get what you mean, but I forgot to mention that this is not the beggining of the story, just some section in the middle of it, I'll still need to figure out where to fit it in. But I agree with you on something, I should probably insert some actions or movement by the character, even if only to not make it just a long string of ornate descriptions.

>>8378726
Well, it's not that it isn't good as it is. I'd be a lot more positive if it was part of a larger piece, but on its own, I think it lacks the "punch" it needs to be memorable. Considering the fact the's no chance that the reader is really going to be able to connect with these characters in such a short piece, what you really need is something else for them to take away from it. My advice would be to focus on developing what you might call a strong centerpiece for it: so like, a particular image or metaphor that pulls together the ideas of the piece (which I'm reading as ironic and having to do with how the distance between the two lovers isn't really dissolved when they reunite because of the distance inherent between people, hence the focus on his "imaginary" version of her as a "ghost"; this might be something I've read into it rather than something you've intended though; it's something I think about a lot).
What I really like though is just the sentence lengths, which are utilized really well; how short and jumpy they are to reflect the voice of the narrator. A strong voice is the best asset short fiction (and, in your case, micro-fiction, I guess) can have. There's no problem, at least for me, believing in the character (not in the redundant, "oh-so-relatable" way that some people expect to believe in characters, but in the way that it doesn't read as false, or "tinny", if that makes any sense).
Anyway, I don't know how helpful any of this is or if I'm misinterpreting your piece. Stick with it, and if you feel the need to expand it into something longer to give yourself more space, go for it.

Sticky-faced sucker of sutures
By whom kin's siren-song'd
To trip into tongue-needled gossamer
And stumble the way of winter:

Gorge instead on my mouth.

Honor-gone thief of young spirit
Through sundered gate of splinters
Whispers praise to butcher-slough,
Song-dried in victimizing womb:

"Jab at silhouettes withholding!
Cataracts and fulmination!
Let float the corpse of foe and use
Their bobbing skulls to cross the Styx."

>>8378814
I may expand it then. Misinterpretations are still interpretations. While the theme is not about the barriers inherent between others, it's crossing those barriers. I will make this more obvious in the piece. I avoid putting a partner on a pedestal, but it comes across as ironic when I'm looking for sincerity. The ghost is a poor substitute for the lover.

>What I really like though is just the sentence lengths...to reflect the voice of the narrator. There's no problem, at least for me, believing in the character

Good. My aim is relating to his expressions, not his character.
Thank you for your feedback

This is the penultimate (but conclusive) passage from a short story I recently finished. The tone might be seen as a little pretentious, but this is part of the narrator’s character (It’s a light reference to the insincerity of the sisters in King Lear, which makes sense in the broader story). Whatever the first anon to critique this gives me to critique, I’ll critique. Do ut des, dig?

It's called "The Idle" and it's about a musician who becomes obsessed with a piece of music to the point that he forgets to fulfill his basic human needs and ends up starving to death.

If you’re the Papa-Hemingway-Iceberg-Theory type who hates long sentences, this probably isn’t for you. Just to save you the trouble.

Looking for critique of the style and whether the ideas are interesting or passé.

http://pastebin.com/Q7RbSiuh

>>8378922

The phrase "victimizing womb" just doesn't seem to work, in my eyes. I'd recommend replacing victimizing with a one or two syllable word that has much more direct meaning. Otherwise, I like this, it's quite dense for the few lines you have.

<--- Meanwhile, a passage about a hamburger.

>>8377697
>>8375098
anything else?

Repost, since I got banned (lol).

I recently posted a short story that I had written. It is largely unedited, but I would love feedback.

tinyurl dot com slash ElliotOliverDerma

(Type in its literal format).

Some words are typed with an 's' rather than a 'z' because I'm Aus.

>>8379085
The idea sounds very interesting, but the style...
You warned the reader before, about the long sentences. Actually, that would be okay for me as long as it has an 'easy' flow, but I found it a bit tiring to read. But hey, maybe that's my problem and others like it.

>>8375098
>tied behind our backs by itchy rope that was tied too tight
Mentioning "tied" again is redundant. More importantly, "show not tell" is the single biggest change you could make to consistently improve your prose. Instead of just telling me the rope was itchy or too tight, describe how. Put a personal spin on it that gives a personal or informative or interesting touch on the narrating character or the situation.

>Before us stood a hundred people waiting for the trial to start.
Do I have to be told it's a trial? The narrative effect might be better if I keep reading and infer the situation from the dialogue or proceedings. For example, I wouldn't have to tell you directly about a graduation ceremony when I could bring up the gowns, the commencement speaker, the "Class of ____" banners, etc. And make sure every phrase is doing meaningful work. "Before us" is doing nothing but padding because where else would the audience be?

>Beads of sweat rolled seamlessly across my body...
Is he concentrating on individual sweat drops as they roll or something? The clothes aren't distinct enough to matter as a detail either. Delete this entire sentence.

>A bright green light
>twisted and misshapen
>short, thick nose that took loud, fast breaths
>platinum blonde hair
>from the tall, green curtain walked a short, stout man.
Avoid clunky strings of adjectives. Cut down the ones that don't add anything, which is most of them, and replace the ones that do matter with concrete, vivid details. Wouldn't kill you to add some similes as well. The hair was folded against his head like a lumpy envelope. The hair was folded into a pompadour as though he was at a rock concert. Whatever.

Inject some introspection or thought. Most of this paragraph reads like a description of things and events from a detached camera even though you chose to write in first person. Why? For example, shouldn't the narrator focus/wonder/explain/comment at least a little on why everything is green?

Also, prioritize your descriptions and make sure they make sense. By "prioritize," I mean give more space and emphasis on the really key things--see my comments about the adjective pairs above. By "make sense," I mean how do you bounce tears off your face? How do eyes sit uncomfortably on the top of your head?

Alright, just getting into poetry. Never had much desire to do so until recently, but I've always loved writing, regardless of the context, and thought it time to seek inspiration in that medium for a change.

While I'm not the biggest fan of traditional poetic forms, I do want to have a base understanding of them at the least, if for nothing more than my own enjoyment. I'd like opinions on a sonnet, written very quickly, but for critique, especially in terms of flow and pattern (Don't mind how cliché it is, something easy to test the waters)


Those words we uttered once but yet no more
A time when youthful spring had made its stand
love found to be a wound that must endure
Her heart once held between two wary hands
Our play was one foretold across the ages
A passion far too deep to ever last
My fingers for too long explored it's pages
And doubt delivered present unto past
But if she were to whisper unto me
Sweet words of satin still upon my ears
Her beauty for two tired eyes to see
Could wipe the woes of love beyond our years
For though I like to think that I've found peace within her pain
I yearn for her return one day that maybe, we could change

>>8374436
dont get it. what becomes clear?

>>8371361
Don't like it. But the images on your blog are very nice.

If you were to believe the events proceeding this sentence had happened, had they not had had the effect that had been caused to have had the conditioning effect that had been placed on your subconscious, then I would have to believe that, had I not known that you had had this affection that had had its turn upon you, you would have had to have been had. On to the story.

>>8381721
Quick revision:


If you were to believe the events proceeding this sentence had happened, had they not had had the effect that had been caused to have had the conditioning effect that had been placed on your subconscious, then I would have had to believe that, had I not known that you had had this affection that had had its turn upon you, you would have had to have been had. But don't worry. I believe you.

>>8363386
The air was stale with window glass preventing any motion
Only hail and rumble of cars indicated an outside world
The items in the room where lazily hurdled, but appeared to be in their proper place
Moving them would cause disorder, a commotion.
An irritating boredom turning comforting stillness.
So that for a brief moment
I could forget my illness.

Hey y'all.
Calgarybro here.

This is part one of a short story I'm working on.

http://pastebin.com/L6QPJGXU

Do you worst. :)

>>8365396
That's some good shit, anon. You're really good compared to most of the people who post in these threads.

I haven't started yet and I haven't wrote anything before but I had an idea for a short story that I might attempt if no one tells me it's shit. A deadpan kind of comedy about a pathetic alien with a social disorder who ends up on earth when his parents kick him out of the house. He is treated like a god and promises to answer only one question about the universe even though he knows nothing. he might stop a girl from killing herself?

>>8363386
>>8365009
>>8365127

Just curious: do any of you have degrees in writing? All three of these lack basic competence in grammar/mechanics. Not even trying to be a dick, this is all pretty bad.

>>8365396
I liked it, reminds me of joanna newsom

>>8365396

Not bad, not bad at all.

Thoughts on this paragraph?

>>8382368
This one is good. It's nice that it's an actual story too and not a, "hey anon am I stylish?"

>>8363386

http://pastebin.com/Vq1VXwbF

I am newish to writing, any thoughts of what I should improve in my basic writing?

>>8363420
Me parece que tenés que cortar bastante encaje innecesario. Fijate en los adjetivos, me parece que te sobran muchos, recordá que es mejor mostrar que contar. Por otro lado no estaría de más incorporar el punto y seguido en tu gramática.

>--Muy bien, Paul—Paul se sentó.

Acá es obvio lo que está pasando, pero generalmente después de «—» suele ir una acción de la persona que habla, aunque, bueno, eso no es una regla, pero por ahí queda mejor en el siguiente párrafo la acción de Paul. Esto último no es realmente una crítica, sino una cosa de estética tal vez.

Esto es lo mío, te agradecería que me dieras tu más dura crítica. Es largo, así que entiendo si no tenés el tiempo.

https://www.dropbox.com/s/oqhj56i8n9wpzdl/Perder%20el%20Silencio.docx?dl=0

>>8382867

Just from the first paragraph I'd say you need to work on run-ons.

Newfags: CRITIQUE BEFORE YOU POST.

>>8382784
That sounds kinda funny

this is more of a spoken-word piece [i.e. rap kek]
i want you to imagine this being performed in a mid-sized wood auditorium to a bunch of hipsters at a college. backing track is old-school hip-hop, drums and keys
i'm not trying to make great art, i just want to know if it's funny really

I used to be a loud mouth
back before i turned into a loud jerk
mouth work, keeping the attention of the plaid shirts

synecdoche, slippin little jokes in his silly verse
when i say i hate myself it's not a joke, is it though?
what isn't though?
artistry is dead, barthe said it first

Get it? if you didn't that's okay i guess
I"m a simple man, a bit fragile like yes
close to the edge
like the album by yes
21st century schizoid man, kanye said it best


maybe i should just dangle off a string or a length of rope
did he mean it though? am i misremembering?
is my faulty, weed-induced deficient memory rendering
everything anyone said hazy like some purple haze
hazy in the mazy signifiers, it's not one-to-one
an arrow with so many different heads, call me hydra son

[furious blast beats issue, death growls for 30 seconds]

hey i'm back of course, just a little hoarse
not a filly but affiliated with some prose-verse
think nabokov, vladimir would need a / [swinging both ways he'd need a]
pen with which to write pale fire and lolita
maybe enjoy some weed-a
toking up with frida
call us callous but we always thought di-ego was beta (better?)

now i think i'm being told it's about time to wrap
shape my act up, sit up straight, act with an iron back
shake hands with a firm grip, don't look down at the floor
grimy in the apartment, don't live there anymore
no seriously, i got nowhere to live
please help me
thank you

>>8363420
Your Spanish is a bit awkward, though not terribly so. It's mostly subtle stuff, like the last sentence. It would be more natural to say "sabiendo que" as opposed to "sabedores de que," for example.

>>8382995
Anon, Anon, Anon, critique me.

>>8382917

Tu recomendación hacia el otro Anon me parece que se apoya en diferencias regionales dentro del español, si leés lo mío calculo que lo encontrarás bastante extraño también.

>>8383007
Which one is yours?

>>8382934
Thanks I'll see if I can do the idea justice

>>8382368
Good job I think

Re worked a short story. here it is finished.

Lord, in your kingdom will I ask: Let the dead bury their dead?

Cracking fingers like fish bones, the builder looks out at the heat-laden sky. In sight are infinite cloud cutters, some of these simple concrete blocks and others mirrors of one hundred floors. A few of these are products of his craft, yet their erection brings him no pride. He thinks of himself as a charlatan in a hardhat, a man too sensitive to be a manual worker, a job that consists in purely showing tangible results. He shows insecurity in even the most minimal of details, gazing terrified at his co-workers that seem to flow into their tools, hammering while talking and laughing and drinking, ready-to-hand heroes that make wonders off the salt of their backs.

He shifts his weight onto the ledge of the skyscraper, now leaning comfortably against it. Small scars resembling islets span from the tip of the builder’s hands to the top of his forearms, products of either amateur construction or from fights in his youth. He looks tough, but he is scared. Beautiful women cross his mind, mares that see all manual workers as machines that create machines. Their husbands, pigtailed foreigners employ him and his gang for almost minimum wage.

The winds blow backwards and there is essence of dead fish in the air. The industrial elevator rides its rail down the eastern side of the tower, buzzing a warning cry that falls short on wandering ears. The builder spits down the shaft amused at the falling white blob. Cold steel descends upon him.
Co-workers take pictures of what is left. His headless body leans in place, uniformed and all like a working class sleepy hollow. The builder is generated into sequences of ones and zeros that imprint him forever in the number world. He dies and goes to heaven.

>>8383053
The Dropbox link.

I recently got this wonderful critique on one of the e-books I have up on Amazon. The top three are fairly standard get, but the last pisses me off.

Why did he not finish? Where did he get stuck? If he just didn't like the genre, why'd he buy it in the first place? What was the reason?

How was this review constructive in any way -- how does it help other customers make an informed decision?

Anyway, I'm between projects so I won't post anything.

>>8383545

So you just came here to be a whiny bitch and hopefully scrounge up anonymous writer cred by indirectly telling us you've written books, because you need some figurative papier-mâché strips to reinforce your fragile, crumbling ego?

>>8383545
Well, your readers don't owe you anything, not even finishing reading.

This was the result of me following the "just write" advice a month or two ago. Feedback of any kind appreciated.

Although it was three a.m., in a pretty quiet part of the city, footsteps followed down to the single lit house on the road. The house spilled orange out of its windows into the black outside, almost giving an illusion of heat in the cold of the night. When the walker drew close enough, the door opened silently and a woman stood in its archway. Upon recognising the face of the man who approached, she stepped aside to let him in.
“Hi,” she said. You’re early, she thought. The man and the woman were the kind of friends that were friendly enough to hold a conversation, but not quite friendly enough to start one. As such, the man took quite an amount of time to hang up his coat on the banister, so as to slightly shorten the discomfort of the silence in the entryway.
As he took his hands off the coat, he paused before he put them down by his sides (do I look natural with me hands here? What do I even do with my hands normally?) and followed the woman into the living room she'd walked in to. He sat down; not too close but not so far as to make the situation more uncomfortable.
There was a weird couple seconds of silence. He decided to open his mouth to speak, but what came out was the sound of bone on wood, not vocal cords: there was a knock at the door. He felt saved in much the same way the school bell saves a student preparing to be scolded by their teacher.
"I'll get it," she said, and got up to walk back out of the room to the door.

>>8383573
slick

In a galaxy far from our own a warrior far from home is being prepped for battle. His cell is dark but spacious for exercise and he has not gone hungry in many months due to this fight about to be his first. Two handlers open the cage door and use a pole with a hook on the end to snag the chain that binds his shackles. Four more handlers escort the warrior with rifles, he has seen them used before on others like him; sucked into slavery by a king of a planet and his people for their amusement. The doors to the arena open and the warrior is released from his bindings, he walks forward and selects his weapons, he chooses a metal shield and a spear, he is about to leave the weapon rack but decides to take a small knife and hide it behind his shield. The warrior slips the hilt under his wristband while his forearm is strapped to the shield.

As he exits the holding chamber the warrior is greeted by laughter, shouts, boos, and what qualifies as food to these people but is also considered rather tasty to him, the only food that he can remember is mac&cheese from when he was very young, it has been pink slop and strange “meat” for the last fifteen years of his life. The audience turned jeers to cheers as the opponent entered the arena, he was big and strong looking, he had two black horns jetting down from his chin and slime-green skin that was rough and cold to the touch. He was the same race as his handlers, his audience and his captor, he was the hometown hero and the warrior wanted, no needed him dead. The crowd(Thiabon(s) or Thiabonese as they’re commonly known as) are all educated in many of the intelligent species in the universe as they are the second most largest empires in the whole universe and need to know all they can on the species that they abduct for entertainment, so when the Thaibons chanted “Challa” the warrior knew it meant human or more correctly, “ape man”. The warrior had heard stories from his planet from other humans in captivity who were taken at older ages and they told of a man raised by apes and lived freely so the warrior got a feel for the theatrics and grew out his hair despite all mammals being shaved by keeper law.(he broke three arms and killed one keeper to finally be left alone, he also endured countless beatings from the royal guard by king’s request) The Thaibon opponent wielded a metal club in his right hand, a greatsword in left but the warrior did not fear his strength instead he smiled and stared.
1/2

>>8383722
2/2
A high pitched BWAAA sounded out and silence fell upon the stadium, the king of the Thaibon stood from his throne and announced his people; “Today marks the celebration of adulthood amongst our people, today you lay witness to my eldest son, Agamemnon, take the life of a beast from the D-class planet ‘earth’” The king raised his hands and the crowd cheered on the royal blood in the pit with the ‘D-class beast’. A loud BWAAA sounded and the king's son advanced, as did the warrior with his spear poking over the lip of the shield.They circled each other until the son swung the sword down towards the warrior. His shield flew up to block the blade and the spear poked forward, slicing Agamemnons’ inner thigh. It wasn’t a deep cut but a purple blood dribbled out from the wound. The impact sent intense vibrations down the warriors arm and his guard dropped, exposing him. A jab with the club made the warrior fly backwards, letting go of the spear to brace himself against the landing he lay on the ground offence less.

>>8383711

Thanks, babe

Diego would jerk off one to two times per day so he may spend the rest of the day free from girls being distractions. Often he had no problem reading dry nonfiction with a girl staring at him as she pretends to read her own book. He arrived at the conclusion that being socially functional crippled his productivity and inevitably led to less money for books; it helped to have a youth entirely devoid of romantic and sexual successes, so it's habitual to assume that any interaction with girls will just be a waste of time. The man was a legend. He learned to live with the loneliness, and the irony that it made him more attractive to girls did not escape him. That's how he met Rosy, who woke up his sexuality. Diego uncharacteristically resigned to this state of arousal.

How many days has it been since Diego masturbated? Not just jerking off to porn, though porn addiction was what fucked him, but he's abstaining from any snake choking. He almost developed permanent erectile dysfunction, he was sure. Five-Hundred-Oh-Five days. 505 days since his last jerk off session. After about 300 days he saw some hot chick on a sneaker commercial and his urge kicked up again. He kept debating then said to himself `ok I'll fap quick, get my mind cleared,' conceding his 300 day record and all. Almost a year of not masturbating and it ended with this sneaker commercial. He got out his laptop, mind reeling from deciding which porn genre to satiate himself finally.

Some of his best moments in life came out of masturbating to porn. His laptop's black screen was glossy enough for reflecting Diego's face. His brain told him to do it, he even said it out loud but his body didn't budge. He felt a weird tingling in his hands like an addict needed a fix. He stared at the ground until the urge began to cease. But soon another urge arrived as the image of that hot chick lingered in his mind. He was shocked at his own willpower as this second urge ebbed too. When it dissipated Diego felt clarity overtaking him. The next time he urinated a little seminal fluid could be spotted on the tip of his penis. Something clicked in his brain. He felt more alert with more energy and a kind of serenity that usually came with enlightenment. Anyways, day 505, let's see what happens.

>>8383063
Yeah it definitely could be funny.

>>8384006
Terrible prose. Read more before writing your diary as fiction.

>>8384166
I am the second post.
Thanks for reading, I agree. Why is it terrible and what would you recommend I practice?

>>8384216
not anon that you're referring to, but essentially all you said in your story was r"I'm addicted to jerkin it"

it's cool, some authors can get away with saying very little in a lot of text. but at least the prose is damn solid and that's enough to keep the reader going.

>>8384224
That helps to know. Any pointers to better prose? I really enjoyed how Murakami writes about everyday life, for example, even if he's talking about preparing Japanese dinner. Should I try to emulate him?

>>8384288
it's good to emulate authors that you find good when you're new to writing. it's better to practice voices that you admire than to write in your own young writers voice which is not very good. after a bit of emulating certain authors you'll find your own voice, probably a mix of murakami and other authors you enjoy.

remember friend, all works can be found in a mirrored library

>>8384288
Clean up your grammar.

You break tense consistency all over the place. Look at just the first paragraph:
>would jerk off... may spend
>had no problem... as she pretends
>it helped to have a youth... it's habitual to assume... any interaction with girls will just be a waste of time
>That's how he met Rosy, who woke up

Occasional idiomatic mistakes as well:
>Diego uncharacteristically resigned to this state of arousal
resigned himself to
>glossy enough for reflecting Diego's face
glossy enough to reflect

>>8384288
Imitation is a great way to learn. Especially with writing.

Found a poem I wrote when I was like 17, it's kinda cringey looking back imo but I guess I'll post it here for yucks

Take us with you into west,
And furrow tongues ascended,
Make us into what we were,
And see our forestrife ended.
Surely, swiftly, ever on,
Nexial and ancient,
Breaking brass we bled upon,
The marble throne of Midhe is gone,
Swiftly, surely, ever on,
Into an island nationed.

Coat our words with Danu's gleam,
And bolster armors rended,
Recover us our yester pride,
And leave us whole and mended.
Searching, learning, ever yearn,
Eternal and unbroken,
Grass and water, both will burn,
Let bloodied hands of Aodh return,
Learning, searching, ever yearn,
Our teanga then respoken.

A random page I churned out a while ago.

1/2
She opened her eyes and saw a stark white wall staring at her. She didn’t know what else to do, so she stared back. Eventually her eyes began to water and she blinked. Thinking that playing the game with the wall would only yield the same result again, she moved her head. Now she was staring at the ceiling. A fan rotated in the center of it. Observing this small, plastic, dusty fixture, she became aware of the rhythmic creak it sounded as it swayed back and forth, slightly too fast for comfort. Thinking that if she stared at the fan any longer it would surely fall on her, she turned her head another 90 degrees to the new side. Here she found another drab wall, but this time there was a man in front of it, clearly asleep. His round, soft face didn’t quite fit his body, only because his rounder, softer beard made his head look abnormally large. She was intrigued by his breathing, counting each breath as his chest fell. The steady beat of it reminded her of the fan. She looked up to make sure it was still attached to the ceiling. Satisfied that it would remain where it was for the time being, she rose to a sitting position. At this point she found that she was in a bed, linens pushed to the foot of it, lying useless. It was warm in the room, so she didn’t mind, but she covered her feet with the bedding regardless. She sat there engulfing the room with her presence for a moment or two, not thinking about anything in particular, content to just sit. When she grew tired of that, she swung her legs from beneath the sheets and comforter and over the side of the bed. She noticed that only her toes touched the warm carpet, and so slid forward until her heels made contact with the ground as well. After another half minute of silent contentedness, she stood.

>>8384538
2/2

Looking around the room she saw it furnished with a simple yet elaborately detailed dresser, a closet door, a bathroom door, and a tall nightstand with a clock which read 6:29. She stared at the clock until the LCD display read 6:30 and the harsh, shrill alarm blared. She dove to stifle it, not wanting to endure the horrid sound any longer. She looked over to the man, whose regular breathing suggested that he would be able to sleep through an entire war. She felt the nightgown on her skin for the first time now, and she didn’t like it. Knowing it was there meant knowing that it would have to go soon. She shed her comfort and walked to the closet, opening the door slowly, not because of the man, but because she had no reason to open it quickly. She took out a pair of slacks, a blouse, and a pair of flats. She laid them on the bed and walked to the bathroom where she opened the medicine cabinet, but not before staring at her pale, almost gaunt face in the mirror for a moment or two. She grabbed the deodorant, the brush, and the toothpaste. Then she put the toothpaste back. She applied the odor killing gel to her underarms and began to brush her hair, slowly at first, but then, getting fed up with the knots, faster, until she made the decision to grab the hair tie in the drawer and leave the brush for another day. She walked back to her clothes and put them on methodically as she stared at the man, now rolled over onto his stomach, hiding his face from the rising sun seeping in through the cracks of the shades. It was at this point that she realized the room had a third door. She adjusted her blouse and noticed that it was wrinkled at the bottom. She tried to smooth it out with her hands for a moment and then looked up to see the clock displaying 6:39 AM. Lying on the dresser was her plain black purse. She grabbed it, fished around for her keys, walked out of the room, took a left, and found herself face to face with the front entrance. She felt the door’s handle for a second and then turned it, slowly opening the door until there was enough space for her to slip through the threshold. She walked out. The sunlight blinded her.

>>8384538
>saw a stark white wall staring at her.
Sorry, stopped reading here. If this is any indication of the word choice throughout the entire piece then you need to change some shit up.

>>8384567
Care to elaborate?

>>8384569
It just sounds ridiculous, can't you see that? A change as simple as "She opened her eyes to a stark white wall staring back at her." would sound objectively better. I guess after doing this for awhile you get a better eye for when to not use certain words, but don't you agree that's just an odd sentence? I also scanned the paragraph and saw you started half the sentences with She or Her which probably makes the whole thing read like a choppy mess.

>>8384604
How passive aggressive of you. I agree with you on the she/her issue, but I think neither my first sentence nor your rewrite are better than the other, just different. And damn son, openly admitting that you read less than 1% of it before critiquing? Ain't that some shit.

>>8384544
Sheshesheshesheshedoorsdonthavefacessheshesheshesheshe

>>8384678
>what are metaphors

Here's a little writing thing I did for fun. Might as well post it here since I have no other plans for it.

>"Hunk" (1/2)

Banditos serenade through the valley, slinging volcanic rock from their holstered slingshots.
—Hey, babe, he says, shooting spit in a galactic spitoon, —you know I love ya.
—Oh, Hunk! says Damsel. She has cream skin and wears a laced transparent dress revealing cleavage, her athletic body, a glimpse of areola. Her tongue slathers her milky teeth. —Hunk!
—I’m coming, babe. All of the sudden out comes a Karate Master. He lassoes the violent offender who tries to run Hunk down with intensive karate moves. Hunk blocks a jab to the throat and places a foot behind the assailant’s leg, thrusts his elbow into the Karate Master’s rib, the Master toppling over in a burst of pain. Hunk whips out a Nine Iron and tees his head off into another dimension. The Master’s head twinkles like a star, fading.
—BLAHAHAHAHA!
Hunk spins counterclockwise and falcon-hones his vision to... none other than... Baron! Baron stands at a promontory, Damsel slung kicking across his shoulder, her buttocks bare and plump, inviting a squeeze.
—You’ll never get away with this, Baron!
Baron stands near the town gallows, beside a noose and footstool. —Oh yeah? Watch me! He clumsily tries to put the noose over Damsel’s neck, her breasts jiggling with each slight motion.
—Stop!
—No, says Baron, and continues with the noose.
A few miles away, from up on Mount Kilimanjaro volcanic craters have burst beneath the surface, and now viscous lava and various fragments of debris are raining from above. Out from the blazing inferno waddle Lava Sharks! These egregious creatures have spent a Jerusalem’s Time under the surface of the Earth, nestled in the heart of the magmatic core, the No Man’s Land, where the temperatures reach degrees of 1,000,000,000 F, and hotter, sometimes the heat growing so hot that it can burn a hole in time and space itself, transporting the Lava Sharks at random, from universe to universe, under the chaotic benediction of Intelligent Design.
So the spurts of lava from the recently erupted Mount Kilimanjaro have sent Lava Sharks, ready for battle, down after the precincts of Upper Brooklyn and New New York, with targets locked and sighted on Hunk, whose Blade is sheathed, but who has his hand on the handle, ready to strike when the first move is made.
—Hyaaaalp! cries Damsel, as Baron shoves a sock in it and gets a handful of Ass before putting the noose around her neck, rubbing his fat filthy fingers up her tonsured halo of collarbones, which prefaces her important Breasts.
—Stop, you! Hunk slashes a Lava Shark in two, spraying him with a fine mist of blood which burns through the concrete on the ground and sizzles on his toned physique. He screens his eyes window wiper-wise, the shark’s blood having removed all visibility.

>"Hunk" (2/2)

Baron, meanwhile, picks Damsel up by her succulent morsel thighs, hand sliding upwards to Cooch, and sets her on the stool, next to the Evil Boner which has now revealed itself in erection. He ignores the urges, evil Baron, and runs to the lever, to dispose of Damsel. She shrieks, seeing him run. The sun from orbital rays licks Damsel’s skin; and Hunk goes a-running. He’s bolting, blade holstered.
—Eeeeeep, sounds Damsel, her pale breasts cleft and sunglowing.
Baron, fat, armor-laden, 5’9”, weighing 290 lbs., waddles strong to the lever, huffing.
Agile, Hunk zips through the crowd. Left and right these Lava Sharks race to chomp him with their rows upon rows of dozens of razorblade teeth. Hunk dodges and spins out of the way of the Lava Sharks.
Evil Baron lumbers to the lever.
The Lava Sharks growl and chomp at Hunk. Loincloth flickering and flapping in the wind, body like Michelangelo’s David, Hunk leaps and dives over a Lava Shark sliding horizontal on the city’s concrete streets.
Evil Baron lumbers to the lever.
Racing, Hunk cracks a right hook to a Lava Shark which sends it spiraling into a building half a mile away which erupts in a poof and crashing of brick and cinder, knocking the building from its foundation.
Evil Baron stops at the lever, catches his breath, and pulls it with a swift and galactic, —Harruuuummmmph!
Hunk dives and catches Damsel as soon as she drops.
—Curses! Baron stomps in a tantrum. —I’ll get her next time, Hunk! This won’t be the last you see of me! He cackles and evaporates into thin air.
Hunk carries the dazed Damsel back to his Castle.
Peering upskirt of Damsel, Hunk stands. She’s sprawled on the bed. Plump like a piece of Key Lime. The bed is gigantic, something out of Valhalla. Arabic sheets surround the cushion.
—So? she says, rubbing the noose mark on her supple neck. —Are you coming to bed?
Hunk admires his oiled physique in the mirror, flexing, then turns around and leaps onto the bed.
They fuck for hours. Wet, slapping sounds for miles. She moans so loud she screams. The bed digs holes into the concrete and burns grooves in the thick Persian rug below.
He finishes and falls asleep. She rests her head against his pectoral.

>>8384707
They aren't shes that is for sure.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/18iHWxsTcaR6qgWx_vJj4SWmN3VTrdIJLxUQG6qEsUoE/edit?usp=sharing

(1/2)

She was so cold without his relief. A breeze without the wind, it was nothing but a name. What was once a sign of comfort and safety was nothing more than a name on paper. We all look forward to what comes next because, according to us, what we have now is not as great as what we don’t have yet. She could imagine what could come next, that Jonathan were to step up to the door, he were to knock once, then wait a second, then knock once more, and she would walk from her lonely spot on the couch, to look through the peephole, and explode in a fiery outburst of emotion upon seeing his now shaved head and wounded heart. She imagined the navy blue suit, his white cap with a black leather bill, the awards and pins decorated on his chest, over his heart, and his last name etched in gold on his shirt. His eyes would sparkle, the edges of his mouth were to painfully curl into a playful grin, and the door would burst open. And she would stand there, crying, but able to stand nonetheless, and he would udder these words:

“Hello, dear. I’m home.”

But Harper nearly leaped from her bed. She sat up in the dark, terrified to see there was no light looking back at her. It was a kind of darkness that Harper had never experienced, even with her eyes closed. It was silent, a silence that almost made sound with its heaviness. Harper could feel her eyes blinking, she could feel the cold bedsheets, and she felt the hair on her arms stand on edge. Her skin was riddled with goosebumps and each breath was a violent, conscious effort. It wasn’t until she let out a slight cough that Harper realized her hearing had not left, and that she was truly in her room. Her eyes grew akin to the blackness and eventually Harper was able to make out the traces of objects in her room.

There was the desk in the corner, littered with empty shopping bags, pajama pants, and unopened packs of hair ties. She found the familiar shadow of the industrial AC unit on the wall. Her eyes wandered more until they rested on the opposite side of the bed. The figure there was dark and heavy, its chest moving up and down, a whistling coming from its nose. It was curled into a large ball, one arm under the pillow that its head was resting on, its knees tucked into its chest. The heaviest blankets were taken by Harper, leaving the shadow just one light sheet from warmth, which it did not provide. She looked just to the side of the shadow, eyeing the clock, which read 3:13 AM. Harper sighed at the clock and got out of bed. She shuffled slowly in the darkness, one arm out in front of her, her eyes pointed on the dim light showing through the cracks of the sides of the doors.

>>8384810
(2/2)

Harper opened the door, allowing the light of the hallway to illuminate her room. Before she walked out, Harper rubbed her eyes and looked back at the bed. Its emptiness made her heart sink. She was foolish, she thought, oh so foolish to believe he would be there, breathing again, loudly and quietly all at once, by her side. She missed the warmth from his chest and the coldness in his breath when he would whisper in her ear. It tickled the tiny hairs on her face, the way he would talk. Harper returned to her room with a glass of water that she set on her bed-side table, which held a picture of the two and a pair of nail clippers. She put the nail clippers in the drawer and brushed off the dust on the table. The picture, she thought, was never dusty.

Again, she woke in a spur of emotion. Harper didn’t even remember falling asleep again. This time, her room was bright and the sun was in her face. She glanced at the clock where he used to lay; it read 9:47 AM. Harper turned over in her bed, looking at the blank white wall which had grayed over the years due to water damage and the collection of dust residing around her flat. She exhaled heavily, hoping the dust would blow away, but it never would. Harper thought about her day to come. She would shower, but make sure it wouldn’t be too long, because if she were in there for more than 10 minutes, the once relieving hot, steamy water would change to ice cubes, pounding at her back and head. She would eat a bowl of raisin brand, until her appetite would dissipate after the cereal became too soggy. She would then leave her apartment, make it down the three flights of stairs and outside, until realizing she forgot to lock her door. After her second trip down the stairs, she would spend an eternity at the coffee shop, than an eternity waiting for a taxi, than an eternity plus without Jonathan. But an eternity would be worth waiting.

Harper was stiffly awoken from her trance by a knock on the door. She held her breath, her eyes widening, waiting for the second.

“Captain, are we ready for liftoff?”
Cel’s hand rested on the throttle levers, her feet on the rudder pedals. She could feel the rumble of the four main engines in the decks below her, and when she thought of the 424 liters of internal combustion supplying 8,208 horsepower and 39,188 pound-feet of torque to the eight 19.7-foot propellers scattered around the ship, she smiled.

>>8383545
It's just another way of saying he didn't like it. Taste's different.

>>8384852
Good work, I felt as if i was in the cockpit. what are you basing those stats off of?

>>8384810
>>8384812
Anymore to share.
I also have a question. Are you writing in Third person omniscient or limited? English is not my first language.

>>8363386
>Artsyom
That's not a real russian name, it would be Artyom. Or did you do that on purpose?

>>8385373
Its a belarusian variant

Artyom as well as many slavic names have variants in each slavic country

>>8385378
Fair enough. I just saw that OP's story/chapter/whatever is called Siberian Hunting and assumed it would be a russian protagonist. But hey, it is his story and he can call him however he likes.

>>8385384
Perhaps he is soviet protagonist?

>>8385230
Thanks man and/or lady! The Hindenburg was my basis, and I fooled around with the numbers a bit, though exactly how I don't remember as this was quite a few months ago. I've got grand plans to write a dieselpunk story about airships, and that paragraph is about the extent of it so far.

Cliff awoke and immediately felt tired. He found it a struggle to even open his eyes, although he felt as if he had been in bed for a year. He wondered why he was so exhausted and, deciding to remain sightless while he thought, tried to recall yesterday’s events. When he found that he could not, his brow furrowed slightly and his mind kicked into overdrive. Now asking himself question after question, he found that he didn’t have an answer for the vast majority of them. The fundamental ones came easy as ever; who he was, the names of his parents’, his favorite color, all of these he instantly knew. Where he was and how he got there, though, were complete mysteries. Feeling uncomfortable by this lack of spatial awareness, Cliff resigned to the idea of opening his eyes in order to better understand his situation, and, with great effort, succeeded in blinding himself by looking directly into the fluorescent tubes on the hospital room’s ceiling.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the light, Cliff was pleasantly surprised to find that he was surrounded by a multitude of his best companions. His parents and his brother, his girlfriend, and several of his best friends were gathered around his bed, each with a smile wider than the last. Seeing this scene that instantly set Cliff’s mind at ease, granting him a peace that he wasn’t sure he’d ever known before. He realized he’d been holding his breath, and as soon as he exhaled, so did everyone else in the room; this was the catalyst for the many reactions that had waited so long for his arousal.

Check out this flash fiction I just wrote:

I don't want to end up like volapük, nigga.!

>>8382784 this is me. names aren't set but how's this intro. Should I keep going?


On the eve of Earl’s fortieth cycle, which held similar cultural importance to an eighteenth birthday with which most would be more familiar, Fred and Mary Ju-Nex Al set themselves out to have a uncharacteristically tense dinner with their youngest son. This is not to say their usual dinners were not filled with resentment and tension, but rather to emphasize clearly that this dinner had potential to be particularly awkward at its best and dismal at its worst. Recently a topic of heavy debate behind closed doors, this particular dinner had been donned with We-Need-To-Talk status despite Fred’s every effort to have it be more of a Listen-Buddy type sit-down between two loving parents and their boy. Fred had been trying to play the PalDad friend/father hybrid since the birth of his first son, and of course, he ineloquently deposed to his wife, he could not treat his youngest any different than the rest of them in good faith. His wife Mary obviously did not share the sentiment. She was a self-proclaimed realist (a cause for alarm in any culture) sharing the mentality of a high school girl who calls herself honest as an excuse to be rude. Mary Ju-Nex Al was hard on her son Earl, but she really truly did love him. She told herself nearly every night. Despite the argument over how it should be approached, the problem was apparent to the both of them. Earl, their youngest of seven sons and three daughters, hadn’t done anything.

Indonesia.

The luftballoons are sailing skyward with a float of minstrel players pulling off the "Rule Brittannia" & a dull etcetera. Mantras: single up all lines to double pace & off, ATEASE, UPPERPOUTS, into that everblue.

The annual airship race. Seasons pass it by. Detestable entrants now, Rushkis and Pushkis, nothing like it was before... & Irish lately found, at ropes run up to inclement lanes, they've come to prove something ... Scots jargoning the referee, sev'ral casualties, after all the angels' call is paced at frantic time. AH THE CLIMB. Breath is burnt. CAW CAWLLS, the seagull roost, broken toasts, the chinaware - Chinese before the reddening sky already over East.

The host now, despondent, darkly plot a mark of inconvenience to the lot. Ramen tongued, the radio .... can get complicated, yeah? Open to a cloudburst of applause, but louder, it must all be louder, harsher to the humid sky. We must makeushere a storm.

>>8385767
This has potential, but it's not good yet. If you plan on writing about social interaction I'd suggest reading some Jane Austen. She is subtle, but stinging, whereas you are simple and obvious. Your vocabulary and overall prose seems weak, but like I said there is potential and the subject matter is interesting enough.

Now for some obvious things:
>Fred and Mary Ju-Nex Al set themselves out to have
'prepared' would be more fitting and less clunky, I think, than 'set...out'

>Fred had been trying to play the PalDad friend/father hybrid since the birth of his first son
this is so clunky. try something like this.. more concise:
>Fred, as a father, had always been more friendly than stern with his son

>She was a self-proclaimed realist (a cause for alarm in any culture) sharing the mentality of a high school girl who calls herself honest as an excuse to be rude

I liked this

>Earl, their youngest of seven sons and three daughters, hadn’t done anything

How is not doing anything a problem? Be a little more specific in what sense he hasn't done anything. They are thinking of dismissing him? They want him to assert himself in the world and make something of himself? You need to fix this last sentence if you want it to have the effect you're going for here.

>>8386477
Thanks! I am no writer but I'd like to try and I appreciate honest criticism

a free verse poem i sprawled upon paper in a sporadic state, feedback would be greatly appreciated.

forgiving fruits flower beneath a forgotten day,

left longing for what was once not,

hanging their intestines to be devoured from what cannot be seen or heard,

fruitful be the night of forgotten memories as we fade into the oblivion of monotony,

gaping we gasp for drips of life dropped down to us from those we will never know,

frantic we choose to give ease to the spray of everything we see,

confusion sparks the lamp of false certainty,

noble stands the slave before the the creature of confusion,

thrashing with gentle ease against the infinities of passion,

tumbling over forgotten dreams we ignite the future we never wanted.

>>8386529
poor use of alliteration imo

---

Clocks stutter to pronounce it -
monatomic planet vision's horizon,
brief certainty.
Either side, doubts bifurcate
and profligate thoughts
drown singularity;
physicists wake from dreams
of eyes, panicking in blindness.

A man flies into his house.
Then the mouse comes out of the hole.

The clock struck one, so the mouse runs up the clock. The mouse runs up the clock. Needless to say he falls to his death.

A mouse runs up a clock
Then the man flies out of the hole.

>>8363386
I used to make fake greentext stories to post later.

>highschool senior
>get text from friend's older brother
>"hey anon my family's having problems with the computer, could you swing by after school and take a look?"
>georgeofthejungle.tree
>get inside, say hi to the parents, ask what's wrong with the computer
>"There's something wrong with the keyboard, I think we have sticky keys"
>think I fucking got this
>walk into the office room, computer's on the login screen
>try to log into my friend's profile because I know his password
>go to type "souleater1994"
>every key around WASD got stuck when I pressed down
>"oh they LITERALLY meant sticky keys"
>decide to go in my friend's profile anyway out of curiosity
>whip out cheap chiclet key dell keyboard that I take to school because lolgerms
>get on
>Pinkie Pie wallpaper
>what
>go into IE
>look at history
>ponychan, /co/, a pony booru
>wait
>pick up sticky keyboard
>take a whiff
>I know this smell
>remove Caps Lock
>crusty jizz
>shut down computer and take the keyboard to the parents
>tell them the rubber parts on the keys are messed up and they need a new keyboard
>friend walks in front door
>he sees me holding the jizzboard in front of his parents and pauses
>he goes upstairs without a word
>apologizes to me
>turns out he just cums straight onto the keyboard
>never hear from him again after that summer

>>8387079
Found another

>Maplestory
>be in guild of aspies who do boss runs every weekend
>hate them to death, always spurting youtube poop quotes (this was like, 2008-2009 I think?)
>new member, male character, nothing special
>log in few days later
>everyone's coddling the newbie
>newbie is actually girl, she's playing a male character (because the most common overalls scrolled for DEX are the MALE Showa Towels; pretty smart, actually)
>guild leader gives her 9att wgs as a compliment
>nigga you what
>I don't get involved, don't say anything
>train with her, talk to her here and there while the others aren't online
>subject shifts over to autistic guildies
>turns out they keep sexually harassing her, begging for her bra size, msn, phone number, etc
>ask her why she doesn't report them/leave the guild
>she's in it for the boss runs as well
>fuck
>HT run this Saturday
>waiting for the other members to arrive at the NPC to start the run
>they're saying weird shit to her
>she whispers me that she's about to fucking blow
>tell her it'll be okay
>run habbening
>I'm a Dark Knight, she's a Corsair
>we both die on different sides of the map, she's near guildies, I'm near entrance
>leader is a Bishop and can revive only one of us
>she says to revive me because I have Hyper Body (increases max HP/MP of party) and it would be more beneficial to the run
>they fucking revive her
>not even blinking, she quits the guild
>they all yell at me, saying's it's my fault
>get kicked from guild
>NIGGA YOU WHAT
>meet up with her later, chit chat, do some event quests that were more fun than the boss run
>turns out she actually took screenshots of the aspies harassing her and reported them to Nexon
>all got banned
>stay friends, join separate guilds that are in an alliance
>alliance breaks up, drift apart slowly, eventually stop playing altogether

>>8387092
Last one I could find.

>find tw shitter wanting to buy int equips
>get him on irc
>post imgur links to a godly sauna robe, amos cape, etc
>not even my items
>tell him it'll be $100 but I'll need time to get them to him
>2 days pass, I'm keeping in touch with him
>tell him he'll need to go to a specific fm room on a specific channel so I can drop trade it to him
>tell him I need to start a "process" and that I need a few hours to a day
>tell him to stay logged on with his pet out so it'll pick up the equips
>tell him I need the money now before I go any further with my "process" because it's too risky, but assure him he'll get the equips without any trace for the GMs to follow
>get it gifted through paypal
>quickly buy $95 dick pump and delay the alleged drop trade as long as possible, keeping him updated with fake bullshit and making it sound like I'm a 1337 hax0r
>26 hours pass, 4am
>tell him I'm almost done and he should get ready
>dick pump status email says it's been delivered
>get out of the irc, close tor, unplug ethernet cable for a day
>check forums the next evening
>he's trying to report me but the name he gave the GMs doesn't exist and the equips aren't even mine
>mfw he gets banned for attempting to rmt
>mfw he was the leader of one of the Taiwanese guilds, so now ~200 chinks are running around like chickens without heads
>mfw I didn't get caught
>mfw $100 is about 3k TW dollarydoos, which is probably like a fourth of his salary
>mfw I'm gonna expand my dong for free
>mfw ching chong could've made more use of the dick pump than me
>mfw God's gonna punish me by giving me erectile dysfunction or something but I've already fucked/fapped so much that I don't get natural boners anymore so I don't care

This is a followup to:

Reminder that Cuckington is powerleveling while using the penis pump he bought with the money he got from scamming a Taiwanese maplestory player so he'll be able to fuck you hard ingame AND irl
t. /msg/

I also used to forge IRC logs to get people in trouble in MMO private servers, but I can't find any worth posting.

>>8387075
>mouse falls to his death
>man flies out of the hole presumably he made
>mouse dies
>man flies
Next time write with purpose

>>8387079
>>8387092
>>8387105

These are really well crafted, I found a part of myself believing them, even knowing they're fake.

I'm writing a short novel about a man who really hates someone, and then at a point he completely loses his patience and murders him. He hides the body in a forest and goes back to town. A few days after the police starts investigating. When the MC notices they're getting too close to finding out that he did it, he murders one of the cops. An old woman sees it and he murders her too

Basically he goes on a murder rampage because he doesn't want to be found. At the beggining of the novel, he'll love the feeling of killing the guy he hated, but only for a few seconds. Once he realizes what he just did, he gets scared and feels immensely guilty. But as the plot advances, he starts getting more and more pleasure out of killing people

Is it a good idea?

>>8387575
Go for it if you can really get in his head, you know what I mean?

>>8387575
It would be better if he stopped at the one murder and wanted to get caught.

>I usually keep my poetry secret, but I want to see what improvements could be made on this last one... (I feel it should be longer too)

A chill whispers astern.
Silent, unseen and pervaisive,
Its presence, though like a burden,
Hangs heavy on a captain ever pensive.

With his minder wanders his ship,
As he dreams of leisure and love,
But as attempts his ascent from achyls' grip,
He sense his ghost haunting the deck

Hanging, not so far above,
By its neck.

>>8387718
Wow just realised all my mistakes...

He stood still on the stoop. He wondered, could not help but wonder, if he ought not to have come. After all she was probably asleep and anyway he'd promised not to bother her when they had separated. The air wavered in August heat. He was nearly on the verge of turning round and going home. But something stronger, more important than his fears came over him, and this compelled him to stretch out his knuckles and rap twice upon the door.

>>8385767

I agree with everything in
>>8386477

>>8374458
Your last two lines should be one line unless you're doing something interesting with the voice or have an interesting idea. You're not. You don't. Try again.

I'm concerned about the description of the building mainly

I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to work exposition into this.

>>8388195
>The chairs were on elevated floors above one another, descending as they were closer to the stage
Yeah, this is ALLOT of writing to describe, basically, a theater.

>>8388210
Well its post apocalyptic, the character is not at all educated, I took special notice not to use shapes because of this

Inb4 vocabulary, this is 3rd limited

>>8388195
This is pretty amateurish. Stale and tired descriptions include but are not limited to:
>producing a deafening bang
>quick burst of relief
>elipses
>gust of air
>eyes adjust to reveal a room
>in front of him
>Marble shouldn't be capitalized

Also yeah what the other guy said, it's a theatre, we all get it. If there's anything unique about this theatre, describe that instead of what you have described.

>>8388196
This has grammar issues.
>creating a torrenting, mud-river
this comma is unnecessary
>who
Should be whom
>Then...
Why even use elipses here?
>As he passed each house, his knees ached
This comma is unnecessary because you're starting a list.
>more elipses
Really, this isn't a grammar thing but just drop the elipses damn

Anyway this is okay except your second paragraph is totally boring. You're just telling us all this expositional stuff. Introduce your world-building in a more natural and subtle way. In other words, show don't tell.

>>8388229
Okay I'll look it over

>>8388195
>>8388216
Honestly there are allot of other issues. You switch tense freely, there are spelling errors (I know it's on mobile), and the order you describe stuff in is questionable. But all of that can be fixed pretty easily, the main thing is choosing to go with 3rd limited in present tense (I'm assuming) when your narrator is uninformed. It's like constrained writing; you're really shooting yourself in the leg so you better have a specific reason for doing so. The reader won't get to hear this justification, either.

>>8388229
I appreciate the grammar issues and it's a common problem with me.
>Anyway this is okay except your second paragraph is totally boring. You're just telling us all this expositional stuff. Introduce your world-building in a more natural and subtle way. In other words, show don't tell.
I totally get that concept, it's just that there's so much exposition to go through. Of course the kid will get "bound" himself relatively soon so it's necessary to tell that part, otherwise I might try to work it into dialogue. I am also trying to make the narrator somewhat naive in that his home was sheltered from the outside world, so some of this will need to be explained to him verbally.

>>8388229
It's a strip club btw

This isn't good, but:

A fat man in a sloppy suit sticks a stack of 10 pictures of a masked man, reading Hawken in big letters, and fifty million dollar reward, at the very top left of a board already covered with pictures other than that spot. Every other picture also has a numerical value, none higher than one million or lower than thirty thousand. The room is filled with seedy looking folk drinking, smoking, and having light conversation while looking at slips of paper. The buzz that was in the room turns to silence and stillness as they all notice where the picture was placed. One man walks to the board and takes one of the newly placed photos and all eyes follow. He walks to the door at the same pace he grabbed the paper; methodically. As he opens the door to leave, he says, “You all afraid or something? I’ll bring back his head in a bag”, and walks out. They sit silent, attention at the door for a while, and then switch the attention to each other until.
“Cocky fuck”
“This’ll be my chance”
“You all ready for a new number one”
“I give im a week, you know It, I know-“
“Me going up in this place”
“I liked him.. CHEERS!”
“Jahahahahah!!”
Drink and conversation fill the room as it hadn’t in years; it feels alive. Yet the board is left alone, seemingly not there. No one looks at it or goes near it – except for one man. He is not a secret member of this place, but he is forgotten as the night takes sanity from some, consciousness others. Finally, his gaze becomes a walk, his walk a grab, his grab a slow trot to the door, three eyes forward.

>>8388239
Thanks, I'll see how pure 3rd turns out.

Vivaldi sought something that could unravel the thoughts that had knotted up his mind over the course of the evening. Conveniently, a remedy waited for him upstairs, where he converted a part of his quarters into a miniature pharmacy of sorts. He stored in this pharmacy all of the reagents he could sneak with him into Algiers. Though the cache was meager when compared to his (now-defunct) establishment in Spain, he did his best with the resources at his disposal.
Vivaldi plucked a vial from its shelf and filled it halfway with a brass carafe of water. Then he added a little of this and a dash of that, all the while measuring each pinch of powder and sprig of herb with a steady hand.
Since everything in the pharmacy was organized in accordance with its individual properties, he had no trouble finding what he was looking for. The mummified toe boosted luck, the dried umbilical cord restored continence, and the giant’s head – well, he kept that for personal amusement. It took an expert alchemist to know these properties and Vivaldi was not ashamed to admit that he was such an expert.
Vivaldi swished the vial until a foamy substance frothed to the lid. Then, he threw his head back and poured the concoction down his throat.
A wave of warmth rolled from his chest to his head and was immediately followed by a numbing sensation. It was this sense of detachment which relieved Vivaldi from the troubles weighing on his mind.

>>8388239
>I totally get that concept, it's just that there's so much exposition to go through
It's probably not even bad if you "tell" this exposition instead of "showing" it, but it's bad where it is now. It interrupts the flow and the pace of action, and it doesn't belong there. Either introduce it as tangent of the main character's thoughts or have it fill in the gaps after another character tries to explain it to him. Either way, introduce it more naturally then it is here, and don't interrupt your action.

>>8388239
A reason, I figure it us the most realistic thing to happen

>>8388196
>>8388229
>>8388265
How would you feel about something like this? This certainly is not a finished product, but I'm testing the waters with it as a form of more natural exposition. I probably need to cram more in there and make the letter, though it is written by a rather formal character, feel more natural.

>>8388241
I'd love a crit guys :D This is like a sort of prologue, by the way, or at least a part of it. This place and all the major people in it shall certainly be expanded upon.

>>8388196
>>8388229
>>8388265
>>8388274
This is the most recent version, taking all of that into account, and I'm pretty happy with it. Thanks for the critique.

>>8384852
>>8385230

Wrote some more of it, any further thoughts?

(1/2)
“Captain, are we ready for liftoff?”
Cel’s hand rested on the throttle levers, her feet on the rudder pedals. She could feel the rumble of the four main engines in the decks below her, and when she thought of the 424 liters of internal combustion capable of supplying 8,208 horsepower and 39,188 pound-feet of torque to the eight 19.7-foot propellers scattered around the ship, she smiled.
A deep voice came over her headset, complete with the telltale crackle of a very used com system. “What the fuck, we finally gonna get outta here? Good shit, the engines could use the ventilation, not to mention me. Open up the vents, would ya’?”
A second man responded to the first, this one sans static. “Ted, I told you not to use the emergency line unless you have to.”
“I just got it working! What’s the point of fixing it if we aren’t gonna use it?”
The stern nature of the second voice developed a cautionary edge. “We’re going to be airborne soon, you might want to take a seat.”
“That’s okay Cap, I’ll just hold on to something,” Cel could almost hear Ted smiling through the line, and she was sure their superior could, too.
A brief moment passed before the Captain replied. “Suit yourself. Cel, we are ready for liftoff. Proceed at your will.”
Cel responded before Ted could get a word in edgewise. “Sir, yes, sir. Mooring lines away, ballast tanks draining, throttles up, lifting off now.”
The vessel began its vertical ascent, steadily and with purpose. The slow, elegant climb owed it’s fluidity to the expertise of Cel, who had gone through this procedure more times than she could count. As the speed of the propellers increased and the water from the ballast tanks crashed to the asphalt, the rate of ascent grew exponentially. When the altimeter read 320 feet, she shut the ballast tanks, and at 830, she cut the power to the engines. Inertia, combined with the helium tanks, allowed the aircraft to continue to rise.

>>8388654

(2/2)
Most pilots simply let their engines idle at this point, as restarting them was often a hassle: they consumed more fuel during this time, there was increased wear due to lack of oil circulation, and it was a general nuisance to have to hold the start button as they sputtered to life. But Cel enjoyed the moment of silence as she wafted into the clouds.
The altimeter continued to climb, slower now. 900, 1000, 1050, 1075. Cel watched it intently, only briefly averting her eyes at 1091 to look through the large glass wall in front of her. Awaiting her gaze was the vast ocean, some twenty miles away. She looked back down. 1098 feet. Cel jammed the start button and brought the rotors to flight mode. The 64 pistons began to chug away, and the propellers rotated 90 degrees, now providing thrust on the horizontal axis rather than the vertical. The rumble of the engines grew until the tachometer reached 800 RPM. It was at precisely this point that Cel engaged the props and, with a familiar jolt, the Airship Suprimo began its voyage.
As she finished the last of the liftoff procedures, Cel found that she was thinking concurrently about Ted and the Captain’s exchange as well as her helium-filled behemoth. She furthermore found that she’d been beaming the whole time.

Computer engineering student here and about to graduate next December. For the meantime, I have to write a 40 page story for a literature class.
Anyway, it's in spanish and this is my first time writing something so critique as hard as you can.

“¿Alguna vez te contaron el significado de la locura?”. El bastardo continuaba hablando, ignorándome. Intentar caer al suelo es inútil, la silla tiene contra peso en las cuatro patas. Mi visión periférica no me deja ver el material que la mantiene inmóvil, imagino que es el mismo material para las dos patas traseras también. ¿Cuánto ha pasado desde la primera cortada? Rayos, debe haber pasado 40 minutos ya. No parece ser tan profunda, creo tener por lo menos tres horas más.
“… al trabajo todos los días, pero nunca hacen nada al respecto? Para mí, esa es la verdadera locura” terminó diciendo con un suave tono. Mi concentración se está deteriorando, no puedo seguir escuchándolo y pensar con claridad al mismo tiempo. El hijo de perra realmente planeó este momento. Tranquila Riley, retoma la concentración con un respiro profundo. Enfócate. Cierra los ojos. ¡Eso! ahora sí, adentro… y afue-. “Ugh. ¿Qué es esto…?” exlamé con un nudo en la garganta. “Hey, tranquila querida. ¿Qué no te enseñaron que la niñas no deben escupir?”.
Lo que me faltaba. Maldición, duele mucho. Al menos toser sangre confirma mi suposición de trauma en el estómago.
En ese momento recordé a Way, con su inquebrantable sentido de honor y moral. Mi manera de ver las cosas nunca le causó gracia. “Cruda” decía él. “y aun así, correcta” le contestaba yo. Me pregunto qué pensaría al verme en esta situación, apuesto a que tampoco la encontraría divertida. ¡Venga Riley, no te distraigas! ya le contarás todo cuando tu momento llegue, por ahora enfócate en prolongar ese viaje.