/lit/ - Literature

>>8389815
I didn't like it, sorry.

>buzzing a warning cry that falls short on wandering ears
should this be "falls short of?"

>he builder spits down the shaft amused at the falling white blob.
This sentence is rather clunky.. rearrange

I'm not a fan of your phrasing overall.

----

Clocks stutter on the brief certainty within
vision's horizon, vanishing over bifurcating doubt.
Nightmare tears wake physicists into the horror of
catatonic blindness and under Medusa's gaze they find
the mission's end, the singularity drowned in profligate thoughts
and fantasies of intangible kingdoms.

>>8389815
Here's a bit from a short story I've been working on.

‘’Let me tell you… I’m finna tell you; you know? YOU AIN’T SHIT, YOU AIN’T SHIT. I got all the money I need nigga.’’― She swung around with her fat body; her breasts akin to an orangutans’. YOU GONNA TELL ME!? ― The prophetic veteran took a hit out of his crack pipe and looked at the whacked out crack hoe; her voice angelic, her greasy movements a ballet. He observed his thoughts and sprung up to his feet. He smacked the woman and yelled ‘’BITCH! Get out of my head.’’ ― She rolled around, trying to get up while repeating the same few lines she had in her crack induced vocabulary: YOU GONNA TELL ME NIGGA, WHAT, NIGGA, YOU FINNA SAY TO ME, NIGGA. She breezed out a knife from her nasty ass purse and began to swish it around in the air with her god damn turkey leg of an arm. The veteran moved his hands in a calming motion and spoke to the arrangement of uncaring dope fiends: ‘’Calm down… calm down ya’ll… she harmless… she harmless.’’ The rolling mound of fat swung it’s blade like a deranged scorpion of morbid obesity; still unable to get up. The veteran stood in a meditative haze for a moment… Her existence, an orchestra to mine ears. His ‘’assistant’’ held the ghetto blaster in his lap as he lit up some rock. ‘’Ayo… we got to get out dis shit, rite here, rite now.’’― The veteran looked at the crack hoe again, and looked back at his assistant. The assistant got up and they disappeared again, into the geto streets.

“Just one cup of coffee,” the customer said.
“We don’t serve plain coffee anymore,” said Alfredo, “what would you like to put in it?”
“I do not want anything to be placed in my coffee, but I would appreciate the coffee being placed in the cup.”
Alfredo expanded his arm beyond the counter and grabbed the gentleman’s tie with pure contempt. The counter was wide, high and of firm concrete, but he managed to get his head in touch with the man’s. The man’s 40 year-old face had a river of sweat escaping its edges. Alferdo kept staring into his eyes for a few seconds just to realize a young boy, who resembled the gentleman in a weird way, was standing in the dark background silently observing. He left the tie and checked the 7 year-old’s situation with his gaze; the pants were wet and the face red. The stains grew darker and wider as Alfredo merely stared. As the kid’s face started to wet and flourish in red, Alfredo jumped over the counter, almost hurting the startled man, and ran away. Alfredo ran as if he were chased by the nation’s men. His face had a pathetic stare and his eyes were getting wetter as time passed, and as it passed, he only hell-bent for oblivion.

more or is this enough embarrassment, friends? hint: it gets worse ;^D

>>8389968
why don't you narrate a ghetto story using complex prose. make sure the dialogue is really ghetto but maintain your voice

>>8389968
have you seen the marta train rampage video? would be good research:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fmJudxjvdI

>>8390315
I have no interest in writing such a story. Seems too corny and cheeky.

>>8389968
Not the biggest fan of the ghetto narration. I think using a more conventional voice for the narration would allow the story to be more accessible, and it wouldn't come off as corny. The only way it makes sense now is if it's told in the 1st person, which is not the case.

Wrote the bulk of this last night.

(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.

>>8390616

(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.

>>8390608
The ghetto voice is not the only voice used in description. I figured while writing the story that i should fuse the voice with the environment.

>>8390639
That's the one that seems clunky and gimmicky to me, but different strokes for different folks. What if you had an omnipotent nigga as the narrator, who doesn't interact with the story, but shares his opinion and whatnot. I think that'd be neato. Also I'm picturing him as Morgan Freeman in my headcanon.

>>8390649
Nah, the story is almost done, i just need to edit it. I don't care about accessibility, i don't plan on trying to get it published. I guess the nigga narration seems out of place because it's just a segment, and the flow of the story isn't there.

>>8390660
Yeah that might be it. How long is it?

>>8390663
The program i use says ''~36.240 characters/ 13 pages.''

Tell me why I'm shit:

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.

My attempt at a Sci-Fi

A prologue more specifically. Tell me how shit it is, but please tell me why. Go.

>>8391465
Part 2 of 6

>>8391469
Part 3 of 6

>>8391473
Part 4 of 6

>>8391478
Part 5 of 6

1/2

The little boy had not shit before, but knew that it was expected of him before the elders considered him a man. He had spent his entire life up to this point, 17 name days, excreting his feces the way most children did. Through his sweat glands. But the easy days of shit tinted skin gloss would soon be over. He was about to become a man. He had to shit the way a man was expected to. Through his arsehole.

He understood the mechanics of the whole thing. He knew logically, that all he had to do was keep the waste together in one spot, in his stomach and bowels. Eventually enough would gather so that he would be able to shit it out of his arsehole as a solid piece, or pieces if some of the stories were true, of shit.

"Please let it be solid." he prayed to the old gods and the new. Although a liquid shit from the arsehole wasn't strictly speaking against the rules, it was never considered a manly shit. Especially not as one's first adult shit.

It was now or never. And the elders were growing impatient. The boy climbed the 33 steps to the top of the toilet cathedral. In 200 years, the design hadn't changed much. 33 steps leading to the top of an enormous glass cube. On top of the cube was a toilet. The cube itself was filled with a clear liquid gel, sensors, and current controls. These would all work together, so that when the shit was released from the arsehole, it would be positioned by the currents to the center of the liquid, so the elders could examine it from all sides.

He climbed the 33 steps and slowly walked to the toilet. He tried to ignore the stern looks from the elders. The high priest, his father and mother, the sineater, the butcher, and the accountant were all there, and were all wearing very serious faces at this moment.

He pulled down his britches and underpants and sat on the toilet. He had made sure to eat a hearty breakfast. Blood sausage, hashbrowns, hotcakes, and just a bit of coffee to help the shit flow through. He had even swallowed a shotglass full of corn, just to add a little flare to what he hoped would be his first adult shit. And he had eggs. Although they were queer eggs now that he thought of it. They tasted funny.

>>8391490
2/2


But now he was ready. He felt the shit build inside him, and it came out feeling like a fart at first. "Oh no, " he thought, "is that it? Just a fart?". But the fear was brief, because after another fart he could feel matter exit his arsehole. Solid matter. His first adult shit had not even finished, but he was grinning with pride and looked down at the elders. They were all smiles, and his log was not even completely out yet. But then their faces started to change.

His mother shrieked, and looked away her face in her hands. His father yelled, "No, no, noooooooo!!". The high priest looked utterly confused, and the sineater was clawing at his own face, tears mixed with blood. The boy had a sick feeling, but he had to know what was wrong with his shite.

He looked below the glass top of the cube. He saw what had horrified the elders. SPiders. Thousands and thousands of spiders. They were bursting through his shit log, filling the tank. There were more spiders than fecal matter. Like a legion of spiders, with just a mist of shit to mark that there had ever been a shit in the first place.

The queer eggs! They were spider eggs! The boy had eaten spider eggs, and in turn the spiders had hatched and were eating his shit.

And the boy? The boy did not become a man that day.

>>8391483
Part 6 of 6

4chan fucked up on something so I'm uploading this old file as part 6 if you're still interested.

This is the beginning of a fantasy novel, I took some /lit/ critique already and got it to a pretty good spot I think.

>>8391490
>>8391492
Pretty good read but spiders exiting an orifice thing is extremely cliche, just read another one a week ago. Not sure why that's such a popular trope.

>>8390236
buuUuUuUummpp

I wrote a short little children's story in Scots when I was writing my thesis on it. It's about a grumpy dwarf arguing with a dragon. I don't know how much of it you'll be able to understand but hey.

>Lood, lood and loodir the Droich rair'd yirdlins tae the deep, his girr fou o gleeds, an his gab sputten fire.

>"OI."

>An furth the deep cam a greet blatter, as like tae shak the foonds o the Yird an rander a brangle upan its kintras. The girthit brouk tirrit frae the grund, an the bens did crottle a the soond. Niver wis thar a greeter Shirramuir (abeich Shirramuir itsel) or stramash as thir warldish dirdrum in aw o Alba's lewirs.

>The Beist waukit wae uncoly channer, chaffin his heid as he risit.

>Spake he thein till Droich

>"Awright pal, how's it goin'?"

>"DE THUIRT THU, TU CREATUR SALACH."

>"Ye know I cannie understand ye when ye get awn like that, Droich," spak The Beist.

>"AWK, AH'M AWFOU VECKST FER YE. RICHT THEIN, YE SLEEKIT BEIST, AH'VE WIRDS TAE HAE WAE YE. AN YER A RICHT BLELLUM, THIS A KEN, SAE AH'LL NO HAE NANE O YER HAIVER." Droich golderit.

>"Ageein, Droich. You're layin' it awn a wee bit thick."

>"HAE YE A MIND OF MUCK? RICHT THEIN, I'LL BE ME PLAINEST. CAN YE KEEP IT DOON, I'M TRYIN' TAE SLEEP."

>"Awright pal, no worries."

>Smookit The Beist ageen tae his delf, an Droich tae his ain.

>>8390236
>Alfredo expanded his arm
Excuse me?

>>8392245
i meant stretched i wrote this when i was around 13 bad engrish

i wrote more but lost it all, here is what i found
http://pastebin.com/h5sbvDzZ

>>8392241
Read it out loud and had a good time. Lovely and bouncy flow.

Just wrote this up, please critique:

http://pastebin.com/kFsjgVGt

>>8391508
>Painesville
Anon pls

>>8391465
>crows
>jumped

This is not right.

>>8392393
>Doesn't know that cocks (roosters) make a crowing sound in the morning.

>Didn't see the sentence "as Jinny" in-between the two clauses to separate them.

I'm asking for constructive criticism, sir, but please do go on ahead.

>>8392428
If the ring is so special why send a squad and not a battalion.

>>8392446
If you read on further, most soldiers the night before was posted at the Palace for a celebration. Plus a battalion would be kinda ridiculous to send just after one girl in an entire city going down the drain (rampant crime, etc). It spreads them too thin, not very realistic.

She only assumes it's so special because she's not used to that many guards chasing after her.

Spoilers: It's really not that special.

>>8392428
What? I was talking about the tense.

>>8392471
My bad fampai, I assumed that you thought a Crow jumped or something.

bumping this

>>8393702
bumping again.

>>8393737
Holy shit some else submit something.

>>8392303
Here, gonna do some critiquing to 1. get this thread moving again and 2. get some myself

>>8389968
The style of narration is kind of inconsistent in terms of overall theme and feeling. Try to make more gradual transitions between the more refined turns of phrase and the "ghetto" aspect of the narrator

>>8390734
Mmm, maybe try giving more description to the environment and enhance that element of "seediness" to make that last part really "jump" more

Try reading McCarthy and Henry Miller to get an idea for what I mean.

Holy old, the crotch goblet bellows. A lectern for the king. White water ransom, the quiet halls of a monastery, rambling silence, garrulous no-noise.

>>8394284
Grammatically incorrect

rewrite it, you pleb

>>8394284
First two sentences work, third garbles the rhythm a bit

>>8391508
>Painesville

Jesus H. Christ...

>>8394284

throw it all away except for holy old, and throw that away too if you've read it before

http://archiveofourown.org/works/6835171/chapters/16376644

I need help on my potboiler. Legitimate criticism needed.

>>8392298
bomp

>>8393880
Here

>>8390616
>>8390625

Open a new document and rewrite the whole thing. This is a first draft, begin totally anew and build it stronger from the ground up.

>>8392303

poo poo

>>8395898

Jesus christ

>>8394095
Thank you. I can definitely enhance the feeling of seediness. I'll have to think about how I can make it jump. I'm not really even sure if any of it will stick, but I want to write it well regardless.

In media res:

Next on the path is a sight which delights him. The great old oak tree, Sore Jeremiad! Still standing, of course. The same knotty, bearded fellow who has weathered a thousand such storms as last night’s—an elder who has squatted here upon his hillock since long before the town first settled (though precisely when this was and by what mock pilgrims is a matter of no particular interest or record to us), and who wears along his haft the white lash marks of lightning and ax bit alike. Sore Jeremiad! His roots tunnel deep and breach throughout the hill and span for a hundred yards beyond! The sole constitution of our town, this tree. For lack of a cemetery or a townhall that can withstand the cyclones— and for lack of a common memory—we entrust our laws and obituaries to him. All across his bark and branches is etched the account of our township: our deaths, our marriages, our lawful ordinances, our population year by year, our votes and court rulings, our contracts, our maps of the environs, our poems and our songs, our lustful pining and letch and calumny, our confessions and prayers, our very dearness and dread to God. All of it is here, carved into the flesh of old Jeremiad. Though our town has never had a name, just as it has never had a given form, if you pressed any of us for an answer we would eventually give it thusly: We are the people of Sore Jeremiad. We live together in his scripted bark. So yes, he is a fine old tree, and also a good friend to our Sebastian, who in times of hunger will come to suckle at the thick crimson sap which weeps endlessly from the knot at the center of his trunk, just as he does today.

>>8394284
Jesus tap-dancing Christ

How do you guys get your ideas? I really want to write something, but I'm stuck at the idea phase. Anyone have some suggestions?

>>8397873
Just keep saying Jesus Christ. The people who are writing their novels would get self-conscious about their Ideas

Somebody, somewhere, thought that I was cute. That meant the world to me. No; it meant the universe and beyond to me. I would never know who it was, so I knew that there was no point in continuing to live in this cruel, miserable world. I knew what I had to do. I had the gun cocked and loaded. The cold steel was pressed to my head. I knew what I had to do.

>>8397919
Jesus why?

>>8398138

Please rate.

>>8398146
>Please rate.
Jesus, why, just why?

>>8398151

Because this is a critique thread.

Anyone else want to read my shitty Sci-fi?

>>8391465

The burning beams from the sun had turned his skin from pasty white to bright pink. As sweat dripped from his stubbled scalp moisturizing his unkempt gray mustache, he wiped blood onto the left leg of his green cargo shorts. How did i become this? The realization suddenly crept in, but yet it was all too surreal. The feelings of detatchment were insurmountable. The regret was strong, as was the fear of what was next to come, but above all he felt a powerful sense of satisfaction. As he gracefully put his sweaty palm on her soft bare cheek, still pure from the blood that poured over the rest of her face from the the top of her crown, he smirked slyly. Not an evil grin, but a satisfying faint smile that expressed a sense of pride. Not pride in the actions that proceeded, but the pride a father has looking over his daughter as she gently drifts asleep. He gave her a strong kiss on her now crimson cheek, tasting the salt and iron on his lips. He was joyed to see she looks just as beautiful as she did all those years before. And he made his final goodbye. As he walked away he looked up at the sky and saw that the shade of blue has overtaken him. It was time. He jumped on his bike and pedadled his was to the pond. There he stripped bare and changed to the set of cloths he planted earlier that morning. A red and yellow hawaiin t shirt and a pair of ocean blue levis, as well as size 9 white new balances with a navy "N". The muffled scream echoed in his mind repeatedly as he struggled to put on his sneakers in a rush. No fucking socks, he thought. The adreniline was euphoric, he felt his gums pulsing inside his mouth. He didnt expect her to freeze, only letting out a defeated yelp when he forcefully put his large hands on her small lips and prominent philltrum. She did it as if she only did so because it was expected of her, a chore thay she realized was pointless. The muffled noise was a sympthony to him, to finally be verbally acknowledged. As he hasnt spoken to another human being in nearly 19 months, outside of saying "have a good one" to the delivery driver who would bring him his meals. And even then they were never female. But she was. The look of her eyebrows crawling upward in fear, as her large brown eyes showed a look of helplessness. Eyes that were looking directly at his eyes and at no one elses. The memory was enough to last several lifetimes in isolation, if that was what fate would have. Hearing a women talk directly to him was so foreign. It was all worth it if not just for the miniscule, quickly escaping acknoledgement from her. How could she do this, the selfish whore. Her skin was so soft and gentle; he grew acustomed to only feeling his rough, grotesque, oily skin. He forgotton that women were so soft and gentle. Then the anger. The realization that others led happier, superior lives to that of his...

>>8398271
Beams of sun had morphed his skin from white to raw pink. Sweat dripped between between his short hair and fell into a ragged mustache. He wiped blood off onto his cargo shorts.
How did I become this? Realization was setting in through his surreal state of mind. (the rest is a bunch of sentences tell but not showing.)
Yes he was satisfied. He placed a sticky palm on the woman's cheek (you don't need to tell us it's bare if he can place his hand on it)
still free from blood, though plenty of that still poured down her face. (Don't have anyone smirking, ever, and if you must have someone smirk, ffs don't have them do it slyly.)
He smiled with pride.

Lost interest after this. This seems like a generic torture scene so far.

>>8389815
hi fucks hope u like this, gonna try n critique some after i post this.

Eleven days ago, the storm started. A breeze wandered out of the west and, with the reins of weather, drew towering thunderheads behind it. Once the sky was covered, a pale green hue seeped into the clouds and gusts started to interrupt the breeze. The air turned quiet, save for the buffeting wind.

Whirlpools started to swirl in the volatile ceiling. Hundreds of tendrils, waving, twisting worms, elastic spears of wind, blindly groped towards the ground with roar of a speeding train. The earth exploded at their touch, spraying sod in every direction as they wove across the face of the Earth with the grace of a calligrapher's hand. After the land was latticed with lines of destruction, the rain started. That was eleven days ago.

>>8397919
Nothing in the prose caused my to recoil in disgust, but nothing really stood out in it either.

beta reason to an hero tho bub

>>8398398
Got a little purple at times, but overall it paints a clear image.

I waited in the shadow of my stupid house.
The Mustang rolled up in the low black water,
Growling softly, then it stopped and purred.
Dark green paint like a deep flavor,
Like hard, sour-apple candy catching in my throat.

A hint of his blond swoop, the red button of his cigarette.
Smoke out the window. Sterling:
His name like a sword reflecting light in a dark room.
I'm the sword swallower.
And the grass licked my shoes.

Never posted in one these threads before. Bracing for impact.

Though confused and wary, I did what he asked and found myself soon joined in the tremulous joy my parents found themselves in. The good doctor came bearing good news. (Although as I write this, I ruminate whether such an act was judicious or merely given life to abate some wayward empathy he felt upon seeing my mangled disfigured sister the like we do when we see a mendicant and pass him without a glance in the street.) He spoke at length of a certain contact he made while in medical school. A man going by the name Michael Fitzgerald; a medical student of prodigious skill and talent and wit. They were as friends as Capone and the police force were. Fitzgerald was the leading man and our good doctor a poor supporting character. They met by happenstance. The two happened to be looking for a certain medical textbook when they crossed paths. It was then that our good doctor learned of Fitzgerald and his grandiose ambitions; the kind you would not hear escape the lips of a medical student.

>>8399384
Its alright

>>8399384

i'm >>8399321

i really like the laconic style you're using here, but i think i'd be more selective about the verbs and adjectives you use. it's a bit short, so i can't really tell how much unity there is in your choice of adjectives, but i'd try to, as i said earlier, make them more unified. the character's actions should align with the adjectives used to describe them, as to make it apparent that there was no other way the events could have occurred.

sorry if i'm not making too much sense right now, i'm a retard.

it seems like you did a decent job with this defining him as a 'leading man' and with 'prodigious skill and talent and wit,' and then later, contrasting these strong, unwavering adjectives with 'escaping.'

sorry again if this wasn't any help, i hope you can maybe glean something from it though.

firs

>>8399536
fucking pc decided to post on its own

first time posting here

http://pastebin.com/7PwzDU5a

>>8399477
please don't bother replying if you're going to say something with an utter lack of content, such as this.

Never a man could be humiliated and lowered in such way and remain silent. Even the most submissive among men would rise and defeat his offender. And I'm no exception.
As he laughed disgustingly and debauchedly, I grabbed the knife over the table. I was facing his back, and even his back was enough to provoke the hatred and disgust needed to stab him.
With an undescribable pleasure, the knife firstly cut the cloth of his shirt, and then smoothly penetrated that viscous and sweaty skin. Drilling through his ribs and organs. The sound of the blade cutting the human skin was like a great symphony, orchestred by angels caressing my ears.
I took the blade out, and once more stabbed him. His muscles, until then rigid, slowly weakened. He fell on his knees, the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground was the knife. I took it out and he fell face to the ground, with a blank stare and stupid expression.
Rapidly, my anger turned into a smile, which then became a laughter. Never before had I felt so powerful, so joyous for defeating an opponent. And he was there, fallen before me. I kicked his corpse and laughed even more. However, slowly the extasis became fear, guilt and despair. Yes, the death of such hateful creature was undoubtedly a reason to be jubilant, but it was still a life. What right did I have of assassinating someone? Ending his life, neglecting his happiness?

>>8399540
Dislike the phrase "preying eyes." In the 3rd paragraph you say "women" when it should be "woman." Why put a hyphen in six months? In the 6th paragraph you say "the barn seems" when it should be "seemed." "Deadly degrees" is a hideous turn of phrase, there are much better, more evocative ways to express that thought. Why put a hypen in brown eyes? Change "had to be" to "was" in the last sentence of the 7th paragraph. It's drought, not draught (lol). Change "silent with a dangerous silence" to something less stupid.

Overall, there is not much style to this. Very mechanical writing, with little figurative language. This happened, that happened, this was the scenery. Everything is described in the same straightforward way, and as such there is little tension when there should be (i.e., the gun fight, the talk with Alik). Your dialogue does not seem appropriate to the period -- "You wanna fucking die?" is some American action movie shit. Anyway, it's alright. Things happen. Polish it, work on getting the language to reflect the action.

>>8399655
Try "never could a man" instead. Two adverbs in the fourth sentence, reconsider that. Skin isn't viscous unless you're melting, and then being stabbed is the least of your concerns. Knives don't drill (have you ever even cut through a piece of chicken?). The angel symphony image is trite. The killing here described is not an assassination. Just use the word ecstasy like a normal person. Awful writing, high scho wish fulfillment stuff.

>>8399477
Thanks I suppose.
>>8399490
Thanks for response. I understand what you mean though I didn't give it much of thought aside from getting the general feeling for the scene and it's characters. This is essentially from a rough draft of a short story I'm currently writing. I'll keep your advice in mind as I rework certain scenes.

any feedback is appreciated :)


She wore a tiara, a green summerdress, and walked down the aisle with pomergranates and potatoes and spinach. The sparse lighting bathed her in a spotlight as she stopped to look at an apple, before putting it down and stepping into the darkness. Every step she took echoed, and all at once the store was empty. The aisles and shelves and counters, and only we remained. I think the small store had become my world for an instant, though of course it belonged to her as much as it did to me, more to her perhaps, she was the central focus; my eyes followed her everywhere. I watched her move, one foot in front of the other, confident but not graceful, as she passed and eyed fruit after fruit. I should go talk to her, say hello, speak about the weather? Nice weather today, huh? What do you reply? What would she reply? Maybe she would smile awkwardly or maybe she would say, yes! yes it is isn't it? and where to go from there, I wondered, even as I slowly walked towards her.

>>8399720
Thanks, very good critique!

Two parts of the same story—first introduces the environment, second introduces the character. Written in fairly different styles—tell me if the jump between the two is too big.
Also, please tell me if this is worth exploring at all.

http://pastebin.com/whEXmGkN
http://pastebin.com/4VbamPrQ

>>8399753
Feels really HS creative writing class-ish and I'm not sure what it's getting at. Your usage of the passive voice is straight-up awful. The word choice is fine but what you choose to focus on within the scene feels pretty Duane Reade $2 novel-worthy. Foremost: is this narrator supposed to be sympathetic or not? What are you getting at? I don't have a sense of this character—you keep darting back and forth between really saccharine and really creepy, but not in a clear enough way if that's the intention.

>>8399655
Agree with the last poster. Awful. Don't use such dramatic words—nobody talks or thinks like that—and don't choose such subject matters.

>>8399823
the narrator is meant to be kinda creepy. any tips on how to improve, or what I should look out for?

>>8399836
First of all—nothing to do with the narrator, but kill the passive voice. You clearly have no idea how to use it.
Second—you oscillate too quickly between a genuine and a vicious tone. The "—what do you reply, what would she reply" shit and everything following it—aside from being awkwardly phrased, it's less creepy and more just normal-lonely. The fact that he does in fact approach her doesn't help—we expect these narrators to stay isolated. You want to make these kinds of characters relateable in only the basest, most humiliating ways—give too much to latch onto and they become normal sad sacks.

>>8399836
>>8399859
Don't take writing advice from anyone who abuses the em dash in such a way

>>8399823
First was private. Apologies: fixed now.

>>8399859
thank you!

/lit/ I need Ideas for a story. I have 3 characters: Main char, girl, introverted, eccentric, self conscious. Smart but over analyzes everything. Support char guy, has a high sense of moral, pride, values honor and is a serious man. Not love interest but feels the need to protect the main char mainly from herself.
Main villain guy. Eloquent, actually smart scraping genius level, condescending. Wants to demonstrate the main character that having autistic behavior doesn't make her special. Theme is suspense, thriller and detective-like drama.

I have 4 pages written of the final scene which is the start of the script: Main villain has taken the body of the support character and has the main char tied to a chair after a confrontation. Main char has her face beaten, a rip broken, two knives injuries and is slowly bleeding from one wound. She is thinking all of her options to get out but can't think straight. The villain gives her a monologue of "what is like to see a person loose its life". Finally he ends up using his mind to move her hand and stab himself.

I didn't want to add supernatural shit to the story, but I guess it's fine as long as I don't jump the shark. Since that part is almost the end, mind transfer and telekinesis should be the one time most powerful thing on the story. The setting is hard for me to grasp, age of characters, year of the story, location. Scenarios of the characters interactions are easy for me to write but I still have a hard time deciding on the setting.

Piece of something i have been writing:

Rigby drives up the alley to the back of the townhouse. The backyard lies littered with detris and discarded furniture, the backdoor ajar. He picks his way through the abandonment, through the scarred entryway. A hallway leads past walls scribed with grafitti, empty door frames and a waterstained ceiling. Rigby makes his way the front entrance, the locks been kicked out and the doors hangs from a single hinge, Jim lounges on the front steps, holding a paint ball gun. A car approaches, Jim takes lazy aim, firing as it passes, missing. Rigby flinches at the sound of the vehicle's horn.
"I'm a good shot" says Jim, smiling lazily at the driver.
The car does not stop.

...Anonymous
08/15/16(Mon)11:20:38 No.8400370
Piece of something i have been writing:

Rigby drives up the alley to the back of the townhouse. The backyard lies littered with detris and discarded furniture, the backdoor ajar. He picks his way through scattered trash, through the scarred entryway. A hallway leads past walls scribed with grafitti, empty door frames and a waterstained ceiling. Rigby walks to the front entrance, the locks been kicked out and the door hangs on a hinge. Jim lounges on the front steps, holding a paint ball gun. A car approaches, Taking casual aim, Jim fires as it passes, missing. Rigby flinches at the sound of the vehicle's horn.
"I'm a good shot" says Jim, smiling lazily at the driver.
The car does not stop

Piece of something i have been writing:

Rigby drives up the alley to the back of the townhouse. The backyard lies littered with detris and discarded furniture, the backdoor ajar. He picks his way through scattered trash, through the scarred entryway. A hallway leads past walls scribed with grafitti, empty door frames and a waterstained ceiling. Rigby walks to the front entrance, the locks been kicked out and the door hangs on a hinge. Jim lounges on the front steps, holding a paint ball gun. A car approaches, Taking casual aim, Jim fires as it passes, missing. Rigby flinches at the sound of the vehicle's horn.
"I'm a good shot" says Jim, smiling lazily at the driver.
The car does not stop

Some expo/worldbuilding I wrote for a d&d character

http://pastebin.com/QnetL4nF

>>8399994
if your main char has never seen combat before anything your villain says is going to go in one ear and right out the other; she won't process any of it.

>>8399133
thanks bub. guess it was a bit short huh

>>8389815

Rotina

A aurora deste dia, como a aurora
De todos os meus dias, foi gosmenta:
Após rugir o alarme o canto ríspido
Irrompi de um casulo de remela
E a membrana de névoa dos bocejos;
Lentamente eu me livro da placenta
Acolhedora e quente das cobertas.
O banho quente solve o sono e arrasta
Os vestígios dos sonhos para o ralo.
Meu café da manhã é um genocídio:
Um punhado de gnomos azulados,
Mirtilos, e de suas róseas noivas,
Gorduchas framboesas; há também
O gengibre, duende apimentado:
Desse urticante diabrete erval,
Que há dias eu torturo, amputo mais
Um bife ardente e atiro na mistura.
Por fim, para engrossar o óleo sabático,
Uma banana, a dama desnudada
De sua veste chique e nobre casca,
Todas essas frutinhas mergulhadas
No sangue de laranja assassinada.
Essas fadas são todas mutiladas
Na máquina cortante de tortura
Que liquidificador nós chamamos.
Depois disso trabalho no escritório,
Um deserto cinzento, o triste reino
De pastas, relatórios, memorandos,
Onde o gritar do telefone e o estalo
Das teclas do teclado são o hino,
Esse inferno que abriga em suas vísceras
As desbotadas almas burocráticas
Chamadas auxiliares de escritório.
Quando a primeira fatia de serviço
É mastigada eu vou para a academia
Para forçar um corpo que não ama
Nada mais que sentar e ver tevê
A empurrar a velhice, a artrite, as dores,
A doença e a ferrugem pelo menos
Alguns anos a mais rumo ao futuro,
Varrer para um pouquinho além o pó
Do definhar, o pó que hei de tornar-me.
Almoçar com meus pais e meu irmão
Vem em seguida: é a glória de meu dia.
Tomando chimarrão, nós debatemos
As notícias, o esporte, a eterna lepra
Da política, e muitos outros tópicos
Enquanto nas panelas a comida
Fumega; é como a acrópole de Atenas
Ou a colmeia humana erguida em mármore
Em honra às vozes que no ar se embatem,
O senado romano: nós fazemos
A cozinha miúda da senpaiília
Imitar esses templos da linguagem.

>>8401331

Tendo almoçado eu volto ao escritório
Para mais petições, atas, sentenças,
Contra-razões, embargos e recursos:
Sempre a mesma ciranda a reciclar,
Com as mesmas palavras sem perfume
E as mesmas frases pálidas e anêmicas
Sempre o mesmo mingau de tédio insosso.
O sono é o grande mal que aflige as tardes
Dos pobres servos que rastejam pelos
Labirintos sem fim da papelada:
Qual caracol passeia nos miolos
Os besuntando em muco de apatia.
A nossa salvação são várias xícaras
De café, cujo abraço esquenta as vísceras
E sacode a alma: os cérebros o usam
Para fazer bochechos e cuspir
Fora a geleia preguiçosa e ranço
Bocejante do sono: o sangue amargo
E negro do café é o verdadeiro
Néctar do ativo Deus da Produção.
Findo o trabalho pobre do advogado
Retorno para casa, para minha
Escrivaninha, meus papéis, meus livros
E o trabalho embriagante do poeta
Inicia. Porém, se enfim me sinto
Livre, também me oprime o grande medo
De encarar, face a face, a folha branca,
Essa tirana albina cujo vácuo
Zomba de mim, o reino de vazio
Que anseio por preencher com letras, sílabas,
E palavras que ecoem, em conjunto,
Aquilo que sentimos na medula
Que merece a coroa da beleza.
A minha mente, que era no escritório
Um cavalo atrelado à uma carroça,
Carregando e buscando os mesmos víveres
Nos mesmos armazéns, por mesmas rotas,
Agora esse cavalo corre livre
Por pampas de mistério, por campinas
Inexploradas, sem roteiro ou rumo,
E ousa até mesmo criar asas, ser
Pégaso, a devorar céus e atmosferas,
A pastar entre estrelas, nas estepes
Do infinito, onde frutam as galáxias.
Enquanto escrevo eu bebo chá dourado,
Contemplação, carícia e compreensão
Liquefeitos em seiva fumegante,
O pôr do sol dormindo numa xícara.

>>8401334

Quando o cérebro cansa de ficções,
Quando os pombos de minha fantasia
Retornam de seus voos pelas cidades,
Impérios, oceanos, bosques, mangues,
Desertos, selvas, tundras, rios, geleiras
E toda a geografia inominada
Dos mundos sem substância do sonhar;
Quando regressam, sujos e cansados,
Os emissários, eu deponho a pena
(Ou melhor, a caneta esferográfica)
E preparo o jantar, que com prazer
Degusto no sofá, frente a tevê.
Comer gordurosas colheradas
De lixo pop da indústria do entretenimento
Me faz tão bem que é quase medicina
(A mente em ponto-morto pesa menos).
Chegada a hora de dormir, eu cumpro
Meu dever de escritor e leio um pouco
Enquanto gota a gota, gota a gota
A inconsciência avança pra afogar-me.
Pouco a pouco emudecem as galáxias
Que, entrelaçadas, compõem quem eu sou,
Essa teia-de-aranha da consciência
Vai lentamente desbotando em breu:
Astros e estrelas fecham suas pétalas.
Os neurônios assopram suas velas
E só em cochichos mínimos conversam.
Os sininhos tilintam lentamente
E então se calam: quem impera agora
É o sono pleno, esse apagar saudável
De nossa mente, as horas nutritivas
Nas quais deixamos de existir, nas quais
Visitamos os mundos infinitos
De nada que antecedem e precedem
A faísca minúscula da vida.
E assim, de dia em dia, eu vou vivendo.

How do I find writers who work for peanuts?

>>8401349
Find a writer.

Wew senpai. Ready to be torn apart.

She strode inward draped in bacchanal livery, the hems gilded in lilies and dotted by assortment of rose colored flowers rousing the impression of a girl tremulously teetering on the cusp of womanhood. She wore a sable choker with the six-rayed star hanging from the mean and her arms akimbo with her head turned up and her eyes cast downward. Her lips were as thin rose petals, pink and small, and she wore a lurid gold eyeshadow and had her hair down like a waterfall, gently breaking on her dainty shoulders. She wore her maquillage so as not to attenuate the tiny macula dotting her visage but to accentuate and to contrast her pale skin with the fawn of those blemishes. So as she stepped through the ballroom, arm wrapped around her beau, the eyes of noblemen and noblewoman, of generals and politicians, of artists and philosophers (of both the natural and unnatural) fell upon her countenance and a palpable awe swept the room.But alas, the girl was not taught in the subtleties of restraint and airs and thusly fell from her audience's grace as she became bashful. Her face flushed a restrained but evident crimson and her lips quivered anxiously.

>>8401784
i gotchu b. im just goin hard so dont take offense. givin u the bad first then the posi m8

>"by assortment of rose colored flowers"
that'd be *an* assortment

>"She wore a sable choker with the six-rayed star hanging from the mean and her arms akimbo with her head turned up and her eyes cast downward"
so she's wearing her arms akimbo and wearing her eyes cast downward? everything past "from the mean..." feels tacked on and out of place.

>"and had her hair down like a waterfall, gently breaking on her dainty shoulders"
i think it'd have to be "her hair was worn down like a waterfall" for the grammar to work.

>"maquillage"
m8 ur lucky i took french in highschool lol. you a fan of nabokov too? this aint really bad just pointing it out for some reason

>"So as she stepped through the ballroom, arm wrapped around her beau"
before this u said her arms were akimbo, which means hands on hips i think. sooo where her beau come from? howd he get there? i hope by beau u mean bf or date otherwise im lookin real foolish rn senpai

>"thusly"
u could just use thus desu. thusly odd af sounding but thats just my opinion.'


ok so positive things. youve got a big vocab, but it seems to come out forced in your writing. great imagery tho. i dont really have much more to say besides that ur sentences got pretty damn long sometimes. you gotta watch for when stuff just seems to be tacked on or out of place in a sentence if youre keeping em that long.

anyway, not bad bruh. keep writing mang. im bout to post something myself

>>8399321
please help

im >>8402120
hope u like my foray into surrealism

On of those humid, sunny days typical of late June, Jon found himself sitting in the park. He shut his eyes hard and wiped his brow, which had become slick with sweat. When he opened his eyes, he was still there, sitting on the bench and reading a book.
"Um, excuse me," Jon said, "but who are you?"
Jon on the bench raised his eyes from the book and squinted at him for a moment before returning back to the pages.
"Really, I don't mean to be rude, but you look quite a lot like me," continued Jon, with a hint of worry in his voice, "and, well, I'd just like to know who you are."
Jon on the bench glanced at his page number, shut the book, and got up without saying a word. He did look a lot like Jon; they had the same muddy red hair, the same bird nose, and the same blue eyes above freckled cheeks. Most of all, they were wearing the same plain shorts and the same plain t shirt. However, Jon from the bench did not seem to be very talkative. He stared Jon in the eyes for over a minute, and then, suddenly, with a clown-like exclamation, poked him in the navel and ran away, cackling in amusement. Jon, rubbing his stomach, listened to the laughter die down with distance and wondered how a man's poke could be so accurate.

N-no b-bully pls..

The subway doors closed in front of me with a muffled click, and I desperately waved to her from the window. Time decelerated in those last seconds. I experienced each of them slowly and tenderly as they one by one dismantled me from the inside. Even so, they went by in an instant just as the summer had. It had been our last together. My heart sank as the enveloping darkness swept away her image, and I understood, with the sort of alarming swiftness that comes with this type of agony, that it was over. My stop wasn’t for another hour and a half, so I shakily slumped into an empty seat. I knew that I couldn’t come apart in front of everyone, but I was quickly reaching my limit. I clenched my fists and stared at the filthy floor of the train. After several seconds of struggle, I slowly angled my gaze upwards. It wasn’t until then that I truly noticed the faces of the other subway goers. On that dismal afternoon, I discovered that they all seemed mournful. I imagined that their lives must have been like that summer at some point: where time is presumably frozen, permitting you to dance for eternity in the dazzling rays of life, only to be abruptly cut short and reminded that it had simply marched on without you. They must have. Why else would someone look this severely heartbroken? I began to realize that I, too, was one of those somber faces. It was there, in that dimly lit subway train, that I felt the gravity of it all.

>>8399321
I can't take it seriously at all due to the sword-swallower line, but maybe thats just because I slang people with that term.

>>8402120
Wew lad. Thanks for responding. I'll take into account my sentence length when writing.

>m8 ur lucky i took french in highschool lol. you a fan of nabokov too? this aint really bad just pointing it out for some reason
Yeah I am. Helps I took French back in high school as well.

>so she's wearing her arms akimbo and wearing her eyes cast downward? everything past "from the mean..." feels tacked on and out of place.
>before this u said her arms were akimbo, which means hands on hips i think. sooo where her beau come from? howd he get there? i hope by beau u mean bf or date otherwise im lookin real foolish rn senpai
Yeah I meant date.
I had envisioned the girl and her date being presented to an audience and said girl posing with arms akimbo; her date's arms wrapped around hers as she held them at her hips. Her head was tilted to a degree and eyes looking down at the audience as to mock confidence.
I imagined it better in my head and it seems I failed completely here. Pic related is me.

>>8402614
>I imagined it better in my head and it seems I failed completely here.
welp thats why critique is p damn necessary to improve writing. stick around these threads senpai

They’re going to the usual spot. Big cliff overlooking a body of water. Would be an ideal place for dumping a body. It’s a marvel that hasn’t happened yet. During the short trip, past intersections and a freeway, past an exit, not a word is spoken, as Daniel leans against his electric angel and watches as the signs and the houses and the vehicles pass by; meanwhile, the sirens screech in the night, their voices redshifting as the car moves past – “Safeway Next Exit” – “Keep Right Except to Pass” – “Speed Limit 60” – and they refuse to be unheard, even in silence, even in absolute deafness, even as they numb the senses of the casual observer – they watch. And they do so with voluptuous eyes and an aura of friendliness; and despite their casual invitations, the wheels move on, all four of which completely unknowing of their purpose, only doing their job, submitting to their nature, as they heave forward into the fog.

>>8401784
nice words my dude!

Only started writing seriously recently, but I've gotten stuck on the first few pages of something I've been working on recently. Here's a link for those who would be willing to give it a shot: http://pastebin.com/1Bz80B6S

It's fairly short, roughly 1,000 words I think? Any criticisms would be highly appreciated.

Baked aureate earth crunches softly underneath your feet as you make your ascent. The hot sun beats you down, burning your backs. Your lungs ache and your legs are possessed by a fierce pain that holds you down to the ground, an ethereal tether. You reach the plateau, each breathing heavily from the exertion, and sit. Spread beneath is everything you’ve known. It’s beauty is marred only by the rock jutting out from the hill. It’s bleak appearance draws your gaze, she doesn't notice, her keen eyes watch something else.
For a time you both talk in hushed voices, careful not to disturb; words are carried off from your lips by the breeze. Sitting like this for a while, still as can be in the evening air. Unable to stand it any longer you explode into action, up and running around the top, it’s crazy and exhilarating, this fit of temporary madness. She joins you, dancing and laughing, flashing a crazy grin. Busy feet come to rest as she fall into your arms, and the world slows down as you stare into your eyes, sinatra blue, for the second time. You could kiss her, but you don’t. In a short while she’s gone, moving away as you try to hold her close, and dear. You think to myself that you have pushed you away.
The pond turns opaque as the sky begins to darken, reflecting what is above. As the light from the sun slowly passes away stars wink into existence, taking it’s place. They dot the surface with pinpricks of history, representing something that’s been dead for ages. Each one appears to be very close to the other. Slowly they begin to form a band, twisting like that black snake that doesn’t seem quite so close anymore, here in the dark. A mobius strip has been created in the muddy water.
The curious wind has returned. You watch as it throws about your hair with wandering fingers. It roars, frenzied, tearing at you, trying to break your concentration. I’m staring at the bluff again. It appears to hang over pond, positioned so that if one was to jump he could land in that empty space dotted with the lights. And now you’re running again, like a child. It’s like you’re playing tag, or one of those other dumb kids games. Your tiny heart beats as you pump my legs sprinting towards your goal, actualizing intent, cutting anchors loose with each step. The edge rushes towards you and you let completely go, flying.
Bruised knees are in their own way a form of escapism, albeit an unpleasant one. Like most wounds they will heal, leaving behind something that is slightly less painful and ugly. Eventually you will forget this and remember only the touch of your damaged skin.

“Fuck this, you’ll all burn in hell!” He screamed taking to the mob. Dashing quickly left to right, his arms behind his back. Like cattle to an iron the crowd ran in all opposing directions. The sharp twang of crossbows forced me immediately on the ground.
Five bolts whizzed overhead from the surrounding rooftops. Two in his leg, one in his back and two in the peasants running with the hive. For a second nothing but silence, as the innocent men stood staring at the bolts in their stomach. As if they’d never been struck in their lives.
Then the abrasive crawl of flesh on cobble and loose stone as the prisoner pushed his fingers in the dirt.
“Gods, why hath you forsaken me?” He said before raising his head, roaring into the sky. Grovelling towards the abashed citizens, wriggling like a maggot in the sun.
All before another bolt pierced the back of his skull, firmly planted in the ground through his neck. That's when men do when they’ve nothing left. When the last drops of hope seep from their brittle minds straight through what's tangible like sand through their fingers . It’s god that’s left with the responsibility, but there was no god here. No solstice to the dark. No beam of lights would shed upon these stillborn saints of deathrow.

>>8403407
pls tell me if I'm worth anything at all /lit/ san.

>>8402999
Decent for a newbie, but remember, show, don't tell - or more precisely, if you're going to tell, do so when you need to. You tell us that Vivian knows her mother will call again, so we know that Vivian's mother is something of a busybody. So why spend a paragraph telling us that again? It's unnecessary. Or at the beginning you exposit that Vivian doesn't really think the game she's playing is trash - again, unneeded. Trust the reader more.

>>8402660
Not so bad. Maybe too many commas cutting your sentences up, but I dig the "overwrought descriptions of mundane things" sort of style when it's done well.

As for me:

http://pastebin.com/qGiWbvtS

This here is the start to something I wrote yesterday, not sure where I'm going with it except sex and references to communist history.

>>8403407
>Taking
I'm assuming talking?
>“Gods, why hath you forsaken me? He said before raising his head, roaring into the sky.
nice usage of Hath, what era is this in medieval time, it relates to the Fuck this, you'll all burn in hell?

fourth to last sentence there's a space between the period and fingers.

its good overall,

>>8403560
Here's mine

>>8400476
So it's not believable unless i put her in another "whoops i might die" situation prior this. I specifically wanted to avoid combat altogether but what you said is totally understandable.
Thanks, I might have an idea for the support and main char regarding that.

What do you think /lit/? I want to keep my prose tight without seeming like a Hemingway wannabe.

Lost in his violent reverie, he did not notice the conversation between two other patrons at the bar getting louder. They were both unemployed alcoholics, with long, greasy hair to their shoulders and long fingernails. One of them was missing most of his teeth; a film of sweat clung to the face of the other like a veil, settling on his upper lip. They let off a sour unwashed smell, which led to him walking a long way round to his alcove rather than pass them at the bar. They had been there every one of the last four nights he had visited. Either one or both of them had been vomiting outside every one of those nights as well. Usually they drank in near silence, but tonight they had discussed women. It seems they had seen a particularly attractive young woman headed for the university on their walk to the bar. They had become increasingly hostile over which of them this woman would prefer. It distracted him from his daydream and drew his attention, for the moment, to them.

>>8403562
Low-tier bait

>>8390236
I'm sorry but this was bad

>>8401331
>>8401334
>>8401337


No Brazilian or Portuguese anon to give some tips?

>>8398271
pls respond

Man nobody critiquing anybody up in this bitch

>>8402999
Are you a beginner? If so its pretty decent, to be honest. you might want to show us a little more than telling us

I wont do any critiquing because I just started writing so my critiquing would be shallow and useless. This is the first time I've tried to write a poem, please be brutal desu

"Crucify him!", screamed the heretics
Atavistic anger awoken by the beast showing his head.
Wild eyed, merciless and frenetic
They held and hold their weapons, lust unfed

Blind soldiers of Sisyphus,
The rock rapes and ravages
Our blind apes, and savages
In black capes dance and dine
With holy bread, with dirty wine
All the same to dearest aufidius

The fatal winter has come at last
And air is thin
And fin is past
Applause, thunderous, filters to the stage
The curtain closes and the mirror is lost

>>8403698
I dig this. Would read more

Guys, how do you share you works here without the worry that someone will steal it?

>>8405921
>Implying any of this shit is good enough to steal

>>8403698
I haven't read Hemingway, but this is good. The clarity is nice, and it doesn't overdo it.

>>8405942
Though some of it may be if tweaked a little. Who knows, someone may be an established writer who gets most of their ideas from these threads.

No one else feel like reading Sci-Fi today?

>>8391465

Anybody? Need some opinions here....

>>8405974
I'll read it, though can you tell me what word processor you use?

>>8405996
Microsoft word I suppose

2010 I think

>>8405916
>>8405943
Thanks, guys. Means more than you know right now.

He'd tortured the slush fund into negative credit. This habit of breaking confidences had finally crossed into loved ones and dependents, no longer just his youthful aspirations, after shilling out his MISCO dividends on septic maintenance and slat repair over the essentials, like Pneumatic accessories clipped out "Carpenter's Advertiser". Local warblers, the most prescient of birds, had been stuck in the third degree all week, cutting him out the gulf loop RE hurricane activity and leaving shitstreaks down the windows, lately blossomed into crystals of lilac manganese. He sat on the stoop, coughed, assessed the fig invasion of the roof, the holed stucco, bone-bleach deck, felt it eat at him. Told himself fuck it, restaurants were economic roaches, turned up everywhere, End of the Universe even, this being what each revolution of the hurricane season had been trying to teach him from the off.

>>8403559
>>8405466
Thanks for the feedback guys! I'm fairly new at writing stuff yeah, unless you count some Roleplay stuff I do here and there which is more of a team effort instead of having to rely on solo writing skills. I'll try to take your criticisms to heart before moving forwards. though I think that breaking away from the whole "telling" rather than "showing" aspect will be tough, I'll try to get out of the habit sooner rather than later.

Its the 1st time I've written
Plz h8 and give general recommendations
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XuZ7IGpn4mHHoRV-4dHWUp3HvSrl4SixD1dN0RD005Y/edit?usp=drive_web

Word count 1500

>little metafiction experiment, just some ideas and prose excursions. kind of pretentious but needs a lot of editing


“Are you listening to me? Well are you? Listen to this.

I was born between on a rainy April midnight, with a nightblue frisee of lightning striking at my arrival.

“How’s that for an opening? Wait—it gets better.

The birthfluid I sat in was washed of me and they set me in my mother’s fat arms and I remembered the distant bright walls of the hospital. The world was, as yet, nameless and it lacked recognition; from my voice sprang hunger moans and joyous gurgles.

“Sometimes I really outdo myself. But wait, we haven’t even got to the end of the paragraph! Listen, I’m going to read you the whole thing—the whole thing so far, anyways—and you just sit there and let me know what you think, no? Don’t you think that’s the way to do it? Are you hesitant? I know you read the ‘capital C’ Classics searching for meaning, because everyone else says so, but don’t you believe in free thinking? You believe in Shakespeare, and therefore take something away. He’s very good, or so I’ve been told, but shouldn’t you be making that conclusion? You believe in them; that’s your right. But, you cannot claim to be a free-thinking little individual if you’re following in the footsteps of every well-groomed, cardigan-sporting English professor with a Complete Works tucked neatly under their shoulder, yes? If you can trust in my story as you do those swell fellas Moby Dick and King Lear, you can trust my little prose poem. You say you think for yourself, well—think about this: they shat and ate bread just like I do. Let me spin my own yarn for you, yes? Listen a little longer, won’t you? It’s not too long.

I grew up a lonely, distant little child, who would hide in the garden behind a skimpy marigold fortress. I would hide from my mother because she would take me to the barber. I had learned to call people ‘whore’ by that time. Though the meaning and spelling of the word I did not yet know, I said through the shrill cry of a prepubescent that my barber was a hoar; or, hore, depending on temperament of my trembling pen. I was slapped roughly, telling the talkative barber about my love for mathematics while my face still marked red from the lash of my mother’s wedding ring, with my eyes and cheeks stinging from the tears I watered the hibiscus patch with.

"Such a romantic little story! I wish it was all true. Some say the true story is better, but I don’t believe it. Have you ever told a story as it is? Without a faltering or a little embellishment? A tiny slip to heighten the pathos, before you drop the awe-inspiring punchline? Never! I know you haven’t—and neither have I.

>>8406717
>But wait, we haven’t even got to the end of the paragraph!

>>8406722
ya dude i know,i don't really like it, but the idea of someone explaining their own memoir as an elevator pitch is really intriguing to me.

i've been reading dostoyevsky which gives me this fucking disgustingly anachronistic voice when i write, though i really like his ideas. part of what makes this fail also is the form of 4chan's posts. i can't indent or use italics, quotes properly, which makes the whole thing read and look awkward. :)

Wrote this for a creepypasta thread

>Woke up in bed with my entire body bouncing up and down as if I had been dropped
>Confused, I sit up and look around my room
>Nothing unusual but feel very unsettled because wtf just happened
>Maybe I was sleepwalking and fell onto my bed, although I have no history of sleepwalking
>Go ask parents if they had just been in my room, maybe they were trying to wake me up
>Can't find them, no one appears to be home
>I go outside to see if their cars are there. Their cars are there.
>Start to get nervous, notice that the neighborhood is unusually quiet
>Where is everybody?
>I don't know what time it is, I'm in pajamas and left my phone inside but it looks like early morning
>Walk to the end of my driveway to get a better view of the street, hoping to see a neighbor on their way to work or school
>Instead I saw something crazy
>Something I could not comprehend
>Right down the road, a couple houses away, there was a kangaroo
>A fucking kangaroo, hunched over on my neighbor's front lawn
>All I could do was stare. It stared back at me. Neither of us moved a muscle.
>My mind started racing
>I live in central Washington state. There are no kangaroos here.
>There is no zoo here.
>What was going on?
>The roo stood up and slowly started WALKING BACKWARDS
>Like ONE FOOT BEHIND THE OTHER, WALKING, never taking it's eyes off me.
>Kangaroos cannot WALK, they HOP, so I NOPED the fuck out and ran inside to call the police.
>Dial 911 and try to think of what to tell the dispatcher
>Kangaroo on the loose? Maybe a man in a kangaroo suit? My parents are also missing?
>I run back outside to see where it's headed but it's gone
>Phone keeps ringing
>Why isn't anyone answering?
>Feeling of intense dread waves over me
>Still no answer
>Hang up and try dialing 911 again
>Someone picks up but doesn't say anything
>"Hello?" I ask
>Muffled laughter is all I hear. Someone chuckling on the other end.

Bumping this
And holy shit someone please fucking review something already

>>8391465
Old man seems to know more than he lets on. Kill him, it might jump start the plot

>>8406706
It's quite firmly in the pulpier side of the sci-fi spectrum, but for a first attempt I'd say it's good. The puppet metaphor and the "bleeding" and "It just had to be done" introduction I would consider cliches. I don't know what kind of gun ticks.One thing I would advise, to try and make this a little more real - I think you're going for a kind of sense-confusion thing, and it seems rather cold and dispassionate. You're just walking around saying "Huh. Least I've got my gun." - there's no mention of colour smell or sound. Just because reality is falling apart doesn't mean it has to be abstract - it would work far better with jarring images.

It didn't do much for me, I suppose. The prose was fine, the suicide was hackneyed, but that paragraph about the "The shooter... .38 caliber" was excellent, because it dealt in specifics while bringing out a character's knowledge. It's very publishable.

>>8406717
You weren't hit enough as a child.

>>8406748
DAMAGED. I'm all for the copypasta genre, but this is just . . . you can't even call it absurdist, it's just grating. There's no investment or tension, there's just a fat wad.

>>8405902
It doesn't take a genius to Critique, in case you hadn't noticed. Your poem is self-mastubatory nonsense. It almost wants to bounce along, but you're dragged back by ravages and savages. You repeat "blind", and it doesn't work in either sense. There are some good o=lines: "With holy bread and dirty wine"; the whole of the last stanza up to "mirror is lost". But the whole thing lacks a cohesiveness to give it any meaning, unless you were putting the reader in Sisyphus' shoes, one of the "blind soldiers", in which case you should imagine me miserable.

>>8403698
Hemingway would've cut this down, I think, but yeah the prose is good. "Violent reverie" for example would have come later, in the middle of the paragraph than at the beginning. A hook would be in place, "A film of sweat clung to the face of the other like a veil" A veil of sweat. Or a film of sweat. I get where you're coming from, it's a great image, but one of these is unnecessary. There is also no tension until very late in the paragraph, and when it arrives we don't care much for either characters, neither of whom have spoken and neither of whom we know beyond their looks. Also, if you're sticking with the perspective of the (apparently spasmodic) daydreamer, it doesn't really work to give a relatively lengthy description of something he didn't notice until near the end. You could always piece it back from when he notices them, which would seem more appropriate to me.

>>8406172
Meh.

>>8407223
Prose wise?
Grammar?
Fluidity?
Ease of Comprehension?
Plot Structure?

What else ya got annon?

>>8404388

please? por favor?

>>8407260
>>8407260
>>8407260
thanks for the feedback
I didn't quite get what you meant by the pulpier side of science fiction (English is not my native language) i was going for a time travel ,paradox kinda feel
The gun ticking was because he was from a steampunk kinda future
And it was not a suicide his future self comes to the past to kill him before he invents a time machine so he doesn't fuck shit up
he is sad because only after he understands that he was the one responsible for the invention of a time machine(which caused a great war,killed his family etc)
he is uncertain of his future because he kills his past self..youll understand once i form the whole story
There is no smell and sound because he was falling through a wormhole etc etc its a long story
also i dont know how you came to the conclusion that it was a suicide but that was the feel i was going for(the fingerprints reveal that its the deadbodys prints)

I modified it a bit for a little more context could you check it out
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1zVhkgQEigSGVggq9nBTufMuLVTZtDFtlw4h2QRjPd_4/edit

This is a snippet from a short story I've been working on. I'd love to hear any thoughts you have :-)

http://pastebin.com/42K6v86j

>>8406717

It feels like you're trying real hard. You have a great grasp of the language, and phrases like "with a night blue frisee [I think you meant frisbee] of lighting striking at my arrival" are fun, but there's nothing actually going on here. No real reason to keep reading. But you have talent!

>>8408208
nice

>>8406706

I rolled my eyes when you introduced the gun... Gotta be honest.

The self-questioning stuff is pretty cliche.

Putting "you see" at the end of sentences is lame, or at least in this context it seems forced.

You write like a lot of others. Keep reading and writing.

>>8408225

Thanks man!

>>8404040
:((((

>>8405902

You obviously have studied a lot of /lit/-tier books (which is a good and bad thing), with words like atavistic and Sisyphus.

I sort of like it. I don't know who your audience is, honestly.

I don't like that the last word is "lost." But I REALLY like "the fatal winter has come at last; and air is thin; and fin is past."

The last line just has to be changed, based on the strength of those lines alone (in my opinion!)

Good work.

>>8390236

you lost me at ;^D

There isn't anything real going on in this. I don't think you picture it as well as you think.

>>8401784

Elegantly empty. Try falling in love.

>>8402269
bumbin this

>>8408246
it was something i actually took seriously around 4 years ago (i was around 13 or something) i found it again and despite the silly mistakes i still sorta enjoyed reading it. thx tho

>>8389815

This weirdly seems to exist in several different eras.

Your prose is sort of nice but it doesn't really add up to anything. Not sure why I am reading.

>>8408261

You wrote that at 13? Nicely done, in that case. Keep writing. I now feel bad for being dickish - my bad senpai.

>>8408273
it was the last thing i wrote seriously. i guess this is why i like it. my english teacher once read a short story i wrote, which is now lost, and genuinely thought i was talented- i kek'd.
thx m8

>>8408260

I LOVE the ending (how a man's poke could be so accurate). That's very pithy, to me, and it's funny as fuck. It was a bit silly on the whole, and I don't really know what you were going for, but you've got a start to something. You used the word "same" a lot (and I get why), and it sort of bothered me.

>>8408288

When someone thinks you're talented, you should prove them right :-)

believe in urself <3

>>8402269
kek'd. nice

>>8408293
<3 i hope peace and economical stability thrive in ur country. <3

>>8402289
thanks Shinji...

this reads as extremely melodramatic, focus on what is going on rather than how it makes the character feel. I suggest trying to not use as many 'I's and words like 'experienced', 'realize', 'discovered', 'understood'.

A Threadly Haiku:

Ancient emojis
4Chan in Somer Seson
Softe is my scrotum.

>>8403312
check yourself before you wreck yourself - get your grammar in order.

too many fucking adjectives in those first few sentences

> You could kiss her, but you don’t.
try harder

there are a lot of images going on that I don't see the connection between.

The urge for a cigarette occurs immediately after entering a higher population density. The back parts of my brain, the ones that operate independently and at a deceptively high-level, switch into a mode of wanting. There are umpteen many other desires that I put up with, that are managed, balanced, reneged or cultivated. All of these are very complicated and in various stages of being understood, but this one eludes those mechanisms. The desire to smoke induces a myopia that is as nauseating as the smoke itself; it folds other desires into itself. Regardless of all previous experience, there is persistence to the idea that all other desires, from eating to self-actualization, can be managed as long as I can smoke one cigarette. The big messy bundle of Self seems to be strung together by this one habit; a hastily gathered mass of ropes, cords and twine, of every age, size and material, all strung together by a thin metal wire whose ends are done up in an addled, rusted-together knot.

Formally, I do not want to be a smoker, but if presented with a button that would snuff out the habit once-and-for-all, I would vacillate. I stand to lose a sense of self, but also one of the few easy social 'ins' that I have left. I find it hard to trust non-smokers, or rather, find it easy to trust smokers. Every smoker is a furnace of pathos - each puff is a signal for the similarly disaffected. My eyes have learned to seek out hands and search for a dash of white and curl of smoke.

A pack is purchased and there is an odd, unstable clarity to those few moments before applying fire. Under my nose, the smell reminds me of how this will all end if I follow through. Yet, we plow forward. The backwards logic of craving comes to a crescendo; my mind, from front to back, is racing through thousands of possible strategies for rationalizing this act as part of a larger scheme of quitting. The saga of the human condition is reiterating itself, but once fire is involved, that beautiful suffering turns cliche and I feel dumb for again purchasing shitty incense. A mildly pleasurable feeling runs through my body, like cramming food into some tertiary orifice, just enough to balance the feeling of self-defeat and setting myself up for next time.

My breakfast is a genocide:
A handful of blue-gnomes,
Blueberries, and their rosy brides:
Plump raspberries; there is also
The peppery elf of a ginger:
From that urticant herbal goblin,
That I have been torturing for many days, I amputate one more
Flaming steak and toss it into the mix.
Finally, to thicken the sabbatical oil,
I add a banana, the denuded lady,
Robbed of her fancy dress and noble peel.
All these little fruits are submerged
In the blood of a murdered orange.
These fairies are all mutilated
In the cutting torture-machine
What we call a blender.

original in Portuguese:

>>8401331
>Meu café da manhã é um genocídio:
>Um punhado de gnomos azulados,
>Mirtilos, e de suas róseas noivas,
>Gorduchas framboesas; há também
>O gengibre, duende apimentado:
>Desse urticante diabrete erval,
>Que há dias eu torturo, amputo mais
>Um bife ardente e atiro na mistura.
>Por fim, para engrossar o óleo sabático,
>Uma banana, a dama desnudada
>De sua veste chique e nobre casca,
>Todas essas frutinhas mergulhadas
>No sangue de laranja assassinada.
>Essas fadas são todas mutiladas
>Na máquina cortante de tortura
>Que liquidificador nós chamamos.

>>8408373
>What we call a blender.

That we call

>>8408208

>bumping so u will read this

>>8407822
No one in the mood for SciFi?
Cmon bros
Feedback plz

>>8407260
Thank you for your feedback, I've tried to implement it. Does this read better?

It came to his attention that the conversation between two other patrons at the bar was taking on an air of hostility. They were both unemployed alcoholics, with long, greasy hair to their shoulders and long fingernails. One of them was missing most of his teeth; a veil of sweat clung to the face of the other, settling on his upper lip. They let off a sour unwashed smell, which led to him walking a long way round to his alcove rather than pass them at the bar. They had been there every one of the last four nights he had visited. Either one or both of them had been vomiting outside every one of those nights as well. Usually they drank in near silence. Pulled from his violent reverie, he strained to listen. It seemed they had seen a particularly attractive young woman headed for the university on their walk to the bar. The argument was over which of them this woman would prefer.

>>8408255
>Elegantly empty
Can you expand on this?

>Try falling in love.
Wew lad.

>>8409014

It was very elegant in style, but it didn't do anything for me emotionally.

I know - asking you to fall in love is real shit. But it makes writing a lot different.

>>8409080
>It was very elegant in style, but it didn't do anything for me emotionally.
Ah, I see. I have noticed this issue but I haven't done anything to alleviate it.

>I know - asking you to fall in love is real shit. But it makes writing a lot different.
Wew senpai. In all honesty though, you're probably right.

>>8409323

You'll be aight my dude. Just put yourself out there. Live a little. You'd be amazed what can happen.

>>8408289
thanks bub :) maybe ill flesh it out a bit and see what comes of it.

How does one describes a fight in a Third person limited?

>>8408208
>>8408736

Not knowing whether this is a standalone piece or a part of something larger, I'm going to assume the former. This reads very boring.
First, the descriptions of the cd's in the cd case
>"the one that opens up...call music indeed."
is boring and unnecessary. I feel as though it reads like you're trying to tell us far too much about Anthony in too short a span.
Also, the part about the fluorescent lighting is completely unneeded. If this is part of a larger work I would need what else you have to really critique this piece, but on its own it's weak--though that could just be my preference for the way description is conducted.

This is a flash-fiction piece I've recently been working on, it's not yet finished:

>>8410147
It was too long:

We stood on the platform, our hands tied behind our backs by itchy rope that was too tight. Before us stood a hundred people, all of them waiting in anxiety. A wave 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 stubby nose that took loud, fast breaths like a pug. The girl beside me began to mutter some sort of prayer. Her words stumbled over one another as she shook like [a newborn calf]. I looked down at the people before us once again, and my eyes met those of a young man with platinum blonde hair folded neatly upon itself like an envelope. He had a jagged scar to the left of his left eye that ran down the length of his face and he seemed to be about the same age as us, 18-20. The corner of his mouth cracked a devilish smile that mouthed the words, “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.

As the man made his way to the front of us and to the podium, the emerald lights stopped flashing and in their place shone a white spotlight that forced my eyes to the floor with its intense luminosity. I tried my best to put on a bold face, to feign courage, but by the [] smirks on the faces of the men and women fortunate enough to make it past 20 it was obvious that my attempt had failed. The man adjusted the microphone before him and, taking a sharp, deep breath, said, “Welcome all, to this our annual rites ceremony.” He sounded as though he’d had sand dumped down his throat, the way it creaked and stuttered, “The men and women whom you see before you tonight have been chosen by our ever-prudent council to be this season’s offering to this our graceful mother.” His eyes meandered to the dirt upon which the audience stood and lingered there before returning to the crowd, “From the soil stained by their vigorous, youthful blood shall there rise a plentiful crop. And as there has always been,” he bellowed, gaining confidence, and the people before him replied—though with an air of duty rather than pride and conviction—

“So shall there always be.”

>>8407822
Shameless self bump

"You can really tell what kind of person a person is by the shit they buy. Or at least take a good guess what they're planning to do next. I'm at one of those Korean owned Asian supermarkets at tje cjeclpit and I've managed to pinpoint what kind of Asian the customers in line are without hearing their voices or accents or language or by dress; I pay very close attention on what's on the checkout: hey look, I spy with my little eye, spring rolls, bittermelons, bean sprouts, and...beef shank with a bone. Looks like that old lady's making Pho. Vietnamese definitely. Next one. Middle aged guy in brown flannel, nappy but straightish hair, glasses that make him look like a transvestite grandma. What's he got? Frozen natto. Mackarel. Stop, say no more, motherfucker's a Jap. See? I got this.

I really ought to stop doing shit like this. I can't help it though. I love people watching. When something catches my eye, I stare at it. Like this late middle aged lady for example. Here I am lusting over the supple legs of a late 50 something woman, in white pantyhose and red stiletto pumps. Her face looks weary but still has a full head of hair, and her shape is neat, yet the skin sags like a frown. She is no doubt married, has been through the labors of childbirth, multiple times and has wirnessed 6 decades of changing fads and fashions, and has been weary to the world. Yet I have a nagging desire to caress those legs and work my way to those shapely yet sagging thighs. What the fuck is wrong with me? As I drift in my head, I forget my eyes are still staring at her legs, and when I look up, she gives me a gesture with her squinty eyes like to say "What the fuck are you looking at?!" As this happens, the cashier, also annoyed, shouts to me: "Next in line!"

Then I remember I have nothing in my basket. And I bolt the fuck to the exit."

I'm an austist
artist with a penchant
for a pen pulpit
Bear balling and paper scrawling
Like life talking to a wall
I've white halls and
A padded collar tan
Chained to blame hands
Clinging to hate rants
On radio programs
Like a radial locant man
Protracting deep in my asshole
Because geometry's a bitch, cold
When the degrees get low and
Start pointing at my soul
I gotta look past that blackness
Allude to some homo erectus slants
Like a low brow hold out plan
Rub one out to a tentacle dance
Sold out of miracle grow plant managers
Lining the gmo holes of my
pitiful goal wrangler pants
Of hoping and coping with broke jokes
Until the sun sets on my yoke dope
And can't make trope rope for the moat boater
Cause it's too old for the gold loader poll
Can't, won't, who knows, eyes closed
This shit might blow over
Like a clinch holds clovers
Waiting for the right moment
To be told in the right tone
A lamp post in the night coven
Of wick beaters and plight moaners
The lit dreamers and type toaders

In stories, I need more goopy darkness and mardigras waterbending shit in life and I've been working on a story with such a thing in them but I was curious what lit might have to say about this. I'm not sure how any of you feel about Avatar the Last Airbender or Korra, but you certainly don't have to have watched those or appreciate them to understand what I'm getting at. I was thinking of a genuine spiritual darkness at the heart of the swamp with songs as a heavy part of their culture. Some songs everyone knows, others are more exclusive to certain kinds of spiritual warriors maybe. Here, I'll just paste some shit, along with some poems you're free to shit on/give feedback for/provide alternative creative suggestions, etc:

There are swamp benders who get their power from a old force that lurks beneath the mire and only imparts her gift to those she infects with a psychedelic disease.
Also, these infected fuckers roam the swamp, can't be near the community for obvious reasons. As they wander through the swamp they sing songs to Mora to appease her and in exchange get their power with which they defend their people from the ocean civilization that is taking over the world. It is a theme to them to remind themselves and the world that the mire, because of mora and the void, is deeper than the sea.

Each of these songs are sung in a different context and are only examples of such contextual usage. The first one is a song that is known by all of the swamp people and is a part of their lore. the second is a sort of pre-battle chant with an individual lilt. The last one is a song that is intended only for mora's ears and isn't allowed to be heard by anyone else.
Now, you might argue that you need to know more about the story before you can understand the poems, but that's the opposite of the way I'm approaching this creation. I'm building the world up through these poems and the prose will follow, linking them and their themes more concretely as well as providing an over-narrative that will make the immediacy of these poems more visceral. Hopefully.

Water, sleep
Mora keeps
Twilight breathes
shadows slink
Through the reeds

Eyes design
Mire, it finds
Mora's sighs
Molding light
Cold and fire
Such is night
Such is life
Which Mora binds

Memory serves
A mirror's curse
The void, it lurks
Beneath the surf
The mire, it dreams
Mora clings,
How she thirsts
By her need
Did we learn

Mora keeps
The water leaps
Visions gleam
In song and verse
Iron freed, spring from earth
Deep in stone
The witch, she grows
When it's coaxed
Stars there flow
From bones of old
That Mora broke

[cont.]

2

Moons call and search
Mire moans and turns
The hurt, we first burned
While the surface lurched
For the third person urn
Mora keeps and murmurs
"Drowned notions hold token hunters"
"None die without knowing wonder"
"Nets cast around summer
Close fast without motion hunger"
Dance marches the marsh lunger
Into the madness clasp
Where water claps thunder
Against the leaves of the table king
From the seas of grief lovers
Where day feeds book thumpers
And darkness is an art trumpet
Come to enlarge the heart farcers
With mummer carts and hard arteries
But
She sees martyr cartilage
Seethes with tarter larderies
So water harpies scream heartily
As we howl partingly
The mire guard fiends, gargling
Unleashes the emptiness beneath our feet
At least She sets us free
So does Mora keep

3

Along the bog and sodden loam
The smell of rot teased my nose
They said I'd know, diseased I've grown
No one told me about the hole
A little cloud to call your own
A void of doubt inside your soul
That won't go out, no matter though
Mora, she weeps with me again
She takes my need, she gives me hints
Yes darkness calls, there's light in it
Do not look down, no look below
Look deeper than the Ocean Throne
Iron and tense, hold your own
Give parting gifts to closest friends
Your family though, they've got to cleanse
The grief and fear, don't let it mold
The witch she keeps, but she is cold
The price is high for letting go
So hug them tight, you never know
The fire's bright, you might come home
By the story that mora wrote
Into the bones beneath our home
There the stony shore sloped to gold
Of summer stars where winter blowed
The lunger there whose seeds we grow
Of the runner and the hunter both

Protip: Write something honest and helpful for the last, I don't know, 5 submissions before yours. Doesn't have to be long, one sentence may even do, as long as it's honest and true.

The odds of your own submission getting the same treatment will increase exponentially.

A Supermarket Butcher


I am your supermarket butcher.
I make meat meet their maker.
I didn't make the meat though, but I make it.
We've gotta sale on pork chops.
They don't pay me enough for this.
I like meat.
In fact
I can't stop talking about meat.
I like to grind it, beat it, and shove it in all sorts of places
Cut it, carve it, mince it, ground it, form it in all kinds of shapes.
Whaddaya wanna eat tonight? Steak? Chili? Corned Beef? Fried Chicken, Endangered Animals? Yeah I got them
I've got it all
We've got pheasants, ostritches, alligators, sharks, zebras,
Dogs, Cats, Pandas, Lions, Pink Dolphins, Elephants
VEAL
What part do you like?
Name it, I've got it
Sirloins, Briskets, Hindshanks, Ribs, Breasts, Legs,
Brains, Lips, Testicles, Hooves, Tails, Ovaries, Eyes, Livers, Hearts, Ears, Nerves, Skulls even.
You don't need much Brains to do my job
And you don't got a heart after you're finished doing mine
They don't pay me enough for this.
Fuck PETA.
I'm on closing shift.
Are you actually going to buy something?
You just want chicken breasts?
Aisle 9, Frozen Section
Now get the fuck out of my face
THEY DON'T PAY ME ENOUGH FOR THIS

>>8410351
Nobody? Yeah, that's what I thought.

>>8410351
THis is some sound advice Anon. Thanis

>>8410662
For the most part it's not a critique thread, it's not anything. It's pointless. Anons just posting their work and barely anyone is reading anyone else's, just refreshing the page waiting for someone to say something about theirs. A few decent anons have had the tendency to critique, and although you don't have to be a good writer at all to comment on another's work, it's interesting that theirs tend to be the better pieces. Come on, guys.

Beginning excerpt from the novel I am currently working on.

There are currently over seven point one billion people on this planet. All living and dying and fighting and crying and laughing and fornicating. I was one of the many unlucky to be born onto this planet, with no discernible skills and traits to bring any sort of meaning or purpose to my life. No great talent as to make myself exclaim “ah, this is it!” No Newtonian theory or Mores Law would ever grace the empty cranium that I sport, more geared for consumption than creation.

>>8410468
Doin' god's work, anon
Crit threads should be started with that message. We had some decent ones recently

>>8410365
This is a good poem in my superpleb opinion. I mean the obvious sexual references are a little over the top but overall I like the way it moves, kind of reminds me of my train of thought through the work day.

>>8410685
Would understand better with context, I don't know if this is the first line or not but I'll presume it is. As it stands it's not really working for me, the prose seems a little awkward and mismatched. The opening needs to have a good hook, and I'd say try to show more than tell.

Don't be disheartened, because your language is good. It's just a little 'look Ma, I'm writing' at the moment. I'd restructure it and cut out some of the superfluous stuff. Keep at it.

>>8410722

Thanks a lot for your critique! I was actually worried myself about the hook being pretty week with that opening, and was juggling this opening as an alternative.

We sport the newly coined terms such as “Generation X” and “Millenials,” to express how technically advanced and forward thinking we are, everybody seemingly skips over the blatant truth. We are not in fact “Generation X” or “Millenials,” we are more correctly “The Waiting Generation.” We are always waiting for something. We are waiting for the economy to recover, we are waiting for our soul mate to knock on our dorm doors at 11 P.M, we are waiting for the call back from the interview, we are waiting for next blockbuster release. We are waiting for our pills to kick in, microwave food to be done, bus to arrive, the hand of the clock to mercifully display five o'clock.
There is a terrible irony in waiting. But if I can impart one God-to-honest truth, the hardest wait is for the things that will never come.

If you have a time to skim over it, I would be grateful. How does one cut the superfluousness out of writing? I am currently working on a romance story in the YA vein and this was supposed to be an introduction of sorts to the character's mindset. Been working on the into for a while now and can't seem to flesh it past the awkward wording.

Parlons à présent candid dandy français, fanfarlons-en de cet idéal amoureux perdu dans les verispacieuces nuées rosâtres et blanches comme une tache peu commode, suis-moi encore, ceux qui proviennent du genre typologique dit absorbant, une race d’homme qui ne savent se la fermer quand il le faut et maintiennent la station à sourcil langoureux, va tirailler tes vers douteux ailleurs!, fit le dictiomoteur mémoriel cérébral quand on se rappelle les classiques qu’on a avalé de gré ou malgré, les espaces se fondent en un tout et on se perd à l’aise; devions-nous? Quenouille, laisse-lui une faute, témoin. On s'assoit le cul entre deux rivages et on se frotte l’épaule à notre joie momentanée, mais ne me perd pas, ne. Toi non plus, vice versa, tu vois. Enfin il se dandine le dadgonet et jase une idée en monologue carré justifié, tombe amoureux de sa propre langue! elle n’écoute plus les mots (qui sortaient vraisemblablement de ses lectures individuelles à l’aube d’un soir trop froid encore, il ne voulait que t’impressionner au départ, avec une sophistication peu naturelle, mais il se prit au jeu ah! qu’il l’aime encore, même avec ces dires ennuyeux, répétitifs, dix neuf cent amours et haines à conter aux milisecs), mais remarquait la vague fantasque que traçait le riverage de sa parole. Qu’a-t-il dit? Bien dit, firent les galloises tant les bretonnes, mauvais temps! alask! Parziperceperciparsifvalvalvalefalvermouge. Crip. Par ici! Les neiges ne bloqueront jamais mes mamours, ni la livraison cascadée des opaques rivières, la veine que j’ai. On pouvait apercevoir, si on s’y tentait courageusement au fétiche en tête ou au froc, précisément dans le trou pondéré par l’acte ennuyeux et tonnant de nerfs qu’est la gesticulation bucolocale, au fond pas si profondément qu’on pourrait le supposer sans études préalables ni regards antécédents, qu’une veine vivace faisait sa première apparition, relié à son amor pas si fin qu’on l’eut cru. C’est que lui aussi était amoureux de la disposition des mots, comme aux environs des bains d’eaux minérales, pas vrai Broutetignasse? demande à mr Undermat. Avec un ensemble d’ouï, on retourne en enfance, on redécouvre le vieux monde tout juste né sous notre nez; c’était la première promenade solitaire ensemble, au gré du trotte-territoire verglacé, tu étais bien jolie et j’étais bien épuisé, amusé. Si tu quitte, ne va pas trop loin, ou reste encore alors s’il te sied et m’écoute encore te verser le débit, tu m’en dois crédit. L’arrache-coeur, c’est le transfert, du mardi au pai’ et mai’, au fils, à la petite-fille. J’aime encore? Ah. Tend! Elle le signe en étranger, elle accourt l’avantage, elle revie à son travers; elle. Cairo, criquette, veronne, mauve, sahab, so-so, lizzy et. Mais compose-moi un axiome, une constante, dessine-moi un cycle.

>>8410763
That's pretty significantly better. There's still a few things, like I'd change the comma in the first sentence between 'are' and 'everybody' to a full stop. I had a lot of trouble with over-writing too. It sounds like a meme but show don't tell really is the best way to do it. Actions tend to stick to readers, like the passive voice slides off them. You could say, 'this person is paranoid because X that happened to him when X'. Or, you could have him walk down a street, notice footsteps behind him, have a hint of a memory of being mugged flash through his mind, and have him walk a really elaborate route to get home. From that the reader learns about the character far more naturally.

I'm under the impression it gets a lot of hate but try this website:

http://www.hemingwayapp.com/

It helped me tons by just picking apart and highlighting the STRUCTURE of my prose. As a writer it's easy to get lost in the software without thinking too much about the hardware, but when you see just how many adverbs you've included, it's an eye-opener.

That's not to say you shouldn't ever use adverbs, because sometimes they'll work, but the majority of the time you won't really need them. Split your sentences up a bit more, remove unnecessary words, tighten the prose.

For example, your first 3 sentences could be merged- "People call us 'Generation X', they call us 'Millenials'. I think 'The Waiting Generation' is more accurate." (NOTE: for example, you say 'we are the waiting generation. we are always waiting for things'. To me, as a reader, that seems evident from the name. It's like 'people call us the hungry generation. We're always hungry.' You could cut either, really. And then the last two sentences- I see what you're going for, a philosophical acknowledgement of the irony of waiting, then a colloquialism to try and make the reader believe the character is one of them, like a friend, a confidant, but I believe it would be more effective to cut both lines down to 'The hardest wait is for the things that will never come'.

Try tinker with it, then post it again. Can I ask you which of my two paragraphs you prefer?

>>8408927
>>8403698

>>8408927
Try to make their physical appearance play a part in the story. Tell me about how at every word he managed to spout coherently, you could have sworn some of his teeths were about to fall off. The argument also has to be more dynamic than that pls.

>>8410970
The next paragraph is their argument, as he starts paying attention to it. It escalates to a physical confrontation, and in his attempt to leave he gets hurt.

>>8410977
That's fine then.

is it a decent idea to start a writing project based on journal entries like for example going through a year of someone's life ie 360 entries in which i write in the first person narrative

>>8410958

I really appreciate your input! And thanks for the Hemmingway App, it looks great and I cant wait to try using it tonight. As for a critique of your work:

>>8403698

Is definitely my preference, although both paragraphs are quite well done. If I had one tiny qualm, it would be that the paragraph seems to be doing too much in a sense. I feel like the paragraph is rushed in a sense, coupled with the description, their usual habits, and the quickly seguing into what I am guessing is the climax of the story/chapter. It may be my own writing style influencing most of my decision, but I would split the paragraph up a bit. As I have stated, it is a minor qualm and it still segues well into the flow of events.

>>8403698
Minus context, it is difficult to know what is meant by "violent reverie;" a reverie itself would never be a violent state, so I must assume that your character is daydreaming about acts of violence. Which, again, doesn't mean much without context. "Show don't tell" with regards to the bar patrons being unemployed alcoholics. You could probably use a better verb than "let off." Odd that your character goes from not noticing this conversation to noticing it in the space of a few sentences, most of which are not focused on the present action. Leads to a weird temporal distortion. I know you're going for a "minimal" kind of style but these sentences pack no punch, are too long for how little information they contain, are too matter-of-fact.

>>8410685
No substance, no style. If you want a real critique post more, but I would stop reading a book if that was printed on the first page.

>>8410322
What's tje cjelpit? Something Polish? Anyway, you can write a coherent sentence, but why write with this voice? I have never read anything other than amateur short stories written in such a way, and with good reason: it can't be sustained. Tries to sound casual but just comes off as contrived, and on top of that the only thing which provides interest here is the occasional swear. A few fucks won't make a boring paragraph better, or make your trite musings about how you can learn a lot about someonefrom what they buy and wanting to fuck old women any more profound. in b4 it's like that on purpose cuz the narrator

>>8410149
Eh, as soon as you mentioned the ages of the people on the stage I knew where you were going with this, and in flash being predictable can really take away from a story since you have so little to work with (also writing out 18-20 like that is poor form, find another way to say it). "Seamlessly" is not a good word to describe sweating. Like the newborn calf metaphor, good sacrificial imagery. You often opt for needlessly complex wording, or descriptors that don't add much (see: intense luminosity).

>>8411252

Thanks, this has been a prologue page for me, an introduction of sorts. A deeper critique would be great.

There are currently over seven point one billion people on this planet. All living and dying and fighting and crying and laughing and fornicating. I was one of the many unlucky to be born onto this planet, with no discernible skills and traits to bring any sort of meaning or purpose to my life. No great talent as to make myself exclaim “ah, this is it!” No Newtonian theory or Mores Law would ever grace the empty cranium that I sport, more geared for consumption than creation.
I was born into a generation with no struggle, no great magnum opus in our lives. In the ashes of a decaying economy, a crumbling infrastructure, the dying throes of a country. You’re better off than most of the world, insisted everyone, everything will recover and everything will always be fine ever after.
There truly doesn’t exist much to this world, all we are given is a chance. This one fleeting chance in a cosmic world of fuck-ups and hair raising half-truths. Study hard in school, stay out of trouble, never touch drugs, get a career, settle down, raise kids, and send them off. Save up for retirement, make sure that you are financially, emotionally, romantically, sexually, mentally secure, and always remember to get your daily intake of fiber.

>>8411268
But I digress, all we, anyone really, could ever ask for in this life is a chance. Collectively as a species we idolize success, wealth and fame, and abhor failure, poverty, and infamy. It never is quite so, but we Americans love to draw lines on all sorts of topics that were never meant to have lines drawn upon them. This is good and that is bad, we would proudly proclaim, confident in our ability to do no wrong.
But that’s simply not how life works. Maybe what I have wrote is common knowledge, or perhaps I have figuratively blown some minds into smithereens, but its the God-to-honest truth. But myself, like many other unfortunate souls, are almost inexplicably always born into surroundings that love drawing lines.
When we decide to draw these lines, we climb up on some imaginary moral high ground, believing ourselves to see the issue far beyond the scope of what is reasonably possible. We nod, hem and haw, pretending to make a decision, when the decision was always made before even clambering upwards. Our chances at our own happiness are already marred to fruitlessness before we are allowed to set foot into the world. What is once a clean slate to begin with now split haphazardly in a multitude of lines that in reality, truly have no meaning.
And in this manner we wait. While we sport the newly coined terms such as “Generation X” and “Millenials,” to express how technically advanced and forward thinking we are, everybody seemingly skips over the blatant truth. We are simply “The Waiting Generation.” We are waiting for the economy to recover, we are waiting for our soul mate to knock on our dorm doors at 11 P.M, we are waiting for the call back from the interview, we are waiting for the next blockbuster release. We are waiting for our pills to kick in, microwave food to be done, bus to arrive, the hand of the clock to move to five o’clock. More importantly, we are waiting while the lines are being drawn everyday, always on the lookout for the great big “chance.”
There is a terrible irony in waiting. But if I can one more time impart another God-to-honest truth, the hardest wait is for the things that will never come.

>>8411268
>>8411272
I'm at work but I'll get to you in the next hour or so

>>8411268
>>8411272
Man, I'm really sorry. I can't critique this in a helpful way. It's garbage. I can't stand this "now folks let me tell you it's the honest-to-god truth and nothing but it" style of writing. As I said in a critique above, only amateurs do it. When's the last time you read something written like this? Did you enjoy it? My issue with this style of writing is that it's patronizing, and it sounds like an introductory monologue from some shitty movie. I can imagine aerial shots of vacant malls, blurry kids playing in blurry playgrounds, maybe a time-lapse shot of a highway at rush hour. Just write your damn story, and keep this trite moralizing to yourself -- let it show through the action, the characters, the setting. Don't assume your audience needs or wants to be told the theme of your work in an introduction, and in such a boring way. Yes, what you wrote is common knowledge, but it might not seem so if you let it play out in the story itself. In a novel there is ambiguity, room for interpretation, that can make even run-of-the-mill ideas interesting. In a rant like this that's not the case.

Grammatically it's all fine, but my advice is just to scrap the whole thing.

>>8411272
Are you making a discourse or a story? Because it sounds like a serious discourse. The vocabulary and the phrase structures are too heavy for you story. Ligthen it down.

>>8411508

your moms a discourse

>>8411568
Great come back friend, was it procedurally generated?

Let's be civil, boys.

>>8411252
Thanks for taking the time to critique, I'm the guy with the bar scene. It makes more sense I'm context, there's a lead up where he's envisioning a fight between himself and someone he thinks is looking at him. He's paranoid and neurotic so he gets lost in his thoughts until the loudness of the patrons registers with him and he starts to pay attention to them. I'll change that verb and use a 'show, don't tell instead of stating that outright. I'll try fix that temporal distortion too. I'm not even finished my first draft, just wanted to drop a random excerpt in and see how it went down. I've got a lot to think about- thanks again.

>>8411268
>>8411272
Very basic and faulty ideas and concepts. Too many obvious /r9k/ type projections. But even that could have been done with more originality and meaning. Not in your case though. As the other anon pointed out; you can't really critique this. it's just lame and foolish.

>>8408320
God bless anon.

>>8406717
falter'll work better than faltering.

>>8395098
>>8392307
It's called a placeholder my oh my

A writing I wanted to share.

>>8412126
Cringing hard, but this described the people of /lit/ so well. I hope it's not autobiographical.

>>8412126
Well pulled-off satire of a moron but this sort of thinking is so common that there's not really much point. I suggest you find a different character.

>>8399321


i was listening to bombing bastards by tricky as i read this
it fit

i like your choice of words
it makes me think
'what word will be chosen next
i'm sure it'll be another good word'

>>8412168
>>8412143
Friends, this is just my blog post. It's not a character.

>>8412126
I recognize your purple pages. Don't even have to read it to tell you that this shit stinks

>>8412245
Jealous of my writing ability, anon?

>>8412244
Link blog.

>>8412244
Then you need a different character.

>>8412288
Here you go anon. Be gentle. http://saddude69.tumblr.com/

judge me plox

>
When joel Reads “the waters are the right cold for the hot sunny days in ares” he is upset. In courts, in offices, when you type everything your type seems to loop back at you. Two declaration of taxes are pretty simmilar and although 2 murder cases can be quite the shouting, bang hammering experiences, they are not always too entertaining. Words are easy for him to write, second nature. Structure makes them special.
When joel reads an article about how the trip to a hot place with cool water and a Great Leeton Resort(sponsor). He expects the water to be the perfect pinch of fresh that gently caresess your body, peeling the layer of heat that's painted over you by the perfectly cooked winds sprayed across the main beach by the luxurious Leeton Resort and delight yourself with a plate of the fried deities that roam the red ocean.
When joel reads “the hilton hotel was the best part, the water was too cold and the land was too hot” then
“Its bullshit” says Joel

>>8412299
Jesus anon. I can see your entire life, just by glancing at your tumblr.

>>8412309

its ok but fix it

>>8412324
I know, i actually changed before posting it. got nervous Just realized it made it worse
also I somehow added grammatical errors

>>8412322
Cool. That's how it should be.

>>8412330
No, that's not good. Projecting this kind of oblivious and inexperienced sincerity is terrible and reveals too much. Learn to lie anon.

>>8412342
>Learn to lie anon.
now. why did you tell him that?

>>8412342
I'm always sincere to a flaw, and it's more often than not, taken as insincerity. It's a sort of wish, which I live, to my own, perhaps masochistic detriment. Although, I could only say it's masochistic, because I take joy in being so sincere, I don't enjoy pain. Being a liar about how I express myself is something I find, deeply flawed humanity.

>>8412345
I don't know, why are you asking :DDDD?

>>8412356
>I'm always sincere to a flaw,
Is that why you threw multiple shitfits at people pointing out you're a retard for your previous posts?

>>8412360
Your words are nothing but invisible arrows shooting through me, evaporating white noise.

>>8412358
just curious, what is it that bugs you. elaborate a little more.

>>8412363
>Your words are nothing but invisible arrows shooting through me,
>meme arrows

>>8412363
I had a look at your tumblr, forgive me but I'm a little confused. Are you a male or a female?

>>8412379
Gender doesn't matter. I'm whatever I feel like being.

>>8412374
Nothing bugs me, I've just seen too many fools like him on here. They are too easy to figure out due to their sincerity and inexperience. I don't understand your curiosity.

>>8412387
Oh, I am currently trying to write something about lies. so there is that i guess.

>>8412384
I assume you're a guy. Now you may think I'm a troll, but in all seriousness have you considered getting in shape, getting a decent haircut and nicer clothes, and finding a girl to settle down with? Spend time with other men. Your mental confusion and reluctance to accept your masculinity is probably what's causing your angst. Man up. You are not whatever you feel like being, just as a man cannot decide one day that he will be a horse without being seen as a lunatic. Get your act together and in a few years time you'll probably look back in embarrassment. Only saying this for your benefit, anon.

>>8412387
You're a piece of shit.

>>8412400
what homophobic, sexist bullshit.

>>8412400
>>8412403
Keked audibly

>>8412403
Perhaps you think so, but acceptance should only go so far. The traditional gender roles that have served us since time immemorial have done so because they work. Between the sexual 'revolution' of the 60s and the constant push from an increasingly deranged liberal agenda we have huge occurrences of mental illness and a deep seated unhappiness in many young men who would find deep joy in simply being who they were born to be. It's not too late for you to embrace your masculinity, and at the very least I think you should be open to giving it a try.

>>8412396
What exactly? You got anything written yet?

>>8412401
I don't see why.

>>8412387
""The Salt Generation" -- Children of Postmodernism born from 1985 - Approx. 1998, can't carry off the intellectual element, don't know -isms from their -ernities, and end up salty for signing away their sincerity for the sakes of a dying art movement. Frequent habits include strawmanship, patronization, diffidence, half-sarcasm. Worship Krin-gee -- Kringe --. Cringe, Slavic God of scrotal looking tree-growth."

>>8412403

And so it is, the late flower blooms.
Knowing now not one thing,
unrelenting in impending doom,

it truly is an ocean and continent
away. Questions are what time brings,
themselves confused by time zones bent.

My friend jests "Heart of Darkness",
he quotes what quoters sing.
Although the reference was amiss,

there had to be some truth in it.
The shadows of the shadows ring.
I hear them when my skin is lit

by sounds of you just getting up.
Those sounds and rustles, little sounds,
find me while I'm getting drunk.

And when I wake in the dumb light,
I talk to you and thoughts compound
until all they are are words, read by sight.

Day in and outward, it feels routine,
bogged and wearied into the ground.
But thoughts Iike these are mean.

You go out and I go out.
We both come home and come around.
Who cares by what way and what route?

>>8412434
Top kek, what the fuck is this shit.

>>8412419
Stopped reading after the first two sentences, your whole post is based off of a false predicate. Before European settlers came over, the native american Indians had 5 genders, before the Europeans enforced their gender rolls on them. You're despicably ignorant, it's fucking disgusting how people spew this rhetoric at people for no reason. I hope you get stabbed in the face.

"whaaaa why do liberals have to be so politically correct, why can't I just spew whatever ignorant bullshit I want? Only god makes sense :("

>>8412464
Having five genders doesn't mean there actually are five genders. Most cultures acknowledged two genders, there are exceptions where the weak males would become bitches and so on. If we are to talk about real genders, there is male and female. Anything else is just delusional nonsense, or some cultural tradition.

>>8412464
I think the false predicate here is basing your view of human sexuality off of the supposed practices of a band of savages. Other tribes practice pedophilia, bestiality and cannibalism, are you going to indulge in those? The way the world is going I shan't be surprised if they start becoming 'progressive'. What a load of nonsense. Spend some time with your father, or if he isn't around another masculine role model. Go for a run or something, just pull yourself out of the pit of self-denial and mental illness that all 'non binary' people find themselves in, because it will lead nowhere but despair. Come back to the light.

>>8412426
The theme of the story is lies. recently made up my mind about it.
and yes got a couple of things written. but Not a first draft.
im dis goy
>>8412309

>>8412481
You realize actually responding to such stupid posts like yours is laborious and mind numbing, right? Try harder next time.

>>8412426
here have somthing else
btw atlantis is the name of a spaceship

On orbit, there is calm, there’s dread. There is no land to fall, no air to breathe. There is only the vastness of space. There is no escaping the void.
Shadows are winter and light is summer, either you burn or freeze and the only grey is tin and the steel that intimately seals us away. Atlantis is the one island that, in a sea without clouds, has any shadow.

>>8412489
Okay, friend. I wish you all the best. Think about what I said, it will make you happy.

>>8412494
No, it won't, because it's fucking stupid. Troll.

>>8412419
Spooky

>>8412490
I was more interested in how the concept of lies was explored. I assume you chose the name ''Atlantis,'' because of it's relation to the concept?

Hey I'm trying to do some exercises before writing a short story. How does this dialogue look to you?

Also the content is similar to what my story will be about, so let me know if it works, if it seems real or not.

>>8412517
I see you never actually read Stirner. Nice bait though, original as fuck.

>>8412468
I wish we could go back to when reason was divinely inspired.

>>8412521
I've read Stirner. Gender roles, among other things are fixed ideas. The anon has the right idea, he should do what his heart tells him unless its dominating the rest of his ego. Either way, he has no responsibility to find enjoyment in playacting what ideas outside of him demand.

>>8412501
I'm not trolling, I wouldn't go to these lengths in this corner of 4chan which itself is in a corner of the internet just to troll a stranger. It upsets me to see the way society is going and some impulse inside of me made me offer you a few words of advice.If they even partly lead to you 1 week, 1 month, 1 year from now realising that people can't just be whatever they want and never will be able to, and that is is perhaps even morally wrong to allow people to give themselves over to hedonism, that we as humans should hold ourselves to a better standard, and that there in no place in society for perversions and degenerate behaviour; if they lead to you building healthy relationships with other males, accepting and loving your own masculinity, developing integrity of character, exercising self-improvement and forming a meaningful relationship with a woman- in short, becoming the man you were made to be; if they have any effect whatsoever, conscious or subconscious, then I am infinitely glad to have said something. Once again, I wish you all the best in your life and hope you one day realise the truth in my words.

>>8412518
funny you say so, the name came first, because its a fabula. atlantis is a fabula right? i sometimes forgot.

The characters development occurs mostly as each character describes another's. They are all liars in the way they act. but none of them tell a lie, directly. only through their actions.

Its a social approach to lies. why would you lie, pride, arrogance.

The story is something like "The thing" in space.

>>8412519
A little cliched, feels like you're trying too hard. I find that its easier to engage readers when you use words that would be unexpected when placed next to one another, surprise them with a contradiction between the presentation and content of your story.

The dialogue is fine, and I suspect its because you concentrated so much on it and neglected your prose and structure, which are a little bland.

>>8412533
>It upsets me to see the way society is going and some impulse inside of me made me offer you a few words of advice
yeah, fear is what you felt inside you. fear of something you don't understand, which you perceive to threaten your way of life. that's a typical republican feeling. Go look up the studies on what part of the brain determine whether or not you're a republican.

>>8412299

You're a girl

>>8412529
He has not enough self knowledge and is delusional. To completely shut off external influence is impossible, but his denial of truths and acceptance of his own deranged mind will only lead him to more pain. If anything, he is ridden with spooks of his own creation.

>>8412555
Even if he does not have enough self knowledge, neither do you know him completely. And anyway, I'd say its better to be spooked by yourself than by society, even if not by much.

Also
>truth
kekek

>>8412554
LONDON?!?!?1/1/!??!?!?/1/1/1//1/!?!??!??!?

>>8412550

Thanks for the input, but I disagree with your suggestions.

Do you have anything of yours here I can review?

>>8412544
I don't know how far into writing this you are. But it seems like it'd fit better in another setting. An isolated setting is perfect, but the spaceship one has been used to death. Why not a boat or an oil rig called Atlantis?

>>8412554
thanks anon

>>8412568

>>8412552
No, I don't fear it, except as something that may increase degeneracy in the world. The ideas you're clinging to will simply never be accepted, not ever. Society will never, never, ever treat 'non-binary' delusions as acceptable. The tumblr special snowflake blogs you follow might, and a minority of vocal SJWs might, but dude just go outside. People view it as being weird, because it registers in their minds as unnatural. And it is unnatural, which is why it causes you so much unhappiness, even if you refuse to acknowledge it as a cause. Men are men and women are women, and no matter how much expensive biological play-acting goes on the fact will remain and endure. There are 2.2 billion Christians in the world and 1.6 billion muslims. I believe Islam to be a false religion, but the fact remains that there are at least 3.8 billion people- more than half of the people alive in the world- who simply will not accept your delusions as normal or natural. Many of these people wield powerful, influential positions in politics, business and the media. That's not even counting the number of non-religious conservatives and people generally opposed to it.

In short, no, 'fear' is not what I felt, but pity. You are living a lie which i hurting you and others around you. Non-binary people will never be accepted by mainstream society, and you will be forever cursed to exist on the fringes, with others of your ilk, also unhappy, feeding off of each others despair like leeches in a perpetual cycle of self-denial and self-loathing.

It. Is. Not. Too. Late. You are love- able. You can be loved and you will be loved. You can live a very happy, very normal life like billion have before you and billions will after. Just go back to the natural order of things and you'll find things start to go easier than you'd imagined. Get off the internet, go outside.

>>8412572
Sure, here's the prologue to a novel I wrote, still not sure if I'm satisfied with it.

>>8412572

>>8412593
So in other words you're afraid of the big bad gender benders to wreck the society you live in. You literally just confirmed exactly what I said, way to go. Keep telling yourself lies though, I can't change that.

>>8412596

I have no experience with this sort of genre and cannot make a useful comment.

>>8412578
I really wanted it to be in the future. heck i kind of need it to be.
one of the characters simulates confessing their love to another one(something ala matrix) for their help.

also where has this been used to death?

>>8412601
>>8412606
Ah, well I'll post it in case someone else wants a go, thank you though.

>>8412603
Morality is objective. All humans are bound by the natural law which is their own conscience. The society we live in cannot be 'wrecked' because there are certain fundamental truths which govern the universe.

>>8412610

>>8412615
Any takers?

>>8412614
Morality is not objective, everyone's version of morality is different. It's not even debatable.

>>8412614
>>8412614
>MORALITY IS OBJECTIVE
>MORALITY
>OBJECTIVE
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Even taking Stirner's critique out of the equation, by definition morality is created by culture, ethics, however are universal.

>>8412623
Believe what you want, I've said all I have to say. My points still stand. You can either deny your naturally designated existence and never truly love yourself, never truly love life, never experience true happiness and certainly never be seen as anything other than a lunatic by society, or you can grow up, stop with the shit and buck your ideas up. I'd say be a man again, but you ARE a man and will always be. YOU ARE A MAN. And you will NEVER be anything else. Accept it and get back on track.

I would say that technically there is a way to produce the least amount of suffering for the most amount of people, but everyone's terms of how they perceive this impossible to predict goal are subjective and different, hence everyone's morality is different. It can't be left up to one doctrine set in stone for every single occasion, there's too much complexity and unknowns and nuance and subtlety in every day life for that to ever work. This is what fucking kills me about conservatives, it's sad to know that they'll never change because they're fucking hard wired to think this way.

>>8412639
Wrong, anon is nobody but anon. And he has no obligation to listen to your spooky essentialism.

>>8412639
Go suck on your barn animals dicks you hick.

>>8412621

The narrative flows convincingly, as I said I don't read things like this myself but it wouldn't be useful to argue about the genre you've chosen. As far as I can tell you're doing it right.

A few suggestions for your trouble:

Delete "constantly" in
>They constantly wondered if he knew something they didn't.

Explain why
>they all knew he was a queer one in the head

Describe the moon in the "warm summer night... and the sky was filled with distant stars and nebulas" since you described Cyprian looking at his knife in moonlight, and keep in mind that one can usually see either stars or moon.

"That power being Veritas' husband" is fragmentary, I would connect it to the previous sentence with a long dash or a comma. Convention is to add the ['s] for all singular possessives, reserving the [s'] for plurals ending in s.

Cyprian is spelled "Cyrprian" in the last image you've uploaded.

>>8412658
Ah thanks! Those are good ideas.

>>8412464
>it's fucking disgusting

Why do these left wing people always call things or idea's disgusting, like I always see it on Reddit and Tumblr: "PEOPLE WHO DO X ARE FUCKING DISGUSTING". Really? You are really 'disgusted' by that? You saw it and immediately got a gag reflex? Is that what actually happened? I somehow don't think so, I think you just used a word to feel moral superiority over someone with another political opinion which you want to present as something which is so beneath you that you feel """disgusted""" by it.

>>8412712
No, it literally feels disgusting to read inane bullshit.

>>8412717
to be fair anon, an appeal to nature isn't much better than accepting what society says now at face value.

>>8412725
I honestly don't give a shit. You disgust me. This is really funny how hard you people try.

>>8412727
I was defending you earlier, actually

>>8412737
Fuck, sorry anon. You can't tell who's who on this website.

Writers: How do you get down your ideas quickly and flesh them out into a story at a good pace?

When I try to write anything I get too caught up in the little details that don't matter/be perfectionist over everything, and by the end of the week I've only written a paragraph or two I like. I can't push myself to write more because I dicked around so much I lost muse and forgot where I was even going with the thing. Please help, this has become a problem.

>>8413740
write out it quickly then perfect it later

>>8413740
Like the other anon said; don't muck around with it at all until it's all written out. Write first, edit later.

>>8412639
Yet a man is also an animal and you're making a big time mistake here by not even considering this simple fact. See, we have to accept our roles as animal, not just as men (whatever that means for you, it's a subjective definition by default), but also to aceept our role in nature as a whole. But yeah, morality is completely subjective, do you think a tornadowaits and ponder about its actions before acting? For fuck sake, go read a book you fucking wannabe.

>>8413740
Read the preface to Pierre & Jean.

Behold Samson 2: Electric Boogaloo

As Samson slept he was tormented by the cries of his people, so while he woke he journeyed back to his homeland to see what tragedy had befallen it. He traveled through the streets of his hometown in search of the suffering, but he found no one in the streets, and unfamiliar faces in the homes. Soon he reached the palace to do parley with the towns despots, and when he found them he demanded to speak with his people, in order to determine what injustices have been brought to them. The solider turned him away, but one noble urged to humor is passion, and so took him down to the dungeon where a few dozen lie emaciated. And Samson said "So you show me your prisoners which I know have committed no crime, for there are many children among them. But what of the others? I saw none like me in the houses or in the streets." And one leader smiled "They reside now in the belly of Moloch as he hungers for the ash of all those who stand against his peoples" And before he could move his lips Samson was restrained and the executioner had drawn his sword. But when he thrust it the point of the blade bent, as if it had been rammed into hardened steel. As they gazed in awe A harsh breath left his body, and with it Samson's muscles bulged, and as he spoke they twitched, as if they were about to erupt from his body.
The lord has filled me with the fire of Uriel and it has provoked a riot in my blood. Now Gods anger rushes though my veins and hardens my flesh as it softens my heart. And when he stepped the earth quaked and the temples foundation shook, and those in bondage cried that the deaths of their captures would mean the death of their children, but still he stepped again, appears as if he had lost himself to those who saw him. and the sky shattered like the earth and justice rained down on the vile. and justice dragged them to their doom. but the rocks fells like feathers upon the rigorous, and they stood on nothing as if the temple had been rebuilt thrice as strong. “Oh God is truly with us, for the miracles are bountiful this day!” His people exclaimed. And with that his body softened and he rebuked the woman who believed they were in danger "wherein does it say that the lord would do away with the good as he does away with evil? were you unconvinced that the lord filled me with his holy anger? And have you not turned away from sin and turned to God for strength in these hard times? Why then would you fear his wrath would be upon you? And they were put at peace, knowing certainly that God would deliver them out of any Sodom they might find themselves in, so long as they keep their robes clean amist the common filth.

>>8412623
>current year
>being a relativist

lol. Do you fuckers even read?

In media res; sequence of a wild child having a sugar rush after sucking sap from a tree

My experience seems void of positivity and drive, why pick flowers in the meadows when one can bask in the shadows, and from a distant watch the world grow and decay, and grow again. In my mind I stand at night on a rainy street corner, Lost in desire as I stare at the rear legs of a whore, as if in away I am absorbing her heat, her scent, For some reason my senses are heightened and I can almost smell her pheromones seeping through her pores. I am trapped, Oh i am trapped so greatly in the euphoria of one great extreme, as another part of myself fights other possibility, other dreams and dark impulses."

The lighthouse on the rock was falling into the sea. All since the war it had been occupied off and on and now it was empty and the crows had gathered up in the lantern, evicting the seagulls, the gannets, and bringing a mood of quiet solace to the place. No-one now much longed for it save the older women whose naivety had finely aged to wisdom and the lights of long lost ships and the wind determined to pull it down before the year was out.

So it had become a sort of ritual to make contact, off an on, with the shortwave kept up in the service room. It was of a finer age of engineering and could stand alone of human interference for maybe a year, and even then asked only to be checked on, and acknowledged for its service. Two of the four boys left for the lighthouse and two more ensconced themselves up in each their respective attics and a network was formed, it seemed as if over great spans of time, between the lighthouse and the village.

>>8411019
answer me imbeciles

>>8415050
No. it's never a good idea to write for the sake of a gimmick.

>>8415076
gg

I'm writing this bit for a flash fiction magazine with the topic of "a world without."

Somewhere, out there in the grand multiverse full of endless impossibilities is a world where every day is a bore. Fearing their mundane existence might be communicable, our scientists have only been able to observe their awful sad little lives. Though utterly boring, a few distinguished trends have been noted. Their eating habits were the first thing we found curious. Normally, everyone starts their day with a single piece of unbuttered wheat toast; white bread if they want to treat themselves. Though it’s rare for them to treat themselves, it was witnessed once the day after a door to door salesman finally sold a vacuum; he has not treated himself again. Disturbingly, his type of job is common. The second thing we noticed was most people are marginally successful salesmen of some kind. On related note, to our surprise, none of them have committed suicide during our observation; however, one of observers has.
But, crime is low, drug use is non-existent, and healthcare is free. In fact the only crime in years was a noise complaint issued when a neighbor was snoring too loud; even jay walking is too exciting for them. Astonishingly, their economy is stable; we don’t know how given the number of business men with only average sales, but by some miracle it is. Speaking of which, it’s a miracle the weather is so nice. Rainstorms are the worst it gets and even those are mild. Seemingly in every facet of life, excitement is absent.
Though I’d be bored there, its inhabitants are happy. Nothing keeps them down. Amongst all their boring lives, that’s the one thing that’s interesting. So, we keep observing hoping to find the key to their happiness.


>>8415001
>I liked most of it, but wasn't sure what was going on with the four boys. I'm not sure if this has to do with my own lack of lighthouse related knowledge or not though. You've done a great job of subtly telling the age of the lighthouse without directly saying it and I particularly enjoyed the bit about crows. So, I'd say in general keep things up, but make sure your audience can understand.

>>8414626
Good stuff, but I'm not sure what a rock of light is. Honestly, it reminded me a lot of my childhood; I never went three days without food, but I'd drink the sap off of trees. I don't remember a metal taste from it, but that might differ from tree to tree.

>>8415740
didn't intend for the green text

>>8415740
Not bad. Got a charming Douglas Adams-y vibe to it.