/lit/ - Literature

>>9675017
http://www.fluland.com/2017/06/23/red-shift-ryan-silva/

Already had it published, but been workshopping here in bits and pieces over the past month.

Doubt is the grindstone to the sword of reason.

I met the owner of a publishing company last night. We talked for a while and he seemed sincerely curious about what my writing. He asked me "what are you writing at the moment?" and fucking somehow I ended up sperging out and basically listing statistics about refugee crime in Sweden and Germany until he said he had to leave. I'm so fucking retarded. Please kill me.

>>9675017
Currently working on a Catcher in the Rye / Less than Zero inspired novel about an art hoe going to school in Chicago. Themes about innocence lost, lack of human connection, etc. Excerpt attatched.

>>9675938
I like the premise, but the alliteration in the opener is pretty distracting, especially since it's so different from the rest of the prose.

Vaporwave retrospective is a great touch.

Some of the passages, like
>"Then, a thirty year old French magnate stepped in, a magnate by the name of Martin de Kuhn, buying out Musk’s shares. And then the project went silent for almost thirty years."
read a little awkwardly because words are repeated (then, magnate). This is really hard to edit for yourself, so I recommend getting a friend and/or software to do it.

In general, try to make as many sentences as you can brief, and only repeat words or use multiple clauses when you want to create certain effects.

Like I said, though, this was fun and I'm glad I read it.

>>9675948
Good aphorism. Consider using a word other than "reason," especially on the internet, since there's a connotation of edgelord there.

>>9675955
Brilliant satire of /pol/.
If this is true, I'm so sorry.

>>9675017
Here is mine, I'm looking to an autobio with some humour (critique virgin bee soft)

. In the eyes of the social upper class at Hilltop High, I am the most undesirable and lame person to ever step foot in these halls. Even all the teachers, instructors, advisers, lunch ladies, janitors, disciplinary counselors, and coaches can't hide their outright hatred of me. That's how bad it was. There are numerous examples of this, but just to set the stage here one time, I was in homeroom and the teacher Mr. Jacket was announcing our grades for our classes, and when it came to be my turn, Mr. Jacket had me stand in the front of the classroom and proceeded to tell me he was shocked I had actually passed a class! He was actually proud of me for once, and maybe things were finally turning around for ol sam, academically speaking that is. A spark of joy appeared on my face, and that was his signal. He punched me directly in the solar plexus and shrieked at the top of his lungs that I had failed, obviously, and took my grade sheet, crumpled it up, and made me eat it. This is a true story. Oh brother! With all the wind knocked out of me and a big paper ball in my mouth, all I could do was loudly and pathetically groan in front of my dearest classmates, who, by the way, were all busy uploading photos of my embarassing public failure to every social media site possible and laughing mercilessly. Traumatic, right? I had no idea what I had done to make them all hate me so much, but they clearly did. I guess it's pretty clear from that story that I didn't have the best of grades either. I don't really want to talk about it, but I'd say it's a little bit more than that. I mean I didn't even know how to frickin read until I was 15! I was that stupid. The trauma associated with seeing words on pages or anything else created a mental block that made reading super hard. I only eventually learned the skill of reading from comparing the lyrics I had heard out loud in the songs to the words in the liner notes of all my Marilyn Manson albums, and from the word puzzles and fun games on the back of cereal boxes. And also my dad's yellow pages that he left all over the house. Gotta love dad and his yellow pages. Good thing ol dad collected those yellow pages. In school, though everyone noticed how weird and melodramatic and also incorrect my grammar was, I got pounded even more.

>>9676422
I recall a particularly dark moment when I was in english 101 class, which I failed and had to redo, and the teacher Mrs. Tants said it was my turn to read aloud from the text book. It was really lame and boring basic english stuff that I didn't even understand anyway. You know, textbook stuff. So's I thought I might spice things up a little bit and that would be cool, and my classmates would think it was awesome and cool if I added my own "spin" to some of the writing. So I added words like "Gilgamesh" and "black steel rimmed helm" "Lucifer X" and "two-handed crimson broadsword". To my surprise, everyone burst out laughing at me! I got seriously pantsed that day by everyone in the classroom including the security guards. I have no idea what I did wrong. I thought, "maybe it was all their faults. They just didn't realize how cool the words were that I was using. Yeah that's it! Right over their heads!" But I was starting to realize that maybe I was missing something, other than my pants for once.

I've got an idea for a short story/novel.
Not sure yet. Still working on it.

>Title - Kevin: The Monster Slayer

> Kevin is a thirteen year old horror movie buff who is sent to summer camp upstate for a few weeks.
> He hates it because he doesn't know anyone there besides his sister.
> His sister Jane(16) is a camp counselor who is mainly there for one reason only:
To impress some idiot jock named Garry, who is also a counselor.
> Kevin meets two new friends, a girl named Sally and a guy named Steve (13 and 14). They all like watching horror movies, so they really hit it off.
> Day 3 and a camper goes missing.
> The next few days go by searching for her and two counselors vanish as well.
> After a week, a kid drowns in the lake.
> Garry finds the body. It has a visible bruise on his leg that indicates that the kid was pulled under by someone/something.
> After investigating further, Garry goes missing.
>Jane, upset after Garry's disappearance, decides to go looking for him. Kevin and his friends tag along to help.
> It quickly gets dark and they begin using their flashlights to make their way back to camp.
> They get lost in the woods.
> They stumble across a clearing with a pumpkin patch (It's summer, so it's odd).
> There are four scarecrows. Each of the scarecrows are the bodies of the missing campers and counselors.
>After freaking out, they make their way back to camp, returning to everyone gathered around a fire making smores.
> All four of the missing teens are there too, having a great time and singing campfire songs.
> The drowned kid shows up too, wet from swimming, but otherwise fine.
> Kevin's group is extremely confused and terrified.
> Jane secretly inspects the drowned kids leg. Bruise is still there.
>Time for scary stories
> A silly ghost story.
> One about a werewolf.
> It's Kevin's turn.
> He re-tells the events of the past week.
> The other campers laugh, calling it a good story.
> He pulls out his cell phone.
> The group took pictures of the pumpkin patch with their cellphones for proof.
> They stop laughing.
> The drowned kid starts coughing up water.
> Now he's practically gushing like a fire hydrant.
> The fire goes out.
> Screams are heard.
> Kevin turns his flashlight on.
> He's alone.

The rest follows him as he tries to rescue his friends and his sister, who were kidnapped by monsters and ghosts. The camp never really existed, and has been a trap for human children for decades. He uses his knowledge of horror tropes to outsmart and escape the clutches of some terrifying creatures, saving his friends and his sister.

>>9676261
The writing is pretty good as far as I can tell. I’m not that experienced though. As for the content, I’d have to read more to get a good idea of whether or not it’s interesting. I do find Eris a bit annoying. Not necessarily because I disagree with her, but because of how she says things. But I feel like that’s maybe what you were trying to do with her character.

>’cause of these thin little dribbles
I would maybe just say “thin dribbles”. “Thin little” seems a bit redundant and adjective heavy. But maybe I’m just channeling my friend who always tells me I use too many adjectives in my writing.

>’cause I needed a history credit but she took it ‘cause…
I wonder if this would read better as “ ‘cause I needed a history credit; she took it ‘cause…” Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t particularly like the “but” in there. Maybe changing it to an “and” would work too.

>>9676534
its shit

My shitty hunter s thompson with a supernatural spin WIP

https://pastebin.com/9BNaqwT1

Why do you need a critique thread full of shitty critiques when you can email the greatest living writer for one?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-2KZI3AHdi4

I always end up hating what I write but recently I started writing a story about a guy who just wants to sort his taxes out. Except he lives in a pocket of time removed from reality and so spends the entirety of the book getting in wacky space hijinks on his way to just get his taxes sorted out because he was overcharged on his dimension tax. And he can't phone them because the people in charge of the inter dimensional tax office switched to telepathy a while ago.

>>9676534
It sounds kind of campy and genre fictiony, which is fine so long as you know that's what you're writing.

I'm not really sold on the idea, but maybe with good execution it could be fun.

One area that might stretch the reader's belief in the story is that if kids are going missing and dying, why aren't the police and parents getting involved? I understand that that's because the camp is really a trap for humans, but it still might raise questions. What I'm getting at is there should be a reason why adults are not called in, either no cellphone reception or landlines are done or something.

>>9679247
I think the idea sounds like it could be fun, but I caution you to avoid making it a pastiche of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

I do like the idea of the protagonist trying to accomplish a mundane task and being messed with by powers beyond his control.

>>9679452

I've never read Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and I'm still worried it will end up being compared to it.

And I agree with you, there's something really funny about somebody trying to accomplish something simple and being stopped at every turn by forces beyond our imagination. The juxtaposition is too funny. It's not the book I always wanted to write but it's the only one I've gotten joy out of writing. Maybe it's a case of "you don't choose x, x chooses you".

Thanks for the endorsement of the idea though.

Here’s a scene from something I’m working on. How terrible is it?

I woke up with dark puffy circles under my eyes. I don’t know how. I slept more last night that I have in a long time. Getting ready for work was like trying to run through water. Sludging back and forth in my apartment. Forgetting to put a mug under my coffee maker. A comedy for whoever was watching. I didn’t even have time to check my painting before leaving, even though my routine normally allows for it.
By the time I arrived at work I was ready to go back to bed. I rushed to the bathroom without speaking to anybody and splashed cold water on my face. My lack of productivity over the past two days meant I was behind on all of my projects. I needed to accomplish something – anything – today.
The bathroom door booming open interrupted my thoughts. It was Noah.
“Hey there Emir. Late night, eh?” He must have caught me splashing my face.
“Actually no. But I’m still tired for some reason.”
Noah made his way to the urinals and unzipped. “What d’ya mean no? I saw you here last night.” I always hated when he did this. Talk to me while relieving himself. Always made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to respond. This must be one of Noah’s jokes. “Well, not you you. I saw your computer was on.”
“Wait, hold on, what?”
“Couldn’t help noticing you were working on something.”
“Noah, I didn’t come back last night.”
“Sure you didn’t.” Noah craned his neck to look at me. I tried to avoid making eye contact with his reflection. “What was that you were working on anyway? Looked kind of old-timey.”
“I don’t– what were you doing here?”
“Huh? Oh, I forgot my phone. Left the sonuvabitch right on my desk too. You know what they say about head’s being attached, right?” Noah made an exaggerated hip shake, zipped up and approached the sinks. “Anyway, I was in and out so I must have missed you.”
“It wasn’t me. Somebody must’ve been using my computer.”
“Okay, okay. You don’t wanna let me in on your secret project. That’s fine.” Noah dispensed an excessive amount of paper towels and wadded them into a ball. He grinned at me and in his cheesy announcer’s voice said, “Here comes Noah Weber, MVP, lining up at the three-point line, ready to take a shot. He shoots, he… shit.” Noah’s toss’s distance was good, but his aim was off to the left by about a foot. Noah bounced over to his wadded up paper towel, picked it up and slam-dunked it into the trash. “Just don’t pull too many all-nighters. Making us look bad is all.”
I stared at my reflection for a few seconds after Noah’s bathroom antics. Somebody using my computer was odd. Anybody working on this floor would have their own computer. Maybe I just forgot to log out before going home. In any case, the mystery stimulated my mind enough to wake me up again.

>>9679513
Sounds funny, I like it

>>9679561
Really, really bad. Almost Irredeemably bad, but I thought that a couple lines of dialogue were alright.

Your prose is just really awkward and clunky. It doesn't flow at all, and the only thing that saves my eyes from melting is that it's dialogue heavy and I don't have to read through more terrible descriptive sentences.

>I woke up with
You should never want to start something with an I statement like that. Especially if it's waking up. It's exceptionally trite and makes me roll my eyes before I've even gotten through your first sentence.

>I don't know how
Delete it. It doesn't need to be there. You can either have it implied with the first sentence, since the narrator does not explain why he does have them, or you can incorporate it into a sentence that flows better like this:
For some odd reason I awoke with dark puffy circles under my eyes.

>I slept more last night than I have in a long time
Why is this here? I know what you're trying to imply, but it's far too simple and inconsequential to grasp the readers attention. I do not care about your characters sleeping habits, and I doubt other readers will as well. Almost everyone gets less sleep than they should, so having that as some implication of something odd going on is boring.

>Getting ready for work was like trying to run through water
Overly overt similes like this can be pretty annoying, and ultimately does not even make sense for what you're trying to describe. Running through water is not at all the same feeling or experience as waking up groggy and tired and trying to slog through your morning routine.

>Sludging back and forth
>Forgetting to put
>A comedy for
Grammatically incorrect tense shifts and very annoying to read through. Consider making it one or two sentences like this, rather than breaking them all apart for whatever odd effect you're attempting to accomplish:
>Getting ready for work was a true comedy that found me pushing through molasses and messing up every aspect of my morning routine.

>Check my painting before leaving
Makes absolutely no sense without context.

>I always hated when he did this. Talk to me while relieving himself. Always made me feel uncomfortable
Don't do this. Don't break something that should be one sentence into three sentences without even rephrasing the sentences to be grammatically correct. Should be like this:
I always hated when he talked to me while relieving himself.

You don't need to tell the reader that it makes the character feel uncomfortable. We gather that fact when he says that he hates it. Anything in the bathroom with other people is already implied to be uncomfortable.

I could keep going for every sentence, but I don't really have that much time. The story itself seems kinda boring, and something that I have already read multiple times. I can already see where it's going and I don't find it very interesting, to be honest.

Their down-turned faces, captured in aguish and sorrow do stare out from eyeless marble luminous, trapped within the permanent fixture that captures them, many that stand atop the edge of this wide and long platform, their many hands reaching out into the void beyond them, twisting, clutching at air as if falling from this high place, but their cemented feet do not slip, and the many high pillars that rise up out of that deep gulf climb up into a new atmosphere with thick columns, and their distance does not forgive highnesses, because the capitals of these pillars that do hang with thick lilies, and heavy decorum, are lost behind the many bellies of many bridges that do glow in this thick mist above their heads, but they traipse forward, half-listed by fascination that pulls their eyes from a half-obscured road and do transfix them with human faces that promise emotions that they have not yet experienced in their lives, and the countenance of these not-living human shaped things reads terror at this presentness that does hold them so, as if they understood and could comprehend the forevers that will hold them fast, and if they would experience the burning time that will plague them as all eternity does plague the living, for there is no eternity soft enough or empty enough to comfort the plagued brief existence of man and make such static and nauseating permanence tolerable for him who moves livingly.

Currently I'm thinking of doing either a fallout or elder scrolls inspired story but not entirely sure which one to go with

>>9679729
This really annoys me. You're trying way too hard to look smart and ultimately make a ton of mistakes that make you look like an amateur. You're not Proust or Faulkner, don't attempt to write page long sentences. It's also exceptionally purple; you use a lot of words and description but barely say anything. It's far too distracting for anyone to enjoy it, awful prose and writing skill aside. A couple lines would have even been absolutely fine if you did not try so hard.

Their down-turned faces captured in anguish and sorrow do stare out from marble luminous eyes trapped within permanent fixtures. Standing atop the edge of this wide and long platform, their many hands reach out into the void beyond, twisting and clutching at air as if falling from this high place. But their cemented feet do not slip, and the many high pillars rise up from that deep gulf and climb into a new atmosphere.

And after that I'm completely lost with trying to rewrite, because I barely have any idea what you're even trying to fucking say. Jesus, man. If I can barely even make it through a few sentences while line editing, don't expect any reader to.

>>9679561
>Noah’s toss’s distance was good,
You have zero sense for descriptive writing.

>>9676261
Anything that gives a bad opinion of The Oath of the Horatii, which is an absolute masterpiece, I hold a lot of contempt for. I feel like Erin is far too unlikable:there's being a pretentious pseud, and then there's just being fucking insufferable, which nobody really wants to read about. It's also rather unbelievable that anyone would complain about a university/college being too conservative and reactionary, when that's not really something that exists these days. Seems a bit detached from reality, in my opinion.

>There's this vomit splat on the sidewalk that looks like the Nickelodean logo
This is unbelievably trite and juvenile. Please refrain from using annoying pop culture references as descriptions. I'm sure you can come up with a more natural description for vomit.

>I ask Eris what a reactionary is.
Really awkward formatting. You need to use a colon there, at least.

>When I stop her, she goes "eep," walks around it, and says thanks.
Awkward syntax when compared to the rest of the writing. Your prose is very inconsistent.

It's pretty bad, but I don't really have much to work with here. It's very inconsistent and annoying to read. your writing is really all over the place. The content itself is also very annoying. It's hard to say much without seeing the rest of the story, but if it continues on like this I would burn it myself. Having a liberal pseud ranting about anything traditional doesn't make for very good reading, and the narrator seems to be far too passive. Not once in that page did I see any personality from the narrator. You tell me what Eris is doing, but you don't give any clue as to how the narrator feels about it, or what he thinks about it.

It was a characteristically bleak winters day in Duisburg, a seemingly endless drizzle of rain accompanied by a cold harsh wind that seemed to cut right down to the flesh.
A day where the worlds color pallet seemed to have been reduced to nothing but varying shades of gray. The sun had yet to rise and it was looking rather unlikely that it would make an appearance anytime soon.
It did not look like the beginning of a day that anyone would want to remember, let alone one that anyone would want to write about. And it may have remained that way if it hadn’t been for one particular girl.
I first noticed the bright yellow color just out of the corner of my eye, it stood out against the sea of muted grays like a single dandelion standing tall in a field of ash.
And at that moment it was as if the clouds parted and the sun began to shine, I found myself smiling, yet unable to explain why. And as I exited the tram and we walked together up the hill, I began to dread the moment we would part ways...

>>9680042
can you begin a sentence with but?

“Why dost thou persecute me, Saturn?” Asks mother White, and she extends her hands, and the walls are illumined with an ancient glow that momentarily reveals the ancient plan inscribed therein that does depict arrow and cannon and spear, and all is seen, and as such so is Saturn convinced to swallow that gun, yes, and to point that barrel upwards indeed, and to blast that palate to milkshake cream, and his forefinger is clenched, but lo, how dost he pull this trigger twice? And all that once was a head is a head no longer, and he drops to his knees, kneeling, whereas his consciousness is forced to surrender all immediate knowledges forfeit upon the departure of the present soul, therefore rendering all possession of identities vain upon departure, and furthermore, dissolving the identity. Thus, the soul that belonged once to the name of Saturn was indeed baptized of that identity, and dissolved of all associations with it, thus rendering the holy spirit holy indeed. By this presence we do intend to associate the soul as an individual unit an entity, and grant it independent sentience from the self-identity, of which this is to be considered an essential component. It seems that the thing that was really and actually Saturn emerges quite untouched by the filth that was Saturn, and does shed those terrible clothes and filthy and besmirched, and walks about both naked and invisible for quite the while in the pure innocence of vibrant youth. The dead body drops to the floor cold.

Cruelty shapes my mind. She is a beautiful mistress, but her talons leave a trail of broken hearts. I pop the balloons, I torment the fragile. But I love them! I want them to be free as I am.
No lies, lies are weak.
But am I free? I bathe in knowledge, I spew knowledge, I drink it. Yet I am left with questions; is that the end of Truth? The higher truth shapes the lower. Meta-truth.
Am I strong? I can torment others; I have been tormented - so is it strength in any sense?

Power? Ha! Miserable pile of secrets.

Lost and entangled the concurrent waves of nooses do surface repeatedly and secretly and the hands extend against that tide that does encapsulate this full dimension of condensed tensions hidden down here in the dark. Legions of lesions reaching and crushing, pulling and rushing with vacuums of strange directions strung dangling from rafters of loose coils that grasp and release ceaselessly, grasping repeatedly with egret beaks and socratic teeth seething, grieving incessantly this abrasive barrage of extraterrestrial filaments groping at the thick layers of opening spaces that convey him and his flung body through battering avalanches of adamant passages angular and sharp that grate against hard plates not white in this lightless place but crystalline and unruptured by the stabbing probes that graze him with emaciated encasements strange and wet, thin sheets of thick saliva unbraced collisions that twist through rotations of flashlight beams spinning whirlibird drifting as the shifting shafts of oily putrescence part readily in hateful embrace, catching that mote that sinks ever deeper, though the walls of columnar limbs collapsing perpetually crash and rush with fitful business, writhing within this bottomless pit that knows no rest, but the cramped confines of a nesting entity monstrous and full contained within those gates that he has opened by the names he has known and the learned things he has unleashed that now do envelop him in thick forms unidentifiable and bizarre that loop through armpits that slip with hands upraised and do propel him thus further into the crushing weight of the great brood of pythons pressing and his head turned feet that somersault against slick ropes animate that clutch kicking ankles and dangle him over these open depths that his phosphorescent halo of explorative lights peer into to find no more than the opaque thickness of some thing that does not reflect light all about him, though the slippery holds does release, and his plummeting frame does plunge through the thick layers of cocooning phlegm that wrap about him like wet sheets sticky and numb, succumbing to the slothful glue that binds him so in fizzing acid, and he wipes at a glass visor of helmet that bubbles up with fiery foams distant and eager that burn fervently though that membrane does not break, and the locomotive peristalsis of ten thousand grasping appendages strong and tight crush his shell with futile pressure, though the dismal depth of this lostest place does absolve all trace of hope if this bravest explorer did ever care for such blind sentiments unpossessed that cannot impress him, but this tumultuous void of sliding coils abstract and bizarre that shimmer with dark iridescence present and brilliant, shimmering against the blue light he emits in this pit with prisms of shimmering ink.

>>9680401
Yeah, why wouldn't you be able to? Your teachers who told you to not start a sentence with 'and' are wrong also.

>>9680441
I love you.

>>9680441

I do want to go back through and cut up quite a few sentences, but I'm kinda scared to do so. Writing without sentences gives me so much momentum that I really can't stop, but I'm almost finished, and I'd like the edit to go over as smoothly as possible.

>>9680458
Writing quickly does not equate to good writing. Take the time to do it properly. If you just throw away grammar rules and good prose to write faster you will develop bad habits and lose sight of what you're actually trying to say. You'll go back after you're done and get lost in a labyrinth of words that barely make any sense. Not editing as you go is a garbage meme, I swear. Make sure that you say things properly before you say more things. It doesn't have to be perfect the first time through, but it should at least make sense and be consistent.

>>9675017
I've always had a thing for early morning jogs. I've been doing this for a long time - setting up the alarm for 6 in the morning and eventually getting up at 10 AM after resetting it a hundred times. This is the story of me eventually managing to get up on time, the joy that came with it and... the horror.

So as with all days I set my alarm for 6 AM in the morning and went to sleep. I remember nothing more but being woken up by a friend of mine and his girl friend, who I didn't not like. I was seated in the back seat of a jeep - as we call it here in india. We were on a road trip through the coutryside making out way through a bunch of idyllic villages in the middle of no where and making it back by Sunday. Atleast that was the plan.
Half way through the journey we stopped to get refreshments and fuel. This was in a small village - mind you we still had a long way to go. RIght there I hear a noise - a loud one - I knew something wasn't right. I felt as if I was transported to another realm , eventually finding myself back on my bed. I had actually woken up at 6 AM for once, and it felt terrible.

>>9680430
I have no idea what you're attempting to write, but it isn't a narrative. And if you're trying to go for some stream of consciousness style, it's very poorly done.


>>9680437
I'm guessing that this is yours too>>9680458

Critique is basically the same as your other passage. Except here you somehow manage to have even more grievous prose. There's not really any narrative, and I'm unsure of what exactly you're trying to say other than "look at how smart I am, look at all of these words I can use." That's genuinely what I thought as I was attempting to read through it. It seems like you're writing for yourself rather than any potential reader, because nobody would want to read that. Even if you smoothed it out and structured it into readable sentences, there isn't really much there. It's a lot of words and no content. And to top it off, a lot of the words are completely redundant.

>>9680259
>It was a characteristically bleak winters day in Duisburg, a seemingly endless drizzle of rain accompanied by a cold harsh wind that seemed to cut right down to the flesh.
Comma splice, also exceptionally trite. You spend the first paragraph describing the weather, which is such a juvenile trope. You could have cut down the first few sentences to:
It was a bleak winters day of varying shades of gray in Duisburg. The wind cut through my flesh and rain endlessly drizzled throughout the town.

>It did not look like the beginning of a day that anyone would want to remember, let alone one that anyone would want to write about.
Okay, cool. Don't write about it then. And don't insert annoying authorial asides that contribute nothing and only serve to distract and detach readers from the narrative.

>I first noticed the bright yellow color just out of the corner of my eye, it stood out against the sea of muted grays like a single dandelion standing tall in a field of ash.
Another comma splice. A single dandelion standing tall in a field of ash is also a really ridiculous image, and a bit extreme for the scene you're attempting to describe, but okay. I'll work with it:
I noticed her vibrancy in the corner of my eye, standing out among a sea of gray.

>And at that moment
Never start a sentence with this, to save my and others sanity. You may as well just say "and it came to pass," so that we can at least member and get some sweet biblical allusion.

Now let's look at the sentence in full
>And at that moment it was as if the clouds parted and the sun began to shine, I found myself smiling, yet unable to explain why.
Yet another comma splice, and annoying narration. Don't tell me that you cannot explain why. If your narrator cannot explain something, then don't mention it at all. Keep it simple:
The clouds and sun in my eyes began to part and shine. I began to smile.

Okay, now that we have that out of the way, let's combine all that to see how many useless words you had:

It was a bleak winters day of varying shades of gray in Duisburg. The wind cut through my flesh and rain endlessly drizzled throughout the town. I noticed her vibrancy in the corner of my eye, standing out among a sea of gray. The clouds and sun in my eyes began to part and shine. I began to smile. And as I exited the tram and walked with her up a hill I began to dread the moment we would part.

Nice, we managed to keep a few sentences.

>>9680538
Why is this board obsessed with writing first person narratives about sleeping? The only thing you're going to do is put me to sleep.

>I've been doing this for a long time--
The dash here doesn't really make any sense. If you really want to separate it, just use a colon.

>This is the story of
Can you not? You don't need to tell me that I'm reading a story. I already know. You've also already made it well apparent that it's about sleeping.

>and...the horror
Never use ellipses like this, what the hell man. They're only ever acceptable in dialogue. And even then it can be questionable a lot of the time. Just write: the joy and horror that came with it.

I'm not going to continue going, because I cannot really tell if you're serious with this. I also have a policy where I don't spend more time critiquing/editing than you apparently spent writing.

This was the first time I´ve written something, thanks for encouragement /lit/.

Everything starts in a small hut, at the edge of the Qasim desert, not far from the Eastern Cities. Niniveth is giving birth to our Hero, but let us not talk about this yet. Her brother is dripping in sweat as he finishes bringing from afar three buckets filled with water, to aid the birthing of Him. Everything goes as usual, lots of pain included, and the new life comes to be, and a death also. Because every hero has his own tragedy, he couldn´t have escaped his own, for he was the vector for the death of both his mother and uncle.
As he flies around in circles, crying for food and care, a strange bird approaches and throws a fit against him.

>>9680692
Thanks, grateful for the constructive criticism. Just starting out.

>>9680798
Hopefully it's the last, too.

Context, I've moved back to my parents house from Europe after failing engineering Uni. Personal Journal entry.

Why do I look so sad? I see what could only be described as emptiness in my eyes. I don't see hope or joy, excitement or desire. Just the stare of two blank eyes paired with lips that are pursed forming something that certainly isn't a smile, but also isn't a frown. Lips neither turned up nor down. Cheeks pale and sunken in, eyes surrounded by dark heavy bags. God, I look tired.
It's not that I don't feel better here, as in home. I wouldn't say I really feel any different at all. I'm taking better care of myself, eating more and drinking plenty. Which is definitely an improvement. Socially I'm definitely doing worse. I miss feeling close to someone else. I miss feeling accepted for who I am. But I've never really had a problem with being on my own. How can I really be disappointed if I haven't really put any effort at all into meeting people. Can't fail if you don't try I suppose. Besides, my restless thoughts keep me company. I don't often have the extra mental capacity to even consider the fact that fundamentally I am all alone. My mind is too preoccupied with anxious thoughts and meticulous over analysation. Along with doing it's best to rationalize it's own existence. Not content with the conclusion that life has no real meaning.
What is depression if not just another perception of reality? Who's to say which perception is the correct one? Not like I chose to have this view of the world. Seems to me, that in the end, ignorance is really bliss. For how could one truly ever be happy with even just a realistic view of life. Is happiness just something we can convince ourselves of. Sure, there are positive things in life. Sellflessness, love, artistic expression, family. Somewhere along the lines, I stopped worrying about my own happiness and started to put the happiness of others first. I wasn't happy with who I was and I struggled to make myself happy. But at least I could make others laugh or smile. I've done this so long, tried to please others, that I no longer am even aware of what I want. I want to want things. To be irrational, emotional. To feel things besides sadness or hopelessness. To just feel something and then to mindlessly act on it.
To just be myself. But I've pushed my emotions so far deep down that letting go has become harder than simply keeping it all bottled up. What I want becomes a question of rationalization and logic, rather than a question of desire or passion
Anyway, that's what I'm currently struggling with. Objects don't fill the void and neither do
relationships. How could I ever truly make anyone else happy when I can't even make myself happy.

>>9680585
wull no. It's 200 pages long and this is sort of a half random paragraph from it. I'm honestly here to learn more about cutting my sentences down but the subject is pretty surreal, and getting lost in the head place of what is occurring is what I'm about, so yeah, this should lack a lot of context but

>people in power suits have opened the door to hell and all that is within is just depths of tentacles, so

>also the space before the door to hell was an ice palace beneath antarctica.

>>9680585
but yeah, I'm sorry you feel that way. gonna go scrap it now.

>This black sheep gave away all his wool, leaving none left over to cover his own body; he self-sacrificed for the good of others; he is virtuous, ironically. He is an outstanding sheep, and 'person' for that matter: polite, generous, conscientious, etc. Why, he's no black sheep at all, in principle; only in color. So he is not a 'pure' black sheep. And yet, and also therefore, in he exemplifies the metaphorical concept of the black sheep: the exception to the rule; the opposite of expectation, fundamentally.

Are my semi-colons getting out of control? Are they correct, technically? Why did it take me over an hour to write that? How much longer will I have to do this before I become Freidrich Nietzche? Or at least sound in writing like someone from his era?

The woman was drunk
The man was too

They both did what
Drunkards do

He kicked his legs out of his pants
She hoisted her skirt ready to dance

They both did what
Drunkards do

Once they were done
Having their fun

They both did what
Drunkards do

In the morning they woke
Neither one spoke

They both did what
Drunkards do

Laying in bed
lost in their head

They both did what
Drunkards do

She sat up after noon
And said he had to leave soon

So
They both did what
Drunkards do

I want to write a thriller where a corrupt law enforcement chief jails his enemies by planting CP on their computers.

The twist is that hackers get a hold of his program and suddenly almost every connected device in the world has CP on it.

Do you think it's too far fetched or absurd?

>>9676747
Thanks for the encouragement.

I'm not sure whether or not I'll cut "thin" or "little," but your advice is well taken.

The semicolon is a great suggestion.

>>9680187
I think you're a special case as far as level of annoyance goes — most people don't have such strong opinions about art. I feel very strongly about The Oath of the Horatii (and neoclassicism more broadly) too, but I don't think the average reader will be quite as offended as you. Still, glad it struck a nerve.

The pop culture reference has less to do with description and more to do with the symbolic order. Cartoons are emblematic of childhood. The narrator feels the need to prevent Eris from stepping in something cartoonish, and Eris is actively disgusted by it. If it really comes off that poorly, would there be a better way to establish this same theme?

I'll get a second opinion about the dialog. Glad you mentioned this.

Could you expand a bit on what you mean by "inconsistent"? I'm not sure I understand what you mean.

The narrator's passivity is one of her two major flaws, the other being apathy. Over the arc of the novel, she develops a yearning for higher beauty, but the university can't support it and she's not bright enough to pursue it without guidance. Likewise, the people who she surrounds herself with are averse to the past, and don't see the value in traditionalist projects.

Thanks to all so far for the advice. Pic related is the updated page.

>============================================

>>9679561
You're not Fitzgerald, but don't give up. The first two sentences of this were engaging, and the content of the third is interesting. The rest could use rephrasing, mostly to simplify and/or add specificity.

Patrician of Athens has good advice for the most part. I especially agree with his assessment of the simile — if you have to explain a metaphor/simile, then you shouldn't use it. The reason these devices exist is because they can condense a paragraph, rather than expand it.

The tense shifts are also good to watch for.

>>9680401
Yes. Usually it reads kind of bluntly, but bluntness can be good in certain contexts. As long as you're careful not to overuse it, you'll be alright.

>>9680430
I usually try to give helpful feedback, but this reads like bad fanfiction and/or a teenager's fetlife profile. Sorry man.

>>9680798
For a first time this isn't bad.

Try not to emphasize the hero's grandiosity as much as you are — it doesn't further the story and it creates expectations that you'll have a really hard time delivering on. I know "Show, don't tell," is a cliche, but it applies here.

In general, backstory should be kept to a minimum, and seldom front-loaded. Weave it in throughout the piece.

>>9681130
I'd try to avoid using this many semicolons, generally one or two per paragraph is plenty. Don't channel Nietzsche if you're starting out as a writer. His philosophy excuses his generally-overwritten prose.

>>9681202
I'd read it.

>>9681288
>Don't channel Nietzsche if you're starting out as a writer.
What if I'm a couple years into it already?

>>9681319
Still probably a bad idea. His aphorisms are his best writing, because the format kept him from obfuscating, overstating his case, or self-fellating.

In general, writing in the style of something published more than 100 years ago is a recipe for sounding goofy. I learned this the hard way.

I have this idea for a novel: it's about a fatass carnie operating the Ferris Wheel in the traveling carnival group 'Blossom'. His name is Wally Mullins and he's best friends with a black slack-jaw fellow carnie -
Willie Henderson. Willie's illiterate but has a natural gift for numbers and, throughout time, he coerces Wally into helping him steal money from the carnival director. The director treats them both like shit and openly refers to them as fatty and the nigger boy. Wally is mostly ignorant to this but considers Willy to be his one and only real friend so he goes along with it.

There's a couple themes I'd like to mess around with. Like Wally is a devout catholic in mold of his mother (who has already passed) and in the early part of the book he gets willy on board with it; part of the reason Willy likes him. Since Wally's mom is dead they both take to regularly reading the bible with an old lady running a deep fried oreo stand (she also grows a fuckton of pot in the back room). The lady speaks solely in cryptic tounge-y aphorisms that seem profound, but one day Willy comes in for a usual session of prayer and just happens to stop before entering; instead listening to the barely-audible voice of the old lady mumbling to herself. He quickly realizes she's a paranoid schizophrenic who's been slipping in and out of intense psychotic episodic rants which are precipitated largely by the pot use. He has a very real crisis of faith which leads to a drug bender of his own involving Ecstasy and diet pills. The carnival is setting up in the wealthy town of Chagrin Falls at this time, and through a series of events Wally meets and becomes infatuated with a local schoolgirl who teaches him practical subjects in exchange for stories about the parts of the U.S. he's been to. Willie learns of this and in his drug influenced downward spiral rapes the schoolgirl. Wally finds out, and shoots and kills Willy, which later makes him a local hero. In the end, He quits the carnival in a numb digust and moves to utah to practice taoism.

There's a lot more to it but I'm drunk and typing this out on my little cell phone, so just tell me if the idea is shit.

I'm working on two plays, both for small (<5) casts and minimal to no set.

The first is an exploration of subcutaneous brain-to-brain/machine communication devices and what a future with them would feel like, through the lens of a Lovecraft-themed procedural. The lynchpin is that people have become totally inured to the knowledge that used to frighten them off, like empathy for other people's suffering & the world's material complexity, so now their fear of the unknown is instead manifesting as cosmic terror and alien visions. In a tiny town that still bears the scars of being former KKK territory, a cult leader has become convinced that an alien monstrosity is intruding into Earth through the faces of random people he sees on the street. With the aim of spreading his 'gifted vision' that's more like a virus, he has ordered a series of kidnappings, with the intent of building a powerful neural network from unconscious minds and transmitting the virus to as many people as possible. It's ambiguous whether or not the alien is real.
The play itself follows two officers of the community police force attempting to interrogate him and his young accomplice, and ultimately descend to where the victims are being held. I'm planning to have numerous "in-mind" sequences that visualise brain-brain communication, and the way individual thoughts transmit losslessly with their own brain-specific symbolic language, purely by manipulating the flow of dialogue and using imaginative suggestion.

The second is an epic about an androgynous, amnesiac punk ascending the floors of a dilapidated cosmic tower block, encountering a Wonderland-ish fantasy cross-section of the British underclass on the way. Every time the MC goes up a floor, the other 4 actors go out and return as new characters, so each floor constitutes a kind of mini-play. We slowly learn that the MC, who has crawled out from underground and is gradually regaining their memories, is on their way up to pursue some kind of revenge against 'the landlord' for a past catastrophe, countless years ago. It also becomes clear that the tower is effectively a prison, in which undesirable demons and other creatures have been sealed away from both the outside world and from time itself by the landlord. The MC meets cultists, queers, excons, the elderly, the disabled, refugees from the War in Heaven, benefits mothers, hermits, and more.
When we get to the top it becomes clear that the landlord is God and the MC is one of his rejected children. It's revealed that by progressing through each floor and disrupting the hermetic time seals, the MC's linear quest has inadvertently set the whole tower on fire and doomed everyone in it - and this was all planned out by God, being the same thing that happens every time. He rebuilds the tower in this spot knowing MC will return and destroy it, purging the undesirables. MC is buried in the wreckage once more.
(Possible end: MC wakes up again, but post-revolution, so no new tower.)

>>9681375
>Blossom
>Chagrin Falls
Sounds like you live in NE Ohio.

Anyway, story definitely sounds like fun, but it will definitely come down to execution.

>>9681288
So far, your writing just reads like description without any greater artistic thrust, although, that's partially due to the brevity of the excerpt. Salinger had all those greater symbols like the Catcher in the Rye which helped to elevate Holden's complaints to a higher realm. The start & ending of your excerpt might be slightly symbolic, but it doesn't put as much layered meaning to the narrative. Eris has to hold a greater narrative purpose than just being a stupid PC progressive to criticize. For example, you've namedropped the Oath of the Horatii to showcase her lack of aesthetic appreciation in exchange for political identity - but you've left it hanging. Your narrator could have linked that work of art to a deeper comment about her inner insecurity, perhaps linking the closed eyes of the women in the painting to Eris' lack of insight. That symbol is heavy-handed, but you get the point. Then, in later chapters, you can follow up on those connections to build up deeper meaning. That's where the true artistry comes in.

If you want to see the Classical/Progressive divide combined with great symbolic images, poesy, and higher questioning, just read this short story:

http://www.cosmoetica.com/B950-AS5.htm

Notice how the author follows up on themes like heritage and tradition through a variety of approaches, linking the tradition of Classicism with the two fat butcher brothers, and the overall symbol of the Masaai ritual.

>>9681174
Compare your poem to ee cummings' here

https://theondioline.wordpress.com/tag/e-e-cummings-2/

Yours deals with all the cliches of a drunk couple, combined with that repetition which doesn't particularly add much. His deals with a state that is familiar to all lovers, where the repetition serves a purpose of outlining love-talk, combined with wit and humor.

https://vidwrites.wordpress.com/2017/04/21/house-chapter-01/
I only have 6 chapters up now, but it's kind of a teen sort of character study and practice to work with embodying different tones and to work on my casual writing voice. Give it a read and let me know what you think.

I know you guys are in college and you basically live on this stuff, but seriously, my ramen is hella good. Now if I can just find some sesame oil…

Let’s each go try to find someone and bring them to dinner. At least we’ll introduce ourselves to someone we don’t know.

Not like that. I meant… Vid’s making dinner and he wanted to bring more people so he told us to come see if anyone wants dinner and invite them and we can meet everyone and make new friends

Look, I’m just saying that it’s considered extremely rude in Japanese culture to rub your chopsticks together. It’s implying that the host won’t provide good enough chopsticks for his guests that don’t splinter

Also did you really follow me from the rooms down to the pool just to try to convince me that fucking Panic! at the Disco is the best band ever?

Does this look like 'different tones' to you? All I did was take random large excerpts from random parts.

>>9681699
Forgot to tag

>>9681682

Cuchulain was there, by the river, trilling and gamboling. From my post atop a crest some distance away I could see him, could tell it was him, could hear his light-hearted warbling. He was fooling around with a long stick of wood, sometimes sharpening it, sometimes throwing it or thrusting it into the gentle river, as if to skewer frog or fish. His warrior's heart, his ancient pride, did not make itself known, and watching him was like watching a ruffian boy playing a knight.
After shadowy hours of debating myself in the dream, I decided to cast temerity aside and approach Cuchulain. More likely, I was lulled by Irish charm and a chance to glimpse ages past, to pervert the truth my professors sought to sell me. Each step led me over ambling knolls and little pastures, and into a clearer comprehension of the song he was singing:

"TVs bleed, like men,
Seeking against the seller.
A merchant grins, and charred remains
Are hidden beneath the cellar.

Around yourself assimilate
The bare bones of dew and ain't.
Dripping all that half-drawn other,
Our heads begging to be smothered.

Around the covers of myself
My brain inspects an open hell.
She screams at Earth, twice forlorn,
Till I undid the deeds forsworn.

From that point I might have seen
The information you have gleaned.
But I could not see enough,
And I assumed the truth would bluff.

Upset it did, with teeth and bones,
Left with things I thought I owned.
The death, the depth, the things and wings
Were left to you, to pull with strings."

When he sang "strings" is also when he saw me, and at once composed himself. A composure so foolish, to see a blushing boy like that act like the warrior they call him. He kicked the dirt in front of him.
"Did you like my song?"
The river started rushing then. The slimming smooth water wept up in bulbs around themselves. Bubbles burst into white froth, flowing over the edges of the river, around our ankles. He held his dumb pose.
"Not really!"
It came out as a shriek at the end and I got embarrassed too, and Cuchulain and I joined each bulb of water as it rushed into my thus-opened pupils.

>>9681702
I think it does, but I'm not sure, since I wrote it and I have these characters in my own mind, so I can differentiate them already. So I'd like to ask in response, does it look like different tones to you?

>>9681339
>In general, writing in the style of something published more than 100 years ago is a recipe for sounding goofy. I learned this the hard way.
So did I, a long time ago, and I decided then that I didn't care, and I still don't.

I'm gonna burn out this dream, see it through to whatever end.

I'll either become outstanding for being the only man mad enough attempt to harness the written voice of history, and to actually do so, successfully, in modern times, or I'll fade into obscurity trying.

Either way I'll live and die like a man, and not just another bitch who cucked himself out of his own writing style's creative integrity.

So, given that I'm willing to risk sounding goofy, what then?

>>9681724
Not particularly. They all have the samey teen style.

To be honest, I don't know why people still write with 'John said' and all that. Literature is artifice, and if you put the names in front of the sentences like a script (John: XXX) - the reader might feel perturbed for about a minute or so, but 30 pages later he'll just accept it and his eyes will skim over the names. Then, with all the signalling, his mind will differentiate the characters in his own head for you. I noticed this effect when playing Visual Novels with no voice acting - but that has images to help ground the speaker as well.

One method for better signalling is to have a character use a subset of nicknames or language quirks for others & have everyone use different variants of a nickname for that character. For example, Bob, Rob, Robert, Bobby - placed in different character's mouths to refer to the same person.

In the end, writing good dialogue is a war of signalling and being able to define character attitudes towards certain subjects. Quirks & tics help you signal voice, while personality helps you craft the content of their reactions.

>>9681802
Thanks for the feedback. I'll keep that in mind moving forward with my dialogue, as to the verbal signatures with quirks, nicknames, and the like. I'm more a fan of the traditional style of prose, however, so I'm not really privy to the idea of writing dialogue like a script. It feels more natural to me to be able to string a reaction or an emotion in with a snippet of talk. Did you take a look at the narration at all? I'd love to hear your take.

>>9681799
Except that post-modernist pastiche writers have done the same and they do it better than you. They've also usually done extensive research so they can mimic the voice superbly - e.g. Pynchon in Mason & Dixon. You haven't put in the hard work to capture the voice, which is why your writing flounders.

If you want to write in that style, start extensively reading and trying to weigh the rhythms. Read about how Joyce did it for his Oxen in the Sun chapter, where he went through a history of prose that had stress marks and all that. Joyce probably had a genius ear and writing sense, so you have to train a lot more if you want to achieve your 'dream'.

Typeface executes the current scene,
rendering like a dream
polygonal people dancing.

Matrices materialise meticulously
twisting figures twirling
to an algorithm.

If true, perhaps they'll prance--
if false, they'll waltz
round predetermined axis
in renditions of conditions

Initialize main function--
A bug lands at the junction
of geometric planes
generating vectoral paths
acting as their brains.

Now in glitch they twitch,
instead of dance,
in pseudo-waltz--
As if in fear from bugs so near

Deconstruct this compilation--
end function--
tracing with dedication
the pest in need of erasing.

>>9681829
The description has that problem of merely describing location without any subtlety of prose. Chekhov has a nice quote on that problem:

>Trigorin has worked out a process of his own, and descriptions are easy for him. He writes that the neck of a broken bottle lying on the bank glittered in the moonlight, and that the shadows lay black under the mill-wheel. There you have a moonlight night before your eyes, but I speak of the shimmering light, the twinkling stars, the distant sounds of a piano melting into the still and scented air, and the result is abominable.

Don't describe the obvious. Describe the broken bottle. Give these things symbolic import.

>>9681837
Hart Crane is the poet you should look at if you want to know how to use multi-syllabic words in a powerfully lyrical manner:

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull’s wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty—

Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes
As apparitional as sails that cross
Some page of figures to be filed away;
—Till elevators drop us from our day ...

I think of cinemas, panoramic sleights
With multitudes bent toward some flashing scene
Never disclosed, but hastened to again,
Foretold to other eyes on the same screen;

Notice how unforced the rhythm is, because he takes the time to ground them rather than trying to throw together as many alliterations and assonances in a stilted manner.

>>9681851
Yeah, that's where I fall short. I don't try to write literature, I just spin fiction. I've never had any dreams of being the next Chekov or Hemingway or Tolstoy. I'm just a jackass who started on shitty fanfiction. I was going for more of a Lemony Snicket vibe than a true work of literature. Symbolic import isn't my thing.

>>9681873
Then you should read people like Mickey Spillane and Dean Koontz. Their prose has wonderful speed, which is what you should aim for if you don't want to aim for the higher stuff. Koontz can do the kind of quirky Snicket style, but he writes in very fast and terse sentences such that the prose becomes invisible and just flows into your brain.

>>9681863
I suppose saying I was intentionally trying to swing between stilted and fluid just seems defensive.

>>9681835
Wow. It's like you sensed my power level while I was mostly hiding it, and then guessed my true power, exactly, before I could even begin revealing it.

>>9681900
It could work, and I think Plath has done that stilted style before in her late 'mad' poetry, but she did it in a more precise way.

I am a miner. The light burns blue.
Waxy stalactites
Drip and thicken, tears

The earthen womb
Exudes from its dead boredom.
Black bat airs

Wrap me, raggy shawls,
Cold homicides.
They weld to me like plums.

Old cave of calcium
Icicles, old echoer.
Even the newts are white,

Those holy Joes.
And the fish, the fish—
Christ! they are panes of ice,

>>9681911
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/49006

Full poem is here. She starts of stilted but then it warms up as she talks about her son. That's how you do tone swapping with meaning.

Guys, my girlfriend likes to write poetry that's basically just pretty-sounding word-salads, generally with no particular rhyme or reason behind any of them. Is that bad poetry?

>>9681837
There's an adolescent angst ridden girl that has a poetry blog & writes exactly like you

https://warpedspacetime.wordpress.com/2016/09/22/conscious-sacrifice/

I would like to know what You think is being implied in this passage. Afterwards We may critique it.

I Am not Dirt, I Am Soil.
I Am abundant and obligatory to Mother what validates Your existence
I have and will sustain sentience for eternities to come
I dignified You and will consume Your vestige
Yet, You deem gold with more merit
You ignore the reality that gold is within Me
You recognize Me as dirt
You caress this gold and polish it
You praise it
In your eyes, gold has value for being gold
None of what I Am is valued
To You, gold is flawless
Malleable to Your desires
You feel entitled to My charity
You feel superior
You may reminisce about Me but always return to eating Your precious gold
I can live in perfection yet You see Me as obsolete
If Your precious gold fell into a cesspool, You would jump after it, and the swallow dirt
However You can’t swallow Your pride and address Me properly
Perhaps if My petals were made of gold You would perceive Me with reverence
Some gold is genuine
Some gold is brittle
Some gold is grime
Yet You bend over in its presence, regardless of the latter
Your ignorance has given gold immunity to desolation
Gold shines because You care for it
You give it what it wants
You Love It
You despise Me
Should I despise You?
Should I eviscerate Your Kind?
Should I introduce You to Malicious Depictions?
Should I melt Your gold or swallow it whole?
Should I convert the Sun with the Moon?
Should I sow Your ignorance?
Should I?
To the blind,
I am no longer soil
I am dirt
I am insufficient
Gold is their soil
A foundation that fosters their rancor
I am not a victim
I am not dirt
I am a Daisy, My blooming was denied because the Roses with golden petals
I do not dismay
My blooming is soon and it will vanquish Your detestation

>>9681938
What is being implied is that the author is attempting to do free verse poetry without knowledge of how to create rhythm and lyricism.

>>9681930
I don't usually write like that, though her style is very similar to that particular poem. I just try to let the pieces fit themselves. This is closer to how I naturally write poetry (without posting my better works):

Smokey clouds shroud a moon glowing bright
Orange burning roach held anxiously in sight
by hands to pass to hand soon pressed to lips-
The first time I smoked was a night such as this.

Though tonight I am alone.

Roaming open streets with foggy
thoughts filling my head like soggy
socks squishing in soaked shoes
hang by laces from a light post wire.

If only I could have known.

It used to be commit a crime, you'd get stoned.
Now I do it willingly when alone. My
thoughts like stones speckled, flat, and fine,
skipped on an emulsified and streaming mind.

I hear rambling water from

Here by the river the fog is thicker than before.
I can't tell if the rocks reached the other shore,
or if they were sucked into the murky torrent-
Lost to the rushing water before them.

I think it's time I get on home
and not smoke so much on my own.

>>9681930
Oh come on that's not fair. I just read through some of that girl's poetry, if you can call it that. She kind of just spews half a dictionary on the page and name-drops some proper nouns a few times. Our guy has reason and meaning behind his poetry, even if I don't agree with his rhyming scheme.

>>9681950
Thanks for that mate.

What Turns Feeling

It is not about the structures that sound what we say
Nor can lips stretch us far from our speaking
The spinning-wind world that surrounds and surprises
In wordless wane that spirits the mind

Past the cold magnificence that was standing one bent
Frame, as though the corners that were
Lost in the roundness of a looseness had streamed
Past the solitude of an earth that unearths

The thickness of volcanic thrusts that would tarry
And darkness that kept itself well unkempt
For my word is an island – severed from the seas

In moments that suppose you knew you understood
What demarcates the sign and the seen
When, grumbling – the incandescent near.

>>9681963
As far as real advice goes, I personally am turned off by your use of rhyming and lack of meter. I know poetry can get very subjective, but I think your piece would work better as a free-form without any real constraints so you can use the words and the line breaks to paint a picture of your wireframe waltz.

Song of the Wine Glade

Day-swan, you fuse with cat tails in your glide…
But are you not motif to somewhere far? A field,
Perhaps, where the heart pulls like an anthem… where
Wings are brush & a thousand peace. Perhaps, a tide
Too – viewed from far – seeming to sit on the shore
As itself and the ghost of itself. Then, illumined at once –
The mirror loamed on the sand. Like a perch
For the fading songs to ease – from a withering throat
That seeks a peaceful voice. Day-swan, you are so far
And through the pond that were crept with leaves around
There was no still to a heart. A glade that almost brimmed
With grasses… candescent like licking flames, bug-lights
And the opera… this opera rising in animal screed and slander
And the deer musk rising – that antlered
God, with muscular strain in neck & legs – that anthem
Too, of ground pulsing with wine & unclean. The faun
In the awe of himself – his heel surveying through tangled brush
And the gourds of vermillion hanging from vines. Dionysus
Voices out a glissando – notary canards in hidden verses,
And seas of sentience… are mourned into the silence there…
There… the votive note –seeking the thrill of the unordinary…
Of the head – there… the embodiment creaking in its linger –
Smoothening the night, its own arabesque trembling
Into the swill – sound, beating hoof, and animal flight…
And the night seems to swelter – with the choir unseen…
Saying there… there – once more – there…

>>9680751
There is a path for all of us
A way towards the light
Good luck finding it
Without flashlight.

Why I can't write anything interesting?
There is no point in the words I write. Only complete nonsense. The reality of
the small town. Waking at 4 AM to prove yourself that you can do it. Meeting
with friends at evenings. Drinking few beers, just to fit in, and do not be
alone all of the time. Same goes for video games, just to fit in with people
you have. I could have been a better person, but what is an actual point of
reading literature when you don't have anyone who knows anything about. It may
be fun, but really there are no actual benefits for me. I don't believe that
anyone can become a better person thanks to books. Reading is purely
destructive activity, each word just forces us to modify our personality. Why?
Because otherwhise we would not understand, and reading from all media is
actually the most destructive as it requires the highest amount of attention
at the work. It is a miracle that society with 91% literacy is not mad. I
mean, being literate doesn't mean you read literature. Magazines are not that
destructive. News are not that destructive. Literature is. But still, what
is the point of reading literature if you can only discuss it on the internet,
and try to fit in some society of people that you have never seen. At some, if
I stay here, Ill just stop readinmg and just lie all day and watch shitty
netflix shows. I remember someone saying that those are the epic media of our
times. I think it just shows in how depressing times do we live in that we
have to enjoy the most important media in isolation. Of course literature also
requires isolation, but the last time when it was the most important media was
late 19th century, when it was released in parts. And at least it required
much more interaction than modern TV shows. Humanity never should have been
that large, the medicine and technology revolutions where the most anti-human
doings that could have happen. Surely some day the tech will wipe us out, as
society doesn't want the tech and medicine in check and they really don't
care. Some designer virus comes out and just becomes another black death. I
don't understand how scientists argue that we will keep AI in check, as we
overuse it. We are lazy, and becoming lazier day by day. Why write neural
network, when we can have one AI for eveerthing that will fix itself. I think
that max population should be something around 1 bilion, as this is the max
humanity can get to without resorting to some arcanes of medicine and letting
too many people live. And when somebody says there will never be a genocide,
tell that to that pigeons that got from over few bilions to none in like 50
years. Why do we think that we are better?

Just trying to get into writing anything and any tips to make my writing/thinking better?

just spit-balled this. i would appreciate any thoughts.

A Paradox of Walterbali Kalinga

A meager man, Walterbali
Sat on the edge of his own bar,
Pondering this order he finds
His thoughts arranged so neatly in—
A sporadic disease, he claimed,
That kept his tongue in check,
That kept his eyes paved down,
That kept him up at two,

That demanded his constant watch,
Else they wander around pages
At the end of an unread book.

“Too scotch,” said Kalinga,
“Too scotch.”

I fear the day when I will attain full satisfaction, and wonder what misery will be on this day. I can see the bourgeois of the south who come here, full of greed and petulance, that the money they carry in their pockets does not undo the uneasiness they bring in their eyes. I know if I were one of them, I would still feel the way I feel now. The difference between that fat man who commands me and me is just a miscalculation of geography and genetics. We all carry this bite given at birth. The conclusion I had, isolated between walls, is that life is a choice between lessening suffering with more suffering or ending it as soon as possible. Or maybe it's nothing like that, it does not matter.
As I stand here, opening bags and struggling to open a smile, the planet continues to spin indifferently and continue with or without my smile.
It is hard to say what drives a man to risk daily between buildings and cars to earn his living. I see how absurd it is to give so much of myself to keep this same cycle of shit. I have every reason to believe that there is nothing else to do.

I wrote this really short story two minutes ago, I would like to know what do you guys think.
(I'm non-anglo btw)

I don't want to blow my own trumpets, but I feel like I can back up what I am about to say. Please shit on me in a constructive manner, I will welcome it.
This is the best thing I have ever written, which, I suppose, is not saying much. However I think that this is a breath of fresh air compared to all of the other shit that I am bombarded and saturated by on a constant day-to-day basis.

>>9682539
There are some pretty basic mistakes. For example, you haven't capitalised the L in Latin and the Cicero text that graphic designers would be familiar with is 'Lorem Ipsum, not 'Dolorem'.
>Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet

>All words that can be used to symbolically represent it betrayed the concoction of feel-bad chemicals coursing through me. Instead of the vast wordless chasm that the pain evokes, I instead use filler words like anguish, emptiness, and shapeless to fill the blank Javascript template of my misery. Nothing could be further from the truth.
This is just awkward as balls.

>>9682539
No amount of Classical references can save a generic student wake-up angst story. Why dont you do something more imaginative with it like Gene Wolfe does in his stories?

>>9682570
This is much appreciated. This is only an excerpt from a larger work and this paragraph is one of the most problematic that I have encountered.

>>9682515
Please post it without all the formatting things so it doesn't hurt to read.

>>9682587
Here.

>>9682572
Yes it is angsty as absolute shit. This is something that I have tried to avoid the most in writing this. However, angst and a screaming out from a chronic pain (especially from a young college student) is a fine line.
The classical references are deliberate as a contrast between the idealized world of Romans that he is immersed in with the perceived weakness that he associates with the culture that he lives in. It does seem useless as I am rereading it, though. The contrast is not so clear, and seems like a vain attempt to seem cerebral.

>>9682591
Is good. Vivacious. Not keen on the Pynchon bit as it's a bit of a niche joke, even if it is quite funny.
Technical detail, you need to double check how/when to use the apostrophe in 'it's'.

I never wrote anything but i feel like i should before my inexpressed emotions distill into poison. Fucking kill me already.

>>9682601
Thanks. I really should check my grammar sometimes.
I usually try avoiding the areas I'm uncomfortable with.

>>9682607
I think it would also help if what part of the room's landscape is the no-man's land was clearer, and if you referred to the last mosquito as 'she' more than once so that's clearer too. Finally it's 'through' not 'trough'.

The player is unable to simply run past Garl and then quickly murder Astraea due to two things. First, their close proximity to eachother. Garl is well-equipped and well-protected, but quite encumbered. In theory, the player only has to bait him so far away from Astraea before there's enough separation between them that what little time it takes to kill her is less than however long it takes Garl to come to her aid. That's his main weakness as a body guard. And he knows it. He's slow, but not stupid. He knows better than to fall for such bait. He never strays too far from Astraea, so he never has to go too far to get back to her, so he's always able to save her in time. Garl's leash would be much shorter outside the swamp, by the way. So short, perhaps, that to prevent Astraea from getting ganked he would have to remain so close to her that if the player were to fight him properly, she would be within melee range of the player the entire time, anyway. So he wouldn't be very effective either way, then. Under normal circumstances, it seems Garl would prove pretty inadequate. Lucky for him, then, the swamp's there.

Too verbose?

>>9682597
The idea of showing the Classicism/Decadence split has also been done too many times.

>>9682991
Give some examples

>>9682602
"Every writer has his own poison, and his work is the antidote."-Phillip Roth

Poem fresh out of the oven. Longest poem I've ever done, and it's still not very long at all. Will probably continue editing this for a while to come, but am interested in opinions and advice.

https://pastebin.com/pJqb36W7

crit please
https://pastebin.com/7kMcEe0G

>>9683272
>https://pastebin.com/pJqb36W7
Why was it deleted.

I go in the trials there
that expose whatever I may be clinging to
as the death of each passing.
Struggles in life bring preciousness
On paths to these wrathful places;
these open pits of suffering
that beg for insight
on the frontier of the unknown.

I travel with great longing
through these wilds
in search of a surprise glimpse
of my own true face
in these pools of tears.

The bones teach me,
the flesh teaches me,
the smell of decay teaches me,
the fly on my lip teaches me,
the maggot on my ankle teaches me.
This corpse I will use as a cushion,
for in places where bones show through the skin
the marrow of the Truth is very near.

Naked, I will walk in these lonely wilds, where roaming animals fight for rotting flesh
and for adornment, I will use the ashes of the dead.
The Goddess of Dead, the dangerous woman I can not tame.
She mocks the living mercilessly
chasing her prey to where there is no escape, until you melt into her glare and surrender.
Her laugh sounds of a raging torrent
She knows every lie I ever told myself.

Here, bodies do not lay long
but quickly decompose;
sharp sweet smells of wet rot
seep into the ground
the birds and beasts there feast immediately on the bodies
that lie everywhere.
The danger of stepping
on dead bodies riddled by disease is constant,
and there are worms there that enter the body through the feet.

With great longing for passage
to the wildest secret places,
I have traveled wastelands in search of who I am.
But in reality, I never got anywhere
nor was able to achieve anything really significant.

>>9683647
That was the most retarded shit I've ever read.

I go to these threads to read your shitty poems and stories to feel better about myself but I always leave feeling worse.

>>9683647
I couldn't read the whole thing and what I did read I had to skim over it was so disgusting. You succeeded in making it believable(it almost seems like you've written it about yourself).

>>9684229
It was seriously very good, but nobody wants to read that shit.

Have a couple of pieces.

First:
A while away from all the world
There's still a spot, that stares across
A valley: deep, of green and brown
Expanse, it sits, and waits for us.

The distant hills wear halo rings
Of misty clouds, like cotton wigs,
Or, if the weather clears herself,
The peaks shine bright and brilliant.
Gently, the bleat of lambs outside
Woke us, not like alarms that broke
Our sleep, but cautious summons out
Of dreaming to reality.
Second:
I was born in the autumn months,
At the margins of city life
As the village began to die.

As the trees there were showing signs
Of a rusting decay on leaves,
I was born in the autumn months.

From between ivied-garden walls,
All the children went running out
As the village began to die.

There's no fruit that can grow, or bloom,
Only shortening days out here
That are born in the autumn months.

There's a shop, now destroyed, and empty,
Like a gravestone, to mark the day
When the village began to die.

If I'm lucky - or maybe not -
I'll return to that place and time:
I was born in the autumn months
As the village began to die.

>>9684309
There's meant to be a stanza break before "Gently"

>>9683272
Not sure why it deleted. Here's new link:

https://pastebin.com/220AdYj7

I'm writing some dialogue with slight dialect. Which is correct or at least looks better to you?

>alls I know
or
>all's I know

>>9684656
It's a stylistic choice. I'd personally go with the former.

>>9683647
you didn't write this faggot.

>>9684656
The second sounds a little strange to me.

Posting this from the 4 minute poem thread, but this took me about 10 minutes to be fair and it's my first poem. Thoughts?

Raise the banners high I cry,
raise 'em up, up towards the sky.
Sound the trumpets, pierce the air;
Steady march I say, over there!
All, by this encroaching thunder, let enemies beware, shall be torn asunder.

Form the lines, prepare for an attack;
by the might of God, we shall keep them back.
Defend the crossing, by all costs;
if we should fail, all else is lost.
Take courage and defend your home, do not waiver, do not go alone.

Greater in strength, but lesser in number.
Lads, let it be known we can scarce forebear to blunder;
so gather your courage, take up your arms;
fight for your city, your family, your farms.
Stalwart and a bulwark on the bridge's head, standing firm, let glory won not go unsaid.

>>9682189
Not bad

>thoughts pls
strict rhyme and metronomic rhythm.
first time i sat down down and banged something out in years. Normally focus on music and leave words to others (not that I would consider using these as lyrics):

it's
hard to tell when I have found a thread worth following
among the
signs and symbols available for borrowing
hatch a plan and take a stand and try to breach the surface
in space and time directionless and lacking end or purpose

a
goat is bleating like a child behind the wooden fences
in
a rustic scene that contradicts our alien pretenses
its re-
verbations mingle with the cold light of the stars
indifferent and unable to elude the human senses

incon-
ceivably our eyes absorb the scenery unfolding
yet minds imagine further things, perceiving a withholding
on the part of concrete life; of forms that offer more
deeper colors, crisper sounds, the things that came before

the thread is lost and doubt sets in, indolence emerges
automation age, domestication, secret purges
a fleeting visionary sentiment affirms a dim senescence
sufficiently distracted, mispercieves the omnipresence

>>9681927
>Is that bad poetry?

Not necessarily, but in this case, it probably is.

Critique this.

I'm currently thinking of a short stories book called "Our Apartments". It will have like 5 or 6 short stories:

>a short text without any strong narrative about the contemporary life in our "post-modern society" (ikr), trying to work on a really poetic prose for this one
>a story about a man who suddenly can't fall asleep, it lasts for days, weeks, etc
>a story about a normal and boring high school kid who suddenly, for no reason, decides to join the Church
>a story about a guy who can't shit at his home (toilets are broken) and has a really violent diarrhea
>finally, a meta-narrative story about a futuristic archeologist who learns about the XIIst century through chat logs and the internet

So, what do you guys think of it?

>>9686897
>post-modern
Stopped reading your post right there.

>>9686897
>a story about a guy who can't shit at his home (toilets are broken) and has a really violent diarrhea

Should do a whole book on this desu, the man slowly goes insane as he holds his shit for longer and longer

>>9687060
>as he holds his shit for longer and longer

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TbKbyQd0Fkg

>>9686897
>finally, a meta-narrative story about a futuristic archeologist who learns about the XIIst century through chat logs and the internet
seems an interesting premise desu, now you just have to write it well.

Do you see it?

There; right before you--
The dim yet gleaming pond
under moonlight that you've found?
Lucky too, as cirrus clouds surround the
silver spoon dipping in the tarn.
Gentle may it be, still ripples form--
The stars among its welkin grip
dripping to their home.

Purple grasses cover blackened stones
lapping up the basin.
The susurrus breathing whispers
brushing against your skin.

Do you feel it?
The frigid mountain wind
slipping off of frozen peaks
that whisk the wispy clouds?
As distant air and eagle shrieks
prick the quiet with their sounds--
Do you hear it?

Kneel beneath the bristlecone,
between two blue bugles.
Dip your fingertips down, below
the icy water's black-crown hue,
strewn with star and studded moon.
Glide them through the lunar elixir--
superpositioned in mountainous fixture--
and suddenly smell honesty's perfume.

Mountain air fills your lungs
as clouds soon cover moon,
and darkness resumes--

Did you see it?

>>9686897
>finally, a meta-narrative story about a futuristic archeologist who learns about the XIIst century through chat logs and the internet
I've had this same thought. That future archaeologists would struggle to understand our memes.
>a story about a normal and boring high school kid who suddenly, for no reason, decides to join the Church
this could be interesting. It would be more interesting if it was a catholic or orthodox church. Or even a muslim church

What's your advice on worldbuilding? Should I go in detail or just give the readers a general idea and let them fill the gaps?

>>9687642
unless you go into tolkien level detail i don't think anyone cares.

>>9687642
It depends on whether you want your world to feel clear and knowable, or hazy and occluded.
If the complicated functioning of that world is important to understanding what happens, you'll need to plot that out for yourself. The more of that world you show to the reader, the more you'll need to define what it is and what happens in it.
If, however, the fundamental aesthetic and genre touchstones of your world are more important to understanding the story than the finer details, you can provoke the reader by suggesting a small part of a bigger whole, using the incompleteness of knowledge to make a point.

>>9687642
You have to ask yourself if it's necessary to the narrative/story. Are you just worldbuilding for the sake of worldbuilding, or does the worldbuilding actually provide insight towards motivations, theme, etc?
Going into detail for no reason other than to have characters that do things is boring.

>>9675017
Currently writing a haunted house novel. Don't know if it's the flavour of the week but i've been inspired by a few haunted house movies, and always wanted to describe moods and stuff. I want to dive deeper into this kind of world...
The problem is: do i find an explanation to the haunting or not?
I'd rather try to find an answer in between, like give hints...but nothing like "this house is haunted because there was rape/incest/murdaa in dis house!" which i always find silly, i feel it takes the mystery off it.

>>9679729
>Their down-turned faces
That's really bad. If you can't describe it better, there's no use in half-assing it like that.

>>9687657
>>9687675
>>9687757
How's this for a taste? I need second opinions.

The town of [placeholder], a busier and even larger town than Outpost, was what welcomed travelers and merchants after a long trek in the desert country. With plenty of food, water, and lodging, this was a perfect place to set up camp for a long journey.
Also, this town has sights Ripley, a small town denizen, couldn’t see in Outpost. A tavern for merriment, town guards that stood at the front gates, even a small fountain at the center of the town square, said to be [placeholder]’s crowning jewel. It’s also said that the town itself was a crown jewel in the middle of the desert, and it’s fitting, as it was built on an oasis. Water, a precious commodity in these harsh climes, was plentiful in this town, so it’s no surprise the town was booming with travelers from near and far, as well as merchants selling different wares.

I'm not good at making names.

>>9687832
That's good. It's all you would need to know.

>>9687768
Purely to help you plan it you should have your own internal logic for what's causing the situation, it doesn't have to be straightforward/literal (like the example you gave) and you are not by any means obliged to tell the reader.
The level of exposition or ambiguity required just depends on how much you need to tell the story you want to tell, and what better suits the tone of your piece.

>>9687783
Different anon but there's literally nothing wrong with that phrase. "Upturned faces" is a fairly common usage, "downturned faces" is simply the opposite.

>>9687850
Yeah i just need to find it...i'm still in the setting up and first chapters of it, i want to skip it to the good stuff but i know that if i don't make it good right now it won't be

How do I write dialogue? It always sounds like two autists talking with each other.

Billy laughed "that's a nice cello, Margret."
"Thanks Billy I got it from- I bet you can't guess where i got it."
"from the music store?"
"no guess again haha"
"wallmart?"
"How'd you guess? Nobody buys cellos from wallmart. You can always tell things about people just by looking at them."
"Thanks but wallmarts the only other store in town."
"Why do you always have to ruin the moment billy?"
"I'm sorry margret."
"It's okay." margat sighed. "I'm going now."
"bye"
"bye"


i just wrote this as an example of my writing

>>9687957

probably cause you're an autist who doesn't speak to people.

>>9687957
Yeah, that's really autistic. You really just need to actually leave your house and talk to people if you want to write dialogue. You have to understand how conversations naturally flow, and the nuances of it all. One thing to keep in mind is that in real conversations, where people know each other, a lot of the conversation is implied. Your characters should not be explaining every detail if they are well acquainted with each other.

>>9687970
>>9687982
I don't think talking to people would help because I'm not good at it. Would watching more movies that have lots of dialogue help?

>>9687991
Well, if you're bad both at talking to people and writing dialogue maybe the two are intertwined? If you get better at one you may get better at the other.
Also (everyone), how bad/good is this?

It feels like the walls are closing in and the ceiling is falling down like it wants to spread me out all over this colourless room. Even the roses and tulips seem grey and Switzerland really doesn’t look as beautiful without its colours. I struggle to find a reason to get out of bed, if only I had a dog this would have been easier. I lay down watching a fly on the wall for what feels like hours. How have it stayed alive this long? It’s not too long until winter and a fly is crawling on my wall like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The phone rings, and it’s within reach. This is the moment I was waiting for. “Hello?” I ask, but not even I hear what I’m saying. I clear my throat and try again, “Hello?”. “Hey Steven, it’s me”. David’s voice warms me up inside and fills the room with colour, the roses and tulips are red again and the Swiss grass seems softer. “Hey”. “How is everything?”. Well, how is everything really? “As usual”, i reply. “I’m sorry to hear that”, I hear from the other end. It could be a joke and I think it is for a moment, but I quickly realise he’s serious and can’t think of anything to say, so I just hum acknowledgedly as a reply.

>>9688166
how has it stayed alive this long*

Working on my writing. To be honest, I don't know what the hell this is, I just need to know whats good and what isn't bad. What needs work and what's working well.

The neck of vermouth clanked against my glass while bitterness occupied my sinus and botanicaled my gustatory. The sky was an orphan that night. A vagrant looking for shelter. I placed both glass items on each side of the blanket in my backpack, zipped it up, and went on. I came from west and looked toward a beaten path only to find a field of untrodden daisies. It was the daisies who knew I’ve no home. Home became the daisies, and the daisies became home. I hated the comfort and one day I found a match and set the field ablaze. The daises did not mind. They knew I was a vagabond. I guess there was a tell in the way glances were exchanged between us where we both acknowledged what was coming; an acceptance.
And so I left the ash field and continued on dirt path for a few days. I became perpendicular with a whimpering blood soaked hyena laid upon tall grass. I walked to it and observed wounds from a lost duel with a superior. It was gnashed on its legs and neck yet still breathing. I laughed at the hypocrisy. Here lies a beast, when healthy, ready to rip larynx from throat and feast upon gizzards with no remorse, suddenly staring into my eyes with desperation. I felt sullen and confused. I had no compassion for its body but found myself sympathizing with suffering. Stripping away fur, snout, the primal blood-thirsty feeding frenzy was a creature no different than a rabbit in its sentience. It was a mammal, an animal. I snapped out of it and couldn’t let myself be weak so I became the hyena brain. Inhibiting my inhibitions. I placed my right foot upon its neck and held its body down with my left arm. It was a bound hound and our free limbs battled. The hyena rapidly writhing and contorting trying to overcome constrained pain and escape. I, invading its wounds and ripping out the muscle, slowly starting to enjoy the act. I was squeezing the meat and watching it gush between my fingers. Flinging scraps, until finally I dug my way through its chest cavity and came upon its rushing heart! I was the Hyena and the hyena was starting to seize! How I was amazed at the sight. I was feeding upon the scene taking place: the heart audibly beating; the smeared humors splashed about; and the trails of movements drawn in the dirt. I removed the organ, still beating, lifted it to my lips and took a bite as if it was a live red delicious mixed with a ripe peach. The hyena’s seizure settled and became a dead rabbit. I knew of no other sweetness that could match the fruit of my labor.

>>9688197
Interesting to say the least. Maybe I'm not too smart, but I'm really confused by "one day I found a match and set the field ablaze". So he just chilled with the daisies for a couple of days before he stumbled upon a match in the field?

Also, i can't help but thinking about Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom during the last couple of sentences. But all in all, really interesting, I'm quite interested for context.

>>9687991
Dialogue in writing is a bit different than dialogue in real life. Like the other anon said most dialogue is implied. We say a lot of "um"s and "uhh"s (or whatever is said in your part of the world), repeat things, and relay otherwise useless information.
Back to your writing, there's no real context and it sounds like you're having a bit of a fit and trying to force it. Take a breather, look at what you've written, and ask yourself: what's actually needed to be said here? Remove everything else. If it's not important to know there's only two stores in town, and what those stores are, then don't say it. Or instead of them saying that you talk about the shitty town with only a music store and a walmart. Also, Margret's a bitch.

>>9675017
Just wrote this:

An experiment to see I could convince myself of idealism and God.

http://partnersinthoughtcrime.com/the-sam-harris-argument-for-idealism-and-god/

>>9675017
I want to write stories about American suburbanites in the 50s. Everyone's a pervert and there's an annual barbecue and orgy every summer after all of the kids are sent away to camp.

>>9688212
To practice writing I mostly just describe a scene to try and get an idea through. Once it's through then I go back and edit a bit. You're right. Logically the match shouldn't be in the field. It should be in his backpack. The daisies are supposed to be prostitutes. It's a short little story about a man who is impulsive and infatuated with a woman and goes off the rail out of desperation. Can't beat em, join em.

I'm currently writing a very rough draft about a man that tries to rescue his family from the shadow government that are out to kill them.

>>9688303
Hm, nice. Is it finished? I guess context clears up the daisies being prostitutes, otherwise I'm sure a lot of people, like me, don't get the connection. If you're going for that kind of accessibility.

This is short, so please respond:

With the conversation over, the only sound that remained was the quiet, high pitched vibrations of Jim’s cellphone; its bright white screen now blinded him as she stared at the time tick from 11:59 to 12:00 – no howling wolves followed, just the howling of the violent wind through the cracks of the window’s slim sliver of space.

>>9688379

It could be inferred I suppose with the first part. I'm still very amateur though. Perhaps this is the third thing I've ever written, so developing it into a whole short story is unlikely. I'm still trying to learn my strengths and weakness so I may develop them into a style.

Here's the first paragraphs. It does lack a bridge between the two scenes and it there is an awkward harsh tonal shift.

Nsjknbs
Love, sitting, waiting; with her perfect blonde head propped on her fair palm. Delicate wee fingers crawling from under her soft chin, resting on two plush lips also perfect. One long leg folded over the other as she sighs like a breeze, easy yet restless. She is sitting, waiting to be rescued like a rotten green polluted sky, littered across, one can only hope to see blue one day..
Love wait no more.
I leaped up. Gusto! Trotted to my flower, held her in between my fingers, closed my eyes, and blew. Her pollen woke across the field, and I placed her petals between my lips, nuzzed them with my nose. How much infatuation I held within me, nibbling her stem and savoring her dew. I wanted to fulfill her, consume her. I even wanted to anger her. Just to experience a moment, a still moment of looking into her eyes with and equal to a pause. Because with her, I knew what it was like to smile into a moonbeam.
Love wait no more! The sky is blue.
And the stem fell, and the pollen disappeared, and she was not there. She was sitting and waiting.

>>9688166
>>9688246
thanks anons.

>>9688394
This really hasa potential imo, keep it up!

>>9688392
>only soundS that remained were the quiet, high pitched vibrations
or
>only sound that remained was the quiet, high pitched vibratioN

>blinded him as she stared
did you mean to write her?

>>9688567
The original is of a girl, but I didn't want to receive autistic responses, so I switched it to a guy, but forgot to change 'she'. Also, I know there are grammatical errors, but this is just the first draft.
I just want to know what people think aside from obvious errors.

>>9688684
It's good for a first draft. You did a good job detailing the scene and I liked the bit about wolves and howling wind.

a suggestion: put watched not stared, i know what you meant but it reads weirdly to say a digital clock ticked, and saying the wind was violent is redundant

>>9688770
Thanks for the first suggestion. Definitely going to change it. But how is "violent wind" redundant? Wind can be barely noticeable.

>>9684229
>>9684243
>>9683701

I didn't write it, it's real. Google "blowfly_girl".

>>9688793
you already said it was howling through the crack so it must be violent

>>9688816
Shit, you're right. Appreciate it.

>>9688392
I wouldn't use a dash; I'd just use a period and let it be two sentences, since that's how it reads anyway.

>through the cracks of the window’s slim sliver of space.
through the crack between the window and the wall.
or: through the cracked open window

I agree with the other anon you need to used "watched" instead, but I think "violent" is fine here for the wind.
There it was, in front of him, lying on the floor: the Mustard Coin. The same coin he had seen nearly three years ago in Cassel. The same coin James had been Bound to for nearly all three of those years.

He squatted down in front of it. It looked ancient, and brass, and was made up of a number of concentric rings, though you could only tell from seeing it up close. There was some sort of complex glyph etched into it, which was yellow and slightly luminescent, and in the center of all its rings was a tiny, pulsing yellow orb, which was made up of pure ethereal energy.

He reached out to grab it, but just as he did its rings broke free of eachother and the coin popped off the ground and into the air.

"Fuck!" Ray exclaimed, so started he fell onto his ass.

The rings started turning and flipping rapidly in tune with one another, causing the coin to levitate and making it look like nothing more than a floating yellow orb. "That's no good for your first word as a Bearer." It spoke, somehow able to emulate human voice by vibrating its rings. "Though I've always been more fond of second impressions, anyway. I do hope you'll make a good one."

Ray climbed to his feet and faced the coin standing up. "I know you." He said, his voice weak and his throat phlegmy. "I read about those girls. That southern boy, Aiden. Not a single one of them made it."

"No." The coin conceded. "But you will. I'll make sure of it."

Garver stepped closer to the coin, his eyes level with the floating, bobbing orb. "You better." He said, doing his best to sound intimidating. "Whatever strings you pulled for James, you're pulling for me. And when the time comes, you'll lead me to James so I can kill him myself. Ryder too."

>>9688834
I don't know why my text formatted like that, so I'll post it again. Also I want to add that the exposition for coins has already been somewhat made earlier in the story, so just roll with it. And "Ray" is the same person as "Garver"
.
.
.
.
There it was, in front of him, lying on the floor: the Mustard Coin. The same coin he had seen nearly three years ago in Cassel. The same coin James had been Bound to for nearly all three of those years.

He squatted down in front of it. It looked ancient, and brass, and was made up of a number of concentric rings, though you could only tell from seeing it up close. There was some sort of complex glyph etched into it, which was yellow and slightly luminescent, and in the center of all its rings was a tiny, pulsing yellow orb, which was made up of pure ethereal energy.

He reached out to grab it, but just as he did its rings broke free of eachother and the coin popped off the ground and into the air.

"Fuck!" Ray exclaimed, so started he fell onto his ass.

The rings started turning and flipping rapidly in tune with one another, causing the coin to levitate and making it look like nothing more than a floating yellow orb. "That's no good for your first word as a Bearer." It spoke, somehow able to emulate human voice by vibrating its rings. "Though I've always been more fond of second impressions, anyway. I do hope you'll make a good one."

Ray climbed to his feet and faced the coin standing up. "I know you." He said, his voice weak and his throat phlegmy. "I read about those girls. That southern boy, Aiden. Not a single one of them made it."

"No." The coin conceded. "But you will. I'll make sure of it."

Garver stepped closer to the coin, his eyes level with the floating, bobbing orb. "You better." He said, doing his best to sound intimidating. "Whatever strings you pulled for James, you're pulling for me. And when the time comes, you'll lead me to James so I can kill him myself. Ryder too."

>>9688848
>He squatted down in front of it. It looked ancient
For some reason, having it followed by it separated by a period looks and reads kind of strange.

>It looked ancient, and brass,
So it looked brass? I know it's an adjective, but it caught me off guard.

>was made up of a number of concentric rings, though you could only tell from seeing it up close.
Huh?

Also, too many "it"s. Maybe go back and forth between "it" and "the coin".
The final thing is that I would describe the relationship between the rings and the coin a bit better. Are the rings spinning around the coin? Are they spinning beside the coin?

Here's the opening of something I want to write, but I don't know if it works. I would like to get some more opinions, as the style/tone/everything about it is quite different than what I'd usually write. So I don't really know at all. Please be gentle and thank you in advance

>>9688950
Wrong one. That one has a repeated line of text that I hadn't deleted. Apologies

>>9688197
I used to write pretty similar stuff. Having aspergers you want to stylize the transient but also crack some aesthetic insight without leaning too far into the belief of sheer language as a redemptive possibility or platitude as anything worth saying at all so there's definitely a balance to be struck in that fun but moral approach.

I didn't get what the fruit of his labor had to do with the theme of inhibiting inhibition, but the imagery of a ripe peach was good and where you had said sullen was impacting. Overall subtracting any Nietzsche-like influence would do a lot of good, because what does it do but limit the scope of what's possible in your world by exaggerating the qualities of everything? That's a good way to cope in real life, but a steep way to mark the story's boundaries. It's great otherwise, and your ability to sprawl and hypnotize offers space to throw in some real weird shit if you wanted. I'd just not say gay shit like, "found myself sympathizing with suffering" "I," (in effective, fine, but the phrasing itself)

The daisy thing is kind of weird but I have a feeling you had something in mind with that that requires more road to make tonally consistent sense. You probably don't know if it's any good because your brain is thinking ahead of yourself in vision, or something.

That's just my dumb opinion though.

>>9675955
You're spending too much time on 4chan.

>>9688986
"human being" seems redundant, and the sentence is technically a fragment, just in case you weren't aware.

>But he couldn't. That is, he knew he shouldn't...
He couldn't or he shouldn't? Make up your mind, it can't be both.

And staying at home seems like a pretty responsible/uncharacteristic thing for Stanley to do based on the rest of the writing and his impulses.

>>9688908
Thanks for the critique, cause yeah I really want to make sure its clear what the coin looks like and how it works. I spent a few minutes on google and found the perfect example of how it looks / works. When its lying on the ground these little "rings" would all be flush, snapped into place. When its flying in the air they'd all be rapidly rotating or flipping around the center at different angles.

Do you have any ideas on how to describe that?

Hysterical, he collapses into a breeze, scatters across the wind, reforming in a mass on the sidewalk. He feels the skin of his gums tighten, as dust gathers aggressively at his face in regularly pulsed clouds.
They say there are fewer things worth watching now that the summer is here. That television shows somehow dominate the choices, but peering blurry eyed in peace at dry concrete feels greater than any flashing lights. A voice above "And stay down."
He stays down and decides to dream instead of stand up. The pain in his body slipping away. They had been waling on him as a show of force, a drunken reverie on a Saturday night. "Boys just being boys" will be used to laugh it off. His hand hurts, and his ribs sing in pain. He wants to sleep, but sleep is no option.

>>9689536
Mention that the rings are rotating around the coin like a powerful vortex, seemingly making the coin float in the air.
You can also ask whether the coin is making the rings float around it, or if the rings are making the coin float inside of them.

Hey faggots, how do you come up with sci-fi names?
Long story short I'm writing some alien porn and I could use a few tips.

>>9689617
>alien porn

This needs an explanation.

>>9688848
>>9688908
>>9689536
>>9689582
Here is my updated draft, hope its more clear:
.
.
.
.
There it was, in front of him, lying on the floor: the Mustard Coin. The same coin he had seen nearly three years ago in Cassel. The same coin James had been Bound to for nearly all three of those years.

He squatted down in front of it. From here he could it was nothing more than four flat, concentric rings which were snapped together, flush with eachother, giving the appearance of a normal coin. They were each etched into with a complex glyph, which was yellow and slightly luminescent. Floating in the center of the middle ring was the essence of its being: a tiny orb of pulsing yellow light.

He reached out to grab it, but just as he did its rings broke free of one another, each suddenly rotating around the orb at a different angle than the others, and the coin popped off the ground and into the air.

"Fuck!" Ray exclaimed, so started he fell onto his ass.

The rings continued rotating rapidly at precise, calculated angles that propelled the coin upward, allowing it to levitate and making it look like nothing more than a floating yellow orb. "That's no good for your first word as a Bearer." It spoke, somehow able to emulate human voice by vibrating its rings. "Though I've always been more fond of second impressions, anyway. I do hope you'll make a good one."

Ray climbed to his feet and faced the coin standing up. "I know you." He said, his voice weak and his throat phlegmy. "I read about those girls. That southern boy, Aiden. Not a single one of them made it."

"No." The coin conceded. "But you will. I'll make sure of it."

Garver stepped closer to the coin, his eyes level with the floating, bobbing orb. "You better." He said, doing his best to sound intimidating. "Whatever strings you pulled for James, you're pulling for me. And when the time comes, you'll lead me to James so I can kill him myself. Ryder too."

>>9689624
I'm trying to get good at writing while also making a little money, so I go to /trash/ and take porn commissions.
Once you get passed all the weird shit, it's actually fun to write about people getting hate-fucked by aliens.

>>9689639
Better, but I think it would be clearer if the coin is just a coin at first. Let's say that it's a coin like pic related, with a yellow orb inside. When Ray gets close to it, the coin floats up and the metal turns into multiple rings. THEN you describe the glyphs.
Also, I think there's too much text between "Fuck" and "That's no good for your first word as a Bearer".

>>9689664
Nice

>Started writing a swashbuckling adventure novel two months ago
>First thing I've ever written with the serious intention of completing it
>Just realized today what I've gotten myself into
>Too attached to the world and story to stop writing it, too afraid I'll fuck it all up to keep writing

What should I do? Besides not being a little bitch, I mean.

>>9676422
>I am the most undesirable and lame person to ever step foot in these halls
this type of dichotomous description immediately bores the reader, even if you're writing a picaresque novel starring an unreliable narrator. make it more subtle. Subtlety is the name of the game you're trying to play, esp. one involving solar plexus punches from professors. Embroider with realism.

>>9679561
the writing isn't HORRENDOUS by itself, but if you want my honest opinion: it didn't hook me at all, I lost desire to continue after line six. give us more juice!

>>9679729
a trailer decorated like a mansion. smart words don't make good or intelligent writing, not even at first glance by an untrained eye

>>9680259
give readers a reason to read. weather isnn't a good one

>>9680420
>momentarily reveals the ancient plan inscribed therein

just as your writing does with whatever it is your'e trying to express (with painfully archaic and bedazzled diction)

>>9680877
it isn't world class, but it serves its purpose as a journal entry. also, i feel you man.

>>9681717
because you frame the poem within the narrative, I'm not inclined to judge it in isolation, and therefore less critically. but i'm not sure how this overall excerpt would fit into a larger story. the writing borders on good. you overuse the passive voice, and i didn't get a good sense of why and how the narrator deems the song lyrics as important, or why/what he considers them at all.

>>9681837
technical comp jargon can contrast poetic themes well, though here I think the focus resides to much on the technical aspects (despite their presumed symbolisticicmsmisms)

>>9675017

"I plan on killing myself when I die
so that then my family won't know
suicide shall be my luscious lie"
she wrote in her journal, erasing
everyword but suicide. An island
swelling with overgrowth sucks up sun,
while she wishes the bottle would break
revealing what she wrote and erased
twenty years ago. The baby inside her died
before she knew it underdeveloped—
it evacuated, red alert, one month later.
Monsoon season turns the sky a pound,
whisking away the grime of a billion Indians
perpetually marked by American snipers
who work with her in the IT department,
calling themselves Connie and Kyle.
But her caller ID casts a shadow longer
than her sagging bone puppet at sunset.
Created by Him, the dictum delivered at childbirth,
and so it was, she had it believed:
I am no more than a curious figment
in a world dreamt up by a man on a bed
of clouds. Nothing could be further from, um,
the luscious lie, fermentation of truth serum.

>>9689146

Where are Nietzsche influences most apparent? So daisies seem a little random?

Thanks for the response and critique. Much appreciated.

>>9687957
Fictional characters do not talk like real people. If you try and make them talk like real people, they will look like autists to your readers. On the contrary, the key to making dialogues seem natural is to aim for autism.

A poem I'm working on. Feedback greatly appreciated, anons.


A lung
so old
In a body young
Enough to not know anything,
Or have a thought
Or have it made;
A plan
That hasn't burned or faded.
This wasn't how it was
Supposed to breathe,
To inflate
Through yellowest love
And lowest hate.
Allied to
A ripe, hot mind
With corners
Of corners of
Every kind of
Burned, half-finished book.
A lung that shook
And sputtered and dried
And almost died
Somewhere along the road
It tried
To pump out its dust and undertook
The task of every other organ.
And surely we deserve a rest;
Too special for any disease,
Cured or not
We all know best
Already
How to hear and see and breathe
And better yet, how to feel–
Even if it's not quite real.
Lungs are never seen
Until
They're no longer being used.

>>9687957
Read, read, read. Also watch in tv shows and films what makes a good dialogue. Very often, i find that what makes a good dialogue is when what each character says represents them well and their state of mind, and then it's just throwing a ball at each other.
It can sound realistic, but you still need to put the meaning out there in what they say, otherwise there would be no point in having a dialogue at all and you could write their thoughts away forever.
So writing dialogue can also be interesting to show ambivalence in a character, or make hints to the reader and so on.
Would you read a full page of dialogue starting by:
"Hello John"
"Hey hello Bill"
"How are you today?"
"I'm good, thanx and you?"
Make it interesting for you first to read, then you have a chance to interest the reader.

I wanna write about female magic-users who battle each other ala Touhou but not Touhou. what cliches should I avoid? also where should I learn how to write about magical battles and fighting so that each line is not *she shot a laser and then she dodged and threw a magical spear into the air and it exploded* etc. basically so that fights have weight and consequence.

>>9690417
Don't describe so much the actual shot by shot action, but rather the state of mind they're each in and why they're fighting. A battle is first about emotions, and you're not making a movie, so "she dodged" wouldn't bring any valuable information to the reader.

>>9690254
I guess just the tendency to exasperate things that aren't that impressive. god knows whats impressive but it's probably not something found in an immediate encounter with a flower unless you're insane. with the daises, your guy just sounds a little inherently wacky but I mean if you just went on and on like that you could get a lot covered

>>9690454
it seems the direction of the story could either seek to explain the daises, the hyena and whatever else happens in whatever summary you might find, or it could seek to explain the character himself which would make his grandiosity just fine, but a little limiting if the story went the former direction. It's interesting to imagine having read it a couple times now.

>a man travels to china to pursue his study of ritualistic sex magic
>after participating in anal sex with a man for the first time on a beach he summons the ghost of himself
>must discover a way to reunite with his ghost before his death or face eternal nonexistence

I read a lot, and diverse texts. I want to start writing, but I don't do it. When I force myself to do it, it doesn't come out well.
I have ideas, but I lack skill.

How do I start writing, and write good enough to keep myself writing?

>>9690887
Do plagaristic exercises.

Focus on moments in those authors that you want to become and analyze how they do the descriptions & lead-up to that moment. Then try to imitate it with a similar conflict, lead-up, etc... until you can turn it into your own voice and feels a bit more natural.

Also, read history & try to make narratives out of the events. But don't just describe a certain event (that's what the history book is for after all), but think about different interesting points of entry. Like different POVs, or using the event to jump to a greater poetic point - like how someone like Tolstoy or Hugo would do it. It doesn't have to be accurate or purely historical either - you can use the event as a grounding for another thing.

>>9687957
Don't try to make it realistic. Make it the opposite. Dostoyevsky and Salinger didn't care about that.

Have characters that sling jokes, philosophies and paragraph length anecdotes every time they open their mouth.

>>9689717
You only become a better writer from your fuck-ups. Flaubert spent 5 years tailoring Madame Bovary, and all his other novels.

Or you could post an excerpt and let the people here decide if you're a fuck-up

https://pastebin.com/0ZyBYXBc

A little short story set in contemporary times, inspired by Chekhov's various character sketches. What do you guys think?

>Spent months on setting up my Novels
>Characters, location, cities, etc,
>Started writing a Fantasy introspective adventure novel a month ago
>Various Philosophies, motivation, principles of the characters and their morality.
>Read Economical books of the Middle Ages to have some sort of grasp how the economy worked
>Read up weapons and armor and other essential things
>First thing I've ever written with the serious intention of completing it
>realized today I absolutely have nothing sexual, edgy or Grimdark in my novel and I am Scared people won't read it because of that

Should I give up? Should I rewrite everything and betray my own hopes and dreams?

>>9690965
That sounds like something I'd be willing to read, depending on how it's written.

But I hope you don't spend too much time on worldbuilding & exposition for it's own sake unless you have the capability to make it mean something larger and more poetic, like Melville's descriptions of whaling.

>>9690968
>That sounds like something I'd be willing to read, depending on how it's written.
Past tense, Third person Limited. I was thinking the Prose should Alternate between Purple Prose and Beige Prose. To differentiate the characters and their Intelligence on certain matters at hand

>But I hope you don't spend too much time on worldbuilding & Exposition for its own sake
This actually worries me also.

>>9691030
If you have a chance, pick up this Visual Novel called Hanachirasu:

https://vndb.org/v430

Which really should be like a necessary textbook for people who want to do worldbuilding style works like SF or Fantasy. The writer here breaks all the rules as to how to tell a story like this, throwing out lengthy exposition, dialogue, witticisms, and poetic prose in a way that builds up to one core theme.

>want to write a WN inspired by nip fantasy LNs
>have a world or two ready to be converted into a story
>no plot
Is there something wrong with me?

>>9691064
It should be extremely easy since jap media has so many archetypes. Just throw one or two character stereotypes in there and write about their life.

There's one alt-world LN, if I recall, which is just tracking the protagonist (your usual NEET who got sent over) from his birth in the new world and the heroics he pulls off from there.

Been working on a LN genrefiction fantasy trashnovel, I'm about 5 chapters into the draft and intend to release it chapter by chapter for free while it comes out, it'll actually start releasing soon enough once my two editors are free and can help me get to work on it.

Its Dark Gothic Fantasy crossed with weird cosmic horror trash crossed with absolutely disgusting LN inspired trash.

Its literally just weird cosmic-ism. dark fantasy and cute girls.

Anybody care to read a paragraph or two I snip out of the first chapter? I can give a synopsis if anybody would like.

>>9690925
>Focus on moments in those authors that you want to become
But they are movie directors and I can't direct a movie without a shitton of money to cover the cost. Writing, on the other hand, will only cost time.

>>9690965
>I absolutely have nothing sexual, edgy or Grimdark in my novel
You have done your part. Now it's time for book cover artist to step in.

>>9690965
Can you get a cute girl on the cover? You're pretty much all set if you can don't worry.

Thats what I did

>>9691080
Ain't that MT or something? I read it and it was nothing but wish-fulfillment garbage. I don't want that.

What I'm setting off to write is something like a piece of history seen through the eyes of a backwater peasant.

>>9691538
Consider the following: the audience you seem to target loves MT. Dissing MT is the same as dissing them. Would they want WN from you when you have such an attitude?

>>9691620
I'm not targeting anyone in particular though, but I guess you're right. They would probably gobble up whatever I write as long as it fancies their interest.

>>9690517

Ok. So I did have an explanation for the daisies here. >>9688394

They're supposed to be a prostitute metaphor. Character goes crazy after infatuation leads to nothing.

I have a weird thing going on. I have one vague story inside of my head since fucking 2009 now. I think about it often. Like think about certain scenes and characters and stuff like that. I have thought certain scenes through at least a hundred times by now. But it's only good in my head. As soon as I try to write it down, it's like a fucking fourth grader wrote that shit and I'm ashamed of myself.

I know I know, "you gotta practice, and you will get better". But I don't have any talent whatsoever. It's like telling a fat 50 year old to run, and he will get better and eventually run a marathon. But even though I know I'm shit at writing and not smart enough to make it as good as I would like it to be, it keeps haunting me. It's my ultimate dream to write that story down and it to be great. I thought about paying someone to write that shit down for me so I can leave it alone.

The "hook" of the story is that a guy was forced by his parents to take a strange pill on a daily basis for his whole life, but they refused to explain to him what that pill was for. Otherwise his life was normal. His parents die and he doesen't know where to get new ones. So the mystery is what happens when he stops taking the pills.

>>9690965
>>9691106

Post em...it's a shill thread don't be scared of shilling.

Anyone cares for a spanish critique? probably a 5 page long extract.

This is a short piece I wrote a few weeks ago. Feedback would be good. I'm wondering what direction to go in next.

https://pastebin.com/06mneCnE

I'm trying to make a fight scene, and I got most of the details down. My only problem is that I had the main guy do a flashback where he failed a lot of times, and now I'm getting him to win. Is this bad?

Been writing a bit recently and would appreciate some advice or just anything really, no idea if I'm doing anything good or bad. https://www.dropbox.com/s/mtlaplyldgf7oe4/book%20haha.pdf?dl=0
Dropbox link because you can't upload pdf's

>>9692334
>>9692242
It feels really shitty creating something for yourself, make the courageous effort of showing it to random people and get no replies at all. Even if mine wasn't even replied to.
I'll give it a shot to this too but i am at work atm. Expect some criticism at night or tomorrow.

>>9692514
thanks dude

>>9692514
Appreciated, I upload them to watt pad but no one ever really reads them though. I'll keep the tab open in case anyone does reply.

>>9692242
It's confusing.

>Alone in a busy café.
Never liked starting off with a sentence fragment personally. I'd try to kick it off with a complete thought.

>I've met everyone before – I know them intimately.
>Inconsequential faces. We've never spoken.
Seems contradictory, no?

>The witch I know, Brian, has seven piercings in his face, and fangs, and long black hair.
Can't tell if you're speaking literally or figuratively with the fangs thing

>>9692514
Calm down, they just posted. If you really want critique so bad you should give some out yourself, like I am.

>>9675017
Working on a fantasy novel (I know, how original).

It five different stories, each one about 10k long, that don't really intertwine, but they do take place in the same world and deal with the same events, namely a rebellion against an empire.

Some of the characters cross paths, but most do not.

>>9692672
You've piqued my interest. Carry on.

this is a piece I've been working in my spare time from all other stories so it's a little bit thrown together but I'm still quite fond of it. Any and all crit is vastly appreciated.

https://pastebin.com/0t2nQ9sq

>>9691282
Even with movie directors, you can try matching dialogue and narrative beats in prose. Mickey Spillane was trained on comic books.

Although, you better start hitting more books than movies if you ever want to write well.

>>9691538
I was talking about the fact that you can make a plot just from tracking a character's life. Plot is ultimately events that characters react to after all.

>>9691745
https://pastebin.com/pLVidCXp

Heres the first three pages of chapter one from mine (the gothic fantasy cosmicism bullshit) The whole thing was in in predrafting for like half this year and I only started writing it for real about a month and a half ago.

Keep in mind I haven't bothered to edit or proof read it yet because I've been trying to get chapter 5 done first, so if there is any grammar flubs or retarded spelling in there I apologize I'll get around to fixing with my editors before its actually released.

This is the first time an audience that isn't chosen by me has seen anything from this so how anons react to the first pages of the first chapter is actually pretty important, I'm interested to see reactions.

>>9690965
>I absolutely have nothing sexual, edgy or Grimdark in my novel and I am Scared people won't read it because of that

You're right to worry anon. Your novel is nothing but a Predictable cliche that five-year-old children would already know the ending. Be like George R.R Martin and be more Realistic

>>9690950
It was good. Maybe a little unbelievable/edgy.

>>9693820
Not half bad actually, it's pretty well written in my opinion. Keep writing nibba.
>“Who the maiden’s name do you think you’re mouthing off to you harlot?”
what did he mean by this

>>9694215
Yup, I've been writing for a while now and I'm pretty infamous among all my secret little autistic writing groups for being absolutely brain-dead retarded with spelling and typos in my drafts.

Anyway I'm glad you liked it. I'll get around to getting it out for real so people can read it all as it comes out eventually, I just figured I'd post it here and see how people reacted to the first pages.

Ghost blowjob pt 1

Dan came over again. I made us tea, we watched a movie. I cuddled with him, though that might have been a little much, and he tried to kiss me. I let him, just a little bit, but I’m still not ready. I had to come see you the next day, and I cried and I cried. Then I sat by the tree near your grave and had a picnic. I brought us wine and some sandwiches. That must have been what brought you back from the dead — when I poured that red wine.

I started missing you again, and cried though my tears weren’t yet dry from the last time. Then you put your hand on my shoulder, and I gasped. I turned and I saw you and I swear you were really there even though I knew you weren’t. But I spoke your name anyway, I couldn’t help it. And I heard you say mine and I shivered. Then you kissed me and — I don’t know what happened. I felt your arm pull me in and the kissing got intense, and one after another our clothes came off. Your hand pushed my thighs open and started rubbing my clit in circles the way I liked it. You got me so wet and when your fingers slid into me it was easy. I felt them wiggle inside, spreading my lips open and curling so your finger tips rubbed the top of my pussy. I almost came right then, but we heard voices and I froze. But you covered my mouth so I couldn’t say anything, or even breathe. It was strange, like you were worried about being caught.

Then I realized it wasn’t you, that it was someone else.

After that it was a blur. I remember he got me on all fours and stuck his cock in my ass. I tried to scream but I couldn’t, he had me choked up and I nearly passed out. He fucked my asshole hard, making me cry, and said that if I told anyone, he’d fuck me again and the corpse of my dead asshole husband. I told him he’d better kill me now because I will hunt him down myself and make his dick regret it was ever a part of him. He laughed and said, “Lady, you’re the one who’ll regret never seeing my dick again.” I spat at him as he turned and left. Then I lay there for a while and wished I could join you in leaving this evil world.

Then you came, the real you. You caressed my head and let me lie on your lap and I curled up and like a cat. You told me what death was like, that it was pretty boring. You hoped it wasn’t too morbid to wish that I would come join you already. You said that’s all the dead do around here, waiting for their loved ones to come join them already, and it’s so infectious even you’ve caught it. You told me I couldn’t wait around here forever though, that I’ve still got stuff to do, and I hugged you and told you that you couldn’t go.

>>9694254

pt 2

So you said, “I’ll stay with you if you give me a bj,” and I almost punched you. But you stopped me and looked at me seriously, and told me that it was true. “Ghost rules,” you said. So I put your cock in my mouth, which felt like cotton candy. It disappeared in my mouth but I tried to suck it like I would a normal person, licking your head all around with my tongue. You started masturbating and whispy things of cum came out after a while. It fell through my chin and my clothes and disappeared into the night as smoke. I looked up at you expectantly, hoping I did it right. Then you said thank you, you needed that, and said if I came back the next night, we could do it again. And I tried to yell, “Wait! Can’t you come home with me now that I gave you a blowjob?” But you were fast disappearing, as a ghost would, and I felt the dread well up in my stomach. And you said no, you’ve got to stay with your body, you couldn’t leave it. And I cried and cried, for the millionth time by that grave. And I said “So you have to stay with your body?” through my tears. And you said, “Yes, I’m so sorry, but yes, I must stay.” So the next day I had it arranged that your body be moved to my backyard.

I wrote an essay on deciding to turn the air conditioner in the office because I am boiling, even though I know it makes my coworker uncomfortable. She would never admit it openly, she is too polite, and I am too polite to turn on the AC normally, but the temperatures these days demand it. Sacrificing other people's comfort for my own feels bad.

>>9694250
Do yourself a favour and get a grammar checker for Chrome or something and then write it up on a website or something. Like watt pad, you don't need to publish it but if it's on Chrome you'll find that with a grammar checker your mistakes will just correct themselves. But that might just be my autistic hatred towards bad spelling or grammar.
Word is fucking awful in my opinion so I don't use that shit.

This is a sonnet I just wrote besides obvious spelling and grammar issues. What do you think?

Here is the sonnet

The master plays and gentle pulls at strings
A humble man i sway at masters whim
To left and right and up and down it brings
Me gently with Until the falling scrim

A thoughtful touch is all masters makes
And with the touch commands a guiding sway
At ease I lay consumed, I never ache
He guides me well, i never Dis obey

The master hides behind a darkened veil
In time I learnt the truth behind the strings
Is love that guides, Abstract but never stale
Embracing love and Everything it brings

For love to guide, it reaks of beauty pure
And love to live by, prompt I shall adjure

>>9694294
All my writing I've ever done was on Google docs just because its good for my editors and has tools for them to do shit, for this I decided to do it in LibreOffice (MS Word for poorfags) for some reason and I immediately regret that decision because I can't just pick it up and write on my laptop or whatever I have to fuck around with copies and a USB, Its the most stupid shit in the world, I do not envy writers who didn't even have computers and just had fucking typewriters.

I'll probably end up moving it online again anyway just because I prefer ease of use and it makes sharing and life easier on the editors.

How do I write without wanting to kill myself? How I learn to use new words? I used to read so many books and tried to study my favorite authors but I still speak, write, and think like a down syndrome child.

>>9694324
Never thought of that, pretty sure Hotmail gives you word for free too. I prefer to use Wattpad though because if I happen to accidentally destroy my computer it's always there unless I forget my password.
>>9694384
How long have you been writing? I found that I got better after a few months but still pretty shit, had to switch between three different genres too.

>>9694397
I've been "trying" to write for years.

>>9675955
You're a fool. But who isn't?

>>9694400
Years? Maybe you need some help from a writer. If you got the money see if you can hire someone to help you, if they exist. I have no idea if it's actually possible to do this but it might be. If you have anything stories to post put some in, you might just be underestimating yourself.

>>9694424
I have depression and anxiety issues that have a grip over everything in my life. I struggled with writing for years and I've kinda given up the last year or so. I'm on two different medications but they don't do much. I used to be really in shape and exercised a lot, but it never helped with my mood. I've also tried therapy and hypnosis, neither of which helped either. I don't think there's any helping it at this point. This is the first time I've been to /ic/ in about a year and a half; being around books annoys me and I don't even read anymore.

I thought about methodically copying my favorite books word for word, hoping that would rub off on me in some way, but even if I did that for years it wouldn't help me total ineptitude at plotting and creating scenes.

>>9694384
>>9694424
yes, these are called "classes". there's a bunch of good books on writing too, podcasts, etc.
but if all you're reading is mango, you need to start reading more widely.

>>9694432
Ye I got depression and anxiety too, it's a bitch dealing with. desu though recently I've been exercising and I've started to feel better. My writing sort of improved a bit along with it too. Maybe you're just not cut out for it then, or you just need to figure out something to get you back into reading and writing. I mean if you're honestly super shit and nothing works then maybe you should just stop dunno. Or just keep reading and reading until everything is crammed into your head and you understand plot writing better.
>>9694437
>classes
I don't know why I didn't think of this, but yeah I do read proper books. Probably should start buying more though keep finishing all my series in like a week.

>>9694437
Why does this board equate watching anime with ONLY watching anime? I've got a bookshelf with hundeds of books. At one point in my life I was reading 3-4 books a week.

>>9691704
Oh, I mean, it's less the behavior itself, but the articulation that's a little gay even for the behavior.

>>9694468
inb4 people who equate reading books with muh ancient greek manuscripts 7000 times folder stoic thoughts and call you a pleb for not being able to recite the brothers karamazov in russian french

>>9692542
>It's confusing.
>Seems contradictory, no?
meh, you don't get it. it's not for everyone.

>Can't tell if you're speaking literally or figuratively with the fangs thing
literally.

Wrote this withing five minutes. Should I continue?


The forest had begun to transform itself in a labyrinth with twists and turns on the trails they had taken. Her eyes wandered left and right, and what she saw was bushes, trees, and vines. A scenery which Ava, an huntswoman no younger than thirteen, had known all of her life, found herself foreboding. Nonetheless, Ava put those foreboding thoughts aside, and walked forward, she was born into a tribe that for a time in the past once sacked towns to their heart's content so the Storyteller would say.

>>9694637
>The forest had begun to transform itself in a labyrinth with twists and turns on the trails they had taken.

Into a labyrinth, no? Transform in a labyrinth means you are in a labyrinth, transforming. Transforming into a labyrinth means you weren't a labyrinth before, but are a labyrinth now.

Also no, I don't like it. Keep trying though.

One or two pieces of advice for new or learning writers go.

>>9694649
>Into a labyrinth, no? Transform in a labyrinth means you are in a labyrinth, transforming. Transforming into a labyrinth means you weren't a labyrinth before, but are a labyrinth now.
I'll fix my mistake.

>Also no, I don't like it.
Expand upon this please?

>Keep trying though.
Thank you

Pls rate my poem

ladyslipper

Fuck around on the weekend,

am I the weak end of our link?

Spring breaks and the lady's slippers,

pink and fragile, are lined up outside.

But you're still inside, waiting for rain

and a little something extra,

to help with the pain.

We danced in the back room
with a broken disco ball for a moon
and artichokes for hearts,
pretty tough until were baked.
I got on the pink line at 3 a.m and made it to the liquor store by 3 o’ five.
All the guys out front tried to sell us kill,
but we had enough death in a bottle
for the two of us.

Super late to the party but what the hell. I've been tweaking this opening for months.

>The sun shines but brings no warmth to the Russian tundra. The land is flat and desolate for miles in every direction. Nothing to punctuate the surface of the earth but the occasional bird in flight. The cold white sun rests at its zenith, impartial. From somewhere on the surface the earth begins to move. An enormous door begins to slide horizontally, an empty patch in an already empty landscape. Steam rises from this hole in the earth. Soft hissing. Mechanical subterranean voices engaged in a rhythmic, toneless pattern. A countdown.
>A roar. From this patch of earth something begins to rise, monolithic, gargantuan. The roar gets louder. It echoes across the frozen landscape, bleeding into the otherwise soundless air. This great steel obelisk rises, escapes the earth with an enormous plume of smoke building beneath it, lifting it to the sky. It continues to rise, ripping through clouds like Lucifer being pulled through the heavens. An unholy constant roar, a great animal bellowing through the noon air. The earth falls away with increasing speed as the machine accelerates, its landing place predetermined, its purpose finally coming to realization.
>In the distance the horizon is dotted with identical white plumes, stems to headless flowers growing from the frozen white ground. All heading west, fleeing the sun. All mindlessly carrying out their hideous orders. Air whips around their metal hulls. Russia falls away.
>All across Europe people look east to the sunrise and watch as these spearlike clouds grow from the horizon, cleaving the skies. Too far away to be heard. But all traveling in perfectly uniform direction. Westward, ever westward. Toward the morning beyond the horizon. Back in time. Their trails mark the beginning of the last day of history. Not four horsemen, but four thousand, all riding under the clarion call of mindless, indifferent destruction. All poised to rend the earth asunder. The Dead Hand lifts its fingers and spreads them across the skies. In the European streets below masses of humanity begin to understand. Sirens go up, too far and too quiet for the missiles to hear.
>April 22nd. The cruelest month. The metal lilacs breeding out of the dead land. These rockets continue toward the darkening horizon, heralding the final dawn. Roaring into daybreak with inchoate, primal fury. Hurtling headlong, full of anger, into the distant night.

After years of prayer and meditation, my bones have bent into new shapes and formations, over which drapes thin membranous sheets of skin, curving and bunching and swooping like royal velvet in old realist paintings. Where once the contours of my chest were bumpy and striated, like some spiteful imitation of a rolling hillock, it has now leveled into a supremely flat and handsome surface, perfectly parallel with the floor. My hair, so long wasted in wild untamed curls, has descended from my scalp and garnished the tops and bottoms of my legs, like the grotesque acanthus that crowned the stately capitals of proud Corinthean columns.

I was watching the tree's in my car the other night and could make out faces so I spat this out to practice my prose. It's generally purposeless, but either way, fmsu familia:

>Guardians of the Psychedelic Forest

As I lie here in my car, encased in night and pinned by streetlight, faces come to life in the nearby trees. Three branch-and-leaf-shadow puppets begin to cackle out the dark in the wind. Their facial segments seeming like flimsy paper cutouts bouncing in the breeze and taped to rods held together by people dressed in black to blend with the darkness behind them. The first face is that of an exaggerated jester--three remaining tufts of hair point up, and it's face is sharp with bulbous nose and jutting jaw which juggles teeth in airy hysterics. The eyes are black, hollow and infinitely deep. Lulling you into a trance which segues you through their hall-of-mirror facade, entertaining you with comforting absurdities while gorging on your stare. Beside the fool sways face of a lion-like old man. Small, focused eyes, like talons, hook into retinas and pluck out eyes. They look beyond what one can see, peering at what is believed and at what is known, together. Darkened, hollow cheeks accentuate the light reflected off its pointed ears, brow and nose bridge. The head jerks lightly, as if sniffing the evening breeze. Underneath the nose, a large bushy mustache and short goatee age the wise man and hone the lion's senses as sensitive whiskers. Above each act observes an ancient, wooden mask with great, wide sunken eyes and mouth cut by rectangular openings. It's nose is petite with fine slits for each nostril. While each the previous faces felt alive with mockery or nobility, this one appears emotionless. Only occasionally does it mouth something tucked away within the folds of wind. It appears to neither judge, nor despise, but simply observe. With its face farthest out to the light, and body deepest in the shadow.

>>9694730
>One or two pieces of advice for new or learning writers go.
- back to plebbit

>>9694730
Yeah:

-try writing
-get told you suck
-repeat steps
(or)
-realize you don't want to write, you just like the idea of writing

Either way, you're still a huge faggot.

>>9694730
>surround yourself with other writers
>share your work
>critique your work
>write
>read lots of books
>practice writing short poems
>start sending things to publishers
>keep writing
>don't work on one thing for too long
>keep fucking writing

That's all you can really do.

>>9679561

Too many short sentences: ever head of complex and variation of your work. If a complete book were to be written like that, the audience would fall asleep

>>9681837
mumbo jumbo

>>9694489
Okay that helps. And by gay you mean stupid awkward cheesy bad?

I find some of what you're saying ambiguous and have trouble understanding the meaning, though I'm doing my best.

So, don't have sheer language try to redeem life and don't sink to using platitudes. But do play within those confines with respect to morality?

Take the character towards a path that either explains his interactions or explains the character himself. drop Nietzsche influences, which are exasperating trivial things in order to expand on others. Also some things are gay. Namely, not necessarily the things in themselves, though those too are a little gay, but also how they're articulated.

Am I getting these points down?

>>9695189
It's not tho

>>9694254
>>9694259

pls critique how i make this more cohesive pls

>>9695005
>Don't work on one thing for too long
That's a real important one right there. I have an ex who has spent the past three years working on her "project," and trying to get the story perfect, yet she has not written a single damn page yet. And she tells everyone that she's a writer.

If you feel like you've hit a wall while writing something, stop and come back to it later with fresh eyes. Don't try to force yourself to keep writing. Don't let yourself stagnate on one project that you might never finish. There's nothing wrong with taking a break from your novel to work on some short stories.

Also, I'll go through this thread in a bit and look at the posts that got little attention. Though I imagine we'll have a new thread soon. If I don't get to you, and you still want a critique, post it in the new thread when it's up.

>>9695333
That's exactly what I did.

I built a world and made a rough storyline around it. I posted this long thing in fictionpress, and after 5 chapters, I purged everything in that site, but I still had my old manuscripts, since it's too cool to pass up.

One year later, here I am reworking that world and its storyline.

>>9695416
Here's a bit of the re-explored storyline.

https://pastebin.com/n7ASRVQT

>>9695416
Here's mine too, it was pretty far up and don't think anyone saw it. https://www.dropbox.com/s/mtlaplyldgf7oe4/book%20haha.pdf?dl=0

What are good places to post my shit for people to read? I'm releasing chapter by chapter for free as it comes out so I need to put it on a bunch of places in hopes that it gains some kind of audience.

I already have Tapastic but thats a shit site and I would prefer more than just it. I've even considered getting a cheap site and hosting them there too.

>>9695468
I read the first couple paragraphs. I don't have much time today or I'd go into more detail.

You use a ridiculous amount of adverbs, and you don't use them well. Half the words in the first few sentences are adverbs, and it makes for very awkward and juvenile reading. It seems like you rely on an adverb to describe every action, which is bad. If adverbs are not poetic and aesthetic in their use and execution, they make for terrible writing. You also have a really bad problem with comma splicing: you have multiple sentences in the first paragraph alone that should be entirely separate sentences. You also have awkward and grammatically incorrect phrasing that can be easily fixed with a comma, like:
>Upon entering one of the men
You're implying that they're having sex, man. It needs to be: Upon entering, one of the men...

There's also a sentence after that where the dialogue ends with a question mark and you state that the character questioned. That especially annoyed me. The question mark already tells us that he's questioning, so you don't need to state it.

Overall it feels like the writing of someone who just picked up a pen for the first time. It's very trite and juvenile, and you really have no business trying to write a novel.

>>9695450
I wrote up a post, but my internet messed up and it was deleted. Basically, your writing has a lot of redundancy in it. You don't need to tell the reader that a marketplace is also a place where information is traded, because that's already well implied. Your dialogue is very awkward and feels unnatural. I also really hate how you talk about the dialogue afterwards. If you have to explain dialogue, which is mean to be a tool to move your narration forward, you have failed. I did not get much of an idea of what your world building and story looks like. Everything that I saw was just very trite and shallow. Seems like stuff that I've read/seen elsewhere.

>>9675017
blues run the game, said mr frank. his sad eye, the one he had left
looked like a fish in a bowl, held the guitar low

if i could be that guy instead of me, sang a certain mr e
if i could be anyone else i would but we're all stuck
don't knock on my door anymore
i may not be there
out instead

to become whatever one should
i'm nothing much i know it's true
it's the one thing i'll push on you
my possessions are so few

what is there to do besides all the hurdle
all the caring and being there
the everyday routine of traffic cones and madelines
they burst on the cement of cracked skull bones
these thoughts are all i have
want to go out somewhere, a nice italian restaurant
where mobster exchange diamonds inside garbage trucks

there's one thing i will miss from this
and it's the assurance of a future open wide
someday the wheels won't cart no more
and the tracks will be beaten down so low

you just gotta let it go

the eyes so blue i dreamed about
they're somewhere else, i can't see them around
it's not the first time and sure won't be the last
a sweet remembrance of summer days gone past

take a boat to europe baby, maybe to france
join the french army baby, learn how to dance
spill your blood on foreign lands and
have a go at romance and
see it's all the same

everything that once was there, won't be no more
drift with the surf away from shore to shore
there will be no port of call
home is nowhere

sing praise to jesus saviour and savour the grapes
the wine flows freely and the fresh feeling fades
nero smiles and hands you the keys to
the streets that you once walked along

towers of white marble against the watercolour blue
the drapes dancing shadows cast forever on these walls
a stranger's look, a maiden's song
the alleys with the clotheslines and the foreign looking cats
let it all sink in
man's true desire to release his very soul
death itself is freedom forevermore

stones piling up to the sky
signal stories sealed off by time
stars swimming up drom the eastern sky
as the sands slide from far and wide
ruins of man stand with dignity
king of kings
oh release me
from mortality

>>9695609
Yeah, that's what I thought. Should I brush it up or break it down and make something from scratch?

>>9695585
I'm not trying to write something to be published, just enjoy writing so I'm doing it often now. Thanks anyway, I just checked all the adverbs and fuck you're right. Never realised how many I had put in, removing them now. You'd think with a grammar checker I'd be fine with the grammar but apparently not. I'll go through it all I guess.

>>9695642
I don't feel like there's anything there worth keeping. Even if you fix the obvious writing mistakes, you're still left with a story that is not inspired or compelling. There's no shame in taking what you've learned and starting over.

>>9695657
>https://pastebin.com/0t2nQ9sq

mind checking mine out ?

>>9695657
Break it down. Yeah got it. Guess I have a lot of problems with dialogue and moving the story forward. I've only written prose, and it's not very good prose.

>>9675017
I'm writing a horror short story that is mainly a bad poe ripoff but it's the third thing I'm writing seriously so I have no problem in the favr that it will suck ass juice

>>9695664
I read about half of it. Don't have very much time today.

Your prose is very clunky and awkward to read. Inconsistent, as well. And at times very purple, especially in the first paragraph. You have a lot of grammatical mistakes; some of them oversights that should be spotted while proofreading, and others coming from a lack of technical writing knowledge. You split up a lot of sentences that should be one, like this one:
>Ahead of me is a beautiful orange sunset. Behind me dark turbulent clouds.
There's no reason for that to be two sentences., and doing so forfeits any flow that you might have otherwise had.

Another example of clunky writing is this:
>the storm responds with its own, thunderous laughter.
There's no reason for that comma to be there. and again, you forfeit any flow that you might have otherwise had.

You also frequently have redundant phrasing such as:
>evaporating upwards
We already know that evaporation rises. That's the only way that it happens.

I wish I had time to go through more of this, but I have to get ready to work in a few minutes. I feel like your writing would be a lot better if you just stopped trying so hard. Not everything needs to be elegantly described. I'd rather have simple descriptions than longwinded descriptions that have no flow and just make your writing very clunky and purple, as well as leading to grammatical errors.

I'm also really do not like stories about drug use, and they seem to be a favorite of this board, but I suppose it's better than the other /lit/ favorite of a depressed college guy waking up and starting his day.

>>9695753

thanks a lot for going through it right before work, it's really appreciated.

>Haven't touched in a while.

“Have you seen my mother?”
A little boy stood facing front a gathering of middle to older aged adults. Wooden tables square and hosting groups alike were plotted in a diagonal fashion around the dim room. In the middle and stretching outward, a rectangular counter held host to walls of alcohol.
No one heard. The boy limped towards an elderly gentlemen with a nasty wart protruding from the center of his scalp and tapped his shoulder.
“Hello.”
Like how a withering tortoise’s neck strains to reach for food, the old man craned his neck to face the boy, facing away from his game of poker. His colleagues also looked at the boy.
“Eh? Sonny, this is a bar, only adults are-”
“Have you seen my mother?”
Glazed, jittering eyes locked down the old man as he asked his question once again. His hands ruffled around in his torn jacket pocket. Dirt from head to toe sticking out of battered shoe was roughed in, as if the brown-on-blue stains, through high quality cotton and rough denim was supposed to look natural.
Blood stains accompanied the dirt stains.
By now, half of the barmates took notice of the boy, and a small group formed around the boy and old man, leaving tall pints of beer and hands of cards stranded to dot the tables. And where people still sat around drinking beers and playing cards, conversation about the boy took over, a new flame to light up their dull small-talk.

Spoiler alert:The boy's mother is dead,
and he had a mental breakdown, managing to travel from Florida all the way to Georgia.
I was planning to take it to where the boy snaps out of his hysteria when one of the bar mates accidentally drops his pint of beer,
destroying the glass. I'm not sure how it'd end yet, either with the boy just leaving the bar to walk home, or a distant family member who lives nearby find him, or the boy killing himself.
Thoughts?

>>9676261
I think it's more interesting if you make your characters make good arguments. The lady just seems like a strawman leftist, the big parts of her argument aren't there.

>>9676422
You switch tense in the first couple sentences

>>9679247
I like the simplicity. Is the story itself that simple, or are you trying to be Jeffrey Deepman?

>>9680259
omg man its so cringy. stop trying so hard

>>9692689
Well, now that I have your permission, I'll continue.

I'd post some of my writing, but I've been on 4chan for way too long to think I'll get any good feedback.

The fact that you're interested is reassuring though. It's the little things that keep me going. Thanks!

So I had an idea for a very short film :

it's four strangers on a train through eastern europe together and to pass the time they play a game, where they try to guess each others cigarette brand.

I'd like to set it in like the 50s or something.Shot in black and white

>>9680751
>Why is this board obsessed with writing first person narratives about sleeping? The only thing you're going to do is put me to sleep.

lol, seconding this

>>9695817
That sounds incredibly pretentious.

>>9695856

Really ? I'd hate it to turn out like that, the visual style is simply because it's my favorite and I'd rather it ride on well written conversation than some vague sense of depth.

>>9680798
It's not that bad for a first time, man. Don't get into an ego trip about it. But there are a bunch of weird errors. But you've got some natural talent, even if it's not exactly best expressed in this instance.

>>9681375
Shines out from the rest of the content in this thread, IMO.

Your style isn't exactly my thing, but that's a matter of personal taste; it's clear that it's basically "complete" (i.e: you have enough in you to make a WORLD, with lots of interesting and varied things).

So yeah, like the other anon said, it's up to execution, but I'd be interested in reading it.

Also: did you know that Chagrin Falls spawned both Bill Watterson and one of the Higher-Ups at Pixar?

Apparently NE Ohio is a special place...

>>9681548
I like the second one, though it sounds a little like Snowpiercer

>>9681927
I dunno man, I'd have to actually read a bit of it. If it's complex enough, it might be really good.

>>9682179
At first blush I thought it was gonna be some angsty sh!t (due in large part to your shocking absence of any paragraph breaks).

But as I read more I saw that you have the capacity to think original thoughts, and interesting ones, too. I would want to be friends if you lived near me.

My criticism is that your thoughts don't seem to have any rhythm. Thinking is a lot like a monologue. And for a monologue to be interesting, it has to have peaks and troughs. The ideas are interesting, but you have to line up some emotions to them. It sounds so strange for me to talk to you like this as if your job were to fabricate some interesting introspection (it's as absurd as you asking at the end of your post for tips on how to "think better"), but I think that you already probably think with a good rhythm. You just have to get that across on the page.

Practically, that just means more line and paragraph breaks.

>>9682189
I like it

>>9682591
fun. try to have as much fun with it as possible

>>9682539
"I hate men whose words are noble but whose deeds are base..." – Some Latin Guy

I'm not just randomly being a dick, when you mention the "torrent of human coitus," it annoyed me. I'd rather have some yokel try to struggle through his metaphysics of beauty than have you try to pass these perfumed profanities past me!

Your writing style is better than most in this thread. Just stop being so pretentious, and SAY something.

>>9682602
Human beings are backwards in many ways. This manifests itself in how we look at writing.

You, like me, like everyone else in the world--we think that inspiration comes before writing, that inspiration is the breath of life that has to come into us from the brave blue sky and fill us with passion and energy... and then, and only then, we can write! But I swear to God it's the opposite. Just writing random drivel (at any time, at any place, no matter how impossible it feels at first) will fill you with more inspiration than waiting ever will.

>>9684212
Be rational, look closely, and tell me if anything good has ever come out of:

* feelings of pride
* feelings of superiority
* Contempt

etc.

All these things are a quick thrill, but they will NEVER pay off. Speaking from personal experience.

>>9686897
I like 2, 3, and 5. It sounds like 1 is more of a "vibe" than a story, and 4 is just too profane for me to like...

HOW COME NO ONE TALKING BOUT MY MASTERPIECE, GHOST BLOWJOB

>>9687642
Treat it like the real world (i.e: let everyone take it for granted, even to the point of reader confusion).

Actually, fuck world building. The point of a story is the story, not the place it takes place in.

>>9687768
Pure mystery is always scarier than anything we can imagine.

>>9687957
desu, anon, I like the simplicity of that. There's so much fucking varnish in these threads, and while this is kind of dumb, it's at least honest and has more to it than it lets on (whereas most of the stuff in here is the exact opposite).

If you really want to make it more "realistic," you should use more punctuation.

>>9695860
I suppose any pretentiousness would actually depend on how it was written and how you handled it. If it literally just a group of guys talking, then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. If you start shoving in symbolism and metaphor, I could really see it falling into dangerous territory.

>>9688166
omg man, so many stories taking place in a drab, featureless room. why not go somewhere, why not do something?

I admit I've written a lot of stubs about blank, featureless rooms and waking up, but they're all so boring, seriously.

>>9688197
I like this, but I'd say you have to take a few more pains to meet the reader. Right now you're verging on indulging too much in your own whimsy...

>>9688279
Same but instead of doing the tired "DAE LE HYPOCRISY OF LE 50S???" I want to write about a 50s that's as pure as they'd all have us believe it was.

And I want that to keep on going until the dirty, fallen reader starts sweating and patting at his head with a damp cloth and whimpering because he, being dark, expecting the dark but met with the light, is suddenly uncomfortably cognizant of a burning sensation pressing against his soul. And it is the presence of God himself, the fire that is pleasing to the good man and suffering to the bad.

>>9695988
>I want to write about a 50s that's as pure as they'd all have us believe it was.

This would be so refreshing, but with the way modern society is, be prepared to be labeled a racist or something for not attacking a largely conservative/republican era.

This is just something I wrote for this thread, it isn't part of any ongoing story.

The lights to the basement murmured above. Against their flicker the room seemed more like a dungeon. But where most dragon's lairs carried gilded treasures and intricate traps, Mark had storage boxes. Piles, piles, and more piles of storage boxes. Some already emptied, some untouched in over a decade. Mark dragged a trash bin behind him, nearly full of glass flasks. He was bent over, digging through a fantasy epic's worth of potion bottles. He wasn't sure why he had so many stowed away. They had to have been remnants from some quest or another, but Mark couldn't quite place them. He held one in his hand. Some of the markings on it seemed familiar, but the memory was almost completely clouded. He knew it had something to do with an enchanted forest. That was about it. He put it back down into the crate.

Something else was there, buried between the bottles. A black handle, jammed tightly in a corner. Forcing through the heap, he grabbed hold of the hilt. His hands were too big for the grip. Mark pulled back, dislodging the sword from the junk with an unnerving amount of ease. He twirled the sword a bit in his hand. It reflected a bright yellow, a hue more saturated than he remembered, far more than he expected it to still be. The color clashed against the faded gray of his sweatshirt. Mark raised the sword above his head. He swung the sword down in an arc. It still handled well. He laid it out flat again, between his hands, studying it like a sculptor would study a block of ice. Carefully grabbing hold of each end, he lifted the blade high in the air again, then slammed it down on his raised knee, snapping the sword in two. The pieces landed into the garbage bin.

>Working on my first novel
>enjoying it, think its going well
>wake up yesterday
>think its all complete shit
>think about it more today
>start to like it again and feel more confident

Am I neurotic or is writing always this much of an emotional rollercoaster?

>>9694730
No faking. Readers can tell when you're faking.

Don't write so people will like you, write because you enjoy writing.

>>9695534
Yeah, maybe make a blog. Depends on if your stuff is worth reading or nah

>>9695913
That was the point. Write something to make myself feel good.
And to write something really short with a somewhat nice closure.
The other things I wrote are sad and hopeless I think. (After reading "The Trial" I realized I was copying it without knowing what I was doing)

>>9696063
>Am I neurotic or is writing always this much of an emotional rollercoaster?

The answer to both of those questions is "yes".

>>9696062
omg he broke his sword ;_; stupid nerd why he do that

>>9676261
>art hoe
would read 10/10

>>9691064
A story of my life. I have been trying to start for twenty years already, but every time I start I realize that I have nothing except "world" and it's not even developed, it changes according to whatever my inspiration is at the moment. It was Lexx twenty years ago, it's japanese porn games today.

>>9696658
>The point is to describe how you break and build the world.
Any way, here is a little excerpt. If Crit Fag is around, I still owe you a crit, so post your shit.

She rose her seat to the opening copula, light streamed into the tank, Gluos followed her upwards. His hatch opened, revealing faint roar of jets from above, a yellow disk in blue sky, below a black rectangle of oily smoke dragged across the horizon. Brown flat land stretching towards them. All made blank by the distance. A tricolour flag of the SubCon. Romance rolling into its foreground.

>>9681548
Any dialogue or funky bits.

Do you guys do research? Like If I have a lawyer character i just make up legal stuff i don't have time to research all that shit.

>>9696063
I always wake up feeling like everything I did the previous day was shit. Just give it a little bit.

>>9697057
nah just make shit it senpai thats how we get shit like surprise witnesses. real life isn't so dramatic