/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.12809201]

hey guys, can you critique my very short story?

https://pastebin.com/gFqgLH2s

[Richard Eder No.12809227]

>>12809201
You have a typo.

[Anonymous No.12809230]

>>12809227
whoops

[Richard Eder No.12809241]

>>12809230
On 30.,navigate to the weird sentence about centimeters and add a space before the beginning of the sentence between the period and change the first "to" to "too"

[Anonymous No.12809248]

>>12809241
thanks man :) what did you think about it?

[Anonymous No.12809280]

bump

[Anonymous No.12809294]

>>12809201
Perhaps you should look at some things closer:

>Mark felt a cold shudder through his jacket, the wind that was non-existent was a product of his own, a self-reflection to the deaths. Isn’t it great? With hesitation, Mark entered the code into the tiny terminal in between all the buttons and switches.

Instead of saying with hesitation, why not zoom in a little more?

Your imagery and the way you write are nice, but for me it seems to lack something. I don't know what that is. I need to constantly prompt myself to keep reading and I'd probably drop it fairly quickly if I'd come across it in the wild.

[Richard Eder No.12809301]

>>12809248
I liked it. I thought of the pilot from Le Petit Prince when I read it. My biggest complaint was the switching from we/he/I but I figured it was just a stylistic choice (maybe I'm just not familiar with it not being formated with italics for thoughts like in other texts). It's very vivid which I appreciate and I wouldn't mind seeing more entries. Thanks for posting it.

[Anonymous No.12809305]

>>12809294
hmm alright, i'll look into that

[Anonymous No.12809313]

>>12809301
glad you liked it

[Richard Eder No.12809317]

>>12809294
I feel as though the switching from first person omnipotent thoughts to third person breaks the flow a lot. It feels like a stutter.

[Anonymous No.12809355]

Can we turn this into a critique thread?
Here's a poem I wrote:

Waters seeded forced by Mountains,
A rickety boat’s pilot shivers,
Never to float home, nor find them.

The pole’s what matters, the flag does not,
Towers, Giants are marked by spine,
Over dead mounds the battles are fought;
Dead mounds made from giants dying.

In this mast of his no banner flies,
Even past flags soiled wonting spine,
Break the tall backs, so finding the why,
Under, over the starry sky.

Ten days or ten years, he could not tell,
In his broken vessel drifting,
Colour wakes in his eyes, in which swells
An ocean, reflects stars shifting.

Now infinite sea and sky are one,
True messages are hidden by
Knowledge; overelaboration;
In that false enlightenment die.

Lost is the one who believes it so,
Lost is the one who finds oneself,
Make the climb and you’ll certainly know,
You will find up there nought but snow.

Snow melts into many glaciers,
Every trickle to river,
Life’s soil and dirt makes it heavier,
Filled with dense silt to revive her.

[Anonymous No.12809395]

bump

[Anonymous No.12809397]

Sorry I am unable to comply at this time