/crit/

[Anonymous No.15584878]

Critique Thread. Disco Dancing Edition
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y3QBeRCKnE0
Please do try to critique someone elses work before posting your own.

[Anonymous No.15584907]

>>15584878
Is this any good? Trying out a new method based on Robert Butler's book.

Vivian had cut her hair short and now the golden light reached only her earlobes. Gone were the earrings he'd bought her; '08 or '09, an off year, he remembered, a kind of second honeymoon. The dimples were still there, even without her smiling, which of course she didn't when she saw his black Chevrolet slide in between the two cars across the street. She had her gardening gloves on, big as oven mitts on her small, delicate hands, and in a moment she stood and shaded her eyes from the strong sun, her upper lip tucked in and her slight overbite catching the sunlight and becoming one strip of teeth.

He tore his eyes off her and parked. Sadie, sitting in the passenger's seat, patted her forehead with a wad of tissue, checking herself on the side mirror. He decided to keep the keys in the ignition and turned on the A/C for her. "Stay in the car," he said. She reached for the handle anyway, and he told her again. "I said stay in the car."

"She gonna get mad again?" It was mocking talk, only half-serious, but not playful. He felt the air coming out of the vents, it was hot and heavy like breath.

[Anonymous No.15585071]

>>15584907
>only her earlobes
There's this almost-implication that it reached more beforehand (before the haircut) but I saw the right image so I think I'm just being anal. Maybe try "just to her earlobes." Unless you meant only-earlobes as opposed to hair, but I only considered the hair as an obstruction.

>Chevrolet slide in between the two cars across the street
I saw this as parking so the opening line of the next paragraph seemed weird.

The images might have been too sporadic but that might be a nonissue if I just get used to it.

[Anonymous No.15585604]

>>15584878

The darkness held no fear for young Arthur, merely a shadow among other, deeper shadows. In a similar way hey found himself at home in and among a crowd. He sat, his posture leaving much to be desired on a rock, upon which the occasional jogging couple or child out biking would pass, their attention elsewhere and his impact upon the weave of their life minimal.

The book between his curled legs was thick, its volume almost enough to make his wrists sore. The title page was nondescript, a series of words and a vague allusion to some deeper meaning – if he was honest, merely the size of it was enough for most people. Disinterested or easily impressed, the difference was naught for him. He thought most people looked at him like some alien creature, a relic from an earlier age so unable to fit in he turned back to Mother Literature and her children.

These people who passed him by; these profoundly irritating nuisances upon his solitude, they were his secret fixation. He desperately needed not only their approval, their company. A piece of the pie that was normality, all to his own. He started at a woman down jogging, the rhythm of her hips upon the pavement of the path fixating and forbidden all at once. He dropped his gaze lest he be caught staring, better a reclusive eccentric than a pervert.

–

The rhythm of her breathing sounded in her ears like the crash of waves upon a beach. She felt her hair swinging too and fro, the impact of it against her back a comfort. She’d needed to blow off steam after work, and the passive aggressiveness of her roommates was driving her up the wall. So, without taking her phone or fitbit she plunged into the summer heat, the tanktop not entirely soaking up the sweat that rolled down her.

Work was a misery, every third guy there seemed to stare at her tits, and the sniping of her coworkers was tantamount to the skirmish that precludes a world war. The pitiful, old men that looked to her for validation or simply pity, their sunken eyes sad yet lecherous as they raked her body. She always felt filthy after getting home, her calves sore from standing and moving all day. Yet, today was entirely different. The normal balm of her apartment was not enough, no not today. Sarah needed to burn away all the worries, all the stress of her life. So she hit the pavement.

The boy, no man for she saw the lines etched into his face was sitting down, his leg cross legged in the grass. The sun must’ve been burning him, but he paid it little regard, his attention solely focused upon the pages of the book she hadn’t ever seen the likes of before. Sure, Sarah remembered reading some in high school, but none of those books possessed the gravitas that this guy so casually conveyed.

He paid her a single glance, not even bothering to look at her tits before returning to his book. Her face burned, she turned away in embarassment.

Neither would see each other again.

[Anonymous No.15585714]

>>15585604
Arthur seems a tad autistic desu, not really feeling the atmosphere but this is technically sound.

Mine:

The wind soared around them, a living entity that wove its supine magic into the moment between them. Johnathan was lost in her hair, watching her lips tighten in concentration as she danced. The blond curls haloed her head, an affidavit of her heavenly origins. He closed his eyes and was lost in the moment, the utter bliss of the ---

“Jon!” He awoke with a start, heart throbbing in his chest, the sweat that gripped him in its clutches staining his sheets. The door to his room was still blessedly closed, the throbbing evidence of his arousal all too evident against white polyester sheeting. “I’m coming mom! Jesus, it’s only--” he glanced to the side at his phone, “—Nine o’clock, what’s the rush, eh?” By this point he was scrambling out of bed, in the process hitting his knee against the edge of his dresser, a curse muffled by the soft flesh of his sagging arm.

“Your aunt and uncle are here for the party! Don’t tell me you forgot already?” the cutting edge of her voice made him wince; it was the grueling echo of his childhood ways, the curtailing whipcrack she lined her words with always enough to shut him the fuck up.
“Of course not, mother, I just wasn’t expecting them this early, is all.” He hurriedly tugged a too-small t shirt over his chest, the sagging flesh disgusting him as always. He was certain no one had seen his disgusting rolls in over three years, and he fully intended to keep it that way. Despite the XL tag, the tips of his tits were visible and he pounded his fist against his forehead. “Fuck. Fuck, Fuck, everything else is dirty”

“Joooon, Lucy is here with them, get a move on, I want you kids to have fun!”

The treading sound of his mothers feet upon the landing receded and he had a moment to himself for panic. Lucy, the cousin he’d always admired; Lucy, the cousin he’d seen naked, and wanted to fuck since the fifth grade; Lucy, the girl he’d written a besotted Valentine to the year prior and never heard another word about since. The tension of it had been tearing him up inside and he sincerely considered ending it all and jumping out a window in the family’s attic, four stories off the unforgiving concrete.

He slapped his face, the crack surprisingly loud in the musty silence of his bedroom, which, now he realized it was entirely filthy. No, he wasn’t dreaming – there were the underwear he’d had a sweaty moment of passion with the night before, residue probably dry and flaky since then. There were the cartoon figurines of dolls he’d ordered on the sly when he was going through his latent furry phase. Shit, shit shit!

[Anonymous No.15585745]

>>15585604
>"darkness" and then twice the word "shadow" in the opening line
thin ice buddy

>hey found himself
he

>found himself at home in and among a crowd
Like, a crowd, right now? "The crowd" might be better. I also seel little reason to say "in and among" over "amongst" beyond melodrama.

>He sat, his posture leaving much to be desired on a rock,
Huh. This line isn't doing what I think you want it to, but I think it's actually better that way. The way you've worded it uses his posture as a cookie-cutter from which I construct the shape of the rock, but that's more like him leaning on it than him having sat. Maybe I'm the only one reading it that way though.

Too much "ow the edge" buildup for your punchline (him gawking). For example, "if he was honest, merely the size of it was enough for most people" seems like an almost entirely redundant chunk to add to its respective line until I get to the next and see "oh, anon needed to shift the subject to other people." There are things that can be done here with fewer parts.

>The rhythm of her breathing sounded in her ears
Oh, I cam already tell this is the jogging girl. Which is partially because you're trying to tell me, so good for you, but partially because I've read this story enough times before. The virgin boyfriend and the chad GF.

>She felt her hair swinging too and fro,
Oh you know I'm seeing titties. But as much as I appreciate the ponytail trick, the guy was introduced via a character flaw while the girl was introduced via her titties.

>last two paragraphs
now this is actually just edgy and I don't mean in the good way which Blood Meridian is

[Anonymous No.15585847]

>>15585745
>>15584878

The numbness was pervading, a piece of him dying to sit there in the dimly lit room, his eyes basking in the glow of the screen. Back and forth, back and forth he stared at the words, the line of his mouth never rising in even so much as a smirk. People just like him had written these words, people narrated by the crust of madness within his skull, people who theoretically existed apart from himself, out in the world he despised.

A bait thread, a philosophy thread, a crit thread – nothing kept his interest anymore. He tabbed out and brought up the thread denoted by that singular letter that had haunted his dreams: B. The first page held three homosexual occurrences, degenerates who posted their genitals online, oh how he despised them. No, he was better than them, the dick raters. His mind briefly surfaced, wondering how the belt of flab had grown to encompass his entire front, the sagging flesh pinioning him to his chair that made his back ache.

Ah, yet here was sweet relief. His mouth still not moving in even a hint of amusement or satisfaction, he felt himself rubbing himself through the crusty, stained sweatpants. A loli thread, why had he not ctrl+f’d this? Part of him knew he wasn’t actually a pedophile, and he wasn’t actually fat – just a phase that’s all, a down period these last seven years. Resignedly, as though regretting it already he began his ritualistic devotion to his slender-legged goddesses. It wasn’t the fact that they were children he thought to himself. No, it was so much less perverted than that, he wasn’t like the rest. Even while his cogent thoughts were leaving him, he defended himself with that one kernel of truth: I am not like the rest, I am better than them.

As his frantic exculpatory, self satisfaction reached its peak, he suddenly felt a moment of truth, down there in the gut feeling he tried his best to dismiss. This pizza and excretion stained abode was a den of filth, and he the troll under the bridge. He felt such disgust as one could not describe it as he came, the stain in his palm mirroring that of his soul. Yet it faded even as he poked that feeling with the twig that was his self awareness. No, he was better than the rest, none of this made him like the rest of them.

Silently he clicked another thread, his face not moving an inch from its blandly, neutral expression. Reddit.com called, and he answered.

[Anonymous No.15585863]

>>15585714
>The wind soared around them, a living entity that wove its supine magic into the moment between them.
repetition of "them" sounds weird, and this is all very "their big, galactic, cosmic love" in that the "magic" you are presumably drawing metaphor towards is substantiated by nothing other than "this is the sort of word a metaphor would use," etc. No offense but if you ask yourself "what does art look like?" you're going to have a hard time putting only that on the canvas.

Gets a lot better after that opening line, which to be clear, you can't outright cut.

>four stories off the unforgiving concrete.
I feel like this would be better as a two story drop, not that this can't kill you.

>there were the underwear
If you mean one pair he'd worn I'm pretty it's "was"

[Anonymous No.15585868]

>>15585847
>Ramona stories aren't reddit
OK buddy

[Anonymous No.15585972]

>look at this character and their accessories
this isn't writing

[Anonymous No.15586065]

You’re going to need a bit more about the reddit part ping chong

[Anonymous No.15586209]

HOW are you supposed to format internal dialogue?
it's just a guy shitting on himself in his head while drinking. italics? nothing at all?

[Anonymous No.15586328]

>>15586209
>nothing at all?
this

[Anonymous No.15586658]

>>15584878
Under the night sky that embraces a sleepy, ancient city,
Sits an old man pondering his life
As usual, the cats come to feed
One jumps on the bench,
While the others form a circle around him

[Anonymous No.15588186]

Internet went out
Anyway
Tired of field dressing

I’ll be back again
And then I won’t

[Anonymous No.15588230]

Good evening,

I’m so sorry for the late notice, I was referred to you by a mutual friend. My younger sister has been exhibiting some severe bipolar manic episodes. I am in desperate need of your services, I have heard great things about you, that you can truly uplift a sour mind into something that can still savor. My sister doesn’t let anyone into her room, she turns up the volume to her music so loud that me and my father cannot sleep, and every time we ask for quiet the only thing she’ll do is skip to the next song. We ask her to eat her food (she is so very gaunt, it is so painful to see her in this state) but all she’ll do is play with it; we often end up losing patience and yelling at at her because of this insolence, except she actually seems to thrive on this, she consumes our desperate shouts, hears our exhaust, this livens her and she stops playing. We then try to speak calmly with her, and she hears us, we are kind and empathetic to her, but she hears our sympathy from the center of a vast twilit stage as histamine, as bugged arrows, targeted especially towards her; but yet, even this foist she consumes! She grows even more alert, becomes more attuned into her monthly invested item of interest. She will not let go of her attention, she will swallow herself whole.

My sister needs your help for herself. Please consider this inquiry to help provide her the assistance she needs.


Cheers,
Arthur King
(___) ___-____