Touch my Talent Button

[Catherine No.1720633]

Hey, are there any aspiring writers here that want to share their stories? I'll show you mine if you show me yours...!

[Fabulous !!GXZe+d0RTva No.1720636]

you're p cool

[Catherine No.1720637]

short stories especially. I mean, that's what I have to share!

[Anonymous No.1720639]

I'm more curious about what "rot thick skinned" means

[Catherine No.1720649]

>>1720636
what do you mean by "p?"

>>1720639
Sorry, Not thick skinned I mean. I just used it because I couldn't figure out how to upload a pic from the internet.

[Fabulous !!GXZe+d0RTva No.1720658]

>>1720649
it stands for "pretty"

"you're pretty cool"

i just think we should be friends

[Anonymous No.1720665]

>>1720658
This kind of thing is called grooming. In a lot of places it is illegal. Either way I find it distasteful and would like you to please stop.

[Fabulous !!GXZe+d0RTva No.1720674]

>>1720665
>>1720665
you're a vulgar man

i'm not of proper legal standing to commit such an act

and it's a woman

it's as if you barely know me or something

[Catherine No.1720679]

>>1720658
Are you being sarcastic? If not, do you want to share stories?

[Anonymous No.1720680]

>>1720679
are you gonna show us ur dick

[Fabulous !!GXZe+d0RTva No.1720690]

>>1720679

Desmond turned the corner with a festive tromp. He was slightly happy, a thing he had not been in so long that it made him slightly unhappy. Not a stitch of clothing was on his person and everyone who saw felt at once obligated to tell this man, so natural, their shallowest secrets. Feeling both the cold and its night approaching, the man decided to use his last quarter-hour to tempt from his benefactor the secret of his unconditional love. Mr. Andrews had enforced his generosity onto Desmond for the last twenty years, never once faltering in this queer altruism. Upon seeing Desmond’s unburdened form tread quickly to his front, Andrews was perturbed to a point of letting his frailties to spill slowly out of the mind. Filled with nothing, Andrews had seen his truth. This now just man was able to remember that he had no reason to love Desmond at all, and swiftly had the man expelled for his indecency.

here

don't steal it though because everyone who reads it swears ill be the next Booth Tarkington

[Anonymous No.1720692]

My stories are about love and squalor.

[Catherine No.1720699]

>>1720690
Man you're a jerk. plus flash fiction is cancer.

[Fabulous !!GXZe+d0RTva No.1720702]

>>1720699
it's a poem in prose

and jerk isn't a very nice thing to say

do you wanna talk about it?

[Anonymous No.1720704]

no. i don't have short stories you bitch. i can tell you short segments of my life though into short stories. i think it would be pretty interesting actually. but i probably don't care about yours?....

[Catherine No.1720709]

>>1720704
If you dont want to share that's fine, but please try and be nice if you want to post in this thread. Thanks.

[Anonymous No.1720711]

The name’s Pants. Five-Thousand Pants. And this is my sidekick, brother-in-law, and personal organ farm, Zero Underwear. We’re super-detectives. Super-detectives extreme.
Each day is like an egg: you crack it open in the morning and most of the time you get breakfast, but every once in a while you get a dead chick. Yesterday was one of those eggs you don’t want to get. Yesterday started with a dead chick. I mean, I had breakfast too; when the first egg has a dead chick you don’t give up, you crack open another egg and get to scrambling. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, it starts your metabolism or something.
Yesterday began with a ringing phone cracking the day open and spilling dead chick all over my skillet. My day was once again starting earlier than I would have preferred. You know what they say: there’s no rest for the wicked, or for super-detectives. The last time that I got eight hours of sleep was when I was in a coma for two weeks after my car exploded because some mob boss wanted me dead. Well apparently God or Satan or some other fictional being wants me alive because I’m still here with no plans to check out anytime soon.
So the phone rang until I woke up and then it kept ringing until I picked it up. There was a voice on the other end. It was a woman, and she had a problem. What a surprise. She was in tears; I was in my pajamas. That’s how it goes, being a super-detective. If any of you were considering “super-detective” as a possible career choice, know that this is what you have to look forward to. Being woken up early in the morning by phone calls from women with problems. Now earlier I said “what a surprise”, but the real surprise came when she told me who she was. Chello Bamtanarino.

[Anonymous No.1720712]

Chello and I had a history. We were something of an item, back in the day. Middle-school sweethearts. But in high-school that sweetheart romance turned into a sour patch. And now she was back in my life, which made me quite the jolly rancher. Only now was not the most opportune moment for rekindling lost love because, like I said, she had a problem. My ear was having a problem keeping up with the velocity of her problems as they came flowing through the phone line. Words were flying out of her talkhole like spaghetti from a spaghetti-cannon: hot, fast, and saucy. Chello cracked open my day’s egg: there was a dead chick. Apparently somebody had cracked open the girl’s skull. Suspect number one was the girl’s boyfriend, who also happened to be Chello’s brother, Dan.

Dan Bamtanarino was a real piece of work. Only he was out of work more often than he was in it , so perhaps he would more accurately be described as a piece of something else. I’ll let you fill in the blanks; I’ll just say that I know how to work a piece and I don’t use blanks. He and I also had a history, but not in the same way that his sister and I had a history. Although we did have History together third period freshman year, but that’s besides the point.

[Anonymous No.1720715]

Dan was as neurotic as a Chihuahua and just as likely to piss on your rug. Also likely to hump your leg. Not really though. He’s got more problems than a math book, more issues than a magazine rack, and more dead hookers in his basement then three. Haven’t been able to prove that last one yet, but he just seems like the type. I can smell it on him. Not literally, I’m not saying he actually smells like dead hookers. He smells guilty. Guilty as sin and twice as ugly. Cute sister though. Chello had an ass that could move mountains. Or at least pitch a tent. Got to second base with her in eighth grade. Was going for third but her dad was playing shortstop and he’s got a mean throwing arm. Quite a wicked right hook as well. Anyway, enough about her, she’s not the one that’s dead. Yet. That’s not foreshadowing or anything, I’m just saying, we’re all mortal, you know? Dan’s girlfriend knew that all too well. Or she would, if she wasn’t dead.

The police think Dan’s the one who did it; Chello argues otherwise. For some reason I believe her. Listening to her on phone, I picture her face as she tells me he’s innocent and I can’t imagine anything but truth coming out of that beautiful mouth. I’m not ruling out the possibility that Dan might be guilty of killing some chicks, but he didn’t kill this one. Something in my gut tells me that. Or maybe something in my pants. One of the two.

[Catherine No.1720716]

>>1720704
It's fine if you don't want to share but there is no need to be rude.

[Anonymous No.1720717]

Chello was in need of my extreme super-detective skills to detect the real killer and clear her brother’s name. Well, clear it of this accusation at least; Dan’s name was already quite tarnished and there’s not enough soap in the world to clean it completely. Chello was spouting words about a frame-job, a conspiracy, corrupt cops. Don’t know if I’m buying any of those theories but I guess I could take them for a test-drive. The police in this town are just as dirty as Dan’s name but, unlike his reputation, police corruption is something I think I can clean. My Smith & Wesson is a mighty powerful brand of detergent and I’m feeling the need to put it to use as a stain remover. It’s time to machine wash cold, tumble dry low.

First: breakfast. Second: call Zero. Zero Underpants is my super-detective sidekick, I introduced him in the first paragraph, remember? I crack open his daily egg: dead chick. Zero’s no stranger to dead chicks and neither am I; it comes with the territory. My sister is dead, and Zero married my sister (before she died). I’m the one that killed her. Alien parasites in her brain, long story, I’ll tell you some other time. The dead chick we’re focusing on now is Swan. Oh that’s the name of Dan’s recently murdered girlfriend, I guess I didn’t mention that before. But I did to Zero. On the phone. When I called him.

[Anonymous No.1720719]

I next say to Zero the words that have begun many adventures of mystery and intrigue for the two of us: “Meet me at the Place.” He knew what place. You don’t need to know about the Place. Undisclosed location. I arrived at the Place to find Zero waiting for me. Zero is a tall thin man with a face made for danger. Teeth like a Bowie knife and eyes that could cut glass. It was in those glass-cutting eyes that I could see his hunger and eagerness to embark upon a new thrilling escapade. Mystery was afoot and Zero had a foot fetish like you wouldn’t believe. Adrenaline was like crack to him and crack was like chewing gum. Or it used to be, anyway. He’s clean now. Now Zero only gets high on life, although he does seem to be building up a tolerance.

[ that's all I have so far. still working on it ]

[Catherine No.1720721]

>>1720702
Oh gosh I'm so sorry dear! I read the first line and got to the "slightly happy" line and then skipped and read the Booth Tarkington thing and I thought you were being sarcastic. I was thinking more along the lines of trading word documents because my stuff at least is a little bit lengthy (3-5 pages) to put in a post. Thanks for sharing, though! I just feel weird giving you my edits publicly like this.

[Fabulous !!GXZe+d0RTva No.1720724]

>>1720721
it's okay

i figured there was some sort of mistake

you don't seem like the type of person who'd be so disagreeable without proper reason

[Anonymous No.1720725]

It was not day any longer. The cool fog had turned the air tangible, and all had been devoured by a black, starless night reminiscent to a small closet turned pitch black by shutting a door. In fact, if not for the definite knowledge of its existence, nobody would know the sky was there or had ever been. It is definitely easy to forget, though, under such unsettling blackness; blankets such as these tend to inspire insecurities, of course. But, still, a young Byron Strauss walked long his typical trail to his San Diego high school. He had the luxury of doing so, with his beautiful attire, of course; young Mr. Strauss appeared a far older man, having a suited maroon blazer hugging his dress-shirted figure. His shoes were his average ones, but were polished to the point where they seem to have been purchased yesterday—they were a gorgeous black sheen that shone even in this situation, only with the assistance of the moon, and they had a small heel in the back that occasionally Mr. Strauss liked to clack together when bored. His pants matched those heeled shoes, just as shiny and just as black. On them, he had put a small heart to suit the occasion: Chula Vista High School Valentine’s Day Ball. But the crowning jewel of his costume was his Valentine’s Day mask: a heart shaped plate colored a bright red, and a smile that was supposed to mirror the wearer’s Valentine’s spirit. He was ready.

[ballsssss No.1720727]

>>1720725
Within seconds, he was there. It seemed that in no time he had reached the school, and in no time he was in the gym hearing the warm whispers of a pop singer’s Break Your Heart over a masking beat. The crowd overtook the scene, and it seemed as if there was nothing but people. All of them sweating, their chests and bodies bouncing in a euphoric symphony of footsteps that swallowed whole the music and turned it into an adolescent rave. Mr. Strauss could not keep up, however, and found refuge in one of the seats surrounding the punch table.

At the table were the other single people, all of them sharing their stories, and acknowledging their only difference to those dancing in the immense crowd.

“Man, it’s fuckin’ tiring over there, huh?” Byron could really break the ice, and taking off his mask, he sat down.

“Yeah, it is. But to be honest, what could you expect? Everyone here is horny as all hell! Can’t you tell? I mean, you’d think that Valentine’s Day would have a little more finesse!”

[ballsssss No.1720730]

>>1720729
“You know what makes me fucking sick?” He put his mask back on as he stood, passionately inhaling before spitting his words, “The fact that all those girls in there are with guys that want nothing more than sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. What’s worse is the fact they’ll actually end up fucking! Fuck them. You know what I know, though? I’m not that guy. I know for sure that I’ll be honest to them and say that they’re beautiful every day. Say how gorgeous they are. Kiss them every day, because I’m lucky to have them. I’m not the silent guy who goes in, fucks, then gets out. Where the hell is their integrity? You know what, though? More for me.” His words painted over the slap that ass babe of the finishing song.
The kids at the single table were all nodding, all of them heated by Byron’s speech.

“Let’s get the hell outta here, no?” One of them said.

“I know! Dude, there’s a diner down the street.. what’s it called?”

“Betty’s?”

[ballsssss No.1720729]

>>1720727
Then a young man from the crowd overheard. They all knew him; Mr. Valedictorian came in, in all his glasses-wearing glory. And he would seem as he always had—the geek, textbook defined with pencil holder and all—but he wore this time glasses of steam with perspiration that one can only hope to find in a place of ravenous teens. But under his aroused, messy hair, a perfectly lucid mind still lay working. He spoke in correction.

“Actually, if you look closely at the Valentine’s Day symbols, you see the little angel guy, right? Who do you think that is?” He asked.

Byron wasn’t slow to answer. “It’s cupid, right?” He retorted in a tone of incredulity that such a seemingly intelligent person could arrogantly test him with such an obvious fact.

“Well,” Valedictorian paused as he fixed his glasses, “It’s actually more like Eros—the son of the Greek Goddess Aphrodite! He was more of a symbol for physical love, not romantic; a symbol for sex, and ERO-ticness. Get it? In add—“ Valedictorian stopped himself from continuing, as he saw Byron ready to interrupt. And so he would.

[ballsssss No.1720732]

>>1720730
“Yeah! Let’s go there!”

Byron licked his lips at this, and felt his saliva begin to pour in, moistening his hungry mouth. He knew Betty’s—she had incredible pie. His favorite, in fact, was the main dish: cherry pie.

“Betty’s? You mean that place with the cherry pie?” He had to mention his favorite dish.

“Yep!”

Byron’s heart fluttered at this acknowledgment, and he shouted, “That shit’s orgasmic, dude! Let’s go!”

So, within a few seconds, he would lead his single, nice guy army into the foggy outside, all of them pulling their jackets off and dumping their attire onto the streets. They stepped on muddy puddles and dirtied their clothing. They pulled off their masks and tossed them into the night sky. They ran, ran, and ran to the sweet cherry pie.

[Catherine No.1720734]

>>1720719
HAHAHA this is like a joke and that's a compliment! Do you know Jack Handey's stuff? similar style of humor. Very witty, and lots of excellent word play!

[ballsssss No.1720738]

>>1720732

If it isn't blatant enough, let me share my idea for the story: guys hypocritically denounce the person that is honestly sexual, candidly an asshole-- human nautre is to be that way, and these "assholes" or "pigs" have merely embraced it. The same people manage to get what they desire. The guys that denounce them pretend to be something they're totally not-- a mask of a casanova, a mask of love, a mask of whatever romantic cliche you could imagine. They are oblivious to their own desires because they've repressed them, managing to delve into a jut of pathological lying.

[Catherine No.1720743]

>>1720732
This is very good. The only thing I would recommend is changing/cutting the wordy intro.
The symbolism of the cherry pie is especially deft.

[Catherine No.1720745]

>>1720738
your explanation is dectracting imo because the story can mean different things to different people. While I had a similar view of the underlying theme it certainly wasn't a perfect copy.

[Anonymous No.1720746]

>>1720734
Thanks. The problem now is I don't really know where to go from here, I didn't plan any plot out.

[Catherine No.1720748]

>>1720746
yeah, I know, it kind of goes in circles. Maybe you should write jokes, or short short stories in this style instead of long stories? I think the going back on each aspect/ sentence thing might not work in a longer piece, y'know? Then again, it would be a very funny book if you could pull it off without it becoming tiresome.

[ballsssss No.1720750]

>>1720743
it's important to have an intro, imo. I will make the entire thing a bit more concise, though; I read through and saw some pieces that I could easily add in a bit more to hint my point, as well as words to enhance the eroticism that I want to portray. Once the story is completed, you'll most definitely get the same thing that I intended.

Thank you! Might I ask what your interpretation was?

[Catherine No.1720752]

>>1720690
It's a little bit confusing, especially the last two sentences.

[Catherine No.1720757]

>>1720750
American Pie duh! Not the scene, but the theme.

Whatever the first words are is the intro. It's going to have have an intro.

[Anonymous No.1720770]

If you want to read my short story, it's about 9000 words. It's about a parallel universe where Shakespeare's lost play of Cardenio has become something like the national play of France. the story follows two sisters who go to see the play in the provincial capital. I know it sounds like of gay, but if we're all sharing, and if anyone wants a link, I'll provide one.

[Catherine No.1720776]

>>1720770
It sounds very cool! I am so intimidated by the thought of writing historical fiction. Also I haven't really read any Shakespeare, will I still "get it"?

[Anonymous No.1720786]

>>1720776
Here ya go, let me know what you think, should you somehow get to the end. And you don't need to know much about Shakespeare, other than I tried to imitate the plot of one of Shakespeare's late "romances", where he plays fast and loose with unities of time and space. I've always wanted to write short stories like Katherine Mansfield, but this might be too top heavy and uneven. In any case, here ya go.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6009229/1/bCardenio_b

[Catherine No.1720805]

>>1720786
Thanks, I will certainly read it tomorrow. I started, but I think I am too tired to read it all now. If anyone wants to read my stuff I can email you a word document. Goodnight everyone, and thanks to all who shared.

[Anonymous No.1720806]

>>1720805
'Night.

[Anonymous No.1720830]

>>1720719

Zero has already begun researching and gathering evidence. He had mapped out chains of events with branches of possibilities and had determined that the first piece needed to begin this puzzle would most likely be found by questioning Dan’s roommate. When I saw on Zero’s diagrams who the roommate was, a shudder ran down my spine and butterflies committed seppuku in my stomach. I had never met the man, and from what I’ve heard about him that’s something to be thankful for. Dan Bamtanarino’s roommate was a disgusting, vulgar, perverted son-of-a-bitch who made Dan look like a saint by comparison. Dan’s roommate was Yertle the Turtle.

[Anonymous No.1720851]

1. Don't ever - EVER - post your own work on the internet. I thought people on 4chan would know better. Unless you don't care if people rip you off
2. Posting your work and then telling people not to take it as their own makes you sound very egotistical.
3. Even if it is not amazing, someone could still steal it and make tons of cash as a pop fiction author. The culture dictates what's good, so even if something is not holyfuckingshitgood that doesn't mean someone can't make money off of it.

It's just not a good idea people, come on....

[Anonymous No.1720859]

>>1720851
M'eh. You're probably right, but it's not like my stuff is going to be published any time soon. Might as well let other people enjoy it gratis rather than have it sitting in my hard drive.

[Anonymous No.1720863]

>>1720859

You never know man. I always tell myself, "If Twilight can get published....."

[Anonymous No.1720877]

>>1720863
Ha! Good point.

[Anonymous No.1720879]

>>1720851

Some of us have noone else to show it to though. We need criticism.

[Anonymous No.1720890]

>>1720851
>1. Don't ever - EVER - post your own work on the internet.

This is exactly why I've never been in the fandom scene.
Notice that Cassandra Clare is having trouble gaining respect as a novelist?
I think the only people who buy her novels were already in fandom and knew of her or are teenage girls.

[Anonymous No.1720893]

>>1720863
>>1720877

I believe that was the point he was trying to make. Stephanie Meyer, regardless of her cult following, did something that I can at least respect.

And that was play the times like a fiddle. She utilized the numerous teenage hearts out there seeking approval and made massive profit off of it. This, in my eyes, makes her an absolute genius.

Of the literary arts? No. But a genius nonetheless.

[Anonymous No.1720895]

>>1720890

I think that's more down to her posting fan-fiction and mediocre young adult novels.

I think you can make a name for yourself on the internet (Tao Lin for example, though I'm not a fan). But don't post stuff in forums like this expecting huge fame and success. Make a website, release it on amazon and make sure people know who it belongs to.

[Anonymous No.1722435]

>>1720830
The apartment building looked like a severed limb removed from the torso of another building to prevent the gangrene from spreading to the body. Didn’t smell much better either. As I examined the exterior I noted that Dan and Yertle’s apartment didn’t have a basement. Wonder where he keeps the dead hookers. Speaking of prostitutes, Yertle the Turtle was in the process of banging one when we arrived. The intense sounds of frenzied booze-fueled copulation echoed the dingy halls of the stanky complex.

"What's my name? ... And where's my dick? ... I said, where's my dick, bitch?! ... Damn right it's in your ass, I'm Yertle the Turtle." The voice shouting this passionate pillowtalk resembled a cross between Beavis from Beavis and Butthead and Woody Allen. Just as I was about to suggest to Zero that we revisit this lead at another time, we heard the ear-splitting and unmistakable wail of a drunken turtle achieving orgasm in a prostitute’s bootyhole. This was followed shortly by an “Alright, you’re done, get the fuck out” and a woman opening the door and exiting into the hallway.

She had the mean and hungry look of a streetwalker who would trade fellatio for food stamps and offer anal passage in exchange for crystal meth. The sore poor whore exited the building with a waddling gait common to those who have recently finalized a hard deal in their south end business district.