/lit/ - Literature

[Writing Enjoyer !!rfWaFyj8zdG No.17817839]

Alright /lit/. You like reading? You like writing?
Write a compelling intro to a story.
If you cant do that then just pitch a plot.

[Anonymous No.17817849]

I ate too much spaghetti. I had three bowls. I’m going to explode soon. Please. Help me. I swear, if I make it through this, I won’t do it again. I will. But I promise I’ll try to keep it to a two bowl max.

[Anonymous No.17817862]

>>17817839
not gonna do your homework, nigger
I suggest that you check these repeating digits

[Writing Enjoyer !!rfWaFyj8zdG No.17818312]

>>17817849
ive been there bro, i hope you survived
>>17817862
fuck you. im not even in school i just like reading anons stories

[Anonymous No.17818319]

>>17817839
riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend
of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to
Howth Castle and Environs.
Sir Tristram, violer d'amores, fr'over the short sea, had passen-
core rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy
isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor
had topsawyer's rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse
to Laurens County's gorgios while they went doublin their mumper
all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to
tauftauf thuartpeatrick: not yet, though venissoon after, had a
kidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all's fair in
vanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a
peck of pa's malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory
end to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface.
The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonner-
ronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthur-
nuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed and later
on life down through all christian minstrelsy.

[Anonymous No.17818421]

>>17817839
There is beauty in the machine. Not the cold, Appolonian silicon of computers and cybernetica, but in grissle and wrought steel that is material entire. An extension of the collective manos, mans mind worked out by his hand. In the springs and rods of a factory loom alone is there a defense for mans right to exist, a defiance that he is animal more than man. This is to not even delve into how mans heart lies in no tecknology more than his weapons. In mere maintenance of a rifle lies meditation, in learning it something divine.