Prose Check

[Anonymous No.23652906]

Post the most recent paragraph you have written and other anons will give feedback.

[Anonymous No.23652910]

I wrote this for a biology paper:

In conclusion, the new knowledge gained from this paper is that we now know three glycolytic proteins that dopamine binds to, the specific site dopamine binds to on these proteins, and the effect dopamine has on these proteins, along with the more significant effects it has on the neuron. I believe the authors arrived at the correct conclusions. I think researchers who are interested in developing treatments or cures for Parkinson’s and other neurodegenerative disorders would benefit from reading this study.

[Anonymous No.23652924]

Avicenna misunderstood this point in an interesting way, claiming that as long as the understanding of a word is preserved, it can always be validly combined or divided. For example, we could combine “Nicomachus is good” and “Nicomachus is a doctor” into “Nicomachus is a good doctor” as long as we had understood the divided “good” in the same way as it is meant in the composite phrase “good doctor”. And likewise in divisions – we can say “Homer is” from “Homer is a poet” as long as we understand “is” as a copula, not an assertion of existence. For Avicenna, the falsehood arising from bad composition and division is accidental, and this whole problem is a matter of right usage and convention: there is no such thing as composition and division really, just false understanding of terms leading to apparently incorrect compositions and divisions. But the truth is the opposite of what Avicenna claimed. Logic does not concern itself with problems of usage and convention, but thought and understanding, and these terms refer to preverbal concepts like “good” and “being” that are actually limited or broadened in composition and division with other concepts. If you maintain a “sub-understanding” of the term as Avicenna suggested, it was never really divided in the first place. Similarly, the nature of composition in accidental unities is to narrow a concept by limiting it through another – being good, versus being good as a doctor. And since the meaning of Avicenna’s “good”, “good (as a doctor)”, is already complete on its own, it does not truly enter into composition with “doctor”, and any apparent composition with “doctor” would be per accidens and verbal. All of his supposedly “divided” terms are already composite, and his “composites” are already divided. But some concepts really are divisible, and some concepts really are combinable, under the conditions described above, and this refers not to language, but to the thought that underlies language, even though this is being treated via verbal signs like “good” and “doctor”.

[Anonymous No.23652927]

Truth, whose mother is history, rival of time, depository of deeds, witness of the past, exemplar and adviser to the present, and the future's counselor

[Anonymous No.23652929]

Here's the thing. you said "Pluto is a planet." is it in the same group of astronomical object? yes. no one's arguing that. as someone who is a scientist who studies planets, i am telling you, specifically, in science, no one calls Pluto a planet. if you want to be "specific" like you said, then you shouldn't either. they're not the same thing. if you're saying "Planet-like" you're referring to the astronomic grouping of astronomical object, which includes things from astroids to comets to dwarf planet. so your reasoning for calling Pluto a planet is because random people "call Pluto a planet?" let's get meteors and brown dwarfs in there, then, too. also, calling the Sun a G-type main-sequence star or a star? it's not one or the other, that's not how astronomy works. they're both. Pluto is a dwarf planet and a member of the astronomical object family. but that's not what you said. you said Pluto is a planet, which is not true unless you're okay with calling all astronomical objects planets, which means you'd call comets, moons, and other astronomical objects planets, too. which you said you don't. it's okay to just admit you're wrong, you know

[Anonymous No.23652934]

>>23652910
Do you think it is possible to achieve a cure for Parkinson's?

[Anonymous No.23652936]

something about a woman who used to do 50s housewifey ads for a spray whipped cream. vintage ad collector, lonesome perv guy, is obsessed with her and molds protag into her replica? or protag finds lady, now gilfy, with a shrine to her past? gingham dress. 'he could almost hear the stitches straining at the seamss.' milkman.

[Anonymous No.23652948]

>>23652934
I don't think so. However, we would likely be able to develop a treatment to prevent or delay it from happening.

[Anonymous No.23652964]

>>23652927
This is like buying an 18th-century-style wig off AliExpress, wearing it around town, and thinking you've mastered the art of tasteful menswear.

[Anonymous No.23652967]

Woke to the crawling, the creeping, the insidious scuttle. Dark, always dark. Bodies upon me, tiny, tenacious, unyielding. Legs, antennae, eyes aglow like embers from a spent fire. No respite, no quarter. Scattered, they reassemble, a horde of black, a plague of darkness. I, a supine host, a feast for the void. Stir, I must, and they flee, vanishing into the cracks, the fissures, the abyss. Yet, still, I feel them, upon me, within me, an infestation of the soul. And so, I lie, waiting, for the next incursion, the next wave of darkness to break upon me.

[Anonymous No.23652974]

>>23652964
You missed the joke. Anon is quoting Pierre Menard.

[Anonymous No.23653080]

>>23652906
Unfortunately, the unique prose style I employ in my literary work can be effective only within the broader context of the work itself. If I were to violently slice a chunk off the bone, succulent though it may be, the pungency and richness of the flesh might turn a nose unaccustomed to such delicacies away in bewilderment, or even disgust.

[Anonymous No.23653185]

This is the last full paragraph before a lot of dialogue in the novel I'm working on,

Over the course of a few hours I sent emails back and forth with human resources and conducted an exit interview in between consultations with some of my favorite literary figures, and when that was over with I sat there at my desk under a ray of sunlight that beamed down through the window, in silent meditation over which direction my life was now to take. I felt a tinge of optimism, but also an equal degree of loneliness and anxiety because I’d been shooed into that career and was at least ostensibly making my parents happy. Now, under this light, unless I retreat back to coding, I will be truly alone. My thoughts are broken by a knock at the door and a second later my mother barges in.

[Anonymous No.23653219]

>>23652910
Wow that’s bad. I’d cringe if I saw this in a journal (t. Reads science lit routinely).
Conclusion: dopamine binds to proteins x,y, and z at cites A1,B1,C1. When A is affected M. When B is affected N. When C is affected O. Given Parkinson’s patients suffer from deficiencies in the dopamine pathways it is likely that further research in manipulating these proteins activation or increasing their levels may be of some benefit for patients.

I just removed the slop and focused it. Most journals are going to be specialists reading the abstract and conclusion followed by the intro and then maybe the actual experiment. The conclusion needs to be concise and get to the point in a quick way so the guy reading it can keep the best info for use and come back to it if he needs to see ‘why’ the results are what they are.

[Anonymous No.23653222]

>>23652929
Faggot here!
I’m really sad and depressed I know what this is

[Anonymous No.23653283]

>>23652906
Fragment of my novella:

"Thus, those were days of lethargy without the healing of rest. Many prophetic dreams were had. All and all (but this he would never ever admit to himself), those were actually good days, if not /the/ good days; as long as the flesh is not bruised anything understood as suffering is twisted into an object of pleasure, something pertaining to the realm of /Lust/ (somewhere between the English and the German coinage). In a way, he intuited that any possible existential risk that anakoresis may reserve for him was just illusory, that he was safe like a teenager magically waking up in his bed after a Jägermeister-induced blackout. He was /ontologically/ safe, as all men are. He had seen that place but one time before, many years ago, when he was very young and easily frightened. No idea why he was there or what he was doing back then, though."

[Anonymous No.23653309]

Genreslop dialogue review pls:

“…Right.” Rotwood looked at Quickstrider. “Anyways, we need to take the water ley to Sun’s Shadow.”

“Of course. Mudflood arranged your travel with me this morning. I as well have already passed on your information to the Papanuy gate.” The woman stood up and began to slowly dance.

Legs moved fluidly, keeping perfect balance on an imperfect stage. She motioned to the waters around her and the waves responded, calming themselves. Teren had never seen the technique before, but not a finger seemed out of place to him as her motions sped up. A current formed, gently pushing the raft south. The soft light of the leygate rune began to appear on the platform.

“Amazing,” whispered Teren. The guildswoman looked at him and his mouth grew dry. “Er, it-it’s just that most magic I’ve seen doesn’t involve such… complex footwork.”

For the first time that morning, her expression lost the edge. She smiled at him, and not the cold leer from before. “I am one who can sink ships. Keeping my art intricate is a small attempt in appearing ladylike.”

“You seem to have no problem appearing ladylike to me.”

That got him a snort. “A good answer, even if it’s untruth. You have a name, Deathcrafter?

“Teren, of Decidual. I haven’t earned a given name yet.”

“Ah,” she sighed. “You are a bit young, aren’t you?”

Rotwood slapped Teren on the back, causing him to nearly lose his footing. “Bah! This young man will have himself a title by the time we come back through these parts.”

“I’ll look forward to it. I’m Helltide, by the way.” Helltide nodded to her two Tempest Ranger compatriots. “And this is Highglider and Cloudbringer.” Everyone nodded at each other, exchanging pleasantries. It never hurt to make friends with the other disciplines.

“What business do you have in Merdz?” asked Highglider, the one who had given up his cloak to Helltide.

“A funeral,” said Ronic. Someone of importance has passed away, we’re to prepare the body.”

Highglider whistled. “I didn’t know Southrangers followed the Twelve Paths.”

Cloudbringer looked thoughtful. “They don’t.”

“Anyways,” interrupted Quickstrider, “We need to get a move on. That confusion early was unfortunate. We apologize for our part in it.” The leygate’s circle was now centered on the platform.

“As do we,” spoke Helltide. She glared at Rotwood. “And that curse you used on me. It won’t have any lasting effect?”.

Rotwood shook his head. “Even with the wand my deathcrafting isn’t on the level to kill people with words and thoughts alone. I merely made your body feel like it was dying. No true harm done.”

Her cruel smile had returned. “Lovely. I’d hate to have to file a complaint with the Order, gravesealer.” She cast her gaze over the rest of the group, lingering on Teren. “You know the rules, stand on a rune line, don’t set any belongings down.”

[Anonymous No.23653315]

>>23652910
I feel like “new” is unnecessary. Knowledge gained implies new knowledge. Good overall though. I nearly blew my brains out taking marine biogeochemistry

[Anonymous No.23653322]

>>23652924
I’m too dull to get what you’re getting at. But it flows smoothly. Maybe I’m a bit biased but I thing throwing in a few howeverbeits and thoughevers would really wake the reader up. Despite them not being real words

[Anonymous No.23653325]

>>23652927
What makes you think History is the mother of truth? Much history is untrue or lost. Curiosity is in my opinion the mother of truth

[Anonymous No.23653332]

>>23652967
I liked it. Is it about schizophrenia?

[Anonymous No.23653339]

>>23653080

try me

>>23652967
>>23653283

very purple

>>23653185

the "literary figures" is ambiguous. do you mean fictional figures or do you mean writers? are you talking with them for real or imagining them? not clear. also, the reference to coding is too direct and ugly.

[Anonymous No.23653405]

>>23653339
>the "literary figures" is ambiguous.
It's clear within the context of everything that comes before that paragraph.

>the reference to coding is too direct and ugly.
He just quit his job as a programmer in the narrative, not sure why or how I would subtly allude to it instead of being direct.

[Anonymous No.23653411]

I was gonna post something I felt wasn't up to par but then I realized it actually isn't that bad and maybe I should keep it to myself because I wouldn't want to post it anonymously for someone else to grab onto it. Anyone else know this feel?

[Anonymous No.23653448]

>>23653309
It seems a bit rushed for my tastes. Like you get a smattering of dialogue and then a tiny bit of action to go with it, but not enough of either before the next line comes.

>”Amazing,” whispered Teren.
Could be
>”Amazing…” Teren whispered to himself; so lost in the elegance of her performance he didn’t realise his thoughts had come out of his mouth.
And
>“Ah” she sighed. “You are a bit young, aren’t you?”
Could be
>”I see,” she mused, tilting her head to get a better look at him, her gaze moving from his head to his toes and back up again. “You are a bit young, aren’t you?"

Slow it down, have your characters speak with actions as well as words. Infer tone where it’s needed.

Also, you’re using a LOT of names/places/terminology in a short space of time. Almost every character is throwing out some lore-specific term in almost every sentence which doesn’t feel particularly natural.

Take your opening lines for example, I’m assuming the people talking already know how to travel around, where they’re going etc. They wouldn’t need to repeat to someone on the same journey as them where they’re going, because it’s a given they’d already know, and I’m guessing the reader does too.

Imagine if you were talking with a friend about going to a city and had a numbered road you needed to take. The conversation wouldn’t be:
>Anyway, we need to take Route 69 to get to Fuckstown now
>Yes we do, Bitchboy arranged it all with me this morning. I’ve contacted the toll booth in advance and explained to them that we’ll be on the road today,
Realistically, it would be closer to:
>Anyway, we’d better move. You know the way, right?
>Yeah, Me and Bitchboy have it all planned out. Everything’s under control.

I have some other more minor issues, but they’re the most glaring for me. Hope this makes sense Anon, I’m off my fucking box on pain meds right now so idk how lucid I’m being. Best of luck to you, fellow genre-sloppa.

[Anonymous No.23653470]

>>23653448
I really appreciate the feedback, I think you’re 100% right that I need to add more details to the conversation. As for the names/terminology part, I just posted an excerpt from chapter three of the project I’m working on, where characters are traveling through a series of portals. I would have posted first chapter writing instead, but my plan was to do a rough draft of the story and then go back with details. However whenever I write dialogue I can’t help but fall into a pattern of going into the weeds and not just saying in the rough draft notes “they discuss their journey” and move on to the next scene. Once the characters get out of this traveling chapter and start going on the real journey by foot, I hope to slow way down and use mostly grounded terminology (as I am writing this story as a fantasy coated version of my recent hiking trip to Nepal, and I’m using ley line travel as a substitute for planes because I’m not particularly creative)
Very good point with the highway analogy, thank you once again for the feedback!

[Anonymous No.23653474]

>>23652906
Tom Briggs was the type of man to call a curveball a yacker.

[Anonymous No.23653641]

>>23652927
at first I thought that history was a rival of time (another entity) who you would then describe as depository of deeds and other titles

[Anonymous No.23653686]

>>23652906
I'm not wasting my stuff on you chuds

[Anonymous No.23653703]

Chortling, Chad Chud chopped chartreuse chaparral.

[Anonymous No.23654979]

Nobody reviewed mine
You rat bastard, OP

[Anonymous No.23655027]

Everyone at this party is a pretentious transsexual communist. They refuse to see Atlantis because Plato terrifies them.

[Anonymous No.23655034]

I awoke. Then I headed downstairs, to the livingroom, as there I always have my breakfast. Yonder I ate. It was a good meal. Sufficient fuel for the entire morning's labour.

[Anonymous No.23655250]

>>23652906
Random passage I wrote a week or so ago to keep the juices flowing since I've hit a roadblock on other things.

>Wings of stone spread over rain-washed graves. A vigil oft held in solitude would today host a lone guest of the living. Adelaide watched the approach from the attic window, rocking her newborn in her bosom. The gaunt man wore a long black coat and came bearing a yellow flower in one hand and a red violin in the other. He played both sides of noon, and the face of the angel perched on the headstone bore no qualm at the sounds. The gaunt man swore it might have even been enjoying it. Adelaide did not.

[Anonymous No.23655276]

>>23655250
Holy cringe.

[Anonymous No.23655281]

Look at these fucking dumbasses.
Look at them do the same and say the same fucking things every single day of the week. In the same ways. For years. Even when they're not the same machinery and the second law of thermodynamics invariably makes itself present.
How long's it been? Almost a decade since we started feeling like this?
There comes a time in life when these placid pleasures, this slow dopamine drip, grows stale. Then tolerance sets in; intolerance bursts, stupidity abounds, and awareness grows. / Comes back. / Fuck.
Hypersocialization runs its course and hypernormalization misses its mark and a hermit who's been stuck here for way too long finds no recourse but to walk back to the desert, the last place on his list. In three years we'll be Christ's age and thus depressingly complete. At 35 we'll be an illiterate Dante with no Beatrice. Not even blessed the mental vestige of a nymph at 9 ripping through the cords and ties of neural arrangements to birth faith with little petal pink pecks (madness!).
We all want a piece of that, don't we? Divine purpose. Fate. A tale determined and imposed by the gravitation of stars, bends in spacetime, ripples in the sea of life binarily twinkling within the void now given purpose by great wills and great almighties, penned by their hand of madmen and women and madthings far beyond our reach blessing our sad miserable and pointless lives with a dash of purpose. A reason to look past the next page, down the long death spiral that follows the fulfillment of our programming and always claims triumph over the human race. We want more than that.
(A little girl's nakedness in full view)
We want love. And we deserve it. We've been denying our earthly power for so long, flagellating ourselves with the stink of cum and spit and cheap silicon and lube, with concrete and fantasies, aborting stillborn ardors in fear, tasting ghost flesh and ghost loves that like all vicarious things orphan us. We're copies of copies of copies (at three man sees) of what once were genuine human experiences, and like all Hegelian processes we must converge.
(The mentally ill always shoot for the baroque but it's never said we often, too fucking often, miss the mark. Stupidity is our queen.)
Look back to the start. A first lust. A first, and often last, love. The trauma of hands flowing, of invisible ones following, and of a rejection that eventually comes. A surmountable wall. Guilt. Dejection. More than hatred, disgust. Rejection of sense. Give me that antifreeze or at least some fucking nicotine. What always comes after the denial of nature is bitter spiritual enlightenment.
(Helped then by technicolor succubi and polydimensional mistresses, or corporate idols built in their likeness).

[Anonymous No.23655289]

>>23653411
I do, but hardly anyone here has the grit to ever publish anything, let alone someone lazy enough to steal. If you're that concerned write a couple throwaway sentences specifically for the thread.

[Anonymous No.23655298]

>>23655276
What about the prose is cringe?

[Anonymous No.23655315]

>>23653411
I do, that's why never post anything here
Also, if my work becomes known, I don't want people to know I come here tee hee
I can't go to cringe reddit, after all

[Anonymous No.23655426]

"prose check?"
His tired eyes, ever affixed to an aging screen, glanced upon a strange thread. As is always the case, curiosity and a listless desire to waste his finite hours drew him in, though not without the ever present sense of schadenfreude that's been a spectre following him in the two wasted decades he's spent on the internet's drainage ditch. Dutifully, the withered old marionette unconscious of the thrads pulled by perdition itself thorough a force drawn towards its own folly, lifted his filthy fingers and began conceitedly typing out strings of nonsense.

[Anonymous No.23655443]

>>23655426
Misspellings aside, I was with you until
>began conceitedly typing

[Anonymous No.23655454]

>>23655298

nta, but you should just write like you speak. i'm assuming you don't speak like that because everybody in your vicinity would probably burst out laughing

[Anonymous No.23655459]

Shroud of black cars shifting through the busy roads, buses and other vehicles separating the procession… only the elderly stopped in their tracks to stand to wait respectfully as the hearse moved on past; the rest of the cars scattered, lost to the afternoon traffic. Tradition on death’s doorstep, the doorknob slowly turning… soon enough there’ll be nothing left in the New World...
The service flowed in the usual way, there was nothing that stood out. It was a quaint and personal service held at St. Anselm’s catholic church and the body was taken to Albany crematorium and the wake found itself at The Tinkers pub.
Amongst the beavered faces Henry navigated through, politely accepting the outstretching arms of aunts and the hands of gentlemen who gave their condolences. He shook them amicably before they made their way to the bar once more.
That was all the grandparents dead. Last funeral for a while, touch wood, or at least that was the general idea amongst the aunts and uncles who spun their tales of granddad and of childhood.

[Anonymous No.23655460]

>>23655454
>just write like you speak
Absolutely putrid advice.

[Anonymous No.23655462]

>>23655443
Hey I'm glad you liked most of it at least. I haven't done creative writing in a long time so this was fun distraction.

[Anonymous No.23655639]

Palaces of moss and mud burn, one more drop in an ocean of disappointment. My putrid swamp, now ogre. Adelaide watched from the attic window, staring, judging, burning. Burning my swamp. The gaunt man waits to strike behind both sides of the moon. He had flour in one hand, violinium, gold, frankincense and myrrh in his other hands. My face melts in the fire. This is how the adventures of Shrek end. Adelaide rocks her moss covered rock, it's covered in rock moss.

[Anonymous No.23655655]

>>23653325
I think in this analogy, curiosity would be the father and observation the mother.

[Anonymous No.23655696]

>>23655460
Why?

Personally I think it's good advice. We don't live in a culture that has standard forms of elevated poetic speech. So it will always feel forced and artificial to mash together the tones and conceits of previous cultures in an attempt to sound Literary. I say: write as you speak, and revise carefully.

There obviously is something like a power in words that doesn't come out in regular speech. But you tap into that power through long humble diligent practice at writing good, meaningful sentences, not by trying to immediately assume the unearned role of Mischievous Master of Language.

[Anonymous No.23655715]

>>23655460
I wouldn't say it's bad advice to give to a beginner if their writing is wordy and cumbersome. The passage has more of a problem with being lofty and clichéd, and rather than being cumbersome the passage is just very flat. It's very short, so narratively there's maybe not a lot that could be done with what's there, but overall the sentences themselves are petering and feel disconnected; if I imagine how this is supposed to be read aloud, I hear the writer's faux aristocratic tone ending each sentence like a long breath, which, before the author can misinterpret it as a nice affect, I think is very annoying and trite. Overall it saps the passage of any rhythm. Using more varied punctuation and joining some of the sentences might help, and getting rid of the haughty affect will make the embedded clichés more bearable (even if they're still pretty bad).

>>23655250
See above. If you want to use poetic speech, make a point of doing it sparingly and very carefully, otherwise instead of elevating your subject you're going to mire it in a very homogeneous tone.

[Anonymous No.23655733]

>>23655715
>wants to talk shit about other writers
>won't post his own work

[Anonymous No.23655737]

>>23655733
>thinks advice is shit-talking
>won't say what he thinks is wrong with it

[Anonymous No.23655739]

>>23653411
I like to read what other anons post for fun, but would never post my own. 9 times out of 10 the things that tend to occur in these threads is that the samples people provide are either given no response, mediocre or outright bad consultation, ridicule, and the occasional praise without any explanation as to why they enjoyed it. You can never know if what you wrote is going to be taken wholesale or partially, and so it's almost all risk with little upside. I'd rather give a sample page to my parents and siblings unironically.

[Anonymous No.23655770]

>>23655715
>Using more varied punctuation and joining some of the sentences might help, and getting rid of the haughty affect will make the embedded clichés more bearable
op here. Seeing as it's only a few sentences, can you apply some edits using this critique so I can actually see what it is you'd prefer more.

[Anonymous No.23655810]

>>23655770
>A stone angel's vigil held over a rain-washed grave, oft alone but today bearing a single guest. From her window Adelaide watched---rocking softly her newborn against her bosom---as a gaunt man in a long black coat approached the tomb. He laid a yellow flower at the grave then removed a violin from its case, playing for an hour under the tranquil gaze of the perched angel, imagining it as a sympathetic stone patron to his music, not imagining Adelaide in her window---Adelaide who was burning at the sight.


I was forcing things a bit in terms of varying the punctuation, and I don't write in this style nor do I know what's important in context, so it took some effort to retain parts of your original passage. But it should give you an idea of what I meant. I also threw in some alliteration/assonance and such to give the sentences some more texture. You can criticize it as over-/under-cooked.

Also: is it raining? Who plays a violin in the rain? Wouldn't it get damaged? I imagine the yellow flower was meant to contrast rainy grave imagery, but it felt a bit out of place and overall the scenery is pretty weak. I dropped "attic" because it felt superfluous and too clichéd for me. (Also: what's with "*in* her bosom"? Maybe I'm wrong but that doesn't sound right, or maybe I just haven't heard the phrase enough.)

[Anonymous No.23655843]

In repose in the wadi, he sat lotus under the shadow of a shale mountain, eyes open and unfocused, pupils constricted and glowing green from the amplified light—photon to electron to photon, following each breath, focused on death. The smell of the putrefied bodies had a physical presence in the air, he followed it on the inhalation, holding it in his lungs like smoke. A new understanding was blooming within him, a rolling field of white chrysanthemums, blooming and decomposing and blooming again with each breath.

[Anonymous No.23655972]

>>23655810
>nor do I know what's important in context
Me either. This was something I wrote in the spur of the moment with little thought for its history, and what would happen afterwards.

>is it raining?
No, I figured using "rain-washed" was enough to show it'd already passed, but perhaps not.

All in all I'm impartial to the changes. There are things I like, and don't like. In the beginning there's more conciseness without a loss of tone which is nice. The use of 'stone patron', and 'against her bosom' (instead of in) are also good. The description of the flower being deployed alongside an action it the better approach. On the flip side I miss things you refer to as haughty: the attic, the red violin, changing "He played both sides of noon." to, "playing for an hour" is criminal in my mind. The use of 'imagining' and 'Adelaide' twice at the end of the sentence feels bloated, and the removal of the cold close, "Adelaide did not." is not as fun.

Thanks for taking the time out to critique and edit. Although I might not take all of the things you recommended to heart, I definitely got somethings out of it!

[Anonymous No.23656014]

>>23652967
comma hell but easily fixed

>>23655250
pulp sovl desu
if the intent is not to be some literato leave it be

[Anonymous No.23656078]

>>23655972
>attic
>red violin
>"He played both sides of noon"
I've got the exact opposite feeling about these: I removed them because I felt they detracted from the focus of the scene; I found "both sides of noon" confusing, if anything. They're superfluous and haughty and removing them allows you to place emphasis elsewhere more clearly. If this was just a passage you made up for fun, then fine---it's good to play with language when all you're doing is playing---but if you want to do something like this in a longer form, be sparing: you can always save a nice phrase for later where it has more room to breathe or has more weight.

When it comes to the attic, I think it's a cliché setting when combined with everything else, though it did still stick in my mental image of the scene when I was rewriting it. If you want to get the image of her looking down from a distance or some other part of the attic vantage point (which I think is valuable here), focus on conveying that directly.

I get your wanting to keep the "Adelaide did not," considering it's effectively the punchline and period of the passage. It didn't fit in my rewriting, and, again, sometimes you have to give up on phrases you like. My repetition of her name at the end was to bring her back in focus and came with me figuring there'd be more time spent in a later passage elaborating on her relationship to what's going on. Introducing the final phrase by an em dash also breaks up the flow, which I think is good. Writing "burning at the sight" clearly changes the tone too, but oh well. "Adelaide did not" is also ambiguous in your passage; Adelaide did not swear the angel was enjoying it? Phrases like that and "both sides of noon" may sound nice, but they're not clear.

Anyway, write a few more paragraphs and you can incorporate everything you wanted, but there needs to be some moderation in between. And even though I think your original passage is bad, I'll say again that it's good to mess around and that writing bad stuff is fine for practice. When you're experimenting you're going to produce duds, but without them you won't develop. It shouldn't simply be an exercise in pretty phrases, though. It's clear you need to start thinking more about the structure and weight of your writing overall. Try messing around and getting a feel for differently structured sentences, and this doesn't mean you have to start abusing semicolons or em dashes; you can do plenty with commas and periods by simply playing with shorter or longer stretches between punctuation or by changing your word choice to texture things. Get out of the one-two sort of beating structure you have in and between the sentences in your passage.

[Anonymous No.23656242]

>>23655972
>>23656078
Final note is that it's good to disagree with criticism sometimes, since I don't want to seem like I'm dismissing everything you wanted to keep. So long as you're thinking critically about your writing, thinking on a comment you disagree with will help you get closer to how you want to write. Difference in taste matters for figuring out what works for you.

[Anonymous No.23656396]

I've thinking lately about when my mother died. It was a long time ago. It was very cold. I remember distinctly the wet slap of my yellow rainboots separating piles of slush on the sidewalk. There was then no concern of contamination or stain. The snow had been blackened by tires and the road and the blind night, and my infant mind shot at once to the conclusion that one color had bled into another.

My father held my hand as we walked away from the straight and black pylon of the hospital, illuminated now by a hundred square yellow eyes. The car was a parked a block away, and it seemed to me, even then, as I looked up into his bespectacled face, that my father was making a great effort to control himself. He was trying not even to glance behind him, and to walk in an undeviating path to the car. There was none of his usual humming or half-remembered lyrics. His whole life would soon become the breadthless length of the monomaniac.

In the strength of his grip I felt my whole body slowly compress like some imploding, darkling star. I could smell the heavy fragrance of pomegranates on his clothes, and this confused me because it was my mother's perfume, which always had for me an association with departure because she only ever wore it when she went out with my father, flushed pleasantly with rogue and lipstick, leaving me at home with the babysitter. This scent burned my eyes, and inspired within me a sudden rebellion. I would not go one step further. I had to go back right now and see my mommy, and lift the white sheet--as terribly white and blinding as the fluorescent lights in the hallway--and see her awakened, illuminated, resurrected.

My father knelt and touched my shoulders with the blades of his hands. But the more my father tried to reason with me, the more hysterical I became. The little I understood, I did not wish to accept.

[Anonymous No.23656409]

>>23655459
Does anyone have any opinions on my piece or nah?

[Anonymous No.23656440]

>>23652934
Here's another question: do any of you buy into the often employed fact in fiction that the future is a place where the diseases of today have been vanquished, yet new ones have appeared, which means that humans will never free themselves from incurable illnesses?
Remember the "diseases" mentioned by Bullock's character in The Demolition Man?

[Anonymous No.23656469]

>>23656440
There probably will be new diseases (life uh finds a way) but they'll be minor inconveniences instead of life-threatening affairs. The cure for most current diseases is to just reverse aging, which isn't as far off as people might think. We're probably already living among people who will live beyond 150 years.

[Anonymous No.23656497]

>>23656396
I want to like it because of the situation. The death of a mother is something that strikes a natural sympathetic chord in virtually everyone. However, something about it feels like it's trying too hard to make me feel. It's bordering on gushy, and hamfisted. I get that it's the memory of a child so it's only fitting, but it's still a bit much imo. The paragraph before the last few sentences especially.

The more I think about it I'm reminded of the beginning of The City & The City when the detective first enters the crime scene (pic rel). I felt the same if not more for that random woman than I did for the kid's mom despite the drastic reduction in words utilized as well as the impersonal context. I can't write worth a shit so I don't know how you'd mend it or if you even feel the need to, but I figured it could be something worth considering anyway.

[Anonymous No.23656508]

>>23655459
I am esl so this might be a low iq take.

>beavered faces
what is that?

idk if that is a very good paragraph to critique as you are mostly just telling about something quite boring relatively quickly. i don't really feel any emotion here, not even sadness. maybe melancholy, but more for the loss of tradition than the dead or the main character.
maybe that is what you wanted. but i also don't know who is sad that tradition will soon be gone. it is the most emotional part, but not attributed to anyone. (and i am not saying it is super interesting. the rest is just less interesting.)

i feel like the last sentence could have been more interesting because this is our first interpretation of the event, but you soften it a lot by saying
>or at least that was the general idea amongst the aunts and uncles who spun their tales of granddad and of childhood.

so idk. maybe more context would change how it feels. it is all very non-personal, without attribution, without emotions. i guess partly that is what you wanted, right? but i still think you can maybe give more insight in how the main character thinks or feels.

maybe i should just ask what where you going for? then we could maybe give better feedback.

[Anonymous No.23656613]

>>23656497
On the one hand this is painful to read since melodrama was not at all what I was going for and what I was going for went completely unnoticed. On the other hand, the "method" I used to write this seems to have worked, in so far as I don't feel as pathetically devastated as I normally would from negative feedback, even for a throwaway exercise.

Anyway, back to the drawing board.

[Anonymous No.23656657]

>>23656613
>I don't feel as pathetically devastated as I normally would from negative feedback
lol it seems the melodrama extends beyond the page! So what were you going for if you don't mind me asking? The only other thing I caught a glimpse of is that there may be some sort of plague in the future, and the mother was patient zero.

[Anonymous No.23656695]

>>23656657
>So what were you going for
It's really just a vague mishmash of ideas and imagery inspired (at times stolen verbatim) from the first few verses of Lord Byron's "Darkness". Recalling the verses ("and the icy earth swung blind and blackening in the moonless air") made me think first, of the story of Orpheus in the underworld, and then of Oedipus, and then for some reason of Euclid ("rayless, and pathless" -> "a line is breadthless length").

This is probably because my own mom had a mammogram recently and she's getting to that age where I have start thinking about the possibility of her passing. I also had a son a little over a year ago so it's partly an expression of the weird state (I find it weird anyway) of being simultaneously parent and child.

All of this amounts to little more than schizo rambling but it generated a very specific feeling which I tried to put on the page, but which, regretabbly, ended up as melodrama.

[Anonymous No.23656728]

>>23656396
This doesn't sound like a guy in mourning.bit sounds like a pretentious twat wanting to ejaculate his dictionary to other people. More psychotic than anything. I can't relate to these edgy people

[Anonymous No.23656734]

>>23656695
I forget where I heard it originally, but recently I came across the old prescription that one should always remember that the reader doesn't know what you're thinking of when you're writing, and as such one should always leave them with at least one gleaming edge to hang onto so they can parse the rest of it out. Poets struggle with this the most.

[Anonymous No.23656871]

Call me Mappy! You may know me from my popular 1980s videogame career. I retired early and bought a big house. But nobody wanted to visit my big house, or listen to my increasingly hammy and truculent political opinions. And so I sat there, with the lights off, watching people drive past my house, and imagining what it would feel like to shoot them in their cars.

Until inevitably in this way I began to develop a grand theory of history.

I realized we needed to go back, to rejoin that sacred continuity of force severed from us by revolutionary turmoil,

Back to violence sanctified by myth, when one could be a Gilles de Rais upon a holy quest instead of just some asshole strangling kids in the parking lot behind Stop ‘n’ Go.

Folks, I know many of you agree, which is why we’ve started shelling the city. But is a way back really possible? The answer is: YES!! We fight to restore a legitimate claimant - a bold figure ready to take the vacant throne of History!!

Ladies and gentlemen! Presenting the last descendent of Charlemagne; the Present king of France - THE DAUPHIN!

[Anonymous No.23656907]

>>23656871
My pussy tastes like Pepsi Cola. This is why I shell your cities and your king begs for more. I have no grand plan or vision, only bombs and pussy juice.

[Anonymous No.23656964]

>>23656396

it's good except for all the places where you are using weird phrasing which is just distracting and clunky, mamely "breadthless length of the monomaniac", "imploding darkling star..."

"infant mind" to me doesn't sound accurate as the behaviors and perception could be that of a child but not an "infant"

[Anonymous No.23657091]

>>23652906
when a temptation presents itself to the gochis of which they are conscious is wrong it is clear they understand a dilemma is at hand. cases in which they are not aware a sin is being committed simple ignorance is to blame. these constitute ~<95% of all instances. seldom is a gochi both aware and willing to commit sin with perhaps the exception of Chiya (who is a foreigner & heretic hence not beholden to the laws of the land). of course, being a young girl living for the most part care free is easy and expected when nothing stands to seriously test your convictions. however a utopia isn't built off of sin. this no one understands better than Chinos father, Herr Takahiro. for it is his actions that furnished the lives of the gochis. without his guiding hand no one can say what would be of that humble cafe and her three little baristas.

[Anonymous No.23657096]

In repose in the wadi, he sat lotus under the shadow of a shale mountain, eyes open and unfocused, pupils constricted and ringed in the optic’s green glow—photon to amplified electron to photon, following each breath, focused on death. The smell of the putrefied bodies had a physical presence in the air, he followed it on the inhalation, holding it in his lungs like smoke. A new understanding bloomed, a rolling field of white chrysanthemums, blooming and decomposing and blooming again with each breath.

[Anonymous No.23657468]

For instance, the coquette scholar my companion worked alongside, and with whom we had dinner several times, had a vastly different interpretation. Xiaomei saw her neo-human research as a link in a never-ending chain, the first step in a series, leading to what could only be regarded as a new species. Qiaolian told me her lab partner's PhD project had mutated beyond simple genome pruning, incorporating behavioural reeducation, sexual activity research, designer pharmaceuticals, and haphazard experiments in what Qiaolian called "mythic-futurist genetics". All these boiled in Xiaomei's cauldron for almost a year before she vanished.

I remember she brought us a late housewarming gift one rainy afternoon: a few lines' worth of black dust. She said she got it from her hooligan boyfriend, stolen while he was comatose on the same in the next apartment tower over from ours. And maybe that was true: new drug fads tend to grow underground before mainstreaming, and the hooligan still had deep ties to the bleeding undercity edge. But there was something in the way the coquette foisted her gift on us, promising us "a transcendent time", yet refused to stay and partake. Xiaomei disappeared back into the New Quarter rain before her parka dripped a drop.

Nevertheless, we dosed the black dust that evening. (Orally for my companion, nasally for me -- as our current op recoveries allowed.) We had planned to stay in from the storm anyway and listen to Bach or Abing -- nothing too violent or percussive. We wanted to watch the rain and relax on the black dust, and talk over a glass of champagne. We would truly talk and connect, as shamen once did with the aid of vine pulps, and bask in each other's changing glows.

Instead the black substance swallowed us whole. Eleven hours later it spat us out with severe headaches and no memory. And certainly no enlightenment.

Regardless of whatever pharmaceutical hijinks she was toying with back then, many now subscribe to the coquette's infamous manifesto, her unique breed of bionihilism. Something mystical and immutable in Xiaomei's message appeals, despite the dry science, her clinical rote. As if her fragments are a kind of clairvoyance.

Obviously neither I nor my companion (nor anyone else from our "movement") endorses her writings or neo-humanism as she sees it. Hers is still an ideology, however practical her neo-human may become. And human ideology is anathema to us.

Yet both neutralists and neo-human advocates share a similarity: faith in an idea whose time has come. That Xiaomei took one path through the woods and we another doesn't mean we won't reconnect deeper within.

[Anonymous No.23657616]

Pretentious faggot coming through
I'll comb through the thread tomorrow and try to give some feedback

>That compliment will make a nest in the back of his mind. To creep up on him in the small hours of the night, when nothing but the sound of passing cars, nightbirds, and the ceiling fan can be heard. To bounce around his head and torment him with thoughts of a missed connection - a 'should I have done something more?' - a hundred 'what if's - a dozen sleepless nights imagining a fantasy, a construct with a woman who liked his eyes and his cheap, forty dollar owl-clockwork necklace. He liked her eyes, too. He will remember that moment for the rest of his life; Within a week, she will forget it ever happened.

[Anonymous No.23657622]

>>23656871
I like it, but in its subjects and style it’s incredibly redolent of thecatamites/garmentdistrict.

[Anonymous No.23657634]

>>23652906
>prose check
>it's a board full of ESLs and non-readers
LMAO, as if, scrubs!

[Anonymous No.23657648]

Sweat slid down Jeremy’s cheek. It had been twenty minutes and he couldn’t accomplish what he wanted to do. Heavy sighs and occasional grunts echoed throughout his apartment. Groans louder than a roar of a grizzly emitted from the bathroom. Jeremy sat on his porcelain throne just praying and hoping the malady near his spleen found relief from the sufferings it was experiencing.
Nothing.
It had been four days since he was last able to find relief in his bowels. Today would be his fifth. Jeremy tightened his abdomen, his gluteus maximus flexed, and with as much force as he could muster, he pushed. He held the position for a long twenty seconds; he strained, he braced, and he squeezed.
A tiny plop.
This was the worst experience in the world. Jeremy wiped the drops of liquid formed across his forehead. Jeremy could only bury his face into his hands. He shook his head in absolute disappointment and agony. Thirty minutes passed, and all he mustered was a small unsatisfying dropping. There wasn’t anything he could do. He tried it all— he ate bowls of bran flakes, consumed multiple servings of starchy vegetables, swallowed countless wedges of oranges packed with insurmountable fiber, and to his dismay, none of it worked. Defeated, Jeremy looked over to the roll of toilet paper hung on the wall. Frustration welled up inside him. Not only could he not release the pounds of solid poison from his body, but someone put the paper-roll on incorrectly—each ply of paper must be released from the front, not the back, but Jeremy didn't have the will to correct it. Jeremy wiped and not a single smear appeared. He pulled up his pants and left the room.
“Any luck?” It was his best friend Paul.
“Nah man.” Jeremy wiped his hands onto his pants.
“Damn. It’s been five days bro. Maybe you should go see a doctor.”
“I did. He told me to drink more water, eat more fiber, and do glute exercises. Ain’t working.”
“That’s no good. Man, I would love to help you out right now, but I gotta get to work. If worse comes to worse, you’re going to have to have someone pull it out.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that. I’ll give it another day. If not, then you’re going to have to take me to the hospital.”

“No problem. Laters.”
“Laters.”
Paul left Jeremy to his own devices. There wasn’t a single remedy to his predicament. Jeremy plopped onto the sofa wallowing in his own misery. He flipped open his phone and began to browse carefully tailored sites gearing toward his interests. The bright lights, at the very least, provided a distraction and helped relax his body. Maybe it would be enough to coax his body to expel the built up waste inside.

[Anonymous No.23657650]

>>23657648
Videos of scantily dressed girls appeared on his screen. Countless number of videos of dancing females of all ages wearing clothing meant to attract commentary and false praise. Some girls spoke of workout routines, and others provided their expertise to the most asinine of ideas. Comically, there wasn’t a single original thought behind the words that came out of their mouths. It failed to entertain. A poor elixir to the already pitiful state of being Jeremy was in. Jeremy’s soul had the desire, but his body did not. It was impossible to be amused by the lustful appearances dominating his feed. It caused him to grow increasingly frustrated trying to find a video to help him relax.
Jeremy continued to scroll past many other videos until one caught his eye. He couldn’t fathom the reason behind the interest, nor could Jeremy articulate why. It was as if his phone magically knew what he needed to watch.
A short two minute video featured a group of men pushing an object through a large plastic tube. Their bright safety vests were covered in mud, and their hard hats fell into a pool of muddy water where they stood. None of it hindered their efforts to press forward to achieve the monumental task of trying to dislodge whatever object was clogged inside the large pipe. Julius Fucik’s The Entry of the Gladiators played in the background while the men heaved and hoed back and forth. Soon, a gush, or more specifically, a tidal wave of brown water exploded from the other side of the tube. The men cheered and Jeremy smiled alongside the men’s joy in defeating the beast they were tasked to vanquish. It was a sight to behold.
The comments were littered with hearts, smiley faces, shocked expressions, and a host of other expressions easily understood by any familiar with the hieroglyphics used in the twenty-first century. Despite the accolades the video obtained, it could not compare to the single comment adorning at the top of the section.
Reminds me of after eating Tacos-Belle.
A single silly comment, yet, it was filled with numerous innuendos and double entendres that was more than just a joke. It was life advice. It was a folk-remedy. It was the cure. Jeremy immediately jumped to his feet. A smile formed stretching ear to ear. There weren't any doubts inside his mind. The answer to his problem was found inside a two-minute video. Thousands upon thousands of comments confirmed the original pronouncement. There wasn’t an end to it. Men, women, old, and young, all testified to the miracle known as Tacos-Belle. The cure to constipation.
Jeremy grabbed his coat and rushed out the door of his apartment. He bolted down the stairs, for waiting by the elevator would have taken far too long. He dodged Mister Duckingworth carrying his groceries, and spun past the couches in the lobby.

[Anonymous No.23657654]

>>23657650
“What’s the rush?” Dunkingworth yelled out.
“Sorry, can’t talk! Have to go get Tacos-Belle!” Jeremy screamed back.
“Constipation huh? God-speed.”
Jeremy couldn’t hear the mutterings of Duckingworth, but that was of no consequence, Duckingworth understood and did not judge. Neither could anyone else.
The giant pink bell hovered over the drab grays of the buildings surrounding it. The sign post hung high above the pedestrians walking alongside the streets. There were other men in line, each needing the medicinal qualities Tacos-Belle’s menu brought. Jeremy was close, he could smell the flavors of beef and cabbage linger in the air. He side-stepped a woman walking her dog and pushed aside another man in a hurry to obtain a place in the queue.
The double glass doors of the fast-food hospital wasn’t able to deter Jeremy. He rushed toward the closest of the three pharmacists ready to prescribe necessary treatment.
“Hi, welcome to Tacos-Belle, my name is Maria, what can I get you?” said the girl with the purple visor and collared shirt. She had a bright smile and readied for whatever barrage of words that exited out of Jeremy’s mouth.
“Give me a dos locos doritos chalupa supreme!” Jeremy shouted.
“Would you like that in cool-ranch, nacho cheese, or flaming hot?” Maria asked.
“Nacho cheese.”
“Not a problem. Would you like that as a combo for only seventy-nine cents more?”
“Sure.” Jeremy’s voice quickened with every word.
“Okay, so I have a dos locos doritos chalupa supreme nacho cheese flavor with a medium drink and churro. Would that be all?”
“Yea.”
“That would be five dollars and seventeen cents.”
Jeremy shoved his hand into his pockets and opened up his wallet as quickly as possible. He handed Maria a crisp ten dollar bill and left his change. The hardest part of his journey began.

[Anonymous No.23657659]

>>23657654
Jeremy bounced on the heels of his foot like an all too eager dog ready to bolt toward a ball thrown across the field. The seconds felt like hours while he watched the workers pick up an empty shell, pour in the seasoned ground beef, sprinkled the crisp green lettuce, drizzled strips of American cheese, scooped a dollop of sour cream, and wrapped the entire concoction into a neatly folded square of waxed-paper.
“Number eighty-three!” Maria said into the microphone. She placed the order onto the counter-top.
Jeremy looked at his receipt and rushed over to obtain his order. He nodded a thank you to Maria and immediately grabbed the item inside the brown paper bag.
“Thank you, please come again!” Maria said.
Jeremy took a seat inside the dining room and unwrapped the meal. The seasoned beef juice drizzled out from the two openings of the taco and leaked onto his hand. It didn’t matter. Jeremy opened his mouth as wide as he could and crunched down on the morsel. His molars ground up the contents; he took a huge slurp of soda and swallowed the mixture. Satisfactory.
Jeremy consumed the medicine in under twenty seconds. He didn’t care to enjoy the wonderful flavors and texture, he needed the medicine to work as soon as possible— and it did.
Pains—excruciating pains—shot through his intestines and abdomen like potent venom from a black mamba. Jeremy felt it. The pang of anguish he so longed to experience the past five days arrived. Faster than a gazelle fleeing a lion, Jeremy raced past not one, but two, purple doors. Stripping his pants and jamming his rear on the seat of the white clay throne, he grasped the ledges as tightly as he possibly could. In an instant, euphoric chemicals entered his brain when he felt a mass leave his body. It lasted less than a second, but feelings of jubilation lingered for another minute. Jeremy blinked a few times, there weren’t any words that could express the feelings he carried. Heavy breaths and a joyous chortle was all. He lifted himself off his feet and took a minute to admire his handiwork.
“That’s one for the ages,” Jeremy said.
A press of the button and sounds of water swirled to a final cacophony that marked the end of his predicament. It was a memory worth having. He gave a silent farewell to the remnants washing away. All that was left was to wash off any remains.
Just one problem.
The toilet clogged.

[Anonymous No.23657686]

>>23652910
>In conclusion: we now know the three glycolytic proteins binding sites for dopamine, the mutual interaction between them, as well as the salient effects upon the neuron. The authors' conclusions and methodology used to arrive at them appear sound-- we thus believe researchers interested in developing treatments or cures for Parkinson’s and other neurodegenerative disorders would benefit from familiarity with the study.

Solecisms are the bane of STEM writing, and nowhere else is it more apparent when one's stretching for word count. Absolute parsimonious economy of expression. The people grading this shit appreciate prose they can glide over rather than stop and start through stilted morasses of the functionally illiterate.

[Anonymous No.23657691]

>>23657686
You can’t use ‘as well as’ as a conjunction. Saying ‘item 1, item 2, as well as item 3’ is wrong, in other words. Should be either ‘item 1, item 2, and item 3’ or ‘item 1 and item 2, as well as item 3’. Nevertheless the overall point of your post is a good one.

[Anonymous No.23657703]

>>23652906
America, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Woke pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his business closed, his social media censored, and his metaphorical body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of gays which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of Canada, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to metaphorical death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to San Fransisco, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.

[Anonymous No.23657707]

>>23657703
Fucking hell. Awful. Like Thomas Carlyle’s mentally handicapped younger brother.

[Anonymous No.23657711]

>>23652906
I was chatting with strangers on Omegle—terrible idea, I know—when this bad bitch popped on screen.
Off the bat, she was like: “Yo, you ugly, bro.”
So I backed up, like: “Ayo, what the fuck? Who says that to a stranger?”
And she went berserk on me.
“You ug-ly. Pansy ass, white boy pussy ass—ugly. I bet you got a tiny dick, don’t you, white boy? Yeah, got that shrimp dick glued to your ugly ass, don’t you?”
“Bitch, I ain’t white.”
“You look white enough. Got that gentrified, oat-milk-drinking look about you. Got that mama’s milk breath on you. I bet you spend all day playing video games and jerking off to that weird anime shit, huh? Yeah, bet you beat your tiny virgin dick to all sorts of weird shit.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re mad crazy, girl. But ain’t gonna lie, you’re kinda bad though.”
“Yeah? You like what you’re seeing, white boy?”
“I told you I ain’t white. How old is you?”
“What?”
“How old is you?”
“Twenty—no, twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one. Alright. What’s your name?”
“Guess. Guess my name.”
“Samantha.”
“Samantha?” She widened her mouth. “Do I look like a Samantha to you?”
“Susan, then.”
“Susan?” she screamed.
“You’re a freak. That’s what you are.”
“Yeah? You like freaky girls, white boy? You want me to slobber up that cute white ass of yours, don’t you? Lick that crusty shit clean, don’t you?”
“I thought you said I was ugly.”
“Nah, you cute. Ask me for my social.”
“You’re just gonna give me your OnlyFans. I ain’t about that. Give me something I can DM you with.”
She licked her lips, thinking. Then she said, “Okay, I do this because you cute.”
We swapped contacts and started talking for the better part of a year. When we finally met up, I whooped that dumb bitch’s ass for calling me ugly and stole her car.
I still think about her sometimes.

[Anonymous No.23657712]

>>23652906
>ALASKA
>The only hotel in town had one room for board with chalk outline left in situ around some recent exsanguination event. Bleach hasn't quite muted the metallic copper and molded stench from the carpet. The travel budget would accommodate luxury lodgings but this was it for several hundred miles. Location is everything. The bar downstairs next door attached to the building (separate but equal) wasn't godsent but may as well be under the circumstances of too many sheriffs going afoul of some mystery menace out on reservation calls-- if it wasn't domestic violence, then surely skinwalkers had free reign in the darkness outside of town swept in this time of year 24/7.
>All the stores sell furs. Many sell furs exclusively. Curiosity got the better of me with the assistence of beer. Stumbling into one to feel up minks, this was the first thing the owner said to me,
>"I have 3 bananas. Would you like one?"
>The possibly priapic solicitation was monumentally disturbing in this environment. The logistics of securing monkey fruit here beggared belief. The environs of this benighted place was one large and seeping time machine polluting the environment with anachronism in both directions. Here the present was more anemic and thinner than the air. Time was punctuated by the cholic tides of hangovers and untimely deaths one knew dimly by name. If the bears had any sense they'd start kicking down doors until the place was theirs uncontested again, free of demented townies and guided hunt tourists' stolen valor at their expense, a collective historical hibernation into cartographic obscurity. Suicides are visited by ursine revenants with assurances of reincarnation.

[Anonymous No.23657718]

Just a journal entry I made while tipsy earlier tonight, not at all written for anyone who isn't myself, but I would still be interested to hear if my prose is decent (for what is essentially an internal monologue)

I now have a lot of free time, and I would like to take some of that time now to write, here. I have, as usual, been wasting a lot of my time. I am now twenty three. I have finished college, I am no longer in a relationship, and I have been drinking most nights. I would like to read more. I don’t have a job nor a desire to find a job, nor a car, but I do want a car. I have been playing tennis with some good friends. This summarizes aptly the last two months of my life. I sleep during the day often, even if I am not tired. I know at this age that there will never be an “answer”, and I am unfortunately garnering mixed feelings as to whether I will be able to change seemingly fundamental aspects of my personality and nature. Obviously these feelings are old, nearly a decade old now, but I had thought I had changed some habits for good over my senior year of college, which was arguably the best year of my recent life. I had a clear direction and goal. Now I have accomplished that goal and honestly don’t really want much else. I think often of killing myself, at least in the last week and a half or so, which is notable because (cont...)

[Anonymous No.23657722]

>>23657718
continued:

I had actually nearly entirely stopped thinking such things in my last (for now, but most likely last) academic year. It is nice having so much freedom and I hope to do something interesting with it, the freedom. Read, write, maybe complete a couple personal projects. I would like to get in shape, but this is secondary in my opinion. I find myself thinking first and foremost about how I am balding (not terribly, but noticeably, on the top of my head), which I find odd. Like there are so many tangible things that are wrong with me and things that I could change and when I think about my list of ‘problems’, this normal, mostly uncontrollable, mostly benign thing makes the subconscious list nearly every time. Maybe I am vain still, I do want to be attractive and I don’t want to be old. It is odd in my opinion how much balding is used against men to belittle them, seems somewhat arbitrary. Not wrinkles or unkempt beards or bad breath, instead usually “you’re short, have dismal sexual performance due to anatomy and / or inexperience, and you’re bald”. Sex makes sense because it comments on one’s social ability and would cut deep in I assume nearly all cultures do to how important sex is to the human experience, but balding doesn’t really comment objectively on anything outside of “you’re certainly over the age of 18 and you’re father is probably bald himself” since balding doesn’t have much to do with anything outside your genes, it’s not like you bald faster if you don’t have friends or if you eat poorly. It is definitely less important that I perceive it to be, but nonetheless odd enough that I think it is worthy of comment. I am now going to drink another beer or three and try to finish reading something longer than 288 characters, godspeed my atrophied mind, I pray it hasn’t withered irreparably.

[Anonymous No.23657728]

>>23652906
I sat across from her, transfixed by the intricacy of the situation. Her eyes lifted to meet mine, and I was like an escaped convict instantly illuminated by the search light. Her gaze pierced through me and I was sure she could see my every secret, even the most terrible one. Then, her eyes glided past me, and I fell into darkness again, free to slink away and believe I may yet obtain my goal. Danger felt so near at hand when I was with her. Often I would be seized by the terror that I would be discovered, that she would know all and condemn me. At other moments, I could feel what was in me, the desire, the passion, the intense driving force compelling me on this road which is universally censored and forbidden. In those moments, the petty judgements of small minds timidly pressed in from the corners of my consciousness and were instantly eschewed as beneath contempt. She was my oldest friend, the closest person in the world to me, the most intimate. Any other paramour in the world could never offer the depth of connection I could, no other love could match the power of such a connection. In those moments, I knew. I would have her.

[Anonymous No.23657741]

>>23657728
is this a fantasy or a real girl in your life?

[Anonymous No.23657744]

>>23657741
She is currently in the same house as me

[Anonymous No.23657748]

>>23656508
This is fair enough, anon. T b f I only sent a small extract so I can see how it would benefit with added context.
>beavered
kek, this was a retarded typo on my part. Meant to be bereaved faces.

[Anonymous No.23657760]

>>23657659
First half made me somewhat hungry, but also morsel is poor diction imo since the story seems to suggest a delicious meal rather than a little snack.

also "faster than a gazelle fleeing a lion" is about as trite an idiom as I could imagine.

Honestly I think you're leaning a bit too hard into like highschool english class ideals of good writing, like you sound a bit like a tryhard, no offense. Using "chortle" "cacophony" and "potent venom of a black mamba" just makes me think of someone trying to spice up their writing for spice's sake alone, although that could just be my taste. I would recommend you write more earnestly rather than what seems like how you might imagine "good writing" is.

[Anonymous No.23657763]

>>23657744
Your honest evaluation: do you have a shot with her or is she out of your league?

[Anonymous No.23657764]

>>23656396

too many fancy words, mate - a couple of them, if pointy in their meaning, okay; but you've got an orgy of them there, my friend.
Writing that aims at conveying emotion of the pungent sort loses its significance, and breeds contempt for the writer, when it relies on an ungodly amount of synonyms plucked from the "how to speak like an intelectual" thesaurus.
one more thing: metaphors and similes must be in line with the tone of the text. The same goes for words. The following do not suit the topic and ambiance of your text: contamination, bespectacled, monomaniac.
I do enjoy your fourth and sixth sentences, though.

And you went overboard with the description.

Keep writing, bro.

[Anonymous No.23657776]

>>23657763
A league implies there are others like her, which is an absurdity. Do I have a shot? Such a question is almost irrelevant. I would sooner risk all my worldly possessions and the entirety of my life on a million to one odds than to meekly accept failure and a life without her. She consumes my every thought. When I am not with her, it is like her specter haunts me. When I am, I am struct at once by both the thrill and intoxication of her, and the fear that the circumstances of our relationship will prove to be an insurmountable barrier, a barrier which likely matches my million to one odds. Still, I must proceed. For what is mere social convention when measured against the deepest tenderness of the human heart? How could it be that my devotion to her could ever be viewed as ugly or repugnant? Yet, I am not so mad as to delude myself. I stand in great peril.

[Anonymous No.23657782]

>>23657763
A league implies there are others like her, which is an absurdity. Do I have a shot? Such a question is almost irrelevant. I would sooner risk all my worldly possessions and the entirety of my life on a million to one odds than to meekly accept failure and a life without her. She consumes my every thought. When I am not with her, it is like her specter haunts me. When I am, I am struck at once by both the thrill and intoxication of her, and the fear that the circumstances of our relationship will prove to be an insurmountable barrier, a barrier which likely matches my million to one odds. Still, I must proceed. For what is mere social convention when measured against the deepest tenderness of the human heart? How could it be that my devotion to her could ever be viewed as ugly or repugnant? Yet, I am not so mad as to delude myself. I stand in great peril.

[Anonymous No.23657787]

>>23653219
Rare helpful reply.

[Anonymous No.23657796]

>>23657782

Aight dawg you are for sure actually a decent writer, this is pretty darn captivating.

>circumstances of our relationship
>mere social convention

This gives me pause tho, please don't say that she is like your sister or something lmaoo

If she is herself someone who enjoys good writing, this kind of thing very well might enamor herself towards you, that is if you aren't a fatass or greasy and entirely ungroomed. If you are a fatass or greasy consider loosing some weight or showering and then maybe sharing some of your decently nice writing with her, spoken ideally. Sharing a poem is a big commitment and can be cringe but I suggest you test the waters just chatting with her, if you're capable of coming up with this sort of romantic prose on the spot.

[Anonymous No.23657809]

>>23657796
Obviously don't go right into the "my heart aches at the sound of her voice, with the knowledge that her words can't be drawn out to occupy however many decades my life has left" haha

Moreso I mean just be the little poet that you seem to want to be in more subtle, less intimate ways, until she either responds positively, or you feel the need to find a new muse

[Anonymous No.23657824]

>>23657796
Pause? It gives you pause? Are you so limited by the spirit of the age that you would balk so easily at such a trifle? Are we not men? Is it not our prerogative to plunge onward, to shake off the moral quibbles of the unthinking masses and obtain our goals? In this, of all places, I will not be lectured to on this account. Were such a treasure to be found across the wide ocean or atop the highest mountain I would turn sea captain or mountaineer without a second thought. Is it such a worse fate that she lies at the far end of a mere social convention? I affirm it, I will turn transgressor if I must. Love demands it, and only fools would gainsay it. I shall judge you on your reaction, friend, pity me and prove yourself the fool, for, despite the crushing weight of the world being set against me, a wise man would envy me even of this tiny chance I lay claim to. I regret but one thing and it is this, that I am, as you say, only a decent writer, for a great one would portray the object of my obsession with the force it deserves and convince you where I may not. To treat of my feelings for her in the words I have used are shameful to me, for they are woefully inadequate and serve as more of an insult than anything. The sensations burning in my soul cannot be captured by such feeble words as "love" or "passion" or the grossest word of all, "desire". I spit at such words. The connection between us transcends all, for its basis transcends any other romance. What we could have is romance to the nth power, to a metaphysical degree. To contemplate it while it has not yet manifested and may never do so causes an existential ache which I find to be unbearable, do not press me to describe it further!

[Anonymous No.23658719]

>>23657782
Unbearably cringe.

[Anonymous No.23658740]

>>23652924
>And since the meaning of Avicenna’s “good”, “good (as a doctor)”, is already complete on its own, it does not truly enter into composition with “doctor”, and any apparent composition with “doctor” would be per accidens and verbal.
I really don't know what you're getting at. Good in "Nichomachus is good" modifies Nicomachus, whereas good in "Nicomachus is a good doctor" modifies doctor. What it means to be a good doctor and what it means to be a good person (or a good Nicomachus for that matter) may be two separate things.

[Anonymous No.23658750]

>>23653219
>at cites

LMAO

[Anonymous No.23658952]

>>23657718
>>23657722
Not bad

[Anonymous No.23658992]

>>23657718
After a certain point, all I could hear in my head while reading was "I, I, I, I, I." Truly insufferable.

[Anonymous No.23659978]

bump

[Anonymous No.23660906]

>>23657824
Gay and cringe desu

[Anonymous No.23660961]

Kaiyuki lowered his mask. His scarred lip parted and revealed his black rotten tooth. He was smiling, but James felt no comfort nor desire to return the gesture.
"It is time-fabled warrior of the west," Kaiyuki said, "let this duel determine the strongest in the world."
"Yes, lets." John steadied his blade between his grip. He closed his eyes and began to pray. "Mother Mary, Lord of Heavens, and the Trinity of the soul, grant me the power of strength of all that is righteous and holy. My life for heaven, my life for God."
Kaiyuki obliged to the ritual. He stabbed his katana into the ground and also prayed. "Heavens, Earth, and all that lives. Provide me your spirit, your strength, and your chi. The might of life surges into my body and you I provide my eternal gratitude. In return, I swear upon the aura that dwells inside that we shall be victorious."
The wind blew. In a flash, the two swords kissed. Edge met edge.
"So this is the fabled Murasume," James said, "it is a match for the Durandel."
Kaiyuki sniggered. He swung a meat-bone slash against James. James parried. The two blades could not hit their intended target.
"Is that the extent of your abilities Western warrior?" Kaiyuki mocked.
"Don't get cocky," James replied.
"Very well, I am going to end this now."
"Not if I end it first!" James flashed.
"F-fast!" Kaiyuki said, "what? How are you behind me?"
"Die!" James shouted.
James swung the Durandel as hard as he could against Kaiyuki's head. There was no escape. Kaiyuki only had one option left.
"Kaminari Ryu no Hiromeki!" Kaiyuki spun around with his blade. He needed to parry the killing blow.
The blades met again, but one body felt the sear of pain of the sharp edges cross through his body.
James fell.
"The muramasa... such a powerful sword. The legends are true. A thousand folds from a thousand masters, and made from iron of a thousand swords."
Kaiyuki tossed his blade to the ground. The cracked sword shattered upon impact. "That was not the Muramasa. It was a regular sword mass produced by the government of Nippon."
"What? h-how?"
"You rely too much on your weapon. The blade for you was your body; my body was my blade."
With that, Kaiyuki left James' body to be carried away by time and nature.

[Anonymous No.23660967]

>>23652927
Truth, often just a matter of opinion.

[Anonymous No.23660969]

>>23660967
Not true, that's just your opinion.

[Anonymous No.23661083]

>>23657703
Absolutely irredeemable. The tone is icky but would be fine if not for the subject matter. You're waxing faggy about fucking woke shit and taking it and yourself so seriously. It's bathetic.

[Anonymous No.23661173]

>>23657707
>>23661083
kek, can /lit/ genuinely not recognize one of the opening paragraphs from A Tale of Two Cities or are we just pretending to be retarded today?

[Anonymous No.23661177]

>>23661173
Prosody is a science, and here on /lit/ we are flat earthers. We're here for the inmate superintendency of the asylum gags.

[Anonymous No.23661848]

>>23657707
>>23661083
Kek. This is why I don't take the retards here seriously. A bunch of crabs defensively seething at their betters unless they see a famous name attached to the piece to tell them what to think. Inability to discern good from bad. Shame! Shame!

[Anonymous No.23663162]

>>23661173
Pathetic

[Anonymous No.23663177]

I wrote this as part of a confrontation in my slop mystery novel:

“I know. I know, sweet Anise! These errors have haunted me like a shadow for all my life. I cannot possible undo them, but I can prevent another one from being made.” He took her hands into his own and gazed into her mirror-like eyes. Despite the passage of nearly fifteen years, he felt that she had not aged a minute since then. There were hints of wrinkles on her otherwise smooth forehead, but even her amber dress and vibrant red brooch seemed all too familiar to him. Though the locale was different, for a moment he felt as if he had travelled back to the harsh winter of 1672, three months before the fall of Navarra. For every single day of his life, he rued the decision to leave the cozy fishing hut in order to search for greener pastures.

[Anonymous No.23664405]

>>23663177
Gay as hell

[Anonymous No.23664427]

>Kitty leaned back in her chair with a grimace, which only got more intense the more she thought about what she’d just learned. She had heard plenty of talk about fake news but never thought she’d meet a self-styled fake journalist.

[Anonymous No.23665657]

>>23664427
Post a longer sample. There isn't enough here to pass judgment.

[Anonymous No.23665708]

>>23665657
That was my latest, here's one I like
>This preoccupation with greatness is a very common pathology among writers and, more broadly, artists in general. For many, It’s not enough for their work to be, it must also be great. What might’ve started as a passion for creation quickly devolves into a compulsion akin to that of the lottery ticket scratcher in the troubled psyches of those afflicted with such useless ambitions. Each new work, rather than a sacred expression of a rich inner life, becomes a trifling chance to make it big. This madness appears to be a maladaptation of the innate human aspiration to immortality. In his epic, Gilgamesh was one of the earliest to aspire to eternal life after experiencing the death of his friend. Being given the impossible challenge of conquering sleep, he also became one of the earliest to give up on it and to substitute eternity for a measly written work: fool’s gold immortality. Now Gilgamesh lies dead in his grave alongside the forgotten leagues. Continued consumption of his work hasn’t and won’t change that. But the lights dazzled Kitty. She looked into the future, past her demise, and could read her name in those lights. Kitty Mori, or maybe K. T. Mori. She resolved to make sure the future she could see would come to pass by any means necessary.

[Anonymous No.23666588]

bunp

[Anonymous No.23667526]

Boy I won't reply to anyone in particular but some of you people make me feel a lot better about the quality of my writing

[Anonymous No.23667915]

Most recent unedited paragraph without context from a long-term writing project. Tell me do I suck or if I should keep writing:

The corpus was stiff and cold like a lone satellite lost in a great stellar void so far removed that not even a single photon could reach it and it was quickly exorcised of its associated garments. These were thrown in a heap without care or attention and the transport of the body now unveiled was even more greatly exaggerated in its perfunctory swiftness made clear by a loud thwomp of rigored flesh slapping wood. Once the corporeal loot was loaded upon the barrow the unholy bandits began to refurnish the empty grave first by banishing the clothing back to the earth and then returning the soil with such a precision that there was no observable indication of any unauthorized excavation. The men looked as if they themselves could have been added to the desecrated resting place, with their eyes sunken deep within their skulls and bones sticking out against a tightly wrapped skins covered in dirt and sweat and callouses. Except they were still alive and this was no resting place for them, merely a vocation.

[Anonymous No.23668843]

>>23667915
Is this a joke?

[Anonymous No.23669852]

>>23667526
Means jack shit without posting an example pussy

[Anonymous No.23669902]

>>23656871
>actual excerpt of Ready Player Three

[Anonymous No.23670219]

>>23667915
Not unsalvageable, but this really needs an edit. The main takeaways the reader deciphers from all these words are that a group of graverobbers, who look like corpses themselves, just dug up a corpse, stripped its clothes, put the naked body on their cart and replaced the clothes in the grave and covered it over. This information is massively obscured by all the high-falutin language to no real purpose, as well as some awkward imagery, notably the massive tangent in the first sentence evoking the lone satellite, its remove from a single photon, etc. just to describe something as cold and stiff. The reader will not put up with a lot of this, wading through excess words and overly ornate language, only to arrive at the simple translation of what just occurred. They will begin asking themselves, "Why is the author writing like this? Is this for my benefit, or his own?" The reader will lose interest after a few paragraphs of this, and leave you to explore your word games on your own. To avoid this, you need to streamline and limit your reveries and just get on with telling the story instead of rhapsodizing and embroidering. Good luck, keep writing anon

[Anonymous No.23670253]

>>23667915
Also, there are missed opportunities in describing the corpse they've exhumed, which is probably the main subject of this section. No mention of the smell, the maggots, how decayed the flesh is. How its ugly white presence watched from the cart as the men replaced the dirt in the grave, how this is took a long time. I've never robbed a grave, but I imagine you'd need a rope to haul it out after you've stripped it in situ deep in its box deep in the ground, the clothes cut away from around it with a knife or scissors the way trauma surgeons do with wounded. The clinical processes involved in this ghoulish act might, if described dispassionately, like butchers processing a kill, be more interesting than the other aspects you've focused on in the scene. Good luck man, keep going

[Anonymous No.23670279]

>>23669852
I post the last excerpt before that post

[Anonymous No.23670313]

>>23665708
>>23670279
While not as egregious as the graverobber scene, I think a lot of what I wrote here >>23670219
can apply to the Kitty Mori reverie: 250ish words spent on her comparing her to Gilgamesh, no doubt of her greatness truly engaged with, then back to business as usual. Which I guess is okay, if a little dead-ended. But if the whole work is like this? The reader will drop. Good luck man, keep going

[Anonymous No.23670371]

>>23657616
Not bad at all. Here's my edit for clarity, maybe works a little better, idk:

That compliment will make a nest in the back of his mind. It will creep up on him in the small hours of the night, when nothing but the sound of passing cars, nightbirds, and the ceiling fan can be heard. It will bounce around his head and torment him with thoughts of a missed connection - a hundred 'what if's - a mantra of 'should I have done something more?' He will spend a dozen sleepless nights imagining a fantasy, constructing a life with a woman who liked his eyes and his cheap, forty dollar owl-clockwork necklace. He had liked her eyes, too. He will remember that moment for the rest of his life; within a week, she will have forgotten it ever happened.

[Anonymous No.23670378]

>>23670371
* ah shit I bodged it; this has better flow into the sleepless nights:

That compliment will make a nest in the back of his mind. It will bounce around his head and torment him with thoughts of a missed connection - a hundred 'what if's - a mantra of 'should I have done something more?' It will creep up on him in the small hours of the night, when nothing but the sound of passing cars, nightbirds, and the ceiling fan can be heard. He will spend a dozen sleepless nights imagining a fantasy, constructing a life with a woman who liked his eyes and his cheap, forty dollar owl-clockwork necklace. He had liked her eyes, too. He will remember that moment for the rest of his life; within a week, she will have forgotten it ever happened.

[Anonymous No.23670448]

>>23652906
Lily Cunningham sold prayer cards at school with the corners dipped in acid. Not sure how she got the acid, but she maintained a steady supply in a liquid bottle she kept among her makeups and tinctures, completely disguised to the clutter blind eye of her single father. When she’d come home her homework had already been completed by one of her clients in the senior class, who thought that if he purchased enough of St. Augustine, that she would eventually shimmy from her plaid skirt. But she was in that sense chaste. She hung a brown scapular from her clavicle, suspecting that ever since the day she was entered into the covenant with Mary, that she was guaranteed a Protestant’s spot in heaven, and so she kept about her business of drug running and a video blog of pictures of the soles of her feet, for which she was paid enough to manage her plug and turn a profit on the LSD.

[Anonymous No.23670455]

>>23670378
Too gooey

[Anonymous No.23670499]

you main source of prtien as bodybuild should be egg whites ,, then fish sushi preferbly ,, then all the rest chiken and beef

you need to make sure you have inside your body 1 or 2 of thsoe sources of protien on a daily basis ,, either eggwhite and fish or chieken and beef or fish and chiken or eggwhite and beef

you need to make sure protien is high ,, doesnt have to be super high just a good 200-400 gram a day for lean 200lb bodybuilder ,, somwhere around the 250-320 is good ,, you can have much more if you are on hgh and we do much more when we are on hgh,,

carbs should be HIGH HIGH HIGH HIGH HIGH ,, this thing with low carbs **** you up all the time,, high carb then cycle coupel low carbs but mostly high carbs when on the hormones i mention ,, you need that carbs when on hgh and on trenbolona ,, when you body is fat burning machine when you want big muscle when you want to thicken up and seperate from within you need the ****in carbs!

kit kats ummmm i dont know i dont like candies much,, icecream much better ,, icecream is important tool in bodybuild arsenal we LOVE ****IN ICECREAM even the lactose intolerate bodybuild can deal well with icecream ,,icecream is important,,then you got all the fun with burgers and pizza but it need to be done in moderation and knwo your body well ,, you just cant sit eat 5 times a day mcdonald and expect to step on stage no matter how much trenbolona and hgh in you because yes you will be 6% but it wont be good enough and you will be wet 6% not dry 6%

so when i say to you anything you want to it there is also moderation taken into account,, you can eat icecream every day yes....but if you do it dont ****in go at 2 am right after the icecream into denis for a coffee and desert cake

[Anonymous No.23670542]

>>23670313
Thanks for writing your crit like shit so I don't even have to consider whether or not to discard it.
If you'd like your ideas to be considered next time, work on presenting them comprehensibly.

[Anonymous No.23670574]

>>23670542
The prose is fine. Anon’s critique makes sense. I think your attempt at revealing something of the human condition says more about you than it says about the universe. And it turns out your as much of an ass hat as your writing suggests, so that makes sense. It’s not good because you try to place yourself on top of a mountain.

[Anonymous No.23670578]

>>23670574
You’re*

[Anonymous No.23670583]

>>23670219
>>23670253

Appreciated, anons. The rest of this novella-in-progress is less pretentious with more streamlined prose conveying the overarching plot, though it revolves around grave robbing and I want those specific scenes to be more literary and allegorical, as it’s a difficult and taboo subject matter. I’m aware that this comes across as circumlocutory and alienating to readers, but want those scenes to be more challenging and thought provoking, if that makes sense. I’m glad that the core of the action remains understood through the muck of words, though. I’ll keep at it with these scenes and try to refine them a bit more, thanks.

[Anonymous No.23670739]

>>23670578
>I post the last excerpt before that post
Glass houses. Consider the advice presented, however incomprehensibly, or persist in floundering. If you'd like your responses to be considered, next time work on presenting them dispassionately. Good luck, keep writing.

[Anonymous No.23670770]

>>23670739
>posts for a critique
>won’t take any criticism
Cope harder, pseud

[Anonymous No.23670788]

>>23670770
Huh? I think you have me confused with another anon. I haven't asked for crit or received any.

[Anonymous No.23670816]

I supose it's unlikely any anon here would read my book in a few years, if I even finish it, so I supposed I'll be throwing my haberdashery into the pi.

He was a natural freehand improviser whose lose strokes could outdo masters of the craft. Unfortunately, he was also the kind of anal retentive who considered anything less than a color coded schedule itemized down to the minute to be sheer laziness, while also having the strategic acumen of a banana slug. So if you wanted a perfect forgery, you'd get him so wasted he's seeing triple and describe the signature in terms so vague the language it was written in was up in the air, and he'd do it with nothing but charcoal from the hearth and an old receipt.

[Anonymous No.23670817]

>>23653339
>very purple
Get off the internet and pick up a book right now, you have a lot to learn

[Anonymous No.23670822]

>>23670816
And a typo in the first line. BRB gonna hire a buff hooker to strangle me

[Anonymous No.23672219]

>>23670574
>Anon’s critique makes sense
Explain it in your own words.

[Anonymous No.23672222]

>>23670739
That wasn't me. You need to take this site a little less seriously lol

[Anonymous No.23672243]

Been trying to ape Clark Ashton Smith lately.

[Anonymous No.23672278]

>>23672243
Holy Abominations of Yondo you weren't kidding.

[Anonymous No.23672299]

>>23652906
[****] sat in the grass, absently registering the high flickering of leaves, the sound of the tin boat drumming on the hairy roots of the cypress trees, which stuck out like knees into the lake. A willow hung over the water. Beneath it, a float of dead leaves rocked on the surface of the shallows, giving shade to a hundred tiny minnows who flitted, pointy and silver, like the ghosts of the leaves. [****] noticed a correspondence between the names willow and minnow that he might have carried further on a cooler day. A wasp floated big circles above the dying grass. It was the end of July. Three weeks before, as exams were finishing up, the Easter lilies had opened in front of the school, white and snail-shiny. They were still there, but collapsed and formless now, like soiled gloves. The whole town, from the stables to the sheen on the bells, seemed to have oozed and then dried, this time of the year.

[Anonymous No.23672351]

>>23672222
Kek, yeah, good advice. I'll take it

[Anonymous No.23672417]

>>23655281
>07
It's kinda good but you're pretty gay. Stop being such a sad faggot.

[Anonymous No.23672450]

>>23652924
Holy fuck. I need more...