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/lit/ - Literature

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4326281 No.4326281[DELETED]  [Reply] [Original]

Post the longest story that you possibly can.
>no linking to other websites, post it in this thread

>> No.4326293

Killed a baby, stole its shoes

>> No.4326299

You see, we're all failures here. We don't have girlfriends, we don't feel loved, we don't have jobs or if we do they're shitty, nobody is ever going to read us, nobody is ever going to take a look in our eyes and truly understand us. Realize we're just being dicks because it's the only way we can cope. All we want is another person to look into our eyes, not at our eyes, but into our eyes. And get it. We crave human contact, just like everyone else does. Nothing else matters, you're not going to remember anything else on your dying bed. Even now, the only things worth remembering are banal moments, devoid of superficially assigned meanings of success. I don't remember any of my successes, none of my failures. All my memories that have any meaning to me have to do with human touch. From having a beer on a late afternoon with my friends, to holding a girl and looking into her eyes. And have her look back into mine. I don't even remember one night stands, I don't remember fucking. I remember making love, and making love only happens through emotional connection. It's not that your cock is sliding into a vagina that makes it good, it's that you get to look into a caring soul while your cock slides into a vagina. Life has always been about moments, not things. Everyone here knows it, and they will hate descriptions like these, precisely for that reason. We're just poor lost souls, we don't know any better. We've already asked ourselves "Is this all there is to it?", and we know the answer is yes. A lot of us are upset, that we have to travel this road. But the destination is what makes it worth it. Once you finally cross the finish line, knowing that the breeze on your face, the smell of a freshly fallen snow is all you have, you feel great. It's not an easy road to take. At the end of it all, some will never make it through to the end. They will turn back, they will get lost. I've made it all across, for the first time I have finally made it. It's quite a relief, I don't feel the pull to go back. I don't feel like going back to the rat race again. But I see my brothers here, and they're just coping with the fact that they're on the road. And you can't berate them for that. Rather encourage them, tell them it gets better. Most won't make it. That's the reality of it, and most here are still just at the beginning. You see the angst, and you see the fact that they haven't even started for good. They're still struggling to accept they're on their own now. A lot will go back, back to the familiarity of the old. It's the easier path to take. Rarely is easier the right thing to do though. What you put in, is what you get out. You reap what you sow. And for a lot of them, the bill will only come out once they're old and the end is near. Like a bill for a surprisingly expensive dinner, except it's for your life. Don't judge these poor souls wandering across the streets of their minds. They need to find their home address, that's all.

>> No.4326310

>>4326293
Selling baby shoes, still warm

>> No.4326319
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4326319

>>4326310

>> No.4326329

>>4326299
put down that projector

>> No.4326384

Bip bop bip bop. My robot turned out. "Your breakfast is ready Mr. Jones." Stupid AI still needs to learn my real name. What kinda faggot manufactures a default Mr. Jones. What about something friendlier like Mr. Ajibowe, or Mr. Chang. But I digress. Beep boop beeep. Fucking can cant even make a proper blend of Maschito and Grey. 1/2 Grey and 1/4 Maschito or J.D. What's the matter? At the height of human inventions we can't make robots to make our coffee to the exact measurements? Im thinking of sending it back to Hailey. "Happy birthday Dad. I know its hard to keep a house without Mom, but I'm sure XJ2 will take care of your needs." What a woman thing to say. A man can keep a house but not like a woman can. We just have different standards. We leave our underwear to collect then we throw it all on laundry day. The only difference is that my wife skips a step and places her dirties on the hamper. How efficient. And what did she mean XJ2 can satisfy my needs. Can it feed my cat? Can it remind me that I have appointments months ahead? Can it tell me if its gonna rain tomorrow and I'm gonna need my thick pair of soccer socks? Does it even know where those are? Can it give me a massage? Three hundred years of robotics and these nerds can't perfect the human touch.

Robot prostitutes with flesh holes designed with by the greatest minds cannot emulate the pulsating warmth of a mound. Sure they will get the job done. But I cannot bring myself to enjoy fucking a robot that is programmed to let out a moan depending on the intensity of my push. Fuck robots they aren't of worth. Sure it can mop my floors but jesus, get it right. They can never fully clean the corners.

[[ And the novel goes on in this tone and illustrates a day in the life of a middle-ages man living the metropolis of Neo Tokyo ]]

>> No.4326484
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4326484

>>4326299
>inspirational rant that trivializes the notion of "life" in order to present his own dense and simplistic philosophy as truth

>> No.4326504

>>4326484
I think you're taking it a bit too seriously m8

>> No.4326559

>>4326384
Anyway lets look at the redeeming qualities of XJ2. It is obedient. It is programmable. It can suprisingly set up my showers at 40% hot. It does a great job waking up me every morning. Its a different feeling than waking up with my wife,that's for sure. Beep boop. "Mr. Jones you have a scheduled an appointment for 7:30, coffee with petulant wife."

"Okay," I said and I tested something, "I don't feel like driving today."

"The roads are promising fifteen minutes to get to your destination at legal speeds," XJ2 retorted. The audacity of this AI.

"XJ2, I don't feel like driving this morning."

"Walking distance would take 35 minutes. The weather is cool with 8 degree Celsius. With winds up 3 kilometers per hour pointing Northwest, away from your desired destination."

"XJ2, call me a cab." It seems that this AI has a lot to learn. But apparently the longer you spend time with it, the better it becomes at learning your personal quirks. "And please XJ2, my morning drink should away contain 1/4 Maschito or Jack Daniels. If not then don't bother making it."

"Mr. Jones," XJ2 interjected.

"It's Mr. Lyons,"

"Mr. Lyons, I apologize. Please wait..."

"I've called the cab under your name it should be here in five minutes."

"Okay, set up my bath and take out something sensible to wear. Also, have another cab pick me up at Mephisto's at 8 AM. I won't be spending too much time there."

"Okay, Mr. Lyons, is there anything else?"

XJ2 left the room and went up to the master's bed. It managed to get my bath right again and managed to pull out a casual grey and black plaid shirt with dark jeans. Not bad. I quite like the software that suggested this.

As always the air of Tokyo is rancid. It had rained the night before. The muddy streets filled with perennial potholes stink of collected trash. The smog reminds me of my childhood. Back in America the land of the dark skies. When my cab arrived XJ2 managed to spit out some cookie wisdom. "Its better to travel well than to arrive. Have a good day Mr. Lyons." That's something new.

My cab driver's breath smelled like shit. Not suprising in the least, his teeth were olives. He knew I was foreigner and so managed to take out a salutation from a phrasebook. "Sankyuu haf a gud dai," he smiled. Boy did he butcher that. I gave him an equally coined phrase, "じゃあまたね"

Mephisto suprisingly attracts low-brow white people and japanese students. Think a modern Starbucks of the japs. The pleasant tones of English could be heard. Even the barristas can speak it decently. But I couldn't bring myself to drink shitty coffee blends. If they had J.D. or Bailey's then maybe I might reconsider, but as it stands I'm not paying for a watered out, premature beans.

Elia with a red scarf. Brings out her olive skin. She's looking younger every day Im away from her. She greeted me with her eyes. Her breathe smelt of coffee and pork rinds. Oh Elia, you need to control your portions. Your hips are getting too unshapely

>> No.4326583

>>4326281
Right now I'm sitting in my chair with my headphones on, staring at a computer which refuses to talk back to me despite my best effort to make it do so. Electrical pulses are carrying encoded sound from this inanimate machine to my ears, the music which I hear is nothing but chaos processed as order. My thoughts are in horrifically perfect order, one after the other. This state of being is a consequence of self discipline, I have taught myself to keep things in nice neat arrays. I can't help it really, it's how I was born. Perhaps that's where the problem started, at my creation. Maybe, if I am so indescribably lucky, I will die some day and become the chaos and disarray. You want me to write the longest story ever, I am telling it to you know, this moment is the single greatest point ever conceived. All other moments have lead up to this single dot in time. We are constantly perched on a ledge, and if we fall off we will know what the next moment is like before it is born. But see? I'm tabling again, this happens quite often. I'm not entirely sure why although I will hazard a guess that it has something to do with the current state of my mind. If I were sane, I would not be in the predicament. If I were mad, this predicament would not matter quite so much. I am neither mad nor sane, I am simply unable to disorganize my thoughts in the way I wish I could. Regardless, I am somewhat content at this moment (which is an entirely different moment from any other). This is not the longest story ever but, there's that word again, to me it feels as through it has lasted forever. Maybe it has, maybe not. Thank you. Goodbye. Okay.

>> No.4326645

>>4326559
So much that I may consider bringing up the words voluptuous and its synonyms in our conversations. As usual she's on her Pear Lite 2, have they already made a second one? Probably typing away at her latest novel. Suprisingly English novellas are quite the rave in Japan these days. One of my trusted copywriters have hit a hit. "On The Fields of A Blue Tomorrow" have cashed in hordes of sales. Hundred thousand copies and more each day. Translated in Finnish and German a month ago. I haven't given it a read but I am interested in meeting the author, a Shelby Watsuki, a Gaellic-Japanese woman. From the Author's portrait, she looked like a proper manifestation of Euro-Asian proclivities. Fair as fair skin, beady almond eyes, with a finely sculpted nose. Blonde. A killer smile. A beautiful twenty-year old. What a delight.

"John," she said to me. "Are you getting anything?" She signalled her Mephisto membership card to me.

"No no, I have a meeting today at 9 so lets make this quick."

She gave me one of those looks, "I know you long enough that you're lying but lets ignore that and move on" type of looks. Elia turned the screen around. It was Hailey and a Japanese guy.

"Wait, is that Mashida?" Mashida is the son of a famous senator, known in Japan for various movements of installing friendly AIs in government and public centres.

"I know. Hailey told me he asked her out for dinner--"

"Ma'am," a waitress poker her head in the conversation holding out a cup of tea. Smelt good. Must be jasmine. Made me want to try a cup.

"Thanks. So he's nice. Paid for everything. Took her home safely. Didn't even bother trying to fuck her."

"Elia," I said. "you're talking about Hailey."

"I know. I'm just telling you what she told me. He said that he wants to invite her to some fancy ball. Classic gowns and good fun. Thing is, she wants us to come. It would be good for our family's image."

"Elia," I said. "I'm not about to waste an evening pretending to be royalty just so Mashida can get closer to her pants."

"John, I really think this will help us. Mashida's PR. His influence can do wonders for your firm."

"And how can he help you?"

"I can't think of anything but good things right now."

"Stop it. Your sponsorships will increase when our last name even touches the same article as the Kuroi's. But you're right. Some extra PR would be needed for Q4. Sales are dangerously low."

"What about Shelby's book?"

"One hit, without a movie deal, is nothing these days. The Editor wants something more acccessible to target the middle-aged immigrant market. Maybe you can draft something up? What do they want, um. Right, stories about coming-of-age for middle aged men and women. Submission to the daily responsibilities told in flowery tones. Think 'Steel Gray' written by Proust. That sort of escapism."

Elia began to ignore me as she oftened did as she tap tap tapped on her computer.

>> No.4326732

>>4326645
Her eyes shifted left to right. I do this for a few seconds whenever she's ran off. And well, she'll always come back and meet my eyes.

"I'm almost done. I'm thinking of brining back the post-apocalypse hype."

"Oh yeah? Please entertain me. I forgot what you were working on. 'Dark days something something tonight'?"

"Dark Days Under Moonlight," she corrected.

"Right." A mindful reminder told me to look out side. A yellow cab had pulled up. "Give me a synopsis."

"I can't. Its one of those that say too much from trying to condense it to a blurb."

"Good luck then."

"No it's a page turner. I have my students reading it over, and they said they couldn't put it down."

My patience grew unstable. I urged her to give me a stamp earlier today. She accepted without any resentment. That's one stamp, six more to go. Then we'll be free from this mandatory couple's counselling. I wanted a kiss from her but its nearly impossible to ask her for anything when she's begun to type away.

Olive teeth was my driver again. He must have had something lemon-y to drink in fifteen minutes. His breath did not permeate in the backseat every time he let out an airful. I instructed him to go to the Pier. I have a habit of watching slaves come in from the ships. Underpaid workers from China are commodity these days. Once in a while I'll find a pretty face from the crowd and I'll pull her out and make her clean my house. Maybe take her to dinner if she can speak english and maybe fuck her if she ever showed the slightest signs. I told him to wait and to put the meter on hold for five minutes.

I picked up my breakfast from one of the food trucks. Fresh salmon caught within an hour; sliced and garnished with collard greens; freshly squeeze lemon; a hint of saffron perfume chewy bread, toasted. One of the healthier joints out here outside homecooked meals (Elia does not know how to cook, as do most women of this day and age).

To my suprise there were no workers today but a warship in the distance loomed. There were a line of them. Six of them, bearing the flag of Brits. A few fliers were hovering over them. A few made it to the pier but left as soon as they crossed over land. A few school children passed by, singing cheerfully some melodic japanese hymn. I translate:

oh another day, what a beautiful day
oh what a name, the sun the moon the gray.
bring her flowers, bring her milk,
an apple for my grades,
something something love some something hate.

The robot conductor on the street were guiding the childrens. A few proles sweating and darkened by dirt passed them. They avoided eye contact with me. They were being scolded by their boss for being knaves, (again, I translate). When my elegant pause from my life had ended, I tipped the good man at the Blue Bay Shoppe. I hope Kazuo lives a good life. Not too good to diminish the quality of his Fresh Salmon Sandwhich.

>> No.4326917

>>4326732

Olive teeth began gargling a few words, namely, about the ships that stood at the yard. I managed to extract the essensce of his message. It was a political gesture to protect Japan from Malaysian pirates. I didn't want to enable him any further before it got too political but he went on anyway: "they want japanese friendship really bad. to me there are no pirates. to me they are only media images(?). I hope no one buys it too. The british are dogs. Solly, I hope youre not British."

"I'm American," I corrected him.

"Oh yes, americans always good ally for japanese..."

I allowed him to go on. And suffering that dreadful interlude I was the Bach Hall near the outskirts of metropolis. You can tell from the few trees that grew on the sidewalks before everything turned into pseudo-futuristic pavement gray. It was pleasing to hear that my group was waiting for me at the Hall 8. A group of bright, talented mixture of children; majority being japanese. I reminded them that our concert will be in a month and that our practices will have to be earlier and longer (despite me coming late on most days). However, another John, John Hickus, a pretentious conductor who was raised in France, that often borrowed phrases au Francais. We get it. Its pompous to insert them in a primarily English speaking school. I'm confident that my group can perform better than his. I have Yamada Mishima on my group. Killer pianist. Won many accolades for a young one. A typical prodigy. Reminds me of Hailey when I forced her into the clarinet. But prodigies are only prodigies if they manage to keep their candle burning through adulthood. Well my Hailey was no more than an above-average kid that numbingly accepted her father's wishes. I wished she would have told me that she hated the clarinet. I would have given her freedom and some credit for voicing her opinion.

"Teacher," Aisha, an arab degenerate raised in Japan, judging from her broken English came up to me, "You said we should practice two pieces in case we won. And that if we won we would impress the judges more if we played a suprise encore. Do you think we have time Le Soir?"

"Aisha, let me worry about that. Work on your posture. I see you slouching on your chin. That ineptness will reflect on your art." They're used to this type of criticism. I manage to convince them, (although its for their own good), to take my advice and use it to better themselves, despite how harsh it sounded. "Now go call the others and tell them to be ready at a moment's notice."

>> No.4326937

Screaming falling he screams "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

>> No.4326987

>>4326917
The said John Hickus, before I was interrupted, would grin at me at the entrace of Hall Seven. When I felt like being competitive I would go over there and ask him how his percussion was holding up, just to hear him valiantly defend that section, of which was actually horrendous, unable to grasp simple time signatures. But to my disadvantage I was granted with weak strings. I don't have time to correct them, as the strings is one of the instruments that relied on natural talent. Sure, any instrument of any medium did, but when a player raised with a bad habit, specifically, slouching, it does sound bad and it irks me to see their unrefined postures. Perhaps I should conduct with my eyes closed.

At Hall 8 the band was prepared. Aisha left the conductor's stand. She must have mistaken my instructions as a gift of authority. I told her to go back to her seat despite that she was already headed there.

"Okay, folks, three weeks left. And we're barely presentable. Percussions, three fourths. Any suggestions?"

As usual Yamada bolted his hands up, "Beethoven. Eroica, first movement E-flat."

Good man. Something to exercise the strings. So I primed them. Thankfully the percussion is competent. Or else I'd be setting the dynamic at every staff. Well, the winds are marvellous today too. But god damn, strings. Cover it up, okay. I can hear and so can the rest of the audotorium. You won't be performing for high school teachers and parents. These people have ears. At the half of the movement, I noticed them noticing my particular attention to the strings. Aisha priked her shoulders up, and corrected that lazy posture.

Overall for a warm-up they were quite alright. Halfway through the second movement they began to feel Beethoven's tears. But I cut it short. Perhaps Beethover's 3rd Symphony is harder than Haydn's 8th. It's always good measure to practice harder, complex pieces than the one you are to present. That way you can hear how bad the main course can be when it is simpler to study its structure.

For a part-time gig, conducting did pay the rent. The arts have been granted massive funding over the years. The masses have been enlightened. The lack of anything fresh had alerted Japanese societies to invest in culture and arts, as they cited studies of quality of life and disposition correlating with early influence and exposure to any branch of art. Good for me. Looks like conducting school my father put me through actually paid off. I regret cursing him when I was in the middle of my studies, saying that this wasn't at all a practical venture. Well, consider this internal reference an informal apology. Rest in peace.

>> No.4327023

>>4326987

After going over the intricacies of Haydn's 8th, I went out for some air. I felt for a cigarrete and I bummed one from Hickus. He said that he'd been listening to my group practice and used my class as a model for his.

"You should have the same discipline as Mr. Combray's class. I told them," he told me.

I was flattered but was too busy mulling over the next hour, dreaming of the space at 3'o clock to four when I have some time for myself. I dreaded coming back inside to hear amateur music. But money's money. A tautology I've come to hate. Whenever someone justified their shitty jobs, i.e., when Elia used to work for a shitty electronics factory which I constantly hounded her for. No, money is not money. Well it shouldn't be. I don't have the energy into pretending I know economics but I know the value of time, and as a young mother of three, she should not have been working in such conditions. But Elia being Elia, she managed to make me eat my words as she took double shifts, morning till evening and made more than me that month in Decemeber a few years ago. She worked hard. But I saw her age every time she came home.

I somewhat wanted to see Olive teeth again. I could have talked to him to get some discount as I will be needed a ride for the ntire day. But I walked to the next scene. Took the tram and the subway to the downtown prefecture where there were more immigrants than native Japs in the streets. A couple of clowns were doing their parlour tricks, hoping to make a quick buck from their performance. I bumped into a couple of cold shoulderse. Literally, robotic entities among the crown. They should really get their own lane. It must have been the secretary AI's that are so popular now. I was late for my ten-o-clock, but by now my colleagues are used to my punctuality.

>> No.4327051

>>4327023
Green Leaf, publishing house. A household name that has surprised most critics of today. How could it have stayed afloat all these years? It must have been the fantastic agents and editors that have good taste. IN reality, Green Leaf is only so because of the recent culture stimulus. Traditional print houses were granted small tax exempts that added up in volumes. However, digital sales remained the same. When my editor in chief, a Michael Matsuda, told me he was looking to fulfil a niche, specifically, the longest book ever written, I laughed at him. I don't think anyone can trump the grand works such as War And Peace, though to be fair it was a collection of several. Who's up to contest the whiny pretty words of Proust this day and age? Well, since the market is very heavily defined by genre and popular fiction, it would be hard to justify investing in a grand work that would span longer than Proust's. But in my mind I devised a way to justify so many words. A set of mythologies and a few books documenting some real accounts of some revelant new-agey problems, (think a westernized bible for all things new age speaking to housewives and mystical kooks). As for a standalone novel it would be impossible to pull off. But as a collection of books under one, that has a central theme of whatever, it could work.

I proposed many of themes to my editor but wondered if we can find such talent to write it out.

>> No.4327138

>>4327051

What talent is up to such tasks? I'd imagine for such a grand work to be authored by multiple sources, just like the Bible. It would be a different ball game then. Our prodigy would have to write the entire collection himself. As for non-fiction elements, we have research teams to help him out. But in the business we have what we call, 'one hitters', 'shitters' and 'writers'. One hitters come into the industry with high hopes and dreams, wishing to have a sustainable literary career with sights for money and fame, and they unearth one story from their belly and let out one time hit. Movie deals. Publishing deals. Fangirls and Fanboys. Book tours, readings and royalties. If a one-hitter was smart he could live off this single wave of exposure his entire life. But he'll be living desperately his whole life trying to outdo and convince everyone, that his first work wasn't a product of corporate luck and campaigning. Usually these types are signed only when they have a credible trilogy; so the publishing house and the other leeches have a way to hedge and gauge the entire series. A flop on the silver screen? Down goes the budget for the second adaptation. A spike of interest in the second and the studio will commit, break-even figures on its investment. I'd imagine most people are trying to for this vein. The foolish ones devote their entire life, even spending hard-earned money on schooling, to a career that is volatile and spontaneous in nature. I wish I could give them some advice. I wish they would come to a publishing house to hear the path they wish to attain.

Then we have the shitters. They only get published because a certain market has fallen in love with their stories. While there's nothing wrong in writing for an audience, what makes a shitter a shitter is the mere fact that his works lack any long-lasting effect. His voice is terribly unmemorable. His influences are minimal, and you can tell (and one can easily tell if you're an avid bookword or an agent that plows through hundreds of manuscripts) which writers had read solid classic from those only emulating fellow shitters of the genre.

>> No.4327231

>>4327138
Yet despite the facts, they manage to hit one-hitter levels of fame. And the industry loathes them secretly. Because if someone like this can write up such drivel and gain so much, then why are we stuck reading and passing them to be devoured by the masses? Before I delve into the legitimacy of publishing houses, one must note the difference of one-hitters and shitters, and its that the one-hitters respect the craft and is able to produce a bearable honest work. While on the other hand the shitter has no respect and admittance to critiques. They have no respect for form and grammar. No respect for advice. Yet they still make millions. As much I hate to say the following, a lot of writers we consider great (and I'll spare myself the trouble of listing them) were considered shitters in their time. So there's that question of natural talent or simply a shift in the presiding current mindstream.

Then come the writers. These are the type of people that enjoy the craft. Writers are readers. And they have read the entire classical list. They probably went to school for some Literary accolade, or something practical like Journalism. These are the types to write for the sake of writing while at the same time recognize that achieving the levels of a one-hit wonder to be vain. You can find them in publishing houses reading up stories and hopefully, enjoying the task of guiding would-be writers in the right hands. Techinical mastery often follows them but is not required. A writer simply writers. Sure, it is contestable that the three terms I've listed can be vaguely used to fit the term 'writer' but in the industry, we can tell one who relishes in his craft, does not have any sort of idealistic expectations, and simply enjoy the craft of expression and story-telling. Because that is so, you can apply the term writer to anyone who keeps an honest journal, who speaks in posterity but humbly, with the purpose of tabulating their experiences in reflection. You can apply the term to the homeless man in the subway station, who have come up with witty sign. A true hungry artist. Only has words to feed him. Such that inspiration can be found everywhere in that state. And everyone passing by a look or tipping a coin understands the passions attached to his poetry. Everyone can understand that in the end we all need to eat.

>> No.4327300

>>4327231
It all boils down to money. Money is money. I find myself thinking of Elia.

"Projected sales, dropped 3% since last quarter. The big heads upstairs are reconsidering an entire re-branding. They want to get rid of the paperbacks. Great right? Well for us that means we won't need a larger staff and will be relying on digital trends to guide our decisions. Sounds terrible right?" Michael flicked on a pie chart on the screen. "I hate to be so blunt but its all your fault. Too many flat books are being published. Should I start naming specifics?"

Everyone agreed. On the meeting table there were nothing to be withheld. For the sake of the publishing house everyone needed to hear what is currently upsetting the majour investors.

"Okay. I know how spotty the market is. IF we can find that one-time spike then I'd be happy. But there's been too many flatlines on our most recent efforts. I'll start with the non-fiction. 'Healthy living: Now or never' by Jane Leeway. That's for you Edison. I'm sure you know that its been doing shit."

Edison nodded. He took it with dignity. "I'm aware. A total sales of three thousand."

"On a good season, not bad. But I always like to think in terms of endgames. Q1, Q2, are decided by Q4. Q3 decides Q4. And you know what I mean. Our first bump has died. Last year was decent but decent has tapered to dreadful. And being in Q3, we need to look ahead to the next quarter and beyond. Okay, how about fiction, do I need to start?"

Everyone was aware. The company was doing shit. Michael was aware of this. But he had to give certain talks from time to time to appease the corporate shoulder who was sitting at the edge of the opposite table listening intently.

"I don't wanna preach or come off like I can do any better. In fact, I probably can't. But if you want to keep your jobs, we need follow certain markets from now on. This means that a few of us in the fiction department would have to drop some projects and cut our losses. That means some of you will have to be let go. I'd love to tell you who you are right now, but I can't. The big wigs," he coughed and looked at the suit sitting sternly observing the table,"decided to make a final push for the end of the year. If Q4 flatlines, expect some departments to be axed. That's all."

>> No.4327433

>>4327300
Michael with all of his blutness decided to speak to me in private. "So how about the longest novel ever written?"

I wanted to laugh again but from the previous meeting and the intent in which he gazed at my eyes, as if he was looking for an answer in my pupil, it was clear that he was being serious.

"Are you serious?" I gulped.

"Yes, of course. I like your idea of a mythology with non-fiction elements. Its new,"

"and possibly a dud," I said.

"but I'm desperate. To be straight, I'm first one out that door when Q4 drops. They told me outright. So I'm clawing my way back through you."

I smiled. This meant that I have the approval of the chief and that I could potentially green-light any author and give them a deal when before it would have to be sent to three other editors. This means that I'm unofficially promoted to a reviewing agent with the powers of a front-line slush pile reader. I'll need a good editor, I told him. And he confirmed my speculations when he said, "Anything, anything you need."

"So, what do you want? Any strings?"

"Yes. I need it today."

I laughed at him. "You want to write the longest novel of history in one day?"

"Essentially," he was serious. "Of course, you'll have to find someone who's already on this track."

"I don't think I know anyone who's writing a bible at this day and age."

"Cmon. There must be somewhere out there in the internet."

"Give me a day to find it and maybe I can patch one up."

"No it has to be at my desk by 11:59."

"Why the hell are you rushing this? We have so much time before Q4!"

"Well because I kinda promised them that that your pitch is nearly done."

"Why the fuck would you do that?"

>> No.4327567

>>4327433
"Because. Personal reasons."

"You piece of shit."

"Fuck man just do it. I'll promote you to second rank right now."

"I don't care, what you're asking me to do is impossible." And it was. How to find a writer who's writing a bible before the day ends? Sounds like a thrilling plot for a novel but what the fuck kind of challenge is that?

"So there's no time. Just do it," Michael looked hysterical when he left me. I can tell the pressure had pried off a couple of iron bars in his once solid-framed brain.

At first I craved a cigarette. A rare occurrence. Then after it had settled me, I found myself valuing every second of my career as an agent, (and soon a chief editor when this asshole gets fired). The challenge intrigued even my speculative imagination. What possible ways can I do this? I called over Shinji, the best copywriter in the building and told him to come with me and drop everything he's doing. Michael gave him an affirming nod.

I took him out for lunch at 11:30, and spared him not a detail on the current task we are faced with. Being fluent in English and Japanese, he was an invaluable talent that would serve for my scout. If there was someone writing a bible it would be someone we can find right here, right now. In the setting of the Tokyo Prefecture.

At 11:45 we took our laptops and searched for forums for any inkling of what were looking for. He recommended looking at some fantasy forums. And we managed to find something close: an imaginative user by the name of "kojil" has managed to write a fantasy series from a god's perspective and his 'codex' is written from such a perspective that spans three milleniums. Sounds grand. It seems that this kojil character has merely written it for the pleasure of his fellow forum-mates and the first section of his codex was openly available to all. And what we found upon opening the file was an incoherent, truly amateur piece of work. A shitter without the fame. But my god, the expansiveness of his universe, judging from the table of contents, was astronomically huge. The first chapter was a poor attempt at displaying a hand of god, conscious and intelligent that have traded with another god to have a chance of dictating the next three cycles of the universe. Shinji was intrigued by the premise and read on. But I could not keep up with the terminologies and phrases that assumed that the reader was knowledagble before hand (and there was no introduction or prologue! Who is expected to enjoy such raw unpolished work?).

Shinji imposed that this maybe what we were looking for by kojil hasn't been active for at least half a year and there were only four chapters of his project three-hundred chapter compendium. I trusted him as there was nothing else at the moment. To shoot down an idea without nothing to show for is counterproductive. So I told Michael to get our researchers to contact this kojil.

>> No.4327688
File: 827 KB, 600x848, 1376522611988.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
4327688

>>4327567
[[ If this thread lives tomorrow I will continue, otherwise let this surge of words (over 5k) be forgotten ]]

>> No.4327710

>>4327688
Make a new thread, you shit. I'm enjoying this.

>> No.4327755

>>4327710
For you I will. Good night!

>> No.4328073

Bumping this.

>> No.4329311

>>4327567

Maybe then he'll have a better understanding of how much time is needed to flesh out a project of such scale. At the same time, I found myself excited, from the prospects of scaling an insurmountable obstacle, and the dreams of fulfilling such an outright impossible task. I even found a bit of pride in wishing that somehow if this all worked out, I would be responsible for the largest compendium of modern myths that would be echoed throughout the generations. The challenge kept me alive. But rationality is quick to side with pessimism and the entire spectrum of doubt and dismay. Even if such a compendium was composed, and was found to be a true literary gem, the boys behind the scenes, working to polish what the author hazily created under his creative eye, would be remembered as much as the publisher that touted its merchandise. After all, it is easier to remember a name than to associate an entire theater with the success of a playwright's sweat.

I didn't bet too much on kojil, partly, because of his inactivity within his community and that his project (called "Amarandum" ) was likely the product of impulse and was highly influenced by the initial wave of its creation. Even the forum wasn't too ecstatic of their associates unfinished work but there was a common struggle they all faced in this fantasy/sci-fi realm where dragons and stars are main course. They all sought for some success that they could tell their loved ones, that "I have achieved something of great value to society" or that would warrant critical reception, even if it garnered negative reviews, for attention is attention. A publicist can attest to that.

12:15 and Michael Matsuda hasn't got back to me yet. I hope he came back to his senses. Shinji was adamant in his stance that the genius we were in search of is simply under noses, namely, in the world within the web. A vast network of voices and souls. If there were any soft-spoken geniuses in our era they would be there. It boiled down to how quickly we can find him or her. But in truth, no one really expects the longest work of human history to be composed in a mere day. Time simply would not allow it. However, we can try. We can certainly try.

>> No.4329388

>>4329311

Shinji found another work in progress relevant to our cause. In fact, it's quite relevant and is how I pictured this work to be executed. An author named Aiko Aoi, who's quite reserved in her portraits as opposed to her inane contemporaries, was composing a set of stories that relied on classical Japanese myths that was glued together by the current modern mind. I say modern and it has already passed. I think it's better to say, relatable to the current problems of the world. At least, the first world. Housewives pining for some eternal hand to save them from the banality of their lives; businessmen, suits and zuits, wishing to escape the grind of the corporate tango; teenagers coping with the challenge of expressing their angst using various unhealthy outlets; and children, who are in the league of their own, set with their formulated stresses, are faced with the initial pangs of existence, the supposed and imposed presence of some invisible watcher that tallied their every actions and the early questions of identity, self and the rest of the world--children's literature is on its own level.

Yet her works lacked the quality of being timeless, and I say this without any sort of critical analysis, but the problems she wished to elegantly relate to the mythical morals of yesterday, are subjected to the stigmas and views that are continuously formed year from year, day after day and eventually, when a certain movement has dominated the presiding thought, it would be categorized simply as a passing period. An old way of thinking. Students of humanities will be looking back and forming their own opinions of an era in which they've only experience through the words of a scholar or some tenured hack.

>> No.4329636

Any mor?

>> No.4329650

For sale: Baby. She's still warm.

>> No.4331469

>>4329311
Yessssss. Welcome back.

>> No.4332838

>>4329388

We skimmed through her samples in her online site. I must give her credit for having a navigable layout. Under fiction, under "Days", under the section stating a chapter called "Eleven ways", she introduces a female protagonist from Iran facing a very specific problem that started off as a recollection, then from within she faces the world; a businesswoman waiting to be called by her boss through his mahogany doors. It was told through the eyes of high-striding business-minded woman who had an uncanny ignorance of the inner workings of her colleague's social inclinations.

>> No.4332974

>>4332838
Her problem was immediately identified through two recollections. The classical case of envy in the corporate world is not so new. The first episode was a small one. Mahasti, her beautiful colleague had effortlessly stolen our protagonist's oblivious love thing. The second strike sparked a rivalry. An unspoken rivalry that only existed through one side. During one of the dry scenes by the water-cooler, she overheard her nemesis getting praises from their colleagues. She had recently closed a very important project and was bound to receive a healthy commission. And our heroine, Alia, began to manifest appropriate feelings of jealousy and spite. As she had worked all her life to be in her position yet Mahasti was there the same day they were oriented. Did I mention that Mahasti was a typical Mary Sue that frolicked rather than walked?

With the backdrop of an executive meeting, our heroine was partnered with Mahasti on the coming debriefing on their proposal to renovate five hundred villas along a Mexican coast and while they have successfully found the proper partners and companies to construct such a deal, Alia found a way to sabotage her partner's part of the work. Specifically, Mahasti had connections with the renovators and it was crucial that they had stayed on budget. But the night before, Alia managed to get a hold of the company and asked them to call of the deal and to resort the previous agreements, with added unnecessary luxuries. When it drew to a close to impart the expected moral on humility, the opposite of envy, I was pleasantly surprised that Aiko had manage to execute the element of deceit.

The board was not pleased with the figures when they reviewed it. So much that that meeting became very private, only the VP of operations and the office manager, and two partners were present. The figures were demonstrably off. Mahasti knew that it must have been an error that the renovation expenditures were nearly in the original offer's value (an near 25% increase from the bargained figure). "I will take full responsibility for this," Mahasti said, "I will call the renovators to confirm. But I am quite sure that we got a cheaper deal than 2.4" And they were pleased. And they overlooked Alia's efforts of securing materials and orchestrating the proper scheduling. She knew that if Mahasti called the renovators that they would simply tell her that Alia had reverted the previous deal and that it would be impossible to go back on their word. So, at the peak of the tale, Alia matured and accepted and admitted that she had called the renovators to raise their prices. "Why would you do that?" the VP asked. When her senses came to be, Mahasti, the VP and the office manager saw her for what she was.

>> No.4332996

>>4332974

I mention this story because I was pointing out that Aiko's stories lacked that timeless quality that is present on most mythical configurations. And sure, the story was loosely based off some Buddhist parable on envy, it wouldn't be hard to find one online, I was more impressed by the writing, how it was told (which was leagues better than how I showed), and those were not what made a myth so effective. Barring if that tale was simply an effort to deliver an ironic message, it lacked the clarity, subtle or not, to impart a clear message of humility. Maybe, I was looking at it differently. Maybe it was just a story of an envious woman who wished to be like Mahasti, and that I had already erred my perception by expecting a lesson (as most parables often do).

>> No.4333037

This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said

>> No.4333040

>>4333037
"This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said "This will sound strange, but one day I went to the grocery store and this weird looking guy came up to me and said

>> No.4333059

>>4333040
Do you know where the dairy section is?

>> No.4335531

>>4332996

Anyway, Ms. Aoi has made it into our imaginary list along with our mysterious kojil. "Days" is bound to come out next year according to her news. We needed to give her a preemptive unofficial deal in case she considers publishing it on her own. We traced her address. I told Shinji to bring the laptop. We are to spend an hour to drive to the Tochigi Prefecture.

It was beginning to smell nice. I love the suburbs and their tiny streets. I love the smell of brewing rain. These are things that living in the city you would come to appreciate. Typical things that are out of reach. Your senses will thank you for stepping outside to breathe a different air. The cab smelt of pinewood green. I miss Lemon breath. This driver of ours lacked his vigor. A man nearing his fifties, still pushing the pedal. He kept his eyes on the road as he should and only stopped to look at us at one red-light, asking us if we were some part of some Kempetai. Shinji smiled. He told me in English that the old man was quite known around the city (more famous than Mr. Olive?) and that he thinks he's living in the 1950's. I gave him a weird look and demanded to know how he's living now if his mind is stuck in the past. Shinji took it for something else and stayed quiet as the old man's eyes looked at us through his rear view.

>> No.4335625

>>4335531

The chill was noticeable at Tochigi, Tochigi. We stopped by a shop to pick up a snack. I stopped by for a pair of gloves. I saw a pair of schoolgirls looking at me. I kept my mind's eye on them. I didn't realize the store owner was yelling at me. She was saying that I could get a scarf with my gloves and that the deal is only good for me. Thank you, old lady. I did find a scarf, a navy blue cotton with shredded ends. It hugged my neck, I was cozier already. All the while, Shinji was gawking over some small figurines. Anime curiosities, a few Western comic book heroes, some figurines of Bodai and a few Jade dragons were all terribly mixed into one shelf. I was about to pull up the excuse that he was wasting company time but he withdrew from his fascination and picked up a jade necklace. "For my niece. It's her birthday today," he tells me.

Our driver was muttering something to himself when we returned. And before I got in, the schoolgirls came up to me and gave me a pamphlet to some highschool performance. It was them along with two others on the cover under the name of "Wishing Lights". It seems that they were performing for some local charity. It wasn't relevant to me, so I took it, slightly smiled and bowed, and threw it out the window to be swept by the wind.

Shinji managed to find her mobile number. She said, yes come through and yes "I would like to speak with you". He told me that she was at Nikkō today visiting her familials. It's been awhile since I've visited this ancient site, that every tourist must have on their list, that harbors the image of blooming Jasmine petals, wind-bells on every humble old-wood cabin, the view of the lonely mountain range. A region is only as good as its people. You'll rarely find the cold shoulders and stares you'd find in the metropolis. Though there were already a few traffic drones on intersections likely tallying and adjusting the flow of traffic.

>> No.4336885

Bumping for this story. Whats this story called? >>4326384

>> No.4336890

[A] In a cabin on top of a hill, an old storyteller begins to tell a story. "Once upon a time, (go to [A])

>> No.4337636

bamping

>> No.4339320

>>4336885
Upcoming novella. Remains untitled. Might be that I call it Untitled (hehe). At work at the moment. I will write some more. This is a raw work in progress.

~with love
J

>> No.4341022

Courteous vump

>> No.4342878

>>4335625

A stream ran across a garden. An inviting chime chimed. A child opened the door, and her mother appeared behind not long before. There was beauty found from stress, but she quickly welcomed us with her eyes. Her husband and the two, a portrait at the living room exposed that the child was alone. But its crib had been fit for one. The stairs leading upstairs were carpeted, of which was practically clean. "Ami, I'm gonna go to my office okay?"

"Okay," the child found her portable and trotted off.

"Shinji," she smiled and turned to me inquiringly; I recited my full name. "So you've read my post?" She resumed looking for her tablet.

"Only the ones on your website. We're working on a project, Mr. Combray and I, and it fits what we're looking for."

"Hmm, is that so? " she asked Shinji.

"I liked your collection and how they all share a central theme of good morals," he said and I was itching to reply, "but this was only from your samples so we can't really make a decision."

"It's not finished yet. I can give you some more material if you like. I was going to upload a few more actually." She swiped away.

"Ms. Aoi," I looked at my watch and said, "we're here to give you an early deal. A pre-emptive deal that will ask for publishing rights if we're gonna use your work. Green Leaf has been looking for authors to compose a collection," (and I managed to qualify my vision), "that will span a series-length."

"Hmm, so its a collaboration?" She probed.

"Yes, but you see we're not quite sure what's to be done yet as well. So. We're giving you a deal. It's not a contract. We're simply telling you that we're interested but all we ask is that we're granted publishing rights before any other."

"Okay," she said to draw out the cue.

I couldn't think of a time to be more honest. When conducting such businesses, even the sell orders on the stock exchange illustrate this point, there is such a thing as saying too much. Who's to say that she hadn't been signed with a spell-binding contract? She could easily raise her value now that she's been found. There lies the risk, the spontaneity of things. It wasn't an investment but merely a gamble. Luck just makes it fun.

"I can't be expected to finish earlier than what I set out," she exclaimed. "It's something I've got to keep."

"No problem," I said and we gave ten percent of her advance should we like the final product.