/lit/ - Literature

[OP No.4785031]

ITT we post bits of our original creative writing and critique others. Lets try and avoid comments like "this makes me want to an hero" and instead offer real, sound advice.
I'm pretty new at writing, but if you must obliterate my self-esteem than so be it. I'll start

I stiffly wished Tommy a good night as I stepped out into the raw January evening and immediately regretted not packing some extra layers. No wonder its so dead this time of year; who would want to leave their house in this damn cold. I curse Mother Nature as my teeth begin to chatter, making a silent promise to myself to one day move somewhere exempt from her frigid influence. Helping myself to a seat on the nearby bench I glance at the contents of my slightly crushed cigarette pack - only two left - and make a mental note to stop at the gas station up the street to re-supply. Absently, I select the upside-down cigarette and attempt the grueling process of striking a match, a boxing bout between myself and the wind that lasted a whole ten rounds before I finally caught a flame; an honorable performance from Wind in the red corner, who took down half of my matches before throwing in the towel.

My mind began to wander through regular puffs of smoke, sedated by the rhythmic hum of cars from the nearby highway. Even though the streets were practically empty the night seemed very much alive. A handful of birds exchanged chirps in a nearby oak, comforting one another through this harsh season full of death and early darkness. Airplanes roared high above in conjunction with their elated passengers, who embark on much-anticipated escapes from cold reality in favor of the blissful tropics that are the Virgin Islands and Aruba. Slowly, the surrounding streetlights began to oscillate in and out of focus, manifesting again as long brown trunks that tapered off into thin green hairs, littered with hairy brown beads that hung from their heads. The wind took on a scent of salt and sand as I wiggled my toes through millions of tiny grains, some sticking to the wet spots on my ankles. A beautiful, exotic woman in a grass skirt and coconut-shell top approaches me and hands me a Pina Colada, complete with mini-umbrella and chunks of pineapple and cherry skewered onto a tiny blue pirate’s sword. She stands behind me and begins to rub my shoulders with expertise, hitting all the kinks and rendering me motionless. Bending towards my face she whispers sweet nothings into my ear as another woman, equally beautiful, approaches from ahead. She is saying something but I can’t quite make out what it is. As she inches closer her voice grows louder and louder.

[OP No.4785034]

>>4785031
In an instant my paradise disappeared, and what was formerly the woman of my dreams was now a burly man of about 40 with a protruding gut and handlebar mustache that tickled the collar of his blue shirt. I glance down at the inch of ash between my fingers and then back at the man, noticing the empty bus behind him.

“Yeah I’m good” I replied, noting the name “Bill” inscribed on his left breast.

“I was pullin’ up to the stop when I noticed you were out cold, wasn’t sure if you were dead or what”

“Yeah, no I’m fine. I work just up the street here. Must have dozed off or something. Hey, have you got a smoke?”

“I dunno how the hell you managed to doze off out here, it’s colder than a witch’s tit” Bill replied with a smirk as he generously handed me two cigarettes. He offered me a light, which I graciously accepting having remembered my recent bout with the matches.

“Hold on, you can’t smoke that on the bus” explains Bill as I inhaled deeply.

“Oh, I wasn’t waiting for the bus. Sorry about that” I explain through a cloud of smoke. Bill raises an eyebrow to look me over and then shrugs.

“Alrighty, well you take care of yourself now.”

“Yeah, hey by the way thanks Bill. You seem alright.”

Bill chuckled a bit as he resumed his seat aboard the bus, raising a hand to say goodbye as he pulled off back into the night. I watched as he drove away and was struck by an advertisement on the back of the bus - “Searching for meaning in your life? Find it with the military. Join the Army today.”

[Anonymous No.4785035]

I stiffly wished Tommy a good night as I stepped out into the raw January evening and immediately regretted not packing some extra layers. No wonder its so dead this time of year; who would want to leave their house in this damn cold. I curse Mother Nature as my teeth begin to chatter, making a silent promise to myself to one day move somewhere exempt from her frigid influence. Helping myself to a seat on the nearby bench I glance at the contents of my slightly crushed cigarette pack - only two left - and make a mental note to stop at the gas station up the street to re-supply. Absently, I select the upside-down cigarette and attempt the grueling process of striking a match, a boxing bout between myself and the wind that lasted a whole ten rounds before I finally caught a flame; an honorable performance from Wind in the red corner, who took down half of my matches before throwing in the towel.

My mind began to wander through regular puffs of smoke, sedated by the rhythmic hum of cars from the nearby highway. Even though the streets were practically empty the night seemed very much alive. A handful of birds exchanged chirps in a nearby oak, comforting one another through this harsh season full of death and early darkness. Airplanes roared high above in conjunction with their elated passengers, who embark on much-anticipated escapes from cold reality in favor of the blissful tropics that are the Virgin Islands and Aruba. Slowly, the surrounding streetlights began to oscillate in and out of focus, manifesting again as long brown trunks that tapered off into thin green hairs, littered with hairy brown beads that hung from their heads. The wind took on a scent of salt and sand as I wiggled my toes through millions of tiny grains, some sticking to the wet spots on my ankles. A beautiful, exotic woman in a grass skirt and coconut-shell top approaches me and hands me a Pina Colada, complete with mini-umbrella and chunks of pineapple and cherry skewered onto a tiny blue pirate’s sword. She stands behind me and begins to rub my shoulders with expertise, hitting all the kinks and rendering me motionless. Bending towards my face she whispers sweet nothings into my ear as another woman, equally beautiful, approaches from ahead. She is saying something but I can’t quite make out what it is. As she inches closer her voice grows louder and louder.

[Anonymous No.4785038]

In an instant my paradise disappeared, and what was formerly the woman of my dreams was now a burly man of about 40 with a protruding gut and handlebar mustache that tickled the collar of his blue shirt. I glance down at the inch of ash between my fingers and then back at the man, noticing the empty bus behind him.

“Yeah I’m good” I replied, noting the name “Bill” inscribed on his left breast.

“I was pullin’ up to the stop when I noticed you were out cold, wasn’t sure if you were dead or what”

“Yeah, no I’m fine. I work just up the street here. Must have dozed off or something. Hey, have you got a smoke?”

“I dunno how the hell you managed to doze off out here, it’s colder than a witch’s tit” Bill replied with a smirk as he generously handed me two cigarettes. He offered me a light, which I graciously accepting having remembered my recent bout with the matches.

“Hold on, you can’t smoke that on the bus” explains Bill as I inhaled deeply.

“Oh, I wasn’t waiting for the bus. Sorry about that”...

What the fuck you plot stealing hack.

[OP No.4785037]

>>4785034
this should have been the first line of the second post -
“Are you ok? Hey man, you alright? Hey!”

[OP No.4785093]

>>4785038
i stole zero plots

[Anonymous No.4785176]

>>4785031

fucking cool it with the barrage of adjectives.

>raw January
>immediate regret
>damn cold
>silent promise
>frigid influence
>etc

"show, don't tell"

[Anonymous No.4785271]

http://pastebin.com/itdZGiUV

I'm having difficulty moving into the house itself.

[Anonymous No.4785641]

>>4785031
You have really good images and I liked the bit about the boxing bout between the matches and the wind.

Try writing without adverbs. When you finish, you can add them in when you edit.

The second paragraph is overloaded with visual clutter.

The transition between the woman to the bus driver isn't apparent, and the dialogue doesn't flow in properly.

[Anonymous No.4785664]

>>4785031

So much of that is unnecessary.

I understand you're trying to be literary, but remember: a mediocre sentence pushes the plot, a good sentence pushes characterisation and plot, and a fantastic sentences pushes plot, characterisation and theme. Have a look through your work and cut the bad sentences.

[Anonymous No.4785695]

http://pastebin.com/8dPD8iWN

This was my final story for a creative writing class, as part of a portfolio that we'd hand in on the last day and the professor would critique the portfolio as a whole via email. He never critiqued this though, opting for some of my earlier work. As such, I have no clue if this is shit or seriously shit.

[Anonymous No.4785701]

Fuckin lol, the things you find on pastebin
http://pastebin.com/FWeg4rdT

[Anonymous No.4785861]

>>4785695
You need to stop stretching your clauses out, as it makes for a lengthy and annoying read, and even though you want the sentence to end it doesn't, and just keeps going on. Throw in the occasional short sentence to liven up your rhythm.

Your prose also lacks imagery and inventiveness. It's plain to read. That wouldn't necessarily be bad if the narrator's voice wasn't so immature.
>Luckily, our new friends could not make a lot of noise on account of their size, but boy did they try.
This line sounds like a high-schooler. I understand your narrator is in fact one, but you should always aim to keep your prose mature. Dispense with the vernacular, and reduce your use of dialogue-style lines like
>After-all, what made us so special?

>by the principal’s daughter no less
There should be a comma before "no less". This is also one of those dialogue-styled lines you should avoid.

Your story is quite nice, even though it isn't tied together by specific logic or message other than graduation and growing up. Dem feels at the end ;_;

[Anonymous No.4786509]

>>4785861
I know what you mean, I find it hard to balance between the narrators voice and my voice. Thanks bro.

[Anonymous No.4786989]

Once the lights are out and everybody's gone home, the highs have been had and the crescendos are long since past, when all that's left are crushed dixie cups and makeshift soda-can pipes lying on a cold and unforgiving concrete surface, you realize that no matter how many screams were bellowed for you, no matter how many obnoxious neon green signs with your name rhinestoned on them are lying amongst discarded half-tarnished Zig-Zags, you’re truly alone.

Not a fan, not a friend, not a roadie, not a tired and, much like yourself, jaded bartender will put up with your incessant bitching because, “Hey, what do you have to complain about?”. You’re living the dream partner. End all, be all, sex drugs and rock and roll.

You’re a washed up, living cliche, but you’re the only one who knows that. On the outside, you’re still the vivacious fuck you were 8 years ago. On the inside, you’re a knock off and you know it.
A hasbeen. A drug addled kid knockin’ on the door of the dirty thirties, but it’s all you’ve ever known and it’s all you’ll ever know.

You live in a Jim Morrison, Hunter S. Thompson idealistic world. Only you’re not as attractive as Jim and you’re not as adventurous as Hunter. Arguably the most crucial elements of both. What are you to do?

One can only assume you’re still looking for the answer to that question. You’re not going to find it in a dimly lit bar. You’re not gonna find it in the glassy eyes you see in your reflection of the 6x6” mirror on the coffee table. No. The only place you’re gonna find it is in your eventual demise. And I fear such a fate is rounding the corner.

You have undeniable talent, that much is true, though you’re not invincible.

The faster you realize that the faster you can get your life back, before you lose it.

[Anonymous No.4787048]

Wendy’s father was late getting home that day because he was in court, contesting a traffic ticket for illegally driving his hearse in the HOV lane on the 101. His job was picking up coffins containing unclaimed bodies from the hospital and delivering them to the morgue, and he believed that the body counted towards the HOV two-person minimum; the officer who pulled him over saw it differently.

Without him there, Wendy feared becoming the object of her mother’s attention when she got home from work. Why you eat so much? Look at photo of your cousin. She so skinny! Why you not have boyfriend? Maybe if you skinny you finally get boyfriend. All my family skinny. You get fat genes from father side.

Wendy locked the door of her bedroom. A half-dozen bookshelves bent under the weight of novels about vampires and wizards, comic books, and anime serials were arranged in sequence from left to right. The space on the walls between them was covered with illustrations, some just pencil sketches, other inked and colored.

---

This is from a story that largely done but is otherwise about ready to go into submissions.

[Anonymous No.4787179]

I will play along.

>>4785031
I stumbled at the second word: an adverb. This is a particularly bad adverb, too, and it immediately marks you as someone who is not an educated, experienced writer.

Now, that sounds really bad and personal, and I know that's what you were trying to avoid here, but it's relevant because, right from jumpstreet, that impressions is the prism through which I see all the rest of your writing.

Whereas if later, you did something really interesting or creative, I'm now more likely to see it as an error and not give you the slack in the rope that I don't trust you know how to handle without garroting yourself.

See, it makes me no longer trust that you know what you're doing, and now I'm on guard.

If you don't know why there's a problem with adverbs, or you want to have an argument with me about it, then you are really lost. If you want to know why there's a problem, you need to spend some time with some craft books (not just one, but many) and read a whole helluva lot more. A great anthology I can recommend is "The Art of the Short Story" by Gioia. Not only does it have all of the classics, but it has interviews with or essays by the authors.

Moving along, this also jumps out at me as amateurish: " slightly crushed cigarette pack"

Why is 'slightly' crushed? Why is that modifier necessary? Could you not find a word that blends 'slightly crushed?' Maybe crumpled?

You do this a lot:
" practically empty "
" grueling process "
"surrounding streetlights"

Ugh. It brings to mind the writing of a college freshman girl who is unread but is too quick to share opinions on why someone else's story "works" or "doesn't work."

Also, the hyphens are a no-go. Make it a sentence.

Okay, I've been cranky enough. Next example.

>>4785034

Immediately marked as an amateur and my trust is lost in the first sentence.
This is prose, not a math equation. "Forty," not 40.

“I was pullin’ up to the stop when I noticed you were out cold, wasn’t sure if you were dead or what”

Punctuation?

" generously handed me two cigarettes"

See above note on adverbs.

"he resumed his seat aboard the bus"

Resumed? Clunky.


" I glance down at the inch of ash between my fingers and then back at the man, noticing the empty bus behind him. "

If you weren't trying to get a ride on the bus or steal it, why did you 'notice' it? You struggle with byplay. It should be "Behind him was an empty bus."

>>4785271

Look, I'm not saying it's a hard and fast rule, but as a new writer, let's not begin with people waking up, k?

"at least when it came to the minor aspects of his life"

Then why should he or us care?

"As he did so, the world seemed to fade in and out of focus."

Again, too much byplay. "As he did so" is superfluous.

[Anonymous No.4787203]

>>4785695

The first paragraph is out of order. You open up with similarities, but then don't talk about them until the end of the paragraph, so we're confused. Also, the fact that the creatures are small is pretty important, something we should know initially because otherwise the mental picture we get is really jumbled.

As a short piece, the writing isn't too bad. It's not really profound, and has holes (why did they keep them outdoors and not bring them home, etc.)

>>4786989
"unforgiving concrete "
cut unforgiving.

“Hey, what do you have to complain about?”.
Punctuation, please?

" living cliche"
That is itself a cliche.

" 8 years ago"
Eight. Don't ever let me catching you doing that again.

"Arguably the most crucial elements of both"

Wait, which is the most crucial?

It could use some polish, but this is not too bad.

[Anonymous No.4787211]

>>4787203
>(why did they keep them outdoors and not bring them home, etc.)
They didn't want their parents to find them, I guess it's not really clear.

[Anonymous No.4787323]

An honest critique would be most appreciated:

Davis somehow managed to find himself at the same train station at night again. He wasn't sure what it was that always led him there and then, or if he even was being led at all. But, he did understand his desire to be there, that his gut was tautly tethered to an unwavering vessel of both relief and distress, that this course he had been stuck to may not end with the treasures he so sought.
Davis was looking at the clock above him on platform 4, anticipating its strike to 12:05. His left hand fidgeted with twine in his pocket and he couldn't help but to look at the other three passengers to be by him. One woman stood with a nurse uniform, another with earbuds and a resignation you could only receive from someone you love. Another man was seen sitting on a nearby bench, entirely imperceptible. His head turned to check his phone and his hand put it back in his pocket. Nobody had called, nobody had texted. He paced six steps left and five right, and was ambivalent to see the train exiting the tunnel from afar. It hummed mildly and screeched softly to a stop, as if guided by a cautious hand. Davis stood center at the locomotive's entrance, (or exit depending on your direction) and walked through with a latent breath. He grabbed the nearest seat to the left, like one would in a doctor's office, and stared ahead as inertia nudged him right. In the slow of the night, in the fluorescence filled car, in the cushion of middle age, Davis looked at himself in the window opposite, and saw little more than the outline of a man upon a dark black background, just waiting for the next station's light to erase the image that held there for too long, insistently.

The train came to a halt, Davis checked his wallet, buttoned his colorless coat, and exited, leaving behind a glance towards the shutting doors, as he marched on through the canopy of buildings in the black underbelly of Earth.

[Anonymous No.4787408]

A chorus of laughter resonates throughout
the playground (on the screen)
and the sun sits gracefully upon the scene
with an endearing smile.
Squalls of children sweep across the field,
chasing an elusive and entertaining sphere
that manages to entice so many.
While,
Others oscillate on swings
determined to soar higher each time
only to let go at the limit.
Suddenly,
An epidemic of tag seizes the day
and every child runs from the one.
To hide or sprint?: this question hangs
above all but one,
the-one-who-is-it,
a force of power of reverence
wielding virtually no thing
yet respected nonetheless.

And so among the terrific tumult,
the ball remains still,
the swings sit swaying,
and the children holler in persistent exchange
about a thing wholly fabricated
in the beauty of minds alike
for no more than the happiness
brought forth
by imagination and will.

Then,
the bell rings,
and the teachers sing like sirens.
So, the witless tykes,
flock in,
sighing.

[Anonymous No.4787425]

>>4787323
I would put this at near the top of my list of things for beginner writers not to do: have your characters do things but openly wondering why they do them.

Some other bad techical writing here:

" One woman stood with a nurse uniform, "

So she stood with it? She was holding it on a hangar in a transparent garment bag? Or was she wearing it.

" Another man was seen sitting on a nearby bench, entirely imperceptible."

Where to begin. First, the sentence is passive. Second, how can he be seen if it is imperceptible, and what does it even mean to be imperceptible?

Byplay and details do not need to be framed from the perspective of a character (or anyone). Just say "A man, barely noticeable, on a bench." We don't need to be told it's nearby. And what made him "barely noticeable?" And can you use a word that blends "barely" and "noticeable"?

" He paced six steps left and five right, "
And then he did the hokey pokey and he turned it all about.

"His head turned to check his phone and his hand put it back in his pocket."

Holy Byplay, Batman! A sign of a beginning writer: he does not trust the theater of the reader's mind to fill in details, so he is compelled to narrate every glance and gesture. "He checked his phone, saw no alerts, and returned it to his pocket." TA-DA!

"like one would in a doctor's office"

How so?

" (or exit depending on your direction)"

Do not use parenthesis in third-person narrative. The entire narrative is an aside, and you are not committed to a strong voice in first or second person. And you are not George Saunders. So no.

"colorless coat"

It has to have a color. Is it a vacuum of space and time? You need a different word.

"leaving behind a glance towards the shutting doors"

No.

[Anonymous No.4787433]

>>4787408

too many qualifiers

[Anonymous No.4787698]

>>4787048
Not without invention. That rant from mom better be authenticated, or you will run into the race charge. There is a drift in POV from omni to limited Wendy between the first and third paragraph - or else the first paragraph is out of POV control, or else the third accidentally overlaps omnisciently with what Wendy is looking at.

[Anonymous No.4787821]

>>4787425

Gracias.

[Anonymous No.4787835]

>>4787433

Very much so.

[Anonymous No.4788124]

Jasper was still waiting for her reply when he got to the venue. He was sure that the show was going to be lackluster at best but remained hopeful because of his point of focus for the past eternity, Jen. As his friends corralled him towards the bouncers, he remained oblivious to the crowds around him that buzzed and laughed and shook with delicious rhythm like jumping beans. Though all went swell with the fake IDs and nothing but smooth sailing lay ahead, Jasper showed no signs of excitement, that is, until his phone chimed. He grabbed for it immediately as they walked into the concert hall and as his heart jumped by the sight of that sweet, suckling name he was absorbed by the festivities around him that blared bright lights and music alike. A skin-flaunting harlot shook about them as they entered the crowd, where Jen had said she was. Eager, Jasper and his friends plunged deep into a spritely crowd that looked like a congregation of churchgoers speaking in tongue. Whirling dervishes in neon colors danced about in throngs to a beat that tugged at your nerves attractively, nagging at you to let go and fall into the trance. For the time being, Jasper resisted. Through a sea of bobbing heads, Jasper's pupils managed to hone in and lock onto the most beautiful portals of another soul he had seen that night, hell, his whole life. Jen, this monosyllabic angel had ensnared his attention like a sea anemone with a guppy. So he grooved through the sweat and joy towards her, determined to make his dreams a reality. He wanted more than to get laid, he wanted love. He wasn't sure if it was the shear beauty of this girl he had only known a week or the MDMA that he just took, but he was sure that this thing of admiration, of adoration, had to be in his arms soon or he wouldn't know what to do with himself. The closer he got to the front, the denser the barriers of people became. Soon, he had to throw out words about a friend or little brother to convince the crowd to part. He felt like Moses parting the Red Sea. He reached out to Jen's hand and held it, pulling himself closer. As the song lulled slightly, so did his gaze into her eyes and he knew then, this is it.

[Anonymous No.4788151]

Horribly, horribly, horribly the day started. A pool full of tangy sweat, a floor covered in laundry, a desk cluttered with unfinished work, a dead cat: this is what Steve woke up to. As usual, the minute his eyelids lifted, he forced them back down as if to say, "no you fucking don't, we're not done yet." So, Steve and his bed snuggled for another hour or so until he managed to get to his feet. At the bathroom mirror, Steve criticized his own face as his mother would. Displeased, he entered the shower to feel that fleeting sense of cleanliness. The rest of his early afternoon routine went as planned, shakily that is. Once Steve found him self presentable for public, he realized he had absolutely no desire or necessity to leave the house. At the mountain's foot, the path seems much more treacherous: so Steve decided to stay in.

Same shit, different day.

[Anonymous No.4788155]

Poetry Bump?

Seek not the answer from within, but rather delve amongst your innermost sin
We grow as we die, inside the effervescent scent of our own demise
Striding down the broken road, of cobbled pasts and cobble paths
Insight of our lives, living beside our own times
Mantles are passed right down the line, to children made of misbegotten memories
Memoirs written during blood stained nights, while days are lived with utmost delight
Ask not the question without, first contemplating answers that fill you with doubt
Beg the question to be asked, once our misbegotten lies within our past
Enlightenment, like entitlement, implies lightning strikes at a specified hour
Foresight honed within arrhythmic systems of intermittent ties
As the rich get richer it’s the poor man who dies
Middle class citizens uphold the law, while the lost and forlorn ask why isn’t there more?
They seek not the answer that lies within, but rather delve amongst the freeman’s sin
Borne down beneath the weight of success, harried by the hounds of excess
The poor man seeks no answers when thin, for life is at stake for someone like him

[Anonymous No.4788185]

Blemishes laugh at me in the mirror
as if they could.
And my eyes follow the roads of wrinkles
recently paved,
reminding me where I haven't been.
A shadow of scruff makes me scoff,
a bush of brow-hair bellows pity.
Distract: I bristle me teeth
present my gums
and wince.
Again the pustular face crinkles
and I think:
what a fucking face.

[Anonymous No.4788189]

>>4788124

This makes me want to kill myself.

[Anonymous No.4788191]

>>4788185
>reminding me where I haven't been

Daaayum! I like.

[Anonymous No.4788200]

A knot sits in my stomach,
tied by the most sinister of pirates
pulling at my tongue and bowels,
creating unbearable tension.
If only a scalpel would come to my salvation,
to end this horrible tug-of-war match,
then I could stretch and sigh.

[Anonymous No.4788208]

>>4788185

Maybe replace "what a fucking face," with something like, portrait, or countenance, or even mug.

[Anonymous No.4788759]

>>4787698
The third p isn't Wendy's. It's just a description of her room. Although the amine is in the wrong order (should be right to left).

The mom is Vietnamese. Based on a real mother who spoke that way to the girl who was, at one time, my gf. The race charge can suck my dick.

[Anonymous No.4788762]

A white blast of sparks, and then the flame: growing, eating up butane as it hisses out from the bowels of the lighter. The tongue flits across transparent edges of an old plastic film, torn away some time ago from a box of cigarettes and dropped into a desk drawer, saved for just this purpose.
The plastic edges soften and disappear into each other under the flame. I pull it away and now there’s only one edge, rough and bulging unevenly across its length but whole, save for a few breaks in the gelatinous seal. I close these between my thumb and forefinger, and though the plastic boils I feel no pain. The nerve endings in my fingertips, deafened by this repeated action over the years, ignore screams from some hundred-thousand dermal cells as they are incinerated, their walls splitting open, spilling organelles into the molten plastic on my fingers. These rupture in the heat, turning inside-out like popcorn kernels in cooking oil.

[Anonymous No.4788765]

Like anything, it could be almost beautiful if looked at closely, if given a meditative consideration. And though I am aware of this on a prefrontal level, the bulk of my notice is dialed into the sensory experience coming up through my nostrils, which is decidedly midbrain.
An excited cloud of molecules released by the burning plastic drains in through my nose. The impression relayed to me, like most smells, escapes direct translation into English and instead comes across in similes. It echoes through the vaulted ceilings and half-closed crawl spaces of my mind until it dislodges the closest analogues: this smell is like open pits of burning garbage; this smell is like dollar store candles on a birthday cake.
I heard once that olfactory experiences produce the most vivid memories. As I sit cross-legged, distributing improvised bindles of pills to the circle of people on the floor around me, I live again in days from my childhood, lost for years until this moment, and I believe it.

[Anonymous No.4788777]

When the cameras were on, she had a purpose.

She stood, along with her lover, Willem Daley, beneath the angelic halogen lights - smack-dab in the middle of a massive, architecturally awe-inspiring monolith of Hollywood ingenuity. A glowing, golden dance hall. A set which would put the “Babylon” set of D.W. Griffith’s, “Intolerance” to shame.

Catherine Daley. A starlet in her mid twenties. Veiling her crooked smile and bright blue eyes was a fishnet veil. Wrapped around her, complimenting each and every inch of her slim and tapered body, an elegant blue silk dress. Willem on the other hand, didn’t have such a complicated garb. Surrounding them, several dozen other couples dancing along in perfect synchrony to a swing jazz tune. Maybe it was Cole Porter, Sidney Bichet, maybe even a Glenn Miller. It didn’t matter. What mattered at that particular moment was to not fuck up the shot.

[Anonymous No.4788778]

>>4788777
Dammit, I fucked up. I forgot to expand on the "complicated garb" part.

Disregard that line please, I'm working on it.

[Anonymous No.4788811]

[Anonymous No.4789109]

Frank
On Monday, Frank's bed was still made like the night before. He was in the bathtub. He got up and looked at himself in the mirror and extended an index finger. Frank smiled, then opened his lips a little wider. He picked something from between his teeth. He ran his tongue along them and made a small sucking sound. “Perfect.” he thought.
Frank repeated the word three times in his head. He said it out loud twice. “Perfect. Perfect.” Frank went to his bed and picked up his pants. He took out the leather belt. “Perfect.” he said. Frank hung up the pants in the closet.
Frank tapped his fingers on the belt’s holes, then traced the buckle and its indentation on the leather. “Perfect,” he repeated again, barely opening his mouth. He kept his cheeks full with air as he walked to the bathroom, where he wrapped the belt around his neck. His eyebrows drew closer together. A line appeared between them. Frank let out his breath and watched a little fleck of spit land on the mirror. He cleaned the mirror, then threaded the belt through the buckle and tied it to the shower curtain rod.
On Tuesday, Frank woke up in the bathtub. “Perfect.” he said. He looked in the mirror. “Perfect.” he said, as he examined and fixed his hair. Frank opened the small cabinet door under the sink. He pulled out toilet cleaner, then read its backside. “Perfect.” he said. He set the white jug down. Frank walked around his house, touching and examining things. “Perfect.” he said. Frank grabbed the toilet cleaner off the bathroom counter and sat down in his bathtub. “Perfect.” he said, uncapping the jug. His eyes scanned the bathroom one more time. He stood up and tipped a bit of toilet cleaner in the toilet, then fixed his hair in the mirror.
Frank went to the kitchen and put a piece of bread on a plate. He ate the bread, then washed and dried the plate. He put it back in its cabinet. Frank put his hands on his head and slowly spun around once. He took his hands off his head and held them in front of his face. Frank rubbed them together, then went to the bathroom and fixed his hair. He chewed his lips and tapped his fingers on his thighs. He flushed the toilet. “Perfect.” he said. He looked in the mirror, then sat back down in the bathtub with his toilet cleaner and drank it. “Perfect.” he said.
On Wednesday, Frank woke up in the bathtub. “Perfect.” he said. He went to the mirror and touched his chin and upper lip. Frank wet his face with hot water, then shaved. “Perfect.” he said. He twisted a section on his razor and removed the blade. Frank stripped naked, then turned the hot water knob on the bathtub faucet. He lay in the bathtub and cut his wrists.
On Thursday, Frank woke up in the bathtub.

[Anonymous No.4789111]

The shredded cuffs of his acid-washed jeans dragged behind his heels as Andy entered the bank. He took a deposit slip from the counter, scribbled a note on the back, and slid it under bullet-proof glass to the young brunette. She squinted and slowly read it aloud.

“’Give me all your money. Their is a stick of dynamite in my pants.’ You’re using the wrong ‘there.’ It’s T-H-E-R-E, not T-H-E-I-R.”

He leaned forward and whispered. “You know what I meant. Don’t play games. Lives are at risk. And don’t even think about tripping the silent alarm. I’ve seen movies, I know how this works. Keep your hands where I can see them and no one gets hurt.”

“You’re gonna get me in trouble. Listen, I go on break in fifteen minutes. Park out behind the Chinese place and I’ll give you a hand-job, okay?”

[Anonymous No.4789114]

>>4789111
Felt like u were taking it less and less seriously as you went. Seems like a lead up to a punchline.

[Anonymous No.4789131]

>>4789114
It's the opening to a short story.

You're a terrible reader and do not belong here.

[Anonymous No.4789145]

>>4789131
I just didn't really care what else would happen past this point, though. There are just too many quick changes in the plot/tone in so few sentences in my opinion. Guess that means I'm a "terrible reader."

[Anonymous No.4789164]

>>4789145

Yes, it does make you a terrible reader, because these are openings, and you blame the writer for your own obtuse mindset. I'll help you out by posting the first section of the story here, and then you may become a better reader in the future by understanding that sometimes, when an opening doesn't make sense to you, it's because of myopia.

Read this, and then come back.

http://pastebin.com/jbqVueFs

[Anonymous No.4789329]

Poetry 's fine, right?

creases on cotton
they unfold under searing heat
a diploma roll with forty-five sauce
and would you like an interview with that.
the harder you press, the closer they spread
soon they’ll be invisible, woven into the fabric
press harder then and they won’t ever fade.

creases
like footprints still running
the cut-down forest track.
like whiteboard pens still out of ink;
if they won’t write on the old boards
the new ones will be just the same.
a play of sun on the crystal-stud stone:
our names will fade when the summer rains fall.

listen
butterflies are leaping with once-creased wings
daffodils are blooming with once-bent leaves.
the dusk can be no less beautiful than the dawn
already stars are singing in the midnight sky
and soon sun-stolen clouds will wake and blush for joy.

creases on cotton
heat and iron and they won’t ever fade
you can’t press them out
badges of honour unfolding over
the children we once were.

[Anonymous No.4789410]

http://pastebin.com/6F0F0K8c
I always come late to threads like these.

[Anonymous No.4789425]

If we were to characterize why Langley did what he did we would have to turn to some important chapters of his past. He had a strong sense of justice, fought bullies, was beaten, stood up and again fought. He became a proponent of social justice, joined various organizations, did volunteer work in many countries; mainly he did not like the general state of inequality in the world. He developed the ideal never to ‘turn the other cheek’ nor to forgive without suitable recompense. He loved his friends and anyone connected to him, was so firmly entrenched in the brotherhood of man that he did not distinguish between family and any other acquaintance; he paid back favors and tallied his debts. He liked to keep things ‘equal’. He thought it would be grand if everyone were self-sufficient, peaceful and content with their own lives and living in a complete agrarian community. As a result he turned to Communal and primitive models of society based on small tight-knit communities and also read up on some Anarchist ideas. He idealized villages and held a firm disdain towards modernity. He liked to talk with his friend Johannes, a journalist, about the state of things and their general decay. Currently both men were walking, aimlessly, down the streets, towards an eventual meaning; in silence as As if complicit in a mass conspiracy on the account of all suffering of the human race and burdened by the repugnant guilt of the association.Concentrated evil walked the streets. From the muck of an alley to the slight corruption on the side of an orange at a supermarket; all symbolized the wormy filth underlying all human activity… and what could be left but the clutching at the basest compassions and joys that so pockmarked the black earth like inconsiderate acne? Once again, in fact every time they had met, Langley was filled with a soft pleasure at the company of his friend.

[Anonymous No.4789507]

>>4789410
This is extremely rushed even as just the beginning of a story. You introduce Eli as someone who disappeared "years earlier", weird stuff starts playing on the radio, and suddenly there he is. Then he dies. Slow down. Pace your stuff out more. If this is meant to be a short story, introduce Eli earlier to put more distance between his introduction and his appearance, and have Elizabeth freak out less.

In terms of writing, you use too many consecutive short sentences. Also,
>they hung they're lines to catch a bite
In this situation you use "their". In case you weren't sure:
They're = they are
Their = that which they own

>"I'm gonna take a nap," he informed Elizabeth, "wake me up when something happens."
When you break speech with narration, like you just did, both parts of the speech should be able to join into a full, proper sentence. In your case, "I'm gonna take a nap, wake me up when something happens" is not a proper sentence. You should change it to one of the following:
>"I'm gonna take a nap," he informed Elizabeth. "Wake me up when something happens."
>"I'm gonna take a nap," he informed Elizabeth, "so wake me up when something happens."

Finally, show, don't tell. You're doing a passable job of that, but
>Spring was in full effect. The dry, yet green grass contrasted between they're bare toes with the moist earth as they walked. The sun was shining, and trees whispered with the wind. It was a nice day.
"It was a nice day" is completely unnecessary here.