Critique Thread

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Critique Thread Anonymous Mon Mar 26 23:17:34 2018 No.10903156 [Reply] [Original]

Is this any good, /lit/? It's influenced by Aristophanes' speech in Plato's Symposium.

>>	Anonymous Mon Mar 26 23:20:02 2018 No.10903165 >>10903156 >My hands are sticky with divine glue kek

>>	Anonymous Mon Mar 26 23:20:53 2018 No.10903172 >>10903165 You pervert. But you're right, it does sound awkward.

>>	Anonymous Mon Mar 26 23:23:49 2018 No.10903187 Is there any point to critiquing a genre you don't read? I'm guaranteed not to like it. The only advice I could offer is stuff an editor would catch anyway.

>>	Anonymous Mon Mar 26 23:26:49 2018 No.10903193 >>10903187 You don't like any poetry? I'm not trying to publish this. But I want to know if it's worth developing at all.

Anonymous Mon Mar 26 23:30:35 2018 No.10903215

>>10903156
Shine suns the fog into hiding along the valley and its acres of corn-ear silk or cotton-tuft thorns or flooded timber, sends the dew up into the vapors, simply drifting,— drifting over sprouting greenfields, settling cross creeks, and amidst all the warmth the dew feels directionless, then when you breathe it your nose feels enlivened, and you are reminded your youthful memories of warmth, but soon you forget them for useful concerns, as the dew simply drifts.— The day itself wakes,— the yawning hills, dreadfully wise, gaze displeased through the dispersing fog upon the valley, upon its sorry waywardness, setting far shadows against the trodden grasses, satisfied the rain rolls down, and then when you mount them you’re given oversight, but after you’re worried by their dreadful wisdom and your sight gathers all with displeasure.— The trees loosen their sleepy arms, reaching restfully for morning and breathing in the vapor,— and those mounting the hills wryly whisper when those along the valley are reminded joyously of leaner rings, but quickly their memories and whispers disperse, dreadfully dawning on the unrelenting world.— But then, groveling, having relented to burdensome footfallings and hooffallen scrapes, and having forgotten the tired sorrow of processions crossing from one horizon to the second then returning in jest, of roaming circumnavigations, hapless, confused between an irritant and a pity, of arbitrary bounds, drawn from pitiful, irritating settlements, and having forgotten the aching wounds of widened, inordinate cultivations, of dulled diggings broken nonsensically,— and before any shine, before the drifting dew, before the hills go yawning or the trees go reaching you have already cleared your eyes and have set upon your work, and having hauled out the plow from the shed, having forked then pitched hay onto the cold and dirty stablefloor, having followed barbedwire by the corners of the fences, you hold there while turning round, fearing all the valley at once has found you, you fear your heart again, your eyes glint against the early dark as a fire, your breath again gasps wildly, then you are reminded the land and its grandest passions, its caring discipline, its graceful givings made dear by takings dry or frosted over, then you are shown to your knees where you weep, where your nose is stuffed and your senses are wavered from surrender to awe, where you, hands clenched into the grass, are made naked, then there, facing the old soil, the unrelenting world is dissipated and again you are fearful.

>>	Anonymous Mon Mar 26 23:32:03 2018 No.10903219 >>10903193 It was just a general thought. I submitted something earlier and nobody liked it, but they seemed like the Serious Literature types who wouldn't read it anyway.

>>	Anonymous Mon Mar 26 23:49:17 2018 No.10903277 >>10903215 Eh, not feeling it. Too much going on. You might try simplifying the language and focusing on the images you're using. >>10903219 Yeah, you're prob right. Sorry they didn't like your stuff.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 00:58:01 2018 No.10903546 File: 34 KB, 357x508, Screenshot (17).png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10903156

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 01:19:56 2018 No.10903632 File: 91 KB, 440x446, goodoo.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=baFf5OuKmkM sorry I know it's long but you can criticize without listening to the whole thing

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 01:39:02 2018 No.10903702 A festering errata Chafes in my heart And knots at my throat They see it through my eyes The Nigger Eyes Apprehend me, a criminal Every gaze, I’ve robbed A perjury of value My experience Just wasn’t meant

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 03:19:10 2018 No.10904032 File: 89 KB, 825x768, 1484671641599.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] https://pastebin.com/LiULcD0u

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 03:30:27 2018 No.10904058

>>10903215
As a parody of purple prose it's well written. Otherwise, no one wants to read anything they begs to be given a fuck about, which this does. Pretty talk is fun but at some point throw the reader a fucking bone. Why should anyone give a shit about what you have to say? If you can't make that clear in a couple of sentences, it's not worth reading.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 03:35:05 2018 No.10904065 >>10903632 Seems like this was fun to write >gravy flooded my lower half making me look pregnant >became unstoppable in my secret stance I watched the whole thing, I enjoyed it, but I don't have much to offer in terms of criticism.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 07:51:01 2018 No.10904664 First line of my short story. >Rob Holliday Solicitors was a small, boutique operation that specialised in child sex offences. Would you read more?

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 07:54:52 2018 No.10904677 File: 154 KB, 750x490, 8F8D0112-4088-48E5-98EE-22C7A8D7C0BA.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 07:56:20 2018 No.10904681

It's just me on the train; people don't come out this late in the middle of the work week. My phone was dead like it always seemed to be; battery life just keeps getting worse.
As the lights wash over the tunnel hundreds of wriggling worms dart into the darkness, some attached to a furry little ass, and others presumably so but you never know.
The view is all that keeps me from tearing my hands apart. Without distractions my mind gets frantic. I've meditated once and the focus was a soothing high, though in total zen all I could think about was a cigarette.
Peculiar how in that state it was obvious that the thought was not my own. It struck me as absurdly amusing. When my mind is at peace I need my fucking smokes.
Above the seat across from mine is an advertisement for a new sitcom. Pictured is a smiling African American family, and a black cat cradled in the arms of the youngest daughter, with the words "The Badluck Browns" written in big bold letters beneath them. While I won't be tuning in Wednesday evenings at 6 my gut tells me it'll be a smash hit.
Before I can turn back to watch the rat race the train grinds to a halt signaling me to stop watching and start running.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 07:59:13 2018 No.10904690 File: 192 KB, 750x647, 4557C2CF-3118-4F86-B4EF-1ACA2A227E1F.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10903156

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 08:04:43 2018 No.10904708 >>10904690 Trite rythym

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 12:56:51 2018 No.10905644 >>10903156 I have bounded palms by divine cohesion? I like it though bud

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 13:15:08 2018 No.10905700 >>10905644 >I have bounded palms by divine cohesion? This is so much better than cum on his hands

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 13:21:34 2018 No.10905718 >>10904065 thanks man glad you enjoyed it

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 13:28:11 2018 No.10905735 >>10904708 What a retarded criticism

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 13:29:16 2018 No.10905740 >>10905718 Yeah man! If i were you, I would try my best to avoid colloquial speak like sticky or glue. Glue is fine, but when you say divine glue, sounds a little silly. Anymore stuff?

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 14:09:30 2018 No.10905884 >>10905740 yeah my shit is always filled with cliche, gotta be more vigilant about it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_zBrM1XiXRQ I've got this too that I like which is shorter

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 14:16:09 2018 No.10905914

Yeast of Pan

This is the yeast of Pan
this is your time of death
and fight on ever more
just for the taste of breath

the turning of a wheel
unwinding of a spring
there is no meaning there
but what you choose to sing

this is your destined fate
the time that you ascend
a taste of joy and woe
the time of your own end

so keep on fighting more
though no ones left alive
and keep on fighting for
the passions that you strive

this is your time of dawn
why do you breath in deep
for what else do you fight
what reason else you keep?

good men are killed in youth
the moment of their prime
your heart moves you onwards
until your destined time

and no eternal tale
of city of your birth
will last beyond your home
all buried under earth

so keep on fighting for
the beating of your heart
the passion of your soul
possessed by Cupid's dart

This is the yeast of Pan
this is your time of death
and fight on ever more
just for the taste of breath

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 14:24:20 2018 No.10905946 https://anonslibrarylit.wordpress.com/2018/03/27/i-did-a-do/ Don't mind the pepes i just like the poorly drawn aesthetic

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 15:14:20 2018 No.10906184 File: 103 KB, 1014x620, Pretty World.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10905884 I'll check it out later; wanna read a little something I wrote?

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 15:56:55 2018 No.10906394 >>10906184 That's pretty hardcore, I like it though. I have no right to judge stuff like that though I read very little poetry.

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:10:22 2018 No.10906457

For a writing assignment I had to imitate DFW. Let me know what you think
https://pastebin.com/CfZFf0gh
>>10905914
I liked it, very good theme of the "cycle" of life expressed in a consistent tone. Though I think your commitment to a regular rhyme scheme hampers you a bit. My advice would be to experiment with different styles.

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:12:16 2018 No.10906465

>>10906394
thanks man;

I wanna show the "Jesus in the temple" that so many Christians have forgotten. Praise Christ that He loves us and wants to save us, but it seems we've neglected the severity of sin.

Like, I dont wanna completely forget the loving and warm message, but many—as Christians—have forgotten that this is no light matter

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:20:21 2018 No.10906499 File: 73 KB, 634x882, Screen Shot 2018-03-27 at 1.19.55 PM.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] just cooked this up for fun

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:31:17 2018 No.10906545 This post is a shitpost, but I want a critique anyway.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:32:23 2018 No.10906549 >>10906545 phenomenal

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:34:15 2018 No.10906557 >>10906549 I tried to deconstruct the meaning of posting on /lit/. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:38:18 2018 No.10906574
File: 216 KB, 636x658, wardine be cry.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>be me
>see critique thread
>ignore everyone's posts and post my own
>care only about myself and constantly seeking validation
>give nothing back
>mfw I'm the realest writer of you all lmao

"Elegy of the Hands"

We lay down our tired bodies
To walk along the painted shores
Of ancient existence, of rotting

And returning to the soft snores
The breast's chorus, its rise and fall
And loud raps against its door

Which is latched for ever and to all

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:44:19 2018 No.10906601 >>10906557 The prose was collective of all anonymity of /lit/ yet it was so pure in action of being an umbrella that could encompass all thought in /lit/. Superb.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:44:34 2018 No.10906603 >>10906574 You're over thinking it.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:44:58 2018 No.10906606 >>10906465 was wondering if you were religious. I see the point of the poem now, it's interesting I'd read some more.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:45:43 2018 No.10906611 >>10906601 Unironically smiled, even if it was facetious.

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:50:28 2018 No.10906632
File: 428 KB, 200x183, dbf53c8bd8e769b617e3fcfe92c4b974b4b6c4da74c473dff54630f19662083a.gif [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>10904677
Its really silly that the kids dont care about a dead person. Then it gets absurd when he wants to kill them all.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:51:25 2018 No.10906641 >>10906545 This was utter trash. Try again.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:51:29 2018 No.10906643 >>10906603 I was joking.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:52:59 2018 No.10906646 >>10906603 really makes you think...

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 16:59:52 2018 No.10906677 >>10906643 >>10906646 You both need to tone it down if you're gonna make it in this town.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 17:10:30 2018 No.10906729 >>10906677 Check'd

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 17:18:29 2018 No.10906784 >>10903632 Where’s the piano come from? Like this a lot.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 17:19:41 2018 No.10906789 >>10904690 This is great. Diction is odd but in the best way.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 17:27:16 2018 No.10906841 >>10906574 Garbage

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 17:45:02 2018 No.10906918 >>10906606 Yeah man, ill post some more later. On my phone right now

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 17:46:10 2018 No.10906924 >>10906611 How could it be facetious if the first post was a joke lol

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 17:46:33 2018 No.10906930

>>10904032
Syntactical assault prose. Syntacticool. Syntactihell. This is why I want to eradicate the legacy of David Foster Wallace. When you lose control of the verbs and subjects by the 30th word of the sentence you are not stylizing you are rambling. I can barely tell who is doing what, where they are doing it, and the memory-laden intertwine is a hairball not a tapestry. All of which leads me to the real conclusion is that if you hide all the reasons why I should care, then I can't.

You probably want an example.

" It’s placid, the whole thing, very usually placid with all kinds of colors and violence and N.L’s placid face and loud, tuned out fans that race against the heat-loving circuits and wires that N.L expensively one summer put together when the money he had been saving, he found out belatedly, would no longer be of use in the same way he thought it would be, the so called Hemorrhoid Happening."

>It's
The pronoun requires a referent from the prior sentence. No chance. Hour? Swivel? Day? Wall? I'm already lost and this is sentence two. First word.

>the whole thing
Which means that I now have no idea what any of this description is referring to. Whatever it is that is placid with colors and this guy's face remains a mystery, including how whatever it is has the agency to produce noise.

>fans....money
This is an English tiger trap called the conflicting rules of primacy and recency. It's a grammar thing. One of those nouns "[comma] would no longer be of use." The clause is ambiguous. By the rule of primacy, which means use the first noun mentioned, the "fans" would no longer be of use. But other, equally fussy and white haired authorities insist on the rule of recency, which means attach the last noun, which means the "money" would no longer be of use. And the reason it's a conflict is because unless the writer is aware that an ambiguous case cannot be resolved without mind-reading powers, it ends up like this - another eternal mystery.

>Hemorrhoid Happening
Which now means that your BIG REVEAL falls into a black abyss of oblivion because I have no idea what the sentence is trying to tell me up to this point. In fact, since I've been flailing since word one, the whole thing might as well be in Chinese.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 17:48:16 2018 No.10906941 >>10906841 That's not a critique, anon.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 17:48:35 2018 No.10906944 >>10906918 Oh too, not really a poem, a piece of prose rather

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 18:17:15 2018 No.10907067 >>10904032 Yes>>10906930 Read something else to cleanse your brain of DFW. His style can be very sticky.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 18:18:52 2018 No.10907075 >>10903215 Christ. . . GET ON WITH IT. Why do beginners always rush into purple when they're still so green? Take it easy

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 18:18:58 2018 No.10907076 >>10904664 Probably not. The first sentence is just that. Doesn't have to be a tantalising headline, and when it is often it's a gimmick.

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 18:22:45 2018 No.10907089
File: 127 KB, 227x289, big idea.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>10907075
From the beginners perspective I think it is the desire that is the lust that is to say the avidity to cover the white shame of an empty page. How many years ago I would stumble and stutter my way through essays and papers getting rewarded for using big words and speaking 100% english throughought my assignments. In a way, we've all been reborn as demons.

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 18:23:21 2018 No.10907092

>>10905735
You don't get bored of that same-same style in all critique threads?

X walked over to Y, that shining place that I'll tell you was special. Now I'll say with another breathe how certain things are at work, I'll bring you down one level with a descriptor, and finish the second sentence with that third comma. About now X decides to speak, he said Time to talk in McCarthy-esque frankness. Truly? Yes. And as this paragraph comes to a finish I will extend the bounce and let you follow what I have to say so that the story can start to open up a bit. I end with something short.

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 18:27:40 2018 No.10907114

This one was at some asian-fusion retro bar,
She sat with her legs crossed hands in lap.
I asked her if she had the time
When she smiled and looked down she saw her watch had gone missing!

My face surprised painted a destroyer--
‘Let’s find it! We have no time to waste!’

A small child running in circles,
Als das Kind Kind war

Just like everything I think,
My feelings were disjointed
The minute hands on her clock flew,
But we were yet to find it

Do you know that feeling at the end of the night,
When everyone parts ways with hugs,
Or maybe just a wave and exclamation,
Or maybe just dismissal without eye contact?

Oh god, and the next day,
When you lay in bed criss crossing the ways she existed there
The way she smiled? The way she felt?
Do you lay in, lazy sundays, the thought of her,
Pure, innocent thoughts that only lead way to
The destroyer within us all

But this one lost her watch,
And I hadn’t the time nor intentions
To keep her from looking,
So so simply,
I let her on her way.

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 18:33:48 2018 No.10907131

The plane went into the air and did a buncha loop de loops before the pilots apologized and said he was incredibly intoxicated, the message trying to be portrayed here is the detrimental effect that alcohol has on your life, just one day spent drunk can cause it to spiral out of control… deep.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 18:37:39 2018 No.10907151 >>10907131 holy... really makes you think, but it also really makes you feel...

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 19:43:41 2018 No.10907404 >>10906499 Quick critique anyone?

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 20:00:40 2018 No.10907479 >>10907404 kinda enjoyable, reminds me of something from GR

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 20:28:54 2018 No.10907593

I will only read the works of beginners if they are written in rhymed meter. Otherwise, I won't waste my time.

Show me you have mastered the technique first, then we can talk about your complex and totally new (yeah...) philosophical world view with all of its divine glue.

Write a rhymed sestina using fine, old, perfectly variated iambic pentameters or else go to a street corner, drop your saggy fat pants, shit on a bucket and eat it. No second alternative. Do it.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 20:34:30 2018 No.10907625 >>10907479 Thanks fella Might I ask, who is GR?

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 20:38:40 2018 No.10907644 A gift from Heaven dropped like octohedral crystal tears A seed planted deep in the mind bloomed into the soul of man A dream emerged from Eden as we slowly stood from all fours We crossed the threshold We fell to Earth

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 21:05:01 2018 No.10907765 File: 10 KB, 693x124, Capture.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] thoughts?

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 21:07:18 2018 No.10907774 https://pastebin.com/9T8Yc4Ly >>10907644 Nice. Not super original subject matter but very well executed >>10907765 Very striking

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 21:23:44 2018 No.10907847

>>10907774
thank you! i was so nervous to post. This was written in anger, about anger.

I read through yours and I think it could benefit from a first-person narration. Also, the concept of a lonely, pathetic eighth grader still being lonely and pathetic, years later, shouldn't take up so many lines

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 21:23:46 2018 No.10907848 >>10903165 god's glue, now half off on purchases over $30

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 22:03:12 2018 No.10908009 >>10907765 Good stuff mate. Maybe a little too vague, in that it comes off as very deliberate. I liked it.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 22:19:22 2018 No.10908083 File: 20 KB, 330x179, katzenklavier.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10907765

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 22:25:36 2018 No.10908101 >>10908009 Thank you so much! I don't understand what "too vague, comes off as very deliberate" means, can you explain or rephrase it? >>10908083 I looked up katzenklavier...Very nice...

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 22:28:44 2018 No.10908115 File: 184 KB, 996x1054, Screen Shot 2018-03-27 at 7.28.01 PM.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10906606 here's something else I mean anyone is free to read it too

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 22:29:06 2018 No.10908117 Unused baby shoes for sale.

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 22:30:17 2018 No.10908120 >>10908117 nice assonance bro

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 22:31:09 2018 No.10908123 >>10908101 it's a hypothetical thought to help envision how sound travels "along" a curved wall

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 22:33:16 2018 No.10908134 >>10908123 can you explain as if you're talking to a girl

Anonymous Tue Mar 27 22:34:02 2018 No.10908137

tired sleepy drowsiness
the undefeatable fow
once again has breached my walls
keeping from me my
inspiration and enthusiasm
and if you fight you'll have
the greatest and grandest
helen of troy, the virgin islands
a war worth fighting
honestly or dishonestly
good and bad
but it can't be won
we all succumb
sleep will reign
would be fain
to fight another day
a ritual eternal
the fatigue great fear
insomnia
the shellshocked frenchman
max jacobs wanders paris
a good soldier
doing his duty

>>	Anonymous Tue Mar 27 22:54:01 2018 No.10908220 >>10908134 http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/culturebox/2014/06/the_acoustics_of_eavesdropping_how_curved_ceilings_and_walls_redirect_and.html

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 00:36:17 2018 No.10908589 >>10907075 have to get it out of your system

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:13:47 2018 No.10908691 >>10906184 This stuff is nice anon, but why is there a comma before "Oedipus". Your punctuation is strange.

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:18:25 2018 No.10908703

>>10903215
I kind of like the last few lines, the beginning is just miserable to read through, when friends send me this kind of shit I want to choke them. Please for the love of god don't do this to publishers or your editors at all

your prose is superior to most who post their schlock here, its nothing special and I'd much rather read something clean like Celine or Kafka than this unsteady rattling

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:21:26 2018 No.10908714

>>10908691
Thanks buddy

I put a comma there because I referred to a king who's name is Oedipus.
I read it like: "like the king(well which king?) [pause cuz of the comma] Oedipus"
sounds like: "I am the the protector of this town, Sir Lancelot." or "And of this town, I am the blacksmith, Thomas."

I can change it, but I like it read that way. though it's not skin off my teeth if I just say king oedipus as a title instead.

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:31:19 2018 No.10908737

>>10908714
oh, no issue, but I don't think commas are required for pauses, I think that's a grammatical misconception that I read in a book by John Simon called Paradigms Lost.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/187643.Paradigms_Lost

Especially in a sentence that's not a formal introduction like "I am the protector, Sir Lancelot," but a simple simile like king Oedipus. See how weird it is: like king, Oedipus? I probably need to work on my own punctuation, like removing the wood from my own eye before pointing out the splinter in yours, if you want to remain biblical.

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:37:28 2018 No.10908765

>>10908737
nah, you aren't hypocritical haha! Yeah I see the weirdness of it. I think it works, but it probably doesn't for most people. Given this, I'm not opposed to rephrasing the meaning of the sentence by making king into a title for the pronoun Oedipus rather than having king a noun with the pronoun adding to it later

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:40:35 2018 No.10908777 >>10908765 aye, well good luck to you, I suggest getting that Simon book too, it's good stuff regardless. He's a real smart cookie.

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:46:22 2018 No.10908799 >>10903156 I dig it. It's got a good rhythm but it's not so strict that it's stagnant. Expect for the second line, it does not sound right at all. I think the metaphor is too obvious with the word glue.

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:50:39 2018 No.10908812

>>10904677
I disagree with the guy who says the grandkids caring more about the presents is unbelievable, I think its definitely on point and the strongest observation in the piece.

However, that last line is absurd to the point that it knocks the whole carefully constructed tower over. The other guy knows, I know, and you know it too. Otherwise, great writing man. It's weird in a very insightful way

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:51:23 2018 No.10908814 >>10906784 that's jandek - the beginning

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:52:24 2018 No.10908819 >>10907625 gravity's rainbow, sorry didn't specify

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:54:03 2018 No.10908822 >>10908819 ohhh, okay thanks there's poetry in pynchon's stuff? or he kinda addresses folk/country/western stuff in GR?

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:56:03 2018 No.10908828 >>10908777 thanks man!

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:57:11 2018 No.10908834 >>10908822 there's a few scattered limericks and such which your poem reminds me of.

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 01:57:56 2018 No.10908837

It did happen cause I think I remember
Of one time I was deep in slumber
A place like sunny little september
Had fruit dripping its gracious nectar
But it has since been forgotten

Some says it didnt happen
And
Some do say
One such as I
Were but forgotten
As children
In a holy play
Where we were
Out in the garden
A place we fought and sang
For our forgotten eden
And its fruits of blossom
And their eternal rind

And here I remember
We danced in the eve
For those in memory
Of the ones who grew blind
And there was never a winner
For all Took with mind
And spoke about the one
Most holy
Who
Who says all
All is mine

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 05:19:47 2018 No.10909227
File: 2.53 MB, 1768x4055, 20180328_050246.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>10903215
Best written, least interesting itt
>>10903546
This seems unfocused but it flows well
>>10904677
Bad edgy but I like the beginning
>>10904690
Good writing that is simple writing

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 06:41:57 2018 No.10909453 >>10908101 Well I just get the feeling like there may be more to the story or you may be deliberately being non-descript about things just for the sake of it seeming deep.

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 09:24:54 2018 No.10909825 >>10909453 There is more to the story but I didn't think it was important. Thank you for your critique, I'll keep making drafts and revisions!

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 13:52:18 2018 No.10910633 File: 328 KB, 750x831, CDA8E039-43BF-412C-8601-6D751746B2C3.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] Sorry, the black background soothes me.

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 14:18:20 2018 No.10910732

>>10906499
another cuz fuck it:

Sam, ole buddy,
You were quite funny,
Sittin' in classrooms, a fool.

Sam, you twister,
Lost it all, mister,
Layin' in brush, brews cool.

Sam, th'big failure,
You were le meilleur,
Dying in cesspools, a ghoul.

Sam, ya grew like wilted wheat,
But now ya done lost your feet.

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 14:28:56 2018 No.10910789 >>10910732 Stop listening to Bob Dylan

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 14:31:53 2018 No.10910800 >>10910633 Overwritten trash

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 14:38:22 2018 No.10910818 >>10910789 +Merle Haggard+Hank Williams+Buck Owens you hit the nail on the head though

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 15:35:57 2018 No.10911067

>>10910633
How the fuck do you pronounce your last name? Grack? Gracuck? Gra-kuh? 8 years of languages and literature and I never heard a single faggot ever actually say your name out loud. Wonder why.

In any event, Gaulic period fantasy is third-hand not my thing, and since you come from a country that honors Jerry Lewis as an artistic genius, the least you could do is hone that edgelord edge and accept the fucking award they were nice enough to offer you. Prick.

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 15:38:02 2018 No.10911074 >>10911067 “Grock”

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 15:57:06 2018 No.10911150

>>10904681
Mildly interesting workshop piece. Like maybe if something happens and "I" gets outside his head for a page or two and some startling crisis or conflict engages my interest within the next 200 words or so, it won't be as bad as stapling salami to my face and slamming my head into a tank of ravenous piranhas. The initial image of rats is so literal and dry that it is confusing to imagine literal worms, then only all the way later to see that was a strangled way of describing rats and their tails. It could make the point in a more graceful, if still disgusting way. The meditation and cigarettes thing is an interesting way to set up an unreliable narrator whose "thoughts are not my own." Better halfway clever than too clever by half. Possible.

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 17:29:02 2018 No.10911532 >>10910633 > I like the sound but I feel like I'm wading through tar generating images

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 18:10:46 2018 No.10911714

>>10903156

positives:
>great rhythm and variation of stress
>great first and last lines, clearly the highlights (although i do quite like the phonetic quality of "i cling to you with desperate clutch")
>a clear and distinct sense of emotional movement and progression, though perhaps not an interesting one

negatives:
>no real focus of register in your images; one gets a foggy sense of the three ideas being tied together here, divinity, separation, and togetherness, but none of the images or word choices are specific or "tight" enough to tie them together
>the phonetics in general are kind of all over the place
>almost none of your metaphors are very distinct or interesting

i think the problem here is your choice of form; this sort of classical/renaissance-inspired poem often fails when penned by a modern hand, bc 1) it's incredibly difficult to write with the kind of rhythmic, metaphorical, and phonetic sophistication that defined that era, 2) because it's outdated, and 3) because it looks like you're trying far too hard.

this of course doesn't mean you're a bad writer by any means. you have a really good sense of rhythm and certain aspects of poetic structure. what i suggest you do, if you intend to write more poetry in this vein, is buy Sidney's Astrophil and Stella, Shakespeare's complete Sonnets, and Jonson's complete poetic works, and every week, pick a different poem from each to absolutely tear apart; analyze the meter, the stresses, the rhythms, the phonetics, the metaphors and registers, the syntax, the word choice, any other interesting literary devices, and most importantly, see how all of these different aspects connect to each other. then once a month, incorporate different techniques and ideas you learned from the various poems that month (should be around 12 bc 3 a week) into a poem of your own. about 4 months in you will not be able to believe how fucking good you get.

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 18:41:02 2018 No.10911826 >>10911794 Under the street lamp, Stars shined On the surface Of his white fur And the snowflakes That landed On the cold earth Appeared In the blackness of his eyes. It's about s stray dog in winter.

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 18:47:00 2018 No.10911852 [DELETED]

Wrote this in like 5 minutes, don't really know what to do with it:
Underneath the park bench laid a brick that was cut in half.
Red chalk had spilled from the inside.
Ants crawled between the brick’s halves.
The ants crawled into a hole in the ground.
Crawling into the hole. Listen. The ambiance of a seashell. See. Nothing.
Wide awake.
John Terrace mowed his lawn on a day that felt like paradise. He finished the last row of his front yard and shut the lawn mower off. He stared at the sky momentarily, imagining a ball bouncing from the wall of blue. In his mind John held his hands out to catch.

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 18:49:54 2018 No.10911863

Ants crawled between the brick’s halves.
The ants crawled into a hole in the ground.
Crawling into the hole. Listen. The ambiance of a seashell. See: Nothing.
Wide awake.

John Terrace mowed his lawn on a day that felt like paradise. He finished the last row of his front yard and shut the lawn mower off. He stared at the sky momentarily, imagining a ball bouncing from the wall of blue, in his mind John held his hands out to catch.

Not really sure what to do with this, I started this out by just writing literally anything that came to my head.

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 18:53:58 2018 No.10911873

>>10903156
So upon the feeling of the thing, bed-ridden, I gather--good riddance, and gone too, spit out in dear parcels, oh how I worry--and how are things nowadays--yes, and the weather, I can't believe it--I can, and the skies defy us, blue unlike my mother's fever, she was just trying to lose weight, and I destinctly remember praying for her, but no voice replied; please spare her, I called, hoarse, into the wide space into which my voice dispersed: perhaps, replied the silence, that which gives, perhaps too little, the charitable and stingy quietude.

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 20:12:00 2018 No.10912172 File: 2.23 MB, 3264x2448, 94CF6F36-FEC5-493E-965E-314DE851ABED.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10903156 Kek found some fragments in an old notebook, probably from 6 years ago or so. Whaddya thing?

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 20:20:49 2018 No.10912203 >>10912172 illegible

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 20:41:50 2018 No.10912301 >>10912203 often a sign of genius

>>	Anonymous Wed Mar 28 20:44:12 2018 No.10912311 >>10912301 or Parkinsons

Anonymous Wed Mar 28 22:10:43 2018 No.10912699

The cold glare of the fluorescent lighting shone in the otherwise gloomy and uninviting abandoned ice cream factory. A scrappy, small tomcat was slinking through the halls, kneading the location for the sweet sustenance leaking form the faucets of frozen milk and sugar around it. The ice cream logo, a cone with the shape of a heart on top, had long since faded. The hum of cars, the buzz of Christmas lights and the flickering holiday ads filled the chilly air. The factory workers here had celebrated Christmas in their own way, they would go outside, gather snowballs and wait ever evening on the Friday before winter break. When the inevitable tide of school-children crossed the busy shopping area, they would throw snowballs at them, mercilessly. Nobody there was quite sure why, or how it had even started. Nobody who threw the snowballs was particularly proud or happy about it, but it was something to do, and it was only on that one day. The children were never seriously hurt or traumatized, just a little chilly. Some even told their parents, who went down to the factory the next day to tell the other adults off, but it was the day after Christmas break and no one was there. The adults promptly made an appointment with themselves to go again and quickly forgot about it, it was just snowballs after all.

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 00:21:07 2018 No.10913140 The lord guided my path toward your heavenly climb for the road of love is one overgrown and rocky But to see your beauty again I shall start the time

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 00:28:29 2018 No.10913155

>>10903156

Fluorescent advertisements blear past my car, their colours smearing together to create a funnel propelling me towards the effulgent rainbow-clad abomination ahead of me. There are people crowding the sidewalks, taking pictures and videos, cheering for my pursuit of the sensory overload. I can see the rims of the car flash through every colour as we go around a bend, our speeds matching as we turn. The text on the propaganda around me reveals an anime character in a branded T-shirt that I already own, a poster of someone shaving their face with a luxury cream that I already use, and several scanline-ridden screens displaying food with names I can’t pronounce.

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 00:29:31 2018 No.10913157

>>10903156

Title: Sir Captain Major Lieutenant Sergeant Mograine’s Very Streamlined Plight Against Absolutely Definitely Goblins

Sentence 1: Archibald Mograine is an astute man of military might, right hand man to the king, and personal bodyguard of the crown, and this is unfortunate, as to be carried in a sack by bandits is not a state befitting someone of his esteem.

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 00:52:06 2018 No.10913203 >>10913157 Hilarious

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 00:54:59 2018 No.10913210 >>10913203 Sarcasm? I'm not terribly pleased with it as a standalone, but if I kept going it might go somewhere and gel a bit more.

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 00:57:52 2018 No.10913221

>>10913157
Archibald Mograine is an astute man of military might, right hand man to the king, and personal bodyguard of the crown, and this is unfortunate, as to be carried in a sack by bandits???
>RECORD SCRATCH
This is NOT a state befitting someone of his esteem.

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 01:38:25 2018 No.10913346

>>10913157

Thankfully, Mr.Mograine has an impeccable wit about him. Overcome with a plan to fool his captors and make truly daring escape, he cried "Gentlemen, good fellows!
I must request your assistance, as I appear to have been captured by bandits!"
The bandits did not understand.

"Yes, sir, you have been captured by bandits. That'd be us, me and my brother Derrick!"

"Bandits!?
Look out, friend and Derrick, there are bandits around!"

The bandits, puzzled by his foolery, cast their eyes about the forest they roamed. Mograine seized the opportunity of their stupor, and rolled about in his sack, throwing his weight to the side, disturbing the balance of his captors, releasing himself for their hold, and bracing his fall against the trunk of the nearest oak.

The bandits, fools as they were to challenge the might of the Crown's elite, drew their blades in preparation for altercation.

"Ah, you think me bested, but you are yet to witness the might of the kingdom!" Mograine shouted in the general direction of Derrick and co., attempting to upright himself with the support of the local flora.

"Have at me, bastards!"

"What is he on about, brother?"
inquired Derrick to his sibling.

Mograine hopped at the origin of the voice, rightly smiting him with a martial art known to future generations as "Battle Slugs"

"You've killed Derrick!" mourned the brother of Derrick. He swung his blade at the sack, repeatedly, denting and scratching our brave knight's expensive and well-earned armour.

"Begone, fiend, for I am Captain Archibald Mograine, right hand of the king!"

The right hand of the right hand of the king burst from a tear in the sack, and grasped about in search of his remaining assailant.

His opponent returned blows, meeting the steel of Mograine's arm with the steel of his sword, and with unheard of footwork and strategy, Mograine retaliated with an artful dodge, returning to a prostrate position on the cold, forest floor. With dexterity, he experimented with possible enemy positions. Hand met trouser, and the remaining bandit was felled, concussed by the skillfull takedown.

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 01:38:40 2018 No.10913347

>>10903215
You don't need to try so hard. Its pretty good, though.

Sun shines through the fog and hides along the valley and across acres of silken corn and cotton-tuft thorns and flooded timber. It sends the dew up into the vapors — drifting over sprouting green fields, and settling cross creeks. When you breathe it you feels enlivened — reminded your memories of warmth — but you soon forget them for useful concerns, like the simply drifting dew.
The day itself wakes: the yawning hills, dreadfully wise, displeasing through the lifting fog on the valley, on the sorry waywardness, laying far shadows against trodden grass. The rain rolls down them too, and when you mount them you are given oversight, but after given worry by the dreadful wisdom and casting shadows, and your sight narrows. The trees loosen their sleepy arms and restfully reach for morning light while drinking in the vapor. And those on the mounting hills whisper wryly while those in the valley are reminded joyously of leaner rings, but their memories and whispers quickly disperse, dawning on the unrelenting world. But then, growing burdened by footfallings and hooffallen scrapes, and forgetting the tired processions of crossing from one horizon to the second (and returning in jest), of hapless circumnavigations — confused between an irritant and a pity — and drawn from pitiful, irritating settlements, and having forgotten the aching wounds of widened, inordinate cultivations, of diggings nonsensically broken, and before any shine, before the drifting dew, before the yawning and the reaching you have already cleared your eyes and have set upon your work: hauling out the plow from the shed, forking and pitching hay on to the dirty stable floor.
Following to the corner of a barb-wire fence, you hold while turning around, fearing all the valley has found you. You fear your heart again and your eyes glint against the early darkness like a fire. Your breath gasps, and you are reminded the land and its grand passions — its caring discipline — its graceful givings — made dear by takings dry or frosted over, and you fall to your knees and weep. Your nose is stuffed and your senses are wavered from surrender and awe, hands clenched into the grass, made naked, facing the old soil, the unrelenting world is dissipates and all that remains is the fear.

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 01:51:03 2018 No.10913385 >>10907092 This is such a brutal, but honest and completely necessary point that everyone here needs to take a lesson from, including myself.

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 02:27:42 2018 No.10913502

>>10907092
This is exactly what I just wrote. To be fair I only wanted to write because the mccarthy novel I'm reading is so engaging. I recall in a midsummer daze I would draft up dizzying paramanthuma in search of righting the wrongly presumed lust in me.

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 03:24:02 2018 No.10913683 >>10912699 >>10913155 the descriptions come first and the story after

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 08:51:07 2018 No.10914413 File: 409 KB, 498x366, congratulations.gif [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10903156 https://pastebin.com/16BqFk4T

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 09:21:52 2018 No.10914493 >>10913683 Yes, thank you. Haven't written since highschool, getting back into is a bit awkward.

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 10:25:32 2018 No.10914659 >>10913683 I'm >>10912699 I thought I layered it like that, first I described the factory then who used to work there. Would you mind directly dressing where I went wrong?

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 10:31:49 2018 No.10914672 >>10913683 >this meme Yeah, if you want your shit to be overwritten purple prose then go ahead.

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 10:46:53 2018 No.10914707

>>10911714
>>10905644
Oh whoops, I forgot I made this. To the anon who wrote me that long critique, that was super helpful and I made some big changes it.

The writing is mostly a little thing I'm doing for a class. It's not formal writing but you're right, it's difficult to write in a classical style using a modern poem. I read a lot of Elizabethan poetry and that rubs off on me whether I'm writing seriously or for fun. I read a lot of Shakespeare's sonnets so I could tear those apart a but. I'll have to get into Sidney's work for sure.

Thanks, anon.

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 11:01:25 2018 No.10914755

>>10912699
We begin in an interesting place that doesn't come up often. In fact when I think "abandoned ice cream factory" all I get is a Phillip Dacey poem. So some promise. But then it turns into a news article about a fracas among some unnamed people who seem to maintain a tradition of child abuse for unknown reasons, and more unnamed people who almost but then don't do something about it.

So, if I apply a "fiction" filter to this fragment, I am left asking, "who is telling this story" because the narrator is unidentified, and "where are the characters we are going to end up following" because as yet, there aren't any. If I were in a mood to freak out about it, I( might also add "when are we here" because there are no markers for decade either, it could be anywhen between the late 1940s (flourescent lighting, "flickering holiday ads") to the present.

But I am pleased by ice cream, so I'll leave it at that. Identify a character and place them in a situation that generates drama. For example, you have the setup to put a coat of new paint on the question of why groups of people invent and preserve pointlessly violent traditions; kind of an industrial era update of The Lottery. but for that we need names and relationships, plus someone would have to get hurt, so jeopardy can attach.

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 14:28:14 2018 No.10915630

>>10914707
i'm glad i could be helpful! to be honest, i'd personally recommend jonson before sidney, but a lot of folks with a lot more expertise would disagree, so take that with a grain of salt.
aside from any serious critiquing, you're doing a great job. the best way to learn poetry for mastery is by learning the intricacies of its eras in pretty much chronological order, at least in the english poetic tradition, in order to see how they build on each other, and you've already made a real good start at its foundation (and displayed a definite talent in doing so!). so yeah, do romantic era next, then , then modernist, etc. if you want to see (relatively) contemporary poetry which uses more strict meter and rhyme schemes, check out Yeats if you haven't already. he's my favorite poet, and he strikes a fantastic balance between romantic era passion and the technical innovation of the modernists.

sorry for writing a fucking essay, i just really love poetry and helping people who clearly have talent, bc in my own experience, poetry classes in college are by design unable to teach you the technical minutiae that will make you a damn good poet. have fun, and keep writing!

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 15:05:05 2018 No.10915825 >>10907114 >>10907114 Anyone got crit?

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 15:22:20 2018 No.10915910 >>10915825 Sadly I've no eye for poetry, but for the sake of recognition, here's a (you).

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 17:57:49 2018 No.10916578 >>10914413 bump

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 18:38:29 2018 No.10916739 >>10914413 >>10916578 >bumping for this Seething

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 18:41:38 2018 No.10916749 >>10913385 Samefag

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 18:51:40 2018 No.10916785

>>10907114
Some things I would change personally
>You know that feeling at the end of the night
>Or maybe just dismissal without eye contact
Makes the rest of it read better without all the upper inflections I find I do when I read interrogative open endedness. Also emphasizes the other two questions better, and the lack of one after.
>But yet were we to find it
>When she smiled and down she saw her watch missing, gone, away!
>No time to waste!
I like it regardless, just felt clunky to me in those places. All personally personal jaknow?

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 18:52:43 2018 No.10916792 >>10908812 Thanks man!

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 20:11:01 2018 No.10917131 >>10916739 can you give feedback?

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 20:32:50 2018 No.10917233

I desperately stared into my coffee and tried to find a pattern. Any pattern. Something that would explain all of this. Any of this. Just the stupid fucking sparrows, even. I had been in the kitchen for a few minutes now. Three, maybe four. My father was cooking breakfast at the stove. He finally piped up.
"Morning son. Isn't it wonderful? Sparrows are chirpin' today bud." "Yeah. Fantastic." He nodded. "It's all about the bacon and the sparrows Rick." For reasons I couldn't quite explain his words seared me. My rebuttal was quick and decisive. "Sparrows are stupid dad, they don't give a fuck about anything."

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 21:10:46 2018 No.10917361 https://pastebin.com/ctNSHk9p

>>	Angie Thu Mar 29 21:22:23 2018 No.10917405 >>10917233 lol this is the most stupid banal shit i've ever read

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 21:24:18 2018 No.10917415 >>10914413 pls critique, will try to reciprocate

Angie Thu Mar 29 21:56:58 2018 No.10917529

>>10917415
Look guy, no-one wants to read about your false "plight". Don't you realize you've become the 4chan archetype?
You're just a lazy fuck. There's nothing admirable about you to read about, nothing redeeming. Well maybe that's not the problem, I've read books written by assholes before. But at least they were unique. Again, you read like an amalgamation of 4chan.
This isn't a short story either, it's an embarrassing excerpt from your journal. Your writing needs a lot of work, but at least you've started. Keep writing. And stop sounding so ostentatious AND pretentious.
Right now, you have two choices, 1. Go outside, do something, change your life, or 2. Kill yourself, which is what you're doing. You're so goddamn boring. Find some goddamn life man. Be interesting and you'll write something interesting
>>10907765
here's mine, go easy on me

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 22:09:28 2018 No.10917564 >>10917405 it's from trailer park boys, angie

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 22:11:04 2018 No.10917571 >>10907765 it's just second rate sylvia plath isn't it. i'm sorry but we're all adults here

>>	Angie Thu Mar 29 22:12:01 2018 No.10917573 >>10917564 Dammit i've seen that show. that was embarassing sorry. The shit people put out in critique threads, i believed it

>>	Anonymous Thu Mar 29 22:17:37 2018 No.10917585 >>10917573 yeah. shines a light on the trigger-happy critics here too though

>>	Angie Thu Mar 29 22:18:08 2018 No.10917586 >>10917571 i didn't know who that was but i read "daddy" by her, it was good as fuck. I'll keep working on mine

>>	Angie Thu Mar 29 22:21:31 2018 No.10917599 >>10917585 Honest i came home tired from work, in a mean mood. So, guilty.

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 22:56:30 2018 No.10917684

>>10917529
>you read like an amalgamation of 4chan
that's the idea.

i understand my writing is bad but i posted it here to get help on how to improve it. can you give any specific criticisms? "keep writing" is way too general.

>There's nothing admirable about you to read about, nothing redeeming
you don't know anything about me. that persona is completely different to who i am irl.

>sounding so ostentatious AND pretentious
useful but can you identify any specific passages which sound particularly ostentatious and pretentious?

>>10907765
quite good. i like the truncated sentences and the vagueness. i did 10 years of piano as a kid. you misspelled "concerto". other than that the music terminology seems fine.

please expand on your earlier critique.

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 23:37:46 2018 No.10917816

>>10917131
The first paragraph is empty of personality and right when you get to here:
>For a while I have pondered that question but then I realised the obvious answer. It was the Jews. (((They)))
your hand is shown. It's so unapologetically ironic that, at first, I thought you were trying to sort of parody a progressive extremist writer's interpretation of 4chan or whatever, but the more I read the more I realize you just have no idea how to do what you want to do. Maybe you could trick people into thinking you are somehow being post-post-post ironic and get some nods, but shit man, it's still just boring to read. You just seem lazy and I don't want to read more.

Anonymous Thu Mar 29 23:57:15 2018 No.10917880

>>10903156
The Cow's Kiss

The chef, weary, satisfied with his work, rests the platter in front of his languid guest.
The fright of missing this moment becks his stay.
Gastronomo extraordinaire, rises to the occasion, takes his miniature trident and spears the plump prize.
This tunnel filled with velvet, gnash, gnash, grain twined grain, taste on taste.
Luxuriant texture pervades!
The gust of breath sets the cones within alight.
Panging melodies frank in their censure;
doldrum no foothold on flesh crag.
The chef again, tentative to the turbid mask,
the swallow punishing, the swallow lengthy.

How was the tongue, sir?

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 00:04:24 2018 No.10917902 >>10917880 The worst I've read in my life.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 00:05:41 2018 No.10917906 >>10917233 What about the fucking bacon? You missed a prime opportunity to use the gun on the wall.

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 01:08:37 2018 No.10918168

>>10917816
>you just have no idea how to do what you want to do.
>you just seem lazy
>I thought you were trying to sort of parody a progressive extremist writer's interpretation of 4chan or whatever
you're correct on all three counts. how do i make it more interesting?

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 01:35:36 2018 No.10918230 >>10903156 Poetry is really cringy.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 04:24:37 2018 No.10918628 bump

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 10:56:54 2018 No.10919827

>>10906457
Seriously? Somewhere a licensed education professional assigned the task of imitating David Foster Wallace?

Juicy.

On those terms, you have barely scratched the surface. First, you need an absurd tribal activity to be taking place in the library. Like a group of adults taking turns reading to a shelter dog in a pen, and arguments breaking out about how the dog would interpret various different line readings of the chosen text.

>"No, no, no. If you say, 'look who's coming to /dinner/' it makes him think he's getting fed. It's cruel. Say "/Look/ who's coming to /eat/' instead."

>Mariah's face turned to an Easter Island Moai monolith.

The main character needs to be suffering way more anxiety due to some compelling need. Like hiding an involuntary erection he gets every time he smells the combination of moldy book covers and Emily's fabric softener.

For something this short just one more element. Pithy observations of irrelevant details of the surroundings that underline the atmosphere of absurdist Kafkaesque nightmare.

"The books' shelf sequence had to conform to the Byzantine strictures of the Dewey Decimal System, for reasons known only to the Authorities."

"The library was a circular building, divided into four slices, like a pie chart of humanity's fate, childhood, puberty, adulthood, senescence. Everything was covered, from "My Tiny Tadpoles: Pond Buddies Are Awesome,' all the way to 'Fun With Alzheimer's.''"

Throttle it up, man. Let 'er rip.

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 12:25:23 2018 No.10920185

The cold stillness that lasted an eternity came to an end when it was decided that enough was enough and that anything left over from last time had shrunk into uncalculability. In this infinitely crowded dark place, frozen in time, two small holes facing opposite directions opened infinitely far apart, right on top of one another at that place where positive and negative infinity meet. It would be quite different from the last time, it had been assured emphatically, and so far it seemed that was holding true. Last time was an accident of sorts, an expensive oversight that was made prematurely when things were still being tidied up and there had existed a slight imbalance--a cosmic rounding error that led to the whole pot having to be thrown out, like starting over on a problem when you realized that an early mistake made all of your later derivations moot. It had to be done perfectly or not at all.
Nothing stirred, but why would it, it was balanced after all. This was a good sign. The two holes incurred no change in the net zero sum that was now confirmed to exist. At this point last time all of everything that was and ever would be began destabilizing wildly and the hot fingers of chaos yanked it all into the other two spaces in an instant. But now complete stillness persevered. If the observer had any need to breathe, it would be holding its breath now.
“Okay, “ said something in the non-space outside of existence. “Carefully now…”
“I know what I’m doing.” Snapped the other something that was somehow the same something. “I’m not the one who mucked things up last time or the time before.” It said, somehow simultaneously telling the truth and being a bit dishonest, like saying a gun doesn’t kill, the bullet does. “I’m just going to add a 1 to the overall sum of existence.”
“Adding 1 is too large and sudden a change, it’ll surely cause it to destabilize.” Said a third extension of the same something.
“Ah, but that’s where you are wrong.” Replied the second. “Adding something smaller than 1 requires more than just 1 to define itself and that’s where we made our mistake the time before last. The two parts that define something smaller than 1 are unequal in magnitude, and the two parts caused an imbalance. We shall add 1.”
“Well I don’t like it. Don’t look at me if it gets all screwy again and we’re forced to wait another eternity to try again.”
So with a cosmic shrug, a 1 was added to cosmic sum right smack in the middle and it forced the leftmost and the rightmost bits to shift outward a single unit, and they entered the positive and negative sides of the hole simultaneously, closing the door behind them. In the fresh canvas of utterly empty space the two parts coalesced, a positive bit and a negative bit becoming a zero bit, alone in the infinite. Like a seed, a proper universe was planted, but it would be some time before it sprouted.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 12:25:52 2018 No.10920189 >>10918230 Why?

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 12:26:54 2018 No.10920193 >>10910732 >>10906499 Not only unmelodic but worse when recited. Are these lyrics to music?

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 12:42:18 2018 No.10920260

The ugly fucking awful cunt walked in, saundering and pleased with himself. He placed the hand firmly in the bowl of peanuts, digging around, spreading that fucking awful hand sweat all over it. I hush the girl speaking about some horrible book she's enamoured with and stand up with my back straight.

"Will you fucking pick one already?"

The awful cunt looks back at me with a surprised expression on his fat ugly face.

"Bwuh?"

I hear a 'dude what the hell?' murmur in the back, but swearing out loud is not something one can take back. I prepare to vanquish the monster.

"You fucking come in here, late, while we're talking, interupting everyone, digging around the fucking peanut bowl with your fat fingers. and this you do every fucking day? What the fuck is your problem?"

I walk forward to the peanut bowl and throw it right in his stupid face. It lands with a clunk, peanuts scatting all over, and his awful childish whining is the only thing anyone's able to hear.

I kick him in the face, feel a few teeth breaking, and walk outside.

A golden evening sun hits me right in the face, forcing me to look to the side. There I spot a blind beggar, I run over and flips his moneybowl upside down.

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 12:59:48 2018 No.10920318

]and title is no guarantee
of truth and honesty

and title is no guarantee
of rank and private law

and you who dare say to us
I am a servant suffering

your title is no guarantee
you aren't the master of my chains

and title is no guarantee
our consul is not rex

and title is no guarantee
just empty words and lies

and you who dare say to us
I fight for the oppressed!

your title is no guarantee
you do not think yourself our lord our god!

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 13:14:03 2018 No.10920381

Beckon the bogs of Baton Rouge, on street corners where faux-wanton whores protest low wages. Gutter snipes; snips of cloth and paper that fill the gutter pipes picked through by the demented and destitute who rant, rave through the night of monsters creeping in their shadowed faces. Glass to cut through the wrap feet weep tears of blood to mix with the grime on their leathery soles. It’s a joyful place.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 13:21:55 2018 No.10920422 >>10917233 Ya fun goofed on the punctuation. Learn when to place commas

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 14:48:09 2018 No.10920868

and there is life and there is death
and there is force of human breath

the bridal bed is still and clean
the groom is gone his sight not seen

a silent spirit can not kiss
nor bride's hair can carress

so tell me of your lord above
does he give good sex?

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 15:00:27 2018 No.10920926

Can someone tell me how to actually practice writing? It's not like learning a musical instrument or something where you get objective feedback whenever you fuck up a note and can work on fixing it. Writing seems way too subjective to even practice effectively. what do people actually look for when they critique others. Seems like just a bunch of bullshit opinions that don't really help the writer at the end of the day

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 15:10:36 2018 No.10920979

>>10920926
Sure.

Be born with some baseline talent. Read incessantly. Write when you can and practice with different styles of prose; don't lock yourself into a certain format until you've REALLY explored the breadth of your abilities. Don't explicitly rip off other authors. Don't be a faggot.

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 15:30:57 2018 No.10921082

>>10920926
some tips:
>increase sentence variety
>increase verb variety
>learn basic rhetorical devices
Perhaps looking up AP lang material online will help in practicing these techniques.
>keep a pen and journal close at all times
if you have an idea, jot it down real quick. I do bullet points.
>write a lot
it's practice and it's enjoyable if you have something to write.

If you already write a lot and you have ideas in mind, I would tell you to focus on the first three tips(the first three greentexts). Those are the things that so many anons lack whenever they post in critique threads.

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 15:57:01 2018 No.10921258

>>10920979
or as someone with good manners would say: you can become alright at anything by doing it over and over (school)
OR, you can do it your own way instead of dulling your genuine enthusiasm
i occasionally practice writing little jokes in latin, and never write anything until i feel like it

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 16:18:05 2018 No.10921390
File: 707 KB, 2550x3300, blone five.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

He walked out to the driveway where his car was parked. A Davillin Superluminal Coupé, low to the ground, thick outward slanted slicks, humped hood, holding a motor based on off-world blueprints and a tailor made fusion reactor that could output an equivalent 670,000 horsepower. This energy was used mostly to perform single-universe, point-to-point, faster-than-light travel. Traditionally this type of transportation was not possible, you have to pick two out of the three: relativity, causality and FTL, due to the potential mishaps of time travel ruining causality and melting away relativity in your frame of reference. On Blone, there was no such choice. Take all three if you have the hardware. While physical laws must be the same within an inertial reference frame, they may vary across non-inertial reference frames, that is if you accelerate faster than the everything else.
Push to it's logical conclusion objects could occupy multiple states at the same time if you move their subjectivity fast enough. These moving states could interact with everything in their frame of reference, it was only a question of frame rate and scale. Only Gships could manage that. But a one-time, instantaneous jump of a car sized reference frame to another, following a causal effect, such as a sweaty palm pressing a button, was significantly simpler and needed no inflationary multiverse juggling. A firm hired by XX Company produced the bulletproof, lightweight, semi-intelligent, Davillin for Gluos, but kept the license for resale. The cost of design and manufacture of their first vehicle consumed 6% of Blone's output for several months, the car only came in black.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 16:25:40 2018 No.10921433 I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 16:40:04 2018 No.10921519 >>10920185 Douglas Adams does Issac Asimov.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 17:02:08 2018 No.10921667 >>10921433 the thing about this poem is it's all fun and games for us readers but imagine those plums were really yours and someone left this poem. i'd be pissed

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 17:05:26 2018 No.10921686

>>10920926
Fiction is made out of five ingredients.
Agent
Scene
Action
Agency
Motive

A character or characters, doing things, for reasons, in places (and times), by means of. Every work can be described so. "An obsessed sea captain (agent) chases a white whale (action) in 18th century oceans (scene) in a whaling ship (agency) for profit and revenge (motive)." Etc. If you want to practice, structure your practice around these five elements.

Exercise: describe a character. "Felix Fortnoy loved to gamble even more than he loved his cushy Wall Street job. Even during boozy lunches at toni cafes in mid-town, he'd offer to wager his cuff-linked fellows whether the next car that passed by would have a "Z" in the license plate."

Describe a motive: "Geraldine was going to get revenge for this if she had to hold her breath till her head exploded. If she had to, she would grind the glass to put in his snow cone with her own teeth. She would sink the ice pick into his skull from the bottom of his jaw through his soft palate and into his lizard brain and stir his hypothalamus until his eyes crossed and she felt his thighs stop twitching."

Describe the means by which: "If Gill-Martin was ever going to afford that riding crop for Hannah, he was going to need more than a few dozen eggs. He was going to need money, obviously, but also a way into town, and an excuse to be off the farm. He needed a plan."

And so on. I have no idea where these three things just came from. This style of modulation forces a kind of introspection different from internal monologue. You have to focus outward on the thing. You have to use where you've been, what you've read, what you know. Do this frequently, and one of them will take off, and become a story. Do enough of those, and you will develop a style. All of sudden, years later, you might be a writer.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 17:07:01 2018 No.10921695 >>10921390 I still liked it better when the characters were up front and the chick had her feet on the dash.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 17:08:16 2018 No.10921701 >>10921433 >>10921667 It always reminded me that I really don't like plums, and he better thank his guardian angel he kept his filthy mitts of my frozen blueberries.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 17:23:23 2018 No.10921782 >>10921695 Thanks, that part was the next part, want to see another part?

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 17:28:11 2018 No.10921803

>>10921782
I suggested this. No words changed, just the sequence:

Gluos was pointing at button on the dash, “hit this and we can go anywhere we want.”

Malymyn said, “okay let’s go to Mileage.”

“We’d get there unfashionably early.”

Objects can occupy multiple states at the same time if you move their subjectivity fast enough. These moving states could interact with everything in their frame of reference, it was only a question of frame rate and scale. Only Gships could manage that. But a one-time, instantaneous jump of a car sized reference frame to another, following a causal effect, such as a sweaty palm pressing a button, was significantly simpler and needed no inflationary multiverse juggling.

Malmyn lifted and bent a bare leg, putting her heel on the dash in front of her. The engine revved as the car was looking into the rearview at the twisting steep driveway. Gluos gripped the wheel with one hand hit the gear shift and slammed down his foot, the car flew into reverse. Accelerating as fast as it’s spatial sensors allowed it. Turning through narrow concert wall, its front tires drifted and squealed as the car swung onto the road. Pivoting around the back tires, for a moment until Gluos’ arm hit the gear shift. Maximizing the amount of energy that could be delivered from the wheels to the road they screeched forward.

A firm hired by XX Company produced the bulletproof, lightweight, semi-intelligent, Davillin for Gluos, but kept the license for resale. The cost of design and manufacture of their first vehicle consumed 6% of Blone's output for several months, the car only came in black.

There were no speed limits in the City, only constant, pervasive recording, automated automotive legal programming, computerized courts and limitless liability laws. Malmyn spent the ride to the highway gripping her seat belt. Climbing the on-ramp in a half skid then screaming across open lanes. The car account purchased lane rights for the whole trip. Malymn felt her stomach sink as they climbed a suspension bridge across the Taipan. North was mountains sky scrapers stretching up and slowly turning their blade like shape to cut through the movements of the wind. Hedges of cranes sticking out of the build up. South was a green grid surrounding a black towering mar of smokestacks, black and grey steel, huge containers and an endless next of piping. A county sized oil refinery at the nexus of highways and pipelines. Turning crude into e-chips.

Because the characters doing things string along interest in digesting the exposition.

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 17:40:30 2018 No.10921850

After class I am in the woods again outside college, in the same place we always meet. It is wet and the leaves have fallen but we have a branch we always sit on by the stream and it is sort of dry. We sit there together as always recounting the day.

He looks into my eyes and he is intense, his pupils dilated, his eyebrows arched and the whites of his eyes at their fullest. He runs his hand over mine. It is hot. He talks a lot, too much. I’m not listening but I am. I like his intonation. He sounds always very urgent and overly sincere, like he doesn’t believe he can overstate his passion for things, although he definitely does. He is like a movie character, always pausing at the right times to create a dramatic affect and watching my reaction. I am not sure listening to him how I feel. He is completely ridiculous, but when our eyes meet for a fraction of a second longer than they would with any stranger, I feel something like adrenaline and my heart is racing. The impulse to kiss him comes up like a wave from the bottom of my spine.

Is this love? I had always thought I’d feel some deep respectful feeling for another person when I fell in love, maybe admiration almost, but actually I feel like I am looking at a child. Somebody little and foolish, but bursting with life and possibility. Sometimes he would say crazy things about his plans to move to London, and become a famous writer or something, to write great songs or travel the world, and I’d sort of believe him but not really. The act of having faith in this person seemed like a wonderful thing though, more wonderful than anything he or I would ever actually do in reality.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 17:40:31 2018 No.10921851 >>10921803 cool man, this made me rethink the ordering of the paragraphs and the dialog/action for that whole chapter section.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 18:04:19 2018 No.10921973 The tiger He destroyed his cage Yes YES The tiger is out

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 18:21:40 2018 No.10922081 >>10921850 If it turns out he's a vampire, or she gets cancer, or if she is speaking from the afterlife about her ghost kiss, I mean, yeah, sure, I guess.

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 18:37:27 2018 No.10922151

>>10921851
Yeah, because what you have is fine, in the sense that I get what you are trying to construct, but it lacked "programme" - that narrative blueprint of construction that both reveals and conceals the creation of the narrative dream, carrying me along. So by starting with the characters, the science lesson becomes an explanation for what the button does, and is in the natural place where one or the other of them would be thinking it. Then again for the price and origin of the car. Then again for the view of the city, which would naturally fit into Malymyn's point of view as she grips her seat belt. All the expo is now "laminated" onto a character, and the invisible pendulum swinging between character/action and exposition feels more like having this experience and less like a Motor Trend: 2149 article about a car interrupted by sidebars about a couple of the reviewers who wrote the article.

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 19:44:50 2018 No.10922442

>>10906930
I know this is super late, but I really appreciate your critique. I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, not completely at least, but I've asked a few other people less akin to this sort of thing and they don't get lost in that sentence. They connect money to "would no longer be of use. They understand that "the whole thing" encompasses the whole of the last sentence's event, replacing "It" in the sentence. And they also connected the Hemmorrhoid Happening to the event that caused the money to be of different use.

With that said though, I like the effect it had on you, even if you don't. I like that it rambles, that you can get lost in such a gross Chinese hairball, that you don't care. Maybe I could chill a bit, and I think I have in some later parts. But it's fun man, it's fun to write like that. I feel like I'm jerking myself off doing that shit. I know you're right, completely right 100%, but I don't know, maybe I'll just keep it for myself. I have chapters of this shit, but yeah, it's maybe best to keep it to myself idk. The whole thing is about a group chat of 12 people all sort of converging on this one event that violently changes their lives, and N.L is just one character.

Thanks for the critique, anon. Sincerely.

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 19:53:47 2018 No.10922488

A cleryworker stood by the shoreline, waves washing the bare, bleak feet.

"Good morning." he muttered with a somber expression and light smile at the rising sun over the horizon.
Today was going to weigh heavily on him.
Gazing at the stone structure located on the hilltop behind, he feared to return to duties by that he'd witnessed the previous evening.

Tighly lipped, he bowed, clapped thrice, then with slow pace traverse up the sand, then grass tickling the toes, onto the cold slabs.

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 20:50:27 2018 No.10922725

>>10922488
>bare, bleak feet.
why bleak? feels like a bit of a weird adjective to describe feet with.
>he muttered with a somber expression and light smile at the rising sun over the horizon.
seems a bit arbitrary. maybe just write "he muttered".
>Gazing at the stone structure located on the hilltop behind, he feared to return to duties by that he'd witnessed the previous evening.
This sentence sounds weird. avoid latin-based words like locate. you could phrase this better.
>Tighly lipped, he bowed, clapped thrice, then with slow pace traverse up the sand, then grass tickling the toes, onto the cold slabs.
again, traverse seems a bit strange. grammar could be improved.
Instead: "tightly lipped, he bowed, clapped thrice, then slowly sweeped across the grass-tickling sands on to the cold slabs".

please critique mine.

https://pastebin.com/6pLNQtF0

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 21:21:08 2018 No.10922825 >>10922442 Since we live in a world, and are communicating on a board where jacking one's self off is a license to print (You) s, I wish you well, and may your God go with you.

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 21:34:38 2018 No.10922890

Maternal Flora, show thy face,

And let thy hand be seen

Which sprinkles here these tiny flowers ,

That, as they touch the green,

Take root, so it seems, and look up

In honour of their Queen.

Yet, sooth, those little starry specks,

That not in vain aspired

To be confounded with live growths,

Most dainty, most admired,

Were only blossoms dropped from twigs

Of their own offspring tired.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 21:35:35 2018 No.10922898 >>10922725 hack pseud, belongs in an iron maiden at the bottom of Lake Chad

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 21:46:14 2018 No.10922931 >>10922898 any specific criticisms?

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 21:48:25 2018 No.10922940 >>10917880 trash

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 21:49:29 2018 No.10922946 >>10922940 yours wasn't much better

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 21:51:15 2018 No.10922951 >>10922931 no i just read your soul, you’re a hack pseud who belongs inside a shallow grave. no one with talent would ever dare post their work on a public forum you fucking idiot. the good stuff on this board is talent fucking off for fun

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 21:53:29 2018 No.10922954 >>10922951 its called a persona. and that work was entirely experimental.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 22:02:48 2018 No.10922988 >>10922951 i critiqued yours. give me some specific feedback.

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 22:06:48 2018 No.10923006

Somewhat off topic, but I don't think it's worth making a new thread over this.

Has anyone here actually been published and if not is there anywhere better to discuss these things? I suppose if you were actually successful you wouldn't be posting here, but still it's annoying that the only discussion of publication is shitposting about how it's literally impossible or that only hacks succeed.

Anyway, actual publishing questions:
>Suitable entry-level publications?
>Should you have a blog or similar where you post and shill your work?
>Worth starting with small time, local publications (with a presumably much lower bar for what they'll print)?

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 22:16:11 2018 No.10923029 >>10922946 but it is mine. i was just ridiculing it.

>>	Anonymous Fri Mar 30 22:21:31 2018 No.10923046 >>10921258 Good manners are overrated. Blunt, dumb statements elicit better reactions.

Anonymous Fri Mar 30 22:30:51 2018 No.10923080

I am like everyone else, but I am different. I'm doing what everyone else does -- leaving my house, going to work, getting lunch, working some more, coming home, sleeping -- but I alone notice this sad, brutal, hell-forged veil of madness draping in front of my face, weary, burnt by the sun of the knowledge that things have gone to shit and that I'm the only person who has gotten the message. I see advertisements, and I see people staring at cell phones (called "cell" phones for good reason), and I do all of this too and I propose no solution, but the mere act of thinking "gee, the world sure sucks" elevates me to the status of depressed demigod, wretched wonder. God, if these animals could even comprehend the prison in which we live. I am the sole person aware of this. Is it comforting? Is it soul-crushing? It's both, and yet neither.

>>	failure !iXrbBcdr/Q Fri Mar 30 22:57:18 2018 No.10923179 Purity shrivel, and wit, in time Heartbeat calm -- but only mine Bones condense, and wrinkle, skin Soul be free -- sin, and sin

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 00:18:17 2018 No.10923487 >>10921973 this poem makes me inexplicably angry and i don't know why.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 01:43:33 2018 No.10923778 >>10921519 thanks

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 02:12:41 2018 No.10923853 Landed in Brazil Head over heels, heels forward Scoooosh!! ahh

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 02:17:13 2018 No.10923871 >>10904677 This is good!

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 03:16:02 2018 No.10924047

>>10923871
An anon in a thread about a week ago wrote this poem, sort of off the cuff I think. I really enjoyed it, so I asked if I could save it and he said yes. I wanna know what other anons think, partly because I wanna better try and understand why I like it and also cuz I wanna share it.
I hope that anon wouldn't mind too much.

"Free With Luise"
By anon No. 10882940

HAHHA HEHEHE
me LUISE
ahaha HEEE HEEE
we were free as geese!!
AHHAHA
we pranced in the falling fleece
hee hee!!!
the steps mocked our freedom with the limitation of its muffled sound

wooo lets get warm and leave this freeze!!

we tottled off to a new hostle and made off like bunnies through the night
hehe :)))

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 06:06:01 2018 No.10924412 >>10923179 This is really good >>10924047 It sounds like an adult who never got a chance to live his childhood so he's kind of stunted and is trying to recapture it to the point where he basically sounds deranged

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 10:05:56 2018 No.10924934 I told her that I will be lying. This is a lie Now listen to me. This is not a lie. I am not a liar.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 10:12:55 2018 No.10924970

>>10923006
Your ultimate goal is to publish a volume, whether a novel, novella, or whatever. A unit of sales. Is the point. There are two doors. One leads to the traditional path, which arrives at a publisher by way of an agent; the other leads back to the Matrix and the destruction of your species.

To get an agent to even open your ms, you are going to need to be able to introduce yourself with credits that can be verified. "My name is Juicy Panflash, and my work has appeared in Disposable EZine, Genre Wonk Monthly, and Haughty Review. Enclosed are the first 20 pages of my literary novel, Totally Not About An Angry Young Man." And so on.

At which point Agent, if feeling charitable that day, goes to the website of Haughty Review, and finds that you were not lying. Reads your pages, then, most likely, dashes your dreams with a rejection notice. If you repeat this process 50 times, you might get an agent to represent your novel to an editor at a publisher. The editor also has the option to crush your dreams. Finding an editor willing to work with you, you will enter the contract phase. This is a business negotiation. Your agent represents your interests, since the more money for you, the more for the agent. You sign the contract and enter the galley phase. Your precious baby will now be mauled, maimed, filleted, and returned to you for your approval of its mutilation. You will protest and offer alternative passages, some of which may squeak through. But don't count on it. Finally, an advance copy, with cover art you probably will hate, will arrive and a release date will be set. Now you will be expected to become a traveling salesman, yes with web site, promotional appearances such as can be arranged and paid for, based on expectations not set by you. On release day, you life's work will fall upon a most likely indifferent market place, and maybe a few local newspaper reviewers can be cajoled into writing you up. Maybe you get a three out of five star review in the Miami Herald. You are now a novelist.

The second door is self-publishing. People cite Twilight and Fifty Shades. Count the number of misfires, and you basically have a lottery here. Similar odds of winning. The choice is yours.

Go look at the searchable archived blog of Miss Snark for more particulars. It's a good resource, and there is no interference from trolls and neets who want to drain your spirit.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 10:27:24 2018 No.10925033 >>10923006 https://twitter.com/tao_lin/status/976089694558711809

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 11:49:14 2018 No.10925348

Mr Z : “I don’t wish to talk about the so called self created, self appointed pillar of democracy which isn’t answerable to anyone. I was angry at my fellow country men, but not any more. I just don’t care anymore. I will live my days here in peace. I think I have earned it.”
Mr Narrator: “You don’t care for what happens to them now? ”
Mr Z: “We were at the borders. We couldn’t maintain what happened inside those borders. We weren’t even supposed to. But the masses just stood by and let it all happen. Even when we tried to lead them,…. most of them would just rather enjoy the comfort of the life which we provided. There are people here, even now who will talk about free speech, who try to push their agenda under the garb of it. Well let me tell you, speech never works, it has never lead to action. Speech in this country has always fallen on deaf ears. Don’t make an attempt to make me understand their point of view. I won’t do it. ”

Mr Narrator: “Your thoughts are …”
Mr Z: “Sorry to interrupt you. I apologize for my earlier outburst”

Speech has never worked in this country. Was Mr Z. correct? Wasn’t the entire mass movement for independence which gave birth to the form of country which attracted enemies based on speeches. What we might not have gotten from words, we might get by his emotions and I hope I read them correctly.
What follows is based on calculated guesses but I think Mr Z while talking about free speech went towards opining about dialogue. Does dialogue work?
If two parties can never see eye to eye but still to satisfy some virtual standards of civilization commence dialogue, would it work?
When can a dialogue work? Where there is a common ground for mutual benefit.

But was there any common ground here in XYZ. Why can’t two people just chose to not live together? Well of course they can, we call it divorce and we, in progressive societies promote getting out of poisonous relationships rather than just pushing it hoping for better tomorrow.
Can the same principles be applied on two communities? It has happened before in the history of XYZ and it was bloody. Separation was painful but it shaped the way of future.

Dialogue clearly wasn’t considered here. When the back is against the wall decisions are taken by instinct than training.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 13:12:32 2018 No.10925769 I have heard of love what poet's say selfless joy - gave the lump of clay I suppose it must be something else state of faith - gone away of our father made from earth no sin then - Eve gave birth to Cain

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 13:21:35 2018 No.10925818 File: 1.13 MB, 1122x1122, le scrub face.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10924970 this should be published desu

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 13:34:45 2018 No.10925891

>>10905914
It's a bad poem. Metric is good, rhymes are okay, but the word use is trite and annoying. Seems more like a pop-song than poetry.

good verses:
the turning of a wheel
unwinding of a spring
there is no meaning there
but what you choose to sing

and no eternal tale
of city of your birth
will last beyond your home
all buried under earth

Rest of the verses are bad.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 13:45:48 2018 No.10925952

>>10907114
>When she smiled and looked down she saw her watch had gone missing!
wtf this is too long in comparison to the first three lines
tone it down! ruins the meter, ending it with a bisyllabic word is in contrast with the sharp monosyllabic words

>My face surprised painted a destroyer--
>‘Let’s find it! We have no time to waste!’
clunky, doesn't read smoothly

>Als das Kind Kind war
kys, this is stupid

>Just like everything I think,
bad, trite, ugly

>The minute hands on her clock flew,
>But we were yet to find it
I'd do it: The small hand on her clock flew / But we were yet to find them

>Do you know that feeling at the end of the night,
>When everyone parts ways with hugs,
>Or maybe just a wave and exclamation,
>Or maybe just dismissal without eye contact?
eh, stupid

>Oh god,
stop using jargon, stop writing thoughts of teenage girls

>But this one lost her watch,
>And I hadn't the time nor intentions
>To keep her from looking,
>So so simply,
>I let her on her way.
fifth verse is unneeded, just say So I let her on her way.

This one was at some asian-fusion retro bar,
She sat with her legs crossed hands in lap.
I asked her if she had the time
She found her watch gone missing, looking down.

My face surprised -- a destroyer painted--
‘Let’s find it! We have no time to waste!’
But the small hand on her clock flew
And we were yet to find it.

This one lost her watch,
And I hadn’t the time nor intentions
To keep her from looking,
So I let her on her way.

mind you, the idea is still terrible

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 14:00:23 2018 No.10926015

>>10923006
>>10924970
>Suitable entry-level publications?

It doesn't really matter. What matters is something over nothing. Every agent is different. Some have genre-specific limits, some will take on anything they like. It never hurts to research agencies sales histories and submit to those who have sold things similar to what you are subbing. Obviously, if an agent has a bio that says, "I rep sci-fi, and fantasy adventure exclusively" you are going nowhere if you send that agent your period romance.

But also remember - these people also have bills to pay. They /want/ big successful novels to sell. They want to find the next whomever as badly as you want to be that. They also know all the stories about big novels that languished in obscurity. So they are prepared to suspend disbelief if your pages tickle their tootsies. Any paying market which has published you will get them to your first page. Even if it was only two short stories in two different zines that paid you a total of $30, you have a leg up over 90% of the garbage that constitutes their slush pile. Along this line of thinking, I would also point out that the very highest paying markets remaining in text-based narrative are genre markets because genre readers are fanatics whose tastes in fiction consumption constitute an addiction that they are willing to pay serious money to salve. For example:

https://heroesandheartbreakers.com/
or
https://www.sfsite.com/fsf/glines.htm

That kind of money on straight lit only comes from glossy nationals, like New Yorker, with which, good luck.

Finally, when you get to the agent search phase, don't ever, ever forget for one second that this is a long term business-based relationship you are seeking. One flash of temper, one wrong insult or peek of impertinent arrogance, and you're back to picking your feet in Poughkeepsie. You get to be a tempermental prima donna /after/ you've sold a million copies. Not before.

I like Spinetingler, because they are fair. I like Thuglit because that dude is real. I like Zoetrope: All Story because they are dedicated to fiction, and eschew verse, which it is no longer controversial to say, is dead, and because they are willing to look to the margins of style and innovation because they are also looking for filmable options buys. Zoetrope is the production company of the Coppola family, which if you've seen Godfather, or Virgin Suicides, or Apocalypse Now, or Lost In Translation, maybe you are familiar with them. Francis and Sophia, that is.

Other than that, google is your friend. They come and go all the time.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 15:05:01 2018 No.10926312

Vancouver at Night

I saw a stirring in a bush and thought it most a mouse
it could not be a tiger out beside the house
and most absurd of all, a great midnight owl
its wings across the sky - for then only could I
cry, cry

for mother to ignore child's cry beside her side
us sinners passing by - homeless on the streets
no people could be scared to protest for reform
no people would ignore - madmen shouting in the streets
no more, no more

and dark satanic mills are patently absurd
for love of God - Adam's son could never kill
no nation on earth - is more or less accursed
all fashioned equal - none meaning anything
anymore, anymore

just phantoms in the night - not our fault we pray
superstitious bunk - we fight for our cause today
and on the transit bus a beggar stinks of piss
he asks us all for change and all it prompts us to
is look away

I wrote this poem about my own personal feelings of guilt and responsibility. Also influenced by William Blake's Jerusalem and London.

This is about spending over a (...) Sat Mar 31 15:24:03 2018 No.10926391
File: 146 KB, 600x524, youmustbe.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

I am a doomed and frigid sinking man
With inspissated plastic for a soul.
I thought that it would buoy me to land,
Instead, it put me deeper in the hole.

The bottom of the well is icy swamp
Made murky by the bile of the dead
And dying. We leer with longing at the lamp
That showers coins and laughter on our heads.

The envy-worthy happy let us rot
In putrescence of our own effluence.
The pain is made much worse since we cannot
Escape the range of their bright influence.

We would depart from this disgusting site
If we could stand the fullness of the light.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 15:28:30 2018 No.10926414 File: 8 KB, 216x224, img.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 15:30:01 2018 No.10926421

>>10903156
Mary twisted her finger through her hair and whistled to the tune of Yee The Great Black Horse, watching her father closely in anticipation of some manifestation of his anger at that detestable song. He loathed it. The melody, the lyrics, the period it evoked. It brought Italians to mind, that bug-like European race of thieves and swindlers. He’d often dreamt the whole boot drowned in mud. He liked to tell Mary of this, of his hatred of the Italians, how he never met one he’d liked, except for her mother, for a time, before her Italianness revealed itself one morning in the kitchen as she prepared the Easter brunch.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 15:31:04 2018 No.10926425 >>10926421 *opening to my novel, a short story cycle about an old apartment complex in New York circa 1970

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 15:36:58 2018 No.10926456

>>10926391
this am incredibly ambivalent about this. your rhythm is unbalanced in way that matches the content very well, and certain phrases are evocative and interesting ('the fullness of the light' is brilliant, and the phonetic quality of 'I am a doomed and frigid sinking man' is fucking delicious), but almost all of your images and word choice after the first quatrain is too purple and trite. you've got good ideas, and it actually does describe being on 4chan quite well. if you want a more specific critique i'd be happy to provide.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 15:43:36 2018 No.10926485

>>10926456
I was just trying to keep up the comparison with a well bottom, but I also thought that especially "putrescence of our own effluence" was way too much, a masturbatory level of prolixity for a sonnet. I love specificity, be pedantic and merciless, last time I posted a sonnet here all I got was "whoa this is really good bro"

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 15:51:14 2018 No.10926512

>>10926391
I like this poem.

My reading of the stresses:

I AM a DOOMED and FRIgid SINKing MAN
With INSpisSATed PLASTic FOR a SOUL.
I THOUGHT that IT would BUoy ME to LAND,
InSTEAD, it PUT me DEEPer IN the HOLE.

The BOTtom OF the WELL is ICy SWAMP
Made MURKy BY the BILE of THE dead
And DYing. We LEER with LONGing AT the LAMP
That SHOWers COINS and LAUGHter ON our HEADS.

The ENvy-WORThy HAPpy LET us ROT
In PUTreSCENCE of OUR own EFFluENCE.
The PAIN is MADE much WORSE since WE CANnot
esCAPE the RANGE of THEIR bright INFLuence.

We WOULD dePART from THIS disGUSTing SITE
If WE could STAND the FULLness OF the LIGHT.

Especially reconsider the sounds of:

Made MURKy BY the BILE of THE dead
The PAIN is MADE much WORSE since WE CANnot
And DYing. We LEER with LONGing AT the LAMP
In PUTreSCENCE of OUR own EFFluENCE.

In terms of meaning and such, "With inspissated plastic for a soul" is not necessarily a great metaphor because a plastic person is usually a term used to refer to shallow mainstream culture. It is reasonable to use it here, the meaning is somewhat similar, but beware possible misinterpretations. I am not sure "That SHOWers COINS and LAUGHter ON our HEADS." works well with the metaphor. I am getting what you mean but it still seems wrong to say that anons on 4chan have money and jokes. Maybe AT our HEADs would make the meaning sound more sinister and not like such a good thing?

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 15:53:42 2018 No.10926521

He had ambiguous features, so much so that I should really refer to him as “It” but for some equally ambiguous reason, I am compelled to consider It as a He. He wasn’t a male, or a boy, or a man, and certainly not human, but he did look sort of like a male. Sort of like a human. He looked sort of like everything. He changed, and it was not only a dream-by-dream basis by he changed; he was constantly changing, or rather, revealing features that were already there. He had narrow shoulders and big breasts; he had a crooked, hooked nose and thick, fat fingers; he had oblong ears that protruded away from a thin skull, upon which wrinkly old skin hung as loose as freshly laundered towels. He was short, he was tall. He was obese and starved. The only three features about him of which I could be sure was that he was everything, he liked to change, and he lived in my dreams.
The oldest memory I have of him comes from childhood. He would not speak to me for many years, but he would reveal himself to me amidst my nighttime fantasies. At the time, of course, I did not recognize him as a recurring element of my dreams, but as I matured and he grew less and less patient with subtlety, I began to recognize a pattern of emotion, some baseline instinct which lay dormant in my genetic code, and, in time, learned to associate my fragmented memories of this emotion with some hint of an identity. He. It.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:15:38 2018 No.10926623 >>10926391 I like this until I get to your couplet, and then I want to fucking regurgitate onto your face the time you made me invest in your poem, all just to ruin it with that trite shit. Start over or quit.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:16:41 2018 No.10926629 >>10923853 I like it

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:20:12 2018 No.10926648

>>10926485
yeah that line was probably the most egregious.
here are some more notes:

>inspissated is fantastic phonetically, especial with plastic and soul in the same line, but i think, again, it's too grandiloquent of a word for the poem. i'll come back to this later
>the use of the word buoy is interesting, but i think you could use it better; because a buoy is something that is often anchored in place, you could do more to play more with the misunderstanding of its function; again, i'll come back to this later
>the conflation of all sources of water as a device in poetry is a super common mistake to make, and one that i've made quite a bit; going from a body of water that is connected to land to the water of a well confuses the central image of plastic sinking in a vast body of water, one that could feasibly host a buoy. i suggest you pick one or the other.
>the second quatrain is much less interesting and far more trite than the first in mos regards but i love the enjambment caused by the period in the second line. i think you need to keep that rhythmic structure, but toss out the rest of this quatrain; i would say the same for the next quatrain as well.
>the bluntness of saying "this disgusting site' is jarring, and not in a particularly effective way. you could change the rest of the poem to be more bluntly about 4chan, or make that line more subtle. i suggest the latter.
>once more about the second and third quatrains, when i say throw them out, i don't mean completely scrap and ignore anything they had to say; but rather that you should keep the concepts and write them in a way that continues and develops of registers you introduced in the first stanza (synthetic among the natural, that of sinking or falling, relating that sinking to one's soul; i'll come back to this) and subtle transition to that very interesting register/image of viewing light from under the surface of murky water.
>the reason why the more grandiloquent word choice isn't working in this poem is because such word choice is associated with poetry and literature that is far more complex syntactically and emotionally; almost all of your sentences are very straight forward syntactically and there's no particularly complex emotions being conveyed, besides that one being hinted at in the last line

so those are my notes for the poem as it is, but i have a suggestion for a sort of restructuring; i think you could write a far more interesting and biting sonnet if you structured the syntax of the poem in a SEEMINGLY complex manner, with lots of clauses, commas, punctuation, but the overall grammatical composition of each sentence is still simple. ditto for your word choice: lean into grandiloquence even when describing simple things, and use words that differ slightly from what you actually mean (i.e. use the word buoy more artfully, in a way that makes it seem as though the 'narrator' of the poem does not realize that a buoy keeps something in place rather thanjust a vessel

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:22:01 2018 No.10926657 >>10926485 >last time I posted a sonnet here all I got was "whoa this is really good bro" th-that's the last time I g-give you a compliment, bro...

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:25:57 2018 No.10926672 >>10926512 >inb4 unfunny sassy Spongebob picture

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:27:36 2018 No.10926679

>>10926648
hold on, i ran into the character limit;

furthermore, introduce the the light source in the first stanza, and make it more important WHILE you gradually describe it fading from view as the poem goes on, leading to that final line which should hit like a ton of bricks. what i'm suggesting as a whole is a poem that presents a persona that is a critique more of /lit/ than 4chan as a whole; that of one who uses a perceived complexity of persona to hide simple insecurity in the light of others.

one other thing: the image of being in the murk at the bottom of a body of water looking up at a light source above the source reminds me a lot a beautiful song by bill callahan which uses similar imagery. if you want you can use this for inspo
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5J-WpgOzW9A

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:31:32 2018 No.10926695 https://pastebin.com/ScDG5zSm

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:33:13 2018 No.10926705 >>10926679 hope this helped, sorry for writing a whole fucking essay.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:33:36 2018 No.10926709

>>10926648
I appreciate this immensely. Thank you. I've made notes of all this and will generalize it as much as possible.

>>10926657
It's a critique thread, "i really like this" is not a critique, it's a completely nonconstructive subjective judgment. Something like this >>10926623 is better, it least it has substance. All of this stuff is amateur, giving people (me) unqualified compliments just gives them big heads.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:37:47 2018 No.10926726
File: 54 KB, 680x598, 1485192124803.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

No one has replied to my posts asking for critique here which leads me too the conclusion that my proetry is to intelligent for /lit/.

|Passage One| "Dum"

"Are we here? Here we are. Are you, one of us? then what are you?"
"I am. I am within, and without."
"Ah, and will it not be? and was it not so?"
"..."[...]
"Hmn, must I tell the story? Ay, I suppose.
"Tell me, do you hear our voices? How they speak highly? Do you?... But around us, do you? You do not.
On this we are a hill in a valley, a brightness amondark, among many stars, see only ours gives off light.
Be betters, be lessers, we know our place, Do they ther? Do they, anything?
"So I speak, ofaday, farago, a day before the father of our father's father, nor his father before him,
had taken in neither air nor essence, yet our people were still. And they, then, were as we now, surrounded
about by others. And of them came, agroup, up, up they came to these exceptional, and tall, handsome, these strong men!
These men ourancestors, forefathers, beloved: violence was taken to them. And it said,
'We've come to take you, and take yours. And leave you, and with yours.'
And we were as we are, us people of peace., But could this be taken? The idea is like poison, it cannot. And we
would not, for these men, they had low brows, due that their skulls were scraped clean, and low was their ground, where
they so foolishly planted their feet, in every sense, beneath us. And [your/..,] our fathers knew that ahead full of
heat struggles to think, So they remarked
[with great hate]
"'Clubs? Rocks? Tools of violence? Have you come to make us in your image?'
"However, those they intended to anger, became only confusion. And wide eyed, our fathers saw oppurtunity. As
those brutes, of runt heads, thunk, and thunk, Our fathers began amoving. And upon them, stuck, trapped, trapped within.
"In thosedays we used stones, and we took them to theirs. Their threar had, at first, enangered us, and without
lesser than men would have been stuck. As our greatness was realized, however, anger subsided, our grins cracked the earth,
sport was found in taking that beneath us. And we smiled, and we thanked them for this oppurtunity.
And dogs scraped clean their skulls."

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:39:01 2018 No.10926731 >>10926709 good luck anon, it's a shame this site is anonymous, because i think you have actual talent, and would look forward to seeing your poetry progress, but i guess i might be able to recognize your style on future critique threads

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:39:08 2018 No.10926732

>>10926512
The way I was thinking of it, the people in the well are on 4chan, and the coins and laughter are representative of the useless material comforts and jibes that are perceived to come from "normies," e.g. the shitposts about NEETs, Stacey, and Chad, etc. I am gratified that you took such time picking apart my meter, thank you.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:55:32 2018 No.10926792 >>10926726 >which leads me too the conclusion that my proetry is to intelligent for /lit/. correct

>>	Angie Sat Mar 31 16:57:10 2018 No.10926797 File: 13 KB, 695x158, Capture.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] poem i wrote about a car I loved

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:57:58 2018 No.10926799 >>10926726 contrived, pretentious

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 16:59:52 2018 No.10926810 >>10926797 i'm not going to critique this because i'm not so knowledgeable about prose-poetry, but i think this is beautiful. if you want, i can make a few very uneducated suggestions.

>>	Angie Sat Mar 31 17:11:05 2018 No.10926872 >>10926810 Wow, thank you! go ahead with your suggestions. I wrote this for my best friend in Army Basic training. It's his birthday soon, the van was his.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 17:27:00 2018 No.10926969

>>10926421
>>10926425
Serviceable. It's four sentences. They manage to do four sentences worth of work without spitting on anyone, so, you know, yeah. I don't know the song, so I'm left out on that. In the current market, if you are insistent on starting off with ethnic hatred, you need to pay it off in some way that redeems you, but not necessarily the characters. Like emphasizing its historicity. Possible.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 17:35:09 2018 No.10927016

>>10926872
>the rhythm of the first two sentences is a little too herky jerky to start a poem off with, especially one about memory (which i typically associate as coming out in a flood of images at first, then slowing down into discrete ones), so maybe combine the first two sentences, i.e. 'It was 2016 in the mom van, "SIERRA LEONE."' or something similar.
>combine 3rd and 4th sentences with a comma, which will, again, connect the memories rhythmically and give that sense of a 'flood'.
>cut the sentence "those were the first days, the first nights." doesn't add anything really to the meaning, and isn't interesting or rich phonetically or rhythmically.
>the rest of the poem is pretty perfect; love the mental lingering on the two sentences that start with "six", then the tiny memory flood provided by "the cables went first..." sentence.
>i suggest changing the line "it was an old thing" to "it was a damn old thing", which will round out the rhythm of the sentence and 'damn' will alliterate a bit with 'disc' in a way that i think would be interesting

that's all, hope this was helpful!

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 17:37:07 2018 No.10927030

>>10926521
It's an interesting conceit, but where is this positioned from the mother ship? As an opener, I would ask if you notice that you have about 270 words here and not one single artifact. No clue of where or when. If this is a "middle" then yeah, ok, I presume this entity plays some large part in something happening soon. The style is prone to tautology - "ambiguous" twice, "male" twice, "human" twice, etc. It struggles to establish the mood and import of the thing while it wrestles with the establishment of the aspect of changeability, which, you got it. Move on to the "why you, reader, care about this" part.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 17:42:42 2018 No.10927069 File: 490 KB, 1370x1764, Screen Shot 2018-03-31 at 5.39.59 PM.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] Trying to start writing, here's the beginning of a short story maybe? >1/2

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 17:43:12 2018 No.10927073

>>10927030

Thanks for the read, I'm not really sure where it fits in the story. This is one of two spurts of writing that I've come up with in an effort to flesh out an idea i have. Here's the other spurt:

I have difficult mornings. I would say I am difficult in the mornings, only no one has to deal with me; this is by design.
I have difficult mornings and I am inclined to believe that, to some extent, on some level a micro nudge above real life but miles below the threshold of superstition, that my moderately, annoyingly, seemingly average bad mornings are in fact uniquely distinguishable from the bad mornings of everyone else of my demographic (my income, my profession, and yes even my gender and race, sexual preferences, preferences for sex, what have you). I believe my bad mornings are special, and by extension, I am special.
I have difficulty putting the sensation of my stirrings in sentences. Putting it in words isn’t as much of a struggle (phantom, paucity, pain, pause) but it’s inadequate nonetheless. Let me ponder for a while and I’ll come back to it. In the meantime, I’ll talk about something else.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 17:44:15 2018 No.10927076 File: 349 KB, 1364x1390, Screen Shot 2018-03-31 at 5.40.57 PM.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >2/2

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 17:57:35 2018 No.10927153 >>10927073 You appear to be in this phase: >>10921686 which is fine. What you have here are notes. Toward a thing, but not yet a thing. Your only choice is to keep going until the thing presents itself.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 18:00:33 2018 No.10927175 >>10927153 agreed, that's sorta what I'm doing. I just write scenes and expositions and shit until it starts connecting on its own, and then i pretend that was my intention the whole time

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 18:03:27 2018 No.10927194 >>10926799 Thank you, but why?

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 18:09:59 2018 No.10927238 File: 52 KB, 327x243, 1519308397419.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] Does anyone else freak out when they start a sentence using the same word that the previous one started with?

Angie Sat Mar 31 18:10:22 2018 No.10927242
File: 12 KB, 689x164, 11.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>10927016
It was very helpful, seriously. This poem's all the better on your account. Your tips make me feel amateur (because I am), so how did you get so knowledgeable about writing/poetry? I want to follow your lead. Maybe there's something I need to read or learn? I barely passed high school. I'm embarrassed that I would've been satisfied sending him the first draft. I'll keep making more drafts, making it perfect. Seriously, THANK YOU!

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 18:12:54 2018 No.10927264 >>10927238 Yes. If you don't get into the habit of avoiding that, your sentence structure can end up being really fucking boring. "She ____. He ______. Then, she _______. She ______." Shit sucks and people do it all the time.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 18:13:27 2018 No.10927269

>>10927069
It's good. Characters doing things in a setting in a conflict with motives. Forward momentum. Emotional characterization. Adults with adult thoughts and words. What a relief. And surprise.

What I like about the smoking is the implication of consumption, of a cycle of running out of something, then running out of the same thing again. Dissipation. I want this to function as a foreshadow of some woe that threatens the chars. I like the suspense about what this monstrous art work is going to turn out to be - you'd better have it in mind, and it needs to be spectacularly revolting, and you had better reveal it loving detail before the end.

As the first four graphs unfold, I was initially confused that Gunter was the artist, since he is the one fretting about it. It gradually dawns that she is the artist. If you want it that way, fine, but if you want me to know off the bat, there can be one or two words moved or added that clue that in.

Those of us not initiated to the NYC art scene might also not clearly grok the connection between the activity in #7 as it relates to #13 - Gunter is excited by the #7 people - are they also candidates to purchase the works in #13? Having Gunter explain, or rather reveal, why the other artist's potential patrons are a good thing for him and his wife would not offend me.

Petty line details can go later - "sprout" may not be what a desk does to an ashtray, but set that all aside for proof reading, at the end. It's good. Keep going like this.

>>	Angie Sat Mar 31 18:14:42 2018 No.10927282 File: 12 KB, 691x162, 12.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10927016 I'm definitely crediting Anon no. 10927016 as co-author

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 18:16:22 2018 No.10927289 >>10927264 Fug that's what I'm still doing.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 18:22:00 2018 No.10927317 >>10927069 >>10927076 Very good work. I strive to write as well as this. Just a few parts of your phrasing is a little awkward (ie. previously stoic face) but the pacing works well.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 18:27:20 2018 No.10927343

>Wrote this on the train today.

I like my house,
I love my home.
I live in my cupboards
And out of my inside pockets.
Sunrise and downtown's incessant glow are
overlaid and always opposing.
Full of love filled with animus.

I don't care for your sunsets.
Blinding evening light doesn't tell me
it's the end of day.
I see what last light touches on its way.
Buildings burn in orange glow across the water,
red eyeshadow smeared on a pillow
and brown hair caught is caught in my sink.
I don't fight with the sun, I fight with stained sheets
clogs in the drain, and leftovers in my fridge.

I’ve stopped cooking breakfast,
the Bisquick has weevils.
Apples will do just fine,
No creamer today,
I started taking coffee black again.
I don’t smoke menthols anymore,
Just Camels and mint gum.

It’s too sad to stay in these cupboards.
I’m leaving the apartment,
I loathe an empty house.
The cabinets have been raided,
and it’s too hot for inside pockets.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 18:30:11 2018 No.10927365 >>10927343 Surprisingly good, anon. I thought it was gonna be gay but you made me feel that isolation feel.

>>	Angie Sat Mar 31 18:33:25 2018 No.10927376 >>10927343 Pretty good!

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 18:34:44 2018 No.10927385 >>10927282 haha my name is zach, but anon 10927016 suits me just as well. i love the final product, you did a great job bud.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 18:36:31 2018 No.10927395 >>10927365 >>10927376 Thanks guys. I had two poems that I had been stuck with for a while and decided to mash em together today and ended up being happy with it. Glad you guys like it :)

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 18:43:50 2018 No.10927438

>>10927242
i've been reading everything i could find since i was a kid, and this naturally lead to me wanting to write. when i was 12, i knew i wanted to write novels, so i started out trying to write one straight out the gate, but i realized that i didn't understand how language and storytelling really works on both the micro and macro level, so i started on the micro. i started reading every book of poetry and on the theoretical aspects of poetry i could find, because poetry forces you to consider everything on the micro level, or else it flat out doesn't work. so yeah.

also, don't be ashamed of that first draft. it reminded me of my best friend and i driving home in his truck after wrestling practice, and the way it always smelled like hot gatorade. so thanks for that.

i personally love editing, and i'm pretty impressed with your natural ability, so if you want an editor, or a bibliography of poetry books to study out of, hit my email up gimboklein@gmail.com

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:15:23 2018 No.10927565 >>10927282 This is SO good! Really gives me that perfect vibe of teenage tomfoolery when the world is open and new in your first car. Get the boys in the back and go wherever you want.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:19:34 2018 No.10927589

>>10904681
I like this piece, I like the voice of the narrator and how it doesn't take itself too seriously. I agree about the rat thing. Made me go wtf because it's otherwise a straightforward style. Whole things got good humor (typing this with one hand lol) I think it has good potential-- just needs a plot now haha

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:20:09 2018 No.10927592

[copy in notebook]

Elliott on the speaker
The tear stained cheeks never end
The wheel relentlessly goes round
Just cuts the rut a little deeper down
His words never leaving the mans mind
This home, like the many before, provide no comfort
Bukowski said isolation is a gift
In a way, he is right
All gifts have penalties
There is nobody to hear him howl in anguish
He stands on the bridge at night
Overlooking the river
Choked by pollution and filth
Debris from a flood many a year ago
He stares into the brown water
It is the hour of the crucifixion
The men sleep
The women sleep
The children sleep
In their homes of soft darkness
Only the dead are awake, for they never sleep
He wishes he could lay in waste day by day
The paper collectors require work
His home is hell, but hell is a home
No home is a purgatory
Existing day by day
So he works
He does not like this existence
There is no warmth in this cold embrace with conciousness (spell that right)

I'll post a few, please go easy on me lol. Constructive criticism is best

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:20:16 2018 No.10927593 >>10923046 good manners are essential, and in a roundabout way, the message of every piece of art ever made

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:21:56 2018 No.10927600 >>10905735 LOL I almost immediately thought the same thing.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:22:05 2018 No.10927603

[copy in notebook]

Black water
White fields, miles unending
Ice rain falls softly, muffling everything
Barren trees, interspersed (find out correct spelling of that) with ancient evergreens
Coldness that seeps into the bones, the joints, and freezes the blood in your lungs
Barren, no creature ventures here
The desert in the north
Absolution remains under the black tar
No answers remain in the heat, the urban hive, or the unnatural order
Only one can find themselves in the northern desert

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:22:39 2018 No.10927606

>>10927592
>I'll post a few
Don't. Please just post one. It clogs the thread up. Most people just post one a thread. If everyone posted 5, a lot of anons wouldn't get critiques and the thread dies faster.

Don't post anymore. Let anon's just focus on the one.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:23:20 2018 No.10927610

>>10903156
Reads like jail poetry, simple and rough.
The second last line is the only one that has any rhythm, but it makes a mental image that's awkward 'walking so tightly stuck' might be revealing more clinginess and desperation than you want to unless it's for comedy purposes.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:23:46 2018 No.10927618 >>10927606 Sorry about that, I won't post any more. My apologies.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:25:52 2018 No.10927626 >>10927438 >i've been reading everything i could find since i was a kid, and this naturally lead to me wanting to write. uh oh

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:26:08 2018 No.10927630 File: 74 KB, 465x960, 1432607355245.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10927618

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:27:31 2018 No.10927637 >>10927630 Just trying to be polite, I could have been a retard and called him a nigger

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:31:10 2018 No.10927652 >>10927626 haha what?

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:31:40 2018 No.10927656

>>10927618
It's all good.

>>10927592
Is there a reason you don't use punctuation? If you're trying to use enjambment, having punctuation makes it more pronounced.
Same question for capitalizing every line break.

>The men sleep
>The women sleep
>The children sleep
>In their homes of soft darkness
I think this would be better without the repetition. You don't really utilize it in the rest of the poem. Also if the men, women, and children are meant to act as a sort of "foil" to the subjects isolation, then having them occupy more of the same space in the poem helps that. Having each in separate sentences doesn't give off the sense of unity I think you're trying to create among them.

>He does not like this existence
I think this is unnecessary, I'd nix it.

Again, ask yourself if the structure of your poem is intentional. Are you placing breaks where you want them to be, or just where you think they should be.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:35:11 2018 No.10927671

>>10927656
I don't use punctuation cuz the teachers in school always told me to avoid it. I never took any advice on writing from my teachers, except that for some reason. Yea I meant to use them as a foil. They exist in comfort, sleep, peace, while the subject lays awake in a mental tsunami of emotions. Thank you for that, I'll edit it.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:36:14 2018 No.10927673 >>10927671 what the fuck? those are some wack teachers

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:38:13 2018 No.10927681

>>10927673
Yea, they always said shit that made me immediately go "That's just wrong" so I made it a habit to not take any of their writing advice seriously. I'm basically 100% self taught, which I'm proud of cuz writing is the only thing I've taught myself and I've been told I'm a good writer.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:39:12 2018 No.10927687 >>10927681 if you're on this site to jerk yourself off there's other boards for that

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:39:53 2018 No.10927692 File: 60 KB, 714x684, 1422504178587.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10927637 Or even worse: you could have been a nigger.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:40:50 2018 No.10927698 >>10927687 I wasn't trying to brag or anything, I'm far from an amazing writer lol. I'm in this thread for a reason, to become better.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:42:09 2018 No.10927704 >>10927687 Be nice to the kid. A lot of us here are like him: well-meaning and genuine even if we might be misguided. I come here to improve myself and get opinions.

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:47:08 2018 No.10927724

>>10927698
>>10927704
I'm sorry but reading
>I'm basically 100% self taught
and the shit about how "I never listened to my dumb teachers"
and I could hear the lotion pump being pressed.

(because when I was like 15/16 I talked the exact same way about my teachers and writing and it was insufferable and i hate myself for it)

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 19:54:59 2018 No.10927755

>>10927724
I could see how I came off as sounding superior. I didn't mean to imply I was, I just think they gave shitty advice and had a bad idea of what a good writer/reader is. Stuff like "good readers highlight/mark things they read." "Good readers reflect on a chapter after reading it". I don't remember any writing advice they gave me, except for once my one teacher read another students work then reflected on it with the class and she said him using a variety of words that were big/somewhat obscure was bad because it made the reader feel dumb or something

Anonymous Sat Mar 31 20:14:04 2018 No.10927820

>>10926799
>>10927194
No seriously, I would greatly appreciate knowing from you or someone ITT who can see it the same way what makes it contrived/pretentious. It was supposed to be somewhat humorous but also malicious sounding, since it's an old prehistoric woman telling a story of their families supposed strength and ability to kill. I haven't decided yet but I think it's going to be that she's telling it to a boy going through a brutal "coming of age" type ritual to see whether he will be accepted as a man into the group. She tells the story because she doubts him.

« Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ » !!Srz2lnO/STC Sat Mar 31 20:24:22 2018 No.10927860

I noticed her first, all the way from the pick-up counter, smile-parting with the barista.
Sitting a person's length from me, I look up from my Sappho again, she stares at her cup warming her knees. Looking up we exchange smiles.
My eyes linger a beat, so she points her nose to the cover of my book, I lift it in reply.
She searches her phone for If Not, Winter. I see her interest pique.
Finally she makes a show of her bracelet with a rainbow trinket dangling from it.
I feel obliged to brush the new silver hairs behind my ears, soberly putting my eyes back into my fragments, suddenly not so interested in her.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 22:46:47 2018 No.10928397 Oh mother why must you create this sinister fallacy. That will torment me like a demon of love Who's only allegiance belongs to the powers that be

>>	« Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ » !!Srz2lnO/STC Sat Mar 31 22:48:25 2018 No.10928400 >>10928397 Not sure what it means. >>10927860 Does anyone get the ambiguity of the last word?

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 22:55:27 2018 No.10928414 >>10928400 It's just an ABA rhyme. I think I messed up the form/rhythm. Ive been writing down little poems and sonnets everynight about my day. This one was an exert from longer poem. Just thought someone would enjoy it.

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 23:02:04 2018 No.10928433 File: 71 KB, 1110x850, Hideaki Anno.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10927755 How your teachers are still breathing is beyond my reasoning

>>	Anonymous Sat Mar 31 23:06:10 2018 No.10928448 File: 1.07 MB, 1500x1500, d.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10928400 sappho/coffee shop girl/thou?

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 00:44:24 2018 No.10928833 >>10925348 Guys, something?

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 03:14:27 2018 No.10929531 >>10927755 >good readers highlight/mark things they read. >Good readers reflect on a chapter after reading it Okay but this is actually valid and good advice.

Anonymous Sun Apr 1 03:53:15 2018 No.10929731

>>10927860
Are you trans or sumptin? Me simple country folk round here?

>>10927603
>>10927592
Try to not sound smart, or maybe be unique. There's easily ten million poets exactly at that caliber of writing, what makes you special?

>>10927069
>>10927076
Very nice writing. Very little to critique other than a few oddities. The paragraph after the break could be spaced out more, it sets the scene but is a bit hard to read through. A purging of adverbs in 2/2 would be nice too.

>>10926726
>>10926391
Please bow to my intellect

t. Poet

>>10925348
Pretentious in that you lack the talent to make this presentation work. It reads like someone inspired by Dostoevsky but lacking any ability to even pretend to his writing.

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 03:58:25 2018 No.10929749 File: 59 KB, 739x873, short.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10929731 wanted to do more but couldn't find any. Review me next sempai.

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 04:03:54 2018 No.10929772 >>10929731 So should I start over? What can make this presentation work? I thought I was inspired by Orwell. I only want this to not be pretentious and get the point across. Suggestions please? I am the Mr narrator guy

Anonymous Sun Apr 1 04:06:32 2018 No.10929782

>>10929772
Don't start over. Whatever you do don't start over. Keep writing until your'e done. Only then can anyone, most importantly you, can really critique your work. Even if it's shit now when the entire idea is realized you'll have an easier time figuring out where to improve first.

To me the hardest part in these threads is giving good critiques off so little text.

Anonymous Sun Apr 1 05:44:00 2018 No.10930272

>>10907765

This is actually pretty good! There's a nice rhythm to it, as vague of a compliment as that is.

>>10910633

>>10910800 is right; this is overwritten, bordering on purple.

I love overwriting as much as the next anon, but, Christ, /lit/, almost all of you sound like you're either trying to artificially inflate your word count or you've just discovered the fucking thesaurus.

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 06:22:47 2018 No.10930416 >>10930272 Oh, and here's this: https://pastebin.com/vCDL81UB Thank you in advance for any criticism!

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 06:29:32 2018 No.10930434 File: 46 KB, 740x678, OPENMEAT.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] Hey. I'm struggling with an opening now I've gone back to check it. Does anyone think this works? Thanks.

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 07:04:22 2018 No.10930536 File: 56 KB, 810x810, 578235634563.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10930434 i liked it

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 07:37:07 2018 No.10930648 >>10929731 >There's easily ten million poets exactly at that caliber of writing ten million? really?

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 07:43:56 2018 No.10930675 https://pastebin.com/GqkGVFQY if anyone could give this a look, i'll read there's straight after. Just need some actual feedback

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 07:47:18 2018 No.10930682 >>10930536 Appreciate it!

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 09:57:20 2018 No.10931206 >>10910633 >>10930272 Notice how I let this happen. It's practically spelled out, and still it happens.

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 10:02:36 2018 No.10931228 >>10930416 Vampires. Ambiguously gay vampires. Lonely, needy, ambiguously gay vampires. Maybe there is some obscure gay porn mag that publishes kink-fic. Good luck.

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 10:06:00 2018 No.10931241 >>10928448 what is it*

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 10:06:40 2018 No.10931247 >>10930272 Thanks make but that was from a Gracq book you FRAUD

Anonymous Sun Apr 1 10:18:55 2018 No.10931334

>>10930434
The picture becomes snowy starting with "patcher." I have no idea what that is. So then it becomes insectile. I feel a question of scale. Apparently, this bug thing is large enough to have a gut which contains enough concrete and metallic gel to patch a hole in a warehouse wall. Two feet long? 50?

"vat still lived." Vat. A large container, as for industrial quantities of liquid. Does the vat live, of does the thing inside live? "Its flesh" - the flesh of the vat? Or the flesh of thing in the vat? Then something is born and something speaks.

There is merit in the advice to "start in the middle." Presumably, the nature of all this genre-world setting will become clear as we proceed, but if this were page 2, following some words about a character through whom some of this could be grounded and contextualized, the jarring oddity would yield to narrative convention.

I get the scene, but I don't get the story within which it is happening..

Anonymous Sun Apr 1 10:34:45 2018 No.10931407

He could anticipate the imminent drop. For a moment, he felt the stubborn intertia of his heart, his being. Inevitably, everything collapsed. In that moment, like a person at the tip of a rollercoaster waiting for the fall, everything that held steadfast existed without support and in the gaping hole that the fall caused, he could only feel agasped.
First time I wrote something like this. I love the image of Paul being blinded by light.

Anonymous Sun Apr 1 10:38:23 2018 No.10931421

>>10929749
Thuglit candidate. I like the motivation, but the telegraphic style obscures the action. I can't remember who it was that said the hardest thing to do in fiction is to move a character across a room. Maybe Chandler. He's like the Churchill of pithy quotes about writing. If you can't remember who said it, attribute to Chandler.

First draft stuff - "dinner" I think wants to be "diner" a setting, not a meal. "art" for "are." "He's been edging his pistol" then "man nods" then "he leaves for the bathroom" - the telegraphic ambiguity of "he" seems to imply that Bathroom man is the one with the pistol. Then it turns out not.

Unmarked dialog: "yeah" is her? "avacado" is him, "I got coffee" is her? but same line, "man motions" so maybe "I got coffee" is him? the implied threat, which makes no sense here, then "yeah" is him or her?

Apparently the rest is the execution of an armed robbery. "This guy's got two" hangs in the air - I don't know which guy, or two of what. Whose hand on shoulder of pistol man?

I understand the impulse to stylize, especially in the crime genre where so much of the sinister mood depends upon it. I think this iteration could work with a little more oxygen. Let it breathe slightly deeper, so the simple logistics of who is saying what and who is doing what to whom can still resolve.

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 10:41:10 2018 No.10931438 >>10931421 Thanks, I wrote it about 3 am after a double shift, wanted to try to be as minimal as possible with an idea I had. Probably will give it another go to add a few more descriptions.

Anonymous Sun Apr 1 10:46:48 2018 No.10931463
File: 2.78 MB, 427x229, 14996234425842.gif [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>10903156
My dad cooks fucking hell's meals.
Well, this is an average recipe, because there are a lot of variations. He takes soup, but he doesn't heat it, heating is not about my dad. He takes this soup, dumps it in a frying pan and starts to fry it. He adds a huge amount of onion, garlic, black and red pepper and even flour to make it viscous. He also adds tomato paste on the top of it. Then he fries it all until it smokes. Then he removes it from fire and leaves at the balcony for cool down. Then dad brings it in, covers it with mayo generously and starts to eat. While he eats from the frying pan, he scratches the pan with a spoon. He eats and whispers 'oh fuck'. At the same time he has sweat on his forehead. He kindly offers me this dish sometimes, but i refuse. Do i need to tell you about the wild farting after that? The stench is so strong, so wallpapers peel off the walls.

Anonymous Sun Apr 1 10:47:48 2018 No.10931470

>>10931228

Thanks for the feedback. It's been close to a decade since I've written anything that wasn't fan fiction, so I'm guessing that this excerpt still leans pretty heavily into fan fiction tropes. I'm trying to work out that atrophied "original" fiction muscle.

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 10:49:59 2018 No.10931484 >>10931247 Fair enough!

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 10:51:33 2018 No.10931489 >>10931438 Some of it is as simple as formatting, which is not trivial. As: "Yeah/?/" "I want avocado spread on bread." "I got coffee," /she said./ The man motions to his waist. Pistol gleaming. "Yeah?" "Yeah."

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 11:00:11 2018 No.10931536 File: 59 KB, 739x878, shortduex.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>10931489 Did a once over, thanks for the advice. I think the formatting on this reads better.

Anonymous Sun Apr 1 11:08:03 2018 No.10931572

>>10931463
Transgression. All fine and dandy, you got dad colored in, now something needs to happen. Palahniuk is the current pop thought leader. Everybody knows Fight Club, but Guts is his transgressive masterpiece. Behind the gimmick, he manages to make the trope about life-long consequences that derive from the exploration of the margins of behavior. So dad's unusual culinary compulsion needs to become either the consequence of, or the proximal cause of, some life-changing resolution of whatever trauma or conflict the rest of the story will describe. See also Rabelais' Gargantua and Pantagruel, filtered through Bahktin's Carnivalesque for another useful angle on body function as societal interpretation.

Anonymous Sun Apr 1 11:33:37 2018 No.10931688

>>10931334

Thanks for that. It is the very first thing in the work. I'll work on the ambiguous language some more and I agree the 'its' can be improved upon. I think the story becomes relatively clear in the first chapter, in what follows this. I'm just trying to make a strong opening you know?

>>	Anonymous Sun Apr 1 11:46:14 2018 No.10931766 >>10931688 Yeah, I know.

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/lit/ - Literature