Critique thread

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>>8323650
be harsh first time

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>>8323653

>>8323655
oops

>>8323653
>over which was draped
clumsy
also had to google 'pyriform' - useful word though hehe
The description is a bit discombobulated.
You talk too much about scepticism when the cow is appearing, also
>had continuing
>a terra firma

The second page is way better than the first. Last page loses momentum a bit.

---

Close eyes and drift off. Undulate -
feel the network of waves, the links as limbs.
Ripple and receive the reflection.
Affirmation, information.
Move to be present, excite all eigenstates,
jubilate! Stasis is
not.
Move. You can't help it.
Resonate.
Delight in movement, simplicity of existence,
tendency to being.
The coordinates of nebulous secrets
are encoded in oscillation:
a tsunami through the vacuum.
Is, no reason.
Is.

>>8323653
>>8323655
Definitely clunky writing. I'm not going to read all that shit in a single critique thread but from the first two paragraphs it seems fine. Your style seems a bit all over the place as does your voice. Keep going but just keep in mind this piece will probably need to be put aside once you finish. Then once you've worked a bit more you can revisit and do a very, very heavy edit.

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>>8323650

http://pastebin.com/UbZHnQMa

i didnt see this thread so i made another thread sorry

>>8324754
Feels like an exercise more than an entire piece. Not terribly original or good. Your voice definitely improves towards the latter half of the scene though.

>>8324754

Woops lots of mistakes for some reason, my word processor is shit

read this instead

http://pastebin.com/jzUbzCSD

>>8323707
Something tells me that you/ve done LSD recently.

>>8324769
Doesn't seem that different iibh

>>8323653
>>8323707
>over which was draped
>clumsy

Nothing wrong with it OP, IMO. Reads fine. Keep at it

Translation of Lorca's "Las Seis Cuerdas"

The guitar can make Ambition snivel. The wailing of dead souls escapes your rounded mouth. And such as the tarantula, you spin a great, starry web to ensnare the sighs that surface from your black, wooden rain-basket.

>>8324784
I've been learning quantum mechanics, which is a large inspiration.

However, I wrote the original version of this after DXM. And I can't deny that subsequent trips have influenced me, a especially 1P-LSD one maybe two weeks ago. Had to clean up cat sick immediately after peaking.. ughhhh. You just don't want empathy with puke or an old cat.

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posted this awhile back but converted it to free verse since that's more comfortable for me. pls bully

>>8323707
>eigenstates
oh you. This is exactly my type of poetry. I read it imagining a sexy robotic voice reading it to me. post more

>>8325065
What are you trying to do here?

I'm only gonna post a few sentences because I know I'm not a very good writer.

>And as the small craft slowly and delicately descended into the sun pavilion of the great monument, specs of dust danced about the air, glistening in the fog lights of the ship, for the first time in a millennia.

>It was only at this point, when the man looked up that he realised the sheer grandeur of the room he was standing in; A circular, marble floor, leading up eight large, beautifully decorated pillars, which stood like giant stone guardians around the center of the room. The ceiling was an intricate mix of silver and glass, weaving and and snaking through various pipes full of mirrors, which were said to be a able to send the light of the sun to even the deepest rooms of the building.

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>>8323650
Scene from something I'm writing, two characters.
>Pic related

>>8325122
needs editing a bit but trying not to get held back

>>8325102
Yeah, that's really bad. Read more.

>>8325122
Lacking in emotion. Very poor. Pacing feels strange.

>>8325082
It's my journal entry.

Porcelain walls too sturdy to break
reflect all of the light in on itself
The stark white teeth of the beast
they gnash and gnaw
Every night they whisper; this is not your home
The largest open space is the dining room
the rest is a series of cramped hallways
Over cream cheese bagels and ginger ale
I discuss how the bright fluorescent lighting
is immeasurably worse than the dark.
In the morning
I ask them to keep my shades closed.

I'll copy a poem I wrote in the back of my copy of Fathers and Sons:

The tunnel: dark, long, damp,
indeterminate,
but you're in a train car,
first class,
first in your class.
And you whine
and whine.
And you may not think it now
but some day, this, too, shall pass
(as all things must)
and you'll look back
and only think of how young you were,
remembering nothing else
but how young you were.

>>8325145

Any advice on why so poor?I had fun writing this.
I'm really going for repression of emotions here, he can't really do anything because she is royalty.

>>8325170
I imagine a mad man in a foamy white room screaming lines from Lolita and various B grade Sci-fi flicks.

>>8325196
I'm unsure whether this is a good or bad thing.

>>8325223
Implying good or bad exist
>amirite

Understated weapon: the male penis
stands ready for action. Its intention
must be domination, its goal is
the losing of control, an erection
loosing cunts rolls but in one direction:
the divine release: a flood, fluid-- jizz.


For what purpose comes this exuberance;
for what purpose cums from this extraction?
There is no reason but this: to commence
the submission, needed domination
of woman, the corrupter, whose action
brought end to man’s Godgiven eminence.


The penis exists but only to ream;
only to right writ’n wrongs-- only to cream.

>>8325170
The cream cheese line awkwardly breaks up the general semantic fields you are going for in my opinion

Also the last line sounds a little edgy, could do with rewording

>>8325196
It's a thing. But I'll add that the poem impresses one slightly as self-indulgent, hermetic: "reflect all of the light in on itself"; "I ask them to keep my shades closed."

>>8325170
Nice. I wish you'd use more punctuation though. Also that semicolon is wrong.
Kind of reads breathless, each line stunted.

>>8325065
I actually read all of this. It's pretty amusing, due mostly to the fact that you use the word "depressing" every other sentence. You don't seem actually depressed though; you enjoy it too much.
I feel ya on the friendship thing.. I met some pretty great people at university but now it's the holiday, fb-communication is rare. At the moment I have an emotionally open friendship but not really an intellectual one (of which I feel the absence) now I'm at home. And the forums I visit are pretty much all shit.

You remind me of me. Or perhaps more of an unsuccessful Martin Shkreli.

>>8325189
A bit limp tb h

>>8325041
I wish I knew what the assailants were trying to achieve.
I think the flow needs to be worked on a bit, and I feel as if the name of the girl is unnecessary information.

As for flow,
"no concern for lack of sight
no concern for prospective passengers"

could be condensed to
"job description takes a backseat to animal instinct" or something of the sort.

It's decent, but is somewhat lacking in flow imo.

>post more
If you want.

http://pastebin.com/DznP8iyC

would love crit on any of these. #2 got shit on in another thread.

>>8325235
>implying that there aren't varying standards of good and bad within different groups.

>>8325265
whoops
>>8325223


>>8325189
>a poem I wrote in the back of my copy of
People should do this more. I love finding little notes like this (not manic annotations) in used books I buy that pertain to what the book means to that person. It adds briefly a new intimate dimension to reading.

We play this age-old sport that’s kind of like fetch, except instead of a tennis ball, it is our guilt. Also, the goal of the game is that it won’t come back to you.

We aim for what has no defense.

There’s the weather, the moon phase, the messes that were made in the kitchen that no one bothered to clean.

There’s how our parents married on April Fools' Day. How that fact made even the good times seem ironic in retrospect. There’s how they separated on Father’s Day. How our father, when he left, left our gifts unopened behind.

There’s also aging. And how expectations actually shape realities. And how remembering things actually makes you forget.

For a while there was our mother and our father and we were happy and the game hadn’t started yet.

Then, from nowhere, we wanted a dog. We asked for one and kept asking. Then, from nowhere, a dog appeared and everything changed.

In the beginning, there was the dog for us to hate together. We had to feed it. And take it for walks. The dog would find whatever we threw in its direction. It would just come right back and let us throw it again.

In those years we could sleep soundly.

In those years there was a dog we could blame.

>>8325267
Limp! As in a dead limp limb, or a hemo-vacant phallus, or a magic clown's wand handed to a child?

>>8325193
None of that really comes across though. You have bits and fragments of emotion, but nothing of consequence and it feels all outrageous. She just ends up an average teenage girl with no ambition and him an amorphous blob of a teacher. No one wants to read that.

>>8323650
can i post part of a script in here or will people get pissed

>>8325289
That's fine. It might not get as many critiques because most of us deal in prose and poetry.

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1/3

>>8325065
bahaha just went on your blog, so you're the guy who wrote that wank about nihilism and billy elliot.
I mean some of your ideas are ok but your writing is poor.

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>>8325349
2/3

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>>8325356
3/3

>>8325267
>You don't seem actually depressed though; you enjoy it too much.
>you enjoy it too much.
that's interesting. what do you mean specifically by that? also, I'm glad you find it amusing, I find it a little amusing myself, things always become funny to me about stuff I say when someone puts it in a funny perspective.

>>8325351
>your writing is poor.
yeah, your writing is poor. what am I supposed to do with this? my writing is poor? oh, okay, that's about as not helpful - non descriptive as you can get.

>>8325379
If someone gives you a general critique like that it means your writing is generally bad and you need to get better at everything. I agree with him. It's really bad.

>>8325349
>>8325356
>>8325364
Madame feels like an inventory of catchphrases. Give her life, instead of just letting her project.

>>8325399
Hey man, I aint no try hard. My writing is at least decent, I'm sure someone would really "get it", but not snobs like you.

>>8325379
Here are some tips young jedi. try writing without:
-mentioning any other books
-mentioning any other authors
-mentioning wanting to be an author
-mentioning writing
-mentioning reading
-mentioning teaching
-mentioning school
-mentioning art of any kind
-mentioning formal abstract ideas

try that. start with an image, not a concept. let it expand, then contract. expand, then contract. let it anneal until something interesting.

>>8325410
you're right, although this is her only appearance and i want to keep it brief. will see what i can do.

>>8325367
I guess it's mostly the fact that you have a kind of ironic distance from yourself; you see that you are ridiculous and enjoy the ridiculosity of your venting.
The amusing part is that you are caught up with yourself despite that, and I love irony. You're just distant enough to be funny.

>>8325379
It's mostly to do with your vocabulary; you don't have much of one. Maybe try to think of alternative ways to say things; ways other than the first that springs to mind.

>>8325421
>try that. start with an image, not a concept. let it expand, then contract. expand, then contract. let it anneal until something interesting.
lmao what the fuck kind of advice is this? I'll let it expand and contract in your face, if you know what I mean ;)

For the ones who live for obsession,
By the one who there for possession,
With the blind ignorants still wants progression,
There we have this thrash of limitation,
A limitation known as creation.

Gavin watches a young boy navigate the dance floor with a silver spoon clenched in his fist. Head like a compass needle aimed at the raw bar, he leaves a froth of broken couples in his wake. The shoulders of the boy's tuxedo turn into tumored epaulettes as he reaches over the crushed ice on tip-toes for a bowl of black caviar. Retreating to a quiet corner of the room, he slinks to the ground and, with his pudgy knuckles turning white on the spoon's stem, eats the sturgeon roe like morning cereal.

The boy's mother, twisting her neck away from a conversation, sees him and steps away. He knows he's been spotted. Leaving the bowl of evidence, but not the spoon, he staggers through the dancers to the center of the band-stand clearing. He pivots from one happy couple to the next, his eyes dilated in fear, trying to see his mother through their swinging arms and legs.

There she is, stooping, then crouching so not to spill a glass of champagne. "What's on your mouth?" she asks, dabbing the corner of his lips with a cocktail napkin. Something has welled up inside of him. She can see it in his un-blinking eyes as she steps back. "Honey, is everything okay?"

Starting at his stomach, his body shutters, taking his hand to his mouth. An ink-black stain spreads from the boy's mouth over his hand. His eyes close and the hand drops to his knee; a squirt of caviar clears the floor with an "UNGHHHHHH." Splat. Gavin laughs and looks away, "holy shit."

>>8325412
No it's just dumb ramblings.

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>>8325472
Too many similes and loose-feeling images. Thought it is somewhat amusing, since it is (intentionally or not) comedic.

>>8325399
It means that it might be bad. There are a lot of people with bad taste on this board, so one person's general comment need not necessarily mean very much. It might, in fact probably will, but it isn't an absolute judgment like you've suggested it is.

Just a reminder.

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Counting vertebra
Flying shoulder blades
Snuck out of the skin of corporeal neon

Swept by fumes
From a musky rib
Nails dug into ether, unhinged, unpainful

I am blotched art
On your dreamy palette
In this blue even your vermillion is gone

Paint me tonight
With one color
The others left the door ajar

>>8325447
>>8325421
Holy shit anon BTFO.

>>8325122
You need to learn punctuation

>>8325513
this guy tried helping out a retard

>>8325494
definitely supposed to be funny

>>8325399
Honestly, just saying "the writing is poor" is an awful critique. It's not like you have to list everything that is wrong with the writing if you think it's awful, but if you can at least suggest one specific area to work on it can actually be helpful. Just saying "the writing is poor" is the opposite of helpful.

asked my friend's ex-girlfriend for a writing prompt:
"big ferret" sigh
-------
Fatloaf surged around the corner in his rusty truck, spitting up black dust into fog blanketed air. 'Get in', he yelled, 'you think I'd forget you?'

I hastened my pace, running, running, fueled by the impossible waking nightmare of that closing in: The Ferret, a deadly concoction of man's ingenuity of scientific progress and intent to destroy itself. I got in, caught my breath as Fatloaf leaned over moving stray papers.. moments later, all that was left behind on that empty quiet street was the smell of monoxide trailing in the wind.

In the interior of the rumbling truck, I tightened my seatbelt and felt the sweat soaked in my clothes, as the orange streams of streetlights blurred past. I said, 'Fatloaf, who were those guys? What was that... why is that?-'

He looked at me with a sly grin, 'you're thinking of the implications to what we just did? well, they're after you Cables, they picked up your scent, but fuck knows how, or why, these genetically engineered rodents are so interested in you.'

We hit the brakes to take a look, we measured our distance to be a safe margin. We viewed the shadowy wake of the gigantic ferret, a nightmarish form ten stories high, standing upright on hind legs to the backdrop of crumbling city skyscrapers, surrounded by a circle of blistering fire and rubble. The zenith of our awe halted immediate to the sound of an engine roar crawling up behind us, a third-party unidentified vehicle veered into view with blackened windows, projecting straight towards us, greeting us with malicious intent in the universal form of the spraying of bullets. Can the truck take this? I say, as I hear the clunk clunk clunk spattering on the back, and the breaking of glass, and a stray bullet screaming past my ear. Can it? I wonder. I have to take a drink, I say. The walls are closing in. I know it.
Fatloaf ignored this, he was wired with adrenaline to the wheel, using fear as fuel, deftly controlling the levers, I observed the confident silence of an artist at work.
I slunk in my seat, Fatloaf twisting and turning the truck like a rabbit in a maze effortlessly navigating the streets. We seem to lose sight of our third party. It was not over however as we had The Rodent on our tail. Absolute realisation of relenting death spurred on in the form of a massive ferret the size of sixteen buses, had us at the wheel hollow-eyed; but armed with fear and good reflexes, Fatloaf tore onwards. It gained on us with frightening speed.

Burning screeching hot tires, a sudden lunge forward, propulsion around every bend, a heavy turn down a side street, a moonlit bridge, regression to the cold shadows under a distant motorway which made our impossible escape. With every turn, the gigantic beast hopped over every obstacle, thundering our way, ignoring everything in its path, intent of catching and slaughtering us and leaving us in a twisted smoking metal tomb. But why?

>>8325494
You sound like a less cracked out dostoyevsky in notes, but I think there's too much questions in so little text. Maybe try to make more statements and less questions, it can be a bit overwhelming at times.

I would have walked into the house but I was now a shepherd dog, committed to the flock and to the wielder of the staff. I knew my street dog days were done, so I sat on the curb and watched Rothko paint his rust and blue in the sky and felt good and glad that I had not walked into the house for an innocent family of seven could live there now. On the curb with my tail between my legs, I thought. When a man becomes old he goes back to being a child, but never back to being a young man. At seventeen I would walk the streets of Panama in search of women who drank and ate ambrosia. I preferred older women because they had no ideals and only cared about money and I on the other hand had only ideals and little money. Now married with children and forty-two years old, ideals are nonexistent to me, seeing no wonder in even the largest of mirrors
.
“Materialism! Materialism! Renounce materialism!” Says the youth, and even said I in my younger days. But how easy it is to reject the knowledge of the fathers when it has just been discovered? When one is a child he only sees or cares for the material, feeling uneasy whenever he is left with nothing, but as the child grows, he realizes that the material is superficial, and that there must be a deeper meaning to the world. The young man then turns his vision away from the world, and unto himself. Once inside he sees hundreds of thousands of crystals that reflect a simple blue vase. The scattered images show him that there is something, but the location of the vase is unknown to him, and will always be. And how bitterness overtakes the young man when he realizes that mortals only ever get a glimpse and never a taste! Alas, this is how I have come to exist. In my first year of college the mind was the only weapon I had so I sharpened it against anything I could find; Christianity, positivism, I clashed against it all. I devoured texts and studied and made money tutoring the children of the high class. Money was okay, but most of it would be put back into the Panamanian economy, strengthening the nightlife industry and keeping the price of booze down for all. I pondered and pondered, patting my foot against the concrete that stood underneath me, thinking how the street not only resists the pressure of my foot but the pressure of tires and cars and thousands of other things and how resisting in itself is a verb, and thus an active feature. I wandered into what seemed like a past life, coming close to feeling ennui.

>>8325494
The 'life pools over' thing never goes anywhere. Considering that it's 'life', it can't just act like window dressing to the scene: it makes the setting and how we're supposed to perceive it. But the paragraph is treated as another tangent, and it doesn't fit that way. More space/ideas should be given the condition, perhaps as a strong introduction. The way it leads into his oldness in the same paragraph seems like something you lazily attached after you were finished with that good image--but it was more potent than you expected.

The second paragraph is telling, and not showing. There's nothing psychological in it, I'm just having a psychological condition bluntly explained to me, as if it were a critic explaining the character. Each of those sentences are their own moments.

Then in the last paragraph even heavier in the essay (even though its never truly committing to it), to a soft end.

That said, you have potential. Rate mine?

>>8325278

>>8325667
I think it's solid. I think it can be explored more. It's 'there', but is there somewhere more personal or unique you can take it?

Dilettantes vacuously exploit lexicons to extract and manipulate vapid, bumptious appellations, desperately assaying to conceal their genuine temperament.

The mere charlatans' compositions bolster dictations which serve solely to create some of the most banal, unaesthetic prose ever witnessed in the postdiluvian epochs of creation, their works congested by proboscidean locutions containing naught but unmeritorious substance.

I not only indict these ignoramuses, but also compel them to excogitate upon the kernels of my contention and thereafter operate in accordance when formulating their proximal oeuvre, lest they come across as pretentious.

>>8325728
It was an exercise I did a while back, really just as a test for atmosphere.

I guess there's something more unique I could do with it, but I'll have to work it out. There wasn't a specific plot I had in mind. Thanks though

Doing time
reading In Search of Lost Time
under a white light at night
that not even a prism can separate.

>>8325802
they allow 4chan in the slammer?

>>8325494
this is boring because it's not true

>>8325741
These posts are irritating. Anything I say and you just reply "bbbbbbut! dass da poin". Sure, nigga, but you're missing my point.

Rococo cadence, polka dot umbrella and high-heeled staccato; yes I was in love. I knew because when she said un capuccino s'il vous plait I would hang onto her palate at the s, I would hang for this suave Parisian sound. I would lose myself in the silk of her architecture, and when every crease had been straightened and softened, my marble love would unveil her paleness again. I met her on a brooding Sunday afternoon. My nothingness walked in a park and sat down by its favourite oak. I had lived and existed apart for a while, and I had no way of knowing; perhaps I had become invisible to everyone. Dry leaves falling on me, menacing chirps, a couple snuggling three oaks away. That was the petty picture. How can I announce the arrival of a ray of sunshine without repeating what so many men have said before? When I first saw her she bla bla bla, etc... we bla bla bla'd for a bit and she had been a waitress for two years at my ex-favorite café in the 10th. My penchant for pointless nostalgia in full force I now recalled the frigid star who did not look at me when I said thank you. I had fantasized about her between sweaty sheets on several occasions.

I take painkillers
so that I can pretend to read
comfortably
as I nod off approvingly
to a city of cotton candy clouds
aloft the oxycontin blue sky
that's really just made of asbestos
and binding bright white lies.

>>8325808
Hey, let just them practice their sesquipedalianism—bozos gotta practice their brocab use somehow.

>>8325813
>Rococo cadence
>suave Parisian sound
>marbled love
>brooding Sunday
>My nothingness
>menacing chirps
>three oaks away
>petty picture
>bla bla bla'd
>ex-favorite café
>the frigid star
>between sweaty sheets

You didn't.

Renaissance dilettante,
puerile pickpocketer,
a doll made of crumbled clay and expired love:

My dog ate my homework
and I ate my dog
which means the assignment is shit
and my dog's a log.

But I hate to be crass
and love to love the haters
who hate beneath my chassis:
I'm a fucking Ferrari.

Extravaganza: extravagant stanza:
colonic destitution in your area:
forty-two stabbed at Bonnaroo 23-skidoo:
I can't stand without metric feet: 2
girls, one cup, three hands, what the fuck.
If you can extract meaning from a blank wall
then you mean something, or not at all.
50% of lives are lived with 50% compunction:
sandwiched between nonexistence: a somatic junction.

Today I sold my sole
pair of Cowboy boots to
a homeless man for one
billion dollars
in Zimbabwait-a-minute,
guac is how much extra?

There goes your tip.

>The air behind the tent was thick with the smell of smoke, sawdust and animals. The magician had never believed that oxygen could curdle, but between the cloying odors and the oppressive heat he was already beginning to make reconsiderations. It wasn't the first doubt on his mind that night, nor would it be the last.

>Twenty odd years had been gone by at this circus, and in that time he had become extremely proficient at predicting the crowd. The New York show was the exception. This city always seemed like it followed different laws of ontology. This was the city where incidents happened, the ones that saw a good thing going on and said “yeah, but what if?”

I know i'm capable of writing well sometimes, but why the hell can't I do it consistently?

>>8325882
Not enough practice (or editing) perhaps?

Have you tried starting with the Greeks?

Have you masturbated to James Joyce's letters of love to his sweet, sweet Nora?

Have you using bigger words like 'instantaneity' and 'perfunctorily'?

Have you taken photos of the books you own and shown them to strangers on the internet pretending to discuss what you're planning on reading next without ever actually discussing what you read?

Or maybe you could force upon yourself a traumatic life event, like killing your parents or something, and use it as creative fuel and poetic licensing.


Anyway, change 'beginning to make reconsiderations' to 'reconsidering,' because the former form sounds absolutely retarded.

>>8325917

/lit/ btfo'd

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the grief of the early riser
is bound to his company ,
who wars with the lonely phantoms of his dreams
who braves the hallows of his fears
which, by your mark
fades into the dusk
like a cloud imposed upon a gaze of stars.
Like the rainy blades of green
and the dewy mists of morning,
how they cloud my sight.
As is the fogginess of dawn.

on a morning so gracious
to bring our connection to mind.
Nudging at my shoulder, pointing to you
adorned
and on display.
Painted with a brush so new and fine.
And the wind carries the scent:
what a warm alarm it is to wake to
and be reminded
that I'm embraced and accompanied
day in and day out

for all its humours,
reacquaintance
has found us furnished at the heart,
burning behind the eyes.
On fire with the same force
that lights the sunrise.
Soothing
like the smell after rainfall
before the heat of the day
has a chance to meet my cheek

how warm it is to see
the thawing of the damp,
smoothening the coarseness
of the early hours
as they burn
torrid
with the same fever
that struck the embers
once glowing
shyly
by our toes

Self-Entitled

The sepulchre swallowed him,
she swallowed him whole,
chewed on his bones and calcified heart
like a lion cub eating meat for the first time,
and turned him to cud, turned him to dust,
before spitting him back out into the earth
where his pains suddenly had meaning
and he thought: hey, I can write about this.
So he did, and—No, no.
This won't do: the clichéd metaphor,
the sardonic self-reflection, self-reflexion,
prematurely metastasized meta meter.
This won't do at all. Not at all.
And I'm not saying that as some
attempt at reverse-psychology or simultaneously
self-indulgent, self-deprecating humble-braggery.
But I actually mean that this poem is quite bad so far,
which, it must be said, doesn't disqualify it
from criticism—which is a line I stole
from a book I won't tell you about,
which means that this work just became allusive
and therefore of higher literary importance.

Pan isn't dead, Mr. Chesterton. You are.
So here's a toast to deadpan:
may you wrest in peace,
not in pieces.

>>8325808
>>8325823
dilettantes detected

>>8325882
Geez. Remove 'ontology'. First sentence is fine.

>>8326009
Just a reminder: only the insecure insult unsolicited.

>>8323650
Where did you get a color photo of bertrand russell? is that digitally colored?

>>8324823
agreed

>>8325122
>drinking the salt breeze
>followed by a goddamn run on sentence

wew

>>8325632
Again, it's not. It's a general review that says that all of the writing is bad and needs a complete rewrite. Therefore, any improvement made by the original writer will be an improvement on the piece. There's no reason to get specific if everything is crap.

>>8325122
fanfiction-tier

Drawings of roses hang carefully from nails stuck in the wall.
You stand adjacent to them,
picking and chewing your nails off,
pulling your hair out.
The songs take place of your words,
for you're oh so afraid of what your small voice might say.
Tell yourself all of the things you've learned.
Let your red eyes question them.
Let the world enclose and swirl.
Let your shaking fist rattle against the counter, and count yourself calm in 4/4.

The night you closed the door on your finger attempting to keep what you're so scared of from getting out.
The afternoon you suffocated your thoughts behind the same locked exit.
The morning after an eternity.

Again

and

Again

and

Again

I tried translating the first two stanzas of La Vojo.
Original:
http://www.esperanto.mv.ru/Kolekto/La_vojo.html
My attempt at a translation:
Through the dense darkness, that goal is glimmering
Which we courageously seek
Like a star in the night sky shimmering
To us the direction it speaks
And we shall not be frightened of phantoms ephemeral
Nor fate's slings and arrows or mock'ry condemnal
For bearing no doubt and clear as the day
It is the chosen way

Directly, with courage, and never sheepishly
Let us travel the great chosen way
Even a little drop, striking unceasingly
Will wear a great mountain away
By hope and by patience and constant persistence
These virtues three will be our assistance
'Til one step at a time, after labor unceasing
The distance to our goal is decreasing

I find it quite something
how saying a thing is a thing
is now a thing
used to recognize a trend
or the significance of some thing, like

Suicide Squad Will Smith
be gettin' thingamajiggy with it—
nanananananana! Nahnahnahnahnahnahnyah!
Ban all bans. Ban malls and
take all-n-none stands.
Take all-n-none hands.
Make all-n-none plans like

bitch I can't poetically commiserate
or maintain thematic flow,
I just know how to know what I don't know and know
and express what I don't know I know and don't know
like how my skin look like Donald Rumsfeldspar-
rots talk nonsense but mimicry.

>>8325839
>You didn't
What do you mean?

>>8325882

I think it's enough to say "the oxygen curdled" rather than breaking it down like that.

The final sentence doesn't make sense.

>>8326136
Maybe everything is so bad it deserves a rewrite, but without giving any sort of exact information about your opinion, the critique is worthless. Telling somebody to focus on this or that area takes a bit more work, but is actually helpful, constructive criticism. Try to be helpfully negative instead of just negative.

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Hello friends, please destroy me. I know it's not enough to have a plot going, but let's have some depression inducing criticism anyways.

>>8326735
>As some of you detective-ass readers may have guessed, dirty, dark places make friends with lighters and young kids with trouble to find.

Good job m8.

>>8326755
thanks man

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>>8326735
Its good. Any more you're willing to share?

Here's mine.

Please note. I wanted to start out with the MC already boarding up a house. But I don't know how people would react to that, So I wrote this instead. but I don't know if its any good?

>>8326878
Yet that's not all(insert comma) former American houses...

Couple things, you're creating a setting for a pretty important background. Apocalypse stories are pretty interesting because they have a lot invested in imagery and twisted situations that make you put shit down and think about how actually horrific it is. Read "The Road" for some good inspiration. Don't watch the movie.

You wrote "houses" within one word of each use, which isn't exactly wrong, but sounds unnatural. You can replace "whose houses" with something like "once" since it's all in the same sentence.
Finally, is this a journal entry? I think you need to have a think about why you're writing in third person and if that's what you want to do. It feels like I'm reading a blurb for the book, not an intro that reels me in. Take your time describing this place. If you want practice, sit in the corner of a room and describe everything you can see.

I think overall, you're not committing enough to what you actually want to write about, and you're halfheartedly trying to get your dope overall idea down. If you're not about describing the setting, get straight to the action and then describe the setting.

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>>8326755
>>8326878
Here's the follow up, it takes me time to do these paragraphs properly, but I thought I'd try to keep the bread alive.

im a new writer (been writing for around a month or so now). Heres a few sentences from a short story im working on. Would love any feedback (constructive or otherwise)


Tim's brain was scattered across the factory floor and solidarity among the men hung like an unsure ghost. A few gaped in disbelief, others screamt, fewer wept and some even vomited. As the commotion grew larger, more and more workers piled into machinery room, gasping as they saw the floor; the mangled mess of brain, and skull pieces. Starting from the legs up, Tim seemed to be perfectly normal. Thick, hairy legs, a slight pot belly and plump hands. All to be expected from a lifelong plant worker. It was at his neck that the messy business began. A long, metal pole suspended by wires at each end was in the process of being transported, by Tim, when one of the wires happened to snap at one end and the pole swung like a pendulum, fragmenting Tim's skull. Rather unfortunate. Some of the workers even brought their hard hats to their chests.

>>8326930
Thank you anon.
I intended to write third person limited so readers can focus on the characters and how they view this new world.
And as I said before I wanted to start with the MC already boarding up a house.
I was just confuse on what to do, but you're right.

Please be cruel. Also any tips on how to show and not tell? I keep running into that problem when I write

http://pastebin.com/9YRtuiq7

>>8325472
Sounds a bit pretentious or something. Maybe you're overdoing the images a bit, but it's otherwise pretty good.
I'm not sure about
>"UNGHHHHHH." Splat.
It doesn't fit with the tone of the rest.

>>8325657
This is great and really carries the suspense and action of the scene. Perfect for Michael Bay books and YA, I don't know about something more serious.

The giant ferret makes it weird, though.

>>8325667
Pretty good, but there are too many direct comparisons - try metaphors or other ways to introduce your images.

>>8325813
This is quite unique and I like it. It carries well the feeling and intensity of love. Do you have any more?


My own poem:
The day is young and so am I;
The possibilities are wide,
Juste like an empty sheet and ink,
But words and minutes slide and hide.

And days go by before I wake
Again, and look around in fear :
"Where are those days, those nights I had?"
The noose gets tighter at each year.

And soon I’ll be just an old man
In front of his regrets and cast,
Without the choice even of death,
Yet eyes that cannot see – his past.

>>8326635
>exact information
There's no exact information to give. It's all crap. Why can't you accept this? There's no one thing wrong. There's actually, NOTHING good.

>>8326735
I don't like it, but the voice is strong and for what you're trying to do it's done well. I wouldn't read it but keep going, you'll have an audience.

>>8326878
That's some basic kind of errors here and I can't tell what tone you're trying to convey. You'd be better off starting with the MC. Getting involved in the character is a great way to start a story because it helps build a more immediate connection.

>>8326979
Oh I should have mentioned as well that starting with the MC boarding the house actually does multiple things for you: Brings you into the story more by giving you a character instead of an abstract setting, as well as, providing him action which allows the reader to further connect.

>>8326978
You're kind of all over the place with your voice and style. The imagery you're going for also falls pretty flat.

>>8327038
>http://pastebin.com/9YRtuiq7
Probably not as bad as you think it is. Feels somewhat elementary but you're consistent throughout. I think if anything you should keep going and then just be heavy-handed in your edits once you're completely done the first draft. Then you could get someone to help you with that. In terms of showing and not telling, don't worry so much about it. Once people here that you should do just that, they go out of their way to only show. Telling is still fine if it's done well. But the most important thing is to trust your reader. If you want to convey that's it's 100 fucking degrees outside you could write:
>Samson walked outside into the 100-degree air of uptown Baltimore.
OR
>Samson began sweating immediately upon leaving his uptown Baltimore apartment.
Both sentences give you a character, a setting, and information about the setting. Both leave the character as ambiguous (by just giving a name), both allow the reader to make up in their head what the setting will look like (some will think of the Colonial Georgian revival prominent in the Hampden neighborhood, others will just think of slums, others maybe just basic apartment blocks, if it's not immediately relevant this doesn't matter). The difference is the feeling of heat. 100 Degrees is hot (mid 30s I think in Celsius? If you're not from the US), the reader knows 100 degrees is hot, but there's no emotion or connection attached. If he immediately starts sweating, the reader will infer that it's very hot out. They won't know a specific temperature, but that's not as important as you think because everyone has a different idea in their head of how hot it needs to be to start sweating that quickly. This conveys the feeling of 'being hot,' which is more important than an arbitrary number. Not to mention it opens the door for Samson as a character having inward feeling and makes him more relatable. Perhaps he's sweating because when he went outside someone was waiting for him, perhaps he has to walk somewhere important. In a sense, it opens possibilities.

So just keep that in mind, but like I said: Finish your first draft before you edit for content like this.

>>8325285
true, thats the first thing I've written ever I'll keep working at it, I don't want 2D characters thanks for your advice.

>>8325515
Do you have any examples? At the moment I am trying hard to minimise passive voice I'm sure I'm weak else where obviously. Thanks for your input.

>>8326063
Good point, I'll look out for this in future as I develop my skills. Thanks for your advice.

>>8326156
Apart from the characterisation and punctuation which I can practice over time with reading and more writing how, in your eyes can I work on bringing the quality up out of fan fiction levels?
Thanks for your feedback.

>>8327249
I've read this critique that the "writing is poor" on a lot of posts recently, and I'm telling you that it is worthless to anybody who is writing. People who post here already know that their writing is poor, that's why they post. They want to learn if their writing is poor in areas they didn't know. I'm telling you that even if the writing is all awful, point out one specific thing. That strategy actual has the potential to help. Just saying "the writing is bad" has no potential to help, and it doesn't belong in a critique thread. It is not constructive criticism, it is just criticism. You sound like you don't actually care about helping people, you just want to tell them they are bad.

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>>8327988
This, I know I'm shit I've never written anything and I'm at the start of a long and arduous journey. Be mean, be spiteful, be the opposite of courteous..an ass hole, rude.I don't care but make sure there's a nugget of advice in whatever ego erecting criticisms you give. I mean some are great and I appreciate the time but 'Shit writing mate, kill yourself you pleb' type comments are not conducive to a good community and really all it creates is a circle jerk of bitter people who likely never amounted to anything and hate the idea of others potentially doing better then themselves. Some of you mongs are like bitter mothers who punish their children because their own lives were shit. Why do you come here if not to enjoy yourself and forward literature in the world?

>>8327988
>>8328015
>It has no potential to help because I'm an idiot
>You're just a big meanie-head
Ok.

>>8328024
>No class

Freddy and Samantha picked their way through Vancouver's Chinatown. "So sorry, when I heard about your grandmother," she said. Ducking the string of tortoise shells hung above a butcher's doorway, Freddy looked back over his shoulder. "Is your office here now?" he asked. "Just coming from a meeting. I'm still in the Attorney General's off--"

He tapped her shoulder to pause at the window. Frustrated, she tugged at his sleeve, "come on, there's somewhere I want to stop before dinner." But Freddy was distracted by the shop and didn't budge; glare covered the butcher's body from where they stood, and white-gloved hands seemed to float with a life of their own. "How's Lawrence?" he stalled. The hands vanished.

They were gone for only a moment before one of them returned with a small tortoise. "Don't watch this," Samantha pleaded. Without much time for Freddy to consider, and without much resistance from the shell, the butcher's guillotine fell from the reflected sky, cleaving the animal through. "Jesus," he shouted, recoiling. Indifferently, the hands separated the two halves like lemon slices and pushed the pulpy ends out toward the window.

>>8328015
>>8327988
>Your writing sucks
Non-autistic thought process:
>If this whole this was bad maybe I should scrap it. I'll do that, read some more, then re-write it once I've gained some more general knowledge, then ask for a new critique on a different piece but with the same central idea I tried to explore in this piece
Your response:
>THAT'S NOT A REAL CRITIQUE
x6

I also spend literally, in the literal sense, most of my time on 4chan in critique threads doing my best to give deep, insightful, and above all else, helpful responses. All the while encouraging those who should continue on. If writing is pure crap, there's no point in bothering. I'm going to skip it up so I have time for worthwhile writers. Do you think every agent you send a piece to will give you a detailed rejection letter? No. You will get a generic, 'this isn't what we need at this time.' Stop thinking you're special. You're not.

>>8328045
This is hard to read out of context. Your voice is pretty strong but it feels fairly pedestrian in composition.

>>8328070
You are an idiot. Calling people autistic because they want constructive criticism is plebeian. Wallow in your pit of ego bile for the rest of time mate giving advice takes no energy, even if you give it a thousand times. You are either lazy or just a nasty person. I don't care either way after all you are not special either.

>>8328025
please critique my writing

>>8328070
Hey, I'm glad that people like you spend so much time here to help others. Everybody appreciates that there are always responses in these threads, and you can do this however you want. To be honest I'm sorry I brought it up at all. You do it your way and I'll do it my way.

>>8328122
writing is okay. the joke kind of sucks.

>>8328128
don't capitulate burn them all!!!!!!!!!

>>8328128
Fair enough. I apologize if I offended you and I wish you luck on your future endeavors.

>>8328182
You are not sorry, I hope you drown on your moral high ground.

a SLAM poem entitled "WHITE MALE aaaaaaaaaaaaa"

gay nigger faggot fuck your political correct language sorry for my white trash habits (?) i did not grow up very lavish it's tragic the world is a game of inches and my dick is flaccid, life pulling me down like gravity so i gotta use this mental alchemy and restore my sanity and stop my stagnancy because it's a travesty palpably of happily living passively ; i am full of this apathy for my self imposed chasity i might never seen the anatomy of a female named Natalie to liberate my sexuality or experience the 'irrationalities" of the female personality who do not fit into my views of morality and nationality but instead embraces the liberality milky way galaxy and believes in universality,total depravity and destruction of the nuclear family, lowering the infant morality and the disestablishment of the legality of military academies and understandably we have different congeniality maybe we should stop lacanian fantsies because it restuls in agony and subsists of fallacies but at least we have the same tastes of musicality maybe we both needs to understand our inner humanity and get feel the vivacity of childhood triviality and ignore our realities and dine casually voracity in good hospitality affably with amity and ignore the circumstanality of our own vanity and unilaterally accept we are one family who should live happily and in solidarity but i guess my rhyming is blasphemy and i should focus on my own audacity and not dis-concern practicality and accept duality of life and release my ideas have no tangency and feel more callously and stop questioning real life like bohemian rhapsody.

>>8328377
Sounds like something I'd hear if I bothered going to modern poetry events.

Among the rubble and debris was a sliver locket with a picture of a sad looking man. He was sad because the woman wearing the locket had just been utterly obliterated by a runaway train car. It had come bursting out of the trees, ripping up electrical poles and street lamps, and carving through the ground, asphalt and all, into the corner of Merl's Pharmacy. Her red twisted body was squeezed contorted among the rubble, bent at impossible angles, dented in and torn apart by brick and wood.

>>8328985
Merl himself ran into the destroyed entrance of his pharmacy screaming his head off, "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" He made several attempts to start to do something. He waddled around, his fat knees jiggling under his lab coat that was pulled around his undressed body. He stopped when he saw her pale hand sticking out of the destruction, pristine and white, holding onto the silver locket.

"Oh dear." he said in shock. "Mirriam!" he yelled. "Mirriam! Call the police!" He bent over and tugged the silver locket free from her hand. He opened it and saw the picture of the sad man staring distantly out at him. Merl's eyes grew watery, and he dropped the locket on the ground as he walked away to call again for his wife.

>>8329005
"Miriam, get out here right the fuck now, woman!" He screamed, letting his impropriety get the best of him. He turned again and began to lift off the bricks covering the dead woman. He managed to get the huge rock to roll down the rest of the debris, hearing it crash into the wooden counter. He pulled another two off and saw that he could see her hair under the next one. It was a biggie. He bent his knees and his face turned red as he strained to lift the large rock. Suddenly, a tweak. He felt it bite into the small of his back near the ribs. His face grimaced in pain. "MIRIAM!" he yelled, his hands shaking. "MIR-" suddenly his grip failed him and he felt the huge rock slip from his hands. It scraped his palm and fingertips as it fell, until it was entirely free of his hands. He felt himself involuntarily dart after the falling rock, knowing it was for nothing. He heard the wet smat as it crashed down back into its crevice. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He grabbed at his back awkwardly as he stepped rigidly down the rubble and leaned against the counter. He turned when he heard his wife come in through the back door.

>>8329033
20 minutes later police and fire trucks crowded the destroyed pharmacy. The far wall was completely torn apart by the train car that stuck about 4 feet among the destruction. The roof was caved in and many of the remaining bricks looked as if they were about to fall at any minute. Merl, feeling better now after having stolen a couple vicodin sat against the counter as the authorities stumbled around the wreckage. One of the police officers was just staring at the wreckage silent. Two others were lifting bits of rock to get to the dead woman. Upon lifting the large now red rock both the officers backed up making twisted faces. "Dear god" Mirl heard one of them mutter. After waiting a moment the two men resumed their task with a forced indifference. A young woman entered the room through the crash hole. At the same time a man wearing a light orange button-up shirt and dark jeans came came through the front door.

They looked at each for a moment in recognition and the man in orange watched as the woman climbed over the brick, rock, concrete and wood, maintaining an air of indifference as she looked over the destruction. The man in orange sighed and shut the door behind him with a thud, causing a few bricks at the end of the room to come falling down.

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Arriving in History class I was greeted by Kyle and George. George put his legs together at attention, stood up tall and saluted like he did sometimes, I’d never really figured out why. Kyle gave a nod as George put his bag on the table and pulled out his report card.
“Can you believe it boys? Read this right here!” He pointed to the History section of his report and handed over the paper.

I looked it up and down and couldn’t see an issue. “What George?” I asked while finishing my crisps, “this is actually a pretty good report for you, I don’t know what I’m supposed to look at here. Well done.”

George wasn’t happy. He screwed up his nose and hastily pointed at one sentence: 'George is a queer boy with many crazy ideas.' it read. “They fucking called me queer!” George exclaimed, “I’ve never wanted to bum anyone in my life!”
Kyle burst out laughing, but I was taken aback so much I wasn’t quite sure what to do.

“Wait, do you think I’m gay or something!?” He cried.

George was clearly worried with my lack of reply. I didn’t have time to answer as Mr. McMann finally got to class and ushered us in the door,

George gripped his report card tightly and before the lesson could even start George was shouting across the class about the perceived report card insult. Mr. McMillan stared blankly, as George repeated almost word for word what he asked us.

“Sir! Do you think I’m gay?” he bellowed. The class in unison fell into amused silence, all of us waiting for a response.
“George, I didn’t mean queer like that…” Mr McMann begun, looking perplexed, “I meant queer as in strange. I don’t see what’s so hard to understand here.”

The class waited for George’s response. George was not amused. He put the report card down on the desk with purpose. “Weird? Weird? I’m no’ too happy about you calling me weird, Sir. Are teachers even allowed to talk to pupils like that?”, he said.

An air of awkwardness fell over the room. George stood there silently, I felt somewhat sorry for him, standing there with no support from his peers. He firmly believed he had been slighted. No reply came, and he slowly slunk down into his chair, defeated. He was queer and everybody had agreed. Still, George never stayed down long. He was a fighter, and half an hour later he was passionately lecturing the Chinese boy about Bon Jovi’s Slippery When Wet album. He was right, Wanted Dead or Alive is a great tune.

>>8328985
>>8329005
>>8329033
>>8329067
No.

>>8329118
Not terrible. You do well to convey the emotion. The language is very, very English. That's not good or bad but typically I recommend using super regional diction. The style over all feels very choppy though, as if you're trying to emulate Hemingway but you're not doing it very well. Still, keep it up once your done your draft an edit should help those issues.

Something I've been writing on my iPhone since my girlfriend left for foreign lands.
I like to imagine you dancing by yourself the way you say you do. You're twirling one moment and then angling your limbs in such a fine way that everyone else cannot help but to notice, and then shuffle, and then stare. And there you are, all holy and bathed by the light; the hands of light, containing within them those dust motes that crawl in the light of an open window, holding you closely and away from others, the others that stare.
I imagine you that way, on my porch, my sensitive skin feeling and sticking to the sweet wet polyester of my lawn chair. My skin has always been so sensitive, I've always been the most ticklish kid, even at twenty, kicking away the pinches of fingers of my friends.
The porch is in poor shape. Not because of the construction of the thing, but because we decorated it with chair and chair and stool and lawn chair and small table and tall table and carpet too, all donated my different causes (the garbage, a basement). There are two trash cans. One of them retains plastic, glass, cigarette butts and miscellaneous waste. The other has a heaping helping of salt for when winter might come, and some debris from the other trash can.
This is my respite. Here is where I might find an intermittence between your voice I long to hear and the droll electric hum of night-time from the grid (Albany.
I don't know what it's like by you. The structures you describe are difficult to imagine, and the situations only serve in saluting my sadness. Schrödinger's cat dies no matter what. Any box I open: be it crude text messages, talk with friends, banter with family; it all could or could not happen if I would or would not will it to. I could find out but I could damn myself too.

>>8329151
I remember you posting the first part of this a couple days ago. The newer stuff is getting continually worse. There's no solid structure, things just meander from point to point, and those points get more and more absurd over time.

>>8329185
Thanks for the input.

>>8329112
>>8329119
Congrats on getting published.

>>8329151
>foreign lands

Sounds pretty archaic in that sentence. Sentences run on, don't really resolve into anything. "The porch is in poor shape..." The paragraph works in a stream of consciousness sense and if you're really writing something I'd keep it, to cut it down a little bit in future. Everything else is more hackneyed than heartbroken.

>>8329118
It's cute. I can buy it - this was pretty much high school, all over the autistic spectrum. The characters are vivid, you put their quirks down well, I think this would make a great story if you decide to go ahead with it.

>>8328985
"Oh dear." Oh dear.

>>8327115
Good high school poem. It's got good rhythm for the most part (too forced "at each year" - doesn't make grammatical or logical sense to me) but the imagery is all cliched. I don't understand the dash at the end. It seems like a big impactful flourish, like you're waiting for applause or something. Strangely it works, because I can really hear the crickets.

>>8325236
As erotic poetry goes, it's pretty charmless. I'm not saying it has to be built on circumlocution, but I think it would benefit from some witty euphemism or something, or if not, a little image or two. As it stands, it's all abstraction. It reads like lineated Freud. "A bit limp", A hue hue.

>>8325379
>My writing is poor
Turn it to religion or booze. All kidding aside, your candid way of speaking gave me more of a laugh than any of your writing, or anything in this thread. Just ease up a little.

>>8329150
Thanks, yeah, I agree that it is choppy, I'm not going for Hemingway, but more the innocence of high school as it (gradually) gets lost, so I wanted this simplistic style to exaggerate the ways the characters act as it goes along, as "real life" circles in on them? If that makes sense. Any ideas?

>>8329214
Thanks, dude. I have no idea where I'm going with it, might be episodic.

>>8326188
Now this could go places. Crystal images, gentle rhythm, reminds me a little of Leonard Cohen's poetry. The second stanza gets a little clunky in places - I'm sure you could rephrase that first sentence truer to the rest of the rhythm, and as for "suffocated" I think locked door would be just as good, but it's entirely up to you. It's a wonderful poem.

>>8325863
Heh, that's a real wit you've got. Killed myself at "Colonic destitution in your area". It's genuinely funny, maybe unpublishable, but funny all the same. You ever tried writing prose? You've got a flair, that's for sure.

>>8329248
>Episodic

You know, I think that would work great. I just got what it reminded me of - these audio-cassettes I used to loan out the library as a kid, of these kind of school adventures. You don't see so many of them now, in print or otherwise. Specifically "Fireballs from Hell", Rose Impey or "Hoot", Carl Hiaasen, though yours is a little more mature, obviously. Best of luck with it.

>>8329257
Hey man, I really appreciate this. As for prose, I've thrown a few pieces into the bucket, but honestly I don't have the patience to construct massive walls of text and assemble them into a coherent structure, etc. etc. I usually just see one of these threads and decide to cough something up. In fact, it might be a shame, but other than my journal, the only writing I do is in a 4chan reply box. I suspect it's the same for many here. Thanks again, though—means a lot.

>>8325447
>lmao what the fuck kind of advice is this? I'll let it expand and contract in your face, if you know what I mean ;)
Nice! here's your Upvote fellow redditor

Grind, grind, grind away
I've never actually worked.
Grind, grind, grind away
my girlfriend actually twerks.

kmn