Critique Thread

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1/2
Here's something I finally got accepted into a local magazine, after twelve or so rejection letters.

Here's a poem I wrote:

Oh, help me in my weakness
I heard the drifter say
As they carried him from the courtroom
And were taking him away
My trip hasn't been a pleasant one
And my time it isn't long
And I still do not know
What it was that I've done wrong

Well, the judge, he cast his robe aside
A tear came to his eye
You fail to understand, he said
Why must you even try
Outside, the crowd was stirring
You could hear it from the door
Inside, the judge was stepping down
While the jury cried for more

Oh, stop that cursed jury
Cried the attendant and the nurse
The trial was bad enough
But this is ten times worse
Just then a bolt of lightning
Struck the courthouse out of shape
And while everybody knelt to pray
The drifter did escape

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>>8329112
2/2

>>8329114
I didn't catch much in the way of subtext, seemed pretty straightforward. I do admire that you went with structure and rhyme, a lot of moderns find that cheesy, but I find there's some beauty in trying to write in a form

>>8329119
Not a story. Try human conflict of some kind next time.

>>8329107
Nigga...
>>8323650
It's LITERALLY on the first page

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/4280/4280-h/4280-h.htm

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George, Kyle and I sat in the library all huddled around the one PC at the end of the room in an effort to listen to the commotion going on next door. There was a partition that lead into the IT Department and at this moment one of our classmates, and self-styled lord of the perverts Robbie Feld was being chastised by the pea-headed Mr Turner.

We had been there on another one of our many attempts to “hack” the school’s computer system, and when this kicked off we couldn’t help but listen in.

Robbie was one of those kids who acted like a complete buffoon, but under the layers of autism and sexual deviance was a real intellectual, though he only rarely showed it. This time Robbie was being berated for wanking under the table close to the leg of Ann-Marie Chalmers. She had caught him, obviously, and had reported him for it.

We all shared a look and sniggered as the man who’s voice once broke into the lull of a black soul singer while talking about spreadsheets, went down through poor Robbie worse than I’d ever heard before. The word ‘wank’ was used a few times and every time I stifled a laugh. It’s not that teachers never swore at the school but at such a volume and frequency, Jesus Christ. Eventually there was silence, it felt like it had went on forever until finally from the corner of my eye I watched Robbie enter the library.

I motioned to the rest of the group until our eyes were all firmly locked on Robbie Feld. He walked over and took a seat at one of the computers and began to type, his fingers speeding along like he was some sort of Rain man, it was really something else. Finally we went over to see what he was doing and there on the screen was a poem, Robbie spilling his soul in beautiful words about his love for Ann-Marie. Such a poem would have made Lord Byron proud. As I said those fingers were made for more brilliant things than touching his cock. A real intellectual.

My dick was dry
My mouth was wet
If only I
Had somewhere to sit

Experimental flash fiction -

We are with Christina; her office building is not brutalist and any value it would’ve had in that regard is offset by subsequent renovations which have aimed for a more Shard-chic / glassy –behemoth type look: they’re actually glass panels, of that 8mm film-ish tint which reminds us sterile and temporally-sterile pond water, that have been whatever the architectural equivalent of stapling is on’d to the lattice of un-windowed concrete, which looks, through them, like concrete looks when it is moving very fast.
We are still with her. Christina knows nothing about architecture. Her desk is very boring and there’s basically nothing one could mention of it. Christina obviously knows this and so never mentions her desk in any great detail to anybody but she’s aware of that fact it’s bright wood coloured and probably some type of mdf or composite wood, but she’d would be hard pressed to tell you if it’s entirely square or if there’re organic curves at points where her she rarely looks. She is in here.
Christina’s boss is called Humphrey Donovan and he’s not actually her boss but her line manager, technically he’s her immediate superior although of course such terms are never mentioned and their conversations rarely take a turn where they’d need to be informed by hierarchy in any way as wasn’t already implicit in the general way they talk to one another. She never knows if this makes her feel sad or not. She doesn’t care what food she eats here because she monitors her breakfast and dinner pretty carefully.
We are looking at Christina. She feels strongly about the way she looks as she imagines most people do, but as she imagines is universal, she has trouble being objective about her looks and also worrying how morally dubious it is to spend time on how objective one’s being about the way one looks. Christina would not find this funny.
Christina has a fantasy where she goes into the bathroom and begins to cry for some unknown reason and then someone comes in and she has a very good reason. We are still with her.
Christina has other fantasies, like we have, but she never knows whether these tell her anything or whether she should feel sad about them.
At the top of Christina’s building is a large satellite, we are not with her anymore, but we’d know that she imagined once smoking a spliff with a friend while sitting in the lip of the satellite; she is not there.

>>8329195
It's actually good, but I don't like the last paragraph. Fails as a punchline.

Some of the dialect sounds like from half a decade ago "it was really something else". Should adopt some of the passive-aggressive vulgarity of the current time, otherwise it's just awkward.

OK. Fuck it. I'll guess we'll just run two critique threads for no fucking reason.

>>8329269
I don't think your sentences are long enough.

>>8329253
my dick is dry
my mouth no wit
spread her pussy
my cock can't fit

One bell knocked him out his nut & seven more agitated his mind back to a position of responsibility. Summer seas and another cigarette. He tied the ragged robe about himself, walked out on deck. Too much of everything, he thought. He was sinking, even if the ship wasn't, and the scotch was too watered and salted to count as a real vice. He held himself against the chill. Minutes passed before he checked himself staring down Rango Jibb.

"You're making me nervous," Said Rango, suspended high in the rigging, holding aloft one plastic trident from the Atlantic City beachfront, "Doth one mock I, Pissidon, Lord of Lemon Water, AKA King Uric of Scandinavia AKA Woodrow 'Watersports' Wilson. You got a net handy, huh?." He waved the thing about.
"Where's Croy?"
"Down below. Covered in Soy sauce. You can catch him if you're quick," And as Muller was heading over, "You blood thirsty bastard."

Well shit. Over starboard he found Croy hooked to the trawler by one ankle, the other drifting lackadaisical in the surf. Laughing all the way across the waves. His body shot red and naked over the pacific blue, nightmarish shadows threatening the queazy little life-ring, breaking and shimmering in the late afternoon. Shark attention, Muller thought at first, relieved to realize it was just trails off the sauce. The absolute madman had robbed Chico's ever limited stash. Frantically he assessed how international waters would influence some kind of truce, "Is this some kind of joke?"
"They ain't biting, chief." Croy yelled up.

He was a case from Sunnyshore Institutional Facility, MA, USA, the real crust of psychological reportage, enough so to convince Lew they still provided a national service. Telekinetics, tin caps, ghost hunters, philanthropists all featured on that register. Croy's limited release was co-engineered by a strange & illicit night, present now in rumour only, between Managing Director Ruben Bargloid & Jessica Sylvestry, Captain Sylvestry's sister, but lines of permanent marker had since blacked any windows betraying that particular affair. Croy's psychotic episodes were reported & detailed in the log mostly by himself, all referring back to just the one maudlin ingredient in his head at constitutional odds with larger society: too much honesty, with occasional lapses of judgement.

>>8329435
http://vocaroo.com/i/s0ewqFhJLTUM

There should be a new rule where you have to be older than 18 to post in critique threads. Right?

>>8329498
I'd because with just having no genre fiction. This shit is fucking terrible.

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THE ALPHA

I plaque of blank
A unique tank of dark
No words
No sound
No where to see
The gifted mind He, God apires to be
Who knows Himself, and knows all
But He doesn't make it seem

Granted he gave the atoms he made
And it's spark began to peek
And little sounds closely shroud
But no other can hear them sing
Brought the magnitude, as more the matter grew
He watched them drown to sink

And his spark of light began to ignite
And dust blew out the rings
A star was made as bright and beige
With life poured in stream
He watched and knew
As the clouds withdrew
A comet was born engraved

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the foul, maddening buzz
weighing on his head
Such a furious welcome home,
unfit for the Sovereign
who tends to his skull-sized
lonely domain
and the crass, miserly
pleasures of his palate

still entranced by
the simple joys of summertime
the bloodred lust,
the rich, luxuriant warmth of
a june morning
Oh the promise of boyhood:
the many fleeting victories
encased in glass
and sweet, ornamental jewels
taunting, flashing
her crystalline charms, flirting
with the want
straining on your bones,
nestled in the marrow
like the clay of the sculptor,
like the grief of the drunk;

prodding at those
delusional spirits
tending
to the garden of your greed,
sowing the green
and the olivine

-- exultant
of the most high,
fortunes of stature
fortunes eternal
fortunes everlasting!
these familiar, sour temptations
they still buzz
purring in their sleep

cold, subdued, squandered
sunken
in the rust
of that old abundant Kingdom
throned by conceit,
and devoured

>>8329253
Her cunt did gape
And her tits dripped
Is this considered rape?
I just want but a sip...

stop talking about darkness and madness and alienation holy shit

There was a breeze in the forest. A man woke up abruptly to the sound of horses. He’d forgotten how he got there but knew for some reason that the sound of horses wasn’t good. He quickly got up and ran through brush but stopped short of the dirt road in front of him. A group of Mounted Imperial Guardsmen was coming along the road. His face was red with paranoid fear of getting caught as he watched them pass by. He knew that they were angry and looking for somebody. He recalled earlier in the night that he was being chased by them.

After waiting a couple minutes, he finally, cautiously got up and started to walk along the road, toward the town. When he first woke up it was still dark, but as he approached his hometown the sun seemed to be coming up. He had lost his apprenticeship the other day and was coming home hungover from getting drunk in the forest. This is what he had recalled. Finally, after coming toward what felt like a mirage he made it to his village. As soon as he walked past the first building he was approached by the village idiot, Ivan.

Ivan gave a look of appreciation for his friend’s appearance and ran up to him like a dog runs to his master when he comes home. “Hiya Andrei, where were you for the last few days” “I got lost in the forest, everything is fine” Andrei said solemnly as he remembered his lost apprenticeship. “Can I have some coins for a drink, I’m famished” Ivan said eagerly. “Sure, why not” Andrei said as he gave Ivan a small cloth bag of coins. “My life is over anyway, why should I care about my money anymore” Ivan thought as he continued walking toward his home.

There was a smell of pie as he walked into his small home. It was a pleasant reminder that his wife was home. It encouraged him to go all the way to the kitchen to see her. She gasped at him as he walked through the opening and said “Honey, you look so haggard, where have you been?” He responded with “I got lost in the forest again.” His wife, Natalie, responded with “Well, the Guard came by earlier while I was watering the garden. They were asking for you. Did something happen that you’re not telling me about?” Andre, surprised by this, quickly said “No, my dear, there is nothing I am not telling you, I think there has been a misunderstanding.” His beautiful wife, knowing this wasn’t the first, and certainly not the last time her husband would get into trouble, let out a deep sigh and said “Well, I made cherry pie if you’re hungry, can you go to the marketplace tomorrow to pick up some flowers? We need them for when the royal family passes by our street tomorrow.” Andrei had forgotten about the parade that was due to happen tomorrow. Since their village was on the outskirts of the castle, royal convoys passed through more frequently than other parts of the empire. It was customary to throw the most beautiful flowers before the royal convoy whenever it passed through a village.

>>8329799
"Write what you know" :^)

If I post some lyrics I wrote will I get called a fag?

>>8329942
>Mounted Imperial Guardsmen
Dropped.

I really want /tg/ to fuck off from critique threads

>>8329969
I never been on /tg/, just sounded like a good fantasy name, GIVE ME THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY

>>8329107
there is no point to type in the metaised (or the cyber-acrolect, as your resident techno anarchist puts it) vernacular of the internet but there is also no point in assuming stiffly connoted formality by conforming with writing conventions like applying commas subordinate clauses or other useless sh(1t. if something is serious and you want someone who doesnt like sombre grammatical phonological teleological accuracy (a sane emotionally applaudable person really to be able to jump the hurdle that is autoimposed shoehorn of the former or latter from being a f(=u)ck tard and browsing websites that have socialisation beyond the analogic formality of writing0 Dear vapid f(-u)cking balding middle aged neighbour your very lovely dog took a massive sh(-i)t on my car but i cleaned it no worries just letting you know in this very milieu there are no ulterior motives from this email by the way i like your new run of the mill in not only financial aesethetic but in every f(-u)cking possible way car which has no plausible reason to be lauded its darker gray tone really chromatically resonates with your decaying pastorale clay bricks best regards your non denizen friend
the prose has been established and has grounds for it now and the theme is to as well to an extent but there is no hint at the subject matter even in the first paragraph not even thinly veiled or maybe there is but in that case its to thinly veiled and it wont be impactful soon. hallmark of bad writing desu the connecting cute anime girl vibes nuances should be spread evenly on the bread that is not only the plot of the story but every last letter of the text including the preface acknowledgments index as well as the repeated title on the anachronistic and inconvenient cellophane dust jacket. at least thats my opinion and i think its well founded because nobody else exists i am a lockean ontologist if i am the only person that OBSERVES the fu(-)cking world and nobody else does because they are just cones and rods only my heurestically conceived ideas are valid at all so shut your thinking process the f)u-ck up^ because it l(a-i)terally wont affect me in the slightest not one bit

the idea at hand is confusion but it is not. make of that what you will if you misinterpret it refer to my lockean dialectic above so it is your fault. not sure what other term can be used in this case. i understand the idea of suddenness. read books on suddenness. it is a simple childs CRAYON TIER explanation: retroactivity. see things from an omnipresent perspective because of a detachment because the event is over. it still hits you like a winter wind tho when you like winter winds but this particular one is bad and unwarranted because of externals.

>>8329947
from the writing it's pretty clear the writers don't "know" any of those things anyway

>>8329978
There's no good. Get some vocabulary and stop writing fantasy.

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A Battle in my Fantasy Novel about Dwarves.

They're all in a cave so bare with me here. Oh and sorry if it's structured a little Dino.

Page 1 of 5

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>>8330146
Page 2 of 5

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>>8330147
Page 3 of 5

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>>8330150
Page 4 of 5

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>>8330152
Page 5 of 5

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Well here I go...
http://pastebin.com/VXTUbFCM

A ranger-esque inspired story.

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>>8330155
fucking shit
also TL;DR

>>8330176
TL;DR?

Also can you get into more detail? I wanna know what wrong senpai, hit me with your best shot!

>>8330146
Lots of stuff wrong with this one. You fucked up your semi-colon and there are tons of grammar things like sentence fragments and punctuation. You can say things in fewer words, too. Work on brevity.

A poem for you all to read/critique, if you so desire.

The City of Summer has Fallen.
Blood carpet and flame arches,
Your boots carry dead foliage from pavement,
Paint roadways chaos, incendiary red, orange.
Your legs slow, slow,
Stop.

Reverse

accelerate backwards, leaves gain shape as you retrace,
grow full again and lift spinning upwards! undecay!
petals remake embrace with branches, as life creeps back into nature your
new-eyes reflect new-trees, now modestly
clothed.
Innocent summer, red splashes
pulled back into brown wrists,
trees love themselves verdant, whole

>>8330194
Thanks senpai. So it's a grammar and word surplus problem then?

Storywise though? Did it build an image?

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>>8329253
>>8329400
>>8329796

10/10 amazon tier erotica anon. Now go out and make a fortune out of it.

Also a story I've been working on. 1/6

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>>8330246
2/2

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>>8330248
3/2000045

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>>8330251
4/boredplsfuckingendmylife

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>>8330253
5/6

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>>8330255
6/6

Well it's not like it's going anywhere.... So go ahead... Tear it apart.

Would a work of postmodernist critique be well accepted here? I'd like someone to give me honest opinions about it before sending it to my American Literature professor

>>8330400
That's fine.

>>8330246
I'm not reading 6 pages of shitty genre fiction. Grow up and read and write real books.

Seriously people, stop with the shitty genre fiction. Go to fucking Reddit with that shit.

>>8330004
Who hurt you Nick Land

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1/8

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>>8330694
2/8

>>8330146
At first glance I can say that reading about comma usage, especially in dialogue, would help you. E.g., the first sentence should be "row faster, men." Also, using "said" for dialogue is perfectly fine. Even if you have many lines, using "said" when necessary is fine. There is no need for words like "barked" and "hissed" and "cleared" and "grunted," they are useful sometimes, but generally I advise against it. I only read the first page, because I assume the other ones will have the same weaknesses and strengths. I like how you write the dialogue, the words the characters said. Your description of certain objects are sufficient, nor too sparse nor unnecessarily detailed. Generally, you know when to end a sentence, how long or short they should be. The pacing is good.

I can see the potential in this, if you refine your writing, your grammar, vocabulary, and punctuation. And I say this as someone who is quite tired of reading fantasy, an avid fan of Narnia and Tolkien. My critique of your writing, by the way, was a contrast with Tolkien's own style—I recently read TLOTR so I have it fresh in my memory. Keep up the writing, read more, good fantasy and bad fantasy, and other genres. Though I'd say you could benefit from reading, and paying attention to how it is written.

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>>8330705
3/8

The Myth of Victoria Bay

The classical historian Lamentarchus wrote of a tribe who lived in an abandoned settlement left by an earlier race. Disease spread like wildfire near their land, and in an effort to keep his people safe, the King blockaded the gates of the town. Tribes from neighboring lands died waiting to enter, but the settlement remained unscathed.

Yet soon, with no supplies from outside their walls, the King’s tribe began to starve. He consulted the elders, but they were no help. Worried about his people, the King couldn’t sleep. He cried into the smoke of his fire, “What should be done?” As he sat in anguish, a beetle crawled from the flames. “Are you here to help?” the King asked. The beetle spoke, “The only way they will survive is for two of your strongest tribesmen to guard the gate, letting pass the needed supplies and turning away the sick.”

When sunrise came, the King ordered the men to stand sentry. They turned many away, but let through a young woman carrying a basket of grapes. That evening, the townspeople danced and rejoiced in celebration. They ate every last piece of fruit . But the grapes, as they waited at the gates for inspection, had been infected. The King’s tribe began to die the next morning.

The disease moved quickly, and many perished. One of the elders fell ill, and in an attempt to seek treatment, ordered the gates opened. As the sick poured in, the King felt all was lost. But his young grandchild, more hopeful than he, grasped his hand and cried, “Oh grandfather! I know a way out; we can leave this place and start again.”

The King followed the girl and her parents to a small hole she had made in the wall of the settlement. They pressed through and out to the other side. Alone, they walked for five days and nights until they came to water. There they settled, unprotected in the midst of chaos, but alive on Victoria Bay.

>>8330679
Stop sperging out for a moment and please calmly define "real books" for me, my good man.

This is a Critique thread, either criticize the work (grammar, word structure, plot, characters) or don't criticize it at all. No one's forcing you to do anything. But if you prefer to sperg out... That's up to you.

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>>8330712
4/8

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>>8330718
5/8

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>>8330723
6/8

>>8330246

g e n r e tier.

isn't good either. You could try marketing it to 11 year olds and hope for the best, though

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>>8330727
7/8

>>8329942
ivan thinks his life is over? or andrei? it was fine, didn't really like it. felt nerdy and sad.

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>>8330735
8/8

I've excluded part of the bibliography but that's not important right?

>>8330715
see
>>8328140
and
>>8328191

Your shit is fucking terrible; it's not real literature. Fuck off back to Retard land if you want to write shitty supernatural evil teen werewolf bullshit.

>>8330739
>I've excluded part of the bibliography but that's not important right?
It's the most important part.

>>8330707
Thanks man

Guess I'll just read some more fantasy, eh? Get acquainted a little bit more with the genre. I've read the Hobbit, so I know Tolkein's pretty cool. Haven't had the time for Lord of the Rings though, just starting out with Sanderson, Mistborn to be exact.

>>8330745
then have the rest:

- Un posto nella mente - Il nuovo romanzo americano 1962-1982, Franco La Polla
- Irony's Edge, Linda Hutcheon
- A Theory of Parody, Linda Hutcheon
- A New Literary History of America, Greil Marcus/Werner Sollors
- Ficciones, Jorge Luis Borges
- Aleph, Jorge Luis Borges
- Il costante concetto di ironia in riferimento a Socrate, Soren Kierkegaard

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How do I add soul to my writing? A uni teacher gave me this comment on an article I've written before.

>It is a beautiful showcase of the writer's gift to produce an eloquent bouquet of words, but ultimately lacks soul and ability of evoking any emotion to the reader

I'm too fucking ashamed to share my work. But generally, how do you write something emotional but not come off as pretentious?

Pic unrelated

>>8330743
I never said my work was in the brilliant lines of Lolita or The Great Gatsby; simply that I wish to have my writing critiqued. Critique. That's an important word there.But if you do not wish to critique it... Why are you still replying?

Guess you didn't hear me the first time, huh? Continue on sperging out, my good man :)

>>8330713
anyone want to check this out? it's pretty simple.

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>>8330750
I suggest you read, perhaps in this order, The Lord of the Rings, Narnia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Chronicles_of_Narnia#Reading_order in publication order,last two optional), and Eoin Colfer. I have very strong and even more strongly mixed opinion about Colfer: his premises are solid, his main characters are well developed, but his writing, his style, feels bland at times. After reading Tolkien and Lewis you'll see what I mean. But he has a great way of creating tension. I like some parts of his writing so much I am not ashamed to admit I read him. You might want to read JK Rowling too, but mostly for the writing style, her plot fails at times and especially after the third book.

There's a series of a Spanish author, called Memorias de Idhún, most likely translated to English (I am a fluent Spanish speaker, read them in Spanish). It has a love triangle that resolves in a non-conventional manner, the prose is verysolid at times and world building is acceptable. ;Some scenes and chacaters are very memorable/

0sorryfor the messof this post. Took a high dose of xanax after my first reply and I can't quite control my train of thought or my fingers. I hope this will be legible?

That's all the fantasy I can recommend tht I can say I've read more than once since I was a child. But just read what you can find. What appeals to you, either the world or the themes or the characters or the prose. Learn from it. Learn what to not do, and put it together in your own style.

again sorry for the mess of a reply and if I came off as rude, but you'll be sr=prised at how bad what you wrote now will seem in two years.

>>8330768
Can you share what you got this on? i m interested in reading it.

>>8330795
Again, fucking thank you bro! I'll keep these names listed down and be out on the lookout for their stuff. Thanks a ton!

>>8330813
An excerpt of the article I written a few years back

> The children suffered from poverty, a chain reaction affecting generation after generation in a wheel of agony with little light of salvation—they were The Last, The Lost and The Least. To me, hunger was always just a slight inconvenience, my exclamations of starvation merely signified a lack of food appealing to my spoiled palates; however, to the children it is a ceaseless battlefield on the border of life and death, a merciless struggle against the reaper. Malnutrition has robbed their years away, impairing their growth and beset them with medical conditions. The stark dichotomy between our lives came to me as a revulsion, to think that a week ago I was complaining about five meals a day being too much for me, how heavy my sins must have weighed on my back—I, a glutton, should live as a preta for my repulsive hedonism!

To /lit/ it is very clichéd writing. Is this excerpt passable?

>>8330825
The proceeding paragraph

> While the feeding session proceeded, I gulped back tears lest they see the repugnant emotional outburst of a sinned man. I wished with fervour to protect their smiles for just a moment longer, to be able to help them more than just simple games and dances; alas, time was blind to my pleas. No matter how tight I clasped, grains of sand crept through my fingers to the abyss—all that I could do was cherish our moments together, fleeting yet sweet, like dusts of sugar on the tongue. It was before lunch that our time ended with a final colouring session, the whole session lasting no longer than three hours.

>>8330825
Xanax anon so beware of a a train of thought that's fallibg apart on every curve and confuing = with backspce because new keyboard

The first sentence is pretty solid, but there is a disjointed jump, goingfrom a psychological descriptio of anguish of those who were the 3 Big L. Then it suddenl jumps into me, a "me" who is not bothered by it. IT'S NOT a contrast, it is simply going from A to C.what you are missing, and I quote
>but ultimately lacks soul and ability of evoking any emotion to the reader
aYou need a B. I sense to emotional link, I don't feel why dh==should I care about the Last and co. Their sufferings are an inconvenience to you. You need to establish an emotional link etwwen you (THE Narrator, not you the author) with the ones who suffer more emotionally. You describ =e dispassionately their plight but I can't relte to them t all, or how they are related to you beyond being i the same space (temporal or physical)> =

It is passable but it is missing something. perhaps detail how the last, lost, etc suffer. A child starving, whipped by a particularly violent master, even fighting pigeons for scraps of bread. How it impacts you (the narrator, not the author), how "I did not feel their hunger, I did not feel their physical suffering, but I was fully aware of their desperation slowly turning despair, a flame that was dying in this metaphorical winter, just as an old an abandoned prson would perish in a crowded and filthy hospital, just another number and another empty bead to clean by a nameless nurse"

Thisis borderline nonsense, but i hope you get what i SAY, yes? I might post a draft if encouraged to do so

>>8330842
Thank you anon, I got what you said, that has been very helpful. I didn't realize that missing B was a very vital component.

I would love to see your draft. Are there any methods to overcome the problem of missing links?

>>8330866
Here is my draft. Wrote over half of it (everything fter 2,) tonight, though fortunately whi;e still sober. Exxcept the last paragraph. https://www.dropbox.com/s/hvu0kioe2iiqvaz/Pyrophilia.rtf?dl=0 work in progress, no revisions at all except touching up some sentences a couple times.

I suggest reading authors who write stories similar to yours. Find a way to tie a scene happening to a third person to yours, even if it's the protagonist describing something happening, and then reflecting upon it. Tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, I'll e able to tell you more coherently what I mean

>>8330768
I'd have to read the piece. Without context her statement is largely meaningless.

>>8330774
I want to live in a world where you've killed yourself for writing shitty genre fiction. Seriously. Kill yourself.

>>8330876
it's not amazing, but what genre would you say that shit is

>>8330871
Thank you, that was quite a beautiful piece of work.

>>8330872
>Goodbye Gutom, a campaign committed to poverty eradication in the Philippines, is one of the experiences that struck me the most. When I first arrived at the hall near an in-city resettlement project, I was greeted by a group of children, no less than a hundred if my memory serves correctly. They surged with brazen zeal, unafraid to welcome our group that was assigned to them—how exuberant they were to see us! As we began introducing ourselves to them, their eyes lit up, anticipation quivering with sanguine smiles melting the heart even of the coldest steel, but only we knew how callously unfitting their expressions were. Under their cheerful masquerades were pallid complexions, malnourished and cadaverous bodies of sheer skin and bone with brittle nails discoloured by anaemia without mercy. Their faces may have told a story of happiness, but their frail bodies bellowed otherwise; the juxtaposition of the two images was a needle through the sullen heart, a silver dagger piercing the diaphanous mist of a fragile illusion.

>The children suffered from poverty, a chain reaction affecting generation after generation in a wheel of agony with little light of salvation—they were The Last, The Lost and The Least. To me, hunger was always just a slight inconvenience, my exclamations of starvation merely signified a lack of food appealing to my spoiled palates; however, to the children it is a ceaseless battlefield on the border of life and death, a merciless struggle against the reaper. Malnutrition has robbed their years away, impairing their growth and beset them with medical conditions. The stark dichotomy between our lives came to me as a revulsion, to think that a week ago I was complaining about five meals a day being too much for me, how heavy my sins must have weighed on my back—I, a glutton, should live as a preta for my repulsive hedonism!

>>8330898
>While the feeding session proceeded, I gulped back tears lest they see the repugnant emotional outburst of a sinned man. I wished with fervour to protect their smiles for just a moment longer, to be able to help them more than just simple games and dances; alas, time was blind to my pleas. No matter how tight I clasped, grains of sand crept through my fingers to the abyss—all that I could do was cherish our moments together, fleeting yet sweet, like dusts of sugar on the tongue. It was before lunch that our time ended with a final colouring session, the whole session lasting no longer than three hours.

>As the children walked away bidding us “Paalam”, I closed my eyes, endeavouring to keep a mental image of them, vowing to never relinquish my memory. Three weeks may have elapsed, my sorrow lacerates just as intense as it did before. Perhaps they have forgotten me by now, and I would never blame them for that; after all, I am just a passer-by in their lives. Even though their features evanesce by the day, the realization of my sinful indulgence will forever be as haunting as an apparition stalking the night.

>>8330898
I'm glad you enjoyed what I wrote. surely tomorrow ehen I'm sober I'll find mny mistakes and then fix them. good night. hope you hve a good one

>>8330973
Good night to you too.

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I'm trying to write up a summary of my thinking from the past year or so; I'd like to know if it's comprehensible/the slightest bit illuminating.
I feel like I need to elaborate on some of the points I make but idk how to do that without losing the direction. I think it kind of comes together at the end, but you can judge.

http://pastebin.com/XignWvjK

>>8331355
>http://pastebin.com/XignWvjK
Few minor typo mistakes, btw. Not bad. I don't care much for academic style writing so I won't be a fair critic if I go over the whole thing.

>>8331370
>Few minor typo mistakes, btw
Ah cheers. I do need to rephrase a bit as well.
>I don't care much for academic style writing so I won't be a fair critic if I go over the whole thing.
Fair enough. I'm doing this mostly to cohere my head's jumble so that I can attempt something a bit more lively. It is so much easier to write thoughts straight down than to illustrate them (which I eventually want to do).

>>8331393
agreed, this is how i write - just need to make sure it's completely coherent and without extra baggage to start, so that as it expands it doesn't lose the thread.

bumping this thread

>>8332519
Fuck you.
This thread is shit.
All genre bullshit or grimdark edge.
Sage'd.

>>8332575
Struck nerve did I?

Calm down, sperg

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Please tell me if this is shit or not, already posted it in two threads and got no replies in almost 2 days.

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

Pic inspired me

>>8332752
You struck his nerve by bumping the thread?

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it's bad, but how bad is it?

>>8333428
Really bad. Like I'd literally kill myself if I ever wrote something that bad. Like if I wrote that, and went back to read it right after I wrote it I would stand up, walk into the bathroom, look into the mirror, then just start stabbing myself in the chest with my toothbrush until it went clear through the muscle on my ribs and into my heart. I would twist it as well to inflict as much pain as possible. All to ensure that I would never release the shit that is my existence onto even the lowest animal of this universe.

>>8333443
lol well then. thanks for the laff m8

>>8333428
When you're writing numbers into a story then it's usually better to write them out (put 'nine' instead of '9').

Other than that, the exposition is sort of confused. You're talking about this Scandinavian type world and how harsh it is, but then you mention Jaakoppi raising a flag...only to abandon him for more exposition. Try to section it off.

Perhaps have the opening scene be Jaakoppi raising the flag, then give him a companion that he can chat to about seal hunting or the weather or whatever. Dole out this information about your world in a more interesting fashion than just flat out telling the reader.

>I wrote this a while ago. It's about some gulag prisoners wandering through the USSR in the immediate aftermath of an asteroid impact
>Probably not any good

[1/2]

At first Kohl wasn’t sure what it was. The odd feeling that prickled distractedly across the back of his neck. Like a rash. He half turned, looking through the icy grayness of the landscape behind him, what little of it he could see anyways, and squinted. Yet there was nothing but a softly falling skein of ash, raining out of a featureless sky.

They had passed a tree earlier in the afternoon, its wood bleached bone white and not yet grimed into the same lifeless gray as everything else. Kohl tried to look for it and after a while spotted its skeletal form, at the bottom of a little rise. It was blurred and indistinct, yet gave Kohl something of a frame of reference. If he’d had to guess then he would have said that the tree was two hundred meters away.

Not far at all on an ordinary day.

Yet...

Now he stopped, squinting around him, breath fogging the lenses of the aviator’s goggles that he had pilfered from the armory at Balakhna. They were grimy, smeared with something that he hadn’t quite been able to wash away, and so lent the world a slightly distorted image. Hardly worse than what everything already looked like, he supposed. Then paused.

Something had moved. Even through the skeins of smoke and ash he was sure of it. The prickly paranoia that caressed the back of his neck, urging hair that had long since evolved away to rise up in fright, now seemed solid and definite. Like he could scramble up it, rising away into the ash clouded sky, feet supported by nothing at all.

Pulling at the cloth that covered his mouth he turned back around, to where the others were picking their way up the shattered hillside.

“We’re being followed.” Kohl said urgently, voice rough. All movement ceased. Alexei, the Hiwi, took a lunging step back down the hillside, scattering dusty soil. With the checkered cloth wound around the lower half of his head, and the fuzzy ushanka and scientist’s goggles covering the rest he looked positively anarchic.

[2/2]

“Are you sure?” The Hiwi asked him, hunching down slightly, like he expected to come under fire at any moment. And perhaps they would. Kohl didn’t know who was out there.

“Down there,” Kohl pointed, to a spot where the hillside folded in upon itself. The stumps of shattered trees pointed haphazardly from that area in all directions. Like broken but still stubbornly accusing fingers. Alexei stared, expression behind his goggles impossible to read. His breath steamed out through the checkered face cloth.

“I don’t see anyone.” He said, but even as the words came out Kohl could tell that he wasn’t sure that what he was saying was true.

The view was simply too obscured, interrupted by flickering bits of ash, by a numb sort of terror that pulsed within them all.

“Wolff.” Kohl said, cocking his head up the slope, to where the Oberscharfuhrer stood, Soviet rifle clutched in gray, ash grimed hands. Though his face was covered, same as the others, same as himself, Kohl could tell that he was frightened. Not that that made him feel any better.

“We need to get over this hill,” Wolff said, voice toneless with fright, “we’re too exposed out here.” Kohl had no disagreements with this assessment, and neither, so it seemed, did Alexei. They moved, soil crumbling beneath them as they moved, kicking up little puffs of ashy dust.

And though Kohl kept an eye out behind him, he didn’t see anything more. By the time they reached the top of the hill, what seemed like an eternity later, he was beginning to question whether he’d seen anything at all.

They huddled down in a little hollow a few meters from the top of the hill, just close enough to peek over and see if anyone was following them. But each time someone got up the courage to take a look they saw nothing but the same dead, blasted landscape that they had just spent some hours trudging over.

No life. No plants. Nothing.

Resin
A black ball, scraped out of the sharp
shards of glass that was the body of a
deceased pipe, will feed the foul soul
of a fucking fiend. Rolled between
a thumb and forefinger, leaving
streaks like shit stains, are the leftover
binge that caked the pipe like
the inside of your pipes.
The black ball is fuel for your hearse.
Inhaled, time slows a bit, borrowed
as if from the end of your life.

>>8333445
I wasn't joking.

I'm currently in the process of writing a series of five video games. This snippet is working dialog for the conclusion of a DLC chapter of the 2nd game.


Dramatis Personae:

Elena - A burned, one-legged woman with no reason to live
Emmett - A black dragon who has decided that human suffering outweighs and has a claim over human happiness

Context (the body of the DLC in summary):

Elena comes from a small village, marries, her husband dies in war, she joins the equivalent of doctors without borders, all her DWB friends are killed by a rogue military unit, during which time she loses her leg, she accompanies a knight back to her village which turns out to be destroyed by plague, she's forced to marry the only man who would take her, has a son with him who she loves, gets smitten with a rich man who courts her but turns out to just want to pump and dump her for a fetish for her missing leg, but when she finds out and denies him he gets super pissed at being denied by a fucking cripple, so he comes to her house, ties up her son, and rapes her
then he sets the house on fire and goes and kicks the son to death
and she has to crawl out of the burning house towards her son
and then the police and fire wagon come but she can't even muster up the will to say anything, and the bastard husband is yelling about how it's her fault, how she killed the son or got him killed
and so she's taken to jail and understandably tortured for a confession for weeks
but she's too broken to break
and then ultimately she's released because of a confession, which was actually just a homeless dude whose family was paid a pittance for his confession on behalf of the rich man
and so she can't do anything but walk, walk out of town, up into the hills, and off a cliff

_______________________________________________________

*Elena attempts to walk off a cliff, but finds herself grabbed by Emmet*

"This cliff is exactly the wrong height for suicide. I've seen men suffer for days before dying."

"It doesn't matter"

"Are you in that much pain?"

"I don't feel anything"

"Then why kill yourself?"

"I have no business left with life"

"What if I could give you business?"

"Please don't"

"Do you want others to suffer as you have?"

"..."

"Do you think that's impossible?"

"I know I'm not special. I'm just finished. It's the only mercy left."

"What if you could share that mercy? What if you could give that gift to all those in pain?"

"..."

"Well?"

:"..."

>>8333522
'Are the leftover binge; is a bit clumsy and potentially just incorrect (I suspect you're trying to conjure simultaneously the idea of one binge and many, with a hint towards the word bilge) and the whole 'caked the pipe/like the inside of your pipes' bit is a bit naff, the line break is there for no raisin and the pipes bit is too repetitive and strictly speaking it doesn't coat the inside of your pipes, it would be alveoli or tubes, depending on what you want (pipes are wider and more vulgar). Anyway it's needless edging which the last 3 lines render unnecessary and they weaken each other.

>>8333849

>are the leftover
>binge that caked the pipe like
>the inside of your pipes.

so just remove that and we good?

>>8333468
I mean, it's not bad, but you don't say anything in an especially unique way, so it's hard to say that the prose is interesting. Read more, is the best advice. Like "icy grayness" is a pretty mundane description. "What little of it he could see" could probably be shortened a lot. Also, you mean distractingly instead of distractedly, unless you mean that the odd feeling is distracted. Those are all in the first paragraph.

>>8333827
I don't know how to critique the first part. It's cliche but it's just a summary, and all summaries sound cliche. I don't get how the gameplay will work for it, though. It just seems like on-the-rails (linear) garbage. Anyway, the writing in the second part (the dialogue) is horrendously cliche. It seems almost verbatim from other awfully cliche writing.

Have you played David Cage games? Because, given the subject matter and the cliches, this seems just like something david cage would write.

>>8333898

I haven't played any David Cage games. And I think I just realized that I no longer understand the concept of a cliche It doesn't seem possible for me to rewrite the dialogue to any real degree without fundamentally rewriting the characters to the point of having radically different, perhaps inhuman psychology.

Regardless, it's DLC, and by necessity linear, since it's effectively a flashback (each of the DLC's is akin to a flashback, only the main game has any kind of serious branching narrative).

Like, here is non-cliche dialogue:

*Elena attempts to walk off a cliff, but finds herself grabbed by Emmet*

"Nice day for a walk?"

"I am very very very very unhappy and you are a dragon."

"I symbolize death"

"The moon sure is big today"

"But if we decide to kill everyone, at least we have a plot."

"What?"

"The More one has suffered, the less one demands. To protest is a sign one has traversed no hell."

"He proves by algebra that Hamlet's grandson is Shakespeare's grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his own father"

"Perhaps the same could be said of all religions. But enough talk. Have at you!"

"I had a son once"

"Then what?"

"Fire"

"Should we go to Village Inn, or Denny's"

"..."

"Well?"

:"..."

I am the reader’s brain, I think.
However, these thoughts originated
from the writer’s brain, jotted down,
transmitted, infected, taking from
the brain an energy elastic
that wraps around the words
and has you thinking,
“What am I reading?”
as that was written,
a fool who follows
the next line like
crumbs to a witch’s house.

>>8333866
well no m8 just fix it or else there'll be a big hole in your poem, maybe read some classic obscene poetry like Rochester or Ginsberg. Maybe some nice persian stuff as well, like the Rubayyat of Omar Khayyam or this thing by Hafez
With last night’s wine still singing in my head,
I sought the tavern at the break of day,
Though half the world was still asleep in bed;
The harp and flute were up and in full swing,
And a most pleasant morning sound made they;
Already was the wine-cup on the wing.
‘Reason,’ said I, ‘’t is past the time to start,
If you would reach your daily destination,
The holy city of intoxication.’
So did I pack him off, and he depart
With a stout flask for fellow-traveller.

Left to myself, the tavern-wench I spied,
And sought to win her love by speaking fair;
Alas! she turned upon me, scornful-eyed,
And mocked my foolish hopes of winning her.
Said she, her arching eyebrows like a bow:
‘Thou mark for all the shafts of evil tongues!
Thou shalt not round my middle clasp me so,
Like my good girdle – not for all thy songs! –
So long as thou in all created things
Seest but thyself the centre and the end.
Go spread thy dainty nets for other wings –
Too high the Anca’s nest for thee, my friend.’

Then took I shelter from that stormy sea
In the good ark of wine; yet, woe is me!
Saki and comrade and minstrel all by turns,
She is of maidens the compendium
Who my poor heart in such a fashion spurns.
Self, HAFIZ, self! That thou must overcome!
Hearken the wisdom of the tavern-daughter!
Vain little baggage – well, upon my word!
Thou fairy figment made of clay and water,
As busy with thy beauty as a bird.

Well, HAFIZ, Life’s a riddle – give it up:
There is no answer to it but this cup.

>>8333898
The thing about cliches is that nobody realizes you are using them if you write them well. Make them original and put your own spin on them. "I have no business left with life" is just not original. It feels like the sort of line I've heard a dozen times before. A lot of these lines are similarly unoriginal, and you could spice them up.

Maybe I shouldn't have focused on the cliches in my earlier post and instead talked about the way that the dialogue feels disjointed. "What if I could give you business?" "Please don't" is the biggest example. Maybe voice acting could fix it, but right now it reads in a disjointed way that makes them both feel sort of numb and unfeeling. It's like she isn't at all surprised at the dragon, or anything he's saying, and that sort of behavior is in and of itself a cliche which should be worked on.

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>>8329942
I feel it cuts to too many places and has us (the reader) assume to know too many things at once. Oh and the sentence structure is a bit off, like the dialogue for instance: why is the dialouge not seperated from one paragraph to the next for each line spoken. You should jump a new paragraph every time the mic is handed over to someone else to speak, other wise it may confuse readers as to who is talking to who.

>>8330774
Don't listen to that autistic sperg, he contributes nothing to the Critique board. But as to your writing; I'd say you need to better structure your dialogue. Every time someone new speak; make a new paragraph. The whole thing reads like a passage in the Bible, but I guess that's the point. Just don't write the entire story like this, or it'll sound like your telling me a story instead of showing it to me.

>>8330728
Thanks for reading m8. The intent was for teenage girls after all. Still, that is no excuse to write shitty.

>>8333221
Kek wills it, my friend. Spergs like him don't like being told what to do. He aims to sage the board, and I aimed to keep it going. Guess who Kek favored in the end?

Also here's my shitty Sci-fi piece I did for a writing class.

1 of 2

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>>8334070
2 of 2

>>8334070
Didn't read the whole thing, the prose has grammar issues and clarity issues, and overall it needs a lot of work. I'm not the genre fiction hater, but I will say that a lot of genre fiction writers here will do fuck all with their grammar. Most good writers respect the grammar. Learn to respect the grammar. Find out what sentence fragments and run-on sentences are. You gotta know the rules before you can break the rules. I'll do my thoughts on the first two paragraphs:
>the cacophonies streets
Do you mean cacophonous? Either way cacophony isn't as good of a word as you think it is.

>eerie as a graveyard
Pretty sure this semi colon is wrong because "eerie as a graveyard" is a fragment. Also, a graveyard is partly eerie for its quiet, so it gives a contrasting image to the cacophony.

>Consumed by sand...
This sentence has no subject.

>Mounds...
The way this sentence is written implies that the pavements also streamed through the city, which is a fine image, but I don't think it's what you mean. Also, even if it is what you mean, it makes the sentence needlessly complicated.

>An eastern gust turned his sight to the west
It's bad form to call a gust of wind a "he" unless you explain why you are giving it that quality. Also why does it have a sight? Don't anthropomorphize this gust of wind unless you have a good reason, and explain that reason to the reader.

>slop
slope?

>night was waking
This could be interesting phrasing, but again, same as the gust, why say it like this? If it seems like its waking, explain the ways that it's waking. Are certain animals coming out? Are lights turned on? What gives it the quality of "waking" when usually we think that night is like daytime going to bed? Currently, without explanation, it just came across as confusing to me.

>>8334093
Thank m8, for the insight. I'll do my best to refrain from staining the name of genre fiction in the future, by learning to use Grammar with more respect.

>>8329168
ahhahahahhahahahahahah hathnkas

Thoughts?

The imaginary man was surfing in an imaginary ocean. As he found himself in a wave, with water covering a big part of his view, he looked far into the distant mountain and the setting sun behind it.

"I have since forever enjoyed the pleasures of this world. Is there anything more?
I can see the lines that make the wave up and the shapes that make up my skin. The sun no longer seems far away, to the opposite - even though I will never reach its grasp, I can feel the lines that make it up identical to the ones that make up me. I feel one with the world, yet it feels as if I am the only real thing inside it. What lies behind this made-up reality? Will I be here forever?"

And then he woke up.

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I'm finishing up a novel that's taken me a few years to write, but now I've run into the conundrum of how to go about getting it published. What's the best way to find a good literary agency?

The war began and the war ended. It left the village with mother's without sons and children without fathers. And then the world turned away.

>>8334070
>Defending genre fiction
>Writing genre fiction
Yeah you don't belong here, friendo. Take it to r/writing

>>8334390
Guide to Literary Agents 2016
Not even joking. Good luck.

>>8334304
Feels really cliche and overwrought.

Just critique my shit up senpai.

Farish had been compared to the rot on an open wound. Not hatefully, as its residents tended to be the more morbid types, but as a term of endearment. It was carved into the sides of a great gash like canyon that streaked across the surrounding plains. Thinkers Republic wide had praised Braxit, with its many cities no different to Farish, for their wholly matriarchal architecture. That is to say, crater-canyon cities are as much a vagina as the senate building was a dick. Unsurprisingly, there were many worlds with better claims to fame.
Down the bottom of Farish’s moist depths, a river reaved its path unimpeded through red and yellow rock, offering an incessant backdrop of roaring water to Farish’s open air activities. Activities that, on this day, were in full swing. Some hundred meters up from it’s river base, a sun lit platform held host to scores of students with races ranging from Ithorians to the most vanilla of humans.
This was the first day in months that the blue banners of independence had given way to something more cheerful. Dozens of balconies overlooking the platform had rolled out banners of congratulations and praise for “the class of 20201.”
Thankfully the procession was coming to its close and more than a few students had their eyes on a cantina a few tiers down. By the time they got there, some three short hours later -- their principal liked to do things grandiose -- the whole cantina was bustling with varying degrees of laziness. Lorn and Upa, a human and a Houk, had both opted to change nothing but their shirts, leaving them in the school green everywhere else.
Only Upa danced to the cantina’s cheesy choice in music. His bulging mass swaying and bouncing with a funk to rival the most cocksure of Twi’lek dance students. That made Lorn grin, even if he knew it’d take something strong for him to keep up.

>>8329195

>that passive style

>>8334734
No.

>>8334906
Is it that bad?

I'm going through a crisis of creativity.

Nothing I put out is good anymore.

RIP my dreams.

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Tell me, how shit is it? I don't write often

I realized I've never written anything in the present tense, so this came out of it. Haven't really done any editing or revising.

Please be gentle, but honest

1/2

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2/2

>>8335094
>>8335090
Not terrible but the memory sequence feels a bit awkward.

>>8335130
Thanks.

I think so too. I wanted to refrain from having the main character look at or see anything during that part. Wanted to make it seem as if he almost took all that was happening around him for granted and accepted it. I tried to make sure he only heard these memories/delusions so it would be easier for him to accept. Not until he actually looks around does he snap back into reality.

I tried a couple times during that part, but I can't seem to figure out how to convey him keeping his eyes down and not really looking at anything without reusing the same format of describing this sound and that sound, and so on.

elf-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.

Today I woke up to a concerned housekeeper
who in Spanish spoke to me about last night's noise.
Were you drunk or on drugs? She asks coyly.
Yes I answer but say no, just happy wake before 12.
Some unspecified time later, I'm driving to Houston
from my home town of Perth in Australia.
You might be thinking—why would a Perthian
want to go to Houston? Because my grandparents
are dying there and I thought it nice to visit.
On the way, I kept the most pleasant of company:
the wondrous duo of Vicodin and Vyvanse,
burning rubber on the farm-road to purgatory.
But things don't end when they want to,
or so I've been taught—mainly by unsuccessful people.
Anyway, it's time to go to bed here in Houston,
so I'll pop a few poppables, swallow more than pills, and doze, doze, doze.
(My English teacher in High School repetitively stressed repetition.)

Life through a fractured lens
the internets blades slice and bend
bones, lashes, nails, balls, till dead.
297 stitches, call my malpractice firm.
There is no theme, causality, meaning, free will:
only cheese doodles and the illusion of.
But the stars we orbit (Drake, Beyonce, take yer pick)
will eventually collapse and bring us all down to them.
Sisyphus had syphilis, Lou Gehrig had, well, you know,
and I have a case of the mondays.
TGIFuck it.

>>8335164
>spoke to my about
>asks coyly
>kept the most pleasant of company

Didn't like this. Seems awkward

>burning rubber on the farmroad to purgatory.
>But things don't end when they want to,
>or so I've been taught, mainly by unsuccessful people.
>Anyway, it's time to go to bed here in Houston,
>so I'll pop a few poppables, swallow more than pills, and doze, doze, doze.

I liked the entire ending. Has a nice rhythm to it, and the words fit well.

In the beginning I would do something like:

>Today I awoke to a concerned housekeeper
>who in spanish asked about last night's noise
>'Drogas?' I reply, feeling the etchings of a smile across my face.
>I say no, but answer yes. I'm just happy to be awake before 12.

Or come up with another way to phrase it all, but the way it is seems awkward.

>>8335167
I'd just make the transition cleaner. By a couple lines in the reader will know it's just a memory or dream but it just then makes the reader have to catch up mentally which ruins the next couple lines. No reason to be tricky about it.

>>8335212
Fair points. I'll work on it tomorrow and see if I can clean it up. Thanks.

>>8334734
On the whole, this isn't bad. Prose is fine albeit imperfect. Grammar-wise, you use the wrong "it's" once, it should be gash-like, "Thinkers Republic wide had praised" would be better as "Thinkers Republic had widely praised," and shouldn't it be "Thinker's Republic?". Content-wise, it's really not uninteresting. I bet you'll change it a lot though, if you read it again in a few months. I feel like maybe you're trying to be a bit too subtle and you lose clarity for that reason, but I'm not actually sure if that's a critique or I'm just projecting. Consider it, anyway.

>>8335090
Pretty good. The prose isn't flowery but it's interesting enough and it works. Sometimes, I disagree with your descriptions. "Tumblers and bottles littered about invoke" is awkward to me, and you could say it without using the tired phrasing of "littered about" and it would become more clear. The "backless hairs covered with dry, cracked leather" feels wrong, I don't think covered is the right word because it sounds sort of like the leather is just thrown onto them rather than it is part of the upholstery, plus the word could be stronger anyway.

Some of your quotes should end with commas instead of periods. You can use the alt code 0151 to make an emdash.

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http://pastebin.com/mbXNuq7D

WIP opening chapter of a book set during the Cuban revolution. The dialogue/song lyrics are supposed to be in italics but apparently that doesn't translate to pastebin. Any critiques greatly appreciated, and my own will be coming in another post a little later so as not to bias people's opinions.

>>8335561
in response to >>8335090

I agree with you on pretty much all of your points. The description of the chairs could definitely be tweaked. Maybe change it to something like, "At the bar are several backless chairs, their leather cracked and worn." or something.

The whole bit with the "tumblers and bottles littered about" does seem pretty awkward. I think I need to rework on the entire ending of that paragraph.

Whenever I've written on here, /lit/ always says that my language isn't flowery, or it's basic, or it's serviceable, etc... I don't know how I feel about this. On one hand I've read beautiful passages from some of my favorite authors where they use bold, descriptive, purple language, and I think it sounds awesome. But speaking like that isn't in my natural voice. I feel like if I try to spice up my language it comes across as trying too hard, or like a bad imitation.

Were there any specific parts that came across as dull/bland that you can point out? I'm really struggling with identifying what sounds so serviceable or basic in my voice.

>>8335602
>http://pastebin.com/mbXNuq7D
>This is how dark inside a bullet.
Makes no sense.
In face, everything after it makes little sense either. You're trying really hard to do something but it doesn't come off well at all. It gets better after the first paragraph. Just really need to do some heavy editing.

>>8335671
Write in your own voice. Authenticity is important. The thing to keep in mind is how you describe things. Show us the room rather just telling us.

>>8335602

>and all our bodies leaning together.
I'd probably remove that part, and add "A rhythmic skip and crash in perfect blackness" to the end of your first sentence.

There are a lot of awkward extra words that could be removed to improve the flow. For instance you wrote:

>A jump and plunge amidst the rattle of ammunition, the dishing of gasoline in drums which we had lashed to the...

remove "which", and it flows better. You use "which" a lot where it doesn't necessarily need to be used.

And speaking of the 2nd paragraph, the whole sentence structure is forced and awkward. Cut and reorganize it and it'll become a lot less ungainly.

>I hear Ernesto's voice speak the words I had given him there in that moment of body-terror and doubt...

All in all, it seems too ambitious for your control over the language. It's not far out of reach, but to speak with that sort of style you need to develop a nice rhythm and flow. The later paragraphs seem better as you ease up a little bit.

>>8335602
I dig it

>>8335682
>>8335749
>>8335750
Thanks for the critiques, fellas. Yeah, I have gotten some pushback before on the first couple paragraphs, and the bullet line specifically.
If you are interested at all in explanations (and with full knowledge that having to give explanations at all means that I have fucked up badly) the "darkness inside a bullet" bit is supposed to be a bit of a poke at the biblical mythology that has resolved around the Cuban Revolution in the years since, (the seven days aboard the Granma, the 12 survivors of the landing, etc) as in the pre-word-of-God darkness except in this case the thing which ignites the universe is an act of violent explosion, I.e the discharging of a bullet, rather than something beautiful or numinous. Anyway, yeah, I really don't want to start this thing off by getting on the readers nerves, so I will be shifting some stuff around. Thanks again.

>>8335821
It's not a reference issue for that line, it's purely syntax. The line doesn't make sense when you read it. But yeah, keep at it, just know once you finish the first draft you're in for serious editing.

Calgary, Next Year


The third tornado touched the ground and at that point everybody realized that this could be the end of the world. It seemed like the way that that sort of thing happened. The movies said so. What was that one called. End of the World. Last Days. Tres Bien, La Monde! Yah, it was French! Dom wondered why he had such an easy time remembering the names of foreign language movies when he didn’t speak any of the languages. He thought that maybe it had something to do with the subtitles and linguistic memorization or something like that. But usually the name of the film was translated too. You’d think he’d remember the English name. Whatever. Anyway. A fourth tornado was hovering, sinking about twelve, eleven feet above this really great restaurant that specialized in local produce and poultry which wasn’t so interesting in itself but the fact they were making Asian food out of it was kind of cool. The décor had this really cool black and white pop art kind of thing going on. Very chic. But there it went. The fourth tornado hit its roof and you could see it just kind of drill into the center of the roof, through the offices on the second floor, unused paper spiraling out of broken windows, and down into the restaurant on the main floor, rice flour breaded chicken wings with Korean spices shooting up, chilled soba noodles shooting up through the offices and into the swirling clouds above everything. Delicious, thought Dom. That is such a great restaurant. He’d met Anika’s parents for the first time there. They were such nice people! Beside him, right now, her eyes were searching Dom’s for some kind of answer. The point of the mystery. Or maybe they were looking for a strategy, hoping Dom had one, because she wasn’t sure she could even think or even say her name or anything like that. They should go to the mountains, thought Dom. We’ll be safe there.

>>8335821
>"darkness inside a bullet" bit is supposed to be a bit of a poke at the biblical mythology that has resolved around the Cuban Revolution
Well that's depressing. It's the best line by far in a heap of shit.
>This is how dark inside a bullet.
That anon is bitching about it being incorrect usage, but, he's the problem with literature altogether.
I drew a painting in my head when I read that line. A line more suited to poetry. It's great.

http://pastebin.com/6YKg53Vf

Please ruthlessly critique ty. I'll try and stick to that critique 2 before you ask rule.

>>8335864
I can tell this hasn't been edited(Not that I'm innocent of this). Give us some paragraphs lad, please.

Here's a few things I disliked,

>Odd pacing
First sentence could be shorter and more impactful, but seeing as you go on to throw in some rambling I suppose it's acceptable.
>Too much time spent on voice building anecdotes
Succinctly put, its too tense a moment(end of the world) for all the quirky stuff. Maybe a little, but not as much as you've put in.
>"Delicious, thought Dom."
I'd have thought Dom was thinking this whole time, it kinda threw me off.
>The ending
I just can't imagine someone as crazy as Dom would be relied on by anyone. If Dom isn't the narrator and, therefore, isn't crazy then you've done a shitty job of making that clear. If he is the narrator and isn't crazy you've done a shitty job of that too. He sounds like a fucking madman and when he's not treated as such or, at least, shown to be good at hiding it, it cheapens the whole thing.

What I liked,
>Cheesy anecdotes
They're fun and you described the actual destruction of the restaurant pretty nicely. If you iron out Dom's relationship to the world and his narration style a bit more(Give him moments where he breaks the fourth wall and refocuses or something) then I'd like it a fair bit. It's fun.

>>8329195
Pretty fun, though the jump from fapping to poetry was way too abrupt. It cheapens everything you've written about Robbie. Maybe have Robbie give her one of his poems before he starts fapping and then have it come up again?

I don't think it'd cheapen the soft-punchline you went for.

This was made for a short story competition with the theme of revenge, and I'm hoping it fits said theme. I hope this doesn't count as shitty genre fiction. I know the grammar still needs cleaning up and the ending should probably be scrapped, but I'd appreciate some critique.
http://pastebin.com/XwgDS57z

>>8335864
Eh. I see what you're going far and apart from minor errors it seems to be OK. Just falls a bit flat for me.

>>8335880
Oh you're right, I'm definitely what wrong with literature. How dare I want proper usage and punctuation? The sentence literally does not make sense.

>>8335920
>Ecter watched in silence, his sister barely propped up by his shoulders. She limped alongside his careful strides, both of them shuffling between the dispersing crowds. There was little charity here, even glances seemed coveted like gold with both siblings receiving none.
>“It’s not working…” murmured his sister. He could feel her ribs.

This part is odd. Is she on his shoulders? Next to him shoulder by shoulder? Why can he feel her ribs if they're just shuffling through a crowd?

Overall not bad though. If all the other genre crap that gets posted here was half as good I wouldn't get crazy every time I open critique threads. You used ellipses twice, which is two times too many. Just some basic edited. Maybe embellish here and there but not a lot. You definitely set the scene well.

>>8335880
Hmm. Glad you like the line, sorry you hate the rest.

>>8335997
>The sentence literally does not make sense.
We are all aware you are a pedant.

>>8335920
>>8335997
Thanks for reading!

>>8335920
>There was little charity here, even glances seemed coveted like gold with both siblings receiving none.

I think the "like gold" is unnecessary. What do you think of, "There was little charity and glances were coveted. The siblings received neither."

I liked the exchange between the girls and the soldiers. You did a nice job at describing it from a distance. It felt like distance. Hard to do I guess.

Where's it going next?

I'm going to post some edits to what I did earlier. If you wouldn't mind letting me know what you think of them.

The third tornado bounced off the ground. The crowds crawling over parked vehicles screamed, “Mom!”, “Ah!” Janessa!”, “Jesus!”, “Gracie!” Bill!” This is what the end of the world looked like. This is how we die, they thought, unable to keep their loved ones from flying away. This seemed like the way that that sort of thing happened. The end of the world. It was just like the movies, thought Dom. What was that one called. End of the World. Last Days. Tres Bien, La Monde! Yah, it was French! Dom wondered why he had such an easy time remembering the names of foreign language movies when he didn’t speak any of the languages. He thought that maybe it had something to do with the subtitles and linguistic memorization or something like that. But usually the name of the film was translated too. You’d think he’d remember the English name. Whatever.

A fourth tornado was hovering, sinking about twelve, eleven feet above this really great restaurant that specialized in local produce and poultry which wasn’t so interesting in itself but the fact they were making Asian food out of it was kind of cool. The décor had this really cool black and white pop art kind of thing going on. Very chic. But there it went. The fourth tornado hit its roof and you could see it just kind of drill into the center of the roof, through the offices on the second floor, unused paper spiraling out of broken windows, and down into the restaurant on the main floor, rice flour breaded chicken wings with Korean spices shooting up, chilled soba noodles shooting up through the offices and into the swirling clouds above everything. Dom’s mouth watered. Memories of oversized napkins spread over his knee as they floated above like jellyfish. That is such a great restaurant, he thought. Such hard working owners. He’d met Anika’s parents for the first time there. They were really great, honest folk. Her father had talked, maybe a little too much, about his fascination with miniature towns and the people that made them.

>>8336101 (continued)

Dom wondered if her eyes were strained. It seemed painful how wide Anika could spread her lids. The skin sunk into the socket, the curve of her eyeball casting a shadow into the crevice. Dom thought maybe she hoped he could help them right now. Wondered if maybe now, right now, he’d say something wildly intelligent that could save their lives. Or maybe her eyes were already dead and that’s why they looked so painful and that for the next few minutes or so they were just acting out what was already decided and that thousands more tornados were about to touch down on them like enormous straws, with Dom and Anika ankles and knees stuck in the turns of a loopy bike rack, their heads popping off like dandelions from the thumb of a four year old’s hand. Momma had a baby and its head popped off. That was a song Dom’s mother had taught him and immediately regretted doing so.

Dom looked at Anika’s bulging eyeballs.

“We should go to the mountains.”

But they didn’t own a car. They’d moved from a place where you didn’t really need one.

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http://pastebin.com/ArgNCN6E

I am a fucking noob which is why I couldn't offer any advice but i would love any criticism that you all have to offer.

I wrote this on "beauty".

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>>8334530
>Still replying
Holy shit this autism.

Who knows, maybe someone will listen to you one day. But if it makes you feel any better, keep replying, and I'll pretend to listen. :)

>>8335671
I mean, it's not even that big of a turnoff if your voice is sort of basic. You say what needs to be said, and it's very clear what you mean. If you're worried about it, try and incorporate some metaphors into your descriptions. I'm not sure you use a single simile or metaphor in that excerpt. Give them a try. Don't force it, but play with them a bit, you know?

>>8335920
I like this for maybe the first 5 paragraphs. After that it seemed like you dropped that dark mood by becoming lazier with the descriptions and by having too much dialogue.

>>8336101
The rambling, informal voice of the second paragraph is different from the voice of the first and third paragraphs, it feels out of place. It's too conversational compared to the rest. I like what you are doing in the first and third paragraphs, though. I like the description of the tornadoes as straws, and the character seems interesting.

Went to a quiz with family. It was a fundraiser in memory of a former friend's older brother who died a few years ago. An odd night where two worlds collided, lots of my friends and acquaintances present, not often they are in the same room as my mother and father. Came first and won a crate of beer. A disco was scheduled after the quiz, as the DJ took the stage I exited with my family as my friends funnelled onto the dance floor.

Taxi driver talked about bungalow on road just before the railway crossing. Used to have a huge field out the back with horses, sold to become housing estate we see today. Father said even earlier than that there was a river here. Completely new to me. Apparently they diverted it underground. Fake memories ricochet around my mind of my childhood by the river. Preposterous. Wouldn't many children think it exotic to live by a railroad?

>>8336123
>http://pastebin.com/ArgNCN6E
Too much introduction about irrelevant stuff.
and when you give examples of how you views have shifted you use a few too many descriptive concepts. stick to one or two maybe.
Your voice is too insecure and apologetic, if you are going to write declare yourself the greatest writer. (consider what makes the reader want to continue reading, is it really going to be "god im so shit at this")
It could work if you really went for it with fourth wall breaking type of stuff but i feel it would distract too much from the point, which is beauty after all.
I feel it would be more powerful to contrast the beautiful things you describe with ugly or loath able things in the world, instead of concepts.
" I did what I felt needed to be done" Instead of worrying that you are not unique or orginial focus on this aspect. Why did you need to write this? What in beauty demands that you interact with it in anyway? Are you trying to preserve beauty? are these thoughts you are having about beauty, beautiful in way?
This could be a lovely little text about how you are overcome with beauty and forced by it to write.
The language overall is good but not really breathtaking or challenging or new thinking or whatever you might say but perfectly serviceable and suits a text like this.

This is the day of the expanding man
That shape is my shade
There where I used to stand
It seems like only yesterday
I gazed through the glass
At ramblers, wild gamblers
That's all in the past

You call me a fool
You say it's a crazy scheme
This one's for real
I already bought the dream
So useless to ask me why
Throw a kiss and say goodbye
I'll make it this time
I'm ready to cross that fine line

Learn to work the saxophone
I play just what I feel
Drink Scotch whiskey all night long
And die behind the wheel
They got a name for the winners in the world
I want a name when I lose
They call Alabama the Crimson Tide
Call me Deacon Blues

My back to the wall
A victim of laughing chance
This is for me
The essence of true romance
Sharing the things we know and love
With those of my kind
Libations
Sensations
That stagger the mind

I crawl like a viper
Through these suburban streets
Make love to these women
Languid and bittersweet
I rise when the sun goes down
Cover every game in town
A world of my own
I'll make it my home sweet home

Learn to work the saxophone
I play just what I feel
Drink Scotch whiskey all night long
And die behind the wheel
They got a name for the winners in the world
I want a name when I lose
They call Alabama the Crimson Tide
Call me Deacon Blues

This is the night of the expanding man
I take one last drag
As I approach the stand
I cried when I wrote this song
Sue me if I play too long
This brother is free
I'll be what I want to be

I learned to work the saxophone
I play just what I feel
Drink Scotch whiskey all night long
And die behind the wheel
They got a name for the winners in the world
I want a name when I lose
They call Alabama the Crimson Tide
Call me Deacon Blues

>>8336540
Did you just post 'Deacon Blues' by Steely Dan?

>>8329112
you're way too full of yourself buddy boy

>>8336587
original work, do not steal

>>8336540
10/10 no work needed

Black Book

I should start taking score. I should keep a catalogue of everyone I know who has died. Everyone I’ve written a dirge about. Everyone I’ve drowned in a cold glass or stumbled home weeping about.

I can laminate the pages, stick them in a big black binder, color code each of the deceased by age and relation. When I want to know something-- how they smelled, how they talked, what shirts they wore-- I can flip open the book and know.

I can cancel my paper subscription. When I’m sitting at a kitchen counter and the morning sun filters down through the open window I can read about my pap’s cancer instead of budget cuts and car accidents. I can read about my cousin and his ripped up Ramones t-shirt and his dog Spike who died in the fire with him. I can read about my father in-law and where he hid the bottles.

Funerals are always cold. It doesn’t matter the season; if I’m in a peacoat or sweating through my white shirt’s collar I can see my breath materialize in front of me. Hello, God, are you here? Nice of you to show up. We need to stop meeting like this.

I can keep track of my warmth as well. Entry 7, 12/2/2014. Cold December day. Funeral home freezing. Toes stiff under black socks. Entry 3, 6/4/2015. Sweating through dress shirt, still freezing.

I can use the results of the data to dress optimally for each funeral season dependent. So many uses. I can study the trends; I can see the waves of grief peak and come down and jump up again.

Keep track of the manic desperate thoughts. Likewise I can use the rest of the data to automate poetry.

ENTRY LOG:

Was a vigil kept? y/n. Did the spirit leave the body? y/n Are you drunk? y/n Are you going to drink more? y/n?

How many ghosts do you know by name? Do they come to you? Do they howl inside of you and rattle your chains and shift around boxes in your attic and when you dream can you see them rise from their sickbed and lift up somewhere barely out of reach?

>>8336540
>>8336587
lmao
great song though

>>8336540
This pretty much underscored the way Jim Morrison lucked out with a poet's legacy, the way the whole "stop-hitting-yourself" artist intrigue was going. This is the real poetry. I still think it mean something Alabama "only" drew the game that won them the "Crimson tide" name. It's a spiteful song, in a way, given nobody chose the name Crimson Tide save a small town journalist and the artist with the chipped shoulder had to play victim, in context I mean.

I wanted to write something the other day.

Wake committed suicide at 25. He was a collector of coins and things from girls, mostly clothes, when they left their doors unlocked. He would relish in snooping around their dorm rooms; in no way judging what he would find, just learning, taking, and collecting. He would sometimes see someone get changed in the building across from his own. Someone forgetting, or not considering to close their blinds. That was special – a show just for him that was directed by circumstance and coincidence. He would sometimes hear the hushed shuffling of dorm room fucking and felt as well that he had been gifted when he craned his neck and pressed his ear to the wall.
He would see girls, of whom he had taken a sock or a thin top from their washing pile, walking to a lecture, or to the bathroom. They would either acknowledge him or not, he had his secret and this turned him on. They would either like him or not, know him or not, they shared something private; that something was decided by him and that turned him on. He was an observer and knowing that he didn’t know the latest scoop would very much upset the all knowing in training.

I want to write a story for a magazine. Flash fiction. Max 700 words. I have the first 173.

http://pastebin.com/wi7RpPuZ

>>8337313
I don't think the idea is awful, and found myself chuckling at some of the jokes. However, I have to ask if English is your first language. Some of the wording is really awkward.

>>8337330
>However, I have to ask if English is your first language.
No, it isn't. I think I will post it at some critique forum when it's finished to get some help for fix the awkwardness.

>>8337313
I loved it!

I don't know what the above user is saying. I think he's crazy.

Great job. Great job.

>>8336517
i love you.
than you so much for the detailed and thoughtful criticism. i love you so much for doing this for me. thank you anon.

i was overly apologetic because this is the first time i've ever written anything and didn't want my work to come across as pretentious so i tried to compensate for any hidden pretentiousness by being sorry for it.

but you're absolutely right everything you mentioned and i'm glad you helped out.

>>8335978
I know I posted only a few hours ago, but I'm going to ask again for help. If the submission wasn't due Sunday, I wouldn't ask twice.

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I'm aware this might be futile, but I'd really appreciate anyone that takes the time.

I can't write in English and my translations are awful.

https://www.dropbox.com/s/oqhj56i8n9wpzdl/Perder%20el%20Silencio.docx?dl=0

Short poem I wrote, trying a different approach, less literal and descriptive, more avant garde (?)

Scream down the minarets of my newly locked ears
Exeunt to the shelf and remain
Not upon the tile wreathed in gold
Hush and close your voice
Its time is no longer
Weep into glass bottles and return to the sand
Rebirth from water is a tired symbol
Simply keep yours buried deep
Your style has never been so pompous
As to demand a return.

>>8337479
Your prose is solid and easy to read. I agree that you should stop being apologetic and also about the introduction (I'd add the conclusion too). I don't love your second and penultimate paragraphs and you know why. Wouldn't it be interesting to talk about beauty's subjectivity in depth? Maybe you should think about things you think as beautiful but not many people do. Usually, if you pay attention, you can see what an author considers to be «beautiful» in their texts, even when not writing about such things.

Don't be afraid to experiment, why is your text worth reading instead of the millions of texts of other people lying around? What does it bring to the table?

Also: «till», c'mon.

What is to be done with beautiful things if it isn't to fuck them or write about them?

He thought he kept the universe alone;
For all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake.
Some morning from the boulder-broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy-speech,
But counter-love, original response.
And nothing ever came of what he cried
Unless it was the embodiment that crashed
In the cliff's talus on the other side,
And then in the far-distant water splashed,
But after a time allowed for it to swim,
Instead of proving human when it neared
And someone else additional to him,
As a great buck it powerfully appeared,
Pushing the crumpled water up ahead,
And landed pouring like a waterfall,
And stumbled through the rocks with horny tread,
And forced the underbrush--and that was all.

>>8336101
I really loved this one. I would love to read more of it. The language seems really honest and natural to you.

Friend of mine started to finally post a few writings of her fantasy world on the net (with some suggestions from me). We'd both be interested is some comments.
http://bereshit001.deviantart.com/

>>8337890
Its...good

>>8337633
I understand your critique and I think that it is completely fair. I will edit and improve my text based on what you said because even I feel the same way.
Thanks a fucking ton for the help anon. I really hope you have an amazing day.

>>8330004
Someone explain this

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It's hard to know where to take something after a negative introductory passage.

>>8337890
Read some of Meeting Your Heroes,
I can't really think of anything to compliment about this. Some of it is really bad but most of it is just mediocre. Your first sentence uses a tired analogy of the heart beating in the throat. A lot of these sentences have minor clarity issues. "Although many travelers from different worlds visited the royal palace who gladly told stories to an eager little princess" the "who" should be an "and." There are many examples of things like that. Clarity should be your main goal right now.

>>8339392
I'm not really a fan of critiquing diary posts, so I only read the first two paragraphs. This sentence which ends with inchoate, you could replace the whole thing with "My idea is inchoate." You don't have to explain the definition of inchoate before saying inchoate, trust that people know big words (or can google them). In general, I don't feel like you are explaining your ideas in a clear or comprehensive enough way. "It troubles me that there is objective reasoning in subjective realms of logic." Objective and subjective are basically buzzwords, so you'll have to explain what you mean by both of them. Same with "realms of logic." The next two sentences after that can just be simplified by using the term "norms," even if you want to avoid it, because people actually know what norms are and can relate. The sentence which starts with "There seems to be an objective truth" is a clusterfuck. Get rid of this clause "which is given to subjective criteria" and just say one thing with the sentence. "There seems to be an objective truth that, for instance, a person has to wear a shirt." Cut the part calling it a random example. Then explain in the next line that you mean it has subjective criteria.

Really, this whole thing feels like you are writing to yourself, and not to communicate your ideas to another person. That's why it feels like a diary post. If you are actually trying to write to another person, you have to slow down, explain everything more, and be more straightforward with the meaning of each sentence.

>>8339502
This has lots of minor problems which build up to make me think english is your second language. You need work on your clarity. I'll rewrite the first sentence and explain my thoughts, and it might give you ideas for the rest. "Waking to a 7pm sunset, which was dimly announced through the fabric of his ever-closed curtains, he rose from his bed. The drone of whirring computer fans was nearby."
Usually you awake from something, and you wake up to something.
The "Which was" is necessary because otherwise it sounds like something besides the sunset was announced. You could also say "it's rays were dimly announced."
You don't rise to a sound, unless the sound wakes you up, which I don't think it did here.
The "alone" serves no purpose. We can assume he's alone.

>>8339633
>Really, this whole thing feels like you are writing to yourself, and not to communicate your ideas to another person. That's why it feels like a diary post. If you are actually trying to write to another person, you have to slow down, explain everything more, and be more straightforward with the meaning of each sentence.
Contrary. I'm trying to write as clearly and concisely as possible, so the person reading gets the message I'm trying to convey. If you understand, I was hoping to argue about the ideas behind the writing, because I'm satisfied with it that it can be deciphered by anyone who reads it comprehensively, it had a clear unambiguous message, if one that leaves the reader with questions that the writer has too, which is intentional.

>>8339680
You're fucking awful at it. You write like a professional quote-maker.

>>8339686
A professional quote maker? That never crossed my mind when I was writing it, I assure you that I only wrote what I wrote because I had a thought that I honestly wanted to write down and develop into a cohesive idea to be replicated into the reader's head.

>>8339702
How much did your fedora cost?

>>8339709
666 dollars m'lady

>>8339392
If I can sum up your work from a reader's perspective, you are trying to propose the following notion:

"Many throughout society adhere to norms, subjective in their nature, further demanding them up others, directly or indirectly as the case permits."

With the utmost respect to the observation and sentiment, mainly because I agree with it, I fail to see why it need quite so many words. Succinctness means everything in this world, especially within language and writing.

>>8339633
"Which was" isn't needed, the subsequent commas define it as a subordinate clause.

>you don't rise to a sound
You have misinterpreted "rise" and more importantly, the preposition "to" if you think that it is necessary to be conjured by it. You seem to have read it as "because of" instead of, literally, "to". As one rises from the morning, his senses pick up on his most immediate, evident surroundings. In this case, in a dim room, it is the fans by his ears. Therefore, he rose to the sound of computer fans.

"alone" is intentionally ambiguous without the comma preceeding it. In this respect it has a double meaning - either describing the computer fans alone or himself rising alone.

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>>8339502
Elaborate on his dreams, maybe? His ideas for projects?
It's autobiographical; surely you know where to take it

>>8337691
>cliff's talus
not sure about this, I mean, keep it if you want..

I think it ends a bit abruptly, seemingly without direction.

It's promising though; I quite liked it.

>>8337552
Hmm.. keep trying.

>>8339392
You're not ready to make an argument. Keep thinking.
----

Tame my beast
http://pastebin.com/NScWmbTz

(also interested to see what people think of this http://pastebin.com/kMqmf6JT)

>>8339767
upd8 on the poem

http://pastebin.com/sn0qwu4S

I wrote this based on Dan Harmon's version of The Hero's Journey. What do you think?


James lived in rural Kerry all his life.

He hated it. It was boring. The people were stupid. He wanted to move far away, to find the hustle and bustle of city life.

So got a job in Dublin. The population density of Kerry is 30 people per square kilometer. In Dublin it’s 4,588. He has never seen so many people waiting at a light to cross the road. People of every stripe. People, people, people. Sometimes he felt like he was suffocating.

His job was well paid. He could afford trendy clothes. He went to all the trendy bars. He moved in trendy circles. Gone were his days of knackerdrinking beside a bus stop with his school friends. James was now sipping cocktails in a bar on Camden Street with his cool friends. His culchie mannerisms were both alien and enamouring to the Dublinese. The prospect of people didn’t petrify him as it once did.

One night, at the bar the call rang out: “James Kelly!”. James recognised the voice instantly - who could forget Seamus Monaghan, from Kerry? Who could erase the razor assault his voice led on the ear? Who could rewrite the neurological pathways that summoned the voice to haunt his dreams?

James ducked his head, hiding it in metaphorical sand. The maneuver was ineffective. Seamus wrapped his arm around James’ neck as if they had gone through a Vietnamese POW camp together. He then started speaking in his stupid Kerry way, and James’ annoyance turned to horror. The Dublinese loved Seamus even more than they had loved James.

“Jaysus James this fella is high-layer-ious. Totes hilare altogether. Where were you keeping this goy? Focking hell, loike.” Ivor McEaspaig-Staunton said through an ear-to-ear grin, tears streaming down his face, getting caught in his IPA-stained handlebar moustache. James’ blood began to boil. How could they love Seamus’ stupid Kerry ways?

The penny dropped. The Dublinese didn’t like James because he was cool and Dublin like them. They liked him because he was stupid and Kerry. They liked Seamus ten times more than they liked James because Seamus was ten times more stupid and ten times more Kerry than James could ever hope, wish or want to be.

After that night the trendy people, pubs and apparel began to lose their appeal. Every day as James took the Luas to work, the lights of Dublin faded more and more. The home fires of Kerry burned brighter than ever before.

James quit his job and left. He lived Kerry in poverty and relative happiness, not judging his fellow Kerryfolk by their intelligence or Kerryocity, because that’s what stupid Dublin people do. He never left Munster, Connacht or Ulster again.

>>8339885
>Who could rewrite the neurological pathways
>hiding it in metaphorical sand. The maneuver was ineffective
These passages feel a bit forced. The rest of the language is simplistic and clear; better to keep it that way than to, perhaps, "inflate".

>They liked Seamus ten times more than they liked James because Seamus was ten times more stupid and ten times more Kerry than James could ever hope, wish or want to be.
I like this line a lot.

>>8339502
feels very.. devoid of substance. I dunno. Who wants to read about a person wallowing? Maybe if you have him try do something. He's out of milk and wants cereal. What then, huh?

>>8337183
This is fun, in a manner of speaking. It would be neat to have a whole collection of fetish profiles all different kinds of people.

>>8339948
The idea of a reader "not wanting to read about a person wallowing", doesn't sit too well with me if I'm honest. A reader is unlikely to want to read of the tortures in 1984, the bleak surroundings and bleaker characters. In if one truly wished to avoid any bad feelings from a text, go read Harry Potter.

Furthermore, It's an introduction that descibes the character, not the entire story itself.

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Main Character goes down to the grocery shop to buy some beer and some macaroni while being a bit high and disappointed in life at the same time, encounters local bum who's all Fight Club~ish and is full of shit and there's no meaning to him or what he says, literally just there existing.

1/2

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>>8340334
2/2

>>8329107
The soaring score sailing over them, Jim and Jess cuddled and watched Return of the King. Nearly two hours in they had begun to regret the extended edition. Their minds began to fracture, losing words, reason, all of it succumbing to Jackson's epic. Jess had taken to asking Jim for words, while he had been slowly losing the ability to speak properly. Conversations repeating a pattern “Hun, what' that?
“Ha, orks, bae.”
“Babe, what's that?”
“Ha, Minas Tirith, bae”
Thus they came to arrival of Grond— legendary battering ram forged in the fires of Barad-dûr. Jess recognized its function but again the word escaped her. She asked, “Babe, what's that?”
Jim replied “Ha, ram, bae.”

It’s the morning of the first day of second grade. I’m trying to get my ducks in a row. My dad taught me this saying. Sometimes I worry I don’t really have any ducks and everybody else does.

My dad gives me a peck on the shoulder and starts to pull my hair back into a ponytail that I’ll be too afraid to tell him is crooked. He stops.

E, he says. E, go grab the Little Orange Book.

I walk to the coffee table. The Little Orange Book is where he always leaves it before he goes to bed. It is worn and discolored by the oil of his fingers. It feels just like a tangerine. I bring it to him. He smacks his grown-up gum. He never needs to flip through the pages. He always opens it right where he needs to be.

This is one they teach you on the first day on the job, he says.

And he reads: your first impression is the last impression.

I have to tell him I don’t really know what impression is. He says it’s what a person thinks about when they think of you, and of course you want what they think about you to be good. He says:

If you come in with a nice big smile and a shiny red apple and a Good Morning Mrs. Whoozywhatsit, then she’s going to think you’re great, and of course that’s true, and all you’ll have to do is prove her right every day, which for a sunbeam like you will be very easy to do. But if you come in with a bad attitude and slouchy posture and forget her name, she might not think you’re all that great, and so now you have to prove her wrong every day, which is a lot harder to do than the other thing.

His eyes are moons behind his glasses. I ask him if he thinks my new teacher will like me more than Mrs. Skein from last year.

Who, Mrs. Skunk? he asks, and I laugh. E, why would you worry about what a skunk thinks of you? Don’t be silly.

He kisses me on the forehead and some coffee drips down from his crunchy walrus mustache. I hear the wheels of his bike squeak under his weight as he rides off.

>>8340572
this sounds like taking acid. I wrote a transcript of an acid trip before. Me and two of my friends were tripping, and we all got in this loop where we would repeat the same 5 minutes of conversation over an over again. Eventually we got out of it, except for one of our friends who was only able to say his "lines". Over and over.

Hey buddy, wanna have a smoke of a cigarette? A joint? Drink a glass of water? I’m parched.
Hey, let’s all do something to focus on right now. What time is it? It’s 3.53. Hey buddy, wanna have a smoke of a cigarette? A joint? Drink a… glass of water? Dude? Hey, wanna- Smoke a joint? What time it is? Wanna- wanna- dude? Smoke a ciggy? A joint? Glass of water?
I’m really sorry guys. Smoke? Drink a joint?
I’m gonna go to bed. Hey buddy, wanna smoke a joint or a cigarette or something? A rollie? Glass of water? Dude, there’s water dripping all over you. We should watch Avatar: The Last Airbender. See on my arm here? Earth, wind, fire and water. I’m just trying to get back in to the mood.
Wanna drink of water? Wanna go outside? Wanna smoke a rollie? A joint? A cigarette? We should all do something, just one thing we can all focus on. An ol’ drink? A ciggy? Wanna smoke a cigarette? A joint? Hey there, dude, hahaha, I want a drink. I’m so sorry. Wanna smoke a cigarette? Have a nice ol’ smokey there now, boy.
It went on like this for hours.

Dumb and naive at age 13,
I couldn't be fixed by any machine,
When reading aloud, I stuttered and stumbled.
More proof I was broken, more ways to stay humbled.
They all showed such pity my soul simply crumbled.
Because I knew I was dumb.

After collecting two decades of personal history,
Finding success is as distant a mystery
My dad'll still hire despite my G.E.D.
He's my only employer, the potential retiree
But I know he keeps his job just to take care of me
Because I knew I was dumb.

>>8341108
reads like lyrics from a bad punk/rap band

I tussled my hand around my other hand while leaning against a cold, stone wall. Looking up for a moment, he… was just standing there. I then stopped leaning and walked over to him, putting my head onto his shoulder with my eyes being magnetized to his eyes. “What’s up?”

“What’s going to happen?”

“What?”

“You know, after the festival. Why do you have to go?”

“You know why I have to. Besides, I shouldn’t be gone for more than a week or two.” I took my head off and he turned around, now facing me. His hair looked like crap and he had eyes that looked highly irritated. I liked it and hated it as the same time, so I simply smiled a bit. “Seriously man, stop it, I’ll be okay.”

He sneered at me but then took a deep breath, then out. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” I then moved closer to him and slowly wrapped both arms around the middle of his body. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Maybe so.”

I unwrapped my arms and he turned around again. I began pacing back and forth for a while. When I came to, I noticed that… or should I say what I saw, was a lack of a person standing in front of me. I shivered slightly then leaned back against the wall. I was always cold when he was around for some bizarre reason. It annoyed the hell out of me.

So, like I was, I walked in some direction. It’s like that feeling where… you don’t know where you’re going but at the same time you do and it makes you want to choke on your own blood. Still, at least I have some feeling.

As I kept walking, the damn birds around me were squawking up a storm. I took out a small rock from my pocket and launched it at a bird. It almost made one of the birds leave. Almost. I then began running faster, trying to get away from them. I ran, and I ran so far away. And I think I probably got away.

Probably… was such an understatement. Highly likely was a better phrase here, but loading my gun with actual bullets in the morning was probably good idea as well, but whatever. A broken clock is still right twice a day.

>>8341245
Cut the damn ellipses.

Mad, staving off the hunger of
A body, to want, to dream inside
These walls.

To walk and stretch out
Down dark, sleeping neighborhoods.
To exist, for a moment,
in the temporary absence
of a permanent curse.

Hearing footsteps down some
Dark hall, kissing the neck of the love--
knowing the door is unlocked,
The terror could come.

The footsteps stop, and you
Hope they fade;
But not the heat, the
Pressed down blankets,
the fucking love of the universe.
The outside, the otherness, the noted
Absence of the terror.

Do you feel fine
with the love of your life?
Do you feel safe in the bed,
laughing forever?
Will someone die?
Will someone leave?
Will you remain?

From the prompt of an an old manuscript that embarasses the shit out of me from a creaive writing class:

The best thing about being an unemployed adult, is that every day is the weekend. Pure unadulterated freedom. The freedom to walk around your house naked, the freedom from taking orders from people you hate. No more waling up at 5AM, no more replacing sleep with caffeine, and the returb of a healthy lifestyle of good sleep, and no longer having to rely on all sorts of cocktails of pills just to keep your body functioning for someone else's profits. You're no longer tied to that nasty thing called a work schedule.

The worst thing?

Every god damned day is the weekend.

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Astoria Boulevard


She looks at the Helvetica font on the teal street level subway entrance from her second floor apartment bathroom, resting her hands on the washing machine waiting for it's whirling to stop. It's a sunny day. Mexicans, Italians going about their business in-and-out of the metro. She takes a slight gasp of air as a gentle hand snakes its way through the crevice between her blouse and the front of her skirt, reaching down across the navel to part her panties from her skin. Her eyes strain to look at the tasteful Helvetica out of their corners before closing as another hand tilts her chin away from the window. In her mind's eye she traces the outline of the unassuming white words on black, first as compact shapes with tight spacing between letters, then as words whose individual elements have soft corners and tails, never harsh like other Sans-Serif types. Their vowel interiors and exteriors in harmony with each other, each vowel with just enough space inside to easily differentiate one from another. It's her favorite font: nothing unnessary, modern, professional yet familiar, even energizing for how easily consumed it is. Now the hand beneath her has withdrawn to hitch up her skirt from behind, with her palms still pressed on the washing machine, revealing her round bottom. How many New Yorkers have been conditioned to navigate with this font? How many are vitalized on weekday mornings on their way to work, coffee in hand? And how many have paused to appreciate it's narrow t, it's strong capital G, it's concaving little a? Productivity and success of the city relies on this font. She is sure of it. And like the font, she resigns to her state of being enjoyed: as an aesthetic phenomenon.

>>8329942
>He’d forgotten how he got there but knew for some reason that the sound of horses wasn’t good.
Feel like it'd be better if you unpacked sentences like this. Like you have three things happening here: 1) he realizes he doesn't remember anything before now, 2) he notices the sound of the horses, and 3) he realizes the sound of horses is a bad sign. I think it would help to break it into a few sentences where you walk the reader through the man's experience one step at a time. I'd recommend reading about Dwight Swains' motivation-reaction units.

>>8341465
it's okay I guess

>>8329112
>>8329119
I wrote something like this once. Ended with his suicide though. That was a bleak time kek.

>>8329942
amazing

>>8340334
Starts to feel a little repetitive by the last paragraph.

>>8340609
This is sweet, I like it.

>>8341454
Develop this more. There's nothing wrong with it and it would probably make a compelling hook.

First for 10 minute imagery.

Cats and dogs are raining from the sky. I won’t leave it at that though, because the imagery is clear in my head. I can see them falling and stretching their legs to find ground that isn’t there. They fall fast and they hit the ground before I can look away. They hit the ground like a bag of groceries and not like a rock. People always say that something “hit the ground like a rock” when they want to describe something falling hard but from what I’ve seen rocks tend to hit the ground lightly and with energy, they bounce and skip, or they simply shatter into many bouncing and skipping pieces leaving a white mark that could be rock chips or dust. But when the cats and dogs hit they reshaped themselves onto the ground spilling their contents into unrecognizable lumps.

>>8337547
Esta bueno

>>8345709
Are you the Anon replying on the Spanish critique thread?

>>8345740
No, I didn't know there was a Spanish Critique Thread

I need feedback on the use of the word, as since my native English speaking e-friends are illiterates, maybe you guys could help?


Does "ascend misadventures" work? For example "Can he ascend his misadventures?"

>>8345758
>Can he transcend his misadventures?"
Is it better?

>>8345748
There really isn't. I'm looking for writers in Spanish to start some kind of critique circle.

>>8345169

>>8345762
It would do but I am trying to keep it as simple as possible, while rhyming it with with the last syllable of the word.

Though if "ascend" just doesn't work in the context, "transcend" is certainly better than nothing. Thanks anon.

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First time posting my work on /lit/ and this is an experimental short story I'm starting. Do your worst you niggers.

The title is The Syndic. Takes place in a alternate-history Syndicalist America roughly based off of a mod called Kaiserreich. The girls are part of a military camp training them for service. It's got comedic elements but I have no fucking clue how my dialog looks to other people.

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Part 2

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Part 3

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Last part. Well?

>>8345813
Isn't that a bit too much focus on tits? Also schadenfreude, frog speak and negro girl from the same person sounded weird. Flows decent enough overall.

>bringing out others femininity
Doesn't sound genuine, I have a hard time picturing a girl saying it like that, specially given the rest.

Also "I was already walking away already"

>>8345819
Decent too, better than first part overall.

>>8345826
Kinda boring, had to skim through it.

>>8345833
Better.

>>8345839
Solid.

Sorry for being short on words, way too fucking tired.

>>8345813
go through this story and remove every unnecessary word. it feels like you take a long time to say not much.

>>8345813
There are a lot of rhymes at the beginning, if they are not intentional, avoid them; if they are intentional, but you don't know why, avoid them.

I'm onto part 2.

Also, try to be clear about your intention in the use of «unwomanly».

>>8345897
Even a little bit of input is appreciated Anon. I meant for some of the weirder word choices to be hooks. Also she's bi so I figured she would have that kind of focus.

>>8345905
I like being descriptive I guess. Part of me wants to use my words to paint a picture of what she is seeing and that is why it might feel like taking a long time.

>>8345909
Huh, I never noticed the rhymes. I'll think on the unwomanly part.

>>8345937
Ceiling - Design - Outside.

I think you should be descriptive, but with intention. Why is it necessary to describe in detail what you're going to describe. Is it solely for aesthetics, for pace, for the plot?

>>8345937
Also, think deeply about how that society is and how the events that make it different than reality have also shaped language. Like your inclusion of words from other languages illustrates.

Also, don't take us too seriously.

>>8345954
>>8345960

Don't worry I'm not. Just being generous with my (you)s. I described the place in detail for asthetics but more or less it was just the first thing to come to mind. When writing that I more or less thought about what I would look at in her position, since I usually don't wake up easily and just stare up there for a bit.

>>8346006
In first person using descriptions is fantastic to show how your character sees life and what draws her attention the most. You're being lucky with (you)s, there's a lot of work no anon has said anything about up there.

How feasible is it to write an action movie/anime as a book? It has philosophical themes so its not completely shit

>>8336778
I've always believed it to be based off when Alabama was so great (in one particular year they went undefeated), they received the title "Crimson Tide".
In the same year the Deacon Devils, didn't win a single game.

But if Alabama can get such a famous nickname, why can't the losers of the world.

That's what I always took it as at least.

>>8329107
Fingers tap with great vigor, this story was of utmost importance to the wellbeing of our character. Why does he do this? so he can have fun, be creative, get his name out there, make money, and be happy? Fingers moved faster indicating that an idea is finally ready for cultivation. *Ding* the end of the typewriter goes. His hand grasps the end of it as he swiped the ringer into a neat *click*. His word may fulfill others but to him they are the ramblings of the depraved casket he possesses. Oh how he longs for more, but this is indeed the fate he chose. He types as follows “ and so our story concludes”. And so our story concludes, the only thing that will truly conclude will be his career, for with the white out long depleted and his wallet just as empty he came to the realization that the only way to truly escape his error was as follows. He opened his left side drawer with his long gangly and awkward fingers that grasped the clasp to reveal the contents hidden within the confines of the wooden box that so possessed his desk. From it he pulled a neat six barreled revolver. He stopped and thought aloud “would it be silly to fill each cylinder with a bullet” letting out a quick chuckle it was followed by “we needn't be wasteful, how prudent it would be to waste such an expensive luxury as bullets”. He loaded one cylinder with the bullet of his choosing, on it he wrote “Bon Voyage” with a drawing of a cockroach accompanied by his french moustache and beret. He pinched its rear before pushing it into the hole it so perfectly slipped into. He than lifted his knobbed elbow above his chest and placed the barrel of the revolver into his mouth and promptly squeezed the trigger wondering if he had left the kettle on in the kitchen. And thus begins the tale of our character, a man with his priorities straight and a lack of whiteout.

something i wrote a longtime ago

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1/2

Wrote this a very long time ago. It remains unfinished. Just curious to see what people think of it. I am thinking of rewriting it soon.

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>>8346744
2/2

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>>8346744
>>8346746
It's really good. Are you still writing this story?

My story here.

>>8347206
>if there was a day in which Olivia hated, it was Friday
>the direction in which they took was West

"in which" isn't correct unless "in" would come after the verb normally.

she hated the day -> the day which she hated
They took the direction... -> the direction which they took
They took off in the direction... -> the direction in which they took off
He stood in the queue -> the queue in which he stood

>giving out handouts
The giving out is redundant.

>intermixing
What does that mean that mixing doesn't?

You also often use a comma when you should be using a semi-colon or starting a new sentence.

>>8347639
nice bait.

>>8347669
I'm not even baiting, I wrote that sincerely. I guess my life has turned inside out.

>>8346744
you have a POV error in the first paragraph, as well as in the 2nd paragraph and in the fourth paragraph. quit describing his own eyes and things Frederick can't see. go google "POV errors" to fix that

it also bears saying that your prose is unoriginal. the best advice i can give is this, from "Writing Tools".

>Writing Tool #8: Seek Original Images

>"Seek original images. Make word lists, free-associate, be surprised by language. Reject cliches and "first-level creativity."

>The mayor wants to rebuild a downtown in ruins but will not reveal the details of his plan. "He's playing his cards close to his vest," you write.

>You have written a cliche, a worn-out metaphor. This one comes from the world of gambling, of course. The mayor's adversaries would love a peek at his hand. Whoever used this metaphor first, wrote something fresh. With overuse, it became familiar and stale.

>"Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print," writes George Orwell. He argues that using cliches is a substitute for thinking, a form of automatic writing: "Prose consists less and less of words chosen for the sake of their meaning, and more and more of phrases tacked together like the sections of a prefabricated hen-house." Orwell's last phrase is a fresh image, a model of originality.

>The language of sources threatens the good writer at every turn. Nowhere is this truer than in sports journalism. A post-game interview with almost any athlete in any sport produces a quilt of cliches: We fought hard. We stepped up. We just tried to have some fun.

>So what is the original writer to do? When tempted by a tired phrase, "white as snow," take what the practitioners of natural childbirth call a "cleansing breath." Then jot down the old phrase on a piece of paper. Start scribbling alternatives:

>· White as snow.
>· White as Snow White.
>· Snowy white.
>· Gray as city snow.
>· White as Prince Charles.

>Eventually you may come up with a better alternative.

>More deadly than cliches of language are what Donald Murray calls "cliches of vision," the narrow frames through which writers learn to see the world. In "Writing to Deadline," Murray lists common blind spots: victims are always innocent, bureaucrats are lazy, politicians are corrupt, it's lonely at the top, the suburbs are boring.

>Writers who reach the first level of creativity think they are being original or clever. In fact, they settle for the ordinary, the dramatic or humorous place any writer can reach with minimal effort.

>>8346324
>He opened his left side drawer with his long gangly and awkward fingers that grasped the clasp to reveal the contents hidden within the confines of the wooden box that so possessed his desk
This is just one clusterfuck of a sentence. Anyway, I'm not sure your old-fashioned style works, it comes across as forced.

You all suck and should give up.

>>8347639
lmao

>>8347725
>POV error
>quit describing his own eyes
Not the anon but why would that be a POV error? The character knows his eye color and whether his look is unmoved and frantic; as long one establishes that the POV character is observant, self conscious or even bit narcissistic it doesn't sound like an issue.

>>8347639
this is shit, but if you want something to develop your style, go read The Passion According to G.H.

they're very similar in concept, but lispector's writing is actually profound

>>8347830
Why is it shit? You left out the interesting part of your critique.

>>8347841
If it was meant as diary entry of some annoying teen, it's pretty solid although still lacking catchy parts. If it was anything more, it's pretty shit due the same reasons. Nothing interesting is said, it feels incomplete and doesn't flow especially well to overlook that either.

Hell, the bit about "trivial conversation that doesn't mean anything" sums it up too.

>>8347870
>Hell, the bit about "trivial conversation that doesn't mean anything" sums it up too.
No it doesn't, and this is a special occasion where I would have to point out to you that you're wrong, which trust me - needs to happen sometimes. The point, is that I was trying to get down to why I was feeling the way I was feeling. I was puzzled by my own feelings, so I wanted to break them down and try to figure out why I was feeling a certain way. I'll have you know, actually, when I got to the final paragraph, when I felt that I had reached the crux of the issue, my brain literally came to a full stop, and I reflected over everything I had just said and it felt complete. I believe that your critique is very imperfect, and has more glaring flaws than the writing itself, which has yet to meet an honest criticism.

>>8347905
Fuck off.

>>8346324
Pynchon said he had this Henry James phase between his Thomas Wolfe impression and second Romantic period - this is probably how it sounded.

It IS like James, in a way. Too stream of consciousness to be anything before. It flows well when you get into it, but it's a pretty formidable passage (it's unpublishable) to get into. Then again, 140 years worth of life experience (longtime ago, huh?) I wouldn't expect anything you wrote to be simple.

>>8347905
Then what would possess you to put what is effectively an interior monologue in a critique thread? Either it succeeds in your mind or it doesn't. The only possible way to improve it would be to improve your character, whatever in the hell that means. As it stands it's a journal entry. Can't be commented on or critiqued without getting personal, which on an anonymous image board isn't exactly going to happen. On the other hand, put all these in the hands of fictional characters and let them sort it out, in conversations and actions, THEN we can get around to talking about it, and how well you might've achieved such this and such that, yada yada yada.

What do you want?

>>8347827
it's a POV error because if we are in the character's head, it would never occur to him that "I am now looking at this thing with my cold grey eyes." instead it would more likely be, "I am looking at this thing." but even that isn't perfect (see the end).

"Dark circles were painted under his eyelids and his cheeks were rough and red." Frederick could never see his own face. Now, perhaps he could instead feel that his cheeks felt hot or his eyes feel strained, but could never see that unless he had a mirror.

if you're in a character's POV, only describe the things he can perceive, but also only describe what you feel he is likely to perceive.

an example on this 'likeliness': if a POV dude and another guy have been friends for decades, will the POV character immediately rattle off a full description of his friend when he's first met in the story? no, because it wouldn't occur to him. he might drop a descriptor or two, but if it's business as usual and they've known each other forever, he would just perceive "yup, that's my friend, with that neanderthal brow."

however, the POV character could rattle off a full description of his friend if he sees something new or strange there, or if he's focusing intensely on him. in that case he would perceive it at a level above the day-to-day mundanities.

i'm assuming we're talking about 3rd person limited, since we're mostly contained in what surrounds this Frederick guy and that 3rd omniscient is often hackish.

in fact, to be even more blunt, any sort of eye-moving or describing of the eyes isn't needed. It's intrinsic and almost never occurs to humans that "I am looking at this thing." it often doesn't need to be included to understand the story, because things that surround a character are understood to be able to be seen by him. if there are things he can't see, describe how they're obscured. i say exclude it.

>>8347922
>What do you want?
I was hoping for something deeper than what I set out to write in the first place, I was hoping someone would tell me something that makes me reel inside my own head.

>>8347841
the guy who just responded to you wasn't me (the guy who called it shit), but you're grasping to say something profound, while mired in cliches and overwriting:

"interminable, unshakeable nature"
"staring into the void" (ew)
"encompassing triviality"
"malice toward the void"
"vision was shattered" (ew)
"interminable reality"
"rebellion against staring the inevitable end in the face" (ew)

you're using big words to try to make your prose more profound.

this is why i said to read lispector's book, because she writes in this sort of style and that will help your writing.

>>8347905
>The point, is that I was trying to get down to why I was feeling the way I was feeling.
Which didn't work very well for me as a reader or the guy who called it shit, and well, other guys who pointed out that they don't like it very much.

Obviously all subjective but that's given. I didn't get anything out of your writing, you didn't get anything out of the critique; it happens.

>>8347926
>it would never occur to him that "I am now looking at this thing with my cold grey eyes."
Usually not, sure but what if he really likes his eye color and thinks about it much more than the average person, if he isn't too lost in thoughts when looking at the thing, Some /fit/ person would pay much more attention to their own body than most for example.

>he could instead feel that his cheeks felt hot or his eyes feel strained, but could never see that unless he had a mirror.
Well, in that scenario "see" wouldn't be an optimal word for eye rings but something like "he could imagine how deep the circles below his eyes must been after another night without sleep" should work, no?

>only describe the things he can perceive, but also only describe what you feel he is likely to perceive.
Fully agree about the first part; the second depends on the character itself though. I couldn't give any less fucks about my ears, a person who recently had some correction surgery would think a lot about hers.

>if a POV dude and another guy have been friends for decades, will the POV character immediately rattle off a full description of his friend when he's first met in the story?
The average person wouldn't, somebody obsessed by looks or even their friend would.

>It's intrinsic and almost never occurs to humans that "I am looking at this thing."
Usually not but depends all on the mindstate.

Basically I am not arguing against sticking to the limits of limited 3rd person, that's very important; all I am saying that the line is drawn differently for every person, so as long the author considered that, some things that may seem wrong, don't have to be.

>>8347939
Well nobody's going to know you better than you know yourself. All kidding aside, if you're really caught up with evaluating yourself to such an extent, go see a shrink. Then maybe write about the whole experience, which is something I'd be happy to read, and what Woody Allen's audience has been paying for these last forty years. The best thing about it right now is the progression of thought, which is a pretty good place to start with any form of writing. It's the maudlin prose that holds it back.

>>8347993
>Usually not, sure but what if he really likes his eye color and thinks about it much more than the average person, if he isn't too lost in thoughts when looking at the thing, Some /fit/ person would pay much more attention to their own body than most for example.
agree.

>Well, in that scenario "see" wouldn't be an optimal word for eye rings but something like "he could imagine how deep the circles below his eyes must been after another night without sleep" should work, no?
yup. the character imaging things is always fine.

>Fully agree about the first part; the second depends on the character itself though. I couldn't give any less fucks about my ears, a person who recently had some correction surgery would think a lot about hers.
ah, but you're agreeing with me there. if she just got corrective surgery and feels self-conscious about it, she'd be likely to think about them a lot. writing her as thinking about that, critiquing herself in the mirror, thinking about what they might look like when she can't see them, or touching them even though she's under doctors orders not to would be good characterization.

>The average person wouldn't, somebody obsessed by looks or even their friend would.
agree.

>Usually not but depends all on the mindstate.
agree.

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tfw

>>8348136
lmfao

>>8347965
Well you know what? I don't fucking care if it's bad, because as far as I can see, it's undeniable. The stuff that I said isn't able to be refuted by any of you, I think that my use of words are effective and importantly, correct. If you really read all that (which I doubt any of you really did, and grasped what I was trying to say), I don't think you would really be bitching about the prose, or whatever. I think you would be commenting on the nature of the thoughts being presented to you in the writing, instead of being a fake, empty tool who thinks you know the first thing about writing and art.

>>8348642
Jesus Christ Elliot, calm down.

>>8348642
i guess i can't look into the face of stupidity and ignorance without feeling like i'm staring into the void

you said some extremely basic stuff about nihilism and existentialism, and presented it like an amateur, and defended it like an autist.

found two more:

"struck at the heart of it" (ew)
"reality would fall apart"

the prose is everything

>>8348667
I wrote a second response to the same thing that you wrote in that other thread that you copied your response into.

>>8348642
This is a critique thread. People mainly post fiction and poetry. We aren't here to have an argument with you about your ideas. We are here to tell each other how our ideas can be presented better. If you want to argue about the ideas, you should make a different thread, because nobody is going to go into an in-depth philosophy discussion here. You want an argument, not a critique.

>>8348642
>which I doubt any of you really did, and grasped what I was trying to say
This either means that...

>A: you're a genius beyond your time
>B: you're a shitty writer
>C: everybody reading it was too dumb to recognise the quality

Feel free to stick to A or C, but I'd say B is more likely.

I wrote this sonnet this week. I will first post an English translation, and then the original in Portuguese.

Some faces of love

Love: pollen that the rose of the heart creates;
The wheat of friendship forged in carnal bread;
Virus that inflames the soul in honey; the milk of joy;
A tempest in which the thunders have teeth of satin;

A sun that solves icebergs and warms the chest; a narcotic harp;
Human carbon harmonized in diamond;
Drunkenness of ambrosia and cirrhotic corrosion;
Flesh and blood hosting a god as an inhabitant;

Emptiness in the me, in the us infinity; ocean
That submerges in ocean; fruit and thorn;
The coma of reason; desire made tyrant;

The heavens when in the human clay they make their nest;
The oxygen of spirit; the road of roads;
Tender whispers under sheets on the cold nights.

Algumas faces do amor

Amor: pólen que a rosa do coração cria;
O trigo da amizade em pão carnal forjado;
Vírus que inflama a alma em mel; leite da alegria;
Tormenta em que os trovões tem dente acetinado;

Sol que icebergs solve e aquece o peito; harpa narcótica;
Carbono humano harmonizado em diamante;
Embriaguez de ambrosia e corrosão cirrótica;
Carne e sangue hospedando um deus como habitante;

Vazio no eu, no nós infinito; oceano
Em oceano mergulhado; fruto e espinho;
O coma da razão; o desejar tirano;

O céu quando no barro humano faz seu ninho;
O oxigênio do espírito; via das vias;
Ternos sussurros sob lençóis em noites frias.

>>8348749
I'm gonna go with C. I'm not a genius by any means, but I know what I'm doing. I went and wrote what you see in that pic in probably less than 5 minutes, I wrote it all down in one go, without really stopping and pondering over what it is exactly that I'm trying to say more than maybe once. So, it's not me actually trying that hard at all, but it's also pretty clear and over re-read I can tell that I did get across the point I was trying to get across. I also wouldn't want to try to try very hard, I am against the notion of trying that hard on your writing in itself, because I feel like when I write, it should flow naturally and not because I got really fussy and struggled over what I was trying to say to make it sound the most pleasing as it possibly can.

I want my writing to be raw, the fact that it has even disgusted some of the people who have read it, when I'm confident that it even successfully conveys the message that it's trying to convey, pleases me. I want the people who read it to feel uncomfortable, I want the thoughts that I convey to give them a sort of feeling of disgust, or a feeling of nauseating embarrassment, because I feel that sort of thing every single day. I wouldn't want to hand someone something that they can really happily set down and say "oh thank you sir may I have another?" I fucking destroyed you mentally.

>>8348774
>i didn't ACTUALLY try, because i have a credo against writing well and want to push out first drafts
>i didn't want it to sound pleasing
>"I fucking destroyed you mentally."

FUCKING BURST OUT LAUGHING

>>8348813
That's not to say I don't try hard when I write something. I put a lot of focus to the things I write and I do take writing seriously. I just don't like the idea of being fussy with the work that I've already made, because then it becomes stressful. If a work of art is truly something to marvel over, the thoughts themselves will be good when I first write them, and I have written things like that before.

>>8348768

please? What is good on it; what is bad?

>>8348774
>I went and wrote what you see in that pic in probably less than 5 minutes
It certainly reads that way.

>I am against the notion of trying that hard on your writing in itself, because I feel like when I write, it should flow naturally
Refining a work won't make it flow less naturally when done right; I am all for not trying too hard, specially if it's obvious that one tries too hard but refining what one said is not too different from fixing spelling mistakes and sounds like the minimum respect a writer should give the reader.

Obviously purely unrefined work has its own merits and provides an insight into the creative process of somebody but unless you're actually somebody or gift the reader with something absolutely breathtaking ... nobody will care. At best you'll produce some facepalms, which I am sure you've accomplished, so there is that.

>I want the people who read it to feel uncomfortable
I don't see the point to write the equivalent of watching a kid shitting himself or smearing feces over a canvas to "shock", specially if it's so fucking common but whatever floats your boat, mate.

>a feeling of nauseating embarrassment
One can get that from most online comments, why focusing your writing on that? What's the point of it?

>I fucking destroyed you mentally.
In the same way Divergent or Twilight have ... but these works managed to accomplish so much more at the same time.

>>8348862
>I don't see the point to write the equivalent of watching a kid shitting himself or smearing feces over a canvas to "shock", specially if it's so fucking common but whatever floats your boat, mate.
I wouldn't liken my writing to watching someone shit themselves at all.
>One can get that from most online comments, why focusing your writing on that? What's the point of it?
The point, is that if you're feeling nausea from my work, it's because you can't handle the ideas that I'm putting forward and they make you uncomfortable.

>>8348877
Did anybody even use the word disgust? Nobody was disgusted. Some people felt like there were problems with the prose, and others thought that the ideas were sort of juvenile. Instead of quietly accepting that the writing might be less than perfect, you chose to defend it and paint this narrative that everyone who disagrees with you is a closeminded idiot. Why even post in a thread asking for a CRITIQUE if you are going to assume any criticism comes from a bad place?

>>8348877
>I wouldn't liken my writing to watching someone shit themselves at all.
Well, that's the beauty of opinions, everybody can have their own. Although as a writer, it seems desirable to be able to present your own in a way that encourages at least thinking about it.

>The point, is that if you're feeling nausea from my work
Mild boredom and cringe is more like it.

>it's because you can't handle the ideas that I'm putting forward and they make you uncomfortable.
Anybody can write a little wall of text about eating shit, (Sade made a fucking career with similar crap) and it's bound to make many people uncomfortable, it's quite an easy to reach goal (which you failed)

But say you did accomplish that, what's the point?

>>8348877
>The point, is that if you're feeling nausea from my work, it's because you can't handle the ideas that I'm putting forward and they make you uncomfortable.

annnnnnnnnd there's a whole genre of this, filled with similar hack frauds:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transgressive_fiction

here's a good example, in that it ACTUALLY will make you feel uncomfortable. it's merely "good" writing, but still better than yours:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haunted_(Palahniuk_novel)#.22Guts.22
http://chuckpalahniuk.net/features/shorts/guts

http://abclocal.go.com/three/kabc/kabc/My-Twisted-World.pdf

Best example. Although shitty writing ... which strengths the feeling.

>>8348774
You've got to be a troll

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Here's an excerpt of a short story about a guy who thinks /pol/ is a joke. Let me know if anyone wants the whole thing


“I am here to introduce here today a researcher of radical insight, caliber and forth thought. One who has flung new floodgates of anthropology, psychology, and aesthetic theory so ajar, - the waters of progress are still flooding in - that he accepts a wholly new term for his science and his professions; he is the first ‘irono-racist digi-lit theorist.’
“No colleague of mine, or indeed contemporary, has shown so much bravery in the face of governmental, and public scrutiny in his work, as well as a complete disregard for the self and his own public image in his investigations. He has delved and panned for truth in the human experience where no man has gone before, down into the deepest darkest depths of the internet. I introduce to you - Dr. NerdHerd92.”
The introducer read all this in a deafeningly droll voice, clearly reading the script that Dr. NerdHerd92 had given him. Lukewarm clapping ensued. The local assistant professor, in his pleated khakis and button up, walked off the stage and left the room. He had shit to do. The crowd of sociology students - all white - was attending for extra credit. The mid-sized lecture hall was packed half full, with students sitting a seat away from each other unless they came together, everyone with their event stub in hand - equal to a half of a point on the next quiz. It was either this lecture or a student play about the prison system on a dry Friday night in a small college village 5 miles from the nearest downtown, and while the other option was surely a bummer, this one was an unknown quantity.
A promising and acceptably nerdy twenty something walked in, with his high collared sweater and black dress pants. As he mounted a small step to the podium, he pushed up his glasses as if they were a little loose, though they were perfectly fit to his schnoz.
“Thank you Lakeside Community College. I am elated to be behind this podium, on this stage raising me slightly above your porous young brains, talking today about shockingly new kinds of community.” He elongated the pronunciation of that last word, as if no one in the room had considered its significance before.
“Yes, community - a place where we can touch each other - metaphorically speaking,” and now he was really wound up, shiny eyed, and going on, as the students realised they’d made a terrible mistake.

>>8348877
The nausea doesn't come from the ideas, but from the cliché-ridden prose abundant with grammar mistakes and lacking in coherent sentence construction.

>>8348774
We're trying to tell you that your piece was boring. I put it down, nauseated, because it was reminiscent of middle schoolers smoking weed for the first time.

>>8349111
>>8349118
aw, fuck you. who values your opinion anyway.

>>8349163
You, apparently.

>>Posts in a critique thread, clearly expecting to be called a genius
>>Is not. Becomes irate.

>>8330235
yeah, you're pretty good at describing and painting the image of characters but some of your language is a bit bland. check out this: https://prowritingaid.com/
the grammar and whatnot could be solved with this, and during the re-work you could expand a little on the characters' appearance

>>8349163
lmfao

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>>8329107
I sat in Mr Daniels's office as he spat mouthfuls of venom at me over the dark mahogany effect plastic table. This was the first time I had really been in trouble, but I was already past it which was lucky because while this might have been my first time sitting in an office being talked to like a 5 year old, it wouldn't be my last by a long shot. I always thought these kinds of talks would have hit home better if they were to me, rather than at me. I was always told ‘respect was earned’ and they expected it handed over or they'd take it from you by force. I didn't plan on letting them do either. Daniels finally lowered his tone and I stopped scrutinizing over the many scribed phallus's etched into the desk like cave paintings detailing a forgotten past.
"You understand you can't question staff like that don't you Andrew?" he said, expecting something to click. It didn't. I nodded anyway, just to get the ordeal over with. "Now go to break, you've still got fifteen minutes."
I grabbed my bag slowly. Maybe I should have exited quicker, but I had nothing to rush for.
"and don't let me see you again, you hear?" he finished. I didn't reply, I opened the heavy wooden door and stepped into the corridor to avoid making a promise I couldn't keep.

"I'm a genius. An assumption from me is worth much more than one from you, or anyone else. Trust me."
"You know that I'll be laughing all the way to prison if you're wrong, no?"
"However we twist or turn it, you are the bigger idiot for following me, despite that I have the decency and grace, not to overstate this fact at every opportunity."
"You have no tits, of course I'd rather have a better look at your ass."

Just a short bit of dialogue, translated so I bet the grammar is suboptimal nor relevant now. I wonder if the switch works or sounds too try hard/forced?

With so much fluff and so much slush on hand, I don’t know how we move products. It is a god-damned mess here in Save Zone. I rumble in my car. My car fits into a spot at Cheap Right. Wow, it sure is disorganized here. The alphabetical order has fractured many times. The topical order is a pipe dream. I am buzzed on Rainforest coffee and surrounded by headcrab-like products as well as airborne germs such as viruses. I huff and puff in my car. I park behind a truck on the street and jaywalk and slide my card through the reader and take the elevator up to the floor containing my apartment and walk to it and put the key into the lock on the door and turn it leftward and push on the bulk of the door with my right arm (which is threaded through three plastic shopping bags) and enter and kind of collapse onto the living room floor (where I have positioned a beanbag chair) and sigh, all in one smooth, uninterrupted motion. It is now time for me to go through the products. How many bones did I need to collect in order to collect these products together? Oh, a whole skeleton thereof (by “bones” I mean money). From my pockets through markets and onto my kitchen table, in these three plastic bags, my values have crossed the last abstraction layer guarding the physical and paid their way into its ritual shaping. This is part experiment part sacrifice, and its cost is three-hundred dollars. I’m frequently told in the comments sections of my YouTube videos that three-hundred dollars is the cost of a life in some places at some times, but what am I supposed to make of that? Is that an observation or an affirmation? Shouldn’t a Stone tablet be worth less? In fact, shouldn’t it be worthless? Gazoy! Anyways, in this video I’ll be stacking three Stone tablets on top of each other and smashing the top one with a ball-peen hammer, hopefully hard enough to break all three.

>>8329253
to 'jaculate
now that would scratch
the itch I got
for stranger snatch

>>8329269
could you at least fix the grammar and spelling errors in this before posting it damn

>>8329698
great. effortless to read once you catch the beat, which is real neat

>>8329942
>A group of Mounted Imperial Guardsmen was coming along the road.
worst sentence in history of English language