Writefag Thread

>>8637677
Fuck off anime degenerate pedo scum

I'm not writing anything, I'm mucking around and trying to gather inspiration from looking at beautiful trees. It's not helping.

>>8637682
WHAT DID I SAY?! NO BULLY!

>>8637687
Write something stupid. Write a quick story about a man who struggles with communism.

>>8637690
I wasn't attacking you, I was posting my latest writing

>>8637713
>he writes hateful things
May I give you my critique?

>>8637722
>the narrator is the same as the author

Please go, pedo

Ye know... me pappy used'tah tell me ye can always tell a lot about a man by how young his wife is and how old his kids're... and'y can tell a lot 'bout a girl by how young she is'nd how old'er momma is... and me?... well... I'm damn near 50, and me pappy in yer fancy terms'd be called a 'statutory rapist'... well, we jus called him 'paw'... and his wifey, well... she wu'nt no statue... so we just called 'maw', or 'Luanne'...

Now... Luanne was just barely a girl when paw got'er. an' she damn near caused Judgement Day the way she screamed when she'd me and me two other triplets... or at least that's what the vid'er recordin made it sound like.

And her pappy...?...well....... he was one o'em 'mehicans' Trump is warnin' about... and her momma was damn near 50 too when she got a half breed in'er belly... but i ought'nt speak 'bout me momma that way, considerin' a quarter breed seems't be worth less than a half breed... but that's all down to perspective y'see...

Now... that's probably 'nuff'bout me parents... i suppose y'came t'me to hear me story... did'nt'ye?...

Now... this all began durin' the fifties... it was'a real good time to be white folk... 'nd we're just white enough...

Now... they say y'can ne'er stand in the same river twice... but that's all down to perspective y'see... but in our case... we're always movin' down stream... when me gran'pappy came to visit, and he did enough for a man've his reputation... well... he always said it's cause our mehican spirit wants'te be closer to its traditional burial grounds the older its body gets... but paw jus wouldn't stop screwin' girls right when we got right and settled... but I said I'd stop talking 'bout me parents so I ought'a...

Now... as I wus sayin... ye'cn ne'er stand in the same river twice... well... ive stood in a lot of rivers.. fishin' y'see on account'v me paw bein' too busy screwin girls t'work 'nd me maw bein' too young t'work and bein' part of all kinds of mehican rituals considerin' she was the only mehican girl where'e'er we went... but now... i damn said I would stop talkin' bout me parents...

Now... fishin... that's'a real sport... nuthin like them near-freezin waters t'chill you 'wake...'nd the taste of fresh fish caught wit' yr own hands 'nd still bloody... y'see we couldn't afford no tools or matches'n'wood on account of our paw goin' off screwin' girls all over town 'n spendin what'e'er money he had payin' off 'er pappy... 'nd're maw always off doin'em mehican fertility rituals... but damn it now... I said I'd stop talkin' bout me parents...

Nuthin like a fresh fish... still bloody'n'sweet...its som'thn me 'nd me brothers thought of as a ritual... and as we got older... we got into a bunch more rituals... not like the fertility rituals maw wus in... but damn it now.. I'd said I'd stop talkin' bout me parents...

Now... the first of these rituals happen'd bout the time we collectively turned 12... we called it 'winky-dink'...

pls r8

>>8637729
5/10
First paragraph made me lol. Then I got bored

>>8637750
It was for >>8632653 so it had to be substanceless.

>>8637751
Then cut out all the substance after the first paragraph.

>>8637754
I wanted to write like 10 posts of absolutely nothing a la Tristam Shandy.

Then I ran out of ideas.

>>8637764
>Running out of ideas
>About literally nothing
Kek.

>>8637776
I could have went on about incest and digressed back to the parents a few dozen more times.

I would very much like some thoughts on this.

My sight switch between the clock and the sheet of paper. My turn would being at six in the morning, and I were five minutes late. However, I could not abandon my unfinished poem. The sky began to turn blue with the dawn, the birds sung melodies which, althought devoid of rhythm, could only be compared to the greatest symphony, and the weak light of the candle, put there only to add to the ambience, was agitating in the paper. It lacked but one stanza, and I could not finish it but there, during that exact moment. If I abandoned it, it wouldn't be for a short amount of time, but for all of my life. A poem with it's verses made in different times loses its value, becoming fruit of different emotions and conditions.

>>8637790
i think you have infinity typos

>>8637682
Why are you on 4chan

Anyone remember the anon who wanted help with the - WAR WITHIN - query letter?
I emailed him and got a few chapters of his magnum opus, if anyone's interested.

I'm just going to leave this here :)

https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BzZzSemy73ZDY3BDeXFCN0MyZVE

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there was once a man named man and he went to the store and he bought a pint of milk then he realised he drinks a pint of day and would have to come back tomorrow to buy another

then he realised if he didn't buy a pint a day and bought 7 pints in advance of the week he could drink all his milk without having to buy milk every day

so he did then he went to the store then he bought 7 pints of milk then he realised he couldn't carry it all home so he made two trips one with 4 pints one with 3 and then eventually he had the 7 for the week

so he drunk his pint a day then man woke up one day and took out a pint then drunk it then spilled it everywhere

what does man do?

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>>8639023

>indentating the first line
>using line break despite using indentation
>inconsistent paragraph spacing
>font size fucking mosquito

I'm not even going to try. People who know fuckall about text formatting shouldn't get creative.

>>8639040
What's wrong with indenting the first line?

I write my stuff in spanish. Should I post the translation or the original text?

>>8639040
>indentating

>>8639377

Indenting the first line in a body of text is unnecessary, ugly and unprofessional.

>>8639519
Every novel I've ever read has indenting though.

>>8639527
Yet it seems you can't read at all.

I was in a hurry translating it from my language, hopefully now everything is correct. Tell me your thoughts.

My sight was switching between the clock and the sheet of paper. My turn would begin at six in the morning, and I was five minutes late. However, I could not abandon my unfinished poem. The sky began to turn blue with the dawn, the birds sang melodies which, although devoid of rhythm, could only be compared to the greatest symphony, and the weak light of the candle, put there only to add to the ambience, was agitating in the paper. It lacked but one stanza, and I could not finish it but there, during that exact moment. If I abandoned it, it wouldn't be for a short amount of time, but for all my life. A poem with it's verses made in different times loses its value, becoming fruit of different emotions and conditions.

>>8639040
>who cares what's written when it hurts my autism?!

>>8639721
Sorry m8, but if your wall of text looks like shit on the outside, then the chances are, the contents aren't any better.

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>>8637682
>bitching about anime on 4chan

This is probably bait, but come on! Get a new angle, buddy.

The modern lover of history finds more of value in Thucydides than in Livy. The former, while guilty of embellishment and invention, did so in the service of a history that was as secular and objective as could be expected at the time. He documented the religious beliefs and superstitions of his age, but did not give them a causal role in his writing. It is these attributes which make him stand out to the modern mind: a mind obsessed with reason, or with its appearance.

Livy is conversely guilty of the gravest sin in modern academia, that of unrepentently subjectivizing his writing to favor the direct, internal lived experiences of those about whom he writes. Where he did not have sufficient information to speak authoritively about a person or event, he resorts to embellishment and invention, like Thucydides. However, he does so using the raw positionality of each of his subjects based on the Roman social context, or on mythology, which he assumes to have a kind of prehistorical significance as an even less rationalized, externalized, and objectively codified form of lived experience.

In writing this history, which is unlike anything of its kind, I come far closer to Livy than to Thucydides. While I regret the consequences this will have for the dissemination and acceptance of the text, I must nonetheless justify my choices and stand by them as necessary in the exposition of a story that must be told, but which is buried in so much obscurity, uncertainty, ancient and modern confusion, and deliberate obstruction.

>>8639501
Both, please.

The beginning to a little story im writing.

http://pastebin.com/syexbgAu

Critiques appreciated thanks

>>8641607
Sure. Let me get home first, tho. My english is very rusted.

>>8639596
Formulaic, nothing super interesting happening here either in terms of device.

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I'm trying to write a whimsical short story about cheesemongers but I only got one hour of sleep last night .

Ah what the hell, tear my edginess apart /lit/- only way I'll learn-

Hospital windows

I have idled in all the waiting rooms
on blue geo-patterned waiting chairs
I have sat and i have stared
I have bore my gaze into the clock
Until there was no time left
I have gone slack-jawed, I have depersonalised
I have held television static in my eyes only to realise
that the window is one true friend
And so I have become the coma kid
Who killed himself a dozen times
On distant silent highways
I have stepped out into the vein
To be run down by metal cells
that hoon all throughout my brain
And awoken to a muted sigh
and saw that it was all so far away
Watched the traffic ebb and flow
And watched the people pulsate
To throb into these hospital rooms
Then throb themselves till empty
Under the eye of fellow throbbers
that lean over to touch them gently
and make a spectacle of their decay
Then pad out the door with a sad limp wave
And pad on down the hall
And pad on out into the day
And pad on and pad on
Till they’re under bleached sheets
With weepy eyes and organs
That syncopate each other’s beat
Till they cannot see the rush before them
And so spend these final throbs
In sleep

>>8641651
Cut down on some of the repetition. Other than that I like the simple style- compliments your character's dislike of pretentiousness and such.

how do i be good writer lads?

>>8642379
Read lots and practice, then take something you think you're proud of and let it be torn apart by vicious lion-types (preferably ones that know what they're talking about)

>>8642393
i'm a lazy fuck so i will spend maybe twelve hours developing something and then drop it for six months

I wrote a semi-occult book called Book of Sanctimony in anticipation of my suicide. It's kind of a joke book, and there are a lot of gags in it which aren't possible to transcribe to type.

>>8642399
Yeah I know the feeling. I guess trying to force yourself to churn out something on a regular basis is really the only answer- pity that quality tends to degrade along with interest in these kinda things though.

I'm writing a dialogue scene for my stupid intrusion fantasy book. Do these characters sound like realistic, modern young adults?

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1iHr55v-zRwPZDRwL96ImNmS62pizGkg2uaFx3MPzb1Y/edit

>>8642294
Not very good until the last couple lines. the rest is lacking, I'd personally get rid of all the lines starting with "I".

Here's a short story I'm working on. All critique welcome.

http://pastebin.com/0ukLkt2V

>>8642462
Yeah it seems like a fairly natural/ realistic dialogue. Get rid of some of the "dudes" though as it seemed a bit over the top.

>>8642522
Okay, awesome.

Did the passage convey that Zach might be depressed? Was the "my entire fuckin' life" line too obvious?

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how SHIT is my SHIT?
http://pastebin.com/S0jhaWcw
JUST

>>8642515
That's a lot of "says".

Well, something I wrote in Portuguese:

"Ian se refestela na cama sem sequer tirar o acolchoado. A temperatura começa a cair e ele lembra que talvez seja uma boa ideia descer para o jantar. Seus olhos fitos na luminária onde um grupo de mosquitos voa em um vaivém ininterrupto. “Que diabos eles querem?”, ele se pergunta e observa os insetos em sua dança da morte até que um deles, o mais arguto e afoito, tenta meter-se por entre a base de plástico que segura a lâmpada fluorescente, até que, de tanto se bater ali dentro, ele acaba tocando um dos pinos de contato que estavam minimamente expostos. Há uma descarga elétrica, pequena e imperceptível àquela distância, e Ian sabe que aquilo foi o fim. Ele quer pensar sobre aquilo, extrapolar o insignificante ao ponto que tudo se torne uma reflexão acerca da vida e sua falta de propósito — mas tal como um músculo que exposto a exercícios prolongados mal consegue estender-se sem que uma dor pungente o acometa, da mesma forma Ian sente a cabeça oscilar pesada, um pêndulo entre sonho e realidade, os olhos semicerrando-se, o corpo tomado por um torpor, até que tudo desaparece nos rios que fluem a mente cujos barcos já se encontram em cais escuridão adentro."

>>8642701
Don't mix text with the direct speech.
>A man shouted from an elevated wooden platform, he is clad in white robes...
That's an awkward transition, do something.
>He had positioned himself at the center of the busiest STREET <...>, a lot of merchants and travellers use this STREET to get to and fro major cities.

>>8642563
Not that guy, but I think it was okay. If it's really important, maybe you should add something about how he looked while saying it.

>>8642760
Where? I can only find one "says" and one "said"

Please help me make this more interesting:

http://pastebin.com/5ypFy1PB

a political scirntyist rold me i am "very racist" tonighht

I dont have ill feelings to the abos

i cabnt type

>>8638364
>something good on /lit/
I'm curious enough to want to see this

http://pastebin.com/xuUKJxL9

Here i pasted it in google translate
http://pastebin.com/c7D538Vw

demo:
In particular, a lot has changed since the days when the hospital was called the slaughterhouse, and patients going into its northern gate, and leave mostly southern gate - feet first. Specialist began his work by measuring the total area of which occupied the hospital with branches that do not belong to the main building - this area was one hundred and ten cubits long and ninety-wide and was on each side separated by a fence. The main building occupied this forty cubits long, wide and thirty high was nineteen elbows. Contained in a total of four main branches on each of the floors, long a few dozen yards wide and about ten, each of the branches divided into smaller units - surgery divided into general surgery and orthopedic surgery, trauma-; gynecology also neonatology, and block birth; a branch of internal medicine also contained in a neurologie and OAIT (and silent). Results have not been included several specialist clinics and laboratories X-rays, each of these rooms was in the form of a square with an area of several elbows. Ground floor - dining room, kitchen, chapel, pharmacy - on a rectangular area with dimensions of forty cubits long, ten wide. Hospital grounds ended in August with the north and south complexes of buildings - the northern branch of infectious and ZOL (by dividing the entire width of three parts, these troops occupied part of the central long were ten cubits, and the high on for six), in the south of laboratories ( in a large building 20 yards long and wide to ten). Wind was a total of 4 - one at the entrance to ZOL, the other at the rear of laboratories, and the two oldest - in the main hospital building, dimensions: 3 cubits long, 3 wide and 6 high elbows. Jarek chose this which in contrast to other work, and drove her to the surgical ward, his left wing was in block birth (8 cubits long, 27 cubits wide), where according to the report happened to malfunction.

>>8642784
Cntrl+F, "say".

>>8642765
Muito gostoso, anon.
Portuguese is top-tier for writing.

Animeposters need to leave. /r/anime is at a different website. That website? Reddit.

>>8642852
Anime website.

first real attempt at writing something, how terrible is it?

http://pastebin.com/titzhyvu

Pink and thick Like an
eraser in friction against paper
a star tesselating into five
points A feeling, a sense
Deja vu every time the dawns wells
A benificent tumorous coral
Timbre resonating in something
the coiled pink muscle of migrane
The glowing light that
Innards scraped across a page
The flakes whispering a lovely
pulsing amnesia Fading poem
Like a metaphor taken literally
the meaning of the metaphor forgotten
A pink eraser scraping against the
page My head searching for a
poem that I lost
Something strange and beautiful

Automatic writing:
Delicate, the bones of a poem folding under the weight of words
A comb running through the mind, unwinding the tangled mess of thought
tasteful only to the point that it ignores the nature of things
The building like a metaphor straining at the edge of its meaning
admits its weakness in the form of broken glass
While somewhere else a kettle screams, full of tea
the frail porcelain that holds it's fragments
like the structure of the building

An honest man sits
Alone beneath a tree,
And the whole world dares to listen.
A man whose words
Are bittersweet,
But the world does not dismiss him.
In fact, he feels,
With every sin
The world begins to miss him.

An honest man, here, once sat,
And told the world so much.
When on this tree he hung his hat,
The grass forgot his touch.

>>8643324
>the frail porcelain that holds it's fragments
First thing that came to mind was a toilet bowl. Just thought I'd let you know.

>>8641607
I'll post the original text. Maybe I'll post the translation later.

Es increíble como el silencio corrompe las mentes sin hambre.
Déjanos ver que regalos trajeron los dioses para esta cabeza vacía.
Queremos saber qué tan lejos llegan las lecciones.
De uno en un millón, caen, se tropiezan y los pisotean, ciegos, sin tacto, percibiendo la suave carne como si fuese una alfombra.
Por fin, bajan de sus apartados hogares, lejos en la montaña, vienen para matar y oír los llantos de sus presas.
Huelen el miedo en el aire, tiñen la nieve de rojo y se marchan sin dejar rastro alguno.
Y elejimos hacerles caso omiso a los lobos, y amamos a los corderos, los cuidamos como si fuesen tesoros y cuando se convierten en carneros, los faenamos por sus crímenes.
Escucho las pesadillas que se agolpan en las salidas de mi cráneo, rogan misericordia, escapan de un horror lejano y desconocido, que las humillará y las pondrá de rodillas.
Y ahora opinamos sin saber, hablamos sin razones y pedimos que se nos escuche. Oigo palabras de vacío. Desconocemos y nos lamentamos por lo que no sabemos si deberíamos. Los sensibles gastan sus lágrimas. Los apáticos se quedan confundidos en un rincón. Luchamos por una causa perdida sin ganar ni siquiera la satisfacción de hacerlo. Deformamos los sentimientos para que quepan en nuestro propio ambiente. Y así se produce una malinterpretación. No nos inmutaríamos si no existiese primero desde nosotros. De alguna forma debemos proyectar fuerza.
Es hora de dormir. Tal vez los sueños borren nuestros efímeros recuerdos, pero existen en los pensamientos de los guardianes, que sin perder su férrea postura, sollozan como niños.

Another one:

Hermosos eran los vientos cálidos del invierno.
-”¿Podrás capturar a la Luna y las estrellas
arrodillándose frente tuyo?”

-”No, si el agua sigue estando lodosa y turbia;

no mientras quede encandilado por su belleza:

es simplemente un espectáculo ver como se oculta entre las copas de los árboles.”
La noche temblaba, su brillo otorgado por el Sol agonizante y sus hijas.
Pueden verse las copas de los pinos meciéndose en el viento del huracán.
Ese viento una vez suave, que apenas besaba el rostro de uno.
Pueden verse los techos de madera y de chapa arrancados de sus soportes.
A la gente no parece molestarle.
Ya hace tiempo necesitábamos una tormenta así, silenciosa, cálida y luminosa.
¡Que barra lejos de aquí aquellos ruidos espantosos, que nos abrigue del frío y que traiga agua a los secos campos!
El cielo sigue deslumbrante, como siempre.
Nunca la muerte de alguien tan poderoso pudo proveernos de tal espectáculo.
Veo los techos de madera y de chapa, y todavía no son arrancados.
Mejor así.
Que la tormenta sea solo mía.

I'm writing an urban fantasy book atm and is coming along great. Though its to shit right now to show to other people.

>>8643590
Post it, anon. I wanna see it.


Lamento de la Selva:

Es como si las copas de los altos árboles se inclinasen para ver al niño muerto.
La triste lluvia hace de cortina, cubre al pequeño y a su madre, que huyen del dolor.
Los ríos se secan al ver pasar a la joven, y se enfurecen al ver a los persecutores.
La tierra se vuelve firme, y las hierbas se corren durante unos minutos. Luego se vuelve lodosa y pesada, y matas espinozas y llenas de veneno bloquean el paso.
Parece ser que la piedra ya se quebró, y la jungla se queda sin energías.

>>8643594
http://pastebin.com/xmjUPa9y

First chapter let me know what you think

>>8643666
It's nice, but it needs some repolishment.
For example, you use too much the word "Calvin". Play around with "his" "him" or "he".

>>8643779
Thanks I appreciate the feedback

Wine


Maybe a plum-colored
pail of salt to scrub myself with, or

a diaphragm of opulent
chalk markings shrouded over

the bed-side floor; a heart-hole that
tremors from its carved weight
will do.

The linoleum, it peels like skin above
the cavern
where my feet have forced themselves into.

I sink there on a sibilant
night: in the horizon

of your wine my airy suspension sounds
as metal on the plate of your eye.

I'll wash your things in that old bay, my skin
cold as it develops in the swelling fluid.


Your hand becoming sheer
under the scent of glass I sleep

until the bottom hits in
the firmament of your grasping palm.

>>8643571
Very nice

La infinidad del horizonte corta mis entrañas
En acecho a el tiempo y la viveza extraña
De la inquisición del frío lento en las manos
Y la escritura falsa perdida en los años

La luz del sol cae agresiva
No hay sombra a mi alrededor que me aguarde
El aire esta vació y sangre viva
Escucho mi voz y mi palabra arde

No existo en el umbral del ayer
La silueta me obsequia la ceguera y el deber
De partir a fuego a mañanas blancos
De surgir en el hojaldre de los cantos

Encuéntrame en los muros de piedra
Muerto entre puñales y plumas
Mis ojos cerrados y mi cara despierta
Simple en los caminos de fugas

>>8639023
>https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BzZzSemy73ZDY3BDeXFCN0MyZVE
yuki yuki yuki yuki yuki yuki yuki yuki yuki yuki yuki yuki yuki yuki yuki

>>8641095
Literaly pixelated shit.

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>>8644172
G-gracias.

>>8643571
Muy bueno

>>8643571
Esta Bien

first short story since high school (normally write poetry)

The boy wandered about his stuff in the yard like Roman ruins. Whenever someone would stop by and ask how much that couch is, or how much that one lamp everyone seemed to like cost, his mother always shook her head and ultimately said no to the sale. The last time was similar, but she at least sold something. Today, she can’t seem to let anything go.

Maybe her brother will help her get rid of some of this junk. It was so confusing as to why she crumpled into him like a triumphal arch groaning with age and cracks. Remember when the teacher told us about the Romans? They were so strong they had their own lake. If only we had a lake for fishing. They also had huge aquaducks that would bring water to their town (didn’t they have faucets?). Maybe, their water was too heavy.

The heaviness of a slumped head in your shoulder is unforgettable. The boy overheard her saying,
-They threw our shit in the yard! I told them we’d move. I was almost done moving everything, but they, they threw our shit in the yard.
-Mama, this man was wondering how much the recliner is.


With a face as red as a dying sun, filled with blood and anguish she fell to her back and screamed and screamed and screamed.

Ich spaziere über die Straße, wann ich sehen eine kleine Mann. Das kleine Mann sich war sehr lustig, weil ist er sehr klein e. Unter 6" ist kleine. Sollte er bestehen dürfen? Es macht Sie wirklich denken.

>>8644726
moody

>>8637705
>Write something stupid. Write a quick story about a man who struggles with communism.

"What was that?" He squinted at her questioningly, though through the dim lighting of the slightly wobbly room no answers escaped her grin.
"Zizek. It was a quote, you know?"
He couldn't grapple with this reality. Here, in this bar, a highly attractive woman sat down next to him, took his number, and in the same breath, quizzed him on some obscure communist philosopher. Was he was expected to preform his mastery of this guy's works? Was she merely a bridge troll, obstructing his quest with her devilish riddles? As she waited patiently for him to continue the conversation, for some grand display of his deep philosophical knowledge, he slipped his cellphone discretely out of his pocket. He took a deep breath, and prayed she'd be too drunk to notice the glow of his google search.

>>8644726
-slim down your sentences, there's a lot of words that don't need to be there and don't serve a purpose
for example:
> It was so confusing as to why she crumpled into him like a [...]
vs
>The way she crumpled into him like a [...] was so confusing
>It was so confusing how she crumpled into him [...]
or in the first place, what does the adjective "puzzling" bring to the table?

Also if someone fell backwards and started screaming in response to "how much is this recliner" that'd be weird. Like, not "hoarder" weird, more like "this person looks schizophrenic" weird. So, maybe either tone down her reaction from 11, or have some appropriate "this person is literally a psycho, would not want to sit next to them on the bus/10" responses to it.

>>8644957
sorry, I said "puzzling" but meant "confusing". You get me.

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Just fuck my shit up

>>8645251

Please read it over with care, then delete everything and rewrite it.

I just started writing a story about a week ago.
If I wanted to get some advice on my writing should I post the first few pages here or should I finish the entire thing first?

>>8645821

I doubt anyone here has the time or will to go through a long text to give an in-depth analysis on the story and characters. But anyone can read a short excerpt and tell you you fail at grammar and syntax.

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>>8645836
Makes sense.
Would appreciate whatever feedback.
Unless you know, it's negative feedback and will make me feel bad, keep that to yourself.

>>8642438

Whatever, I'm probably not going to kill myself at this point. Here are some of the things written by or in conjunction with my spirit:


God may not read, Mr. Cioran, but that hardly means he has no knowledge of books.

We are all someone else's source of meaning, so long as we have the perspectives of limited creatures. Here we see why God's first act was to divide himself.

Pain without ecstasy is darkness without light. It is the essential qualia of hopelessness.

If you peel enough layers away from anyone, they will die.

There is no phrase more coercive, more threatening, than "I love you". It takes everything in a relationship and makes it contingent on the time-bomb of irrationality.

The Holy Spirit is like Microsoft Windows. A user-friendly solution which is ubiquitous and doesn't play well with other distributions.

>>8645854
I can already see the entire plot, a boy who wants to be a neet...
Maybe a normalfag will find it enjoyable.

Either way, obligatory >>>/r9k/

>>8645894
>I can already see the entire plot, a boy who wants to be a neet...


Completely and utterly wrong.

>>8645897
Stop arguing with me kid, I'm the fucking critic here...

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>>8645854

And here are the professor's markings. You get D+. Less weed, more care. Please don't take a year off when you're 18.

>>8645951
Thanks a lot anon, I don't understand some of the issues, but the ones I do help.

Like why does "being dropped into adulthood" or "free time" have lines under them exactly?

Also general writing question, since the narrator is the main character basically thinking to himself, would some improper English be okay since it's more accurate to how the average person speaks?

>>8645951
Oh fuck I may need to relearn grammar.

>>8645999
The underlined bits that have no clear cause are just because I thought the expression sounded odd in the context and could possibly be rephrased/clarified.

Like, these people have a coming of age ritual like this, which apparently is a bit special - so do they just call it "free time"? But up to you.

>>8646030
Ohh, alright I gotcha, that's a good point. Thanks.

>>8644961
It was supposed to be about a foreclosure. If that wasn't clear how can I improve it.

>>8645951
I can't tell if you're fucking around or I'm my grammar skills are a lot worse than I thought.

>>8645951
Wow

Okay I need advice on a part and I have no idea how to google it.
The main character is walking down the streets, passing by a bunch of his neighbors, I want to name the neighbors and note their job/what they're known for.

>Thanking him I continue to head down towards the park, along the way I pass by Mary; a mother of two, John; one of the many sanitation workers, Alex; a doctor, etc

Is this right? I feel weird having so many damn commas but I can't think of any other way.

>>8648220

>>8648220
Depends on what pov you working on.

>>8648246
I don't understand.

>>8648252
First person, the main character is the narrator speaking to the reader.

>>8648258
Does he know them enough personally to know what their occupation are?

>>8648274
Yes, the point of the scene is to show what a tight knit community the village is, and how the main character knows everyone he passes by so well.

>>8648279
then that is acceptable

Is it okay if I just talk about how much I want to kill myself? Because I really, really want to kill myself.

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>>8648281
I'm not asking if the scene is acceptable, I'm asking about the grammar.

>>8639027
Was this written by a rottweiler?

thoughts on this? reviewing previous poems for publishing purposes. thanks.
departed

into the river

where leaves

sail to nowhere

from nowhere

until nowhere

my soul has

>>8648292
don't care about the commas but I get the feeling you either miss a preposition or wrote it wrong. You migh

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>>8648324
neat, but the repetition is a bit much (this coming from someone who abuses repetition in his poetry)

>>8648338
thanks. still don't know how to rephrase those nowhere's.

liked the directions you offer for reading. reminded me a concept/idea that i haven't develop.

What if I don't want to publish my writings?

>>8648350
thanks!

well if you'd like a more specific critique, change 'sails' to 'rows' and that might fix the problem by encouraging the rhythm (and reinforce the implicit Charon alluded to with the river)

>>8648357
Then don't do it.

"El fresco de la lluvia pasa por mi ventana
lentamente dirgiendose hacia mi.
como tus mensajes aquellas madrugadas
de agosto en donde habia muchas razones

La luz gris entra timidamente por la ventana
no hay mas sonido que el del viento resoplando
una cancion nostalgica me recuerda
que es exactamente como ese dia en que te conoci

Los sabados silvestres y tempranos
una sensacion que trae muchos recuerdos penosos
dentro del amor, solo profundamente ahi, en el corazon.
doliendo con solo pensar que no puedo abrazar

Los sabados silvestre y tempranos
una vez mas, la melancolia se acerca y solo la soplo
la tristeza de ese momento y ese sentimiento molesto
voy a reflexionar en soledad

Errores que vuelven con el tiempo
¿como era la formula para solucionar las cosas?
por mas que me aleje, a la montaña, al rio, a la pradera
esos recuerdos ya deberian ser olvidados

Las tardes de sabado con juegos de computadora
Como predecir otra vez la soledad
recordando que no vives para mi, ni por mi
pues no compartes esos sentimientos que me invaden

La sensacion esperando que pase algo que nunca pasa
muchos colores felices y tristes vienen
Esta bien, yo lo aceptare si es que llegan a mi
Aqui estoy, esperando."

>>8648379
see plenty of punctuation mistakes and some typos.
try paraphrasing, most sentences [sentence structure] look childish [no offense intended].

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Green and dismal,
alike my heart and soul.

eyes so very stout,
yet not set on any goal.

A second heart,
A step with spring,
a skill to master.

Yet here I sit,
lacking all,
not dieing any faster.

My Peepee Poopoo folder,
is all that will be with me,
forever and after.

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Which word processors do you use for writing your prose and/or poetry? Hopefully less clunky and bloated than Microsoft Word.

>>8646281
pottery
You really walked that poetry prose line hard. I think someone should give you some recognition, it would be me but I'm not into it, too dreamlike. I see where you went with it, so you did that part right. I can't offer any advice of worth, but I was impressed.
>>8648283
Sure, just don't expect me to enjoy reading it. That's basically DFW level to me. I suggest reading Proust or Proust-like novels where the author just records his every fucking thought and feeling in super big detail. Just so you can say "I want to kill myself" in more interesting ways because people get tired of that. I think 'No Longer Human' by Daizai is about that, japanese book.
>>8648469
google docs or notepad with word wrap enabled because I'm fucking fancy like that.
Notepad++ if you want something better, Darkroom.exe if you want that 90's computer hacker feel.
I saw a thread about this earlier and someone mentioned Hemingway Writer, if you have shit grammar that sounds nice.
Openoffice is good too.

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>>8648514
Thanks a ton. I never thought of using Google Docs before. That's probably my best bet for not losing my stuff, which I am, for some reason, very afraid of doing.

>>8643364
critique?

Here's the beginning to a short story that I'm working on.

http://pastebin.com/257sDxu9

Please read and critique because I really need to know how im doing on this. Thank you

>>8648585
It's good. Nothing of note for me to pick at, it's pretty tight. As poetry goes I think once you get past a certain point you're just shooting for originality. The cyclic nature theme works. Try to do something less simple if you want to expand your skill, I bet you already have much worse shit you didn't want to post because you know it's awful.
>>8648592
Too much repetition for a short story I think. I hope you planned out the whole thing at least, to me it reads like you just typed out what was on your mind and gave it a once over but just didn't want to make the call to cut.
You make your point very well though. If that ties into the story somehow maybe I could see you getting away with it, I don't think anyone is going to stick around for those two dense paragraphs of indolence and if they do they'll probably like your story no matter what you write.

You can do like a third of that with the knock on the door after. You can space the rest of the stuff through the story if you want. As I was reading it my attention was scrambling to get away from it. I suggest more of an 'evoking' tone.
http://emmadarwin.typepad.com/thisitchofwriting/showing-and-telling-the-basics.html
Also the 'I know better than those dumb english teachers' tone you took is very dangerous for a short story if he doesn't get his shit pushed in somehow. No one wants to see a character proved right.
I suggest Raymond Carver short stories to see a good example of how you need to fuck with your character rather quickly. This guy is too comfortable and smug.

freestyling as fast as I can:

i'm a creepy little NEET beating my meat on the street
riddle this: I never speak, just play the fiddle and weep
people always said this kid'll be something neat
nevertheless i grew into a failure drinking mountain dew in australia
boner the size of everest, stoner, never known a female's caress, i'm talking textured flesh of the breast
extra-loner, incest fantasies home alone, uh, debunk your logical fallacy
my phallus hanging out with me
say hello to Dick Richards, my problems are self-inflected
got a shelf of figures, robbed em from a rich kid
goblins and beholders, probably be homeless when i'm older
or just choke on a donut, the sin o' men so sweet
ballsack full of zinc to deplete
playset of four tinkers, chink cartoons, cadbury clinkers to eat
smith's original chips, aboriginals to diss
i went evisceral on a witness, left a bitch fingerless
also called digital, something i'm familiar with, predictable
give me a job, even if it's burger-flippable
coke-and-chippable
rhymes gone on too long like mein bongwater, your transgender son is the wrong daughter
i oughta roll a blunt fatter than andrea dworkin
talking to steven hawking about how much i love walking
lady on the train caught me awkwardly gawking
stalking
threw the noodle packet in the sink and the fork in the bin
or nuked without water, black like Idi Amin
about as clever as a family guy reference
never be a hot girl's preference
or know any of the pleasures of feminine effervescence
let this be a lesson: i came out negative in dick measuring
this is a painful test of patience; i'll end it soon
just a fucking wannabe tryhard MF DOOM

Does anyone know how to write third person limited?
Any tips

>>8648514

I did the first one you commented on. Thanks so much for the appreciation, I really needed some confidence that I wasn't writing complete crap.

>>8644942
Simplify or shorten your narration, let the characters drive and tell the story. I like this though, it made me chuckle at the end.

how come the only prose on here that gets positive criticism is hyper-ironic postmodern "look at how terrible everybody is"-shit without offering anything in return?

>>8649019

Take the next step and look for beauty in the nothingness if you want to impress people.

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As a compromise for the fact that I have no ideas for fiction to write, I have started writing a diary. And this morning I wrote a diary entry on a party I went to the night before. I have no idea what I'm doing and feel that it's likely that its a useless endeavour asking for critique here.

The diary entry: October 23rd
The motion from only a few people to an overflowing house was, I suppose, a crescendo in flesh rather than sounds. And perhaps those ones who were intoxicated enough reduced themselves to just flesh, as the mind starts to lull, the muscles begin to control, and the body wanders at the will of primal instinct.

In a situation of upbeat drunken bustling busyness I find myself floating from one context of people to the next as I make attempts to talk and they correspond with their attempts. The minor problem arises when a person is wonderful enough for me to want to spend more time than just that polite vignette alongside them, but an ambiguous internal insecurity makes me certain that the want is not reciprocated.

Humans are awful and people are brilliant and the halfway being in between the two speaks in slurs of vowels and looks precisely in the direction of nothing. It is a person's underlying, true personality that determines their social worth at this stage.

I'd rather be liked by some people than known for anything by many, but those people with promiscuous names are surrounded by the illusion of popularity or fame; their status becomes the cause of their presence as opposed to some worthwhile merit of their presence.

"A party animal". What in the sociology of a group of people (some intoxicated, some feigning intoxication, and some envying intoxication) connotes with animal behaviour? It must be, I think, that inconsiderate lust. The lust for food and flesh and fame, perhaps. Or, the undefined lust that, having no target, acts abstractly and, doing so, reduces the luster to an animal predator of their (usually sentient) lustee.

>>8649463
I see a lot of thought and beauty in your writing and, refined with some years of practice, I'd love to read a book of it.

As for the writing itself, it seems to dwell on ideas more than anything concrete, especially towards the end. Set a scene and have a narrative and infuse your ideas with it as the story moves along. Don't just dive into a philosophical musing and lose all trace of narrative or anything concrete to link your thoughts in with.

>>8649694
I think you're right in identifying my problem. I'd like to believe I'm making some progress in how to write, but I am very ignorant in the context of what to write. Any advice for solving that problem?

>>8649463
Great. I, contrary to >>8649694, love to see abstract works of literature. Details and concrete situations or scenarios bore me.

>This is the beginning of my novel

They dressed the nameless man in red, and led him to the brazier with a retinue of candles and virgins.

As he watched from behind his altar, the Father of Flame noticed that the man’s hair was red too. A wan red, like autumn leaves crushed beneath the wheel of a cart, though red nonetheless. Perhaps there was a song in this, this red-haired initiate in a temple built on cinders. But the singers and gusli players tended to stay in their taverns with times being as they were, and saw but little.

The nameless man, meanwhile, was shameless in his wonder. His wide eyes devoured the stone saints that stood wreathed in light above him, lingering on Sofiya's wounds of chalcedony and stern Alexius' obsidian crown. Stained glass dragons howled above the door through which he had entered, languishing amidst sprays of orange enamel where the wicked beings they had once served burned and died. The black marble from Stonesea was cold beneath his bare feet. Every now and then he would take a step that was a half a second too fast or too slow, as if to taste the stone; to learn the rhythm with which it lost and took on heat.

He stopped in front of the brazier, eyes searching the starry dome while masked virgins knelt at his feet. Now that he was close enough, the Father decided that he did not like his eyes. They were pale like the rest of him, mist-wreathed green like forest pools where gadflies bred and dark things slaked their thirst. For a moment the Father’s gaze pierced his cut flower pallor and saw the sins writhing beneath, but then his forest eyes fell shut and he was just a man, shuddering before the promise of pain and exultation.

The Father of Flame spoke the holy words, wondering just when he had become so old.

“Blessed be the Lord and the Vessel. Blessed be the Maiden and the Beast.”

“And blessed be the Kingdom of Cinder.” The virgins’ voices sliced pure and sweet through the smoke. “Now and forever, amen!”

“Hear us, ye martyred Saints, ye who art crowned in ash.” Behind the formless iron that hid her face from the eyes of sinners, the Virgin Mother was seventy three years old. But the nameless man could not have known that, and his eyes widened on hearing such a voice from figure so lithe and proud. “Entreat thee thy Lord, that he may have mercy on our souls.”

“Glory to thee, Ember who art named, Dragon who hath repented.” The virgins’ masks rang with song. “In grace divine, we present this unburned one to partake of flame.”

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Wrote this last year when I went to NY to visit my family for NYE

You can do whatever you want to. But, if you push things out of your way -- if you make other things get out of your way, it will try its damndest to come back as the universe put it there. No one knows why the universe put it there, or if it was even the universe, but that force is power only describable as universal, and it wants it there; that thing will push back and if you don't commit completely to what you design, or you don't have enough power to do so, then your creations will be crushed.

I came across this for the first time when I was extradited, I tried to push back against their will, trying to change their minds with my own. I tried to change them to what was, as I saw it, the truth, even if it was, their minds produced a force greater than mine. What came about, what lasted to me, was not the result of their push back, but the echos of hate etched onto my mind by my perception of those wills. This is because what is truly my greatest enemy is not simply myself, but the perception of the forces that react to what I try to do. No man has control over what objective strength affects them, the only hope is to bear it and prepare for the next one. The universe tries to strong-arm me into suffering, but I will describe it through my pain and then match everything together; a puzzle is beaten when it is figured out. It can't change itself. When I defeat the universe through my hate for those forged echos in my mind, I will feel not happiness, but love for others who want to do the same. Once I've beaten every negative remark and disrespect, once I've taken care of myself, I will able to be able to return what I must take to embark on this journey. When I get revenge on what the forces of the universe have written on me, every bit of pain and disrespect that its might makes my soul feel, when I have the power to keep something there, where the universe can not move it back because the universe is too weak, then I will return the favor.

>>8649866
The first paragraph should be taken out and shot.

>>8650014
Scratch that, all of it should be scrapped. You have no idea how to structure your ideas. Use less commas. Break sentences into smaller sentences. Don't use semi-colons when they're inappropriate. Lastly, if you're going to muse philosophically, at least have something to say.

>>8649788
Not him but I think you have context already. You're just not being specific. I think you have a good idea what you're talking about, but me reading your passage I don't get enough examples so it's floaty as fuck. Which is fine, if you don't want anyone to read it.
Just turn your observation into a story. Why humans awful and brilliant? Why is it an inbetween? Show us the sensory experience, the guy who is doing that thing and let the reader figure it out. Nothing worse than a writer that doesn't trust his reader.
>>8648978
I learned that recognition from others won't last. When I bang out a piece I reread and I'm proud of it, even if its not shakespeare, I feel like it was worth it. It's moments like that that really make you into a writer. Confidence vs. self awareness, nurture the other when one ails.
>>8649807
Well done. Could be an extract from a YA novel. Remember that about diary entries, it's always going to mean more to you than it does to someone else. You did do a good job painting the scene, but I didn't feel for the character because I didn't understand their feelings. I think a more evocative tone, instead of an informing one like you slip into later would help the reader get into your mindset. It's fable at this point, we're just supposed to take the character at his word what's going on and not imagining deeper. You did do evoking early on from 'these old pains..chasing me with a sandal'. You didn't need to say things like 'strong'. If you want to get better, focus on those lines and try to make the entire piece sensory experience and memory. It's basic show not tell.
http://emmadarwin.typepad.com/thisitchofwriting/showing-and-telling-the-basics.html
I'll post it again because it's important. Notice how this cunt does informative like you, and what you're missing.
>>8649866
Same problem as the people I replied to above. If you just want to get the point across that's fine, but it's a dull read. You gave the reader a good hook with 'you can do whatever' but then you flew into la la land. You only get to do that when you set up the part correctly, explain context better. Otherwise I thought it was interesting, there's nice concepts there but I was lost trying to figure out what you were thinking and that's a sign of dense, difficult to read copy. Try to be a bit simpler, write the story in YA terms then build up from there so it's easier to for me to 'get it'. Provide more examples, more experiences. Why do you think this way and that? What made you feel that way? Like that.

Jardín

Perderse en el jardín de tus manos
Es despertarse sincero sobre nubes de cielo sin penumbra
Oír el divino canto de otro segundo que descubramos
Sentir la tormenta que tu aroma vislumbra

Deseo contigo, amante empedernida, capturar éste momento
Plasmado en la obra maestra de tus labios de brisa
Inmutado, para siempre en mis sueños pretendo
Guardar el sol de tus ojos y la tonada que escapa de tu sonrisa

Encontrar en tu cuerpo la cura a mi delirio
El viaje de mi tacto en los reinos de tu piel
Trae celosamente el elixir de mi alma fiel
Aniquila el incesante acabar de mi martirio

Besar tu frente y ver desmoronarse la soledad que me acosa
El ave advierte la luz y en mi hombro posa
La canción que durmió desolada ha renacido
A tu lado, las voces se silencian y es hermoso el ruido
De tus pasos que sigo como esclavo
Alejado del mural que mis nieblas pintaron
Y en el fin del mundo encontré tu alma
Y tu voz dictó el comienzo de uno nuevo
Que ya no es mundo sino paraíso al partir el alba
Tus brazos acogieron mi sed de un dulce vino
La oscuridad ya es desconocida en la cadena que llevo
Al ver el regalo que frente a ti mis ojos han visto

How do I know if my work is real literature or just normal meaningless trash?

>>8649807
>>8650124
I really appreciate the feedback, you're right, I wasn't even sure at the time what my mindset was, I'm still trying to figure it out. I do know that I have to work more on painting pictures and your comment definitely helps.

>>8650128
>dulce vino
Eso da resaca

>>8649793
Yeah there's always room for stuff that goes off the rails. That doesn't excuse not having the technical skill to make a work readable though. You can do much better if you have the options open to you to choose when to be vague, dense, and literary over clear, concise, and readable.
That's important to remember for young writers who just want to shit out Infinite Jest and get all of the money for it. Slow down.
>>8649803
Fable writing, very nice. I did something like this recently. You did great balancing the human aspects with the fantasy situation, I think it will do well with older fantasy readers looking for something more sophisticated.
I wanted to say "you don't need to make it so grand' or 'try to be a bit clearer' but it's clear to me from your work that it's deliberately poetic and mysterious. For a novel length I'm wondering how you're going to develop that though, right now the text seems rather dense to me although I'm assuming thats only for this scene on purpose.
Just remember that sometimes it's important to let a metaphor or description stand out by itself, every line doesn't need to be super clever and interesting. At the very least, it overwhelmed me, I imagine someone into that would love it though.

>>8650023
You're just punishing him. I'm not saying you're wrong but nothing is gained by abandoning something you hold dear, I could tell from his work that those were deeply held impressions, albeit poorly explained and worded.

>>8650157
Solo quería rimar. La verdad no me gusta el vino

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Please rate

>>8650136
How do I know?

>>8650160
Thank you anon. I really, really appreciate what you're saying.

I do get that my writing is a bit dense, and I'm trying to work on that. What I'm writing is a long fantasy novel based around Gnostic philosophy, which spans several POVs and continents. So I want to introduce the nameless man as quickly as possible, because he is the protagonist. At the beginning we only see him described from the point of view of other characters, but later on he gains his own voice and most of the novel is from his perspective.

I'm also glad that it's too rich in metaphors instead of the opposite. My greatest fear is being boring and bland. I'll tone it down as per your suggestion, thank you.

>>8650181
Creo que queda mejor rimar con Pisco

>>8650188
A solid 4/10, unbelievably bland subject and prose.

>>8650208
Pero eso no es romántico :(

>>8650221
Pero es patrician tier

>>8650225
Pues no sé, ya se me ocurrirá algo después. Normalmente corrijo varias veces mis poemas.
Y lo demás que te pareció?

>>8650241
>Y lo demás que te pareció?
Sinceramente no me gustó, pero mi opinión en realidad no vale una mierda porque no se nada de crítica literaria, menos en lo que es poesía, y los poemas románticos no son para nada de mi agrado. Lo que si te puedo decir es que es mucho mejor que cualquier cosa que yo pueda escribir en el género.

I really want to kill myself pretty bad desu

>>8650271
Do it.
There´s no reason not to, as you´d probably not take any regrets with you after you die, for you'd cease to exist and only that

>>8650258
Bueno, escribo poesía romántica porque de esa forma se me es más fácil expresar de alguna forma, belleza en el poema, y así mismo, hacer uso de varios simbolismos o metáforas.
Tampoco es el único modelo en el que escribo mi poesía

>>8644862
I really hope that's Google translate.

>>8644264

I'll take this as a complement, especially given your own apparent illiteracy.

—La niebla no es densa si se observa con cuidado. Es la cualidad subjetiva de la cosas, y no me extraña que me trates de loco. Ya sé que eres un puto imbécil.
—Vale, lo que tú digas, pero déjame recordarte que

Se corta la señal, una vez más. Los sonidos desaparecen y la habitación vuelve a su normal tranquilidad. Una tranquilidad angustiosa, pues Willy era consciente de lo que estaba sucediendo: la planificación de su asesinato.

Aquellos hombres no eran simples "haters", eran profesionales. La clase de gentuza que no tiene reparo en abrirte la gargante si con ello obtienen un buen botín.

¿Qué se podía hacer? ¿A quién pedir ayuda? El Vegetariano no era de fiar. La última vez que le auxilió fue para meterle en más problemas. Y ya estaba hasta el culo de problemas. Pero posiblemente fuera su última opción.

Aquellos paquetes no irían a ninguna parte, no obstante, si no se presentaba en el lugar indicado por la mañana. Y eso era mucho dinero, algo que no se podía permitir dadas las circunstancias del accidente en Andorra.

Él no quería, pero tenía que hacerlo. Eliminar a Rubén, el Malnacido, y quizás, sólo quizás, podría recuperar todo lo perdido.

>>8648933
Basically just focus on one or a specific small group of characters. Don't document much internal narration, that's omniscient. Don't reveal "hidden" things. Kinda like how Harry Potter is written (limited) compared to Infinite Jest (omnipotent). I wouldn't give too much personification to the environment surrounding a character, either. Basically keep it "limited" from too many internal or external happenings.

>>8651197
anything else?

>>8637790
Awful. Sorry.

>>8637790
Commas don't magically make a sentence longer. Look up how to use them right.

Hello

Literally first time visiting /lit/
Are there any good resources on how to write?
Maybe a book/blog explaining certain techniques or how a chapter should be?

>>8653354
For me, it's just reading and being in contact with yourself. If you have a broad vocabulary and know what are you going to write about, the text will simply flow.

http://pastebin.com/icNwNnnH

I just started, how am I doing?

>>8653354
Would like some stuff on this as well.
Feel totally lost on writing, I know it's a skill that requires you to practice, but I'd like to know where I'm going first before I head off.

Is there even a point to analyzing poetry here? There can't be more than a handful of people that can adequately critique it, and fewer who write it well enough to warrant critique.

At least anyone can be delusional enough to think their prose deserves attention, and its easier to see and explain their flaws.

>>8653354
>>8653920
goinswriter
he does a good podcast on that site too. Otherwise, just pick up an idea you like and get writing, you'll discover a lot just doing that and rereading your shitty work.
There's more resources I posted in this thread, but just googling gives you no shortage of great stuff to follow. Try to write something purposely bad, that helped me start writing after a very long time of thinking I was going to never write anything.
>>8653957
Get a reader right away. 'Adequately critique' is dumb in my opinion, if they believed in their work they would either submit it or find another place to get readers. Here you don't get a hugbox, someone can just drop a 'fuck you' and you can at least understand that someone doesn't like it or you missed something with the work. It inspires you to get better.
>>8652496
Can't you tell him why at least? I chanced on /mlp/'s writefag threads, they do better than you and it mostly pony porn they are writing.
>>8653854
First sentence was a bit confusing at first to me. I don't think it's bad though. Not enough to critique, I suggest getting more time writing and posting something you feel like you did well so posters can tell you why it sucks and your hopes and dreams are better destroyed.

>>8654309
>Can't you tell him why at least?
No.

Looking for criticism for lyrics, but /mu/ is no help. I would use a recording, but I don't want to use my dinky built-in interface and get made fun of for sounding like a sissy. Here:

Soft and unchanging, your face never betrays you when you're weak
Save a teardrop on your cheek
>Break
Doing it all alone, hoping no one will see
Forcing that hazy smile, you won't ever convince me
Stabbing into me, those glassy shards that undo me cut right through what I feel for you
The pain piercing your heart
Won't go away until you start
>Chorus
You were always shooting me a smile
Though I know that in time I'll find it worthwhile
So it's fine now if you want to cry
Because I'll always be here by your side
>Break
As if you can't see that
The dawn you seek is in your reach
>Chorus
You hesitate, and you turn away
Keeping mute as if you have nothing to say
I won't forget your downcast eyes
'Cause you've always been right here by my side
>Break, Bridge
The words escape my mind
And it seems we've been losing time
Though it's hard now, I know that you'll be found
If you keep this in mind:
>Chorus
You were always shooting me a smile
Though I know that in time I'll find it worthwhile
So it's fine now if you want to cry
Because I'll always be here by your side
'Cause I
Guess I've always been right here by your side
>Break
So I'll be waiting patiently for the day when you can
Shoot a smile back my way

It must have been sometime between dusk and nightfall on that somber Fall day when Johnathan Randall Scott realized he was God. The exact timing is up for questioning, for at the moment of his realization, Johnathan's awareness of himself and the universe existed on a plane outside the realms of time and space. At that precise moment, he existed in past, present, and future, and he was one with the universe. At that precise moment, he felt every vibration of the universe throughout its multiple incarnations. At that moment, he WAS every vibration of the universe throughout its multiple incarnations. But, as moments have wont to do, it came to pass. Once again, Johnathan Randall Scott was a man. And as men go, he wasn't much of one of those either. He was a plump, moppish man with a thinning hairline and thick-rimmed glasses which gave him the appearance of a well-read, scholarly sort, though he wasn't particularly intelligent either. He was simply Johnathan, a man of fifty-two, too old for the excitement and thrills of a mid-life crisis and too young for the excitement and thrills of retiring to a life of ease and perhaps a bit of adventure. He was a bachelor with a wealth of acquaintances but a dearth of friends, who spent his days toiling away at a book store and his nights watching news programs (which he found himself to be quite disagreeable with) and tending to his bichon frise, a thoroughly spoiled toy dog who would have been just as content with any other owner were it not for the ease of access to food and chewable furniture at her immediate disposal. After having been subjected to a glance into the private workings and lifestyle of Johnathan Randall Scott, one might understand why such a momentuous occasion as the revelation that you are God could have such a massive effect on a person's character, though, to be fair, such a revelation would have an immeasurably monumental effect on any person. What made this occasion so especially exceptional was that Johnathan had nothing to attribute such an astounding event to. He had no history of drug use, except for one occasion when he was attending community college and he had accidentally partaken in marijuana use when he'd mistaken a joint for a clove cigarette. He'd gone on to spend the rest of the night vomiting into a paper bag and swearing his mother would never be proud of him. It goes without saying that he had no history of practice with hallucinogenics, and as is such, it was safe to say that he couldn't be having any sort of flashback. He'd never served in the military, and he hadn't lived a particularly stressful or daunting life so he didn't suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. He had no family history of mental illness, and he was far too old to have suddenly become inflicted with schrizophrenia. Johnathan Randall Scott was by all means a completely functional, mentally healthy person.

>>8639027
why nobody critique my work

>>8655836
you can say your protaganist's names in any order and it sounds like the same person each time.

Nochts heemlich auffer Toilette, da zieh ich die Klamottn von meim Vadda an.

>>8653854
Don't you think there's too much "fire"?

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http://pastebin.com/mKsKnpB4

Here's a scene from a story I am working on. I've been working on this one for almost a year now, it's one of the more important scenes (I know they should all be important but whatever).

I'd like some critique. Please ignore the autistic parts if you can. Just want to know how good the shooting parts are, and how you like the writing in general. I want this to be fairly easy to read seeing as the novel is about 334,000 words so far and I'm not even close to done yet.

>>8637677
Here goes baby.

The anime weeb I side of me struggles with the fact that I know, no, everyone's knows how my taste in Chinese cartoons is liken to a softy mushy shit you take, and no matter how much you wipe the toilet paper still comes out dirty. Once the paper is clean you walk about, sit down etc, you start to feel an insufferable itch around your anus, an hour goes by and you cannot take it anymore. You go to the bathroom and wipe your ass, horrified, it's more shit, so you wipe and wipe, the sweat and your shitty anus mix to make this toxic noxious smell that permeates the bathroom. What was i originally writing about?

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Hey /lit/!

I could use some help on picking a topic for my literature class.

I can make up my own topic for The Histories or Genesis. Last time, I wrote a funeral oration for the Iliad. Any suggestions for topics?

I have known many things in my short time as a human walking upton the green hills of this very very green planet, occupied by people such as Tom and Sheep (soucnderels). Yes, rogues such as these two do exist, and will liekly alyways exist in the post-modern anti-utopia that we live in, yet i firmly belive that there is something else. Something that burns with a rhietous fame made from a no-animal fat canclde. something that screams with the voice of one thousand murdered cows. This thiing, this person, this most magnificent force for good and a dark and forbidding world full of screaming and gibbering determnist whores, was Chiller7.
Chiller7 came into my life less than a year ago. He was an indian man and scholar, as well as a dighwasher after he moved to LA. Anywayws, he knew soo much shit. I remember when hte forces of evil were closing in, and the filtyh de terminist carnicucks were about to dsecend upon DC and rape the west''s virgin asshole, chiller7 knew what to do. He had to stop all the memes that were coming through. He's here to fight, for me and you. Gonna stop the memes cuz he's chiller seven gunna stop the memes because he's chiller 7, gonna stop the memes cuz he's chiller7.
He touched my diet, he touched my life, and he reached deep into the filthy, brackish soil tha fills my deterministit hearrt, and he planted seeds of hope. right there, in the belly the beast, in the most foul and dead soil, he was able to grow a beautiful plant of anti-determinist origina. like a venus flytrap, hutning for whores withloose assholes and determinist scum
i was ready to do whaat chiller7 had demdnaded that I do: spread the good words of the memes
our memes, that is
everybody else's memes were evil and being use by the carnicuck overlords to control the general populance and shiled them from the most righetous and holy light of tolosty's on anarchy. we had the words tot his most famous essay/letter/intersting (?) tattooed along the shaft of our cocks. so ready were we to battle wth the nazi menacne and claim domonion of the holy land over the weak dirty ommnicucks . we were ready and we also had alwyas been readyu
we were about to do those fuckers is they dity assholes. dirt assholes staind with shit manufcactures from the flesh and milk of babies.
of babies
literaly babies
l i t e r a l l y b ab b ies

>>8657595
okay cool

>>8655836
>It must have been sometime between dusk and nightfall on that somber Fall day when Johnathan Randall Scott realized he was God.

It might just be me but this smacks of reddit

>>8656886
are you that guy on tumblr?

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I'd like some opinions. Start of a novel. I'll take as much feedback as I can get. Be honest, be brutal if You feel like the work needs it. Would you keep reading. Specifics if you don't mind. Thank you for your critiques, anons.

I just put this through Google Translator, forgive the lacking coherence.

"On a cosmic canvas projected on the stars, a spiral, and the spiral infinitely opposing, and the striving of the spiral without a direction of motion swept inward, swept outward, you can read about it, and the man the god-deprived observer, solely from irrational grace Transiently shaped, formed of clay and tinder and immortal soul, you can read about it. The spiral is called Kronos. Self-rending, agonizing emptiness between the stars, expansion and reproduction as torture, and only we must die, for the light is already dead when it arrives. Because of the period of travel, you understand. Light years, that is not the duration, the distance. And yet the throat expands, for, as otherwise, this cosmic gesture would not devour us before the inevitable end. K. "Cautiously drumming fingers on the table were enough to silence him. As his muttering, tired, hollow-eyed incantation ebbed, she breathed out again for the first time since he had begun to speak, into the dusty, late silence.

They sat in a restaurant with blue faded silk curtains, wilted lilies in tolerably chic and likewise faded quinavases and elderly people, who studied the map with an apparently aristocratic temper, although only the appetizers were served for the late hour. "Not that you would understand that but read about it. It does not matter what you think of it, "he urged, and she thought that she would have to phone back to the clinic at the beginning of the next week and to her feet in the high shoes. "K." "I told you, you should not read in your books and look into the stars and ponder. It does not do you good. "She looked at the inside of her hand, riddled with clotted blood. Of course it was not the pondering. "It is not good." While the two were talking, the midnight meal was served, light soups in shimmering red tones, and dry, fresh white bread. The place still had a real antique chandelier, hanging in the middle of the hall unsuitably small under loudly looking-like dummies, galloping round the ceiling as the brass jingled. She internally cursed the lead doctor of her last shift, with his frog-like eyes and yellow teeth, and the habit of controlling the medication distribution twice in each shift. "How is your exams going?" She asked, marveling at the protruding nose of an older gentleman, who was sitting two rows to the right. With a transfigured smile, the old man looked at a point somewhere behind his companion, a young woman. His sweet dreams. His LSD dreams. As he approached an answer, with his cracking voice and his intoxicated eye, she felt so terribly original at once. I want a home, she thought, poking in her cold soup and looking at his red eyelids. I do not want a fabulizer, I want a home and I want a hot soup. And then he spoke again and gesticulated and she listened again as the waiters put their robes down and returned to the hall to clear the tables and ask the guests to leave.

>>8657824
>reals
2 words that's a new record anon

sentences are way too long and everything is so... dirty and gritty. grosses me out. that's just me tho

>>8657841
Thank you for your feedback. I noticed a few mistakes like that.

>>8657824
>the opening sentence has 102 words

What were you thinking?

>>8657824

That's a lot of words for "a man walks his dog".

This would be more readable if you had a stronger sense of what you're trying to accomplish. I'm guessing you want a charming picture of a man walking his dog. Everything you write should be accomplishing this goal. Don't tell me about the abandoned mcdonalds and the aluminum railing on the bridge and the spontaneously pious dignity of his hand movements.

There's way too much filler in your narrative, that you seem to want to redeem by throwing in some dubious phrase turning (energetic indifference? intolerable beauty?) and boring environment description (don't feel bad, all environment description is boring as fuck to read).

You need more of a screenwriter's sensibility to make this readable. Who are the characters and what are you trying to tell us about them? If you're trying to paint a romantic picture of the setting, you need to write more romantically. Or rustically. Or dully. Or whatever.

>>8657888
So much this.

The sun ducks for cover amongst the black silhouette of the cityscape and the horizon bruises over into a purple-red, sky threatening stars. The road cuts a path through the concrete jungle before me like a tarmac sword leading all the way to Main City Central, damp with rain and oiled with the electric glow of street lamps and traffic lights. A neon highway to hell. The bike between my legs rumbles and growls like a horny demon, begging for release. I rev the engine; let it snarl at me loud enough to drown out the sickly squeals and wails of a city that should've died a long, long time ago.

I want to call this a romance, but deep down I know it's only going to end in tragedy.

>>8658075
Sounds like one of those fake-deep monologues in my japanese animes.

>>8658087
>Implying I didn't get the idea from far superior fake-deep Sin City comics.

"At six A.M., Barat would start the mayonnaise.
He washed his hands first, always. Laving them with the Italian soap that had no scent and
wriggled like a fish in the cold water. drying them with a strap of burlap.
On the windowsill would be a cruet of dark olive oil and a single Toulouse goose egg.
Above the breadboard was an old mortar and pestle, into which Barat would pour a
dozen dill seed, half as many mustard seed, a pinch of salt and a single peppercorn, all of these
he would render into powder with meaty thrusts of his wide forearms. Upon the table the grey
stone bowl was covered with a white napkin. He would remove the napkin and fold it into the
crease of his elbow. The bowl he would smear with the powdered seasoning, working it in with a drop from the cruet.
Next came the egg: the shell was cracked and the contents dumped into a ramekin,
the heavy yolk he would coax from its cradle with the side of an iron spoon and then cover the
dish with the napkin, placing it back on the windowsill to warm for a meringue.
The yolk he slid into the stone bowl and broke the shuddering surface membrane with his whisk: now the art began.
The whipping was quick at first, as the silken amnions around the golden interior were violated and reduced to shreds by the rude insistence of the blunt steel tongues of the beater. As the yolk spread before him his strokes became smoother, and his address was long and deep and rapid, but with a smoothness and grace born of long practice. as the speed increased, he would lift the belly of the bowl and hug it beneath his chest, a pause, and the first of the lukewarm oil, the beating would rise in amplitude and urgency, then a pause, a breath, and a squirt of lemon, and the strokes again: The fourth time the oil went in, he would begin to breath short and deep, and the peaks of the soft cream could be seen above the lip of the bowl as his whisk rose and fell, smoothing them back into the quivering, gelid mass.
And then there was no egg, and no oil, and no lemon, but the smell of the dill and mustard, heated by the fervency of Barat's ministrations, could be smelt in the cool air from the window, an alien heat to the moisture of the morning. He never over-beat: it sometimes took twenty minutes, sometimes, sixteen, once twelve, but when the final peaks had subsided into the smooth white roil and the last elongated valley had been filled with the sharp custard, he would draw a wooden spoon from the vase, and skim the edge of the bowl with it, draw it over his rough tongue and nod, he never smiled. Then he would cover the bowl with a fresh white napkin, wash his hands again, and go out for his coffee."

>>8656886
Not my thing, and I usually like melodrama. Taken out of context of the story it reminds me heavily of the Trinity death scene in matrix revolutions except you kept it shorter. You do a good job of building the action but overplayed the drama, especially that one line with her 'childish whine'. Doesn't she have like a dozen bullets in her at this point?

I probably would have read something like this in high school and enjoyed it. Shooting parts are about as good as any I've seen, it's a pain in the ass to write fights like that anyways. I'd say 'shorten it' but you probably already know that. Someone who already bought into your lengthy style I don't think will mind that though.

I really need to research the effects on prolonged forced daytime sleep cycles. Where the person starts sleeping during the day and staying awake all night from a very young age.

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http://pastebin.com/2XvmqxQB

How can I make this less shit, /lit/? There's a huge disconnect and lack of cohesion between the first paragraph and the rest, so I'm thinking about removing that. All critique is appreciated.

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>>8657822
Probably, yeah. I do have tumblr but I only use it to post my autistic story / shitty art.

>>8658614
Yeah it's kinda a random death. Basically they're fighting some giant-ass war, she's the mother of the main character's children, he dies, she realizes if this gun thing goes up her kids are gonna die so she goes along. Her death is meant to be blindsiding and suffering, almost in a crufixiion kind of way that she suffers to death to save her kids. It's dumb in some ways but that's what I'm going for.

I did shorten it quite a bit. Which is the sad part. But if you think I should shorten it more, I will try to. The "childish whine" part I'll remove, I forgot it was still in there.

The biggest thing I want to preserve with the scene, is that she doesn't really intend to die. She just gets pinned down and gets frustrated trying to get out.

The part where she's screaming "fuck!" and "fuck you!" with all the spattering noises and shooting, that's the part I want to preserve, while Myron is pinned down and he can only listen to all the awful noises of his friend getting shot to death. if I can shorten it up I will, the shorter it is the stronger it is. But that part is how I imagined it and it made me feel sick cause she was one of my favorite characters.

Here goes...

Carolyn shouldered open the clear glass door of Heinlens twenty four hour laundry, the forty six years that brought her here in the early morning hours of a February day weighing as heavy on her as the two bags of laundry she had neglected to do for the past three weeks. The air inside stale and stagnant building, reminding her of the smell in the garage as her husband had told her he was leaving for the babysitter, this act now three months in her past, but renewed in painful clarity with the whiff of air that caught her nose each time she entered the old Laundromat.
Her life had not been an easy one, filled with orphaning and abandonment by all those she had ever known, but Carolyn had pressed on. There had been a drive of purpose instilled in her from the earliest of her memories that kept her head held high despite what came in life, but as the years of brutality that each one of us endures began to pile up, even this sense of destiny had begun to wane. After a a molesting father and uncaring mother had landed her in a youth home, the unknown fire of fate burned like a red torch on a black night, the faith her childs heart held for it enough to weather the storm of betrayal she endured, and the same had been true as she had watched the only foster parents she’d loved die in a tragic airline accident. It wasn’t until another twenty years later, a husband in the grave, and a second leaving her with little more than debt, that she had lost the still flickering light inside her almost completely.
That was until she had come completely into the laundro mat, the bright fluorescent glare of the lights blinding against the nights darkness, and saw the strange little man awaiting her in the dismal place.
“Mine eyes have seen no sight as wonderous as thee my lady.” The curiously small creature said with a bow, his total height reaching barely to the waist of the sweat pants she wore. His face was pudgy and reddened, like he had been running a great distance to get here, and his pudgy frame pressed at the green and red fabric of what looked to be Christmas elf clothing. The hair on his head was a bright red, and hung down to the small of his back beneath the pointed cap he wore. “It has taken a long time to find you, but find you I did.”
She was struck by the oddity before here, but even so felt the familiar stir within her of the all to familiar call of destiny, on she had waited for through countless years of suffering.

>>8658974

“I’m listening.” She replied dryly, the cynicism that had begun to grow by her twenties now a cold wall before her when she dealt with the world. She pulled a cigarette from the pall mall pack in her pocket as she dropped the bags on a close by counter, lighting it and inhaling the stale smoke deeply.
A look of relieved joy broke upon the small mans place, and he excitedly pushed a chair towards the closest counter, climbing it with a little effort, and standing atop it to look her in the eye. “You are the great Gal’ Hadeen. Daughter of the All Mother, and the one destined to cross the void between worlds and unite all of the Second Age, not to mention save the entirety of existence itself. We have all waited for you for centuries and now at long last, after venturing through the great desert between this place and the next, I have found you and brought you these.”
His tiny hand pulled an old set of iron keys, the large ring and rusted look of them putting her in mind of those used in a western jail, and offered them to her in eagerness. She eyed the keys thoughtfully, and with them thinking on the words the little man spoke. The flame of destiny beat against her chest in excitement, as it had done so many times before when she felt herself upon the cusp of something great. Once again, as she had done so many times before in her life, she listened to the small voice inside her that spoke of things greater and yet to come, and took in the words it had now.
After a moment spent in silent contemplation, one that was long enough to bring a new look of worry and concern to the little mans face, Carolyn looked up again at him and this time smiled. The look brought a smile in return from the little man, and he offered the keys up even higher, relief breaking his worried expression like a dawning sunrise on a misty morning.
“Fuck you, and your destiny.” She replied sweatly, turning from the tiny man with the clothes she’d broght forgotten. She stormed from the laundry indifferent, whatever great purpose or quest that had come to find her after a long life of disappointment and suffering, now viewed as an unwanted blight on what she had left to call a life. The door banged loudly as she swung it forcefly closed behind her, the shocked and frozen little man still standing where he was, his outstretched hand still holding forth the ring of keys, keys that would prove very important in another tale years to come.
Let some other sucker continue to sacrifice themselves for some false destiny, Carolyn thought as she crossed the street from the Laundromat and headed towards the towns bus station, I mean to live for my own destiny from now on. It was this new drive that prompted her to leave that very night, her destination unknown, and her only possesions those that she carried. Hard to tell where she ended up, but her mind remained the same wherever she went.
Fuck Destiny.

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>>8658897
Well for one thing I think you could say "meek and common faces" instead of "common, milquetoast faces". It doesn't earn you any SAT vocab points but I think it has a nicer ring. Honestly "milquetoast" is like "pulchitrudinous" in that it's one of those words that just shouldn't exist, it doesn't evoke any of its meaning. Meek does because it sounds like "squeak" and reminds you of a little pathetic mouse. Dunno if I'm alone there.

> Listening to murmurs that he could not understand or even hope to comprehend.

This ain't even a sentence, m8.

Do this, maybe?

> Listening to murmurs that he could not understand, he found himself lost in an unknown station, welcomed by the fear of a foreign world.

That "welcomed by the fear of a foreign world" line is good. Hence why I think you should have that be part of the first sentence.

> Blinding technicolor lights that drowned thought and rationality gave the train station a purple haze that exuded an air of nightly freshness.

This is a good, rich sentence. I might change a bit of it myself but honestly it's good as is. Maybe "nighttime freshness," it just rings better to me. And I'd pick between thought and rationality. Which one is it drowning out? Honestly though you could go either way with that, go with what sounds better to you.

> But among all the common, milquetoast faces, there was a woman that stood out.

Change to:

> But among all the meek and common faces, a woman stood out.

It's just shorter and faster and cuts out excess words that I don't see doing much.

Stick with "Cherry blossom cheeks...." instead of the fluttered part. It just doesn't seem to fit. How are her cheeks "fluttered"? Even as a non-fitting adjective that doesn't really evoke anything for me.

> while her visibly toned body exuded an air of feminine sexuality.

ickkkk... I don't know, this just sounds like a fanfic mary sue description. Maybe focus on something specific about her body that's attractive? Honestly I refrain from describing female characters' looks too much because it just ends up reeking of cringe but I don't know what you're going for with this so I won't judge.

> she could get a bad job and suffer the hell that is the stability of a monotonous life

How about "suffer the hellish stability of a monotonous life."? Just flows better, IMO.

> Lost and drunk in that foreign land dressed in neon lights, he became less romantic, and his dreaming essence was corrupted by the queer fragrance of realism.

Good last line. Not perfect, but the last four words are nice, even if they break down if you think about them too much.

Overall, 8/10.

>>8637677
I turned to face Lexi's beautiful ebony pussy, staring into the pink maw. My dick, I could feel nothing but lust where I once felt love. I grab the curve of her gorgeous hour glass hips and I thrust. It was a miss, I was dissapointed, she laughed.

http://pastebin.com/ZGLnvdjk

The first story in a series of shorts I've started writing. Still trying to come up with a name for the whole thing.

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>>8658979
I wasn't expecting such an elaborate critique.

I'm a filthy ESL, so it's nice to know that the thing wasn't pure rubbish. I mainly write to improve my English, so I'm sort of satisfied. Thanks, anon.

>>8657012
>tfw no one wants to help you

;_;

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Mq83j4bP-fEZ7fFUJiSUH9UORKw5RBZo8tpNb-rVvMs/edit?usp=sharing

The prompt was just five dots on the wall, which then could be w/e you wanted to it mean/be.

English isn't my first language so any grammar mistakes please point! Still working on them!

>>8659471
Do your own homework, son

Bookmark this page you faggets
http://practicaltypography.com/first-line-indents.html

Life is full of chance encounters. Most have no real meaning, no lasting memories or lessons are ascertained.

My meeting with OP was no such encounter. Immediately, he stood out, in a way only a faggot can. Others mocked him, talked harshly under their breath, and that was if they noticed him at all. I was loathe to join them, but did so to maintain appearances, so no one would suspect.

For there is something I wanted to tell OP that day, something that, I'm afraid to say, I was to weak to say in public. But I say it now, and I say it without shame or expectation.

For OP, I too, am faggot

>>8659487
You use too many frilly words. It seems awkward, like your just using them to sound smart.

>>8659487
I think its very good, and I like the explained premise at the end, good writing and fun and compelling word choices and flow

>>8660610
>Doesn't know the difference between Your and You're
>Critiquing other peoples work

Anon pls.

>>8659487
I don't know what the other anon meant by frilly words but the overall tone was fine, the dialogue was silly and light which I feel was intentional and meshed well with the overall story. My only gripes are that I would preffered a smoother if not more detailed transitions between the light-heartedness and full blown stop that is ending. Perhaps a bit longer to fully flesh out the characters.

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I wish to practice my writing skills.
Do I just get up in the morning and write whatever that comes to my mind?

Man, writing for the first time is a bitch. I'm trying to come up with some decent sci-fi short stories and even though I try to avoid the clichés it seems I slip back into them without thinking

how do i into writing good free verse? i've been trying to start writing poetry after writing short fiction for a couple years and everything i write just feels like prose with line breaks

>>8660753
You read a lot of free verse, then do what it does.

>>8660655
>doesn't understand typos
I realized my mistake, right after I posted it.

>>8660753
that's basically all free verse is. I'd say you should look into writing actual poetry. it's much more rewarding if you do it traditionally. of course, this is coming from a songwriter turned poet so, y'know

>>8659145
No problem. If you're ESL that makes it actually really impressive.

>>8660749
Make short stories or poems if you're writing for the first time. Large scale writing projects are hard for begginers.

File: 1443674796114.jpg (15KB, 307x462px) Image search: [Google]

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Does the first part of this make sense? and am I using this semicolon correctly?

"Now I bring them from the dark and calm where they were cultivated back into the light; the light wherein I bla bla bla bla"

Lol I can write music but I'm awful with long-form writing.

>>8661401
Be careful of semicolons, use them only where necessary otherwise you'll look like a Fanfiction dot net edgy teen.

>>8661415
That's what I'm afraid of. But is its usage there at least acceptable? This is for the "about" on my album's page, by the way.

La nieve crujía como sus viejos huesos al caminar hacia la huerta. Aunque el tiempo estaba terrible (y la cosecha probablemente también), la familia no tenía otro sitio de donde sacar comida.
Sin embargo otros pensamientos invaden su mente. Cuentos macabros que no lo dejan dormir. Voces, sangre, gritos y acero se agolpan en su cabeza en todo momento del día. Confunde rayos con cañonazos, ladridos con disparos, cantos de pájaros con aullidos de desesperación.
Intentando sobrevivir al horror, cometió muchas atrocidades. La culpa lo carcome día a día; sus secretos (guardados en las mismas lenguas muertas de sus amigos que vio perecer) lo llaman desde un rincón de su memoria y se ríen de él. Lo llaman sádico, bruto, monstruo, lo insultan de la misma forma que quienes moraban en las otras líneas.
Caras de jóvenes, apenas más grandes que su nieto, le suplican misericordia, llaman a sus madres y se preguntan por qué los condenó de esa forma. Familias enteras lloran por sus padres, hijos, sobrinos, tíos. Lo señalan y escupen una sarta de atrocidades, lo detestan por sus crímenes.
No sabe si sentirse culpable. Presiente que morirá de la forma que merece. O quizá no. Presiente que morirá, y que su agotado cráneo será por fin nada más que alimento para gusanos. Vacío, sin recuerdos que lo azoten.
Observa sus palmas quemadas por la escarcha, y no puede evitar mirar las manos de un asesino a sangre fría.

>>8660610
I'm not entirely sure how, unless you're referencing the voice over the intercom. The character was supposed to be outlandish, almost hysterical.

The general diction didn't have any "uncommon" words in it, just common words. The words themselves are pretty plain, so I'm a bit confused.

Mind explaining what you mean?

>>8660643
Thank you!!

>>8660655
Yeah, I wanted to stretch it out but I wasn't sure how. Thanks for the critique!

>>8661924
I'm also an ESL, so, out of ccuriosity, what's your first language, anon?

On that note, I liked your story. The other anon was somewhat right, though: the shift in the tone is very sudden. Not necessarily a bad thing, as it fits with the outlandish nature of the overall thing, but some foreshadowing would make it better IMO.

>>8661939
Spanish and thank you! Any ideas on how I could have? I was racking my brain but kept coming up blank. A fresh pair of eyes probably would definitely help.

>>8661971
Just to clarify, on how to make the transition in tone less so jerky.

Wer wie was, wer wie was, wieso weshalb warum, wer nicht fragt bleibt dumm. Hallo meine Freunde und herzlich willkommen zu einer weiteren nächtlichen Episode von "Peter Lustig liest Fanpost vor". Heute habe ich einen Brief von Marina erhalten, Marina ist 12 Jahre alt und kommt aus Magdeburg. Sie fragt: "Lieber Herr Lustig, wieso ist deine Haut so ausgelaugt, gehen Sie ins Sonnenstudio topkek?" Ja, Marina, das ist eine gute Frage. Tatsächlich bin ich Teilzeit Seemann und bin oft an der salzigen Meeresluft. Hinzu kommt, dass ich früher bei der Mafia war und viel einstecken musste. Auweia, die Sendezeit ist ja schon vorbei! Tschüss, Marina. Ich hoffe, ich konnte deine Frage zufriedenstellend beantworten. Schalten Sie auch das nächste Mal wieder ein, wenn es heisst: Peter Lustig schiebt sich ein Fernrohr in den Hintern.

>>8661621
Me gustó. El último parrafo me parece el mejor; fluye muy bien. Sería interesante ver una obra hispana con esa premisa (y ya me puedo imaginar a los 7,848,483 millones de psuedo-politólogos/sociólogos haciendose pajas con los temas de la historia).
>>8661971
Si no es foreshadowing sutil, hacer más build-up es tu mejor opción. Reestructurar las preguntas y respuestas para que se presten más un cambio abrupto de tono. Por lo menos, creo que la tercera y cuarta pregunta deberían llevar a respuestas que ayuden con esa transición. Eso, o extenderla. Igual me parece buena la historia, ese es el único "gripe" que tengo con ella.

>>8662013
Tienes razon, gracias por la ayuda. Muy simple la rupuesta. No se porque no se me ulimino el bendito foco.

nullo cultu, tellus munuscula fundet:
passim errantis hederas cum baccare et colocasia
juxta acanthion ridenti.
hoc est metaphora, ergo
meio in tuus os, cinaede

>>8662236
trans:

untended, Earth pours forth its little gifts:
ivy with foxglove climbing everywhere, and cyclamen
betwixt smiling acanthus
this is a metaphor, thus
i cum in your mouth, faggot

I have good reason to be completely without future goals.
My suicide attempt was a call for help that nobody answered, and now I'm out of credit.
What the fuck does dialectics have to do with treating borderline personality disorder anyway?
I'm surrounded by jaded nurses and three-letter acronyms that categorize the specific ways I fail to function.
The pleasure I derive from self pity is almost as enjoyable as having a hand on my dick, or drugs in my bloodstream.
I'm a clingy bisexual with very low standards, you should probably run away before I start to feel entitled to your attention.
Quitting weed made me less paranoid, now I can enjoy my unadulterated depression.
My penis rises more frequently than I do in the morning.
When people say "stop feeling sorry for yourself" I have no clue what they mean.
You have no idea how inactive I can be.
The look in an employer's eyes when I handed in my resume sent me a telepathic message to kill myself.

>>8661995
Amk geh mal raus du untalentierter Nerd

The sounds of pelicans

But I don’t live near the beach…

The sounds of waves moving, and crashing nearby, but I don’t I don’t live near the beach…

I open my eyes, and see my stiff yet constantly used bed, my neck hurting slightly as the hairs on my head stretch without my permission, creating a slight yet uncomfortable pain to my skull, next I see is the all to similar beige walls that I promised to cover with that one Jojo poster that I bought at the last anime convention, but I left it packaged in a place that I seriously can’t bother to remember at the moment, I turn my head to peek towards the floor, my laptop on the ground, connected to it’s port as it is left atop on it’s makeshift pedestal of clothes that have been overdue for washing about a month ago, and next to it a Nintendo DS that I haven’t touched since half a year, but it’s still plugged, charging, ready for combat duty when the time needs it, I still don’t know when that time is going to be, but I still have it there just in case I want to remind myself why I stopped playing it

I don’t want to get up, I still need my extra 30 minutes of “Let me get tired of sleeping” So I close my eyes and sleep some more

It takes a while but my eyes rest easy and my body resumes the shape that helped me trek trough the night

A quick dream of talking with my friends and eating an ice cream

I wake up, is this enough? Am I tired now? It’s real easy to close your eyes again, hoping that the dream you had was a good one, the hard part is realizing the day moves along without you

>>8658974
Your prose is pretty sufficient and clear and the premise could be promising. The problem you had was the execution of the story, it was a little too goofy and juvenile, especially the fantasy plot and the "fuck destiny" bit. Needs some work. Read Raymond Carver to get a better perspective on how to write this whole Suburban purgatory thing realistically.

>>8637677
First unedited page from something I am working on.

There was a white boy standing barefooted on the ocean.
Although that statement may seem odd, it was the truth.
The boy in question was white, almost blindingly so. Be it his skin, white buttoned shirt, long pants or hair, all of it was all pure white. In fact, the only thing that wasn’t white were his eyes which were a startling yellow, like a cat’s.
The other part of the statement which may seem was his situation. The fact that he was standing on the lake. While it may have seemed as though it was mere miscommunication, the statement was completely true. The boy was standing on the lake as if the liquid was a solid.
The boy was looking forward into the horizon as if he were looking at something, or someone. However, there was nothing ahead of him. No boats, no landmarks, no people, nothing.
Even the fish and other aquatic life did not seem to be swimming anywhere near this strange, strange boy. In fact, if anyone had been a submersible vehicle they would have been quite surprised.
All form of aquatic life that could move was not within one hundred metres of the boy.
The same could be said about creatures within the sky. There was nothing living within the same radius of the boy.
Truly this boy was all alone on this barren ocean.

>A sci-fi vignette I wrote a while back

[1/3]

“Some years ago, when somatosensory manipulation was first coming into vogue, scientists in America carried out an experiment with rats. The rats had wires placed into their brains, and three times daily the scientists would pass a current through those wires and induce a euphoric sensation of wellbeing.

“After a few weeks they provided each rat with a button to press and then stopped giving the rats their pleasure doses. The rats quickly discovered that when they pressed the button, at each of the three times per day they expected to be made happy, they were. For the first day the rats stuck to the schedule, pressing their button roughly around when the scientists had pressed it.

“Then…eventually they discovered that the button could be pressed at any time. So of course it was, and the rats lived in a state of unending bliss for several days. After which the scientists removed the button and replaced it with a set of two buttons. One could be pressed to dispense food, the other would induce a euphoric state. And when one button was pressed, access to the other was locked for a period of twenty four hours. The rats figured this out very quickly…and can you guess what happened next?”

Nestled into the faux leather padded corner of a booth of a restaurant, a behavioral psychologist shook his head slightly at the words of his companion, a somatosensory engineer.

“No…” The psychologist said, though he had an unpleasant feeling that he knew the end of the story already.

“Without exception, each of the rats eschewed food in favor of pleasurable electric shocks. And you’d think that they’d eventually become hungry enough to go a mere twenty four hours without an infusion of dopamine…yet they did not. Every single one of those rats starved to death before even considering giving the food button a second glance.”

The psychologist nodded to himself, mulling over the story.

“Not exactly the best dinner conversation, Henry.” He chided.

>>8663530
I am interested where this is going to go.

[2/3]

The engineer just chuckled, amused by his friend’s gentle chagrin.

“Why not?” He asked, “look around us. At this restaurant. How many people here do you see that don’t have wires sunk into their brains?”

The psychologist didn’t even have to look. Pretty much everyone, if he were to study the back of their head carefully, would have the telltale square bump of a secretary, augmenting their thoughts and abilities, giving them access to every scrap of knowledge that the world contained. He had one, Henry had one…

“But we’re not exactly rats, now are we?” He asked, maybe a little hotly. Henry was fond of bringing up disturbing little thought experiments and watching his colleagues squirm as they reacted to them. It wasn’t the psychologist’s favorite part of his friend.

“No,” Henry agreed, “we aren't rats. Our situation is much worse.”

“Christ…”

“The rats had one wire lead stuck into their brains, we have twelve, poking into various neural clusters and picking up every aspect of what we’re thinking, our brain chemistry, what’s influencing it…” Henry paused for a moment, tapping the back of his head, where the secretary hugged his skull, “and with a doctor’s permission you can even have some of those wires send little currents into your head to influence your brain chemistry. Sound familiar?” A drone passed by with a whir, fluttering the napkins on their table, refilling water glasses from a gleaming copper spigot.

“You sound like a Luddite,” the psychologist said, “if you’re so worried about the wires then have them removed.”

“Jean…” the engineer chided, “if I were to remove my secretary then I would be terribly disadvantaged in day to day life. I’d have to go and join a Luddite compound somewhere in fucking Nebraska or Wyoming. Can you imagine having to fumble for a different card or piece of paper whenever you had to pay for something, or trusting yourself to keep ahold of a dozen different keys and passwords manually? It would be a nightmare…honestly, I have no idea how the oldies ever pulled it off. The wires are bad Jean, but going without them is much worse. The way I see it, we’re on the deck of the Titanic, the ship is just starting to tilt in an unusual way, and I might as well have a nice time listening to the band and looking at the stars before the water claims me.”

[3/3]

Jean stared, sipped his water, and then stared again.

“What?” He asked finally.

“I’m a slave to convenience,” Henry said with a shrug, “we’ve gotten to a point where, just like the rats, we are completely dependent on these wires. Those twelve bits of copper and glass and circuitry in our heads dictate everything that there is to know and fear about society. And when faced with a pair of buttons, one dictating freedom from them, the other dictating the continuance of their domination…which one do you think we pick?” At that moment their server arrived, smiling gently, electric blue patterns glowing across her skin.

“The rack of lamb,” she said to Jean, setting his plate down in front of him, “and the arugula salad, certified non-GMO. Enjoy gentlemen.”

Jean looked down at his lamb, and the steam drifting languidly from it. It was lab-grown, he could tell. The grain of the meat was just too symmetrical, the fat relegated to only the areas where it would be most pleasing to human tastebuds. It was likely that the rack had been sliced away from a great big block of flesh, turning over and over again in some vast vat of growth solution, stimulated with electric current to guarantee tenderness and flavor.

“Why are we having this conversation Henry?” He asked, tucking his napkin into his lap.

Henry wiped his mouth daintily and stirred at his salad with a fork.

“Which button do we press?” He asked back.

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you do. We’re on a glide path right now, locked into position. Society couldn’t change en masse even if it wanted to. We are just like the rats Jean, we will press the same button again and again and again until we wither away to nothing.” He took a great big bite of his salad. Jean no longer felt especially hungry.

“I think I’m gonna pay now and head home. I’m not feeling very great right now Henry.”

Henry blinked, suddenly looking slightly ashamed of himself.

“You know I was just fucking with you, right?” He said, “Jesus…you psychologists are so easy to mess with.”

Jean smiled slightly, but even if Henry had just been saying what he had been saying to get a reaction from him…there was an uncomfortable underlying truth to the whole thing that made him feel uneasy.

“Maybe,” he admitted, “but you’re the architect of our entire social decline…fucking somatosensory engineering…”

Henry laughed at this, loud enough that he turned heads at the surrounding tables.

“Just remember the rats,” he said, “they’re not so different from you and I.”

Jean ended up staying for the rest of dinner, then caught an auto-taxi home afterwards. He queued up a few podcasts to listen to while he got ready for bed, but in the darkness, with the windows tinted and all sounds of the city blotted out by thick, insulated walls, he lay awake.

Thinking of the rats.

Thinking of the wires.

>>8648706
>>8662292
Somebody please tell me why I suck ;_;

>get bored
>send mate a paragraph about him plopping his balls on top of another mates face while he was trying to do bench-press
>the story has now evolved to become 8,000 words long
First time I have ever written anything. Its been a blast writing, I'm learning new shit every day by googling how to actually write dialogue properly and shit like that.

Any of you guys ever made money from your stories? The only bit of writing I ever made money from was in primary school. I made a fake petition against wearing hats undercover, while in reality it said that I owned their soul if they signed it. Some guy actually gave me 50 cents to get it back.

>>8663530
>>8663534
>>8663539
That was very good, anon.

>>8663530
>>8663534
>>8663539

Pretty good, yeah. Kinda reminds me of William Gibson.

>>8648706
That's excellent. Not lit but who cares.

What advice do you guys have for someone who wants to get into creative writing? I feel like I have some neat ideas for stories but I know my actual grammar and how to write out dialogue is really lacking from where it should be.
Any websites you guys use that has some knowledge or videos to get started to improve?
I'm interested in horror or dark fairy tale like stuff.

>>8664409
Just write.

>>8664409
Read the thread. Some anons replied to other guys that asked the same thing.

>>8663439
Nö.
:)

File: Fantasy Vietnam.jpg (66KB, 640x820px) Image search: [Google]

66KB, 640x820px

Currently writing a fantasy version of Vietnam, with a few twists and turns.
>Ride-able Wyverns are helicopters
>Pyromancers are walking flamethrowers
>Combustion mages are there for the explosions.
>The more magic you use the more insane you become until you have to be put down.
>A mix up of 1700's and 1800's rifles
>Plate armor that can stop bullets for knights
>The common soldiers wear boiled leather and/or chain mail for protection should close combat ensue somehow.

Main Character enters the scene fresh off the boat as a newly recruited soldier with his boiled leather suit, a rifle, munition, and a short sword in a hellhole where the war has been raging on for the past 12 years. The contrast between new soldiers and veterans are stark. The story covers the remaining 7 years of the war through the Main Characters point of view as he goes through hell with his brothers-in-arms where some dies and others survive, but no one comes out the same man as they were going in.

If I write a story about non-human characters are you guys going to call me a LOTR or Watership Down ripoff
If so I'll cry

>>8665964
If it's a Watership Down ripoff that reaches the level of the original i won't bully you.

I wonder if /lit/ accepts screenplays

INT. Under the Sun candy shop, Manning, Alberta, canada - Night

EFIL, a redhead aged 19 is sitting down behind the counter of the store, leaning on her elbow, with her thick rimmed glasses barely hanging on her face.

To her left sits ALANDRA, aged 20 with long curly brown hair who is partly obscured by the cash register as she swipes through her phone.

ALANDRA
Hey Efil, I gotta go to the bathroom. Can you watch the register? ...Not that anyone's gonna come in this late.

Efil
Yep

Alandra walks to the bathroom.

Efil yawns.She looks at a jar of taffy. She attempts to twist the lid off but struggles so she takes part of her sleeve and twists it off.Taking one out and unwraps it, plopping it in her mouth.

As She is chewing it, her eyes widen and she looks around then spits it out, she takes another taffy, after chewing it she frowns and spits it out.

Efil takes another one and starts to chew it, which causes her to frown again and spit it out.She moves to the rock candy jar and starts to eat that, which causes a similar look of distaste.

EFIL
What the fuck?(mumbles)She sticks out her tongue and starts to wipe it, squeeze it and then she looks down worried.The toilet flushes and Alandra comes back.

ALANDRA
I miss anything?

EFIL
No. I mean, yes. Hey, try one of these.

>>8666006
Sounds like a teenager who attempts to write something funny. Seriously, how are we supposed to judge this positively? Maybe it works in the context of the rest of the play but standing by itself it's simply pseudo-realistic and slightly comedic dialogue. And it isn't even that. We simply imagine Efil eating "taffy" several times while looking disgusted.

Am i being rused here?

>>8666035
no, I wrote the full thing but it's a bitch to format on /lit/.

>>8666006
Efil hands Alandra a piece of Taffy.

ALANDRA
You want me to eat it?

EFIL
Just try it.

Alandra chews it and swallows it.

ALANDRA
What's up? It's fine. Why are you acting so weird?

EFIL
What? Dammit. Wait, wait, wait...

Efil pulls out another piece of taffy, breaking it in half and handing one to Alandra.

EFIL
Here.

Alandra eats her half and so does Efil.

ALANDRA
Yeah, it's fine.

Efil chews it and frowns.

EFIL
God dammit, what the hell?

ALANDRA
Nothing?

EFIL
Nope.

ALANDRA
Woah, seriously?

EFIL
Yeah, I've been trying to find something that I can taste but it's, like, not working! Dammit!

ALANDRA
Calm down, Jesus. When did this start?

EFIL
Just when you left the room.

ALANDRA
Did you eat anything weird today?

EFIL
Nope, just some Pizza from Manning's around five. And leftovers from my sister's party.

ALANDRA
That's crazy. Hey try this.

Alandra hands Efil a large block of fudge which Efil wolfs down in the matter of seconds.

EFIL
Nope. Nothing.

ALANDRA
Okay, I got you.

As she says this she trots over to the cabinet and opens to door, pulling out a huge wooden bowl.She grabs a box of brownie mix from under the counter and a can of sugar pouring the entirety of each into the bowl. She adds water and starts to run around the room grabbing boxes of sweets and throwing them in.

>>8666173
Not pleasant to read. Switch to third person so that I at least hate the narrator instead of the protagonist.

Not a scholar of Oarbrier’s university yet, but under direct tutelage of the recently deceased grand archiver Lautrec

Between satin sheets and Persian pillows I never hungered for a minute but starved for the strangest knowledge for time immemorial, the kind deamons dream of while I slug through mounds of familiar books and memorized tomes until stabbed in the eyes by the smell of a cinderous cover looking frail enough to grudgingly crumble under paper-cut fingers.

Finally, pages and words which made zero sense to me, the pages seemed warm on the way home, sometimes, feeling it push the winter away. This book was both undecipherable and unforgettable any request for help sent to colleagues were fruitless, I lost months comparing and trying to assimilate the contents to anything that could remotely be connected. At night it kept me warm unlike any other mantle or fireplace but when i tried to get closer it just gave me the cold shoulder.

The walk to and from the archives were unbearable the wind cut my lips and the snow blinded my eyes, here i was at dawn each day with this cryptic stack of dying paper who gave me nothing but a false sense of learning, every care was taken, still it's ashen pages made a fool of me , chipping both paper and patience, the candle danced along with the page i waved it to see how the candle would respond the closer it got the more it stretched and fluttered, something was happening for once and in my distraction i burned the tip of my fingers and the grimoire made sense for the first time.
I'm having trouble understanding pacing (among other things) it seems so long when writing and i'm worried it's getting too boring then i get nervous and make things go faster and just get confused.

would like some thoughts on this:

The sun had begun to set by the time the two had drove back out to the cemetery. The pervading dusk had turned the sky an orange husk and at the horizon the bright warmth slowly relinquished and there they strolled in silence. John picked flowers and placed them together before the grave. It had begun to rain, and John was back there, then, in the darkness and the mud, scrambling. The confusion as they converged upon that small village where he had taken his first life, just before, in the barn, a mother tending to her calf, the silhouettes shaped out in the darkness. The silence born out of the downpour, backing the thumping of his own heart, his own fragile heart as he sunk the knife in to the man’s back, the blood spilling down his knife onto his hands. Where are you, now? I hold this great darkness in me. What about you, brother? Where were you? Crawling around in that range, the endless sky above, the warmth leaving you? That last look in your eye, did you have it, like that man dying, under my heart? The look in his eyes, that stare, did you find the glory? Who did that to you? Who took your breath away? We regrouped onto that house, looked through the blinds. I too had stolen into the darkness, but I knew that I couldn’t cross those waters. Where is Erin, brother? Did he find the light? James fell to his knees and his brother embraced him, but he couldn’t feel the warmth, the light. I can’t remember Clarke’s face, Erwin, I can’t picture it anymore. I just see the shadow, Erwin. Do you know where it happened? Do you think he was proud? He didn’t betray himself in the end, did he?

>>8660667
Yeah. Ideas don't have to be great or at all comprehensive. Just enough to start writing, and see what it turns into
Maybe start Journalling if you're having trouble?

>>8656886
>the novel is about 334,000 words so far and I'm not even close to done yet
Yikes
The average lenght of a novel is around 60,000 for romance and 100,000 for thrillers
Nigga, you are going into some deep shit

File: 1465818810984.jpg (213KB, 685x968px) Image search: [Google]

213KB, 685x968px

>http://pastebin.com/xjwr5mf1

I haven't shit out something for so long, tell me what you guys think.

>>8667748

I'm sorry, but I think you should study English some more.

>>8667827
I'm not native, but I do know how to write English correctly. If you're talking about how broken it is, that's usually my style. Otherwise, what seems to be incorrect?

>>8666564
Turn those commas into periods and fix it a little and it's much more interesting in my opinion. When you're doing those remembrance informing scenes with vagueness like this I think it's good to at least keep the sentences shorter than usual so the reader can process the vague parts better and imagine what you're implying.
>>8667851
>>8667748
Seems like it was made for the web with the formatting. Maybe a twitter story? Similar to microfiction anyways. I've read a few stories like this and written some myself, it's a different type of writing where you have to imply so it's a choice if you want to do the 'ah.' and 'comfortable.' which is intentionally overstating what you just said and repeating it. I do that too sometimes.
I think you did a good job leading me to where you were going with the guy, so that was nice. Beyond that your concept is small and the writing amount and structure can't be criticized in the sense of 'better or worse' because with microfiction and web/cell short stories its all a matter of choices and there's nothing wrong with the language from my perspective.
Some of the sentences felt a bit awkward at first but if readability wasn't your goal then that's fine.

How do I know when to use italics and when to hold back?

>>8667986
i'm the first guy you responded to. thanks.

>>8667993
Once every three pages is cool. If you feel the need to use them any more often than that you need to stop and learn how to emphasize things through language

>>8668016
I was using them for internal thoughts, like

>The man walked up to the door. (italics) This door looks pretty worn out and old (italics), he thought as he reached for the doorknob.

Is that the not acceptable?

>>8667993
No answer, really.
There's a reason why it's 'creative' writing. You can make a whole chapter italics if you want to bring attention to a characters backstory and whoever your overlord is publisher, yourself, your readers, might love it or hate it.

I think the important part is to reread and if it annoys or upsets you, just consider changing it.
That goes for just about anything.

As for my opinion on their usage, never. I don't like them and I don't think it does the text any good to change the font just for a certain breakaway like a characters thoughts after they talk. I want the text to be consistent, to me it's as bad as bolding, underlining, and color text change.
If you're going to do it, I suggest you decide when you're going to do it and stick to it.
>>8668016
>once every three pages
when and where? I don't get that at all, what are you going to use it for? Songs? I've seen that done, I agree with that especially when you fuck the formatting for them too.

>>8668021
That's acceptable honestly

But personally I find that kind of stuff eye rolling desu. Once again, it's always more interesting to communicate things through the content of the language

>>8668025
>once every three pages
By that I mean italics can be helpful in dialogue, to show how a character stresses a single word. My estimate is more than once per three pages is too much, and I agree I hate font wankery of all sorts, and I never like italics outside of dialogue.

>>8637729
>>8637750
>>8637751
>>8637754
have i not seen this exact conversation before?
is this a meme?

>>8668058
nvm it's the same thread as like ten days ago

i'm tired i think I'm going to go to sleep now lads

"Should I write dialogue with these quote marks?" asked the anon, 'Or should I use these?' He spoke gently and with appropriate humility, wishing not to seem too much of a useless fool in this domain of authority.

It does help my cause that my uncle, who partook in the war as well, did not write anything to me, either. I had expected as much, since he was a notoriously gruff old man, of few words. Yet I was not surprised to hear of his demise when it was all over. No one seemed to know the details, except that his entire troop had been lost, him included. In hindsight, I do not think that he would have been opposed to the idea of dying for a cause. In fact I believe it most fitting that he died while he was still had his own pride, for the thought of being rendered incapable due to old age disgusted him more than anything else in the world, and he had seen the war as a way to prove to himself that he was full of life, although he never had the privilege to return grizzled and weary as would be befitting a man like him.


I realize that, as I write this, I paint the picture of me being close to my uncle, as if he was my own father. That is hardly the truth. I met the man a precious few times, and he did not seem terribly satisfied with my dull, long, moderately handsome face that expressed nothing but a lack of energy. But despite his relative animosity towards me, he had left his estate in my hands, proving that, if nothing else, he saw me the most worthy of his blood. The only reason I could see was that I bore the family name, and had at several times expressed an almost pious fascination with the land that now belonged to me.

>>8668062
The other Anon raised his right eyebrow at Anon, shooting him a questionable stare across the room, >>Both work, as does this as well. It's up to preference and how one intends to use them.<<

>>8668076
Don't raise your eyebrow at me, faggot, thought Anon, but he kept his thoughts to himself. "Then I shall continue with that I find most comfortable. Thank you for your input."

He saw himself out.

>>8668068
Sounds archaic to me, if you were going for that good job. If not, lay off the older literature for awhile.

>>8637677
>stuff you wanna write
Okay, here goes nothing. This is a short synopsis of what I have so far of my idea for a 5-part book series:

A mix of Japanese/Chinese/Western folklore inspired story about a young, depressed adult from Earth who awakens in a new world shared by Humans and Spirits alike. A realm filled with Elementalists that can wield and master one of the four elements they’re born with.

From the start he’s alone and shunned for his ignorance and weird behavior, but it soon dawns on both him and those around him that he has an affinity for all four elements, which has never been heard nor seen of before. Although he just wants to find a way home from this crazy new world where nothing is as it seems, many see him as a threat while a few others are eager to help him master all the Elements somehow. Soon it becomes evident that the young man has a spirit residing within him as well: A “soul” as we refer to it in our world. It grants him a spiritual connection that bridges the differences between both Humans and Spirits - as the latter are physical manifestations of Souls.

Follow the young man’s coming-of-age journey through an unknown and colorful world of Spirits, Mythical Creatures, and Wondrous sights on his quest to not only learn and master all Four Elements, but also realize who he wants to be.

With friends, companions, and the elements at his side, he will eventually have to face the massive conflict brewing between the Human Kingdoms and the Spirits who are unwillingly rotting and corrupting the world around them.

>>8668179
Sounds like a mix of Avatar and World Customize Creator.
I suggest you read World Customize Creator, it's a world transfer web novel like your idea except the main character's color is 'black' so that makes him a demon god or something and has a power that lets him just edit fucking everything like its an MMO.

They have everyone separated by their elemental color, and whites don't have any abilities so they have to just become warrior types. Story was going the route of the white king randomly getting involved with the MC and trying to convince him over to his side, there was a lot of politics and MC joined the red kingdom army to make money and stuff.

If you do well, probably could get published. People like familiarity.

A few paragraphs I vomited out today. I need to improve.

“I am finished dressing,” he said, straightening. The toes of his shoes were capped with metal, polished so brightly that he again saw himself. Arches of the shoe hugged his foot, he had been flat footed before. Has she changed that as well? Some more confusing emotions swam to the surface at this, pushing out his slow absorption of the situation to instead consider what other changes she had made that he merely had failed to notice yet. A keen awareness came over his body, struggling to find some minute difference. The trance lasted for a few moments, before being broken by themetallic scrape of well oiled hinged.

“Madam has instructed me to accompany you to the East Wing to attend her, follow me.” Abandoning his concentration, Lauro followed Evenrel from the room. Much like the bedroom the hallway shone in reflected light from hanging alcohol lamps. Every surface seemed to be made of shining white stone, polished enough to reflect one’s features vaguely. From a hallway that passed by several more identical doors, and through an archway Lauro found himself on an open balcony. Before him a garden extended outwards across a wide lawn to creep up a thick stone wall, topped with iron spikes. Hudges formed shaded pathways, overhung with flowers he did recognize in colors of gold and red. At its center a massive lemon tree shaded a courtyard. At this distance he saw Noemi, sitting on a bench there in the shade of the branches. Attending to her was a young women, dressed in family’s colors, her dress patterned in red and white. A stiff warm breeze brought the scent of the garden towards him. Instead of going down the stairs in front of them, Evenrel turned away to head along the balcony.

“Wait, I can see Noemi.” Evenrel did not, instead continued forward five paces before stopping.

“You are to accompany me to the East Wing to attend Madam.” Lauro glanced at the man’s back, then looked back to the garden. She was maybe a hundred feet away, now sipping at something while her attendant fawned over a bush covered in pale pink buds.

“Are you daft? I mean you are, clearly, but she is right there. You’re not so rigid that you can’t simply change your course?” Lauro stepped down the first step, and Evenrel turned to look at him. His eyes studied Lauro’s movements, evaluating something. Was what passed for a mind trying to work out whether he not he was attempting to escape? With another step Lauro proceeded cautiously down the wide staircase, fingertips trailing along the railing. Worked into the wood a texture of leaves, ending in a bloom, the entire thing making him think of a great floral snake. When he was not tackled from behind Lauro decided that Evenrel’s evaluation had chosen that he was not attempting to escape.

>>8668204
>I suggest you read World Customize Creator
I'll definitely check up on it. I mainly drew inspiration from AtLA/LoK, Alice in Wonderland, Hakumei to Mikochi, Shaman Warrior, and a couple of folklore tales that piqued my interest a while back.

Thanks!

>>8668224
I daresay sir, he said, what do you think needs improving?

>>8668304
When I read it the text itself feels terrible. I have no illusions as to the quality of my writing.

Trying to write a Gnostic fairy tale. I plan to retell the Gospel of Judas in a silly way.

Once upon a time there was a werewolf who was in despair. He was in despair because he lived in a town where night had long ago become perpetual. The moon, which was full, shined hour after hour above the town, and would neither wane nor wax. And for as long as the moon was full and the sun never rose, the werewolf was doomed to remain in this half-wolf, half man form forever.
He was the only of his kind in town, and the townsfolk were afraid of him because they all were cats, and naturally found him menacing. He had a long snout, had gray and white fur, elegant soft-pointed ears, powerful shoulders, and slender arms from which extended massive hand-like paws and sharp claws. And when he stood on his hind legs he rose as tall as a lamppost.

>>8668344
That's all I got.

The ending will have the werewolf float away from the town on a set of balloons, headed straight to the moon (Alice!).

>>8668311
>feels terrible
If you can't even express why it feels awful then why are you worried about how it's awful? You don't have a why yet. It goes what, why, and how. D-.
>>8668344
>>8668364
Interesting, is this targeted to the kids to YA audience? I get that feeling from the sentences.
Looks like you're basing the style off someone else's to me. Idea's good.

>>8668406
Nigga, this is targeted to Harold Bloom. The style is shamelessly derived from a translation of Hans Christian Andersen's Fairy Tales.

>>8668406
>If you can't even express why it feels awful then why are you worried about how it's awful? You don't have a why yet. It goes what, why, and how. D-.
I came for here for critique on the what and why because my own ability to objectively view my writing this soon after writing it is impaired both in negative and positive direction in different aspects. Why would I come to a critique thread except for an outside perspective on what and why is currently not working?

>>8668418
Good point. Well, I couldn't see anything wrong with it. You should probably wait a few days and read it again, that works for me. I can't see anything wrong with it, tone and style are consistent with the type of story you seem to be working on so I can't really see how to make it better. Reads like transition scene building the action, not much to say about that. Those scenes are supposed to be a bit dry I think.
>>8668417
No wonder. Good luck then, all you need is follow through.

>>8668439
>Reads like transition scene building the action, not much to say about that. Those scenes are supposed to be a bit dry I think.
Yeah, he just woke up after having what amounts to occult surgery changing his appearance. That's what he is thinking about at the beginning. He has been pressed into the service of the daughter of what amounts to a senator (it is different than a senator, but senator is close enough to give the idea). He is attempting to evaluate his feelings for her.

For a first draft? I really have a poor time judging the quality. Right now it feels, if I try to look at it objectively 'middling leaning on poor'.

What's a good way to improve on grammar and writing flow?

My prose for my novel project is way off but I can't pinpoint why it's off.

>>8668466
The best way is to live and to die.

>>8668448
Yeah, I think it would help let it sit and keep writing then. It's only after I finish some scenes and gone way beyond them that I realized I fucked up some minor detail in the sentence structure or how I phrased things initially, even if I had the story planned out.
I wrote smaller stories over a couple of pages to help with that. Anyone who wants to be a good writer is always having that confidence vs. self-awareness war in their mind, try to help the losing side when you can.
>>8668466
Post it your worst part, you likely have a reason why in your head but you can't understand your own thinking. So maybe others thinking can get you to understand your own.
Beyond that, scrap it and try to rewrite it with a dumber or younger person in mind or read more.
>>8668484
Trial and error only got humanity so far. At some point you have to change your methods.

>>8668466
Not to blatantly ignore your question, but I feel like /lit/ should have a sticky with answers to these sort of questions that constantly gets asked. Then again, it's a board to discuss what has already been written, and not what others are currently writing.

>>8668489
In the past I wrote multiple novels. On a whole my ability to view my writing in a positive light has only gotten worse and really there hasn't been much improvement. Likely because for a long time I wasn't trying to improve, merely to write. There was no attempt to have a craft, merely to practice it.

>>8668495
I think you're wrong. /fit/ has had a sticky for years about basic nutrition. People need to discover for themselves what's a good place to go for answers and what they are asking. It's an internal process, and the only way to learn is to sperg out on some random board your worries and they begin to understand that you probably just needed to google 'show and tell' and click on the first link.
>>8668506
You're the opposite of me then. I only started writing after I finally got over my issues and huge expectations of what I was going to write, and slowly working through that. I'd love to have a few novels laying around, though I'm getting there lazily.
Sounds like more of a issue of expectations. If you want someone to listen to you write shit out 7cups.com is pretty good for that.
That doesn't have anything to with your writing, it's what you think of your writing it sounds like to me.

>>8668546
>That doesn't have anything to with your writing, it's what you think of your writing it sounds like to me.
Except my writing is for the most part nothing more than middle of the road.

I excel at a few things, one of which is world building, which comes from a long history of TTRPGs. However world building means nothing really, it's execution and sincerity. My prose is merely ok, my dialogue merely ok, my characters are not inspired in any manner.

That scene has four characters.

A glass blower forced into the service of a powerful woman he both loves, fears, and hates trying to survive a situation out of his league.

The girl in question, who has a classic "burden of rulership" and "burden of those with power" plot line, just in a more concrete fashion because it involved metaphysical parasites.

Evenrel is a human automation, nothing of interest there.

And the servant is a monster masquerading as a human after the same metaphysical parasites wrested control of a weak body.

Even the idea that human vice is the product of spiritually attached things is by no means new, or the ideas of body horror and that which isn't human all being reflections of man. Nothing there is new.

I don't know.

>>8668603
'inspired', I don't know about that. Just who are you trying to convince of the worth of your work?

>>8668094
It's supposed to be a journal of a post-WW1 Lovecraft-esque aristocrat.

>>8668661
Myself. Anyone. Someone.

>>8668728
Starving artist clean-up in aisle 2! Me too.

>>8666187
Anyone?

>>8669102
Pacing issues definitely. You're going in way too hard and fast with the evoking, sounds very pretentious to me. I imagined the guy being one of those wispy artsy types. Sentences are too long for what you're doing, doesn't help the imagery just hurts it. Too much to process, wasn't easy to read. I'd shorten the sentences and get some dialogue going, right now it just seems like its the character masturbating over his troubles with books and even that was difficult to understand.
Try to write something dumber, that's my advice.

please feedback

Thousand Day Click


the docile plan
stayed too long in my brain
now i exist in room 310


whiter walls could not exist
tilted shadows stapled all along the water pipes
sometimes all fogged up with fire
or 3 coats keep me from sullen 5 AM jerk offs


i masturbate to everything
hentai, hardcore, facebook pics
make it quick
no longer about the pleasure of the orgasm or the strokes
just about a release of stress
everyday it gets more extreme
first day it was my wallpaper
now it’s piss play, or some girl shitting in bucket of vomit


there is lower, yes there is, the no limit to how low one can go
i probably will never get over my fetishes so here’s to the thousand day click
my room is white
it’s full of light
and darkness when i’m tired


the walls are thin
and from within
my thoughts will slowly conspire


i know that they
have more fun
when i am not existing


i know that i bring them only irritation and annoyance
i should be away from them, i’m just a simple play thing
my life is dum and i am dum dum dum dum

>>8667986
Second one you quoted.
Yes, I was aiming for an ordinary man who simply doesn't care. I do recognize this isn't my best work, so thank you very much for the feedback. I will do much better next time.

>>8659053
I don't suppose anyone has any feedback on my story?

>>8669979

It all reads a bit too much like something that would be more at home on a roleplaying board or in a fan-fic.

Everything is just cut and dry, the descriptions are bland and too on the nose. For instance, when you're describing what's taking place it comes off as "This happened, then they did this, and then this happened." It doesn't flow very well, and it feels a bit emotionless. It needs to be more cohesive, and the descriptions could be better.

>>8670118
Been doing a lot of RPing lately so that would explain it. Thanks.

>>8637677
There is no way you can incapacitate me, only hinder. There are no boundaries, no boarders of education that I will not claim as mine. I yearn for knowledge yet you deny me. You deny me the very core of growth and development for what reason. What reason have you stuck onto me to have deem me not worthy of the fruit of knowledge? What could I have done to conjure your wrath? Whatever reasoning may be behind your motives it will no longer set me back; only drive my determination to succeed at my ambitions to learn and to flourish. You have gifted me something unmalleable in this world yet still, one can only beg the question of why. Cursed yet blessed all in the same notion and only under the influence of man-made pellets may I be able to comprehend my emotions and structure them into words. When sobriety peaks my mind is when I feel my thoughts, feelings, and preservation feel the most misty, and within that mist creations of wonder spark and burst within the heavy fog. At those moments I can only hope to make sense of the ill-figured handiwork that you have helped formulate. You have gifted me a mind that speaks in colors and listens to expressions rather than grant me something that could be used to comprehend and speculate the world around and the only translator between the languages being a small blue pill. I have considered you an enemy, a friend, and whatever lies between. I have sworn damnation on you, yet in the same light have given my thanks for your complexity and as I continue my misshapen path you have built for me I can at least admit that I am thankful for the colorfulness you have given me.


It's shit, I'm well aware. Just wanted to get something off my chest.

>>8670220
I should mention that it's about ADHD if you hadn't picked up on it.