Critique Thread

>>8746000
Bad idea. You shouldn't have made a critique thread. You should be ashamed of yourself.

>>8746017
Why? is there one already up?

A Knew

A man drunk. He went in strokes. A shadow was on the glass, and the drink on the shadow, teeming in the light. A ring. He let himself stay. The casedrawer was drawn, the ices in lorgnon teeming.
‘What happened to your hand?’
‘A fight.’
His lame. It gave him an ache, the sun.
All about. Going here and there, most never arrived within his sight. On a catalyst.
‘You can’t keep up like this.’
A man drunk.
‘I know, I’m sorry.’
The berm was ill devised. His throat was warm with drink. Tippled, astir, the shopcases all a dim. There was pink, little else. He called him up. Neath a splintered pilaster, coming down to the telephoneclip. Some watched as they went. He placed his coins in the slot. Taking it by the ban. A ring. A dialtone.
He came to a path ran over the tributuary, like a crutch, teeming. A man found a bench and sat awhile. He would remain there all day.

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reposting my own:

http://pastebin.com/fJanXfij

Scene I revised just now. Try to ignore the autistic parts if you can. Main character's GF dies as they are trying to get back to a ship where their home city has just fallen and is being taken over. He completely snaps and goes full suicide. Curious how well I convey that, especially if I should change the end of line / paragraph 25 to:

> Emma was dead. Emma was dead, and it was time for him to die.

Instead of saying it later. I like the parallel of "she's dead time for me to die" but I also like the "nothing else mattered" because I was listening to Nothing Else Matters when I wrote a lot of their scenes, how they really only cared about each other in a hopeless war. Also I don't know what to write for the part below at the end of line 27 where it's "She was dead, Sarengarth was gone, and it was time for him to die".... it just doesn't have the same ring to it. So I'm not sure if I should switch it back, or try to come up with something else, or what.

Also just general opinions on my prose, it's structure, it's rhythm, etc. Readability is my biggest priority, as well as not being entirely cringeworthy. I'm going through a lot of my old shit and trying to shift away from the ultraviolet spectrum if you know what I mean. I like the idea of Ernest Hemingway and his straightforward writing. But I also want to describe the gunfights well, make them feel fast and furious like I imagine them in my head.

Will give critique if you post your own shit with your critique of me.

A lone stallion laid among the newly thrashed pile of men with dawn reaping the losses.
With a gallop, a cavalcade of grey and a harmony of horns approached the wetted battlefield.
“It shan’t be continued, m’ sire. The Olrils have already set camp amongst the coast, and we cannot afford to repeatedly send these brave men to--”
“Hush”, the commander yowled at the sire, ceasing the symphonic horns of victory. The squadron of the Royal Vanguards began to dismount their steeds, placing the red and dusty brindles they carried with them.
The commander unsheathed his own blade. A panabay glimmered, embroidered in golden echelons and elvish scripture. The sky ahead was mournful, but of seemingly an ensorcced enchantment, the air was plenty dewy, leaving moisture upon the elve’s brow. As far as one could seize the mixture of muddled shapes and mountains, a lowly fog concealed the squadrons location. Most of them soldiers were taking rests and scavenging the fallen orcs of the Olrils kingdom’s pile. “Do you not reckon the Olrils would know we have just slaughtered a brigade of their elite men in the midst of their own country? How foolish, Egthow. . . You’re putting our lives in danger--your own mens’. To sally forth like this and to leave behind such a mess is not a mere statement, brother. It is a damned suicide note!” Tanyl protruded amongst the inebriate discussion of the high browed sinuous men. Of what started as mumble out of frustration, Egthow eventually alleviated his anger, and replied, “Brother, I know what I am doing with my own men, my own life, and my own plans. This is no suicide, this is a conquest. There is no room for compunction whilst the ancestors we have proven worthy of progeny are being scoffed at by the Olril Kingdom.” For a brief moment, the chatter had ceased. The silence allowed the trees to imitate the rain, whistling with the small bit of wind the land had offered. The sand beneath the elven boots was of fine black sand, with skinks crawling about and insectoid inhabitants scouting the land. A small island offered diversity in both the ecosystem and war.
Egthow, after making careful check of the thick forests around his comrades, approached the nearby sea that encased such dignity. Thin-booted steps and soaked-seines made their way to the near water, in hopes of some fish. Two crude rafts floated on the mirrors that made little sound. A seine was tossed, and when reeled, a catch of four fairly-large sized fish had been attempting the escape. A swift spear spiked all four, and when lifted, the reflection of the squamous creatures lingered in one of the crew mates eyes.

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I take a step,
a leap a bound
The first of many,
how profound

Sun brings play, snow brings presents
A time when I knew, or at least I knew they knew
My favourite this, my favourite that
Nothing is expected when everything is new

He sees

I kiss, I love, I lose
The laugh, the cry
If the world is mine
perhaps I may even try

Stub your toe no longer tears
for pain is greater once you feel
Thoughts of Venus, abyss divide, terrify
Stare and wait, and soon the kneel

He watches

I take a step,
a creep a crawl
Uncertainty looms
but on I trawl

Impatient to anxiously excited
dare I say now simply anxious?
Do it for them, but say it's for me
Once praised for being, now left so thankless

I see

More to say less to do
now that thinking's easier
What if? If only?
Would I have been happier?

Nothing's perfect, now I'm learning
Expect no big, build from small
This is the constant compromise of
bittersweet nostalgia times

I watch

I see the picture now
rough and ragged
no form or meaning
Finally equipped but unequipped

Head full, body empty
No time for shame or blaming
No time for much at all
Unexpectedly, more predictably,
The shifting sands herald him

We go

>>8746020
No people just hate critique thread because of their Ego

This is the first time I've written fiction since I was a teenager so I'm well aware it's shit but ya gotta start somewhere. Any reccs on like a "starter kit" of books to improve your writing would be appreciated. Here goes: “Drop it.” I said and motioned towards the ground with my rifle. He’s a boy. Can’t be older than 20. We were well into winter and the seeds of facial hair were just beginning sprout on his chin. I caught him as he was finishing pissing and he still had one hand against the thick base of an oak tree. He was off balance and the FAL rifle slung around his shoulder was still pointing at the ground. He was clearly not of the stature to be using a full-sized battle rifle and his barrel had dipped into the snow as he turned around, which may have created a barrel obstruction if my recently diminishing favor with lady luck had given her cause to take pity. Either way only a lunatic or a fool would challenge me from this position, but twenty-somethings are more often than not find themselves in the overlap of that, particularly deadly Venn diagram.


He was still staring at me, motionless and I could see every gear behind his eyes whirring like a rat trying to gnaw its way out of a mental cage. His hand slowly, almost imperceptibly, began to move down the tree. I knew how this would end. .308 Winchester bearing down on me with all the accuracy of a man with half the weight needed to wield it properly on unsteady footing. He was only somewhere around 30 feet away from me so he would hit me, but he would probably just tear my arm off or spill my entrails into the snow. Perhaps a picturesque way to go but certainly not a pleasant one unless he could surprise me and override his fear with courage and mercy but that was a longer shot than him not toppling the dominoe of his demise. I put about 4 pounds of pressure on the trigger sending him halfway down the path to hell.


He let a long breath leak from his lungs and stain the cold air. It would be his last. He quickly reached for the handguard and had barely started to raise his rifle upwards when I completed my trigger pull sending a bullet flying out of the rifling and into the center of his chest. It landed with a thud and his body lost all sense of rigidness in a split second. He crumpled towards the ground as I finished the next half trigger pull that I justified as an act of mercy when in reality it was the gut reaction of self-preservation. After he lay still for a few moments, making it imminently clear that he had expired, I slung my rifle over my back and continued on my way.

I am, for what i am,
and i shall be, whatever it takes.
But without guidance,
i am but myself

>>8747515

Great

>>8747401

Not good

>>8746462

Good

>>8746321

Not good

>>8746305

Okay

>>8746022

Great

The froth of boreas’s verglass
Swept I, the lone wanderer, from height
The lamina had undergone the chemistry
And perforated by my tuffs I held ground

>>8747515

fuck off with your lowercase "i"'s

>>8749494
that's fucking neat, what are you into geology or something?
I'd post something but I already know my shit's shit.

>>8749581
thanks man, yes actually, a lame hobby, really. I just collect rocks and if I have any free time I'll read on some geophysics, but I don't have knowledge past calculus so the math is a slight barrier right now

post something man, only way you'll ever improve. We're here to critique

>>8749612
>only way you'll ever improve
All my shit is online anyways, I'd just invite trolls to leave bad reviews, even though I've got my share of them from the usual visitors anyways.

I don't have small snippets that are 'clever', I already know what's wrong with my work. I'm planning on going to a writing support group, 4chan is the worst place for this. I've posted in the past, reviewed others stuff as best I could but there's usually no decent advice from what I've seen.
I would advise people in this thread to find a site that gets webtraffic like I did at royalroad. Huge site, lots of readers looking at shit, authors actually publishing and making money.

I've sent in submissions as well, so I'll find out from the big boys if I pass muster there as well.

I'd honestly like to see some good critiques of my work but I can already tell what people are going to say and it's usually compliments. I recently figured out that I'm not the only one who hungers for negative feedback to confirm what they already thought about their work, I assume that's what most people post in these threads for. Random negative feedback.

Obligatory spanish poem
Entendimientos
Miserable la ceguera que acosa
El alma libre que en el cielo goza
La cándida soltura de la libertad
El suelo fértil que abraza la luz de verdad
En el vuelo efímero sobrevive lejos
Pronto, será la prisión que ha de preceder a la muerte
Oscuras envolverán y estrangulan
Las garras son verdugos y deambulan
Sofocarán a la piedad del vivir, antes fuerte
Los pasos firmes serán reliquias y cenizas
De quién que divaga en el sórdido rumor
Caerá presa de la mentira y el fervor
Puede solo admirar las paredes macizas
Y en la planicie solitaria de su interior
Merodeará la nostalgia de haber abrazado el calor
Craving for a (You)

>>8746020
He's critiquing you.

He's being funny.

Ha.

>>8746022
Not bad, but I can see your writing style becoming annoying if the piece were any longer than this post.

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“Of course I want it fixed today, if I wanted it fixed tomorrow I’d have brought it in tomorrow!”
There was a man standing in front of me, in my garage, holding a block of red iron oxide that may have at one point or another been some sort of shotgun. His body type gave the impression that while his physical strength might be decent, he drank excessive amounts of beer. He was wearing a sleeveless denim jacket, with patches of our state and the Confederate flag. I thought this was weird considering our state didn’t join the Union until after the civil war. He also wore a belt and suspenders at the same time. I don’t remember his name.
“Sir, when was the last time you fired this?”
“Oh well I suppose it would’ve had to have been last time I went duck hunting.” He said with the expected amount of consonants missing.
“And what did you do with it after that?”
“Figured I’d just leave it in my boat for when I needed it next.”
“Did the boat sink?”
“It was a little leaky when I got back to it, why?”
I took a few minutes to explain to him that his firearm was more than likely in no condition to fire, and it’s structural integrity was probably so compromised by rust that if he tried to it would more than likely explode. He told me I didn’t know what I was talking about, and if I wouldn’t fix it then he’d find someone who would.
Over the course of that day he called me back twice. Evidently, he came across my phone number in two different places while looking for my replacement and neither time did he realize it was me. The second time he told me he’d leave me a poor review on something he called “Help”.

>>8748639
This helps nobody

>>8750953

You help nobody

1/2 - This is the first time I've ever written fiction. Trying to write a short story because I've been really enjoying reading short stories recently and /lit/ inspired me to try and write one. Forgive that this is A) not finished and B) not the most original plot/not dealing with original themes.

It is no secret that many a young man is filled with unbridled indulgence in vices. Virtue is not only foreign concept to these youth, but it is strongly discouraged by society. The standard of behavior, so to speak, of young men is that they act unbounded in their pursuit of pleasure, portray themselves as being of incredible importance, and walk with a certain swagger.
There is an Irish pub in midtown Manhattan called Faces and Names, and early one evening, while the bar was relatively empty, a young man walked in adhering perfectly to the portrayal of youth I’ve just put forth: Cocksure, yet at-ease and clearly uncaring of the opinion of others – he had no issue blocking the doorway, allowing others to bear the yoke of squeezing through the small remaining space of the entryway.
The young man’s name was Anthony, and he stood near the door in silent observation of the largely unoccupied room for a few moments before moving toward the bar. He wore cheap and informal clothes (albeit deliberately – he could afford to dress well), but carried himself as if he was wearing an expensive outfit. He wasn’t dressed inappropriately for the room, but he was still less dressed than the few patrons in view. Anthony noticed this in passing, but didn’t dwell on it, and sat down at the bar next to a man some years older than himself.
Anthony was short, skinny, and athletic but not particularly muscular. He had relatively attractive features, which he didn’t boast but certainly capitalized on, such as loose blonde hair and calm green eyes. Coming from a wealthy family, he was well educated and made good use of his ample intellect when it suited him. Some critiqued him as lazy, but that was an inaccurate view of him – he had the ability to dial in on pursuits of intense interest with fantastic ambition. Sloth was far from being his foremost sin: pride and lust were what really plagued him. When he was in high school he largely poured this ‘fantastic ambition’ into girls and gambling, with great pride stemming from success in both pursuits. Admittedly, he didn’t take himself too seriously most of the time and usually had a calm demeanor, but he was prone to frequent mood swings. He spent most of his time stagnating in his apartment overwhelmed by boredom and only was relieved of this boredom by quest for whatever currently interested him. These objects of interest were rarely long-lasting, and usually underwent constant change.

The question I asked myself is “What is experience?” I didn’t ask it as a pseudo-intellectual or a philosophical quandary, it was instead out of a feeling of illegitimacy. Is there such thing as a more ‘authentic experience’, did the great writers of our time have these life defining experiences to draw from, or did they just sit down and write? Must I live as Thoreau and throw myself to the world’s cruelty and pray that I survive wise enough to write something worthwhile? A lack of faith in my cognitive senses has been weighing on me because invariably if I have an original thought; there will those who have already thought it, someone who will dismiss my writings as adolescent. I write as a 19 year old, and that fact innately lessens value.

>>8750980
Anthony did not live in Manhattan, but was in town for the weekend to visit an old friend. He intended to meet his friend for dinner later in the evening and wanted to have a drink before their reunion. Unlike most young men, Anthony made a good sum of money and managed to live a solidly pleasurable cosmopolitan life. This, however, was a new enough development in his life that he was still enjoying the novelty of it. More specifically, he was distinctly fond of having real money for the first time.
On this note, he turned to the man next to him with an amicable look and said, “How’s it goin’, man? Let me buy you a drink – what’re you having.”
The man turned to him, forced a smile, and nodded his head in agreement. Then, seeming only to acknowledge that he actually had to respond verbally after a few seconds, he spoke up, “A Dewar’s and soda. Thanks.”

>>8750980
>>8750981
>>8750986
Snobby tone bored me. This might be 'actual' good advice for a change. See 'actual' in that last sentence? Doesn't add much. It's not helping the words. You may not notice it, but reading it to me it looks like you just stuck a ! in the middle of every sentence. I can understand you want to get across emphasis of a certain idea:
"relatively empty"
"strongly discouraged"
"ample intellect"
"adhereing 'perfectly'"
I'd cut those, they don't help describe the character and neither does this passage. 'Telling' is fine, despite what people say, it's about doing it in the right way.
http://emmadarwin.typepad.com/thisitchofwriting/showing-and-telling-the-basics.html
I'd like you to keep in mind the idea that you just keep this entire paragraph off of the actual story. Backstory sets the scene, but it doesn't make the character fun. All my characters have about a page of that sort of description I could type out but it's in my head, I let their thoughts and actions define them as characters. When you use 3rd person omniscient, remember that what you focus on the most becomes the story, so if you want a story about his personal life you just killed all of the interest anyone could have had in such a character. Mystery is the only genre worth writing and everyone does it to some degree if they aren't boring.
>>8750981
>more 'auth-
cut out more
>feeling of illegitimacy
I'd cut that whole sentence, say it in a different way. Too many big words for a simple idea.
"Tell me my feelings are real, my experiences worthwhile."
>Must I
You mustn't do that.
>cognitive senses
Inhuman imagery screws your tone. Do that from the start if you want to do that, you were going for stuffy intellectual.
>invariably
find a better word
>already though it
express this in a different way
>and that fact etc.
express this in a different way

>>8751835
What's inhuman about cognitive senses?

DARKNESS:
'Tis I, the Shade of Life forlorn. Despair:
For this my Light doth Sight obscure, and air
It dries by thousand anguish'd cries, so hear:
In silence deep will Reason try thy ear,
But Treason thou unveil in her intents.

THE SPIRIT OF POOR MANKIND:
To be is not to be, that is the point,
For Reason doth her guiles try, so trust
I can not ever share that lasts a day.

MOM:
My son, thou be awake that school is start'd!

>>8752160
I like it, humor is always good

Any good crit would be great. Thanks lads.
https://www.wattpad.com/335994293-life-in-gotha-chapter-1

>>8752193
I think it would read well for a more casual reader, your narrative style sounds more like a pop-novel

>Crit my cv for my first job im sick of being neet


Personal Statement
Anon, X years old, currently seeking a job. I hope that in reading this short bio about myself, coupled with the rest of the information contained in this CV, it will convince you to hire me onto your team. While never having worked a paid job before I am confident in my ability to perform any task efficiently, my work ethic is strong and I have pride in the fact that I can focus my will and effort entirely on my work no matter how tired or spread thin i might be. I have completed a level two performing arts course at SCHOOL (Northern Ireland), and though i know it does not qualify me for many jobs outside of the respective realms of performing artist or within its artistic administration services, the time spent there did give me some valuable experience handling teams to create works and to finish projects in very tight time frames. In my time off education like to read and exercise, my diet is healthy and I enjoy spending time with friends
Skills
Allow me to preface this by saying that my skill-set is easily adaptable to any task or environment. That may seem like some sort of a copout, a quick and empty answer for a complete lack of skills, but i would like to convince you otherwise. I think what i'm really trying to say is that I am willing, able and cautiously eager to learn anything.
I. I'm smart. I'm not To-Smart-For-My-Own-Good arrogant ,but i am clever. I learn by absorption and I learn quickly and i dont need to be told twice how to do something.
II. I can communicate and deal with customers in a friendly, professional manner, i can handle complaints with appropriate protocol and i am almost a stone wall of patience and manners with difficult customers..
III. I am very passionate about putting my abilities forward and helping a company I work for expand.

>>8746022

Too stunted, too staccato. I like the aesthetic but it would be unreadable after too much more of this.

Less is more

>>8752225

Is this a joke?

>>8752247
No...

>>8752254

Christ. Go to /r/resumes and lurk until you know what a real CV and cover letter look like, if you're over the age of 18 this is the kind of shit that would get sent round the office for people to laugh at

never be self-deprecating and always shift the relevant point to the beginning of the sentence rather than leaving it buried underneath your self-pity

Wet hands and trembles,
Rumbles.
Speak with your rifle and mingle.

>>8752274
Its called new sincerity bub ever read a fucking Mcarthy? Wallace?

>>8752316

>relentless self-pity
>sincere

the antithesis of new sincerity tbqhwyf

>>8751835
Now that you've pointed it out I get exactly what you mean.

That being said, which paragraph are you suggesting I keep out of the story entirely? The main descriptive one: "The young man's name..."?

>>8752110
If you ask that, then you need to read more. 'cognitive' is a science word, 'senses' is a science word, you need to go to an actual sense or its too far removed. The style is psuedo-intellectual at it's core and it's not done in an interesting way. We expect the intelligent youth to mutter on with science metaphor, but we don't want to see it done, that's boring.
>>8752193
It's boring, you need to put more into it. Just because it's genre fiction doesn't mean you can slack off. Put in more of your feelings, imagine life for the characters. It's a good start, could get published if you continue like that, people love this stuff.
>>8752223
Just a new writer in my opinion.
>>8752316
Yeah but if you were going for cringe you got me to feel that emotion. Your prospective employer is just going to see a liability, please consider your audience.
>>8752332
Your entire post after 'themes'. It's not 'bad', you probably just wrote that as a start for your first draft. In the editing portion, when you understand the story you want to tell, the 'heart' of your story, how your story does that, you'll be able to better understand what I mean. Introduction of information to a reader is paramount to any fiction story, that's the difference between fiction and non-fiction, you decide what's real and what's not in fiction.

>>8752123
bump

>>8752368
Nothing to critique in my opinion that's an opening. Sofistar was confusing, you mean the two of them together? I'd do something to help the reader understand that, maybe 'solfistar, both of them'. Imagery and style are strong, but I'm worried where you think you're going with this. You either change styles in low key scenes, or it's a straight fable story based on short sentences. If you want to keep that style going, then I'd work on getting the impressions you want right. "What does this sentence say, maybe I should add more so I don't get misunderstood?" I think that would improve that style.

>>8752388
thanks anon. solstafir = crepuscular rays

I want to convey a surrealistic view of the world that mimics changes in concsiousness I've experienced, the kind that don't use drugs. I want to capture and transmit a very personal view of the world.

>>8752359
kek - I took a minute searching for the word 'themes' before realizing you meant I should scrap the entire post.

You're right about it being the start of a first draft. Again, I've never tried fiction before so thanks a lot for the advice. Part of my issue is that I don't really understand what the story I'm trying to tell is yet while also trying to throw words on paper to learn technicalities of writing fiction, which might lead to some issues.

>>8752394
>crepuscular rays
interdasting. Good luck, I think you have something there.
>>8752404
Not scrap! Save, keep off page! use it as notes. I write a story journal for each story I write to keep track of how big I want the story to be and where I want it to go.
>Part of my issue is that I don't really understand what the story I'm trying to tell is yet while also trying to throw words on paper to learn technicalities of writing fiction
I hope you see this fucking post because you're doing the correct thing by not understanding your story. Fiction is about exploring your story and characters, using your imagination first then figuring out how to describe it.
Read On Writing:Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King he has this wonderful passage about how writing is telepathy. Technical part of fiction is the writing itself, not troubleshooting your story. You can only troubleshoot your story after you've already written it.

Ignorance is vital for fiction writing, don't throw it away!

(Here's a little bit of what I'm working on. Am I trying too hard here? I've only just begun writing, and I can't tell if what I'm doing is too much, or too little; too vague, or overburdened. Please help me out a little, guys.)

Off in the distance, I could hear the wind sing its hollow notes; tuned by the contours of the serrated crags, the whistles animated themselves in the spruces. The dissonance between the Aeolus and Oxylos rendered fear within me as I approached the bend of the road, and the end of protection. The soft whistles crescendoed into turbulent howls as I steadily tread onwards.

>>8753200
Dude it's like picasso. He chooses to draw squiggles, but he has the skill to do much better. You misunderstand literature on a basic level. Crawl up from the depths of Young Adult fiction, make something that people can understand, try something dumb that you really like even if it's a whole thing like that.

Anon would call this purple prose, I personally know that such a thing isn't the point. It's heavy work to read that, that's what they mean. I've seen works pull it off and others not, either way the only way you find out is accumulating word count and getting more feedback on work you're proud of. I can't tell who Aeolus and Oxylos are, if you're going to use a Paradise Lost reference with tons of classicalism I will expect to see it everywhere in your future writing.

You shouldn't feel confident right now, now go ahead and push through it and get the damn words down.

>>8753249
To be quite honest, I feel totally uncomfortable with mostly everything that I write. Everything I put down on paper, I second guess, and ask constantly if it's necessary at all. Am I just not cut out for writing? Or do I just need more practice?


I really appreciate your feedback, but just to clarify: are you telling me to essentially simplify my prose?

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A lot of people here seem to be striving simply for extravagant writing. You can overuse rhetoric. Focus more on creating an image in the reader's head and having your writing flow.

>>8753275
Nah, you're insecure like every writer. Keep writing, whining isn't writing. I didn't start until a couple of months ago myself now I have more than three novels 40 poems and tons of ideas. Later, when you have a bulk of work behind you, you find yourself some old serene motherfucker or a publisher to tell you your crap is shit but they are unable to judge if you have nothing to show.
>>8753309
That's advanced, my impression is that most of the people in crit threads aren't at that level. I was always imagining shit in my head and my only goal was transmuting it to written word so I understood this quickly although my first novel was shit.

>>8753327
Through time, comes evolution, right? I'll do just what you suggest.

Thanks, man. I needed it.

>>8752315
Crit pls

>>8753558
It's nice. Short stuff like this, what can I say? You gave an interesting impression, that war is a social gathering, I think you could expand on that.

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BERLIN SIDE STORY

i got married in a bathroom in Berlin. he was a broken kind of pretty. convenience store boy, always called me on the phone. he had a nervous habit of tearing the label off the bottles of lagers he drank. when he went out, i wouldn’t see him come in and i never looked. i never really asked him about it. i found out he played poker russian roulette style, but i only found out because he didn’t call me on the phone. he didn’t have any secrets because i never had any questions. his funeral took place in the church and his gravestone was bought in granite.
i had my heart broken in Berlin. he was always looking away. kept the same list for the grocery store in his wallet, never let me in without knocking first. he had a curious talent for keeping a garden of herbs and spices growing. when he slept over, i wouldn’t find him in the morning and i always called him on the phone. he had a different explanation every time i asked him about it. i found out he ran away train hop style, but i only found out because i let myself in without knocking first. he had a lot of secrets because i had a lot of questions. his friends said he started playing cards at the same bar where he bought a gun in the bathroom.
i broke a promise in Berlin. she was carved out of marble. stayed in the same aisle of the grocery store for hours, always out at night playing games with strangers. she had a january vision of an intimate moment with a nectar boy in the bathroom. when she called on the phone, she had feelings. there was never anything to ask about. i found out she quit the club lifestyle, but i found out it was only because she ran out of strangers. she had no secrets because i could answer all the questions. she walked out the door without looking back and never let herself be bought again.

Posted this in what I thought was a general critique thread but was really just some anon's vanity thread so putting it here also
http://pastebin.com/JQ9sQysT

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if I told you the background behind his excerpt you'd be embarrassed for me

To the bum who asks me for cigarettes

I know if I just say “fine”,
You’ll ask me every time
And I don’t have the money
To support your habit on top of mine

when
i left,
i prayed you
would beg me to
stay

>>8755183
Be nice and give him a dart.

Weeks go by,
Days go by,
and the frigid, dense fog that
shrouds the aurora begins to dissipate.
A break in the clouds appears so sunlight can burst through in a barrage of
angelic rays that shower the ground with warmth.

Weeks go by,
Days go by,
and with every second that escapes, you slowly evaporate,
resentment fades, making way for fondness.
I used to wonder who you’re with
or if you ever think of me;
I don’t care anymore.

Weeks go by,
Days go by,
and you’ve become a scar.
Always here, marking my body, but slowly coalescing with my
flesh until only
I know you’re there.
A story, a reminder, a lesson.
A lesson I was lucky to learn.

And the weeks go by.

Short Story

The strange grey creature slipped through her window. Almost seamlessly. It watched her as she slept so gently. Her eyelids at peace.

Suddenly, almost violently, it placed a tentacle over her mouth. Still, as if nothing strange had occurred, the girl continued to sleep. The creature then slid a smaller, thinner tentacle in her nose. It probed her nostrils with the intent of finding importance.

How had she not awoken? The creature's clammy extremities were now on her face, violating her premise.

What would she do, had she awoken? What did the creature want?

All of these questions went unanswered as the creature found what he was looking for, crept back out of the window, and the girl continued to sleep until she awoke the next morning.

>>8755238
I usually give him one, but he's been asking me more frequently so I've had to start pretending like I'm out every couple times he asks me just cause I'm broke af.

Your poem was a bit le edgy teen breakup but I still thought it was good.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1y5X2KwG9n75k1PIq3oxJjLNADCpCeSq-FAfOCuYnakc/edit?usp=drive_web

What do ya think? Wrote this for a school project.

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First part of a short story i'm writing. have at it, boys.

http://pastebin.com/raw/cVvNmf6k

>>8756164

I believe in you...!

>his island of an eye enclosed in darkness.
A bit cringe. It weights more imagetic 'space' than you calculated, compared to the rest.

Also: the constant imagery, intermingling with simple narrative details, makes the trivial sequence look surreal, non-lineal and dispersed.
A miscellaneous brownian prose. I follow the phrases' directions, yet they don't follow one another, and by the end, I have this your created atmosphere, which indeed is awesome, but no clear sense of "What's Going On", and what to retain.
A sort of amnesiac fantasia, that I imagine will trouble long narrative.

>>8756272

I appreciate the critique, and you're right, the narrative is getting harder and harder to right. What would you recommend I do? I feel I've got all these images but no structure to put them in a way where they "follow another" like you say.

I am going for that kinda kinda of atmosphere that creates thick out of thin. Making something as simple as a taxi drive as thick and surreal as possible, I don't want to lose that.

The plan is that the main character is going to a remote hill where he buried his past love. He killed her, and now he's going to seek forgiveness. Her voice will talk to him as he arrives closer to the grave, but it will only be one way communication from her to him. She will not absolve him.

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>>8746000
Second chapter to a novel I'm working on, kind of inspired by Camus and Kerouac. I'm going out drinking, I'll critique after. Comments would be much appreciated, and I'll be sure to review anything you care to link in return.

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>>8756884
>>8756833
I can see you're genuinely struggling (in a positive way), I'm going to read your piece later tonight and try to help.

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Why not? This is the intro to my next book. I hope you enjoy it.

>>8756833

>What would you recommend I do?

My first response is: I think revisiting the Imagists, like Pound, etc., might help you economize, charge less words with more meaning. If you condense, it'll be "thicker", as oil/pastel painting, contrary to water-colour faint drips. The text will be easier to grasp, handle.

The second response is the obvious, that both approaches set a different effect. When I read your plan, about the wife, the passage
>but with tenderness, a sad and miserable tenderness like that of an abused wife.
came to mind though I had read the excerpt hours ago. At the time it just seemed off and unnecessary. But, as the detached reader I am, I merely ignored it, consciously did so, and kept reading undisturbed. The fact I remember it probably says you're doing something right. You can play with that, or not. Really, just experiment, test different textures and effects.

You have the plan, and it's good, so good luck.

every second that skulks
by steals just a bit of who
you are so by the end of
a year you’re a stranger to
yourself.

letters folded &
hidden away
they’ll probably never be
read with sincerity again

nothing has meaning if
you give it enough time.
brass pendants & rosaries
stuffed bears & calla lilies

erode away to dust.

I’d be lying if I
said my heart doesn’t
sink when I see your face,
so low I may as well drown

if I were to walk
over that bridge again
I’d walk right past you &
get some coffee & do us
both a favour.

so maybe through the deafening
buzz of a phone charger,
your morning voice (there was barely a voice)
might call through

it would be better if
every verse about you
were deleted or burned or
strewn about in the wind.

r8 my two-line poem

as those voidblack ink splats paperplated
these movements in your eyes and hands

>>8755235
I kinda like this one, but I think the lines are a bit too short at the start (as in it sounds too disjointed compared with the other lines of the poem)

Also someone crit this? I've posted it before but haven't got any feedback yet

She is as a star at night
That flashes bright, then blushes,
Then fades away, to be
Lost in the starry void.

>>8758917
Thanks, man.
I wrote this in the form of a Lanterne in which the lines are based on syllables.

>>8759144
Yeah I see what you're doing. It's just my own hang up, but the 'when' feels disjointed, because of its brevity. Good poem though!

>>8758905
Try to stick with words that exist

>>8746462
Any critiques?

Joseph was finally going to reveal his secret to his father. As soon as Mr. Jookinen entered the house Joseph proudly said: "Father, I want to become a dancer!". His father Jorge was furious: "No! Get out of my house now! Consider yourself homeless,young gentleman!" Jonathan was furious: " Nooooooo! I will dance and show you how a real man can be! And I will kill you!".
Jorge smiled menacingly:" Very well son, I shall wait for our final duel! I reject you, my own flesh and blood, Joseeeeeeph!!!"
Joseph jumped out of the window and ran away.

Caroline, in her regal-like manner and ever present grace, had finally snapped. Standing and weeping like the willow over barnaby street, she could maintain her composure no longer, as tears left streaks down her cheeks. Convinced she was in the right, she decided to drive Emily away from her, only to be comforted by the same soul crushing loneliness that must have taken Kurt Cobain from the world. Pain was not the right word, rather, if her heart was a home, she had prepared a grand room for Emily, only to vacate it, leaving it sealed, windows open with a cold draft flowing through the home. Regret, anxiety, thoughts of suicide, but upon peering into her own abyss, she took one step forward and immediately knew what must be done.

I knew death for the first time just after my sixth birthday. The incident occured in our back yard where my father drowned a couple of black and white cats i'd found in the fields near our house.
He wasn't the kind of man who had the time of the patience for people that cried but i did so anyway and when he knelt down in front of me and said it was time i stopped acting like a little girl i went into the woods behind the estate so he wouldn't judge my behaviour.
He always looked for ways for turning me into a man. Being the type of eager to please boy that i was i did my best to live up to his expectations even if that ment that everytime i did so i shead a piece of my innocence along the way. In retrospect i don't think he was cruel but he held the cinical philosophy that no act was cruel enough if it was done in the name of necessity.
Reading held my humanity intact back then. My mother, a woman who devaured books with an eagerness that i wouldn't have understood if i hadn't grown to adopt the same hunger for words myself, had collected over the years a large repertoir of literature to the extent that paper and hardbacks piled up and overflew shelves and bookcases. They gave some of the rooms in the house a shared similarity with an alien garden made out of paper and ink, hidding inside their dusty tommes an endless suply of magic that my imagination couldn't quite bring to reality with the same vividness.
The stories they guarded gave me more than entertainment. They revealed to me worlds and emotions that under the unforgiving hands of my father would have passed infront of me unnoticed. They also cemented a bond between my mother and i that went beyond the fearfull respect i shared with my father.
The first and most important lesson i learnt that day, the lesson of life and death, broke through the protective shell of ignorance that had up until then covered me in a thick blanket of naivety that i wouldn't experience again.
The second lesson was almost as important as the first. It taught me that nobody, not even those we hold closest to ourselves, could be trusted to act in anybodys interest but their own.

>>8756164
Okay, to start with, "speed like an overgrown bullet" is too cliche. Overgrown also is quite a strained metaphor, because bullets don't grow, you'd want to use "oversized". "heart of the void" is way to abstract and gives us no firm imagery of the scene. And again, "effegies of God" is way too dramatic for just lights. You're also over-egging your prose with way too many similies, the more you use the less effective your next one will be. Why the Caby have an island of an eye, when eyes come in twos?

Things improve in your last half, and there are some nice lines, I think you use jargon like "lemongrass" well, and your passage on the stars is good too, but there are some issues I think you should adress.

>less metaphors, more concrete imagery
>USE THE FIVE SENSES - they compliment eachother, what was the smell, the impact?
>speed things up, you control the passage of time, and faster is mostly better - it will keep the reader more interested

Also, I think you need to tone down the religious connotations, not because I dislike them, but because without having a firm base your narrator will come across as reaching a bit too far to discuss God. Not to mention that it usually removes you from the scene rather than enhancing it. Anyway, good job and keep writing, I hope this helped.

>>8759985
This is good, you have a nice sense for character and scene. I'd like to see some more.

>>8759966
This is okay. It comes across as mildly long-winded, I think you need some punchier sentences and something to break up the flow more.

>>8746462
Impatient to anxiously excited
dare I say now simply anxious?

I like that verse, I don't write poetry though so I'm not really qualified to other proper critique, but it's not bad.

>>8752123
You might benefit from longer paragraphs.

>>8754346
>He had a lot of secrets because I had a lot of questions
I really like this line. I really like this piece, but I don't quite understand the last paragraph. Perhaps you could explain it for me?

>>8756924
I think this is not bad, but a touch dramatic.

>>8756884
Anyway, this is my critiqued piece. I'd appreciate a >>(You)

>A sci-fi snippet

"Let me tell you a joke Berry," the programmer said, looking carefully over the rows and lines of shifting code, "I'd like to see how this new patch handles humor..."

<Jokes are fun> Berry the AI said, words appearing on one of the programmer's screens.

"Okay...so there are two men talking in a bar. The subject of their conversation comes to the topic of Freudian slips. The first man chuckles and says: 'yesterday I was at the train station, and when I went to ask for a ticket to Pittsburgh I accidentally said, 'one picket to Tittsburgh please.' '
The second man smiles ruefully and says: 'I had a slip just this morning. I went to ask my wife to pass the butter but instead I shouted, 'you bitch, you've ruined my life!'"

Berry was completely silent for a long time.

<That's troubling> The AI said at last.

"Troubling?" The programmer asked.

<The joke doesn't make any sense. Why didn't the first man buy his train tickets online? Why did he go to the trouble of purchasing them at the station itself? What if they were out of tickets to Pittsburgh? As for the second man, why does he resent his wife so much? If he were a real person then I would recommend that both him and his wife have mediation software installed so that they can work out their problems in an amicable way>

"Thank you Berry." The programmer said. And turned Berry off.

Rodolfo was working in his cubicle as usual when his boss came inside. He said Rodolfo, I have come on tell you something. It is a new thing you do not know." Rodolfo was shocked " Huh? What ?" Harry said"You must take this papee down to secretary. But first sit down, I have a story to tell you. You are a orphan,. Your parents gave you to a catholic monastery of fighters in the Italian city of Potenza. Then you parents died, they were fighting off American troops, I killed them personally.. The monks also fought hard, but not hard enough for our bombs and my lever rifle. After the fight I found you, and brought you here, in Detroit and grew you up like a son. Rodolfo, tearfully, said:" I never knew my parents, but I know they loved me. They give me to a monastery of catholic fighters to make me strong and it paid off: I love to fight!."

Rodolfo goes to a elevator and pushes the button. It opens and he gets on. The elvelator close and goes down, and Rodolfo looks on the paper. There was a message in there...and it said..."TO SECRETARY : KILL RODOLFO"

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>>8754165
edit.

pls

>>8756884
Any advice?

>>8759315
What are you talking about?
Kenning is a hugely common poetic device.

How do I become a better writer? I write. I improve painfully slowly. Is there any way to make writing into more effective practice? Any exercises? Anything that will make me more likely to notice flaws in my own work?

>>8761344
Do you have other writers to talk with? A circle so to speak? It helped me a good bit.

>>8761347
Somewhat. Well, one good friend also writes, but she and I are both very busy graduate students.

>>8761353
You're gonna have to make time. Do you talk to her about her work? Can you do that without seeming like you tryna fugg?

>>8761359
>tryna fugg
I used to be into her but she wasn't interested and I've moved on.

Anyway, we talk all the time, including about stuff she's written. Not about mine, though. I'm kind of shy about it.

>>8761371
well introduce it. and talk about how you want to improve. If she is just an echo-chamber, then make some new friends that can. Having close readers around you helps immeasurably.

>>8761379
Will do. Thanks.

>>8761381
Sorry if that's not the advice you wanted, but I am prone to agree with T.S. Eliot about giving specific technical advice. If you guess right you might help someone, but if they have a drastically different process then doing what I do could cripple your writing (as I'm sure it cripples mine from time to time) .

>>8756884
Looking over it I would really like to see where you were planning on putting in paragraph breaks. That text could really use some, it's thick, which isn't a bad thing for the thing you're going for. The depth of the imagery you're going for there contrasted with the more realistic sentences is nice. I think the dialogue is tight, choice to leave out tags is well done and enhanced how I read the dialogue in my head. I think your style from this pages has a certain flair to it that would unfair to criticize except with the full work done and an editor pouring over it. My suggestion is to finish the damn thing then try to work out if it works later.

Down the dusty path four great femurs with feathered loins pedaled in meticulousness as a machine. The palanquin,gleaming brighter than god, moved as the heart of a mile long convoy; the damask vulva sighed here and here, exhausting wisps of perfume, cleansing the heat in way of her concealed prize. As the boom a boom of a guiding bongo drum lured the great beast forward, the four broad shoulders padded on to the rhythm of the whispering silk canopy and the pulsing heat melting from their golden yokes. The earth, splayed bare in nearly unfaltering brownness splashed with whites and tans and already browning greens. Perhaps a stalking lioness hid her bearded fangs in the plain openness but the hoard trampled by unaffected by whatever majesty.

For three brown seasons the gears ground on and the litter twisted through the hourglass, forever staining the sand with footprints. On the eve of the fourth, the walking mudslide reached the opal gates, whiter than the sun and colder than the galaxy they loomed under. Surgically the procession parted, the golden heart separated from the snake and the palanquin entered the city. The four oiled breasts glared blacker here and huddled closer on their poles to preserve the desert warmth still lisping from the curtains. Through the gates they slid across the tiled marketplace paths lined with whispering human shrubbery. Now they scraped by the shamble residences, now the upper estates, and through the courtyard now past the solemn priests, now the palace, where at once the legs stood still then knelt and the belly sank.

The canopy shivered with the sound of belled feet pattering across its inner pillows. The crystalline tinkles pinged from massive pillar to massive pillar in the otherwise sterile veranda. The bells radiated closer to the cold white hall of destiny. The first anklet birthed with such timid breath but presently the second. And the Dragonfly, ashimmer with wings of native gossamer stepped upon one tar mansteed then down and rippled unto the marble.

Posted before, but I think that thread died (I might've killed it for all I know):

H.H. and Annabell

A garden setting; a sprawl
Of stars above, painted in white messy dots
Amongst a backdrop of dark purple-blue,
And hard tufts of green grass
Upon a rocky earth that my and Your

Feet danced upon—running away to
Whatever seclusion You and i might find in that
Maze of bush and bramble. Your hand guided me
As i gave You my feet—happy to be led away,
As long as i was with You.

Your parents, those vile creatures that loved You,
But not us, ignorantly slept in the home
You ran away from for a time, to be
With me, the boy You could not love,
But You would dance with this boy.

Our little feet finally stopped and i
Reached out for what we both wanted
Me to find; and i found it, as You found
The scepter of my passion. And i
Remember that You leaned against the bush

With Your mouth open in a quiver
And Your legs around my hand in a twitch
And then Your parents were heard by the snapping
Of twigs and You forever pulled Yourself away in anger with me.
Annabel—Black Woman—You ruined me. But your conscious is White as ash

>>8746022
actually made me laugh. nice.

>>8746305
It's got personality. A little loopy/epileptic for me, but spines straighten. For the specific part you're referencing, I like the prior. If nothing else mattered, then I would think also fuck Sarengarth. I get the rule of threes, but it IS Jewcraft at the end of the day.
Other than that, keep working the flow. Maybe try to allude to the action a little more rather than stating what happened.

>>8746321
Pretty boring, and probably because of that wall-of-textiness. Be concise, because people will become lost in the bonerific labyrinths you seem to be weaving. Basically get to the point.

>>8746462
Minted. Delightful.

>>8747401
>format error

>>8747515
blorp

>>8749880
(Him)

>>8752160
Dark stuff. I hope you're not secretly a hedonist.

>>8752225
Good post unless it's real. If the latter's the case, good luck, Larkboy /chucklestrut.

>>8753200
Some people like immersive description, but everyone can do that. Focus more on your inner eye for that beautyful stuff. Nobody but you will care how hard you tried. It's more a matter of whether or not you'll try to challenge the visual paradigm you're servicing.

>>8747515
Need to word it better, I think. The idea isn't bad

I realized I'm half my size
And cannot lift these logs.

I call into the stillness,
And the timbers drink my willing.

And the timbers drink my milling.

And the timbers drink my spirit,
Or they spit it in my face
Then part for either: black; benign,

And I find the coals beneath my feet.
I have dreamed you before,
And you hold me to see his face or cast me into the chasm,

And either way I feed him
The digitus medius

>>8762113
This kind of sounds like a bad Irish folk song

Here's something I've been working on. It's really not that important of a scene, although it's kinda means something in the long run. I wanted to run this by you guys for any improvement, and also just to see if I should trash it and start again:

He swallowed nothing, perhaps out of nervousness, or perhaps in a vain attempt to mute himself by way of swallowing his tongue. It was a brave effort, but it could not make a difference. What was said was said, nobody could change that. Eliza did not look shocked or even disgusted. She seemed, as George feared most, almost disappointed. With a frown, her green eyes studied him wordlessly, surveying the boy she had once known. His own overpowering gaze was tempered, barely glancing at her face.

The frown lightened, but her eyes remained stalwart. After an eternity, she started, “George, you…”

“I know,” he interrupted, “I wish I didn’t. I really do, but it’s true. I loved you. I never said anything. I wasn’t supposed to, but it killed me that I never had the chance to tell you,” his voice rose with a passion Wendell did not think George possessed, “Seeing you here today, I knew I’d hate myself if I lost my second chance.”

Again, only silence followed. The shadow of a smile appeared briefly on Eliza’s lips. The rest of the party looked on in horror. Wendell, who always claimed to hate drama, found himself locked into the scene. Hal stood in the corner, biting his lower lip and keeping his eyes firmly on the floor below him; beside him was Rachel who seemed the most offended of all. Even Rob, who took to schadenfreude as other men did to liquor, looked at his friend with wide eyes and open mouth. After just one agonizing second, Margaret tugged at Wendell’s shirtsleeve, the only show of empathy the room could offer, but Wendell could not look away.

“George, if you truly believe that, then you have no idea what love is.” Eliza again broke the silence, with a voice so sweet it almost covered the barb of her words.

“Don’t,” George stammered, not brave enough to even look her in the eyes, “don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” She doubled up, “You had no right to.”

“I had every right to!” George finally looked back at her, the passion returning to his voice. “You knew. You always did, because you loved it.”

She seemed genuinely taken back at this, and seeing her on the ropes, George, however regrettably, pushed further, “You loved that you finally had a boy to dote over you. I was the first was I not?”

He moved closer, lowering his volume while keeping the same bitter tone, “So excuse me. Excuse me for loving you. Excuse me for being a sad, lonely boy who had the audacity to dream that someone may actually care for him. That’s my fault; I admit it, but I am not going to allow you to tell me I didn’t know what I was feeling when it was you who orchestrated it.”

>>8762544
For a moment, it seemed as though she might cry. Her eyes lightened as her whole body seemed to tighten. Her lips trembled for a moment, but she held and cried, “George, I came here because I wanted to see you. I wanted to see my friend, the one I had so many fond memories with.”

George just stood there, the expression and color drained from his face, the only motion in each almost silent breath he took, but she continued, “Instead, I found some sad, self-centered jerk who is still somehow hung up on misplaced emotions he kept for years. If you loved me, you should have told me. Then, George, not now.”

The sadness in her voice turned to derision, “I can understand you were shy, but that gives you no right to hate me. If you want to hate anyone, hate yourself.”

The killing blow knocked him onto the back wall, he murmured, “No, no, no, no.”

“Goodbye George,” she said looking into his eyes one last time, “I hope I never see you again.”

As she turned and walked out the door, he agonizingly slid down the wall onto the floor. Wendell thought he had never in his life seen such a humiliated man. Rachel immediately pushed off Hal and ran to the door. Reaching it, she turned and straightened her skirt, levelled a finger at George, but, perhaps out of pity, thought better of it and chased after her friend. Realizing he lost his date, Hal exhaled sharply and ran his hands through his hair before grabbing his face. Most amazingly, Rob still had no answer to this turn of events and still wore the same stupefied expression.

Margaret again tugged at Wendell’s sleeve, and this time he was broken of his trance. They both made their way slowly to the door, Wendell trying his hardest not to bring attention to her. When he reached the threshold, he took a look at George. The boy was still sitting motionlessly, his face resting on his fists, his elbows resting on his knees, and his eyes staring into nothingness. He turned to Hal but could only manage a shrug. Hal just pursed his lips and shook his head.

After a moment of looking at nothing in particular, he finally exited the room into the cold, dark hallway. The two walked in silence. Not long after, Rob made his escape and ran after them.

“Wow.” He said, still managing not even a hint of cruelty, “Just wow.”

“That poor boy,” Margaret whispered to herself, “that poor, poor boy.”

Wendell finally smiled and put his arm around her reassuringly. He was inclined to agree.

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completely metalised children, mech army default ruin trees... lakes,.. Train k 100m/ph under the influence. OVER HEAD LIVE WIRES said gandalf the grey. Assimilationism. aboriginal political suprression; argo. SPQR henry FORD 1941 cyber:smut. ass ripping device 2prong degrading white society is easy fuckfuckgo fartpage.com Indigo_rothschild foxtrot friedman v. Keynes final act. CYBORG 21 carnage shaft, unconsented insertion of mindwipe probuscis. Red space, evil universe. Long jaunt. What kind of horrors are out there in the stars. Human evolution in 3 acts: someo. Sex corruption. 101101 in the yr 2358 botox-zombies perform liposuctions on their pray SOCIAL EXPERIMENT : spikes installed in all baby prams.. Randomly activated once a month for a year then never happens again. rage machines let loose in night time LA, insert metal into flesh of homeless to violently kill them. sex doles for NEETS infected with rage machine virus. TETSUO. #singularity #EVOLVE >trains//portable gas chambers (mass exodus). replacing organs NO NO NO DONT process completed, Brain neuron-reversing begun (FILTER SCREAMS FROM ALL CHANNELS)

short story I submitted for a writing contest
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1H5JpqJmifzz1dkWg4irjR6uSsDPhq9KLBvwdoUzGBYM/edit?usp=sharing

>>8762546
>Hal
Please no

>>8762546
>he agonizingly slid down

Try to avoid adverbs as much as you can in your writing but if you must, I personally believe the adverb coming after the verb is less clunky and has more cadence.

>he slid agonizingly down the wall

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>>8746000
The rangers had asked me to stop shooting the wildlife. That's fair. But what I'd like to know is this: with enormous boulders tumbling down the mountainside night and day, how had they heard my gunshots? There's hardly a difference. Both are loud, sudden, gun-like. It's left me scratching my head. Though I did what they asked. They were polite about it, and the law's not theirs after all. A life like this demands compromise: I knew that coming up here. So I bought some bait in town.

But still they weren't happy. They came back, certainly not having heard my traps, and issued their final warning. That's fair, really. But I asked them how they supposed Polly and I would feed ourselves. You can't cultivate this land, it's dry as bone. At which they shrugged. They seized my things and signalled the way to town with the most subtle movement of the head. They ambled down the mountainside, watching me all the way.

>>8762599
Is this all?

>>8762619
It's just the start of the story, not the whole thing

It's really just rambling, but it sounded almost cool in my head.


As though a strange pull took power of his spirit, the hunter abandoned his ride where they stood. He had come to, if not his, a destiny. The mare could find her way home or, to her choosing, reunite with the ones that could be seen in the twilight, running wild through the infinite sea of grass. He sat by a monolith until dark, and slept. An hour before dawn he marched, crackling of leaves and sticks 'neath his amber boots. A strange light, bluish ahead, came through the haze. He pulled the hammer of his carabine, and aimed at nothing. Before he could do a thing, a brass sound hit his temper. He lost footing, but quickly recovered. The trigger hand went to his right ear: it was bleeding. Incredule, he proceeded, until he noticed the clearing from which the light was coming.
There a woman stood draped in white. In her hands, a clarion and, around her, a thousand and one infants whirled naked, under a waterfall. This was the hour of the witch, and the greeting of the demons.

Atop the old lighthouse his pant legs flap in the breeze, a wistful eye pierces the golden-red pallet of the day's end. The vast glittering blue reminds him of the days of Adolf's reign; the sliver masts set ablaze by those fighting their way through the crowd of uncertainty, and the brothers who perished from being dragged forcibly into the fray.

This is bottom of the barrel I feel.

Tear my butthole open

>>8762546
This is alright, but nothing special, it's readable, I'll give you that, but it's not anything to write home about.

>>8762595 is right, I'm not as anti-adverbs but some of your placement is questionable, and cleaning them up could seriously improve the flow

Also I agree with >>8762589 give you characters less retarded names

The yellowed-light from the street light seeps through the blinds of the bedroom window. Moonlight shines on the wall. On the bed lay a glowing rumple of sheets and blankets. Head under the covers, T lay with his phone a few inches from his sleepy face. Earbuds in he listens as the young woman on the screen whispers softly in his ears. She talks about how great it is to see him. She talks about her trip to Europe. She talks about movies, books, and video games. She clicks her ballpoint pen. Click. Click. Click. T’s brain begins to tingle. It starts at the Parietal lobe. It feels as though someone had cracked a ghostly egg over T’s brain. The spectral egg whites starting to drip down his cortex. Trickling down it tickles his spine. It spreads throughout his nervous system. It extends down his body into the tips of fingers and down his legs. He feels the unquestionable urge to laugh. Muffled laughter comes from under the blankets. T is transported. For just a few seconds he is consumed by this tingling bliss. T turns off his phone, unplugs his earbuds, lifts the covers off his head and sleeps to the hum of the electric fan.

Dream about
circulating dawns all tangled up in blue
and the glistening grey
of the oncoming and departing trains.

Sit in your tree
and spit on the heads of strangers.

(Hi, I'm writing a young adult novel, ((I'm new to /lit/)) and I was wondering if i could get some critiques? Thanks for any feedback!)

Taking my hand in hers, I turned towards the Death Magician. Glancing backwards, I saw Crimson’s eyes begin to water, her tears like golden sapphires against her ivory cheek. Gritting my teeth, I placed the back of my hand across her face and cradled her beautiful flesh. I wasn’t about to let a demon ruin everything. Everything I had worked so hard to protect. Ever since the death of my parents I’ve always felt this outrageous and tempestuous urge to protect the living, and I wasn’t about to let some freak ruin it all. Originias curse pulsed on the back of my neck as I took out my sword. A pain in the neck. Literally.
“Hey, asshole”, I say defiantly.
“Are you ready?” he smirked cruelly as he interrupts me. Taken aback, I ask in a tentative way,
“ready to what?” I barked back, my fists clenching.
“Ready to die!”
He rushed forward and yanked my arm out of it’s socket, but at this point I could no longer feel pain. I laugh. And then plunge my hand straight through his chest. Startled, he howled in trepidation and his dragon tattoos convulsed, as the creatures below us hissed in a penurious attitude. But then, something happened. Something that I would never forget. Not even on my deathbed would I ever forget this. Even that moment when Chrysalis raped and tortured my mother, paled in comparison to this. Stuck inside this anfractuous maze, with my hand stuck inside the demon's chest, Crimson took a step forward and

>>8764434
Also, I forgot to add (I'm eating some dominoes pizza right now, kek, sorry, trying to type and post with one hand is kinda hard) that I kinda left it on a cliff hanger like that because I didnt want to spoil anything. I just started writing, but I really feel like this is something i can finally get published. My one friend read it a few days ago, and he's supposed to get back to me about what he thinks of it (been a few days, so I guess he's still reading it?) but I was thinking this board seems like it's filled with more "professional" writers and readers so I would really appreciate any feedback or something haha.

Observation of their leader in such a fragile state caused quite a lot of confusion among the visitors. Not only that this illusive Chairman rarely seen by anyone decided to break the long tradition of not appointing such meetings, but he also showed up in person in a state that was everything but flattering. For many decades and beyond, the Chairman was leading quiet and extraordinary successful business affairs mostly hidden not only from the public eye, but his close associates as well. Rare personal meetings were brief and on point and in each one of them, the young man would inspire respect and sense of personal loyalty from his employees and partners alike. Tales of his actions were told through several generations of everyone in the company that knew about his existence, but less talked about and more obscured were rumors of his unnaturally long age and extraordinary abilities. Even if once in the past they were known to be true, those stories became gossip, rumors watered down through several generations of people of vast weath, influence and closed circles of associates that brought less than nothing new known to be true about the Chairman to the pool of company's mythology. However, one thing never weavered or became a doubt - his age.


At first a target of most ridiculous slander and accusations of fraud and illegitimate transfer to his son and heir or a distant relative lookalike, to most recent mentions of plastic surgery combined with rare treatments only such wealth could buy. His appearence before them now, even in such a poor state, put a swift end to such ridiculous gossip. He didn't age a day since they could remember. Elderly members have fond memories of their own mothers and fathers introducing them to the Chairman, things that happened 50 or more years ago and things that were so upsetting to them in a hindsight. Living lives of limitless possibilities and experiences could never prepare them for this truth or make them reconcile with the reality of this. Over the years, combination of respect and fearful admiration of the Chairman brought them here, before a weak and sickly young man, young in body and soul. His playful smile and curious eye didn't tell a story about the old man fed up with life. Even if his expression of pain suddenly interrupted his smile or a slight laughter, he'd come back to it, lightheartedly taking this condition and their confusion, as if taking the most fun out of this.

>>8764434
>>8764461
Also, one of my other friends likes to browse here (sorry for posting so much, i dont want to be seen as a shit poster or anything), so I just want to give a shout out to my friend Karl (still waiting for you to get back to me on what you thought of it, haha, no rush though). Ok, ill stop now kek, (this board seems really slow though?).

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>>8764434
This is what I think

>>8764504
I'm not really sure what that's supposed to mean? Are you trying to insult me? Because otherwise, I don't get it. Or is that a /lit/ meme, I am new here after all haha.

>>8764434
something something golden sapphires and ivory cheeks, anfracturous mazes and form over matter

>>8764504
Wait, on second thought, I think i get the meme. It's supposed to be like that cat from Po's writing. I wouldn't really compare my writing to Edgar Allen Po's exactly, haha, but thanks!

>>8764434
This actually made me sob a little it felt overwhelming on top of the way I've been feeling lately. The metaphor is delivered with simplicity that's what makes this devastatingly beautiful...

Green


One million screens sprout
in living rooms

and cover the houses
like ivy.

This is a garden of mirrors
with reflections

lagging behind.
Trying

to keep pace,
flesh works

towards beautiful synchronization.

>>8764434
this level of bait..
I bet you copy pasted this from something you wrote when you were... seventeen? maybe fourteen.

>>8764558
Bait?
This is beautiful and deeply passionate. Anon, you should really get this published.

>>8764558
>anfractuous
I dunno we might be dealing with a master here. I'll play it safe. He's a genius, toying with us, actually a master artisan who's only joy in life now that he has reached the pinnacle of the art world is laughing down at the plebians here.
We liked it. For his intelligence and wit, even though he trolls us to amuse himself, touches our hearts and amuses the mind.
A new troll type. One that brings us happiness and laughter instead of immaturity and crude comments.

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i want to get better at dialogue. Humour. Here is an exert.
‘Well are you almost done with your… thesis? Exam?’
‘I could have been. But this amorphous blob consumed my thesis material.’
‘That sounds – terrible.’
‘The blob wasn’t malicious.’ Sara noted matter-of-factly.
‘Of course; it had the wrong motivations.’
‘It was a simple misunderstanding.’
‘Can’t blame circumstance.’
‘It wasn’t the blobs fault.’
‘Of course not.’
‘It is a common occurrence.’
‘That a blob consumes your thesis?’
‘That the Chemistry wing is consumed by an amorphous blob.”
‘Of course.’
‘What are you studying?’
‘Oh me?’ The girl squeaked as she wiped her eyes. ‘I uh I don’t study here.’ Sara looked at her questioningly, ‘I just need the books.’
‘Don’t – study?’ the concept was foreign to Sara.
‘No. I never really saw the need in paying for an education, when I can educate myself on what I need to know.’
‘Education?’ Sara had lost her fundamental capacity of comprehension. ‘I like to travel. I travel a lot. But I need to know where I am going if you see what I mean.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Next…’ The girl flipped through some of the pages in her books. ‘Jordan.’
‘Michael?’
‘Middle East.’
‘Cool.’
‘It’s a relatively hot place actually.’
‘No I meant –‘
‘Oh, I see.’
Sara nodded her head matter-of-factly. ‘Bye’ She said suddenly as she got up and wrapped her handbag around her shoulder.
‘Actually. I was hoping you could help me with something.’ Sara turned around to the woman again. ‘I’m not a student at this university, so I can’t actually check out these books. Would you mind? I’ll treat you to dinner?’ The girl smiled and Sara nodded her head at the thought of food. ‘My name is Olivia by the way.’
‘Sara – Sara Christofferson.’

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>>8764573
>He's a genius, toying with us.
>mrw

imagine a writer this good. he wouldnt sell a thing.

you guys should stop bullying someone whose very dream might be to become a published author. point him in the right direction instead!
i swear i'm not that guy, but weren't you ever 17 yo???

>>8764593
Have you looked at what gets published? The copyeditors will make it good if need be.
>>8764598
Thank you, Master. Please, continue to amuse us.

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>>8764523
Yeah? What of it?
>>8764546
Wow, thanks! My oneitis just cut complete contact with me recently (not to be embarrasing but I based Crimson off of her, the entire story is filled with lots of symbology and metaphors) and I'm really glad you were able to relate. A lot of my own personal life stories were put into this (although I don't think you can tell very clearly since it was such a short snippet). The killing pit there in with the demon master is actually based off my job (I work at the pound where sometimes it gets a little stressful having to deal with putting some of the animals to sleep every couple of weeks). Pic related is the play area, I don't have any pics of the killing area unfortunately where we send them off to die. Thanks again!.
>>8764558
I don't see how this is bait, is this another /lit/ meme or something?
>>8764573
I have no idea what you're talking about, so I'm just going to take it as a compliment. Thanks!
>>8764598
I'm not 17, and I'm not appreciating your little ill placed jabs. If you don't have anything constructive to say, then just leave.

>>8764598
Well we did enjoy it for its ironic character, even if it was unintended. But that shouldnt matter, does it?

in anycase >>8764434
you've created a world. its somewhat believable. these details are too much. and having an arm pulled out... ye that hurts, why does he have no feeling? is he on drugs?
Also why is he so against the girl becoming a demon? they're hot.

>>8764579
You need more word count. To write comedy, you have to be confident that your stuff is funny. Without the proper setup a 'blob' joke falls flat. It's supposed to be vague but vague jokes are risky in the first place, they rely on imagination. So, you may understand it, but the reader won't. It looks like YA genre level dialogue anyways so you lose nothing by leading the reader by the hand her and throwing a few extra sentences in to clarify the context of the jokes. Smart people will use the context for more imagination, dumb people will get it.
I think you could use more dialogue tags as well. Right now you took a long time to get out little information, it was 'quick' but hard for me to follow especially since I'm not seeing the lead up to this conversation. I'd cut it down, figure out the main joke you want to tell, make that joke quicker.
You seem to be going for 'banter' style, 'banter' is high level, don't do that until you get a lot better. Right now it looks like a conversation from buffy. I'm sorry.
>>8764627
demon is ebull

>>8764473
Can someone comment on this shit? nothing grand, but i want a comment on my flow and sentence structure. i've had this "style" for years, its kinda how my mind works and flows and its hard to discipline it to pay attention to more details and lose it. i'm concerned about its readability

>>8764640
Don't apologise that was valuable information.
Thank you.

>>8764627
He has no feeling because like Icarus, he bathed in the lake Sticks, in the underworld to become immortal. The back of his neck is his weak point, and it's markied by a tattoo. The girl is already half demon, she's a half breed.
>>8764640
The demons in my story aren't particularly evil, it's just the Master who is. I decided to do a little twist in my story, and make it that it's the demons who are mostly good, while the angels are evil.

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>>8764751
>he has even forgotten that he was the original troller

>>8764080
I actually really like this. My only suggestions are, in the third line, I would use 'coming' or 'arriving' instead of 'oncoming.' Just seems to fit the rhythm better

Same in the last line, "spit on strangers' heads" feels like a better rhythm and assonance.

>>8764878
* alliteration. I'm a dumbass

>>8759966
>>8760073
Thank you. Very sorry for the late reply.

>>8756884
First thing that stood out was the amounts of "I"
Saying "mother" like that seems out of character "The time mother died" sounds like a polite british boy on his way home from academy.

From "you see" to "bad cross" needs to be shorter/punchier, looks like a run on.

So are we dealing with an eccentric schizophrenic or am I missing something here?

[1/2]

There was a story that Vail’s mother had told her when she was young. It had been about a vegetarian cat. One day the cat had come across a rat hiding in the attic of the farmhouse where the cat lived.

“Please don’t eat me,” cried the cornered rat, “I have many children and a wife that I love dearly.”

“It’s alright,” said the cat, making no move to attack, “I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat rats.”

The rat cocked his head and looked up at the cat curiously, relaxing a little bit. “A vegetarian cat,” he marveled, “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“I’m a rarity,” said the cat, licking his paw, “it’s true…”

The rat came a little closer, fully relaxed now, and started to strike up a friendly conversation, but before he could the cat had pounced upon him.

“You lied to me,” squeaked the now trapped rat, trying desperately to squirm free, “you aren’t a vegetarian at all!”

“No, I am,” said the cat serenely before killing the rat, “I’m going to take you to market to trade for lettuce.”

“The poor rat!” Young Vail had exclaimed from her bed upon the story’s conclusion.

Her mother, who had been reading the story from a crumbling old book of Japanese folk tales, shut the book gently and placed it gently back onto its spot on the highest shelf. Up where Vail couldn’t reach it without help.

“Do you know what the moral of that story was?” Vail’s mother asked.

“Not to trust strangers?” Vail asked. That seemed about right to her. The rat hadn’t known the cat. Still, he had trusted the cat, and then been killed as a result.

“No. Not entirely.” Vail’s mother sat back down on the floor beside her daughter’s bed. “See…the cat is a vegetarian, that’s his defining trait in the story. Because he’s a vegetarian he doesn’t eat meat, nor does he need to kill rats and mice.”

“But he still does…” Vail said quietly.

“But he still does.” Her mother echoed.

“To trade for lettuce.”

“Can you tell me what the moral is now?” Her mother asked.

Vail was silent for a time. “Not to make assumptions about people?” She asked at last.

“Why do you say that?”

“The rat assumed that the cat wouldn’t hurt him because the cat was a vegetarian.” Vail said with a tiny shrug that rustled the blankets around her.

[2/2]

“That’s true,” her mother allowed, “but it goes deeper than that.”

“Deeper?” Vail asked.

“Try to liken it to meeting people in the real world.”

“But it’s just a story…” Vail said, troubled.

“Why do you think stories have morals, Vail?”

Vail looked up to the worn cover of the book, just barely visible on its high shelf.

“Okay…” She sighed. “If I were the rat then I would have run away from the cat right away.”

“And you’d do that if you ever ran into somebody dangerous in real life.”

“Of course,” said Vail with an enthusiastic nod, “like…like if pirates came and wanted to kidnap children to keep as slaves.” That had been another story she’d read a while back. The pirates had dropped out of the sky in steam powered airships and snatched up the heroine of the tale.

“Say that you meet a pirate one day. You beg for him not to kidnap you but he assures you that he doesn’t keep slaves.”

Vail’s eyes brightened.

“Just like the cat…” She smiled.

“Just like the cat.” Her mother echoed.

“And then he’d kidnap me anyway,” Vail said, delighted to have figured this out, “and sell me to someone who does keep slaves.”

“Don’t be too cheerful,” her mother warned, “you’ve just been sold into slavery.”

“Aww…” Vail sighed.

“Do you have a better idea of what the moral could be now?”

“Not to ever trust dangerous people.” Vail said.

“Ever.” Her mother emphasized, a stern edge entering her voice for a split second, “no matter how much they try to get you to let your guard down.”

> offerings to Venus

I made you a vow
Of love, by Venus;
But, you were only a
Siren who called me
To your cruelty.

>>8764859
What?

gosh what a bizzare capture

"GOLLY! Your anus sure is WIDE sally!" Prolapse Pete screamed.

"GEE, thanks petey! Thats why they call me Sally Stretch my Ass!" Sally replied.

Pete's bulging manhood slowly tore apart the inner membrane of sally's tight asshole. Writhing in pain, Sally could only breathe deeply as her once elastic asshole was stretched to new limits, ultimately suffering from an anal fissure.

Speeding up, Pete chose to ejaculate as deep as possible inside of Sally's bleeding colon, using her tears to lubricate his newly obtained horses penis. The magic of the old gods was more powerful than ever, evident in the monstrous cock wielded by Pete in his sophisticated social encounter with Sally at the Winter Gala.

In his final thrust, Pete tore Sally's colon on the inside and caused another anal fissure, filling Sally's body cavity with his thick yellow tinted semen. His penis covered in virgins blood, Pete proceeded to Mount Olympus, where Aphrodite lay in wait for his new anus destroyer to impregnate her, anally, through sheer force of will.

>>8764878
Thank you, it really does sound better that way!

>>8765420
noice

The way it is meant to be is not always on par with how it is perceived, therefore being rendered obsolete. Purposeless is the existence that which may not lack neither an eye to rehash all in one, nor a meaning to commute between. Far away are the screams somebody left in the gorge of what we get to call reality. (They seem to be spreading faster into nothingness the more I stare at their soulless carcasses)
Not even the trembling of the outlaw at the end of time can alter the status of nonbeing.
Solace lies in the glass prison we stare at daily. Comfort is to be found in the forbidden replica of the rotten fruit strewn on the compartment floor. We lunged, aimlessly, and ceaselessly should we be cut out to fit the mold. Inconspicuosly we wither. We need eternity.
It is but a white winding maze where our clocks wind up. It is but finality what we are searching for. What is it that which we are searching for?
If we regard an unending entity as God, each one of us is god in and of himself here. This is the place you are drawn into from the very beginning, this is the sort of power that can be retributed here, everywhere, nowhere. Bolts of lightning in between shreds of ragdoll paper mark the discontinuity in the vastness of the void. None are the kids of the world, whether they be here or elsewhere. None are the ideas of the one, many an idea belongs to the God-bestowed gods that dangle from the poorly installed ceiling.
We created a part of what we see; what we cannot see was created by whom? It is not a matter of God, but of the virtuality God possesses. He is everywhere, yet nowhere, just as our conciousness when we delve deeper into the fruit of our own creation.

“Sundowner,” with an about-to-be-caught madman's speed, Leah's head snapped to the left, “made from the finest Sanubian Octarines, candied Kanell – your mother's favorite, Summer-come, she refused to eat anything else – red...” As Cid, captain of the ship they were celebrating on, the very vehicle that brought them inside Vect for the decisive battle, continued to list the ingredients, she accepted the drink and brought it to her mouth. The smell hit her halfway, irritating her nostrils like a cloud of sulfur. She backed the warm cup away, earning herself a chuckle from the man.

“Best to drink it fast.” The thought of tasting the liquid gave her a heartburn, so Cid's departure to deal with a scuff in the far corner of the main hall made her spine go slack. Shaeli're culture intrigued her, but their tastes were difficult to handle. Just like the people themselves.

Despite her Sheali're heritage, Leah's knowledge of them was limited to the bare-bone basics of their language. Sitting here, inhaling the dusk-colored fumes from lit up herbs and dried flowers – Redrums, she recalled – enjoying the sweet aftertaste of a treat Aphe brought her, and listening to off-key singing in broken Crean, she allowed herself to relax.

Sky like a pastel painted picture of sweetness, framing this iron and stone Beast of Kings - populated by the scurrying and frantic millions in its fur, in its jaws.

_________

Look at these graceless oaks that lean and mope,
at the hopeless birches that fall and slumber,
at the mirthless maple that slouch and sway.

Now behold the fearless ash who stands despite the gale, defiant of all storms. Bearing proud hope and laughing loud enough to shake the world.

Roots to defend fire and uplift the seas, to have mountains break and retreat.

A thing of unending finality.

_________

Braggart's snow, the loudness of ice. Tip toeing, creeping, sneaking, creaking flame. Sin; silent, sinuous, amorous, twisting virtue. Like iron snakes that melt and drip and slip and slide.

________

"Look," he crooned
"I hold the sky."

They turned and saw. It was true. He did. It was abhorrent.

________

There is no setting of sun like that which comes terribly and unbidden, with the threat of passion unheeded, beauty unseen, love untouched.

http://pastebin.com/raw/gHFRxcDC

first 1k words of a short story

thoughts? I'm fairly happy with it

Interlude 7: THE TWINS

One superstition is true: they do share unsaid all their thoughts, feelings, delusions, fears. They share women and dreams. And whenever they're apart it's as if they're slowly suffocating, blackness drowning all memory. To be again looking into each other's mirror eyes is to breathe in the whole world.
Their father still doesn't understand. Here in the East, the quadra/demisphere of dragons and ghosts, their dual madness is better understood; perhaps that's why their father sent them. But their journey brings the West with them, a lab-made plague in a suitcase. They find themselves as they lose themselves here; they create a new nation in destroying the old, a new sickness in healing. They back the Amero to topple the Asio, the West to rise again and absorb all weaker currencies. Because what is any war but the business of money? Whatever their father called it -- the sinews of war, or the sinews of peace -- wealth, power and blood are all the same currency.
Wherever they travel, they will follow in their father's footsteps, and all journeys must end at the same destination.

>>8770031
Right off the bat man I'm irked by your use of antiquated and haughty language.

>for that belonged
>ever efficient
>I was loathe to leave

I already want to punch this person in the face.

>>8770131

>antiquated language

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>>8746022
I was doing websurfing with my computer and I became so sweaty and bored that I couldn't stop reading your little piece here and thinking to myself: This was made, made to be 'good', and I ran into the kitchen to get a brownie because I wanted to take the edge off…I can imagine you reading this aloud and people telling you passive aggressively 'Hey that's pretty good'.

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>>8746321
Hoss, this’s exactly why I hate reading these threads. I’d make some wild guess and it would be closer than the actual idea you have of yrself so that when you told me about 'the real you' all spent and defensive, leaving out the prostituting for the Author Image, leaving out the mask, and whatever, this is all just disappointing and embarrassing….it’s precisely full of bad word choices.

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>>8746462
Soon two word motifs will replace depth and weight as the critical determinant of good poetry. There are no longer French neighborhoods, or windless nights atop Mount Olympus, or Irish and Greek folk music in smoky all wood cafeterias. Now we get parades of introspective blah out of some schmuck lost in the tiny Möbius strip of his idea of himself.

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>>8769236
It should end with the postscript 'Just Kidding. I was born in the 90s & programmed by television, what would ye expect?' FM radio and reality blended for, well, whatever, it’s a shame, plus weird life-dreams. Oh man I hope they come true.'

After I finished reading yr post, I felt exhausted and I decided to go to drink a bottle of medicine even though it's only 9pm EST, and so honestly, in response to what you wrote, 'unbidden' sure is fucking dumb m9.

This:

'Braggart's snow, the loudness of ice. Tip toeing, creeping, sneaking, creaking flame. Sin; silent, sinuous, amorous, twisting virtue. Like iron snakes that melt and drip and slip and slide.'

Is by far the most hilariously stupid thing I've seen in a lonnnnng time. Say it out loud to yrself. Do you make funny voices? Or was this a joke & I'm taking ye seriously? Also why are you trying to wield a semicolon? You look like a RETARD.

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I've been trying to write about an introspective librarian on a space station; how do I write a profound thought process without being pretentious?

>>8772710
Obscurely.

>>8772710
read name of the rose and crib personalities from his characters

>>8772715
So perhaps write in the Dostoevsky style where the characters take breathes between phrases and contradicts themselves?

>>8772710
Write out the thought process in minute detail until you have 15 pages of it. Then edit that down into 3 pages.

Here's just a general tip for whoever: writing sentence fragments is not "deep" or interesting or grammatically playful. It's shitty and annoying. If you can't write a grammatically complete sentence that's also aesthetically pleasing, don't just cop out and make a bunch of fragments. That's bullshit. Write complete sentences.

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>>8772745

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>>8764579
>Here is an exert

>>8772699
Would you be able to offer constructive criticism instead of needless hate? That would help me a hell of a lot more.

When I wrote Braggart's Snow, I'll be truthful in saying there was no real reason to it beyond playing with the sound and feel of those words in my mind. I wanted to contrast ice, which is usually a thing that is seen as something silent and creeping and deathlike, with fire - commonly seen as brash and loud.

Again, I would still very much appreciate whatever constructive criticism you may offer, because I'd love to improve.

I'm glad to have had such an effect on you, though.

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>>8764434

>>8746000
>>8746000
>>8746000
>>8746000

excerpt

Pyot! Come quickly! A boy cried, near the edge of the village. Pyot, a child, his friend, quickly ran from where had been chopping wood. His friend, called Vali, pointed. Into the woods. Vali's face was contorted, eyes wide and mouth aghast. He was rigid, completely still. A dog sat at the edge of the mist. Its fur was long and shaggy and its eyes were completely red. It did not pant, or breathe, or move, simply watched Pyot and Valis, now both frozen, from what they could not say. The dog got up and padded towards them, holding their gaze. It stopped just before Pyot. Are you afriad? it asked. Do you feel pain? What is your name? The boys could not respond. A man shouted, and the dog turned and walked towards the mist's edge, showing no haste as the man charged towards them, swinging a hatchet. Pyot, are you alright? Come, quickly. He grabbed the young boy, leaving Valis on his own. He stared endlessly at the mist. He was an orphan, his friend Pyot. He walked slowly towards the mist, towards the two red eyes that peered out, just visible beneath the thick grey curtain. An old lady, gently rocking in her chair, caught a glimpse of Valis' red scarf as he dissapeared into the fog. From his chamber, high within the steeple of his church, the Priest also watched Valis leave, and he could only mutter under his breath. He began to pray, solemnly, eyes screwed tightly shut. He could feel them, the creatures just beyond the mist.

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>>8772809
Brain numbing fx are not something to go 4—it was like reading shredded HRC speech transcripts. Constructive criticism: Destroy everything you've ever written. Read the meme trilogy. Start writing again. You stink of YA.

>format might be fucked since I copy/pasted but you get the gist

A Brief Outline of a Sexual Encounter I had Over a Year Ago

1. From the Back, Standing Up

I’ve got my hands on the sweet spots above her hips that soft fleshy bit beneath her ribs and

I watch her arms spread and fingers splay across the wall and

she looks like she might be tapping her fingers and her nails to find the buried studs and

I wonder if she could splay her hands on my chest and back and

tap and

scrape and

peel away until she finds my frame and
tell me about what holds me together and

then I think she might be too short for this and my leg is starting to cramp and

I don’t do yoga so my balance is not good enough for this shit

2. On the Floor, Her on Top

Now I’ve got my back on the floor and
I can feel the carpet and

her breasts and

the hairs and

her back and

little crumbs are starting to dig in my skin and

I think the people who live here must not fuck a lot or they must be pretty boring because

I would vacuum my floor every day after something like this and

I think about my apartment and

how I should probably start cleaning more if I’m going to make a habit of this and

there’s a dog in the doorway and

I start to go soft (but not as quick as you might think) so I say we should go to bed and

the dog looks disappointed in me

3. On the Bed, Like Gemini

I tried but she was not having any of that

4. On the Bed, Me on Top

I’m starting to lose focus by this point and

I see her hair spread across the pillows and

she’s gorgeous and

I’m starting to lose focus and

I feel the Boone’s Farm and the Miller Lite and

the Monster sloshing in my stomach and

she’s beautiful and

I think she loves me and

I think about those old Diet Coke and Mentos YouTube videos and

I wonder if we’ll start dating soon and

I wonder if it keeps swishing and swirling in there and

I’m starting to lose focus by this point and

will the foam come shooting out of my mouth and hit the ceiling fan and cover the room and

spray me and

her and

carpet and

dog and

I get my answer before I know it now I know why those videos don’t show the bottles afterward

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>>8772825
Change Pyot to Oystein & Valis to Varg. Also, pretty dumb overall. Who are you ppl posting this shit?

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>>8772710
I'm this guy, I'm kinda of scared to post this as you guys are fairly vicious but hey, what have I got to lose?

http://pastebin.com/5TbFDyCi

Sorry if it's shit, but gotta start somewhere, eh?

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>>8772848
&
>>8772809

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

>>8772855

nigger they're russian not norwegian.

it's from a story I wrote a while ago, I just ripped a paragraph I felt wasn't as bad as the rest.

https://docs.google.com/a/mst.edu/document/d/1leM9cjIkaxEBTWIv4OC1C5PyaWcrTpmA3Lrpo3fvMwo/mobilebasic

>>8772867
It needed more metal m8

>>8772859
Too much "Oh," too many exclamation points. Read more literature and not online short stories

>>8772891
Gotcha, tried to base the writing style a bit off of Brothers Karamazov, I'll work harder on it.

>>8764579
>‘I could have been. But this amorphous blob consumed my thesis material.’

'amorphous' is redundant when paired with 'blob' and the word choice is jarring. this line doesnt read like dialogue, it reads like the author talking to me

>Sara noted matter-of-factly.
>Sara looked at her questioningly,

common wisdom is to simply say 'said' or 'asked' in 98% of cases. look up dialogue tags and why to ditch more extravagant ones, it's too laborious to explain

>‘Of course; it had the wrong motivations.’

dont use semicolons in dialogue. at least you used it right tho. use them in prose if you must but a lot of people think it looks pseud and stylistically showy. i agree with that sentiment and never use them.

>Sara had lost her fundamental capacity of comprehension.

keep your hyperbole for when it can actually be funny. when you describe mundane banter with fireworks (someone's "worldview shattering" or their "mind breaking" etc.) it kills immersion, removes nuance and creates a flat tone. people never have a low-tension filler conversation and 'lose their fundamental capacity of comprehension'.

>‘Next…’ The girl flipped through some of the pages in her books. ‘Jordan.’
>‘Michael?’
>‘Middle East.’

low-hanging fruit.

>‘Cool.’
>‘It’s a relatively hot place actually.’

ouch. kill bad jokes so you can set up your fewer good ones. mercilessly destroy and edit out cliches.

>>8772900
Don't base the writing style on anything. Don't try to write a "profound" character. I'm sure you've heard before "Write what you know." What that means isn't write about things that happened to you, but write how you think, not how you think your character thinks.

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>>8772859
Preposition Ratio: 8.53 % (Dynamic)

Zombie Nouns:

function
desperation
confession
emotion

Lexical Diversity: 35.49 %

Content Carrying Words: 57.91 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 50.69 %

Longest Words (Ripe 4 deletion): misunderstood, sophisticated

I'll be honest: It's not as bad as it comes across. And but also the style isn't flush w/the AI stuff...

>>8764434
fantastic. you touched on everything that's wrong with purple prose. it actually takes a master to be able to do what you did.

saving

>>8772908
This is advice? What is this? This is garbage. Stop playing grab-ass with advice seekers, Reddit.

>>8772872
Nothing wrong w/em-dashes. Fuck that guy.

>>8772918
What tool did you use for that?

>>8772927
>grab-ass
I wish. What's wrong with my advice? Would rather have honest writers who might be a little simple than a bunch of put-on affected bullshit

>>8772938
i think he meant their ubiquity in the prose

>>8772944
His affected bullshit is simple-person level & has a certain charm.

I find that people like to live a polished life, perfectly smooth and uninteresting, like little pearls of existence hung around the neck of society. It's neat and tidy affair, but the necklace is slowly tightening and silently strangling. Soon it will be too late. It is my responsibility to put the knife right up to society's neck and slash and let those perfect little pearls dash and scatter upon the floor, perfect no longer, but ultimately saved.

>>8772950
>This city is afraid of me...I have seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout "Save us!"... and I'll look down and fart out: "BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP"

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>>8772948
I tried to be self-conscious of my bullshit with him calling himself out by talking about profundity, I fear this wouldn't work for a longer segment though.

Also I'm glad my attempt at being profound is simple-person level
Yaaaaaay

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>>8770031
Preposition Ratio: 10.5 %

Zombie Nouns:

orientation
conversation
position
dimension
direction
administration
organization
destination
distraction
station
fluidity
Authority
university

Lexical Diversity: 33.35 %

Content Carrying Words: 54.35 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 55.47 %

Longest Word KILL IT: incomprehensible

Way too much what-I'm-thinking blah blah. Brutally re-write it without any of that introspection & feel your nipples pucker as you read the real version that was buried underneath.

>>8772959
Also this """begs the question""", what should I be writing about that isn't put-on affected bullshit? I've been struggling with this as I've attempted to get into literature. There seems to be two uses to literature: escapism and elevated understanding that really won't ever get oneself anywhere since some russian guy from 200 years ago has thought up everything I ever could.

So when do I start drinking?

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>>8772940
I wrote a script in Python

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>>8772975
Python 3 or 2?

Do you mind sharing it?

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>>8746000

show some hate

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvj0rxhjpWA

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>>8772837

Nah, I think I'll keep what I've written, and follow it up with more in that style. I find it pleasing to write, and pleasing to read, and I am sure there are others who will agree. Even if it's just my mother and myself.

I appreciate whatever effort you put into throwing those words into the text box, and I sincerely hope you have a great week man.

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>>8772974
Start now. Also 'begs the question' =/= 'raises the question'.

Consider that Harold Bloom on Pinecone: 'I don’t think you would quite call him a novelist.'

If you've read Pinecone you'll understand that you can aim at more than just escapism/getting-oneself-anywhere.

>>8772979
3. & if you know enough Python to understand it, you should already know how to do it...

>>8773007
Haven't read Pinecone yet, I've only started reading the classics recently with BK and Stoner.

And I put begs the question in triple """ because I know I'm an idiot.

So, screwdriver or a white russian?

>>8772999
But what you wrote makes no sense and reeks of someone trying and failing to write like TS Eliot.

> I find it pleasing to write, and pleasing to read, and I am sure there are others who will agree.
Just because you like spewing shit out your ass doesn't mean I want to eat it. Checkmate atheists.

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>>8772999
I understand that your impotence leaves you with no way forward. And if you look hard enough at the Gmail symbol [M]—more or less—you can cobble together the glints of truth that add up to the publishing cabal that you can't imitate your way into.

But hey, you should be mad. Mad is what dummies do.

>>8773019
Personally, I'd go str8 vodka. Glass of orange juice on the side.

>>8769236
>"Look," he crooned
>"I f'd ur mum."
>They turned and saw. It was true. He did. It was abhorrent.

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>>8773022
>Checkmate atheists

>>8772859
Definitely reads like Dostoyevsky. Notes from the Underground vibe. I don't actually like Notes from the Underground though nor do I think it's good literature. There's some potential here but it isn't self-aware enough. I don't mean you have to go all post modern or ironic but it's like x number of decades or centuries of literature haven't been written since Dostoyevsky. More like, it's missing a deeper purpose because it isn't aiming for beautiful prose, nor is it grasping at deeper psychological insight. Why should I read this over notes from the underground? Because you mentioned Spock?

>>8773047
>Why should I read this over notes from the underground?
Why would you ask such a dumb fucking question? Why did you leave Reddit?

How can I avoid readers figuring out that the sweet, innocent dying girl who the MC loves and lives for is actually the villain? It just seems too obvious to me. I'm trying to give her noticeable flaws to take suspicion off her but I don't know if it's enough.

>>8772699
You're a dick but I like your posts. When I'm done with my short hopefully you'll be around to take a stab at it.

>>8773047
I can't answer your question to be honest, I don't consider it great literature as I'm a pleb. I'm enjoying writing so I wanted to get critique, as I'm here.

>>8773053
I don't see what's wrong with the question so much as I can't really give a justification as he was a much, much better writer than I.

>>8773067
It referring to my writing, not notes from the underground.

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>>8754484
Preposition Ratio: 9.86 %
Dynamic!

Zombie Nouns:

attention
tension
collection
station
imagination

Lexical Diversity: 45.67 %

Content Carrying Words: 50.52 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 68.84 %

Longest word: automatically

>>8773053
You're right because I wouldn't even read Notes from the Underground. Maybe better put: is the inclusion of pop culture references enough to warrant writing another Notes from the Underground?

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>>8773067
>he was a much, much better writer than I.
He is, you mean, & so y r u even typing nonsense directed in that direction. Why can't we all just, like, get along?

Tell you what, I'm working on an homage to Camus's The Stranger with Meursault as a bi break-dancing punk rocker. Will you kwiteek it fow me?

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>>8746305
Preposition Ratio: 10.56 %

Zombie Nouns: ...none...

Lexical Diversity: 34.53 %
Content Carrying Words: 60.97 %
Personal Vocab Diversity: 49.8 %

Longest Word: accentuating ←fix/remove

Welp.

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>>8773100
I think you're trying to imply I'm looking for validation, or maybe I'm projecting, but I genuinely do want to improve as a writer.

I don't know why I'm replying, but uh, time to go read I guess.

>>8764930
>>8764933

This is pretty cute.

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>>8773116
I ain't implying nothing. I don't even know what is going on, what post chayne you are from, but it is interesting that you think your insecurities are that obvious. Again, I don't got no idea what they're in ref 2.

Make sure you're reading the meme trilogy you faggot. xoxo Gossip Girl

>>8773134
horrible no talent posting. Sad!

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>>8773138
Stealing the President of the United States's memes! Crooked! So bad!

>>8773130
Heт desu

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>>8773058
I can close my eyes and see the reviews of your story.

what's the longest thing anyone would read on /crit/? I've got an 8,000 word story I need someone to read

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>>8773213
Read it aloud to yourself first. That will fix 80% of the issues.

>>8773180
what did he mean by this?

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>>8772663
You're pretentious and your writing is unnecessarily verbose. But, quite hypocritically, lacking any real depth or insight. All you've really said here is that you're bored of introspective writing and don't find it deep. You write how Russell Brand speaks. You think if you dress up your ideas enough they'll somehow become deeper. Alas they don't. But it's entertaining to read, so that's a lot more than most people here.

Grey wet round pebbles cradled his face, he awoke to a sound of waves, lightly crashing a short distant beyond his feet. He was lying faced down, his mouth dry, his stomach empty, dazed with no intention of getting up. He lay there for a while, his naked body chilled in the air, feet pushed against the pebbles, hands taking in a handful of them. He inhaled deeply, the air was light, fresh, it brought him pleasure as he gulped it down. The wetness that surrounded him was not entirely pleasurable, it pressed against his body. From the lightly flailing body the head lifted up, smaller stones and a few shells clung to his face. He scanned what was immediately ahead of him, great green pine trees popped up a few yards ahead. He turned his gaze to the left and witnessed more of the same, this time taking in the coastline, which went off into the distant a bit until a small outcropping of smoothed stone stuck out into the steely grey water.

>>8772918

What a fucking retarded way to critique fiction

JOIN IN UNION OF FORM
THOU, NAMELESS VOID, LIVETH ON
BIRTHED ANEW THROUGH DREAD AND DISCORD
NO ORDER TOMORROW
NO FUTURE HERE TODAY
NO KINGS HERE TODAY
NO SAINTS HERE TODAY
NO GODS HERE TODAY
ONLY I

>>8773510

makes a better prayer than it does a read

There is the air, and I don't like it. It's sick with sweat and smoke. Even the light is heavy. Even the body under me, next to me, around me is dry, un-soft, naive, not enough. Everything is just a thin grit, a film that rubs away between your very fingers and has NOTHING. But it draws me back, maybe that'll hold. All I can think of is the time I looked my family in the eye and told them 'Leave me to die, or I'll make you sorry you didn't.'

Being the lone pine on a barren prairie
Where all the other pine have run away because the lone pine has neglected to nurture its relationships with them,
And being a pine still fresh,
Well make me into a pinewood writing desk pronto because this is hell, Mr. Lumberjack.

>>8773537

belt up you goddamn pussy

Sitting on the bottom of a boat loading ramp with your grandfather just after the stars come out. He shines his flashlight out over the swamp to show you all the alligators resting on the banks. You can see the little bit of devil leftover in their eyes when the light’s on ‘em. Gator-fire, he tells you. You turn to ask him why they’re so bright just as the last truck pulls out of the gravelly lot behind you, illuminating his worn face for just a second. His eyes flash red-orange in the headlights.

The conflagration came through here. And it burned the houses and buried the men and raped the women and ate the children and there were never enough so it went on and nothing could stop it but the sky itself.

A cloud slides down the valley, moving like a slug across the pine forests. Wherever it touches, the air turns wet and heavy with white mist, a ghostly sea breaking against the town houses, creeping under fences and over walls, filling playgrounds and gardens. No birds sing.
He had a dream last night, a dream filled with igneous, blistering pandemonium and seas of fire and infernal, tormented catacombs made of flesh and bone, floors slick with blood, the screams of a million wasted, fattened grey forms, bloated with bile and sin, crackling out across an endless, obsidian, naked earth, pitted and scarred and pockmarked with fallen embers and the craters they left. And yet it was a dream filled with things that were so true and maddeningly right and real that tears squeezed and trickled from his eyes, wetting his sleeping face in the dark so that, when he awoke, his lids were gummed and crusted closed, and he was blinded til he cleaned them. That dream was of things that aren’t and never were, or that he would never see, he tell himself. His mind is thick with lies.

he wakes late today later than usual the sky is already much lighter than he would like the sun is already steady and clear above the distant smear of the mountains the birds have already welcomed the dawn and now burble softer and time is being wasted every breath he takes he is wasting time he must continue he must keep moving or he might be caught he might end up like. stop. twigs snap. nothing. pack up the camp pack up the pelts and wrap himself bury where the fire was bury the waste smooth the ground he was not here nothing would know he was here keep moving. nothing.
creatures wail in the distance wolves packs of wolves far away talk to one another but they ignore him hunting ochs they won’t come for him not today but he cannot tire or slow he must keep moving if he wants to survive must keep moving cannot be found cannot be caught must not stop must not must not must never any second They could crest the ridge behind and spot him and chase him down like with the others never never never never no never. stop. don’t think walk stop thinking walk walk on the rocks and between the trees don’t leave tracks can’t leave tracks cross the stream keep following the forest deeper and deeper as the tree get thicker and closer and the sky gets further and dimmer and fewer of his kind have left their mark beyond beyond further from home than he’s ever gone maybe he cannot say the land is different every winter the ice is more the snow is more the fog from his lungs is more and there are

he sees more mammoth clattering and trumpeting across the wasteland as they march unstoppably past the mountains. where do they go? into the great void at the edge of the sky, they would say, where their hides become the darkness and their tusks become the stars.

fa/tg/uy here, I need some advice on formatting.

I want to write a short story about an undead knight who loses his memories every time he's killed and brought back, with the exception of when the heroine restores his humanity. The breaks between scenes will be spanning years at a time, but the scenes themselves won't be terribly long.

How should I transition from scene to scene? I was thinking maybe page breaks and treating them like miniature chapters?

The appearance was that of peace
She lied in pastures
Now made of green
Overhead you could hear
Cacophonous birds
Chirping song she had not heard
They sang,
She left me, She left me
Off the coil she slipt
But many of those, twixt the cup and the lip
Cup be my spring who lies in the crib
God will that I keep such a hideous bib
The sight of whom makes me sick to my ‘mach
I keep it alive with hope to touch
The one whose above
As we well know, not all that is so
Is as below
Whence came a place none could call home
A bird in his cage
A broken wing
From the mouth of babes
Flowed songs that sting
Patri?
Sui?
O the world knows not
With the S?n in his head
And a thorn in his side
The mistake he made
?cide

A poem I'm working on based on a short story I'm wrestling with.
It's about a priest who ends up having sex with a woman and getting her pregnant, she dies giving birth to his badly malformed son. He keeps him as penance for his sins in secrecy. The last lines are a little madlibby insert-your-own-prefix idea i'm working on too.

>>8773586
I should mention the ?'s are the madlibby parts. Idk if that idea comes off as clearly as I hope with the last lines.

>>8770031
>>8770131
>>8772965

This is miles better than anything else posted here

The other two critiquers are retarded and don't understand what style is

The prose can be a little dry and technical, but it generally reads and flows well

>>8773605
I liked the pastabin Hong Kong story, yes. The author posses awarenes of story

>>8756884

How long have you been writing?

>>8756924

I find it difficult to believe this is your second book or else you've got some terrible formula ingrained

>>8762587

Which contest? I like it a lot

>>8773778

How so?

>>8764461

Ya blew it

>>8773790

Lots of people read and are influenced by their favourite works and it shows in their own work.

Read that first page and tell me it doesn't read like you've been influenced by every first draft edit posted to these critique threads.

>>8773471
Pretty bad senpai.

>>8773810

I'm new here, this is the first critique thread I've seen. At the moment I only have 600 unedited words for that project. I've written four novellas and two novels so far, with this being my third. I'm just writing/refining until something clicks.

>>8773810
Schopenhauer: being exposed to good quality literature and similar content over time ipso facto makes you sharper and of higher standards. I always liked to read what I deem to be good stuff, so I'm not gonna write like Stephenie Meyer, or I'll began writing like her and delete it minutes after. High energy, high standards!!

>>8773605
>"Upon returning, I have developed an intense agoraphobia which has manifested itself in my relationship to my letterbox."
This is the kind of shit they will tear apart in your first creative writing lesson. No good story will ever come out of language like this, language is supposed to convey character. It isn't some robotic tool for laying out a plot while you show off all the big words you know. This is probably one of the worst things I've read in critique threads precisely because it is so fleshed-out.

>>8773827
I agree with the general opinion, but not the example. That first line is about the best thing in it, and if you think agoraphobia is a showy off bigly ol word then you got to like talk to people a bit more, it isn't.

That first sentence could easily be weaved into a kind of echo of something the MC has been told, and it's perfectly comprehensible, it's the shit load of bad exposition that floods in after it that is at fault.

It was one of the especially cold winter mornings in the NYC in the warm luxury penthouse at the top of the Manhattan midtown's skyscrapers where the buzz of the city below was observed from the comfortable distance as the smell of coffee kept spreading all over the suite and people began arriving in hurry from as early as 7 AM. „Make sure there is enough croissants, they should arrive shortly.“, a middle aged woman which appeared to be some sort of manager of this affair sent a younger man on an errand and he departed in haste making his way through the bunch of the arriving guests as she kept ordering the staff around, trying to make guests as comfortable as possible. Taxis and luxury private vehicles alike waited in the street as their owners kept arriving in the elevators all the way to the top. It was a thorough procedure and everybody was checked at the entrance by the few of the guards, having to hand over their cameras and phones that were put safely aside to wait for them at the exit. Some people were already getting nervous as it took quite a while and they missed their morning coffee, but not a moment too soon plenty of breakfast was offered in the grand reception room of the suite – everybody was waiting for something or someone. „Please, feel free to relax and have some food, we don't know how long this could take.“, the same woman said, just as she gestured the staff to start offering the plates of food and drinks that were there in abundance. Everything from the interior of what appeared to have been the great hall was of peculiar rarity and quality of unbeliveable expense and even the food that was served seemed to taste finer than usual.

>>8749880
Mal poema, mala métrica, mal ritmo; no dice absolutamente nada rescatable

Tldr, its shit

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>>8773921
holy fuck that was terrible

>>8774230
Content aside, I'd like to know what was terrible about the style itself etc.

>>8774647
All of it

>>8774655
Well, its terrible to know how deep my delusions went, but I appreciate your opinion.

>>8773921
nice bait

>>8773848

Am I blind, or do I literally not see any exposition?

>>8773827
>language is supposed to convey character

Idk, but the language does convey a sense of the narrator's character for me

And I'm skeptical about how well-read you are, since you seem so determined to pigeonhole acceptable/good literature in one tone


Granted, I only skimmed op's story cuz pastebin is hell on my eyes, but the comments are so pretentious and ill-defined

>>8775664
It isn't about a specific tone, what irks me about this story is that the language used is so archaic and inconsequential that it feels like someone trying to "outdo" himself with prose. A short story can be written in any style but the weird haughty indulgence in the pastebin doesn't match the narrative. That's one of the first missteps of an aspiring author. I'm not pretentious but the story offended me a little bit because the prose overdone while everything else felt so lifeless, schematic and willfully ignorant. Don't be so quick to call others ill-informed.

>>8775718
*the prose is so overdone

>>8774655
>>8775663
You know what, you guys have no clue. I am a good writer and I am a good storyteller, its true. I will write such a good sci-fi novel you wouldn't believe it - 200 pages, 300 - easy. Very very easy. And it's gonna be huge and people are going to love it. The fact that you said my work is bad without saying why says a lot about you. At first I went with something I was more content with, I said to myself 'lets see how this goes' >>8764473 and nobody said anything and then I did what, I went with brief introductory scene which frankly reads more like a generic movie script, but I thought it would do. But it didn't, it failed and I'm not proud of it, but I don't think it is as bad as some stuff I've seen here, most of the things here are very nasty, overdone and pseudo-profound. I don't want to use big words to confuse you, I want to tell a simple story.

>>8775793
>"I have no talent but I will waste paragraphs and time on defending my work from the audience"

>Opening for My Novel
My ass was really wet and my cock was really sore. I was exhausted, but not from sex, which comes later. I hit myself a couple of times to wake up. It must have been night out because the sky was dark. "Pee-teeeeeeeer!" my mother called up, as if she could detect my waking. "WHAT you old bitch?" I tried to roar, but it came out as a sputtering whine. "YOU SAID YOU'D DO THE DISHES BUT THE DISHES AREN'T DONE!"

Oh, how I wished for death. I looked around my room and pulled a lamp cord, showing up my desk. Scattered papers with crude drawings of people fucking and defecating, along with some pained attempts at poetry. A single book, opened - Animal Farm. One of the sexy passages I think. I shove it to the ground with the other books.

I looked at one of the poetry attempts.
"I soared and burned and
with summer setting fell to fall
I hate this gook shit"

By the last line were some racist caricatures. I was already out of the room. Down the stairs. Doing the dishes. Mother yelling.

My name is Peter Parker, no relation, and my life is fucking bad. I'm a garbage truck man.

>>8775994
This is good.

>>8775955
>talent
>he thinks...
Hahaha it's not about that you silly

>>8775726

What are some examples of language you find archaic and/or inconsequential?

It's written quite formally/stiffly, but there's no comprehension problems and there's no overwrought or purple prose

Yes, I do believe there are some indulgent phrases that should be cut ("ever efficient," for example) but by-and-large I find it to be very consistent

I wonder if you'd have the same complaints about kafka or conrad

>>8773112
Can you interpret those numbers for me?

Yeah I'll try to remove accentuating but it's one of those words I have trouble finding a good simple substitute for that has the same feeling to it.

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Made this inspired by Dankest Dungeon. Also posting a short poem an anon made some time ago that I found bready good:

Los hombres gritan “somos la Llama, el Fuego, la Luz, y las tinieblas tiemblan al escuchar nuestro estruendoso paso.”
Como corderos al matadero.
Llevan la fe, la valentía y la sed de sangre y aventuras en sus corazones. Y así, como niños curiosos, se adentran en la profunda oscuridad.
Sus sentidos agudizados, nerviosos y llenos de adrenalina perciben sombras, pasos, sonidos. Horribles criaturas cuyo hogar es este terrible castillo (antaño magnífico y lleno de algarabía), deambulan, devoran... y observan.
Con ojos cargados de ira.
De hambre.
De perfidia.
Pero no son observadas.
(cont.)

>>8776143
El silencio es abrumador. La luz de la linterna se apaga, así como la esperanza de los héroes. Ese horrible ruido. Ese horrible olor. Asoma la locura, el miedo. Los encierra como los pasillos musgosos de piedra. Se pierden para no encontrarse jamás.
La oscuridad susurra palabras de conspiración. Miran hacia atrás, agitados.
Sus memorias, las mas horribles e innombrables, comienzan a florecer en sus agotadas mentes. Ese horrible ruido. Ese horrible olor. Ningún ser humano puede soportar semejante tortura.
Las criaturas no soportan el hambre. Quieren ver sufrir, sangrar y morir.
Revelan sus espantosas caras, sus cuerpos correosos y podridos, su nauseabundo olor...
Y así los héroes pierden su cordura. No vivirán para volver a sus casas, ni ver a sus hijos, mujeres o amigos. Aquí termina todo. La Luz no escucha sus gritos de auxilio, son tragados por el perverso castillo y la fría oscuridad.
“¡No somos la Llama, el Fuego se apaga, la Luz nos ha abandonado y las tinieblas ríen al escuchar nuestras débiles pasos! ¡Somos inocentes, personas inofensivas, y estamos acabados!”
-”¡Silencio!” se escucha al líder, un gigante entre los hombres, de cuerpo y espíritu. “¡Se alimentan de nuestro miedo, y temen a nuestra Luz!”
Palabras santas, agua en el desierto. Los héroes no temen, luchan y matan. Su sed de sangre vuelve, más fuerte que nunca.
Hasta que su líder cae. De nada sirven las palabras cuando el cuerpo es carne débil y fresca, lista para ser comida. Su brillante armadura, teñida de sangre, es despedazada con saña por las criaturas hambrientas.
Y se pierde el coraje.
Los hombres sueltan sus armas, corren, gritan, llaman a la Luz para que los defienda e insultan a la muerte y el miedo. Sus piernas asustadas fallan y se tropiezan, van a la carrera, corren, corren, corren lo más rápido que pueden, sin descanso, su mente, desesperada grita “¡Sálvense!”, su cuerpo, roto y cansado ruega “¡Ríndanse!”, mientras los que tuvieron el infortunio de quedarse atrás son alcanzados y arrastrados a los rincones oscuros y malolientes del castillo.
De nada sirvió correr.
De todos y cada uno de los pasillos de la fortaleza comenzaron a salir hordas de alimañas, listas para cazar y comer.
Nadie se salvó en esa horrible noche. Los hombres fueron cazados uno a uno. Molestaron al alma corrompida del castillo, y se los hizo pagar. Se perdieron en el laberinto de sus pasillos y no fueron vistos nunca.
No fueron los últimos, ni tampoco los primeros. La triste historia continuó, llevándose hombres desesperados, orgullosos o sin nada que perder a lo profundo de un pozo sin salida.
Pero la Llama sigue viva en los corazones de los aventureros, el Fuego es encendido por quienes triunfan y viven para contar historias horrorosas al otro día, y la Luz no abandona a los hombres.
Sin embargo... las tinieblas...
Aún tienen hambre.

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The subway doors closed in front of me with a muffled click, and I desperately waved to her from the window. Time decelerated in those last seconds. I experienced each of them slowly and tenderly as they one by one dismantled me from the inside. Even so, they went by in an instant just as the summer had. It had been our last together. My heart sank as the enveloping darkness swept away her image, and I understood, with the sort of alarming swiftness that comes with this type of agony, that it was over. My stop wasn’t for another hour and a half, so I shakily slumped into an empty seat. I knew that I couldn’t come apart in front of everyone, but I was quickly reaching my limit. I clenched my fists and stared at the filthy floor of the train. After several seconds of struggle, I slowly angled my gaze upwards. It wasn’t until then that I truly noticed the faces of the other subway goers. On that dismal afternoon, I discovered that they all seemed mournful. I imagined that their lives must have been like that summer at some point: where time is presumably frozen, permitting you to dance for eternity in the dazzling rays of life, only to be abruptly cut short and reminded that it had simply marched on without you. They must have. Why else would someone look this severely heartbroken? I began to realize that I, too, was one of those somber faces. It was there, in that dimly lit subway train, that I felt the gravity of it all.

>>8776143

OK overall, but rethink listen/dismiss him/miss him. The first two don't rhyme (and aren't dissonant enough to work as a successful half-rhyme) and the second are the same syllables entirely, so not a rhyme either.
Try three half-rhymes, perhaps.

Your final image is the grass, but apart from the tree in line 2 we've followed his relationship with the world as a whole. Think about specifying what he's communicating with: children, animals, the sky, God, himself, rather than repeating world.

Lovely last line.

“Ladies and gentlemen, children and pets of all ages, it is my pleasure as a showman to present to you today the eight wonder of the world! Hailing from a penthouse on the distant reaches of the upper west side, I give you all the world's laziest fortune teller!”

Ava woke up with a book on her face that had not been there the night before. The morning dew and grass stains had seeped into her pajamas, leaving her wanting nothing more than a nice warm shower and some deeply over-sweetened coffee.

“You can't put a price tag on this folks,” Maxwell bellowed into a bullhorn, “but, given that we reserve the right to refuse service to the laws of physics your tickets are going to be five guilders each.”

“Who are you talking to?” Ava groaned, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. There was no crowd for Maxwell to be addressing, as most of the people present were day laborers and showmen who were much too busy setting up to engage in antics.

“Young lady you really need to learn more about scene transitions but I'm going to let that slide for now. Our opening performance is tonight and so is yours. Between setup, managerial duties, feeding the animals, shining my shoes, picking up my outfit from the drycleaners, checking and re-checking the safety nets, taking inventory of concessions, coloring the pyrotechnics and a 2-minute lunch break in between Frankie only has a tiny window of time to help you rehearse your part.”

“Ah,” he sighed, noticing something else in the tent, “I see you met Rasúl,” Ava turned to look as the pigeon from yesterday flapped gracelessly into Maxwell's hand. “Say hi Rasúl!”

“Hi Rasul!” he cooed without opening his lips. The pigeon tucked its head under one wing and tried to remain inconspicuous. “Sorry about that, he's a little shy. Anyway, get yourself all fed and dressed while you still have a chance, your rehearsal starts in 20 minutes.”

“Oh, and Ava,” he called out as she took off towards the women's wash tent “One more thing. Try to avoid staying up all night reading, it's not good for those pretty little eyes of yours.”

>>8773921
Honestly, it's not as bad as everyone else says, but it's a little hard to focus on because your punctuation is a goddamn mess.

The quality of writing itself is always the most important part, but the punctuation isn't just a bunch of arbitrary rules. Letters form the sounds, but the punctuation controls the tones, pauses and emphasis, and through them we derive the difference between a rousing speech and a monotone

That run-on first sentence rambles to the point of unreadability. Run ons can be used effectively – I like to think I did it myself at one point in here for comedic effect – but you aren't doing it right. Get your punctuation in shape and believe me you'll notice a difference

>>8776198
>and I desperately waved to her from the window
too energetic. maintain the tone

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>>8773583
Should have posted with an image

>>8776255
fuck you

>>8776255
I thank you for the review and I realized how right you are. I often lose myself in English which is my 2nd language, so I get carried away and mess up the punctuation. I have some other issues too, of course, but this opened my eyes a little bit. I like to think that I lack the understanding of the language as perceived by the native speakers and feel for dialogue, but I'm still young and I have years ahead to practice the skill. I will come back to your story and give my opinion as a reader in a while.

>>8776291
if you didn't want critique, you shouldn't have posted in the critique thread asswipe. fuck off and let the real writers talk

>>8776311
I had a feeling since you didn't use the english smart quotes. The actual writing seems pretty decent, aside from some grammatical mistakes. As you get more comfortable with english they'll be easier to pick out. Practicing your writing will help your english as much as practicing your english will help your writing

>>8776246
As I said, the screencap's poem is not mine.
But I suppose that anon will appreciate your critique, heh.

A young woman sits at the edge of a pond. She kicks at the water, observing as its once parallel arcs of blue are forced to separate in a damp mitosis of waves, made to form smaller and smaller circles in on themselves. Raising her knee, she silences this discord, and she says a few soft words and takes her leave.

>>8776347
That bit of your story was actually very good because it has a good dialogue that carries the imagery and the situation well, properly introducing characters without seeming too much. It lacks more introduction of Ava though, but I only say this because I don't know the context, I'll just guess this just started. You could however expand on the stage set up and/or let us peek into the context of the world and their surrounding area which can be done with one or two proper sentences, for example when you mention the laborers who are there - it quickly goes back to their conversation, yet leaving the impression the setting is more interesting to be left untouched.

Writing good dialogue and having a good ear for it its one of the most important things, but its always tempting to rely on it too much and let that flow take over. I hated giving this review because I know what *I* want to read about, but objectively it might be completely irrelevant.

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First page of my shitty short story:

Abigail and Joshua stood beside the pond, throwing rocks at the water. The boy did his best to skip the stones by stiffening his arm in midst his throws, while Abi was content with launching the rocks upwards and watching her artillery tear holes in the algae. So pleased with her work, the strong jawed girl would turn to Joshua and “Haw” at him every particularly meaty impact, as if there was some unstated competition between the two. The rhythms of their stone throwing slowed to the growing strain in their arms until they were doing nothing but watching the scum float across the waves.
The exercise from their walk through the woods and to the pond caught up to them as they stopped, and they took a seat on a long, rotting log beside one of the pond’s beaches. Joshua was careful not to sit close to the bugs lest they get in his overalls, but even after he had taken his seat he skooched here and there trying to avoid the rolly pollies that crawled over the dead tree trunk. A proudly conservative person, Abigail glowered at his wriggling below her overgrown crew cut, her eyes narrow like a gunslinger’s.
"what are you acting like that for? Stop that.”
"Bugs are getting in my pants” he said.
"So what? Just pick ‘em off. You don’t see me squirming.”
She made an example of an unlightened lightning bug on the hem of her jeans and turned her head towards the water, away from Joshua who kept on fidgeting. Leaning forward, she cupped her chin in her palm while her eyes skimmed over the pond and landed on the wall of maple trees on the opposite end. Her head swayed lazily around towards Joshua again but her eyes stayed situated on the thicket:
"Let’s go somewhere,” she said, “I’m bored.”

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>>8774647
Usually it's 'hey this is really intelligent writing but it needs more heart' but in this case it's 'hey you're a disgusting, embarrassing imitation of someone imitating writing, please stop, and also it could use more heart'.

>>8776481
It's just an excerpt, not even the first page (hence the scene transition joke), I've put more into the setting earlier on but I'll try to add more here and there. Thank you for your honesty

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>>8776536
Honestly, if you died, the /lit/ community would be marginally better.

>>8776500
>Posting YA fiction

>>8748639
10/10 solid post, man.

>>8776560
You don't belong here with this attitude.

>>8776481
This may be the most cringe critique so far. What compelled you to put this out there?

>>8776579
I was possessed by the spirit of one of the greatest critics of our time.

>>8776576
Look at your dad look at your mom look at her glass of wine and fuck off, you sperm spilling piece of industrial runoff.

>>8776598
Holy shit lmao

>>8776291
>>8776560
>>8776570
>>8776579
>>8776598

A++

Congratulations, you get a gold sticker. I'm going to put your posts right here on the refrigerator so everyone can see them.

Now lets see if you can use the potty by yourself

>>8776650
You're shitting up the thread as much as he was.

"Religion is the path of the fool, athiesm the road of a coward" - Me

>>8776683
holy...

>>8776650
Clever. Smug. All the right things.

>>8776668
Keeping 4chan classy, very nice.

can /crit/ critique my story within a story within a story? I'm worried the plot is too short and simple for a fairy tale and seems more like a single event than a full tale

http://pastebin.com/G51JN8fs

Definitive List

>>8746022
Bretty Gud

>>8746305
what the fuck

>>8746321
fantasy trash

>>8746462
I don't know what this is supposed to be but I like it

>>8747401
Not great, but I can see worth in your writing, keep working at it.

>>8747515
if you told me this was by a real poet i'd believe it but it's hard to work with short stuff

>>8749494
stop; get help

>>8749880
>

>>8750191
ideology

>>8750980
>>8750986
I can see a good author in this too, don't try to hard to imitate older styles of writing.

>>8752123
no

>>8752160
i lol'd

>>8752315
Very good, but again short stuff is hard to evaluate

>>8753200
jesus man

>>8754346
bretty gud

>>8755183
nah senpai

>>8755235
ok seriously guys write more than like six words

>>8755238
good read, seemed real

>>8755239
no way jose

>>8756884
split paragraphs faggot

>>8756924
not sure if fantasy trash

>>8758897
edgy

>>8758905
>>8758917
see earlier

>>8759873
meme