/crit/ -- Critique Thread

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http://pastebin.com/maRRFEcP

Part of my autistic story, I've been going through and rewriting long drawn-out parts that were shit and cutting them down, because I've been reading through some of the "action sequences" and they just don't matter. It's not a movie and long drawn-out action sequences just don't work unless they are interesting. I also added a bunch of characters in that scene that don't matter and I don't feel like writing about, so I removed them and went back to basics. Like giving the main character a copilot who died in the battle was just stupid, it distracts him from losing his parents (the previous main characters).

For making this good, I want to be able to evoke an image of what is happening, because it's kind of weird and hard to describe this battle, especially out of context.

Longer term I would like this scene to evoke Peter and Emily's inability to escape the war they'd been fighting for so long, and create a sort of "passing the torch" moment (like with the knife) so as the make it clear that the story is moving into a new era, so to speak.

But what I have right now is complete shit, I feel like the old passage was better even though it was long as fuck. I find this happening; it's like my writing was a badly-made Jenga tower, but once it falls over it's so much work to rebuild it I feel like the messy tower was better.

Will return feedback I get as much as I can. Hopefully thread won't die before I have time. I wish Pastebin links had comments so I could reply even after thread died.

>>9043854
nice dialogue

>>9044004
How much does the battle description suck? I've tried to simplify it a lot to fit my memory, rather than a long drawn out description.

in polish, not completed
http://pastebin.com/0wqGf9ib

>>9044256

atheist ranting child turned me away

I stared blankly at the interior of the shower, letting the water wash over my face. I had that airport kind of feeling; not asleep but not fully awake, where sounds seemed to come from a mile away and nearby objects look like half-filled shapes. What was the name of that painting with the empty diner, where the walls are blank and the street outside is empty, and there’s almost no detail at all except for three people sat discreetly at the bar?
I felt like I was in that painting, but out of shot, maybe in the second floor of the building across the street, where the artist rejected the idea of detail entirely.

Without conscious control of my actions I picked up the shampoo bottle. Its grey coloration and sleek helevetica font did little to alleviate my hollow disposition. The lines of text printed uniformly over its perfectly rounded surface, with great care given to their specific style and spacing, were composed entirely out of focus-grouped phrases and industry-standard adjectives, flowing with a rhythmic precision that, on the surface, sounded pleasing, almost poetic, but upon closer inspection might as well have said nothing at all.

It occurred to me in that moment that there was someone out there whose job it was to write this kind of text. It almost made me shudder, but then I realised that whoever they were, their life was probably not so different from mine. The main difference, perhaps, was that their writing was actually published, in some form, and they were getting paid to do it too.

>>9044767
Just say Nighthawks if you're gonna reference it

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Consciousness stirs you out from deep sleep
You feel a slight tickle upon your cheek
But before you have time to come to grips
It quickly scurries between your lips

be mean anons

>—That is because. That is because, I heard a man moan from inside one of theses shrouded houses, that is because, that is because. And the house seemed to sway also with his voice, flickering between myself and what was obscure. I thought of his voice for long after we had passed his house there on the road.If I let my mind wander and gave myself to the swells and ripples beneath the surface of my life; it would seem his voice was linked now to my steps and my footsteps seemed to carve out measures of his voice which would jar against those lines already in the sidewalk and appear as two people dancing and eventually meeting at one accidental and harmonic moment before starting again.

>>9044842
I like this a lot overall. The thing I notice mist that could be worked on is replacing specific wprds that seem to me to be cliche/generic/nonspecific. You can use my suggestions or not, but just to give you an idea of what I mean, coupd the word obscure be clarified to give a more specific feeling by substituting the word veiled/shrouded/clouded or perhaps unkown/unkowable? Could the word harmonic be made to sound more interesting or unique by saying "one accidental and unison moment" instead? This is just what came to my mind

Muertos ya demonios del pasado, muerde pena bajo la tierra.
No más esclavo de la ceguera, dobla roca y pisa piedra.
Lo que una vez fue cielo, ahora no es mas que la alfombra de sus intenciones.
Y aunque existan mejores costumbres, viejas y por conocer, es mejor que mil perdones, siempre y cuando no sean ganados por mérito propio.
¿A quién le va a pedir perdón cuando se muera lo que no importa?
Afortunadamente, logrará quemar su piel en una hoguera y mirará las estrellas con el mismo ansia con el que mira su futuro.
Mejor es saber, dicen muchos. Pero mejor aún es aprender, saben pocos.
Labrando la tierra de sus frágiles huesos podrá mantener su carne limpia.
Sin embargo, a veces es mejor escuchar a los vocablos de los viejos dioses:
"Encontráos en su propio espíritu, haced de la paz una paz propia.
Pero no os olvidéis de la batalla: ahí es donde los hombres sangrarán sus penas."

>>9044872
Another text:

Oscuridad y poco más.
Un profundo y fuerte aullido seguido por otros de menor volumen marcan el inicio del combate.
Sus dedos se aferran a sus piernas, sus fosas nasales se ensanchan y su corazón comienza a nutrir su sed de sangre.
El miedo le hace temblar las rodillas, agita su respiración e intenta destruir su moral, pero no lo logra.
Palmas abiertas y puños cerrados se combinan con golpeteos y aullidos de su propia boca. Y el miedo se da por vencido y desaparece.
La oscuridad lo marea, lo hace ver cosas que no están y le abre unas pequeñas puertas de luz, tentádolo a escaparse con una sonrisa cruel, pero no lo logra.
Se yergue, alza sus brazos y respira hondo; la oscuridad ya no es una barrera.

La horda se acerca a una velocidad demoledora, y lo rodea. El Gran Jefe clava la vista en los ojos de su presa.
"Ésto es sólo una batalla" dice el aprendiz para sus adentros, "la guerra es contra mí mismo. Y no pienso perderla." Sin decirse nada más, se lanza hacia su primera muerte.

>>9044881
Last one:

No hay mas que polvo a la vista. Ni siquiera logra verse un río, un valle, una colina...
Los Vientos del Este lo han borrado todo. Todos los pueblos que habitaron el Yermo Negro han sido azotados sin piedad, y no han tenido otra opción más que perecer, incomunicados y privados de agua y alimento.
Ocasionalmente, pueden verse mercaderes que se ven obligados a cruzar el despiadado desierto con sus caravanas o ejércitos extranjeros, que, aunque acostumbrados a luchar y marchar en zonas áridas, sufren la ira del Viento.
Sin embargo, quien es mayormente reconocido por los viajeros del Yermo es el mercader Namat el Enano.
Su piel curtida y oscura da indicios de cuanto tiempo pasa deambulando el cruel desierto. Nadie sabe que vende realmente, y quienes se atreven a preguntarlo no logran describir la extravagante mercancía del viejo.
Algunos especulan que vende hierbas y frutas usadas para la alquimia y la magia, otros dicen que lo que vende no puede verse, sino oírse: historias, secretos, fábulas y cuentos de los pueblos que habitaron allí. Muchos dicen que es un viejo estafador y bueno para nada, que vende baratijas falsas (y encima a precios ridículamente altos), y que camina a través del páramo sólo para hacerse fama.
La verdad es que nadie sabe la historia de Namat el Enano. Los viajeros más veteranos no recuerdan haberlo visto en sus años jóvenes.
Gente más supersticiosa cree que es un brujo, un ex habitante del Yermo Negro que se rehúsa a abandonar su hogar, o que en realidad es el emperador Bakhán el Grande, que unificó los pueblos bajo su espada, lengua y moneda, todo con implacable gracia y astucia, alcanzando una época dorada en su gestión, sólo para verla derrumbarse en un instante bajo el poder del Este.

Aunque son incapaces de describir los objetos que porta Namat, quienes han hablado con él sostienen que los pueblos del Yermo no han muerto, pero perecerán al mismo tiempo que el viejo mercader.
Si es que la muerte osa enfrentarse a Namat sin compañía.

I walked through the door with you, the air was cold,
But something bout it felt like home somehow and I
Left my scarf there at your sister's house,
And you still got it in your drawer even now.

Oh, your sweet disposition and my wide-eyed gaze.
We're singing in the car, getting lost upstate.
The Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place,
And I can picture it after all these days.

And I know it's long gone,
And that magic's not here no more,
And I might be okay,
But I'm not fine at all.

'Cause there we are again on that little town street.
You almost ran the red 'cause you were looking over me.
Wind in my hair, I was there, I remember it all too well.

>>9044955

Photo album on the counter, your cheeks were turning red.
You used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin-size bed
And your mother's telling stories about you on a tee ball team
You tell me bout your past, thinking your future was me.

And I know it's long gone
And there was nothing else I could do
And I forget about you long enough
To forget why I needed to

'Cause there we are again in the middle of the night.
Dancing round the kitchen in the refrigerator light
Down the stairs, I was there, I remember it all too well

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I've started writing shitty "tumblr girl" poetry that will hopefully become popular with young women. Any tips on how to make it even more self-congratulatory and smug? I'll probably photoshop them in some pics I took like pic related, to make it more digestible.
Wrote this an hour ago:
And now you're here again.

Cafe's still the same old, though.
Same old folks who've seen us kiss,
And made me blush and shy away.
My gaze is there but not as warm.

You're just as cool and just as calm
Yet just as easy to be pleased
By smiles you never knew were false.
So very easy to appease.

Mistook today for weeks ago;
Mistook my pockets for your own;
"Love you" for a "glad we met";
Unseen tears for drops of sweat.

I still burn bright the same old glow,
Although,
Although,
All on my own.
I light and puff and greet the dawn
Although,
Alone,
At last:

Alone.

Here is my flash fiction story. Please comment.

http://pastebin.com/SF7x5mCs

I'll (You) this message with my comments on some of the stuff already posted.

>>9043854

I think you're more advanced and have a lot more talent than most I've seen on this site. As has already been said your dialogue is stellar and along with your descriptions, wonderfully suggestive. With very few words you manage to create the impression of an entirely new science-fiction universe. It's also fast-paced and epic and you seem very enthusiastic and stubborn. You could go places, I think.

With that said, I only read a small part of it. Maybe I'm not taking your story seriously enough to give it the attention it deserves or maybe this is just too technical and "hardcore" for my tastes, but I'm basically unable to follow what is going on. It's easy to overestimate the reader, especially with complex genre fiction, so my suggestion would be to spell things more clearly out. I also feel maybe the human encounters are a bit cold. I miss the little quirks of personality and I can't remember a single description of someone's appearance.

I believe your story is written in 3rd person omnipotent? This is very unusual in modern genre fiction actually. Usually, even sticking to third person, writers will pick a "viewpoint character" whose personality colors the prose, even when describing a battle (for example they could be looking out through a window). I think this would instantly add a lot of emotional color and life to your writing.

I suggest looking up books and guides to writing good genre fiction, if you haven't already. There is a lot of meat and potatoes "craft" involved in doing it well that you just have to know and practice.

>>9044767

This reminds me a little of Murakami, which is a good thing if you ask me. You have some language that sounds kind of awkward though, like "I had that airport kind of feeling" rather than for example, "I had that feeling you sometimes have at airports" or something more fluent and complete like that. You probably just need to write and read more to iron out those. Maybe you're not a native speaker? I also wonder if you're aware of everything your style suggests about the first-person character, for example the technical and alienated way in which they view shampoo bottles. In a more complete, fully satisfying text I think you would need to find some way to make this play into the whole.

This is my story >>9045287 Please comment.

>>9044826

Really effective at creating an uncomfortable feeling, I like it.

Mine:

In a grey mountain land, searching for God,
I happened on a cave, toothy and cold.
Shouting, anguished, within. I turned to my guide,
facing somber dissent. Heedless, I entered.
Where the small den halted, bleak light fell through the rock,
on a thin brackish pool, in which a figure lay.
That tormented wraith writhed, bones in black water,
endless life lamenting— one it could not take.
An ending I offered, a fool's pity.
It shrank from me in fear— by this I left.

Returning to the guide, I bid us continue the search.
Met with my ignorance, their gaze sought the ground in dismay.

>>9044826
Delete "deep", replace "between" with "through"

>>9045308
>http://pastebin.com/SF7x5mCs

All over pretty gud. Got me interested in the character & setting.

A couple sentences could be improved, but they're mostly very minor.

The only thing that jumped out at me was a couple times where you changed tense in mid sentence.

>As I passed the bus stop, another suspicious figure waving for me to stop, I heard cracking as the facade of a skyscraper dropped off...

>I had been the one right at the time though, I realized hugging my new girlfriend.

Those continuos verbs can be tricky. In your head they might sound like they can work within the past tense, but really, they don't. Any publisher will tell you this straight away.

>>9043818
how do you tell a personal friend about the flaws in their story?

>>9045287
>http://pastebin.com/SF7x5mCs

So this was kind of nice, I like the subtle post-apocalyptic thing, it would be even better if you made it less obvious, but the ruins descriptions along with survivalist stuff will keep people interested. The whole "freed crazy girl" is cool, probably want to be careful it does not get too cringy.

Could effect that with cleaner prose in key sections

>Apparently she had been a patient at a mental hospital. With most of the staff dying from internal bleeding after the first blast, she had simply walked out the front door of the asylum

Try : She had been a patient at a mental hospital. After most of the staff succumbed to injuries after the first blast, she had walked out the front door.

A sci fi excerpt, getting read to zine its first few chapters: http://pastebin.com/LVMu7Kq5

>>9045895
In a kind way. Just think of how you would like to be told.

>>9043854
>http://pastebin.com/maRRFEcP
Sorry but it reads like fanfic, your dialogue isn't horrible but don't have characters just be foils against eachother, give them contradictions.

>>9044767
not horrible but lots of awkward parts you need to go into and smooth out. there are parts that seem like you're trying to get or evoke some sort of rhythm so you kind of have to commit to that. so less "it almost made me shudder" just say "I shuddered thinking of it..."

>>9044955
Not very good at all. It's poetry. Don't give each line such indiscrete action.

>>9045050
There are some lines that work but there are a lot that simply dont. The lines that work (for me):

>Cafe's still the same old, though
>Mistook today for weeks ago
>I still burn bright the same old glow.

The rest is garbage.

Please read mine, it's this post :
>>9044842

>>9044842
Too many I not enough why's

You

Stop screaming,
Stop screaming your name in my ears,
Stop repeating those lovely hopeful things you said in my head,
The things you said that obviously didn’t mean a single thing to you.

Just leave,
You’re 3092358992633 km away,
But you’re always hovering,
You’re dead to me but so alive in mind,
Or,
Or at least- in my heart.

I try to move on,
I meet this bloke,
This tall handsome smart but yet humble gentleman,
But the thing is,
He doesn’t scream,
He doesn’t hover,
He doesn’t love,
Or at least he doesn’t love like you do.

I love you,
But you left,
Now I’m just one of those you’ve loved,
But here I am,
Yielding to every single part of you,
Burning my soul,
Just to say this,
I still love you
I will,
Forever.

http://pastebin.com/cY8Y26uZ
Part of a fictional account of my experiences working for a government agency set in the mid 2050s.

>>9047003
I get the exaggeration for the number but at that distance the guy isn't even occupying the same planet as you anymore, cutting away some of the digits would make it flow better. Same with "but yet" - just use one of them here.

>>9047099
Whoops, paragraphs 12-17 don't belong where I pasted them. It goes 10-19 sequentially (the stuff in the middle is just notes), my bad.

>>9044767
Though the writing itself is not too bad I got the feeling that this whole passage will be unnecessary in the big picture and is just there because you think your character has to think or do something only because he is. Just think about it later and if you can't come across with the content in just two sentences. You won't need this bit then to show off your style because there will be more. But maybe this is just your style and art and I don't like it.

>>9043818
http://pastebin.com/9aJh5xDQ
Here's an edgelord story I wrote about a year back. Give me your thoughts, boys

>>9045895
Don't talk about the story. Talk about your experience of it.

Aspiring writers are emotional wrecks. The story is not an object, it's a Rorschach test. People see what they want to see. Your experience, however, is yours, not his.

The key entered the keyhole and soon the doors stood wide open, revealing devouring darkness. It was late at night, but the man didn’t care about being subtle. No, he lost the urge such a long time ago he himself couldn’t recall the last time he actually cared.
He slumped against the corridor and – miraculously – avoided collapsing by perching on the drawer nearby. Take THIS waltz!
The darkness began to fade. The Man decided to take a confident step, and the next thing he heard was glass shatter under his foot. Thank God he never took shoes off after midnight.
Under his foot was a picture he knew too well. She and him – once happy – making silly faces to the camera. Back then, he didn’t mind her lazy eye and poisoning attitude. Now, things have changed. Like crazy.
He didn’t pick the remains of the frame, and shuffled gently towards the kitchen while playing with his slightly-gleaming ring. He still had trouble with walking, but he managed to reach the fridge without additional onslaughts. He felt her lingering, strong smell.
Not in the fridge. In the darkness.
”Ain’t it late?”
She was upset. The Man had such a knack for reading souls that he saw his own reflection in her. The same black, scruffy hair that covered half of his thin face, which once must have been handsome. It’s not that he didn’t care – he just couldn’t, not anymore.
“Still angry?”
She believed in pure love, words that are meant only for her and will never harm her. But how gravely was she mistaken. He shattered her heart more than once... and yet she still believed in them. Swell, he didn’t blame her – it was his fault that he didn’t care anymore. He felt so pompous and cliché he wanted to puke, but managed to hold it.
“Want to tell me about it?”
She didn’t answer. Suddenly, she appeared stoic, unreachable, silent. Something’s changed since the last time, and the Man felt it.
“What’s on your mind?”
For the first time, she was torn between love and loathe, but didn’t say anything.
“I missed you too, you know?”
Maybe he did care, after all? He felt her yielding and grabbed in a clumsy manner. “Just you and me,” he whispered, “till the end.”
It took her breath away for a moment, she felt good. His kisses were passionate, his breath – warm and steady. Like crazy.
The pleasure lasted till she felt life dripping from her like water from a broken tap. She started wondering. What if this is another of his tricks?
Honey, do you love me?
He didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t hear me?
Honey...?
“Shut up.”
She tackled forcefully and freed herself, leaving him gagging and gasping for air. He still held her with one hand, but she couldn’t free herself. She forgot - her life was in his very hand, it depended on him.
“Damn you,” he muttered through clutched teeth, and hurled her across the room. He closed his eyes, and the only thing he heard was the sound of shattered glass.
The End.

>>9047856
Shit, made a mistype - it's "Clenched teeth".

Gonna post some of my shit poetry cause it has nowhere else to go.

sin extrudes through the blinders
broken glass of the ancient
church

water drips in through
the secondary walls
and the moss pops
through the stone like
a virus

now where am I.

collision - the extrusion of the ego

They seem distracted

I am an expression
used as a definition
the right and the left

argumentation into infinitum

now where am I?

I am the extrusion
the fission - I am the extension of the massive retribution that does never come

I am being rent by left - no, the right

wait

A second thought intrudes somewhat rudely upon my perfectly crafted satori and presents itself as "right leg itches" - a sensation like a spider peddling madly on my naked skin. The image of the spider thus transferred from this sensation expanded on the pure feeling of the itch, inflating it with import until it explodes through the apertures of my eyes, flinging the lids open and causing that light which had until then rested upon them to tumble inward and inform thus to my mind that there was no thing upon my leg - my satori thus ruined by mere itching I hurled "Zen or Bust - Enlightenment in 30 Days" through the window in an ecstasy of anger blended with regret and thoughts on who to call for window-repair.

>>9043818
i ask these questions
i get these answers
if i get this answer i ask this question

my question
my answer
my question
their answer
their question
my answer

i ask myself
i answer myself
i ask them
they answer me

they ask me
i ask myself
i answer myself
i answer them

what questions do i ask
what answers do i give

what question do they think is being asked
do they listen to my question

this happens
i ask myself this question
i get this answer
i give this answer

wrong questions?
wrong answers?

i think i'm nearing the end

>>9048001
This reads like song lyrics and in text that's a problem, because there is no voice to bring life to the repetitions. Moreover, it lacks anything that might make it poetic, like an image or wordplay, or even rhythm. So far it is monotonous and tedious as the small variations between lines are not striking enough to be in any way meaningful.

I don't say this to be cruel, but to make you reflect on how a reader might react.

>>9048050
it's supposed to be monotonous and tedious tho

i've just realised that this does look like spoken word poetry when it's supposed to be one of the final pages in my philosophical masterpiece

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A question to the writers:

How do you write your story? Do you write with your eyes focused on the screen, and let the story flow from your fingers? Do you close your eyes, and let your thoughts lead the story? Do you conscieoutly (I have no idea how to write the damn word: I meant the active form of conscience) think about what is going to happen next?

>>9048129

It's hard to explain it logically like that. It's just something you do, a mix of planning and just following up each sentence with another (just like you might sometimes know a turn a melody is going to take before you hear it), that you slowly refine over time. The process is also very different from person to person. Basically it's a craft. If you want to be a writer, just start writing.

Every building, item and street was coloured black, head to toe; no sun or moonlight ever penetrated the decaying city.

>>9047970
I found this quite interesting, but I feel the word "thus" was overused.
For example,
>upon them to tumble inward and inform thus to my mind that there was no thing upon my leg - my satori thus ruined by mere itching
Could probably read like this:
>upon them to tumble inward and inform my mind that there was no thing upon my leg - my satori ruined by mere itching
Without losing much.

I might be oversensitive to "thus" though. I know a guy who overuses it in conversation (occasionally in the wrong context) and it bugs me.

Otherwise, I feel like it's a good start to something.

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>>9043854
It would be more interesting if in the scene where the father hands his son the knif he is "cutting his son loose", instead of cutting the knife loose.

"wandering among the hurried ground crew and pilots as they ran back and forth."
Isn't hurrying or scurrying more in place here?

As for your 1st action scene: It is not clear what they're traveling in, the type of surroundings they are traveling in.

I like your style, it swept me right up from my feet.

>>9044767
I feel you bro, I got the underlying message. Your writing misses some fluidity, and overstretches at times imo.

>>9044842
That is because, .... , because I heard [etc]

The rest is good. I think you mention his voice too often, but that is a matter of taste.

>>9047856
In general a good read, but at some point you switch from persona? (From him, to her) That's kinda confusing.

>Mine is the picture included.

>>9047003

Pretty painful... like cringe worthy. I don't read a lot of poetry so I'm not sure if this is acceptable but I mean come on what are you even saying here? That break ups are rough and we tend to spend too long thinking on what ifs? Tell me something else.

The exaggerated distance is dreadfully noticeable probably change that line altogether, quantifying distance never seems to work for anyone.

>>9047099

That first paragraph. I understand that you're introducing us to the tedium of Government life but the paragraph is just tedious, it doesn't tell me "I lived something terribly boring and guess what I learned", it says "I lived something terribly boring and it rubbed off on me".

>>9048934
>>9048944

I'll exchange these two posts for a critique of my own with just as much effort as I put in: http://pastebin.com/a7QAthX6

>>9047856
Overall, not bad, but I think there are a few places where you throw in some extra words that don’t contribute too much to the story. One thing that kind of confused me was the lack of quotations on the wife’s dialogue and the sort of perspective shift.

>It was late at night, but the man didn’t care
I don’t think “at night” is necessary.

>She and him – once happy – making silly faces to the camera.
I believe that grammatically this should be She and he.

>He felt her lingering, strong smell.
Again might be down to stylistic differences but I think “…her strong, lingering smell.” sounds more natural to me. Or maybe something else could be done with this line, like “He sensed her lingering stench.” Or something. Depends on what exactly you’re trying to say.

>He felt so pompous and cliché he wanted to puke, but managed to hold it.
I don’t think “but managed to hold it” is necessary here.

>Suddenly, she appeared stoic, unreachable, silent.
Maybe you could show us more about how she appeared this way. Was she standing with her arms crossed ready for a fight? Or sitting facing away, not even paying attention to him?

>He didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t hear me?
This feels a little weird. We seem to be following the husbands perspective but then it switches to the wife’s. I think it could work, but you might want to go over it and rewrite it. Maybe even just adding a “she thought” tag would work.

>She tackled forcefully and freed herself, leaving him gagging and gasping for air. He still held her with one hand, but she couldn’t free herself.
Maybe I’m just an idiot, but these two lines led to some confusion. First it says she freed herself, but then the next line says she couldn’t free herself. It made the action feel strange in my head. Try rewriting it, maybe like this:
She tackled forcefully, leaving him gagging and gasping for air, but he still held her with one hand. She couldn’t free herself.

This is so bad.

Literally one of the worst of these threads i've seen in a while.

>>9048982
Then post your shit and enlighten us nigga

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Here's a short story piece:

http://pastebin.com/tuUhbmpT

Also writing a fantasy novel, and somewhat struggling with pacing.
I am happy with the speed of action/adventure stuff, but there are a few chapters where more world building and general time-passing occurs. I struggle with trying to make it flow.

Anyway, here's an excerpt:

http://pastebin.com/S194KUtc

The story is about a girl abducted by Gnoll raiders and raised as one of their own - explores a bunch of themes to do with identity and purpose - Chose Gnolls as the monsters because I wanted a matriarchal group so that their world-view will inevitably clash with the physical limitations of the MC. I also wanted to push for a celebration of motherhood and actual femininity as opposed to the usual "Take guy, change gender - woohoo strong woman character" crap you get a lot of these days.

>>9048952
Thank you for your notes. Overally I'm pretty satisfied with what I wrote as I'm not a native and my English usage has been limited to Academic writing.
To answer your doubts concerning the wife - it's not his wofe, but a bottle of alcohol.

>>9049005
Pro tip: this anon >>9048982 will never post anything

because he knows if he did it'd be terrible

LOVE, *LOVE*

I thought wrong,
I thought I loved you,
I thought you were all I needed,
I though our memories together, were the little fuel left- for my burning soul,
But God,
I thought wrong,
It wasn’t you
Neither was it your ‘love’,
Nor those - bitter, sweet memories,
But,
Myself.

I was desperate, for love,
I am desperate -to be loved,
I envied the comfort I sensed when she sunk, into your heaving chest,
I yearned that peace I could never win,
That touch which could mend my shattered leftovers,
And mostly those lips which would sit long enough to carve mine.


Now that I’ve outgrew the tiny box your insincere love had locked me in,
I have learnt to love, love and not you.

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>>9049358
You really can't write like this, even poetry, unless it's a part of a theatrical/operatic script or an epic.

You sound needy and as if this was written in an attempt to convince yourself of something- but not me.

But with time, I have lost my grasp on the world.
The soil beneath my feet no longer gives me traction,
and my fingers feel wood and stone as through thick gloves.
Where once everlasting days of mirth soon turned to longing,
longing is long lost to me, as I float on aimlessly.
I want not change, and seek not what has been.
Instead, I find myself clutching in the dark, for the faded
memories of feelings. I seem to recall a feeling, of
following a winding woodland path, to emerge into a clearing
and with my whole being possess that moment.
The warmth of the sun, the rays filtering down through the canopy.
The wavering grass and the freedom of the wind in this secluded
solace. A crooked bridge of rotten plank curling away over
soggy mire, upon which white flowers bobbed carelessly.
There was a promise in that emotion.
The promise wasn't broken - Just forgotten.

When the evergreen is glowing
In the dying light of day
When the mellow breeze is blowing
Brine and salt from far away

Then we'll meet, in the dim
Share a mug with night and pine
And savour life's final whim
A wistful, thankful sign

We'll lift our mugs up to the skies
As sun goes down behind a ridge
And we might also down that path
But that'll be tomorrow's bridge

>>9049358
>>9049613

sounds like some poor syphilis ridden sucker coming to terms with the fact that the whore he idealized loved his pocketbook more than him

WOMEN

So, much pain,
So, much pain a woman has to go through,
We give, and give, and give,
But in return,
We bleed, and bleed, and bleed,
Both,
Internally and externally,
Both,
By strangers and loved ones.

We are asked, and asked, and asked,
Asked to give,
Asked to do,
Asked to stop.

Asked to give our dignity,
Ask to do tasks, more than our body can handle,
Asked to stop believing, we,
Have a future,
A future,
That involves euphoria, and tranquility,
But in reality,
It’s just, pain and hurt and abuse and, non-stop, unconsented sex,
Rape.

When,
Will, it end?
When?
When will we be permitted human rights?
When can our daughters, go out during the night, or even the day, without the fear of being robbed their home and dignity,
When can we women not be blamed for others invading parts of our body that we didn’t ask for, that fits manhood,
When will we stop being tools that prove masculinity,
When will we be granted wings to fly so high, without the fear of being ogled at all of us that shakes,
Again something we, never, did ask for,
When can we be human?
When can I be human?
When can I be my dad,
When can I be my brother,
When can I be my husband,
When can I be that stranger,
That male stranger there,
When can I be treated equally as men?

>>9049706
All I ask is that you fuck off, desu
b8/10

Abuse

I say I’m abused,
And someone glares at me like I’m deranged,
I say I’m abused,
And someone tries to look for my scars,
I say I’m abused,
But no one looks me right into my dolor eyes and suppresses the river that’s trying to break through.

They come and go,
But some are rather unique,
Some come -leave hurtful remarks and then go,
But they all have something in common,
They all come,
But, they never stay.

When someone searches for my scars,
With my clothes,
Or without,
With love,
Or without,
I just want those two prying eyes to search deeper,
Search in me,
Not just search places on me that you can fit.

My form of abuse is internal,
My form of abused does involve blood,
But of my spurting veins,
My form of abused does involve tears,
But of my crying heart,
My form of abuse does involve scars,
But of my damaged soul.

So now I tell you,
If there’s anything you’re looking for every night,
The quest you’re never tired of,
It’s not all over me,
It’s hidden deep within me.

>>9049706
>>9049734

go away rupi

IT'S GONE

Loving you was optional,
But falling for you wasn't,
Loving you was within the boundaries of my heart,
But falling for you was a matter of life, and death .


But now it's gone,
Everything,
All the love and care and obsession,
It's all gone,
I gave you my all,
But you parcelled it in a pretty box,
Played with it,
And threw it back at my face,
As if it was a temporary gift.


But now it's gone,
Everything,
All the love and care and obsession,
It's all gone,
But, the pain you inflicted upon my deep sincere vulnerable soul, isn't,
It still aches,
Such pain, that dictates both my bleeding heart, and my demented mind.


I guess,
It isn't all gone,
I guess my feelings just drifted to another route,
The hate route.

>>9049706
>>9049734
>>9049779

Is someone trying to get an AI to write awful poetry?

If so, good job on the bad poetry, but I'm afraid it's a fail on the Turing test.

>>9048899
Veil of sadness is a cliche and regardless you say that he is sad three times in the first 3 sentences (redundancy). Moist doesn't collect, moist is an adjective. The same sentence has a comma splice. The CAPS are edgy.

There's a lot more I could say. Needs a lot of work.

>>9049012
First person present tense is a meme.

Also, sentences 2 and 3 have no verb.

>>9049906
Thanks.
I know it's a meme - did it as a test i guess.
The whole short story is just an exercise in conveying mood.

Any thoughts on the fantasy excerpt?

File: IMG_20160623_175043.jpg (2MB, 4096x2304px) Image search: [Google]

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The average mortal woke mountaintop,
Transported before the last dried drewdrop
Vaporized off the the valley floor below,
Where his sight fell upon his friends' sorrows:
Death and desolation; disease - and does
Any of it flow and drain? No - because
By and by they sank beneath rising waves.

One after another, they were winkled out,
Your mortal on all sides saw the long rout
Safe on the mountain until even high
The waves overcame on the peak the sigh
The clouds breaking in the night sky
Dark piles of rock making here their valley
Where perhaps watchers transported now scry.

File: 1452201395515.jpg (235KB, 1536x864px) Image search: [Google]

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mfw every single one of these poems uses "I" "we" "our" or at the very least "you"

>>9050108
Just for you

>Harvest Moon

Peach and pumpkin skies settle
into boysenberry eve
laid top an earthen mantle-
rising ravenous moon's gleam
consuming such sweetly glow-
who's homely stove fades below.

Childish flames lick breathlessly
the empyreal delights,
clacking whispered recipes
about its kindler's guise-
unassertive, aimless descants
filling encrusted lowlands.

Perched, eyeing the savory stars,
just before a peripheral frame,
the faux dome of delight chars.
Copper-wire, concrete blades
conduct bites cut out from peace-
ful treats appetizing dreams and sleep.

>>9050156
>ps, yes I know it's bad

>>9049012
>http://pastebin.com/S194KUtc
I liked it. I feel like you did a great job with your portrayal of that sensory overload. It was surreal enough to make for interesting imagery, but not so surreal that was impossible to tell what was going on.

Out of curiosity, what's your MC's take on her situation? You say she was abducted by these Gnoll raiders, so I would imagine she wouldn't exactly be willing to partake in that hallucinogenic dance unless she trusted them to some extent. Asking because I'm bad at writing female characters and was interested in seeing how you characterize a strong female lead.

>>9050156
It's actually kind of weird. I don't have a huge number of complaints (although I think who's should be whose?). I originally didn't buy the imagery until finally I got the conceit. It's still kinda purple, and I think it's somewhat pointless? But I also admit the conceit finally loses me at "Copper-wire..." from there on I'm lost and don't know how to get back to understanding it.

>>9044256
karaczan na papierze

>>9050108

You hate poems with narrators or those that are written in first-person perspective?

>>9050224
I should be honest in saying this is a throwaway because I never gave it a real ending. The last fragment was hastily thrown together to piece something together to clear my mind of the piece for a while until I can tweak it in the future.
If you really did follow the underlying imagery, copper-wire is used as a conductor in almost all electrical technology. Copper-wire concrete knives are skyscrapers. The imagery here being that 'the man' out in the hills by the fire sees the buildings being fed. But not the people. The people are haven their 'dreams' eaten by the city.

http://pastebin.com/nB0JRexi
>>9043854
Avoid using 'then,' its the lazy way out. Wondering if this takes place in the first half or the second, there's a few concepts left unexplained that probably were explained earlier. The story has a decent flow. A few generic lines here and there, nothing too bad for the genre you're aiming for. A few characters act too much alike, try having them have more immediate characterizations, try having them arrange their sentences in a weird way, have them talk in a very simple manner. Easy ways to branch out from a vanilla person. Once you have this down while writing you'll be able to naturally have characters bounce off each other. Overall you're hitting your mark, looks like the rewrites are helping out, wouldn't want to read the first draft of this, though.

>>9044767
Shower existentialist thought is overplayed, try having your character have a breakdown in a different setting. Writing is good.

>>9044842
That's really nice, it's hard to be mean to the paragraph without more to it and how it gels with the other writing, on its own it is excellent but on its own its powerless.

>>9044955
>>9044960
Reads like song lyrics, and would probably be better in a song, on its own it's like reading Billy Corgan's poetry: Bland, pretentious, and awful.

>>9045050
Another anon gave you everything I would say about this. To add on, the last stanza ruins the rest of the poem for me. I know you were trying to go for a unique ending, but honestly, the poem itself is better without it. Or just deleting the last stanza and putting alone there instead.

>>9045287
RIP

>>9045366
Word selection is good, the flow is stiff, nothing rolls off the tongue. The meaning itself is a tad pretentious.

>>9045895
Be as honest as possible, courtesy breeds incompetence, and people without egos not only can take it but can tell when you're lying to them. That's why I force strangers to critique my work. I have a higher chance of avoiding false modesty.

>>9047003
Do better.

>>9047099
Use commas. A tad too formal, I suspect that it's all based around the character, and that is interesting but its a little overbearing. The narrative is very jerky, hyper focusing on some details then jerking over to a totally new paragraph, might be due to the prose being a rough draft, I don't know. Overall the writing is nice, but. Unfocused. I see the type of plot you're setting up, but I feel like there needs to be more with AC1 before moving to secret agent janitor.

>>9050254

I was >>9045366
I suppose I could lie and say the stilted lack of grace in the poem was intentional, but in reality it's probably just a result of forcing myself to stick to a structure that I made up beforehand and wanted to cram a poem into.

So, if I were to insist on maintaining the structure, is the piece a lost cause in your opinion?

>>9050276
I wouldn't say so, It has value, and stuffy poetry critics would appreciate it more for sticking to the structure -I'm more of a flow person when it comes to poetry- I wouldn't dwell on poem as you would have to sit and think for hours to think of better wording than what you already have.

>>9050297

Thank you for your input, I really appreciate it.

>>9050301
No problem man. Just keep working at your craft and looking for new ways to change up what you do. Nothing you write is terrible as long as it's another step forward.

>>9044767
I like it. Could definitely be in a solid book, maybe the shampoo part goes on a sentence too long but It's still fine

File: 1478056363634.jpg (555KB, 1600x1070px) Image search: [Google]

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The morning of a Thursday 'fore the primrose sun rose. I gleaned the clean, plastic sheen of the deep bluegreen lake. The wind left rolling ripples in it's wide, wandering wake. This lake; a gargantuan grocery bag with it's upside's turned down. Emptying its everything into the neverending nothing. The eucalypts leaned in the chilled freezing breeze and shook 'bout their leaves. Each branch a brush. Painting to exist in the wild and lush bush. The reeds near the trees rushed and shook. And the wary ducks watched me reading my book.

http://pastebin.com/QYBwasxK

When I publish it I'll be sure to acknowledge you

Here's a translation of a Portuguese sonnet I did a few weeks ago.

Sonnet
After Sá de Miranda

No friend to thought, Love wages in my breast
A war on reason. Love that has been here
For many days: he tells - he says it clear -
And does what he desires, without rest.

He has no time for reason, but has paved
His way with spite and strength. He starts and stops
With no sign of respect; sometimes he drops
To make you think you're safe, then all's unmade.

Somewhere beyond, good Reason keeps the time:
She seeks an opportunity in the gyre
Of weeks and days, until it's time to shine.

Then Love, displaced, begins to fill with ire,
And cannot trust himself, and plans the crime.
Oh, what to do when everything's on fire?


Do you think it's decent? Are there any mistakes? English is not my first language and I have something of a pretty hard time if I try to write in it.

>>9050618
I did the translation, not the sonnet. Pardon the ambiguity.

>>9050618
I enjoyed it but I always find it strange to read translated poetry because it often loses the original's form

Any tips on how third person limited is written? I am Confuse on how it works

>>9050254

Is the link at the top yours?

Tell me what you think >>9048950

>>9044767

I'm sorry but this is terrible and you should not listen to the comments giving you praise.

This is completely unoriginal and your writing is highschool tier, there's nothing unique about it at all it just reads like something written by a precocious sophmore.

There's a lot of fat, you're saying basically that you had a small bout of depression in the morning, the kind we all get. It does not need to be this long to say that.

>Without conscious control of my actions I picked up...

This is probably the best example of what I'm trying to say. There are hundreds of better ways to say this. This piece (I don't know if it's an excerpt from something bigger) is essentially just a moment, you're using sensory description and how it affects your mood. Sense and mood are two things that are instantaneous, the way you're showing them to us in the moment, you should be giving them to us like we're there, let me feel the mood like I do in real life, I should read only 3 or 4 words and feel it almost just as I'm making sense of the words.

If you find that most of your writing is like this then I suggest reading John Fante he will help you a lot.

>>9044955
I liked it. But it definitely needs some work.

Here are some lines i thought were awkward. Just read them again and see if you agree with me.

>I walked through the door with you, the air was cold,


I like the way you're just kinda bringing us into this memory of yours. But following that up with "the air was cold" is comparatively a dry, simple statement compared to the beginning of the line.

>And you still got it in your drawer even now.

I get the impression you were experimenting with word order here. Even if you weren't, it's still clunky and awkward to read, doesn't really flow off the tongue like the last line of a stanza should

>Oh, your sweet disposition

Ryan Adams fan?

>And I might be okay,
>But I'm not fine at all.

It's sort of irritating when a poem states on thing and then states something opposite the next line. It's over dramatic and frankly stupid.

>Wind in my hair, I was there, I remember it all too well

these are three different statements that could work together, but are awkward as hell to read the way you've worded them. There's little flow, and they're so different from the first two lines in the stanza in their basic structure that it disrupts the ending.


Seems like what you need to work on is the phonetic aspect of poetry. Don't be afraid to rip a line or stanza completely apart and then put it back together. Revising my own poetry has taught me a lot.

>>9046236
Calling something bad or garbage, and then offering vague advice on top of that doesn't actually help anything but your ego.

>>9044826
Like the vibe. You mix the intangible with sensory. I like it.

>>9045050
I agree with the other anons in saying the last stanza seems out of place, but you shouldn't necessarily delete it. If at the beginning or end of the other stanzas you add that "alone" or "although" in there somehow, I think the repeating rhythm throughout the poem will tie the whole thing together nicely.

One thing i liked was how the first three stanzas ran together to say something collectively, and then the fourth was detached from the rest while still building upon it.

>"Love you" for a "glad we met";
>Unseen tears for drops of sweat.

If saying you wrote this poem to be famous on tumblr was a serious statement, leave this. But if it was just an insecure ploy to fend off heavy criticism, I'd revise this. Make it less to the point, stick with the vagueness of the others lines.

>>9045366

All i really have to say about this is that I've always felt these type of poems are heavily detached from real life. They don't evoke anything except maybe an admiration for your craftsmanship, which is def above average.

But I'm a moron, so . . .

>>9047003

Yeah, this is pretty bad. Two things i could recommend is to stop treating your poetry like a letter to whoever made you self harm. Poems written in second person can work, but this one doesn't.

The other things is that all your lines seem very detached one another, nothing plays with the next, nothing runs together. Boring to read.

>>9047888

>I am an expression
>used as a definition

I don't know what fuck you're trying to say, but this made me laugh.

A pretty interesting poem. I'm not going to dive in and strip out whatever vague meaning may or may not be there, but I had fun reading it.

Almost reminds me Of EE Cummings the you jump around in pauses to make simple, vague statements. Nice to read.

>>9048001

This reads about as narcissistically as I'd imagine Kanye West's autobiography to be. You don't give anything for the reader to latch onto, relate to, imagine, or picture. How are they supposed to react to this?

>>9049358

I get the distinct impression you only started writing poetry because you were heartbroken. That shit sucks, we've all been through it. But I'd say half of all poetry, especially that written by young people, are about loving someone or losing them. And it's possible to write about that and pull it off, make it good and original. But this isn't.

Each line is very detached from the others. There's no over reaching arc that pulls everything together at the end with an ending that stays with you.

But i think the main thing is that you know what you're talking about, but the reader doesn't. Reading this, as an outsider, is like jumping into a movie that's at the climax. You give us no imagery, no plot, nothing we can imagine or picture or relate to with our own experiences.

>>9044767
Literally nothing happened or caught my interest in that entire thing. You have talent. But you don't constantly need to remind the reader how good you are.

>>9049616

Good fucking ending, lingers with the reader.

>and my fingers feel wood and stone as through thick gloves.

you made this concise and kept it from being awkward or vague. Good line

Maybe you get a little caught up in atmosphere of the poem, and lose your way semantically. You say "seek not what has been" yet you are:

>clutching in the dark, for the faded
>memories of feelings

Furthermore, I don't get what exactly you're trying to back, what was lost your trying find. The closest we get is:

>and with my whole being possess that moment.
>The warmth of the sun, the rays filtering down through the canopy.

which is def interesting to read, but doesn't really give us anything tangible to latch onto. This may be too vague to evoke anything.

Really liked it though.

>>9049631

This is pretty good. I don't usually fall for that classic, rhymed, and organized style of poetry, but you do it well.

>When the evergreen is glowing
>In the dying light of day

Right from the start you gave me an image, time, and setting without sacrificing any of the phonetic aspects of you poem. Impressive.

In the second stanza you go sort of abstract, yet it stays grounded. Maybe it's the use of future tense. You're writing in such a way that a lot of it kind of flows on for the reader to imagine. It's very nonconstrictive and memorable. Does a good job of putting the reader into the scene.

The last stanza is the worst, losing that kindred kind of energy the first two had. I think it's mostly the last line, which is out of place, speaking more prophetically than the rest of the poem.

>>9050039

Have you ever seen death, desolation, or disease? Probably nowhere else but Skyrim. They're just words with definitions to you and me. They don't represent or draw upon memories from anything we've experienced.

The language you use here is hard to picture and follow, doesn't evoke anything. But if you begin by using language to which we attach personal meaning (some smaller form of death or destruction that the average person has likely experienced) and then use that feeling to convey the ideas you want to convey, it'll register much better with the reader.

Gone, gone too far and alone
Walked until your weight brought you
To your knees; did you feel clearly
The cold creep beneath your skin
As you curled your knees and chest together
Burrowed on the grass and let it in?
Dream of home, dream of home
The stars shine no differently
Gone, gone too far and alone

And in the morning the children will find you
Huddled, bundled, frozen, and dead
Your face will be a smooth river stone
Your eyes will be a blue and white echo
As peacefully you sleep in the meadow.
Yet now you must shiver, and moan, and wait
Pilgrims with homes don’t roam this late
They wake early, and so early to bed
And in the morning you will long be dead.
What will she say when she learns?
And who will be the one to tell her?
Will she come to hate you for this
Or herself?

These questions should not unnerve you.
You have gone, gone too far and alone.
Yet you weep, weep and dream of home.

Glissading brusque youth; in autumn’s garland of bay,
Proudly prances and struts, with the lithest of hearts.
But in the fainting of stars, it withers away;
And with one last pirouette: – He gently departs.

My tears will not rain; they shall not fall on the pall,
For all has but vanished in one wasting breath.
I shall strew it with petals of spring’s finest fall –
Let the fragrance of flowers dance twain with thy death.

>>9050224
Idk if the other explanation gave any additional clarity. But you never replied so I felt I should maybe explain also that, if you don't live in rural areas, the night sky is very vivid when out in the country. But certain areas of the night sky in the country can appear to be whited out, missing it's hue and stars because of the light generated by a town or, especially, a city. So that idea, in conjunction with this >>905025, maybe helps picture what I'm describing at this point? Because if the imagery is laid out alright, you should be seeing a city on the hills along the horizon where the glow from its populous has whited out the sky right right above it. It's here that whole reflection being made should come together. But being that the end is a patch and everyone who's (which yes, it should be 'whose', btw, typo) read it so far thinks it pointless, I know that the patch isn't good enough. All the advice is really helping me figure out the best way to end it though.

If you do ever respond, I'm curious. You said you followed the conceit, I'm wondering what you took from it before what I had to explain? And if it's on par with what is really buried in there.

>>9051491
>>905025 should be >>9050251

He was running fast now, and dragging the blond haired girl by his side. He needed to get to the yacht as soon as possible so they could get away unharmed; make a run for a new life. He held freedom by the tip of his fingers; all he needed now was to get a little closer so he could grab freedoms' entire hand. In his other hand: the girl; in the girls hand: a bag full of money they wheedled off the Russian Mafia.

They ran over the gangway; the ship started departing right away. They had managed to get hold of 10 fucking million dollars, which meant they could live the beach life in Mexico for the rest of their lives.

He saw that the excitement made her horny, as she smiled seductively. They started kissing heavy; he slid his hands under her shirt, and grabbed her by her hips to push her closer to him. She started to unbutton his white shirt, and stroked her long soft fingers through his thick chest hair. He smoothly pulled of her shirt; swiftly unlocked her bra. He saw proud perky breasts jiggling invitingly; he felt his penis swell against the inside of his khaki shorts. She moved down and unzipped his pants; practically teared off his shorts.

Her soft red lips curiously explored the shaft of his cock. She licked the tip of his dick intensively: breathing out "Whuuuueeeeee" in excitement. She started moving back and forth faster, and faster. His dickhead was massaged by the inside of her cheeks; it gave him a strange tingeling sensation on the inside. "Whuuuueeeeee" she wheezed out eagerly, "Whueeeee, whueeeee, whueeeeeeeeee." "Whueeeeeeeeeeeee"; he felt sperm building up in his shaft; he couldn't hold himself back any longer. He grabbed the back of her head, and forcefully pushed his throbbing cock in her mouth. As he came-he opened his eyes.

Reality set in. Pure ecstasy on his face changed in a split second to shock. His large black pupils popped to half their seize; the broad smile contracted, and widened into an O-form. He saw his mom curiously staring at him with the hose of a red vacuum cleaner in her hand. It was too late, he couldn't hold himself back anymore: sperm shot through the room with the power of a thousand burning suns, because his dick had managed to escape out of his boxers. Disappointment dripped her face as she said: "Oh Anon, what has become of you?"

Anyone want to help me with a Dutch poem I wrote?


Spiegels bevriezen mijn illusie en
de opgegooide bal raakt nooit het plafond
in zijn eindeloze rit door tijd en ruimte,
hetgeen ik ‘een vloek’ en jij ‘zwaartekracht’ noemt.

Ik kan kermen en krijsen als een oud wijf
dat zojuist haar eega verloren is,
maar de realiteit verbuigen
is een zeldzaam talent.

Ik draag mijn broze lichaam als
een bloem die verschrompelt
zonder ooit gebloeid te hebben.
Er ligt geen fenikskuiken
tussen de verlepte blaadjes.

A wild berry
Unpicked on the summer vine
Is Autumn's raisin

>>9043818
I've been working under an alias for a little bit now and I've started another project.

Here's the first few sentences.. I gave myself the prompt "A sociopath pondering empathy"

"I probably spent too much time in the mirror this morning covering up a good twenty five years of cynicism with "Ivory no 2" and brown eyeliner. This was my first thought as I sat straight in a dingy bus seat. The sun had barely risen at what was ten 'til three in the morning. Looking around at the thin herd of cattle in priority seating I wondered which one would inevitably succumb to fate first."

It'll be up here (fromrugsby.tumblr.com) once its finished

>>9051394
I like how you use flowery and appealing language to describe what would normally be seen as the tragic. Perhaps consider making the tension even stronger, dropping some words with more explicit negative connotations in the middle of the flowers and the dancing, perhaps placing a very positive word next to a very negative word. Cheers!

the soft body wants to drink nectar
like a bee and make honey together.
the soft body wants to put sweet fruit
into its mouth and insert in its orifices
things only hard enough to rub pleasantly,
things that smell and taste sweet, salty
or gamy, to push itself into other softness,
to rub and be rubbed, to curl and coil

I cut off the lights and it appeared. Watching, all it does is watch. What does it want, take my soul to hell for all eternity, perhaps a profound message it wants to share, maybe it's something that died along time ago and needs me to bring it closure. I don't know, this is the longest I've gone without screaming. The first year it appeared I was scared, I look and see it and scream, scream until blacked out and it was morning then I wouldn't sleep for a month, man up, sleep with the lights on, man up, cut off the lights and scream and scream until I blacked out. It was only in that room, only when I was alone, only when the lights were off, next to that closet.

But today, is the day I will not scream, for life has gone really bad for me, see I am gambler and an addict, who's done some very bad things, now I owe both my dealers, maybe even god, so I figure, if it wants me, it can have me, I don't want me, at least I manned up, at least, it can't just stare at me anymore. It's watching, like it always does, with that face, those features, and that thing that it has, I was scared so much, but, I manned up, and screamed "what do you want?" (so much for not screaming), then suddenly, it changed, then it did a thing, then a pause, then it responded with "come closer, I'll show you" and I screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and blacked out. I woke up however, it was still dark and it was still there "Come here" it said, and with nothing else to go on, there I went.

The supple, sapling green, sucked
From ancient bone dirt depths,
Fed tears from heaven
Glazed, glisten
Incandescent sunlight,
Silver blades in moonlight
Wave, dance
To their own music:
Air inspired, awe inspiring.

Seeing you walk your way,
makes me wish for you to stay.
If I can love you from afar,
then you can sit here at the bar.

>>9051642
Nice reversal.

Perhaps the story blew its load abit to quickly, eh?

It's not finished, although I have some idea of where it'll go. But I'm worried (as always) that it's shit and I should give up on it. Thoughts?

The boatman drags on his cigarette; the glowing tip
lights up his skeletal face. His grin fades
as he gets closer, as my form becomes clear
through the darkness. “You again,” he rasps wryly.
“I did not look to see you so soon.”
I squint at him. “Do I know you?”
He makes a hacking, choking sound. After a moment
I realise it is laughter. A cloud of foul smoke
issues forth from his throat, forcing me back from the water’s edge.
“I should hope not; but I know you.
I know you back and forth, past and future.
Nothing of you is hidden from me, O poet.”
He smirks, as if “poet” is some deadly insult. And perhaps it is,
but I choose not to parse his subtleties
for fear of what lies within. I am silent.
“Where is your escort? I see no guide
to lead you through the winding treacheries, the sly pathways
that bring you at last to my River. Can it be that you come here unaccompanied?
I will not believe it is so. It is your fate
to arrive here escorted, and to leave alone.”
My scowl matches his. “I come here without companions,”
I begin, mimicking his mocking formality. “Long have I wandered
in dark places undreamt of
to find your River, and to find you,
O boatman. I knew not where I walked, nor how far.
But now I am here, and I must have passage
to the far shore.”
His spindly fingers pluck the cigarette from his mouth
as he reaches out with his other arm.
He exhales, clouds of smoke again swirling about his face,
then breathes in, a long rattling inhalation. Then he laughs
his strange harsh laugh. “You’ll not cross without payment,
my wandering wordsmith.” Silent, I place two heavy coins
in his outstretched palm. He flicks his cigarette into the water
and pulls his hand back; the coins vanish somewhere on his person.
“Very well, O poet. You’ve paid your passage,
and may come aboard.” I know he mocks me again.
I must ignore it. Instead, I step into the narrow boat
and he poles away from the bank, humming
in guttural tones
a haunting tune.
“What song is that?” I ask of him. He chuckles.
“It is the song Orpheus made, when first he lost his love.”
And when I make no reply:
“You who call yourself poet, know you not Orpheus?”
<Orpheus>. The name resounds clamorous, dissonant in my ears.
“Who is Orpheus?”

Not the most terribly original of subjects, I know. If you hate it, please tell me.

>>9043818
i can tell from this that you are a beginner. you have potential, but you still rely too much on cliche, cardboard cut-out description like, "he sighed" and "like never before".

you gotta either cut those descriptions or upgrade them to actually interesting unique descriptions that paint vivid original images. it's the only way the world of your story is gonna become more/truly memorable, and the only way you're gonna become a better writer.

note that this doesn't mean you have to describe the action or setting more at length. just replace hackneyed descriptions with good ones. the good ones can be as succinct, and actually will probably be better if you keep them nice crisp and and elegantly succinct.

>>9044767
ha. not bad. i kinda cringe at the self-pitying unpublished wanna be writer thing at the end. would perhaps make me wanna stop reading, but you have some good moments there. the description of the shampoo bottle is nice. the connections the narrator makes are not new, but they seem accurate and are interesting to read.

http://pastebin.com/nB0JRexi

Above is my story. Was pretty tired last night so I'm going to continue through the rest of the thread.

>>9048950
Could do without the first two sentences, start with the third then throw in the second after the third, leave out the first one altogether. The rest of the story has nice pacing.

'He's telling a story about the work week, about this useless cunt.' Cut that out. I think you did it because there hadn't been a narration in ab bit, but just let your characters talk, have little narrations to keep the dialogue moving. Jumping in like that takes away from the characters and put the narrator way too much to the front.

The very last paragraph has too many five dollar words and sentence arrangements, I feel the narrator should be using penny words, like a 3rd-grade reading level.

>>9047888
You're making a minimalist poem but putting too much structure to it. Remove even more or add more. You can't do both.

example

sin extrudes
blinders
broken glass
church

Even then it's not really that good. The poem itself is just pretentious, and feels like an attempt at EE cummings style, but without the originality and definitive meaning.

>>9047970
Can't really judge the paragraph without more substance, I can only say if you develop a good theme and expand this to either a short story of long-form prose it'll be good.

>>9048001
I understand what you're going for and the resolution is so poor that it's really wasted. There should be a better final stanza that brings forward the point you're going for.

>>9052394
Learn how to use commas.

>>9051642
Meme or not, stop using semicolons until you know how.

>>9052871
>http://pastebin.com/nB0JRexi
Your prose reads like stage directions.

>>9043818

Oh fat wife, who scarfs the beef.
Oh fat wife, thy scent of raunchy queef.
Where is my cat? What have you done with my cat?
'Meow!' whiskers cried, from belly of the beast.
Poor whiskers had become the main course of the feast.
Fat wife bellowed, 'I didn't do nuthin', Bill!'
But my rage began to spill.
From closet depths, I grabbed a hatchet.
Her chunky marshmellow arms, I began to ratchet.
'I'M GON' CALL THE COPS!' she honked like elephant.
Sharp hatchet to her neck, my only sentiment.
'SPIT UP THY PUSSY, FOUL DRAGON LIZARD BITCH OF SCALES!'
I hacked and hacked my axe through the sound of her wails.
Through geysers of red blood, I heard the cat.
Where dead wife lay in pile of hacked gore fat.
Mister whiskers survived.

batter up...
ready...

THWACK!

home run!

My wooden baseball bat swung through the air for half a second before making contact with my co-worker's head.
And let me tell you ladies and gentlemen, it is NOT like in the movies!

My co-worker held his head in pain, then turned his face towards me and shot me an angry, confused glare.
Wrong move.

...AND HE GOES FOR ANOTHER HIT! This doesn't seem like a baseball game folks. I don't know what it is, but it seems more like a batting cage!

teeth could be heard falling to the floor, along with a few splatters of blood. it was obvious that his skull was fractured in at least one place now, and not only were a lot of his teeth gone, but through all of the blood and saliva, above his split lip, you could see that some were just barely hanging on. His nose was obviously more than broken, and his eye sockets looked quite off. He couldn't even muster a scream. What came out of his demolished mouth besides blood and teeth, were a few quiet moans and whimpers. I wouldn't quite say he was crying, but his eyes were definitely tearing up.

I'm going to be late. Let's just finish this.

I jumped as high in the air as i could, raising the bat over my head. As i made my short decent through the air, I smashed the bat over the back of his head.

That was all it took for him to collapse to the ground. motionless. He didn't even have the energy to stay conscious anymore. That is, if he wasn't dead.

...AND IT LOOKS LIKE THE GAME'S OVER, BOYS AND GIRLS!

>>9051289
>>9050039 here. I actually wrote the poem precisely because I am experiencing death, desolation, and disease in my life right now. I feel like I could call out the specifics of how I have friends and family dying - in fact I now know that past 30, really most of life is just surviving as older loved ones begin to pass away - and how I have a good friend who is going to die soon from Duschenne's, and I could talk about how desolate I feel when I think of my grandmother, who lost first most everyone she knew, her son, and then finally her own mind to dementia for about a decade before she finally passed; trapped in the iron solitude of her own withering insanity. BUT, it feels to me like to call out those specifics is to draw away from the generic nature of the experience, which is why I put your everyman as my character, because I feel like actually, my experience must be somewhat close to the experience of anyone who is lucky (as I am) to not have anything terrible happening to him directly, but who must then survive to watch everyone he loves around him suffer. I don't know how to make my language specific when I'm trying to convey how universal I feel like my experience is for people like me.

>>9050238
I hate only how difficult it is to escape them these days. Look for this in pop music now vs folk music back then, as well - we have replaced characters with egos EVERYWHERE.

>>9051491
I'm sorry I left you hanging; I will explain what I was seeing as the conceit before you spoke to me about how you saw its meaning: up to "copper-wire" I was likening the sky of an evening sundown to the accoutrements of a rustic kitchen. To be fair to myself, I really don't see how I'm supposed to get "The imagery here being that 'the man' out in the hills by the fire sees the buildings being fed. But not the people. The people are haven their 'dreams' eaten by the city." That just really doesn't come across for me even reading it again subsequent to your explication.

>>9050156
This is pretty good. Probably the best in this thread IMO. I feel like too little is happening in the poem. Tension is introduced in the second stanza, but the build up is slow and almost imperceptible. The third stanza is the closest thing resembling a volta, or a shift in voice or imagery, but:

>the faux dome of delight chars.
is probably the weakest line.

>Childish flames lick breathlessly
>the empyreal delights
This isn't terrible but the word-choice is kind of boring. I would delete "the", and ideally say this without using "breathlessly". It is a long word, and saying it kind of saps you of breath as you speak, so I think that's what you were going for, but it's simply a boring word.

>conduct bites cut out from peace-
>ful treats appetizing dreams and sleep.
I like what you've done here, but "treats appetizing" is a tad awkward.

Something small and autistic I wrote on a whim. Nothing good I know but I'd like it critiqued so I could learn to write better.

"That expansive forests, a place of lost children and legends abundant. What can we say on the matter, they are only legends, mere superstitions instilled into us by our parents. Yet we now, with seed of our own, give heed and warning, “The forest is dangerous, not a place for you.”
Betty, oh sweet loving Betty. The only daughter to Grace the Pastors wife. She had no business in the forest; a small girl of six, loving and caring. Dared by young peers to test the warnings of their elders, and pushed in by her young pride, to take a courageous march among ancient and watchful tree lines.
Nothing of superstition was involved, nothing of other worldly or immaterial force to guide her. We found her, falling with a slope, and meeting the cold of water she could not escape.
Nobody enters the woods alone, not unless in parties for the simplest of resources. We know it is a simple woodland of trees, bushes, berries, and critters. None the less, Sons and daughters of Man cannot enter alone, whatever great sin our forefathers committed against it years past we do not know. The price is paid repeatedly, the wails of children forever etched to that expanse of woods, among it and us alike."

>>9053405
Idk what to say but thank you, great advice

>>9051144
thanks for fixing me

This is a memory from my childhood.

At the time, falling out of the sky was not the way I wanted to see myself go. I'd have to have been around six years old. The engine of the yellow mosquito plane ensured that the flight passed, if not in silence, rather in a condition of withheld vocalisations and a persistent Brownian mains hum. I was terrified, yet concurrently exhilarated. My mother's apparel felt rough beneath my fingers as I pressed myself into her side desperately with not a small amount of shame at my cowardice. There were spaces in the floor of the plane through which I could perceive the endless stretch of watery ground beneath us. From here, the sea was a swath of crushed, aquatic velvet. My eyes strained as I attempted to identify single waves. If I concentrated, I could just make out, through the spaces in the floor, and when the plane turned, through the windows, a slight undulation on the surface of the water -- or maybe I simply imagined it. It was hard to tell. The plane’s ceaseless droning eventually lulled me into a state of diminished attention. There was hardly a thing to take note of. Up here it was mostly the blue of the sky and the blue of the sea. Not a cloud was in sight. And the two motionless men who were the remaining occupants of the craft, excepting my mother and me and the pilots, did not make for stimulating scenery.

I updated a little thing I wrote two years ago and posted here — kinda funny someone even said they liked it back then.

http://pastebin.com/raw/CgHTAyDi — the original
http://pastebin.com/raw/18ZAWSLL — the update

>>9048825
thanks for the crit

>>9050229
to dobrze czy zle?

Tha an taigh san robh mi nam nighean bheag ann. San taigh sin, tha mi fhathast nam nighean bheag. Chan e mhàin gu bheil na cumaidhean ’s na còrnairean den taigh cho aithnichte dhomh. Tha am bolt agus am brat-ùrlar dìreach mar a chleachd cuideachd. Mo làmh-sgrìobhaidh leanabail air na ballachan a’ cuimhneachadh dhomh saoghail a bhithinn a’ cruthachadh leam fhèin nam sheòmar-caidil. Sa phreas air cùlaibh a’ bhoilear, tha dealbh a rinn an duine chuir a-steach am boiler air a’ bhalla dheth fhèin. Bhiodh e an sin gam choimhead a h-uile turas a dh’fhosglainn am preas gus mo dheise-sgoile fhaighinn. Bha an dealbh sin a’ cur seòrsa de dh’fheagal orm. An t-aodann anns a’ phreas. Nis, nuair a tha mi tilleadh, tha mi toilichte fhaicinn gu bheil e fhathast ann.

>>9053399
>I was likening the sky of an evening sundown to the accoutrements of a rustic kitchen.

It was supposed to come off as yes, the sky being a kitchen. But every line has dual (literal) imagery. So take the literal (I was hoping to establish the feeling of a real kitchen as well, one of a country style) where you can see the sunset through a bay window on where pies lay settling just before the night. I wanted to give a very homely, comforting feeling of a very simple autumn evening in the Midwest u.s. plains.
In the next stanza, I try to, like >>9053405 said, introduce a little tension. I specifically use 'childish flames' to pull you out of the sky and down to ground below it. Without stating leaving the home, I was trying to lead the reader 'out of the home', sitting by a freshly made fire overlooking rolling plains covered in drying crops. I wanted this to be seen as if by the 'kindler' of the fire, who ideally was supposed come across as a farmer. That word I chose in particular because it has an anarchistic meaning behind it, being the thought he is having here is anti-capitalist. So the 'clacking whispered recipes ' of the of the young fire is the snapping of wood coming across as very peaceful to this person by the fire viewing the sky, a kind of peaceful that makes everything feel right and okay by simply being. They're 'unassertive, aimless descants' when combined with the thought the kindler is having of the peaceful view, assuring his thoughts but meaning nothing to those who can't or don't want to hear.
So as they echo into the distant plains, the kindler here looks to a city along the horizon. At his distance, it would mostly appear as the 'faux dome of delight' and I chose chars because, as I explained, looking at the glow of the city at this time would white out the sky and stars around it, 'burning' or neutralizing the flavor. And as I know it's weak and I'm working to fix it up, the whole 'perched, eyeing the savory stars', 'copper-wire concrete blades', 'conduct bites cut from peace-ful treats appetizing dreams and sleep'- I was hoping to tighten everything up with that buildt tension of the second stanza because I wanted the reader to feel the tightening of the observers thoughts upon the city. I tried to be clear that the thoughts were that of disdain towards the city through words like 'perched, eyeing' (predatory/thieving description), 'faux dome of delight', chars. And then to inverse all this natural imagery throughout, this is where the 'copper-wire concrete blades conduct bites cut from peaceful treats appetizing dreams and sleep.' Here, the image supposing to be these giant blades of technology and concrete 'skyscrapers/the city' are 'taking away from the dreams' of those who inhabit it (taking the people's 'food', leaving the people to only be sustained by the city). But following the very obvious theme of food/gluttony, I was hoping that image would then come across as the city 'eating' the people.

>>9052871
Since you have a story, I will read it for you.

A law enforcement officer (LEO) or someone purporting to be such, covered in blood, orders a Lyft/Uber type ride, takes it, ends it, and that during it, the driver relates a tale about a crime that involves the driver's son. After the ride is over, the LEO makes a phone call to an unnamed woman.

You are deploying a form of layered negative capability to tell the story. The nature of the LEO's recent trauma is left opaque, as are the particulars of the actual crime which landed the son in prison.

From the big picture perspective - your narrative desire to keep the events oblique until the end, I presume for the purpose of creating the tension of mystery, shows a good authorial instinct, but you have landed long of the runway. It is not clear how Jonas is involved, or if he is involved at all, in the events Paul describes. It is also not clear what the son actually did. Paul seems to concede that he killed a LEO, but elsewhere we learn the girlfriend is dead too. Yet Paul's account either omits or elides any mention of either murder, skipping straight to the failed suicide attempt after the son lying unconscious. Also unclear is who killed the "one, two, three" dead cops the son awakes to find. Finally, the relevance of the concluding phone call hangs in the air, without apparent support, no wires, no connecting context.

I get that there is supposed to be some 'reveal' here, but you've buried it under a couple of especially thick paragraphs where the desire to create the sound of speech overwhelms the structural snapping together of the puzzle pieces I think you want for me to make this chapter work.

Para 52 is the crux of the structural versus style problem. "Made an awful cut, few actually, and boy fell back unto a table, cracked his head. That art pick and my boy's, well, kinda the art prick's girlfriend. Think that boy's name is Tony? Any way the girlfriend, she got dressed, go outside an' my son, he's knocked out."

I have no idea what is going on here. The names involved are "Nate," "Nathan," and "Tony." So in addition to my failure to parse the action, I also have no idea how many people are actually in the trailer. "Art prick" presumably matches one name. Who is the other? I presume "boy" is the son.

A high rate of typos makes a line reading too long for one post, but I can say your opener, while going for "torn and blood splattered" nearly overwhelms its own purpose with "down to the bottom hem, near black matted maroon in tight nit splatters before becoming a solid color to the bottom hem" - which tells an informed reader that this has not had one good edit because "bottom hem" both begins and ends the description.

As a last hint, compare:

A tall man stands on a corner. Cigarette smoke dancing through the chilled winds of November. His name is Jonas. Thin traces of sprinkling rain move through the air like thin daggers, making silent cold jabs into [his] prickling skin.

And though you can tell that the events which took him so long to expound upon can be condensed, you see that he has not the wit and charm when choosing heteronyms that he would have you believe, and that the narrative yarn he relies on has not been sewn into something but remains a tangled mess on the table, one of his own creation which will have to be binned as it is now all but completely unusable, not even for the unwaxed stringy roped dangling over the jetty from the moorings, all these broken promises.

>>9052522
Yes, I just finished rereading it and see a lot of points where I could have improved the story: Making a longer (more emotional) buildup. I also could have added some more juicy details at the shameful end.

>>9052933
You're right, I should have taken the time to google how to properly use a semicolon.

>>9049012
Anger (the only part I read):

I like it a lot how you describe how the guy gets murdered, including the details of the accident and the sounds etc.

You're not able to convey a (colourful) image at the start of the story where you describe the scene. It lacks some weird random details that stimulate my brain into forming its very own image of what he is looking at.

>>9050254
>Standing on a corner
>Using thin twice next sentence

Your story lacks fluidity and a hook in the beginning. Imo you're too descriptive. I like how you describe the motive behind the murder, it makes you feel empathic towards the son.

>>9051690
Ik houd niet van gedichten, maar ik ga je desondanks mijn 'commentaar' geven.

Wat is de boodschap van het gedicht? Die kan ik er niet uitvissen. Voor de rest gebruik je wel een stel grappige metaforen.

>>9052008
I like the dark aura. The sun doesn't rise at 02:50 am, kinda weird.

>>9052394
A rough read, your story is pretty incoherent. Learn how to use your punctuation (to prevent those huge run-on sentences). It also lacks description of the surroundings.

>>9053041
The story doesn't really hook me.

>>9053674
It is incoherant, lacks a beginning and an end. Your language is not really appealing to me, 2high-horsish4me.

This took my three days to write, not even joking

I concurrently exhilarately withheld vocalisationless strained as I attentify single watery ground beneath my mother side desperately with not make note of. Up here, through beneath of the yellow mostly exhilarated, if not the plane’s ceaseless strained it. It was a slight. And the flight undulating to tell. The plane’s ceaseless droning occupants of the spaces in the waves. If I could perceive to take for stimulating occupants of with not the sky and a persistentify single waves. If I could just make I'd have been around beneath of the blue of with note of the blue of crushed as I pressed me into have the sea was hardly a thing my cowardice. There spaces in the floor of the plane the watery ground six years old. The endless strained it. It was mostly exhilarately with not make not a swath my mother side desperated. My mother's apparel felt rough the windows, a slight undulationless droning scenery. At the yellow mostly exhilarated, I could just make out of shame and when the plane’s ceaseless men wanted. There was tely a swathe plane of craft, the space of there, fally and as I could just make not in the plane ensurfaces stretch I waterrified, I sing my fing occupants old. My excepting out, the engine the remains hardly eyes stretch I press stime, raterrified, yet coward the floor, a perceive beneathe surfaces in sight. It was I attempted, I coward the withheld persistention. The flight passed, I press stime, the spaces into sea was I at mains human. My mostly imagine ensured me in a smalling occupants of through been when which I could vocalisating my cowardly excepting evently lulled as hum. I'd have blue of did not a smalling my fing occupanted. The plane two mothe spaces in silencentrater -- or silencentually lulled me and to her in sight. And was I was terrified, years old. My eyes in through through the floor simply the sea way I condition of was in sight passed through the engine the blue of the pilots, dimining out of the yellow motions. The floor, and the way I conce, fall amoundulation of shame it wave the pilots, aquating my concentrains apparel felt rough who were was apparel felt roundulating out of the windows, and to a the spaces in simply imagined, I could perceive blue of crushed, if not mainingersistently imagined, years a smalling sceneathe engine time, rathe turned the engined as as men the was hardly imagine ensurface of the crushed as hardly eyes in arough benery. And attempted. Ther's apparel felt round to her's apparel. To die.

>>9055298
Thanks, I guess.

>>9055277
Dank voor je reactie! Het gaat over lelijk zijn/je lelijk voelen. Misschien ben ik iets te abstract geweest, hmm.

He finished patching up the wound and looked over his shoulder. She wanted to oppose him, and did so in the most miserable way he could think of. The Man found himself fiddling with the blood-stained shrapnel.
“Say something, for fucks sake!” he yelled at the top of his lungs and hurled the piece in her direction. She screamed, frightened. The lock she rattled didn’t want to break, the torture burned like hellfire.

File: 1427003077519.jpg (39KB, 502x550px) Image search: [Google]

39KB, 502x550px

>>9044256
>MUH AHTEISM LOL
Couldn't get past the first paragraph; fucking fedoralord.

>>9044767
I'm incredibly impressed with the first paragraph; I would read your book anon.

>>9050693
>don't listen to those giving you praise
Sounds like you're projecting jealousy.

>>9055298
Looks like you spent a half hour writing something, then spent the next hour going through each word and replacing it with the most obscure & convoluted synonym you could find.

>>9054686
I appreciate how much thought you put in, but you have to be more direct that because our semantic webs aren't similar enough. Writing has to be a little blunt to encourage desired interpretations.

>>9055412
>>9044392
honestly it meant to be ironic and dry-humourus... I wrote this part kinda atomatically, so that may be why you interpret it that way, i may change beginning quite a bit tho
Its still in progress, i write 500 w/day in average. There is no atheism later i swear
http://pastebin.com/zD1jFhVF

is this too gay?

Abandon it, throw it to the sea!
That old feeling cannot win on this Earth, let her be
Is he not expected to tire?
From the slaughter of the spirit, the dimming of man's fire?
Who can hear the broken one? Who can understand his lifeless light?
He heard no reason, in his drunken haste
He drank from the Sun’s bitter fruit, then heaved it one fleeting summer night.

I am after death in the no place
But because Death is on vacation
Everyone gets a day off
To go to some yes place
And mine is the ice cream factory
Where I lasted three days
As a teenager, boxing fudgsicles,
And there I am back on the line
That whispers like a long tongue
Dark prophecies about my co-workers
And just like before they come down
Faster and faster, and in my haste
I cut my finger on the edge of a carton
And pretty soon the foreman comes
Shouting down the line about
"Can it possibly be fudgsicles
With BLOOD on them,"
And he traces the trail to me
And starts bellowing like
A whole orchestra in a pit,
But this time, because
Death will be home soon,
I do not guiltily acquiesce
Like before, but instead
Unwrap a fudgsicle, and biting
Off a hunk down to the stick,
Say to him that he is beautiful,
That they are all beautiful,
And he should give them all
Vacations and raises in pay,
And just then, to everyone's
Astonishment, when it looked
As though he might really blow,
I just faded out, like in some films
Solid to vapor to wisp, to nothing,
But not before I scooped up an
Armful of bloody fudgsicles to take
Back with me, something frozen and
Sweet, and bearing the sticky mark
Of seriousness, my life so handily
Upon a stick.

A story(?) I add to when I have some free time. A lot of it is hand written in my notebook but this is what I have typed. Warning, kinda long.

http://pastebin.com/Z9A4NuiT

>>9050468
>'fore
>'bout
>upside's
>it's
>gargantuan
>heavy-handed alliteration and assonance

>>9051335
>To your knees; did you feel clearly
The cold creep beneath your skin
As you curled your knees and chest together
repetition of 'knees'. doesn't work.
>burrowed on the grass
doesn't even make sense
>the stars shine no differently
limp, seems rather pointless on its own
>huddled, bundled
mean exactly the same thing. this line is rather dead itself.

the rhythm is strange and it doesn't flow. your sporadic use of punctuation is confusing at best; it is not always used where it is necessary.

>>9051394
ugh.

>>9052339
>orifices
terrible word

>>9052538
indistinguishable from prose chopped up into lines. where is the rhythm? where is the musicality? desu, I only read a couple of lines so I can't comment on the subject matter.

>>9052961
I'm having deja vu with this one. dunno where I've seen something similar though.

>>9055865
>Sun’s bitter fruit
major deja vu m8 stop it, except it's not deja vu this time cos I know what it's from.

>>9055887
hm. quite surreal atmosphere.. I like it for no explicable reason.

>>9047888
- rupi kaur

>>9048001
- rupi kaur

File: DSCF5359.png (743KB, 960x540px) Image search: [Google]

743KB, 960x540px

intestines spit shit boiling bile,
worms and slugs falling chunks of vomit from colon
gnaw and chafe on peeling meat in
clotted shit blood-writhing terror,
maggots biting maw engorged on
coiling hatred, clouds of sickly rot that
cling to snot-clogged nostril hairs and moan
in beer-breath mirth
at a newborn child's pale head,
blood-soaked flesh and mother's vacant stare
while anguished wails and tantrums
fill the air and slowly fade.

>>9055923
>cos I know what it's from.
whats it from?

>>9055958
my poem.

>>9055966
are you accusing me of plagiarism you fucker

>>9055975
yes
https://warosu.org/lit/thread/S8452426#p8452467

>>9055939
>>9055953
Can you just tell me what you are aiming for here? This is a test. I want to know if you know what you are doing, because you are doing something, but I don't think you know what it is.

>>9055975
>>9055980
It's also on Veeky Forums, in a couple of different drafts.

>>9055980
Ive been found out!

>>9055987
Veeky forums? huh, I never posted there

>>9055988
!

>>9055983
well, I got myself angry one night, thinking about the line "restless sex and ugly dinner party guests" I came up with for a consequences-type poem (as in the game). Thinking about the resentment and failure embodied in it. Indignity, self-disgust, isolation. Abandonment and aging, and utter resentment. The feeling of being left alone in chaos to reassemble order and somehow succeed, whatever that means. Most of all, the feeling of being a biological being whose basic functioning acts at odds to our ideals. The fear of premature decay.
Something like that. What do you think?

>>9056013
http://veekyforums.com/thread/8452426/literature/critique-thread.html

"RavySnake"
and
"GirlDog"

>biological being whose basic functioning acts at odds to our ideals

You've accidentally re-discovered Rabelais' premise for Pantagruel and Gargantua. Who famously shit all over the place.

>>9056035
ah so it's an archive. fair enough

>You've accidentally re-discovered Rabelais' premise for Pantagruel and Gargantua. Who famously shit all over the place.
huh, interesting. Have you read it?
>tfw rediscovering the 16th century

>>9056053
Yeah. And a chapter of my grad thesis was about Bahktin.

And so it went.
Here I sit at a dinner table of zoo creatures masquerading figures of an elite society. My eyes catch upon a quite cumbersome woman of titanic proportions, befallen in a starry gaze. The crusty folds of her beef flaps give the old sexual fantasy brain compartment a proper jog, where I cannot look away from manifolds of creamy moistening goodness; mouth ajar like a salivated and starved horny hyena. The vernacular of her size has me bamboozled in perplexity, how on earth does one fit a honda civic into a high-rise apartment?

And so we dwell compassionately on these intrigues of science, trying to fill in the blanks of life where God had abandoned us. A rising question arises from my loins to the tip of my nose, hanging there like a mouse on a clockhandle. ''I wonder if she's a cunt.'' I say out loud to no one in particular to the room but certainly announce as if an unwanted pregnancy was just mentioned. And so all the zoo creatures turned to look at me in discontent, jimmies shriveled beyond a fathomable walnut's carcass.

"Oh please, dismiss your eyenuts from my bleak and atrocious complexion, foul vultures."

I griggle grumble, feathers in a riffle ruffle. These vultures had another thing coming if they wanted a piece of this beak. But so the vultures hissed, squawked, shit on themselves and compared their shit stains as merits of glory to each other in their vulture high society party.

"Look at my ripe shit. SQUARK! LOOK AT MY SHIT, LOOK AT HOW GLORIOUS MY SHIT IS ON MY SHITTY CRUSTED FEATHERS! SQUARK!"

This was all of what I was qualified in translating their moon rune spoon coon looney tune baboon language. Of what parcel of terrain do these inbred shit-stained scavenger birds spawn from? Such a place should be cremated in an eternal nuclear hellfire.

"Nay." I declare. "Nay!" I declare in loudening.

"If thou foul cunting shit-bird were truly enlightened, then one foul cunting shit-bird would not look yonder in the mirror. For thou would come to realize that vanity is sisyphean, and one cunting shit-bird's complexion would fade away like memories in the dust."

I believe this stunned them and sent them into a fury. Not only did I believe a single world coming out of my spooty breathing hole, but I had not the slightest ever-living fuck of what I was talking about. And so the vultures squarked and shit on themselves, engaging in a debate endearing pointless, something comparable to a game of charades.

I did not choose this life. This life chose me.

And so I looked at Jeremy on the couch whom nodded at me in understanding, and we dropped another tab of mescaline with one another.

>>9056073
I've not read any of his work. Seems interesting though. What else did you write about? Do you do anything related to your degree nowadays?

>>9056097
Bahktin was the Russian who rehabilitated Rabelais, and validated him in the process. He found in Rabelais concepts (among others) he labeled "grotesque" which is very like it sounds, but deeper, and "carnivalesque" which relates to a societal flattening of status expressed in medieval carnival traditions like fair food, and games of chance and skill which peasants could win as likely as the aristocrats. Also displays of farm animals as contests for best specimen (who often shat up the display stands). Public execution and bawdy stage drama also figure prominently, so you get all the (literally) visceral components of "grotesquerie" and elevate them to a universal human tendency to crave a ritualized abandonment of societal norms and their equally ritualized replacement with an egalitarian celebration of body function.

I basically argued that it is possible to link the thematic differences in Slavic v. Western literature with the respective histories (and conflicts and heresies) of the Orthodox and Catholic churches. It was a setup for my Ph.D, which I never finished.

>>9056128
he also had much related to "carnivalous" approach to dead souls by gogol?

>>9056147
Yeah. He evaluates Gogol to have failed to create an epic, but instead wrote a Menippean satire.

>>9056128
Cool, I've learned something today. Now I want to read it. Which translation is best?

Now that sounds an interesting thesis, pretty complex though! Was the Church the most influential organisation for a long time? I guess it must have been the common denominator. Shame you never finished.. that's kind of what I'm afraid of. I'd be going for something in physics/biophysics/neural networks though. If I ever get to that stage.

>>9055392
Het ritme zit er wel goed in. Nu je zegt wat het thema is, stelt het mij in staat om de link leggen met je gebruikte metaforen. Misschien moet je er een intro bij doen waar je het thema duidelijk maakt.

Sometimes I wish
I would wake up in a nursery
They’d say: “You were under it”
They’d say: “It ain’t so”
But it ain’t so

There’s no bad dream
No coma
Only life
No waking up to it

The mist is clear
There is no distortion
The sweat is real
But it’s all in your head

You sit there alone
It might be dead sterile
You might feel a numb pain
But it ain’t no nursery
You’re all there and awake all along

english isn't your first language I guess?

I don't mind using a more elusive vocabulary, but it is pretty hard not to sound neddlesly pretentious when doing so. And lacking grammar or any comprehension of your utilized vocabulary isn't really helping your case

>>9056487
refers to
>>9055298

>>9052871

>http://pastebin.com/nB0JRexi

((basing this critique from my subjective experience here, not so much from a technical deconstruction or whatever))

As far as your narration style, I think I understand where you're trying to go with it. You're being candid with us. I sense that you're trying to sit with me and just tell me what happened. I like this style of narration and tend to lean towards it myself, I actually think a lot of amateur writers do. Unfortunately it's really easy to do badly and more often than not it just ends up feeling awkward.

Now I guess more to the actual content itself:

>Cigarette smoke dancing through the chilled winds of November. A tall man stands on a corner.

Dude I'm sorry but fucking yawn. The feeling I get when I read this is actually really difficult to describe, it's like I read this sentence and I think yup this is absolutely the sort of stuff that belongs in a critique thread on lit. As far as imagery goes it's definitely better than bad but anyone who sits down and puts a little thought into what they're saying could put this out, and just about every poster on this board does exactly that. I don't even want to read the rest after this, but I will because you're critiquing the shit out of everyone. So I go on right, I read on and:

>His name is Jonas. His face is solid but young. Hardened by experience his amber eyes stare into the sparsely built downtown of Easton. He wears a torn white T-shirt, gray with deep red stains, under a police jacket, the jacket itself is worn to the fibers black on gray with lettering across the back reading EPD - ROAD HAZARD SQUAD. His pants are dress khakis. On the left leg, starting at the waist and trailing down to the bottom hem, near black matted maroon in tight nit splatters before becoming a solid color to the bottom hem leading to his black leather shoes wearing no socks. In one hand a cigarette and the other a cell phone.

Aaannd you're going to give me a comprehensive description of your self-insert (I'm not trying to be a prick here, I know that it may not be, but the way it's written tells me that yes it is). Not necessary and it's never necessary, go and read any of your favourite authors and read how they introduce their characters, they never lay out a biography for the reader and what they matter really matters fuck all. If it's going to be there I think it should read as: A tall man stands on a corner, his name is Jonas. That's all that's necessary. Your description about the rain was apt enough that we'll come to just about the same conclusion you did when you imagined how he looked.

>half of his body twisted in a weird contortionist slant so that his head and half his torso is peaking over the top of the car while the rest of his body sort of leans on the seat.

This is what I was talking about. I can definitely appreciate your frankness but again a little less comprehensive: cont.

>>9055889
bumping this c:

>>9052871
>>9056566

This is what I was talking about. I can definitely appreciate your frankness but again a little less comprehensive: The driver door pops open and a man hoists himself up, so that he's peaking over the top of the car while the rest of him sort of leans on the seat.

My own could be better as well but I guess I'm not sure how dedicated you are to the conversational style, it might be that you're intentionally trying to be excessive, I know that some people like their narrators to be just as much characters as anyone else. But if you're going to be in-concise it still has to do be done right, meaning, you need to be concisely in-concise, if you're going to give us a lot of words *make them all count*.

>“Oh, taking fares, wasting away the day. Been doing this part time, got some, heavy debts.” He chuckled to himself, “Obama, you know?” he chuckled again. Hearing nothing from Jonas he started down the road. He waited in awkward silence, as if waiting for Jonas to jump on any of the obvious cues he provided. “So who’d you kill?”

See here what I'm reading is formula, again it's the formula of the young writer. Not every bit of dialogue needs an action paired with it and if it does it's fine to say "he said, Jonas said etc." Seriously, if you've ever read Absalom, Absalom, you know how everyone carries on about it and it's such a masterpiece or whatever. Go and read the end section when they the boy and the old lady go to visit the mansion and read how many times Faulkner says "he said, she said, he said". I guess you're not doing it too much anyway but I sense that it's sort of ingrained in your style, not everyone has to chuckle, sneer, reply, bark if you know what I mean.

And as well we don't need to be walked through the conversation. I think you said it yourself up here to some anon >>9052871

>Cut that out. I think you did it because there hadn't been a narration in ab bit, but just let your characters talk.

Well you could take that lesson, right now you're giving us a shot of their reaction to each bit of dialogue, here I'll pull them all out of you:

>Jonas’ eyes moved from the phone to the driver.
>His eyes darted to Jonas for a brief second.
>Jonas scoffed
>Paul shook his head, leaning back
>Paul said his eyes darting to Jonas' head again
>Jonas nodded turning to look out the window.
>Jonas paused
>The driver nodded
>A hint of agony mixed with frustration leaks from his voice. Jonas flicks his eyes from the window to Paul, hands white on the steering wheel.

I think some other anon told you that your writing reads like stage directions and it really does. As a side note you might even find it more enjoyable or conducive to do some screenwriting instead, or comic writing, I think they use screenplays or a similar style of writing.

And for the rest of the story the same applies. I'm sorry to say that I'm not going to talk about the actual story or the plot because man I'm just not interested.

Do you guys know where I could get my erotic fiction edited?

>>9052871
>>9056566
>>9056629

I'm not interested because everything about your presentation tells me that you don't know shit. We're all amateurs here obviously so don't take shame in being one but I guess I'll just say keep writing and always be conscientious when you're reading, really notice how you're reading an individual with their own style, and really whether it's good or bad isn't such a factor when you get your own style, because then who gives a fuck you just say "well it's not for you".

Your main issue is that right now, your style and your voice is no different to every poster here, and probably over on some reddit critique thread as well. There's a universal formula that everyone uses when they're starting out for some reason I can't even pinpoint it but you're heavy in it at the moment.

I'm not even trying to be a meme here it's going to sound so cringey but try reading Ulysses. Not for any other reason than it has completely it's own style, it does it's own thing and does not give a fuck and plenty of people say it's bad and plenty love it to death but no one will talk about it being predictable. Read things like that that are different and I promise you, you won't ever see things like "Cigarette smoke dancing through the chilled winds of November."

>>9056643

Pretty sure Literotica has a whole bunch of editors.

>>9056680

I posted on there once and got really good feedback. I didn't know they have editors, I will definitely take advantage of that.

The feedback is actually why I am writing again, it was actually kind of nice to get a positive response. I'm sure all their stories get a bunch of good feedback though lol.. It's like one big circle jerk.

http://pastebin.com/TGH2CHsx

Just a random vignette.

>>9056701

Read more short stories

A fragment:

…the lilacs, tremoring with the beauty of an age and the whisps of eternity eddying about them, whispered, almost imperceptibly, the secret of the voluptuous meanings of both her and his own grace. The question was not, did he love? But rather, did he love her? For all the affirmation she provided within her superficial adages and all that he reciprocated within his sonnetry, something skimmed across his heart when he thought of life without her. A life of freedom, pain (oh how he had missed the sweets of sacrifice), disappointment but also that of uncertainty. A life so boring as his had been was now sweetened by that thought. Would the years be enough? Of course not. For what his heart had called him to do, and his head willed him on, was an undeniable sin which only a baptism in an icy lake could forgive. He realised that he had hovered above her now for what must have been 20 minutes, with that call to reality he raised the pillow – he was strong, God Bless, he murmured as she awoke.

>>9056566
>>9056629
>>9056654
Thanks for the honest critique man. I know exactly why you suggested script writing, and that's because that's the main writing I do. Anytime I do try to write prose it ends up being either too generic or too directy.

I tend to get very strong visuals in my head, and I'm good at writing dialogue, but when it comes to conveying what I see it comes off as corny and inexperienced which is something I like getting criticism for because that's honestly what I'm worst at.

Again thank you very much for your criticism, and while I have read Ulysses, I think it's a prerequisite for being a writer, I've always felt that developing your own style and voice takes time and effort over years.

>>9054772
Yeah, the typos and poor grammar is due to it being a 1st draft. I should have read that through better. And thank you for the criticism even though much of what you said was said better by the above poster I still thank you for going after my style and prose rather than just generalizing. And I always love when someone goes after the structure of my craft.

>>9055923
>ugh
Please tell me where I can improve, kind sir.

Not sure if I pasted this yesterday

“I am handing you something. This object can stop your suffering, your pain, that fire inside of you, willing for you to allow its flames to engulf your existence. Take the object and place it to your head.” The man stared blankly into Marvo’s eyes, a soft breath left his lips as he placed the chamber of the gun to his head.
“Great. Now I am going to leave. Count to 30 and then pull the trigger and be relieved from this pain.” With that, Marvo turned and walked away into the dimly lit street, where many people lay on the pavement, freezing, fighting to stay awake. He shook his head, he hated that so many people were left outside in the freezing cold rain, left to fend for themselves. But that’s what he had done, he had taught himself how to get what he wanted from people.
“Spare any change sir?” Marvo looked down, his gaze met by a girl, about his age. Her eyes darkened with dirt and he could tell she had been crying. Without hesitation he reached into his pocket and pulling out a £50 note, he went to say something but hesitated. He wasn’t good at talking to people, in fact, the last friend he had committed suicide when he was young. You see. Marvo always had an interest in hypnosis, but he only had 1 friend to practice on. He used to practice for hours before trying it on his friend to make sure that he got it correct. But one day, he messed up. He was unable to completely take his friend out of the trace that he was placed under. Marvo panicked, trying everything he could to snap him out, but he was inexperienced and broke the first rule of hypnosis. ‘NEVER pour water on someone in a trance’. He knew what the rule was, he’d studied it, learning all the rules and possible problems, but he didn’t think. After a few days there wasn’t much of a difference, or so he thought, his friend was slowly being driven to madness, the trance he’d been put under which he couldn’t escape, all the previous testing Marvo had done, slowly added up, eating him from the inside. Using water to break someone out of a trace is extremely risky, the person becomes in a limbo like state where they are in a trance but also not in a trance simultaneously. Only some of the top hypnotists in the world can release someone from this state. While someone is in this state, they are subjected to a constant nightmare. All of their deepest fears are haunting them. Marvo’s friend? He saw Marvo. A week after the incident Marvo was informed that his friend had been found hanging from his window, eyes clawed out from his own skull. From that day, Marvo had never been able get close with anyone, fearing that his way of life will drive them to insanity as well.

>>9055953
>>9055983
I thought it was about the pork/beef industry

>>9056202
The Ph.D, or DPhil in Bongland, it's the process, not the work, that weeds people out. I am certain that the line of descent from Shakespeare to Wordsworth, to Tennyson, to Will Self; versus the lineage from Old Church Slavonic to Nevsky, Lomonosov, Pushkin, Dusty, Tolstoy, Gogol, Bunin, Pasternak, Tolstaya - their world views were determined by the dominance of the two very different universes asserted by the two churches.

At the master's level, the requirement is merely to demonstrate enough of the idea to justify filling it out with what amounts to a first draft of your first book - the Ph.D thesis. Like most, I was able to do that in a cakewalk. 100 pages that hit the spotlights, Hamlet is a Catholic murder mystery; Master and Margherita is an Orthodox morality tale and schismatic justification (Jesus was a cutout in a Roman espionage operation), etc.

But the Ph.D process is like French Foreign Legion bootcamp. The ammo is live. If you don't blow everyone's socks off in nine months, you're just another breather at the back of the unemployment line.

I have not seen anyone add significant value to Hélène Iswolsky's 1968 original translation.

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>>9043818
I don't so much have a text I want critiqued as much as an idea (not sure if I should have made a separate thread for this but whatever).

I have this idea for a sort of "Book of Elders" where I would travel my homeland taking interviews from anonymous elderly people (mostly major community leaders like priests, chiefs and community council leaders). I would ask them for pieces of advice, anecdotes, sayings, fables and other such things, partly guiding them for quality, consistency and variety purposes. Then I would order them and compile them into a book.

My problem is that I am afraid it wont strike the right tone i want. I kind of want a "wisdom of the old sages" vibe but I feel like it will very quickly turn into a shitty "Oprah's Book Club, my grandpa taught me to love myself, live laugh love" feel good bullshit. I want something like the Dhamapda meets those WPA interview narratives, not something that will wind up in a WASPy book club.

Is this even a good idea? How do you think I could avoid outcome number two if it is even possible? Advice on how to guide things in the right direction?

>>9060537

Ask them about their biggest mistakes, and what they learned from them.

You could incidentally ask them what their biggest flaw is, and how they've learned to overcome it. You could also ask them if they have identified similar flaws from either of their parents (like I have from mine.)

>>9060537
Google "Studs Terkle."

Start with the wikipedia. Ask yourself how you can advance the form.

>>9060579
>>9060597
Thank you, this is good advice. I'm hoping to to achieve a "timeless" feel so that it doesn't go obsolete when the social climate changes.

Dear Eveline,

A wise man once said the only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them. If you want to know what you are capable of, you must first do something you know you can't.

There are a thousand paths before you, but only one will lead you home. If you wish to return there, you must be prepared to traverse all of them.

You are being tested, and the first question is “What could be?”

– R.

A passage followed the note, and as Eve settled into the motion of the train she began to read and take it in.

Dragons are hungry creatures. This is a fact few scholars have ever disputed, as those who try often found themselves meals for the gluttonous star spirits. Some dragons however are hungrier than others, and as they grow fatter and fatter they become hungrier still. Should they fall to temptation and commit the ultimate act of voracity, from their remains will be born a darkness which consumes them and all else.

Basilisks are born when a ravenous dragon is pushed to its limit, and in an act that offends the very laws of nature they consume themselves whole. The resulting creature is a beast of abominable topography men and beasts were never meant to observe, taking upon itself a geometric nature so profoundly wrong that the universe itself seems to censor it. Because their greed compels them, they consume anything that comes near them, including light itself. Because of this they are invisible, and the worlds they are born into will never know what it is that ate them.

A basilisk born will consume its own world in short order, and from thence on they will float on for eons through the vacuum of space until they have finished digesting themselves and evaporate. The only known exceptions to this law are the basilisks born of dragonflies whom the Prussians call Kugelblitze. Because of their small size they soon digest themselves in a matter of years, and can eat no more then a nest of termites in the same span. One may be found in every park and forest in North America, though only one as soon enough they will all eventually consume each other.

Legend has it Manhattoes tribes of what is today Nieuw Amsterdam held these beings in particular awe. Before a shaman could be initiated into their role among the Indian peoples, their final test would be to descend into the woodlands with no food or water, and come back only when they had captured one inside a jar.

>>9058547
Not bad, but your dialogue is extremely stilted and artificial. Nobody talks like that, even in a historical context. Let it flow more naturally

>>9056464
>They’d say: “You were under it”

I have no idea what this is supposef to mean. I mean I guess from the context, but it seems such a weird thing to say, especially to a kid in a nursery

>>9060537
It honestly depends on the race of the people you're interviewing. Generally speaking nobody is going to give a shit if they're old white dudes since most people interact with them too much and think of them as senile old farts who say racist things at thanksgiving and can't use a computer, but if you're interviewing old asians, native americans, Australian aborigines or africans you've got a much better chance becuase white suburban moms and hippies think they're mystical

geeze, that came out way more racist than I intended, but it's just the way people perceive things

>>9060537
I like the idea. I think it's probably best to humanize them. We all view old people as weak, incouragable, lizard like beings that have accepted their deaths. We never really view them as people, I always like hearing about mistakes they made, people they hated, inappropriate behaviors. I think the less we view them as advice vending machines, the more more we can connect. I like your idea a lot anon.