>Post a piece of your own work >Critique each others work

Excerpt of a short story I'm working on. It's from the third draft.

http://pastebin.com/zS9AtuDy

>>9124572
>story starts with an A
0/10 do not post again

>>9124714
helpful

>>9124724
i know, rihgt?

>>9124738
so did you read the excerpt or naw

>>9124567
Here is a stream of consciousness excerpt from something I'm working on:
--------------
Taking a shower. Cleaning my asshole. Slight discomfort. I poke a finger in a bit, less than a centimeter, wipe it. Something is on my finger. Doesn’t seem like poo. Hold it close to my face. Sniff it. Smells nutty. Maybe part of a nut I ate. Never saw it in my poop before. Still has its nutty smell. Felt like i was picking my teeth and a piece of nut was stuck to it which I normally eat, and for a split second my brain thought about eating this one from my pooey finger. I probably shouldn’t. By the time i thought this I accidentally inhaled it. It was in my mouth, went right down my throat. I began puking. Loud. Everywhere. Onto the wall, running down into the tub, into the shower drain.

“Are you okay?” Wife asked not knowing what was going on. Best I rinse this off the walls before she sees or smells it, and if she does see it definitely do not tell her what happened.

I rinse my mouth with the shower water and throw up more, rinse again. She smelled the puke and came in.

“I threw up, sorry”.

File: italian-bird.jpg (38KB, 332x519px) Image search: [Google]

38KB, 332x519px

>>9124749
shitposting aside yeah i read it and it was good
im not much a critic, but it seems like a little bit too much was revealed about the thing before it had surfaced, it seems like it had surfaced, but that's just a preference.
thats all i have really
any plans to release the full thing anywhere?

>>9124832
I appreciate the feedback! I'm working on crafting proper build-up, so that makes sense.

Yeah, I'll probably post the full story at draft 4 or 5.

>>9124572
You had the audacity to post this horrid shit and expect me to read it. Use your shamelessness to succeed in life.

>>9124863
Thanks for telling me what's wrong with it. Productive.

>>9124572
your dialogue is awkward and forced, and your prose is seriously pretentious, especially in the first paragraph
also don't post your shit on fucking 4chan and then complain about getting shit advice. find an editor or something, dumbass
>>9124823
why is this so funny to me

>>9124823
Time to delete the thread buddy

Haven't written in a while

Eve continued to read on about the habits of the basilisk fly, and when that entry was completed she read several dozen more. By the time the train arrived at the Medial Park Station she had nearly forgotten her hunger, but as the wheels screeched to a halt and the doors slid open the emptiness of it reasserted itself in her minds eye.

It was only a matter of minutes before she found the sandwich stand she had in mind. It was a broad, squat brass gazebo laying out on the green, surrounded by a fog of meat vapors and smoke. Rye breads and sour doughs were lined up on a wire rack on the counter, and just behind them Eve could smell the aroma of half a dozen waffle irons in use. Brisket and bacon smoked over racks in the back, and goudas and mustards lined the wall to the side. Eve had to swallow before speaking to avoid drooling on herself and hurriedly ordered a sandwich of ham, gouda and bacon between two fresh waffles. It was only as she reached for her coin purse that she realized what was missing

Of course I have no money, she groaned to herself, I ran out in my pajamas. An idiot could have seen this coming. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “Ma'am,” the cashier nosed in, “I have other customers waiting. Will you be having that sandwich or not?”

>>9124572
I like it. It's not too pretentious and flows easily. maybe a bit too highschool comedy to my tastes but it's not full of shit, which I can't say for 90% of the shit in these threads

>>9125027
Damn someone's salty about something

>>9124823
I laughed hard

>>9125333
I'm hungry now lol. I like the characterization man

>>9125333

> the emptiness of it reasserted itself in her minds eye
this is bloated and awkward
otherwise this is fairly inoffensive. not especially eye-catching for me though


At first, Adam walked beside the immense angel, Michæl. As the light burned off him, Michæl said:

“The Lord, my God has suffered a terrible lose, Adam. While you frolic among the warm green and taste the sweet fruits of paradise, a Satan has rose up against Him. My brother shed his glory to claim the wooden chair of The Lord and was cast down viciously into the black tar of Death to burn and never reach again the soft light that made us. How could anyone be so brazen as to go against The Almighty.”

Hearing this, Adam looked down at the soft green Augustine that slowly grow beneath his feet and walked forward. His feet dragged through and he drudged up small words:

“What horror it must have been to see your kin raise up against The Lord, our God. For surely there must be some sort of ailment that would cause such a decision. Did your brother have demons?”

Michæl:

“I cannot know. The Lord has forbid me to see him in this moment of Hell, and I will not fail Him or the other Hosts. He has raised me up beyond measure. Feel my strength, does it not tremble the earth? Feel the heat of my wings, do they not rival the Great Seraph that pieces through the blue cloth of Eden?”

Adam nod. The ground had shook the looming trees and the fruit they bare fell onto the soft grass and color the canvas in bright warm colors and deep cool hues with the occasional broken fruit releasing the sweet scent of paradise into the soft air. Adam stared off into the meadow where the cattle had slept until the ground shook them awake. The Ox lowed a long and low note and slide higher in tone until the lowing shrieked. Michæl did not take notice of the noise as he stared into his own hands.

No other sound was uttered after the Ox spoke. Not even birdsong drifted in the air; their wingbeat already fading as the trill call cut across the sky. After some time, Adam nervously spoke, saying:

“I have never heard such a noise, do you think that God has spoken through the cattle? Do I have a demon? Did you not hear it? What a horrible call.”

Michæl:

“I heard the cattle, though nothing seems different of his call.”

>>9124572

You use the word "creature" way too much. You describe its head as mouthless, and then go on to describe its mouth in that same paragraph. A sustained sound capable of breaking windows would be rapidly fatal to nearby human beings.

You've got a number of inconsistencies and redundancies to work through, and your writing tends to ramble, but with heavy editing, it could be decent.

Here's my piece, some poetry because the thread is currently all prose:

In the whorl of ancient spires, in the core of Duragh Sin.
As a sparrow's beak on the mount of eternal day,
the Knife whispers on thought made flesh made thought made stone—
to pare what need not be from that which must cohere.
And Heaven's withered eye shall stare a thousand times
as it goes to one who must be, from one who has become,
In the whorl of ancient spires, in the core of Duragh Sin.

>not especially eye-catching for me though

yeah, that seems to be a running problem in spite of the fantasy setting. I really hope I won't have to re-write that begging a fifth time

You repeat phrasing a bit. but otherwise it's sold, the only real thing I need to point out is

>The Lord, my God has suffered a terrible lose, Adam
>my God has suffered a terrible lose
>a terrible lose
>lose

>>9125442
fuck, meant that for >>9125396

File: ImAnArtistNigga.jpg (47KB, 578x600px) Image search: [Google]

47KB, 578x600px

I am a true artist. My brush is the written word, and my canvas is the greentext. Get ready to go for a ride.

>be me
>17 yr old edge lord
>mom always trying to catch me smoking weed
>avoid detection with a bluff every time
>every once in awhile she will say " You smell like weed Anon"
>always respond with bullshit like "I don't do that stuff. Test me if you don't believe me"
>this strategy works for a solid half year
>get cocky with my bamboozling
>grow less and less cautious
>hot boxing friend’s shitty civic after practice (runnerfag)
>let’s call him Dan
>Dan just got a new bubbler and a quarter of Moby Dick
>OhShitDawgDatEuphoria.png
>Dan forgot to bring the eye drops
>Say fuck it because I believe strongly in my bluff strat
>Come home for dinner chromed af
>I try my usual "test me" bullshit
> she says “okay anon, I will”
>Wut.jpg
>Try to play it off and act indifferent
>say edge lord shit like “ ok whatever”
>She says she will get a test from Walgreen's tomorrow on the way home from work
>Sit down and eat mom’s shit chicken. I need to think of a plan.
>Call Dan later that night
>Dan’s been a smoking the Devil’s Lettuce for much longer than I have
>Dan will know what to do
>Dan will save me
>Dan says I just need clean piss
>only one problem
>I'm a beta edge lord fuck stick
>Dan is my only friend
>Dan blazes more than I do
>Dan has a solution
>His parents tried to test him a while back but he had a secret weapon
>He has a little sister
>let’s call her Laura
>Laura is a 15 yr old 7/10 sophomore
>piss more pristine than Mr. Clean’s sparkling, bleached butt hole after a Oxiclean enima
>Dan gives me her snapchat
> I’d lie about getting nudes, but I’m too beta to even make up a story about that
>Hit her up and tell her what's going on
>Laura agrees to help if I pay for her lunch tomorrow and give some extra cash.
>Laura = Piss Jesus
> feel relieved
> go blaze in the shower with my shitty little pipe
> go to bed right after
>tomorrow is the big day
>Cont.

>>9125444
thanks! typos are a bitch!
i'm trying to be a bit repetitive to echo Semitic mythologies, but i'm not sure how successful it is.

>>9125465
>Wake up and go to school
> day goes slow as fuck, but it’s finally lunch time
>everybody goes to Mcdonalds for Lunch
> me and Dan meet Laura at the Mcdonalds
> Give her extra an empty water bottle I brought to piss in
> She goes to ladies room and comes back with a full bottle in hand
> tuck warm urine receptacle into my backpack and step into line to get food
> me and Dan both get Big Mac meals and Laura gets the 10 pc chicken nuggets meal
>Total is $16.50 I just pay for everybody with a 20
>give Laura the change and she say’s we’re even
>eat, finish school, skip practice, and head home
>It’sShowtimeCuntWaggons.png
>stash Laura’s piss in bathroom cabinet.
>smug bitch mom gets home an hour later with multidrug piss test
>we'll see who gets the last laugh you cunt
>she hands me a cup and I head to the bathroom
> piss loudly into toilet
>quietly pour some of Laura’s piss into cup
>pour rest into toilet then hide bottle
> take cup to mom
>she puts the test stick into the piss
>5 min pass
> It’s negative for marijuana
>But it’s positive for cocaine
>WHAT THE FLIPPITY FLAM JIM JAM IS GOING ON
>Mom goes full ape mode takes my phone and says I am grounded for half a year
>searches my dresser and finds my weed
>I’m double fucked
>I'm in shock
>How could this happen?
>I, the Bamboozler was bamboozled by some 15 year old bitch
>can’t sleep
>stay up all night thinking of how i'm going to kick Laura’s ass tomorrow
>cont.

>next morning I’m in hulk mode
>it’s time for revenge
>barely even notice bitch mom
>can only think about revenge on Laura
>get to school early
>go to side door where she and her friends always hang out before class starts
>Walk up to the cunt and suckerpunch her in the kidney
>My fist bounces off of her scaley hide and she barely notices
>at that moment I realize...
>Laura is actually an eight story tall aquatic monster from the paleozoic era
>The god damn Loch Ness Monster gave me her cocaine piss
>I yelled “Why would you do this to me!“up to the towering beast
>Before that aquatic monstrosity could respond I remembered
>The Mcdonald’s cost $16.50 and I payed with a 20
>20 - 16.5 = 3.5
>The goddamn Loch Ness monster made me fail a drug test just so it could have some goddamn chicken nuggets and
about tree fiddy.

>>9125481
Bravo

>>9125481
>not drinking a 15 yr old 7/10 qt's fresh, warm piss
you need to have your head examined

Okay, I added some more. I've wanted to write this scene for months

“Oh,” she mumbled, loosening the top few buttons of her blouse in the way she had seen some of her father's working girls do. “I think I may have left my purse at home. I don't suppose a handsome gentleman like yourself would be inclined to help a lady in need?”

Several minutes later Eve found herself wandering on an empty stomach. “Okay,” she said out loud to herself, “that was a learning experience. I can think of at least 42 things I could improve on next time but the big one is probably to only try flirting with male cashiers.” Her stomach interjected with a loud growl and Eve hoped dearly that nobody else could here it. A glance at her fellow city-goers seemed reassuring as they all seemed much more interested in their sidewalk than in the hungry young lady with a habit of talking to herself. A cursory adjustment to her glasses reminded her why.

The snoreoscopes, she realized, even if they were trying to see me they wouldn't notice. Not unless I wanted them to. She could probably have robbed a bank in front of them and they wouldn't pay it any mind. As Eve's eyes drifted to the candy shop next to her, an experiment sprung to mind. “Maybe I should just try one small test?”

The bell tinkled as Eve walked in. The shopkeep, a gangly man in his late 60s with a pair of coke bottle glasses looked up from his newspaper just long enough to for her to notice how little they focused on her. The candy shop was a narrow single room taken up mostly by small wooden shelves with glass doors that were hinged on the bottom. Many were stuffed with hard candies, jellies, taffies and bubble gums. Chocolate beetles and pretzels were arranged in the glass counter like precious jewlery, along with truffles crusted with toasted almonds and cinnamon saccharites cut like huge, spicy rubies. After a several moments of perusing Eve settled on a glass jar of peppermint wheels. With a careful hand, her eyes darting back and forth between the jar and the shopkeep, she plucked a mint from the jar and popped it into her mouth.

She expected to be scolded, to be thrown out or arrested, but the man at the counter didn't even bother to look up. Eve nestled the peppermint between her molars and with a noisy crush she crushed it to sugary powder. This, it appeared, was of little interest to the proprietor.

Eve picked another and ate it in the same fashion. When the owner again failed to respond she opened another jar and stuffed her mouth with marshmallows until her jaw couldn't close properly. She tore open a chocolate bar from a basket by the door and munched on cocoa and nougat until she was licking the wrapper. Satisfied with her own immunity, Eve picked taste-tested the candies to find what she liked best, before ultimately setting on a glass jaw of butterscotches which she took with her into the park

>>9125647
>I don't suppose a handsome gentleman like yourself would be inclined to help a lady in need?
Died of cringe

>>9125662
That was intentional. She literally has no idea what the fuck she's doing

>>9125647
>cashiers
>working girls
When are we?
>snoreoscopes
what is this harry potter? thinks of a cooler name (unless you are British) but seriously it does have a tone of a childrens book(more adult version would be robbing a resultant or something) overall I would say its pretty good, general structure is better than I have seen in many published books (can't really tell from a small sample but I think you know what I mean)

I'm a terrible writer. What can I read to be able to tell stories better? Should I use a pen or type? What paper is best for writing? I want to tackle a short story then move up to a novella of 40k words once I improve.

>>9125711
>When are we?
1920's
>snoreoscopes
I'll admit it's not a good name, but I'm not great at naming non-unique magic objects.

maybe suspectacles?

>>9125733
When it comes to typing or writing, choose whichever you want to, it varies from person to person. I make a lot of spelling mistakes and tend to write out fast, so I type as to revise and edit things quickly, but some people I talk to say that writing works better for them to articulate their thoughts.

>>9125333
now this is not a criticism but I always tune out when I hear descriptions like this. Im a foreigner so I have no idea what sourdough or rye bread or at least if I do know I the image does not pop into my head instantly the same way it may for a native speaker. saying "go with simple stuff like nice aroma/taste looking/etc" would be unfair since simplified writing can have a bad effect on the story. so basically I have no solution for you but maybe you could consider it during writing.
>fog of meat vapors
How would that even look. Im picturing sewage grates in winter. small wafting aromas can sound taste, sizzle of meat is taste. fog of meat vapors is something you would use when you want to paint a market in a negative light, with dirt,fish stink, ugly people and fog of meat vapors. (all imho)
>Eve
unless the name was given for thematic reason by her dad than maybe change it or have her come up with a variant for herself during her journey of self discovery (maybe Evy or jessica) I know its not fair but adam and eve are one of those worn out names

Here is the first sonnet or metered poem that I've ever written, I wrote it for my girlfriend. Not in a homo way. She just likes poem. I'll write some critiques in the following post

A sonnet, so. My sonnet though, the glee
Writing, inspiring, the rhymes a chore
My spirit aching deep, desired free
I hope, for yours, I pray in search of more

But scourged, a plague has set be forth, demised
As dark as night, I brood, the rhymes ajar
My poem, it's lack, it's void, A sigh arised
Be fourth lay nil. A petty attempt, bizarre

A sonnet, love inspired. But missing much
It is Riana, that I miss, I loathe
I quiver deep. I melt before her touch
Returning soon, but left me lasting trothed

Perfection soon, my sonnet shall of course
My girl, Riana such The Driving force

>>9125733
>What can I read to be able to tell stories better?
The dictionary. yes really, most people speak in a common way that does not translate well to page. read other books, see what you did not like about them and what you would change in your own story. pay attention to wording and writing tricks so you don't start every sentence with "and then she"
>Should I use a pen or type?
type
>What paper is best for writing?
digital.
>I want to tackle a short story then move up to a novella of 40k words once I improve.
The 2 are different beasts.mastering one may become a hindrance once you try to move on. instead just write and see where you fall. Don't have X number of words as a goal and if you write a lot/too much reread the whole thing, chances are you may have gone on a tangent about a subject you are interested in but the reader would find akin to a tumor in the middle of the story

>>9125333
This is alright. A good base to build on

>>9125647
This isnt particularly great. A little dry but you've added a bit of complexity which hasn't quite came out all that great. Practice more and become well rounded

>>9125756
>How would that even look. Im picturing sewage grates in winter. small wafting aromas can sound taste, sizzle of meat is taste. fog of meat vapors is something you would use when you want to paint a market in a negative light, with dirt,fish stink, ugly people and fog of meat vapors. (all imho)
good advice. I'll take it

>unless the name was given for thematic reason by her dad than maybe change it or have her come up with a variant for herself during her journey of self discovery (maybe Evy or jessica) I know its not fair but adam and eve are one of those worn out names
Well, she was given a forbidden fruit by a reptile that gave her the ability to see the future

>>9125776
any specific criticisms?

>>9125733
Read short stories. Read bad ones, read good ones. Learn the difference and make sure you stories dont have the bad elements in them. 40 k words is a lot. It will take months. Being able to write decently isnt a kin to being able to write decently for 40k or having the discipline to. I finished one of such length not too long ago. But i had to attempt ones prior many times before and promptly abandon them because they werent great

>>9125759
What meter? Do you want me to read pronouns and determiners with a pitch you faggot?
Also, there's nothing more pretentious than ending a line with random period-enjambment

>>9125736
well snoreoscopes makes it sound like it puts people to sleep or looking into their dreams. you could be a total fag like most writers and go for latin obscurumscopes or something like that. you could also give it a name that does not proclaim its function, like you could just call it mildreds glass and maybe mildreds was a famous person who made the glass (mc just does not know) bonus of such naming is that you can add hidden functions later in the story. again if its a children's story than the name could get a pass if the character is young and made up the name herself while the real name is unknown

>>9125778
Honestly. It's hard to give you a critisism with such a short passage. But I will give you advice about seeking critisism and that its hard for me to give you something constructive and for you to build upon I can only remark on the prose which was adequate. You can certainly build on it. A touch dry but with a solid base. But hey, i cant tell if you are trying to be complex or minimal from such a small amount

>>9125791
Its a poor attempt at iambic. What a sonnet is written in. I know it needs polishing but I was hoping people could see through that and give me adivce. Which you havee. Thank you

>>9125778
>Well, she was given a forbidden fruit by a reptile that gave her the ability to see the future
would not that be bit on the nose? There is no wining with such names, some would go "well now I know where the plot is going" if you subvert all expectations than they will go "another fairytales gone dark story" only way would be to have a patient reader and avoid all connection to anything(which would be hard given how prolific the name is) I guarantee you that one of your first 1 star goodreads reveiws will have " her name is eve and she gets a forbidden fruit, obviously" and you will get 1 stars reviews because there is no book without 1 star reviews.
>reptile
consider a fox.

>>9125759

Is demised a word? Arised is definitely not a word.

The commas make everything choppy and clunky, which isn't what you want in a sonnet. A couple times can be good for unique effect but when it's constant the flow of the poem is harmed.

Here's something I wrote for funsies:
http://pastebin.com/YYsXSmdU

>>9125802
>But hey, i cant tell if you are trying to be complex or minimal from such a small amount

I'm trying to find a balance because my natural tendency is towards making scenes too short to the point that they seem bad, so I end up overcompensating

It seems a good portion of people agree my prose is a little dry and boring, which definitely needs work but I don't know what I need to do to make it more interesting

>>9125821
it's an aligator. it has to be an aligator

File: blood_of_reptile_by_culpeo_fox-d3c3612.jpg (250KB, 800x573px) Image search: [Google]

250KB, 800x573px

>>9125821
or a reptile fox

>>9125825
>it has to be an aligator
Why, is it egyptian god Sobek ?

>>9125823
Thank you. I think they are both words. But that is pretty minor and easily fixed

Yeah. I thought the flow would be an issue but didnt really think it would be too big, but now I see how it could be

>>9125825
I can be more specific later on if hou hang around. A touch busy at the moemnt

>>9125647

>to notice how little they focused on her.
Am I missing something? They? Also I find the dialogue too unnatural for my liking. No one speaks to themselves unless they're crazy or a weeb.


She is waiting by the park. A small girl, hopelessly naïve yet uncommonly pragmatic for her age, aware of the streets but clueless of her own bondage to the human condition. It is a warm night, curiously enough for March, and the bench near her is dewy with condensation. That’s probably where she’ll start with her next john, and speak of the devil, here he comes, short, round and hobbling. Oh great, she thinks, another pensioner, prowling for the glory of the old days, let’s get this over with, and quick. His hobbling is reminiscent of an old man, cane in hand, bucket hat on head, struggling on his own two feet as cruelly as nature can allow. His trenchcoat and low, floppy hat hide his appearance. He speaks. She is astounded, he sounds suave and well-adjusted, albeit a little croaky, but she forgives this to the night’s humidity, and reposes her doubts; he sounds like a gentleman.
“Hullo, dear,” he says to her, his voice creaking at the end of his sentence, betraying his demeanor, “quite the night.” She agrees, quite the night, but time is money.
“How long would you like?” she asks. The man’s posture and voice so far have been heard, but just like the prostitute he has remained in shadow, and she can’t quite make his face, the broad, tureen-shaped thing that it is.
“Only a moment,” he assures her, only a moment.”
“Would you like to sit on the bench first and discuss our itinerary?” she asks outwardly, coquettishly, inwardly she has added ‘under the light’.
“Yesss,” he says. She leads him to the bench under the lamplight.
She sits and waits for the waddling man to arrive before she turns and asks “How much’oo got?” But before the words have fully fled her lips she chokes, seeing the hungry face beneath the bouncing bucket hat, full of sexual appetite. Stretched, warped, grinning, but not happy. The man’s mouth is great and murmurous, like a goldfish blowing bubbles; wide his mouth is, stretching from ear to ear as though the upper half and lower portion of his head were connected only by hinge. His eyes are glabrous and reflective, large as baseballs; the prostitute can twice see her own red lipstick, trailing too far into the corners of her mouth, reflected in each elongated, globular window. The man appears a toad, from head to toe, but of an upright human posture. The brief startling settles in her stomach. Even better she thinks, flippant, better than a limp-dick pensioner. “We’ll forgo the hotel tonight, hey dear,” she says, “the bushes across us would be better. I charge extra for toads,” this will get slimy.
His tongue, pointed and pustule-ridden, slithers out of his mouth and dampens his right eyeball, removing an insect. He will be voracious.

>>9126027
oh, typo, thanks for catching that

He didn’t care at all. He just did whatever, and he made it look so good. That’s why I liked him. That’s why I danced with him, and that’s why I let him put a pill in my mouth.

*

I opened my eyes. Who were you? He slept, turned away. Where was I? The room was dark. I left the door open. Hallway through hallway, I looked for a way out. There were open doors, empty rooms. Flights of stairs, other floors.

Exit did not exist. I sat on a step. Lost in that house, that labyrinth, I found help inside my head. I was led out and away to the seaside, a blanket and wine, where we lay as the waves left the stars at our feet.

http://pastebin.com/wMFy01ud
I basically got so bored I tried to write my autobiography in German. It's awful but I did it and now I want some feedback.

>>9126027
I can dig it, you've got a decent grasp of composition and dialogue already.

>>9124823
Fucking incredible 10/10

>>9124823
This is horrible, read virgnia woolf. And at least use some form of flow

>>9124823
God I can't get over how shitty this story is.

digging in and wince at the slightest
the butt of some ongoing joke
an underlying jab beneath every sentence
i'm on trial but everything that comes out of my mouth sounds disingenuous
perpetually spaced
constantly occupied with what?
thinking about my thoughts

dissolve me

do something
do anything
but why?
i listen to the sound of the house creaking and the traffic outside
and gaze towards my peripheral
i don't know what to do
not in some large metaphorical sense but moment to moment life
nothing makes sense anymore

what is making my body write this?
am i in control of my actions
what happens if i just let go?

look vacantly to the right
twenty seconds
what is going through my mind this very moment?
should i be concerned that i don't know what i'm truly thinking
what am i blind to that lies deep within my subconscious
i don't know who i am

>>9124567

A short story by me:

A knight was preparing to rescue a princess from a dragon when he realised Don Quixote had already covered every potential this premise had for shitposting, so he hung himself in his chambers as his life had no potential for purpose.


Btw no one here can write for shit bruh

>>9124567
Do you guys think it's good to mold your voice to pander to the resident NEETs on the literature board of a Guatemalan flipbook forum for underachieving aspiring Unabombers?

I sauntered into the local convenient store at a rather convenient and often-shopped hour, so as to assure that a crowd would be available for the spectacle.

Upon arriving, I was pleased that my crowd-prediction was vindicated. Glancing over greasy snack chips and sweaty revolving bratwursts, I casually approached the cashier.

“Some weather we’re having eh? You see the game last night?” I ask quickly but still calmly, trying to fit in, failing somewhat.

“Um ya, they’re both good,” he responded in the aloof sarcastic way I would have in his position. This unsuspected similarity made my duty more difficult to follow through with, but my adrenal secretion reached its boiling point and there was no turning back.

“What!? You cracking wise with me kid?! Fuck you!” I yell in a state of acting fury - convincingly, I hoped.

Dumfounded, he gazes for a moment, not knowing what to say. I use this moment to make my move. I pull out a magnum from the crotch of my pants and announce, “This is a stick up. Your money, or your life. And any heroics from any of your onlookers and there’s gonna be some carnage.”

Mechanically, the clerk transfers money from the register into an empty potato chip bag. Grab, move, bag. Grab, move, bag. Repeat. The transfer was almost complete and still no one had jumped in. Grab, move, bag, empty. “That’s everything sir,” he whimpers, holding back tears.

I can’t leave. The mission must be completed. Ad libbing, “Umm, give me some cigarettes.” Still nothing. “And some of those lottery tickets.” Still nothing. I would have to hand feed these infants.

While still pointing my steel at the clerk, I turn my head to address the spectators, consciously leaving myself vulnerable. “Everyone, throw me your wallets. Now!” It's a good thing a had scanned Pulp Fiction the week prior. From behind I feel my piece being jerked from my hand. Perfect. Fantastic.

The clerk aimed towards my head. “Get on the floor until the cops get here.” Simultaneously, every one of the passive on-watchers actively surround me and repeat the clerk’s demands. I feel the air instantly release from my lungs as I’m hit in the back, tackled, I would later discover, in order to assure my staying put for the introduction with the local police department.

The cops finally arrived and as I was dragged to the caged back seat; I listened to the self-congratulatory remarks made by the still-present actors in my geniusly constructed drama. I had put intensity into bored lives. I became something worthy of talk and gossip. I created a room full of heroes. Mission complete.

>>9126618
Interesting but kind of basic, could be taken deeper with more detail and better pacing.


short story excerpt:
The Ashcroft museum's board of trustees had largely been appointed preceding Maynard senior's death and the clause in his will unobtusely naming his son as the new director of the board left a film of suspicion and rarely veiled hostility over the elderly members. They took turns naming their own favorite photographers or patrons with the curt implication that probably anyone who had handled a camera before would take the institution in a more favorable or atleast more interesting direction than the young Ashcroft. A lot of this was performance of course, they did it because in the abscence of Maynard senior they felt a new corner to stretch their limbs in, an extra hole or two punched in their already worn out ego restraining belts that gave them the go ahead to push a little further. Another reason behind their behaviour was the fact that Maynard Senior was a business man who came to love but only almost understand art. His fortune was built in the nuts and bolts and manufacturing of a camera, a vehicle or implement that just happened to be a revolutionary media for art. And when he realized this he took it upon himself to study the art of photography, form his own opinions on it and choose his favorite contemporary practitioners, who were subsequently contacted and asked to fill the aforementioned trustee seats. So in Maynard senior was an endlessly generous and benevolent patron of the arts, but not an artist. The trustees knew this and took advantage, which for Maynard senior, was sort of the point. They were supposed to fill the museum not only with agreed upon exhibits of importance but also with the collective aura of their critically acclaimed egos, assuring the public and most of all Maynard senior that this was indeed a serious and well researched institution...

>>9126750
Are you trying to be obnoxious with sentences this long?

>>9126757
nope hadn't realized they were too long

>>9126750

It's not badly written, but there's not enough to call it good. It's perhaps a little slow work on the pacing?


short story:


When Kyna had woken up, the family bed felt rather empty. Arm outstretched, seeking the bodies of her parents but sensing only the straw that made up the bed. Perhaps both of them must have had gone out and started the day without me. She wondered, as she lay on the straw bed for a moment longer. Autumn is nearing its end and they needed firewood and food for winter.

She started propping herself up using her hands. The lord's fields needed ploughing, the garden needed tending, the animals had to be let out, she needed to help her mother in her work when she and her father came back. Lacing on her leather boots along with the wooden pattens followed by her green gown with her sleeveless tunic and wimple.

On the hearth, a cauldron was simmering from what was left of the porridge her mother made from the night before; on the plank table she expected cheese from the lamb’s milk, instead it was small bread that had gone stale. Good Morning, hope it last thought the day. She thought. Before sitting down on one of the stools and started eating her first meal.

>>9126780
I like this. It gives a very consistent color and rhythm and the details are unobtrusive. Is there more of it?

>>9126750
Half way through, you seem to have discovered that honorifics, like "Senior" are capitalized because they are part of a person's name. Make that consistent.

Variety of sentence length is a tool in the box of style. Deployed for pacing, for emphasis, de-emphasis, or for reasons related to conveying the frame of mind or style of thought of the narrator, if any. It also is a tool for displaying authorial intent, which is the most subtle form of insinuation to the reader of that elusive feeling of confidence that fiction requires to keep us involved.

The simplest technique for making walls of exposition more accessible is to put windows of narrative in them. On the stage, they call it "physicalizing" the otherwise static information.

http://jerrywbrown.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/Barn-Burning-by-William-Faulkner-1.pdf

Take a look at how Faulkner does this in the first three grafs. We learn all about the legal case, but in the context of on-going activity.

Instead of being "built," the narrative world explains itself as it goes. The weight of evidence prefers techniques like these.

Also, I think you meant "thinly veiled" since "rarely" is a measure of frequency rather than degree; think about every instance of all forms of the verb "to be" and consider the active alternatives:

"His fortune was built" v. "He built his fortune"

It is not the dogmatic stricture against passive voice, it is the aggregate of this usage that bogs reader's down over habitual repetition. If an agent sees one typo per hundred words, they will automatically assume 10,000 words will contain 100 typos. It's the accumulation that matters.

I am getting the distinct feeling that my high recognizability, even without a trip, has made not replying to me a meme.

https://warosu.org/lit/thread/S9117096#p9119054

>>9126881
Thanks, that's actually really helpful criticism.

>>9126884
Yes, you're so important that the most likely reason nobody responds to you is that it's a meme all revolving around you, you very special person. It couldn't possibly be that you're an uninteresting hack now trying to manipulate people into giving you crit.

>>9126898
>unaware of the master plan, he falls for advancing it.

>>9126915
>thinks he's just pretending to be retarded

>>9124823
pfft haha

>>9126780
Sounds comfy. Too little to criticize. The prose isn't bad. (I like the fact that it's simple.)

It was just after dawn when I woke up, to the smell of the ocean. I have always associated the sea with freedom. So much so that I can actually smell the liberty along with the salt for some reason. A remnant of some childhood hogwash perhaps.

I opened the window of my small apartment, and felt the warm sea breeze playing on my face, creating an involuntary smile. Today was an especially beautiful day. The sun was bright, but merciful. It was playfully covered now and then by some lazy clouds, sailing on the sky like the ships I could see on the vast expanse of water before me. The ocean! "What is it about the ocean that is so magnificent? It's just a humongous collection of water.", I reflected. "Yet people flock to see it, to bathe in it."

Water as far as the eye could see. Maybe that was it. The seemingly infinite course of the ocean was probably what made it so splendid. A path of infinite possibilities, routes, experiences..

I usually wake up at this time, even though I'm not expected in the office for a couple of hours. I guess living at the edge of the city has its disadvantages after all. I think I'll have a quick visit to the beach before the office, it's be too late when I get back.

>>9126919
>>9126919
>thinks his shitposting has identified a run of the mill /lit/izen

Which contribution above is yours?

>>9126947
None of them. This place seems to attract a lot of people with weird delusions of grandeur. What brought you here?

>>9126936
kind of plain, well written but wondering what the arc of the story is.

I, who much like the world was first a siv and then an oven and now am something wholly unfamiliar, assert that at age 23 I did indeed become the man Alberto Giacometti, or maybe it was Lucian Freud, I can’t remember. but the paintings are there, proof, proof of concept, like the Borges story about Chaucer, it can be done with paintings too. Well of course it can, Elmyr De hory and all, is art real? no, but love might be. It’s a slow loss of vision that happens here, with these things, or a quick one depending on when and where you choose to dig in your heels. Borges went blind for a reason. it’s the space between the lines that disappears, or the detail that loses its freedom*. Guitar players are the same, i was Fahey for a spring before my own stomach caught wind of what i was doing and made my hands clumsier than when I was a child, so I would play six notes instead of three four or five and it was a racket rather than a symphony. There’s a line to be crossed is what I’m saying, but there is much more before that, and that is what this is about, that is, this is that much more before…starting….now.

I was a tense horse on a narrow plane
backed away from in the usual ways
encroached upon by floating black waves…

but wait, “halt” that was on the way out…first we have to get IN to the quarry, and before that was the priesthood and before that there was…the Valley!
Yes the valley, the genuine valley, where it began, come to think of it I don’t remember much from the valley. It was somewhere in Europe, before the split, the landmass was different I mean, not Pangea, nothing like Lemuria. A little known but widely felt area somehow behind the initial continent proper. A large stone had to be removed and then replaced, just slightly ajar in order to reveal the entrance. The land of milk and honey as they say. All half finished cobblestone and nondescript shrubbery in the foreground, these were almost the least important compared to the sloping sides, the truncated spurs beckoning the thumb and index in front of the eye, touching the vision or picking it apart by knobbish protrusion. Can you imagine? feel the word VALLEY hit you between the ribs or lower even?

The valley was infact always in peril of disappearing and eventually did mind you. An ancient poem from an ancient poet, perhaps from the first felt threat of its disappearance reads as follows:

There was a spirit lingering
over the genuine valley
that suggested it was not in fact the genuine valley
but a childhood memory passed down from the genuine valley
that only existed before the memory itself
In other words it had not existed except for in the moment
of the foots first falling away from it
So its a bur in the arch of the foot*

>>9124567

To the OP...

I made a Google doc of the first paragraph and left my comments and edits. If this is helpful, I can do the others. If it isn't open to your own review/revisions, tell me and I'll adjust the settings.

Best of luck to you. It was a fun exercise.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ezVSruHqfulKq5xzk1wKvcH0X8NaXI_7oVb5Z6Kw5cU/edit

Excerpts from a short story I wrote, translated to English:

The man was sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, next to the window. He could see the kitchen from his seat. He lit a cigarette. He was looking at the girl busy by the stove. She was short with shoulder-length blonde hair, wearing a T-shirt too big for her. She was holding a kitchen spoon in her hand.
"Baking?" asked the man
"Yeah"
"What's the time?" He was looking for his phone. He couldn't find it in the armchair. As he reached towards the floor he knocked over a wine bottle. The bottle fell on the carpet with a dull tap. He could only hope it was empty, he couldn't get himself to look down.
"About 9:30"
The cigarette was burning his hand by now. He slowly got up and walked to the small table standing in the middle of the room. He dropped the roach into the ashtray and walked backed to his chair.
"Almost done"
"Good."
His head was buzzing. He was strangled by the smoke and the clothes thrown on the floor smelling of wine, and especially by the smell of eggs. He could remember the whole night. This irritated him.
The girl stepped into the room barefooted, carrying a huge tray with two plates on it in her hands. She put it down near the edge of the cluttered table, gently pushing two glasses to the side.
"Bon appétite," she said, barely smiling. Her hair was dishevelled and her face was darker than the man remembered. She had no make up on and the T-shirt fell on her thighs as if she was wearing a sack. She was homely. This also irritated him.

- - - - - - - - - -

The washing machine has been on for minutes. The girl was still in the bathroom. The man was smoking a cigarette, sitting in the window. He was watching the street, the drowsily roaring cars, the slouched men. The street was surrounded by buildings once white, now dappled with black spots. There was a café on the opposite side of the road. A waitress was cleaning the chairs and placed new ones next to the nailed down tables. There were already some customers inside. There were colorful flowers above the café. An old lady was watering her plants. A floor above a tabby was lying on the sill. A plane passed over the buildings, grumbling quietly. The plane left dashed white lines on sky. A couple walked under the man's window, both around twenty years old, in elegant but dishevelled clothes. They walked slowly, with heavy steps, supporting each other. The woman wore her partner's coat over her shoulders. She slowly stroked his loose tie as they turned a corner and disappeared.

The man could hear the squeeking door of the bathroom in the quiet flat. He was curious what the girl was doing.
--Any advice welcome, I'd like to write more in English but I feel I'd have to le-learn pacing and stylistics in order to conform to the language--

>>9126027

I like it. Maybe it's just me, but when I read things like "Yesss" I can't help but consider the writer a bit childish for some reason. Consider describing the way he said it, maybe? Just my two cents, I know I'm nitpicky about this.

-Smokey Clouds-


Smokey clouds shroud a moon glowing bright
Orange burning roach held anxiously in sight
by hands to pass to hand soon pressed to lips-
The first time I smoked was a night such as this.

Though tonight I am alone.

Roaming open streets with foggy
thoughts filling my head like soggy
socks squishing in soaked shoes
hang by laces from a light post wire.

If only I could have known.

It used to be commit a crime, you'd get stoned.
Now I do it willingly when alone. My
thoughts like stones speckled, flat, and fine,
skipped on an emulsified and streaming mind.

I hear rambling water from

Here by the river, the fog is thicker than before.
I can't tell if the rocks reached the other shore,
or if they were sucked into the murky torrent-
Lost in the rushing water before them.

I think it's time I get on home
and not smoke so much on my own.
____________________

>>9124823
Even for shitposting this pasta isn't that good. And I remember the original version of this and at least that was written better.
1/10

>>9125333
You know what you're trying to describe, but it feels disjointed. I feel like you could really gain from a few extra descriptors that push her along her path instead of the few random descriptions of progression you have now.
The food seems tasty though.
6/10

>>9125401
This is great. I don't know a lot of the symbolism and imagery, but it's well written and even without knowing for certain, I still got the idea behind it. Still, for poetry, unless you're writing an epic you're better to stick to more general and vivid imagery to convey your idea. Especially in today's time.
9/10

>>9127267

I was >>9125401, thank you for the feedback.

That piece may end up becoming the introductory bit to a much longer poem, but I haven't yet found the motivation to write it.

I love coming to these threads to remind me how good I am at writing compared to all the pretentious idiots on /lit/

I can't take this anymore. My own mom told me my writing was shit and I only kept at it because /lit/ told me it was good. I tried to fix it and again she told me it was shit. but I managed to get over it because /lit/ told me it was good. Now even /lit/ is telling me my writing is shit. Why did I waste 6 fucking months on this worthless garbage if it was shit all along. I never should have tried writing in the first place. this was all just a huge fucking mistake

>>9127439
10/10. it's like you're writing my story.

>>9125647
>>9125333

What was the point of this? Why did I bother wasting hours of my precious weekend on creating foul excrement that's not worth the paper it takes to wipe it. This was a fucking mistake I hope I will never make again

>>9127193
Yeah I get that, I thought the same thing when I was writing it. I only put it in there that way because I didn't want to give away too much too quick, but I understand; I think that when I see speech like that too.

>>9125481
ten/10

wrote this today, end is kindof shitty:

mmmmmmmmmmmmm
speaking inhumanly......
feeling —
feeling myself,
the heat in my heart.
confused, he wipes his eyes;
(you're not as good as you thought you were)
And stood there, beholding it all before him, in purest form.
I ask myself, what is this memory?
What is this vision of my life, my sense,
shown upon my deathbed
snapped like a photo.
Are photos more real than life?
A single instant, unapprehendable by our mortal awareness?

_______________________
>>9127267
rhyme scheme is awesome, especially the 2nd stanza and the way the 1st sets it up. By the end it got kindof stiff/predictable though.
loved the imagery, your feeling in this moment is well and explicitly sketched
the diction could be more creative, but that's fine.
Overall quite good, i enjoyed it -- a scene of somewhat confusion and complacent chagrin that we've all felt, told in a mostly compelling rhyme scheme with vivid imagery. nice work, keep improving

http://pastebin.com/amcR7zwN

Here's something I wrote last night when I sleepy af at the cinema.

>>9127190

What language was it originally written in ?

Although it's either a translation note or a stylistic I'm sure but the

>He x
>He z
>He w

just feels like I'm reading a checklist and it stops the story's flow every other moment.

>She was homely. This also irritated him.

Show don't tell, literally the first thing anyone will tell you. Especially frustrating since you just described her as homely. Bitch looks like she's wearing a sack, there was no reason that bluntly hammer that in.

And in the second paragraph

>There were
>There were

This is the type of thing that'll make me instantly doubt your writing ability surely you can stitch this description better than that.

Any substance in this story has just been drowned out for me under all the basic mistakes and stunted flow. I'm hoping this is due to a bad translation.

Also

>roach

"You gotta be crazy on acid to think a joint looks like a goddamn cockroach."
Fear and loathing in Las Vegas already covered that one for me

>>9128275
Thanks, the first two stanzas were written stream of conscious in the very moment I was feeling it. But even with (technically) the thought completed in the first two stanzas, it felt like it needed more. But revisiting it, I was having a hard time picking back up the stream once I broke it. I like it now, but I'm still working on really holding the flow of piece as well as it began. It's my personal favorite of the pieces I'm working on right now. I'm glad you liked it, and everything you pointed out were exactly what I was worried about, so in a way that's good because I already have a good idea on how to touch this up.

I'm not sure if it's me, but, like you said you enjoyed the vivid imagery of mine, I just didn't get that with yours. It's a visceral thought certainly, but it's not something that captures me as it's presented. It's broken as if into lines for stanzas, but I didn't notice a scheme or rhythm or flow or such. You switch from *my* to *him* to *I* as it progresses, which is confusing. I know you're using dream logic here by subject matter and your descriptions, but I still can't quite orient my POV along with how you've given this to me. I don't know if I'm god, himself, his older self, the narrator, (or even which one I am per pronoun) and I'm not sure my place in time. It's all just a bit jumbled as presented.

>>9124567
Excerpt of an original piece. Don't feel the need to sugarcoat your criticism just be as upfront as possible i won't be offended:

ok. ok. wow. just... ok. so you opened this fucking book? congratulations it's the one thing you did today that probably wasn't a fucking embarrassment. why do you still fucking read books anyway? do yourself a favor and please open this 900 page magnum opus book to the middle page, place your nutsack in the center, and slam the book as hard as possible. even if you're in public just do it, in fact ESPECIALLY if you're in public. good. now you cannot have any children and pollute the planet with more faggot book readers like yourself. pause for a moment. look around the room. let that thought sink in. you are the last of your piece of shit lineage and you've just made the human race stronger for it. congratulations. now you are ready to read my story.

>>9128671
I know you, I know you. You're the only serious person in the room, aren't you, the only one who understands, and you can prove it by the fact that you've never finished a single thing in your life. You're the only well-educated person, because you never went to college, and you resent education, you resent social ease, you resent good manners, you resent success, you resent any kind of success, you resent God, you resent Christ, you resent thousand-dollar bills, you resent Christmas, by God, you resent happiness, you resent happiness itself, because none of that's real. What is real, then? Nothing's real to you that isn't part of your own past, real life, a swamp of failures, of social, sexual, financial, personal...spiritual failure. Real life. You poor bastard. You don't know what real life is, you've never been near it. All you have is a thousand intellectualized ideas about life. But life? Have you ever measured yourself against anything but your own lousy past? Have you ever faced anything outside yourself? Life! You poor bastard.

>>9126780
It's very short (that's obvious) but it paints a pretty pleasing atmosphere. Good descriptors. It also establishes the tone in a relatively quick manner. Kind of eerie initially? Course, we don't know much context due to length.

Here's an excerpt from my first attempt at historical fiction. I haven't written in a long while, and I need some external input desperately.
http://pastebin.com/zhtehCeB

>>9128671
I crie evry tym

>>9128683
Thank you for your feedback, I'll use this as data to improve my writing.

>>9128671
Can I just ask why you'd write something like this?

>>9128693
I just like to express myself through the art of literature which I know is unusual these days and I enjoy keeping this great art alive. I hope that answers your question and thanks for reading it.

>>9124572

Whoops. Responded to the wrong author.

To the guy who wrote about the parking lot at the beach - some edits for your first paragraph. Hope they're useful. If they are, I can do the rest.

Keep it up.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ezVSruHqfulKq5xzk1wKvcH0X8NaXI_7oVb5Z6Kw5cU/edit

>>9128544

Hungarian. In our language most sentences are fine without a subject (if allowed by context), so there aren't any "He"-s in the original. I refer to him as "man" some 15-20 times in 1.100 words, and only when I absolutely need to make the subject of a sentence clear.

>There were
>There were

>This is the type of thing that'll make me instantly doubt your writing ability surely you can stitch this description better than that.

Yeah I botched that. I just realized it wasn't even necessary. "A few customers were already inside." would've been better, altough I'm not happy with that either. The original goes as:
"Bent már vendégek is ültek. A kávézó fölött az ablakokban színes virágok voltak."
Even if you don't understand it, you can see there's no repetition.

Thank you anon, especially for this:

>Show don't tell, literally the first thing anyone will tell you. Especially frustrating since you just described her as homely. Bitch looks like she's wearing a sack, there was no reason that bluntly hammer that in.
I think I should try and rewrite the whole story in English instead of translating. I wonder if I can do better without binding myself to the original text.

>>9128782

ah ok I see now. I'm a native Polish speaker myself so I can see where mistakes like that happen. Good luck with the rewrite

>>9126750
>unobtusely
delet
>a film of suspicion and rarely veiled hostility
better: a film of suspicion
>probably
delet
>of course
DELET
>an extra hole or two
it's just one event >> just one hole
>a vehicle or implement
please stop this
>starting a sentence with 'And'
Unnecessary here
>endlessly generous and benevolent
protip: you only need to choose one word from the thesaurus
>was sort of the point.
weak phrase

This paragraph could be half as long as it is now and still better project the tone you seem to be going for. There's a difference between eloquence and blathering, and this excerpt falls on the latter side.

>>9128815
ok. ok. wow. just... ok. so you're critiquing people' work but you don't even know how to spell the word "delete"? please shoot a hot glue gun up your dickhole

>>9127010
Holy shit. This is fantastic man. I really appreciate the help. There's a lot of good advice I can apply to the rest of my work, much appreciated

crit, should I bother finishing my first novel if nobody likes it?

>>9128853
He doesn't need to spell right in his critique.
You do need to work on your skills.

Might I suggest this >>9128815
post to help you out.

>>9128743
Absolutely! If you have some free time, I'd love to go through my work further with you.

>>9128897

fuck off and die, this a crit thread not a self-pity indulgence thread

>>9128897
You shouldn't write novels, write short stories that can be submitted to magazines.

>>9128907

I'm glad you think it's helpful.

It'll take time, but I'll do the same to the other paragraphs. Just hold onto to that link and I'll add the others one at a time with their respective edits.

>>9128932
If you'd like, I could add you as a commentator on the full story. Just send me your email in the chat on your edit

>>9128903
Writer here, it wasn't actually me that responded with the hot glue gun thing haha. I'm fine with all the criticism, can't have thin skin on the internet.

>>9128853
>>9128903
>>9129084
Reviewer here, I pity >>9128903 for falling for such a low-effort troll.
To the author: I appreciate your attitude and hope you go far.

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>>9128683

I hope this isn't real because this isn't writing, it's vomit that should not profane the words which express it. Try guttural shouting.

File: diVINE.jpg (6KB, 313x161px) Image search: [Google]

6KB, 313x161px

Mentha Piperita gained momentum in her reading when she passed the introductory statements and came to the bloody meat of it, becoming stentorian: "the slave shall obey every word and command from their master. But this is only the least," 'LEAST!' - the word jumped out of Mentha's orange-lipsticked mouth and did cavorting soumersalts in the air above the bar, "of their duties. The slave obeys, but inside the slave must be a fount of subserviance as unlimited as the pursuit of dominance is for the slave-holder." At this, Mentha tore her eyes from the page and dragged them down over Soda's body, relishing the feeling of running her gaze along meat which would so soon be cut with knives and sliced onto her plate, falling helplessly into a bloody stack of flesh.

>>9129169
>uses meat twice
what a failure you have turned out to be

>>9129169

My two-cents. This will be broken into two posts.

Stentorian - adjective

(of a person's voice) loud and powerful.

A nice word. No idea what it meant until I looked it up. That could be a problem. If you trust your audience will know what it means, ignore everything below.

If you trust your audience won't know what it means, do one of three things...

1. Cut it.

2. Replace it with a word people know.

3. Adjust the first sentence so ignorant readers can figure out what it means based on context clues.

I recommend No. 3.

A suggestion: "Mentha Piperita's reading gained momentum when she passed the introductory statements and came to the bloody meat of it. Her voice became stentorian."

On to the next bit...

>"The slave shall obey every word and command from their master. But this is only the least of their duties.

Change "their duties" to "his duties" or "her duties."

Or change the opener from "The slave" to "Slaves" so the pronouns are match their singular or plural antecedent.

The "LEAST" thing.

A neat trick, but it interrupts the flow. You've already opened with a long sentence.

Follow-up with a simple one to give our eyes a break.

My suggestion...

"The slave shall obey every word and command from their master. But this is only the least of her duties." LEAST! The word seemed to leap from Mentha's lipstick and somersaulted into Soda's ears.

"Orange-lipsticked mouth" is wordy.

Consider changing it to something shorter like ‘orange lips’.

It gets the same message across. Lips aren't typically orange. If they are, the lips are wearing lipstick.

To be continued in Part II

>>9129169

Part II

>"Cavorting somersaults."

This is redundant. Just stick to somersaults, or find an alternative adjective. I think the word you've chosen is strong enough to stand on its own.

>"The slave obeys, but inside the slave must be a fount of subservience as unlimited as the pursuit of dominance is for the slave-holder."

Consider subbing "infinite" for unlimited. It may have better synergy with the expression 'fount.'

I'd also consider exchanging the second "the slave" for a gender-specific pronoun, so we have a better idea of Soda's gender. If that detail is unimportant, ignore.

>At this

Scrap.

>down over

Scrap either 'down' or 'over'. You don't need both.

The final bit...

> relishing the feeling of running her gaze along meat which would so soon be cut with knives and sliced onto her plate, falling helplessly into a bloody stack of flesh.

Scrap all of this. It's too long and delays a revelation that should be immediate.

I take it Soda's going to get eaten. Spell it out for us, but not with impersonal narration. Assuming that's true. I don't know your work.

Consider how Mentha's mouth waters at the sight of Soda's (naked?) body. Maybe she scrubs her knives and forks and spoons on her sleeves and waters at the mouth.

The preceding sentence tells us Soda's expected to do whatever Mentha asks. Make Mentha's intentions obvious by showing us her evil intent more directly.

Here are my cumulative suggestions. Take with a grain of salt. Best of luck to you!

Mentha Piperita's reading gained momentum when she passed the introductory statements and arrived at the bloody meat of it. Her voice became stentorian.

"The slave shall obey their master’s every command. This is but the least of their duties."

LEAST! The word leapt from Mentha's lipstick and somersaulted into Soda's ears. Mentha waited until she saw her victim shivering before she continued.

"The slave obeys, but inside she must be a fount of subservience as bottomless as is the pursuit of dominance for her slave-holder."

Mentha mopped drops of drool from her lips and started scrubbing a motley assortment of knives, forks, spoons, and sporks with the hem of her dress. A dozen porcelain plates lay spread on the bar, flowered, prim, immaculate, and waiting patiently to be served their fill.

Hope this proves constructive.

Here it goes

It's much like a pickle
My penis trickle
Give it a tickle
Twinkly dinklu

I can't get my ass motivated enough to sit and write...

>>9129605
Good so far, but we might need more than just a sentence of your work to critique it.

>>9126750

Depending on what exactly your story is about I feel like the way you're writing could work as a sort of reflection of the characters; they all seem to be droll, stuffy people stuck in minutia.

But I would still tone it down. It's painful to read and my eyes glazed over trying to go through it. By the time I finish a sentence I've forgotten how it started and it makes it hard to properly understand what's going on.

-------------------

Here's some micro-fiction I wrote. I've wanted to do this story for a while but I couldn't figure out how to properly write it that won't end up /r/nosleep-tier. I finally gave it a sort of distant, third-person treatment so I can at least get the full set of ideas down if I ever want to do something else with it.

http://pastebin.com/tattSuux

>>9129696
I liked it. I found the third person a bit of a distraction at the start, but it worked well once the AI came in, and moved to the AI.

----------------------------------
Here's some scrap of writing - it's not for story, I've just been trying to practise my style. Any critiques on that would be much appreciated.


The car was hot, crowded, and decrepit. My family littered the front and middle seats, while my friends and I were entrenched in the back. Loud music played; we drank soft drink and acted foolishly, as only thirteen year olds can. We were happy, hopeful; life was as good as always. The city around us was cool but sunny, a nice day for a wintery Australian August. The old blue car parked, we left and, running when we could, walking when we could not run, entered the building. Skeletons of long-dead animals; stuffed bodies and treasures of lost worlds. A museum is said to be the Seat of the Nine Muses, but, in reality, they are tombs, shrines to the dreams, craftwork and hopes of civilisations stealing into oblivion; in this, this shrine to the dreaming dead, we wandered and laughed. Jokes about sex we barely understood; struggles in lifts to the annoyance of museum visitors: only teenagers are so full of reckless stupidity and life.

II

She, smiling, waved and said hello. Her black hair, half curled, draped her shoulders; earrings adorned her, her clothes were simple. The smile, a smile that to foolish me rivalled all the beauty of Helen, the smile shone from her face as she brushed her hair back, and talked. We wandered the park, around the pond, a day so beautiful; the sun was glorious through the scattered clouds wandering the blue sky, and the wave of wind played with our air and filled my lungs. Birds, beautifully simple, flew and swam in the pond, calling to one another. Her dog barked and walked, happy and ignorant; for all the beauty here I had eyes only for her. A peer walked past, giving me a knowing smile as he saw me with her; she talked to an old couple about their dog. I wanted to hold her, put my lips against her face as I had dreamed since I was young; some shreds of wisdom and self-control restrained me as I told her I needed to go. I was not to see her again for a year.

>>9129729
>She, smiling, waved and said hello.
Please tell me you know what's wrong with this sentence

>>9129729

Okay here goes:
> we drank soft drink
soft drink doesn't work naturally as a mass noun
> acted foolishly, as only thirteen year olds can
are you saying that only thirteen year olds can act foolish? if not, cut this– it's a poor cliché, there are better ways to work in that you're thirteen.
The rest of I. is better, be careful of passive voice though. I kinda like the feeling of this paragraph, but could use some tightening up.

>>9129729

overall I don't mind reading ur stuff, but I think you 1. tend to force the use of different adjectives, like entrenched to describe u and ur friends and 2. over or misuse certain punctuation. both of these things make ur writing feel a lil contrived

--------////-------

now here is an excerpt from the first chapter of a story I'm working on. gonna flip it to first person I think, any other criticism would b cool

>>9129995
wow totally didn't post the link so nervous haha!

http://pastebin.com/Wpc3nC8w

>>9129770
>>9129995
Cheers for that! I'll try and tighten that up

Day after day like a carousel. I don't feel sick but sometimes when the noise gets loud i can't ignore the repeating image of smashing my face into the nearest wall until my cranium explodes

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A lot of feedback in this thread which is good to see.

>>9126967
I'm liking this a lot - it obviously risks coming across as pretentious but sometimes you have to be pretentious to be good - but keep in mind, if this is a part of something longer, you don't want to piss off / alienate your reader too much.

For example, the fumbling for details (but wait) and tangential anecdotes (I was Fahey for a spring) will get tiresome to the reader if they are kept up for any substantially long period of time. Your narrator can be erratic but at some point he has to get on and tell the story - that said, it's nice in the small dose you've shown us here.

I get you're playing with grammar a little, but I'd still go back and edit for clarity (though I suspect you were going to). The last poem struck a chord with me, it reminds me of a conversation I had to myself on a long walk through the mountains in Sapa, Vietnam. Ancient places like that are fascinating.


Here's a poem I wrote, I've been reading a lot of Ted Hughes lately:


The Table

The living room was too big for our needs.
Surprisingly big, in fact,
Meant maybe for a family of seven or eight,
Old and broad and vacuous and filled with sun.

In the middle sat our dining table,
Humble with its shaved wood
And exposed joints.
Like something fished out of a garage sale
Like it probably was.

And at that table,
Surrounded as it was by great empty air,
Every moment felt a play.
An audience above
Watched from pews
Our actions on centre stage,
So that on that stage
Every movement felt amplified.

Every conversation grew as empty as the room we sat in.
The tone of every word examined for symbolism.
Our two bodies growing weary under spotlights.

Sitting at that table, I knew
Our curtain call was near.
That you were growing bored,
Picturing yourself in some other scene,
In front of some other backdrop,
Some other proper in your hand,
Knowing some other lover.

When I moved I took the table with me.
It sits now outside on concrete tiles,
Withered, worn and disused.

>>9125759
reads like kike propaganda
-23/10

>>9128671
2edgy4me. this is horrendous and looks like it was written by a high schooler.

"How come muffins dont just come in bigger sizes?" Said my soon to be ex wife, like she needed any muffin of any size anyway. The stupid bitch bounced the seat when she fell forward into it, and It reminded me of the painful vision of her bouncing on Tim's dick last month. I told her i was fine with it, but I really wasn't. I'm just afraid that if I divorce her, the stupid cunt judge will side with her and she'll get everything. The cocksucker might even demand that I cut my own dick off and hand it to her. She turns on the radio and listens to that Selena Gomez trash. I smile inside, remembering that earlier that day I had masturbated to one of her music videos. With the pleasant thought of barely legal pop music whores in my head, I drive down the street to my daughter's community college. My daughter, as opposed to Selena Gomez, is only a regular whore. She thinks I don't know, because she thinks like her fucking mother, whore number 1. Sometimes at night, I reach for my pistol, beneath the bed, and I imagine squeezing the trigger. For now I go to my daughter's community college and I ask about her day, I ask what she's studying even though I know its freshman cock. Stupid slut. I can't wait to leave her dorm, and with the fucking cow in tow I rush out of there, and drive home quick enough to relax a little before work. When work rolls around the pig bitch is asleep, in a food coma, and I'm putting on my Gorilla costume. Im the mascot for the Phoenix Suns, on home game days, on other days I'm just a costume for hire. If another spic or nigger kid comes and fucks with my zipper I will go bananas on them. I try to beat the traffic.

I fuck bitches yeah yeah yeah nigga

The man leans on his desk, tries to concentrate on his work. And pathetically fails to.
Without even wanting to, he looks at her. Again. Might be the hundredth time.
He knows his crooked, long nose, lost between a tiny brow and an unsymmetrically large chin, his huge, grey teeth, those 'turn-his-smiles-into-death-parades' teeth... Well, to put it simply, he knows he's ugly enough for her not to ever notice him.
There was a time where things were simplier. Where he didn't know he was ugly. Yet, he knows he was mad already then. Even as a child, ghoulish thoughts were already there. In bed, at night... the pulsions... the sick desires... were already there.
In that gilded childhood, untainted yet by the knowledge of the horror he inspires to others, there was already the traces of his madness. His lust made him dream dark fantasies. Bad nightmares, the kind where someone chases someone else. Except he was the monster doing the purchasing. He was the hunter of innocents. And he couldn't stop himself from liking the feeling.
He looks at her. Again. Must be two hundredth time now. Alice. His Alice. Her blond hair, her eyes so blue. Why do they have to be so blue? Why have blue eyes always, always, been such a romanticized part of his psyche? Like a secret sign from the universe, imbedded deep in him. Like some twisted way for Nature to tell him: 'Go for her, she's got blue eyes. The ultimate cliché. Don't be afraid, little boy, don't fret. Just go for her. No matter.'
'No matter', he thinks.
'No matter whas she wants'.
And the man smiles. One of his 'Death parade' smiles.
Soon, he will have her, he thinks.
And, content, reassured, the man leans back on his table. In his laboratories, where Alice works with him, he puts the final touch to his groundbreaking tech. Mind-controlling devices.
And Jervis Tetch smiles.
The Mad Hatter will have his Alice

>>9130721
>With the pleasant thought of barely legal pop music whores in my head
That's a good line.
The problem with your piece is, I'm sure you realize, that it's super edgy and really '/b/: the post'.
I think you can tell the story, but don't make the narrator so jaded and conscious of his own life, or at least show us / explain us how come he got to such clarity without blowing his head off first.
The end is simply crazy bad because you lose any sense of structure in the way yout present your ideas

>>9130398
Thank you! glad to get some positive feedback. It's part of something a lot longer that i'm planning on working on. It may be overly ambitious, but your notes will definitely help.

The pattering of the rain seemed worlds away to Ali, it blended with the low steady vibrations of the car and the occasional honk of other cars stuck in the same traffic jam that they were in. The lights outside, all a blur of red and yellow dots, magnified and multiplied in the raindrops and melted into vibrant dreamscapes which melted back into reality as Ali drifted in and out of sleep.

The streetlights passed by, yellow blobs in the sky. His eyes half closed, he watched them whip past.

http://pastebin.com/amcR7zwN

>>9126274
Pretty good, has a cool disorienting effect when I read it out loud. I'm reminded of those introspection scenes from Neon Genesis Evangelion. You could be more specific about the traffic outside though.

---
Now comes the moment where I get to hating the competition. How dare they try to stand on the
same line as David, Syd and I. They actual insult us thinking that they can beat any of us. They have never pursued such technical perfection as David has, never had to overcome anything like Syd and I dealt with, and could never match my level of passion and raw skill. A wildfire is burning within me, and I'm going to seer the flesh of every motherfucker on this line.
The official raises up his arms directly above his head and the the feeling of anticipation keeps
building while my stomach sinks, transporting more blood to my muscles, fueling the need to fight and fly. My heart beats like the bass drum in a deathmetal band. Finally, the trigger is pulled and with a loud bang, we burst out, as if we were pushed back and now spring forward.
The runners immediately swarm close together sliding into what is now just a big clot of
jerseys. After sliding through a screen of dust kicked up by everybody else and the pounding heat,
David and I start filtering our way through the runners.
The course moves into the dirtiest portion letting soil find us way up on our legs covering them
in brown grime. It also hardens giving a layer of crust onto my leg-hair. A nice squishing sound is made as our bright and colorful shoes get completely tarnished by the filth. Kids are losing their shoes and even socks in the brown patch of earth, but I can't help but enjoy this part. This section is the spirit of cross country.
We enter into a thick forest. No sounds are made, but the yelling and passionate support of the
coaches, trying to shout any bit of strategy they can, and our light exhales. “Let's go, Air. Keep it up.
Work with these guys! Wear 'em down. David, stay with Air and the hay's in the barn! The hay is in the barn!”
We run to a hill. Scaling up it feels like trying to walk on a tilted wall. I put my head down, let
my spikes dig right into the ground and use my shoulders to power straight though it.
Time to move up.
The course goes from roots and dirt, to low-cut and grass, lightly wet, as if the dew was still on it, a nice change of pace leading us to an expansive golf course. Grass swishes beneath our
feet and the water splashes onto our ankles. David and I hit another hill. I put my head down again
focusing my vision on the grass then power right through the gravity, through the heat, like I always do.
I work the downhill as we weave our way through three more runners.

>>9124823
Very good
Crouching like some ugly primordial creature i stared into the wall infront of me. I imagined that i could focus on the vibrations in the air. That the right look would pierce through the open space. This did not happen. Some kind of time after i abandoned the bed i started walking towards some kind of exit from this kind of room, i would have spat on the darkly wooden and intimidating floor but i thought i would throw up if i opened my mouth (like a garage door). I opened the door and lunged out into the shadows. Ready to throw my fists like knives searching for a place in a nice knife collection in an old couples home. Empty as always. The house was gargantuan, ancient temple newly built, and when i looked at all the doors i would feel like my eyes were spinning 360 degrees inside my head. "Fuck this motherfucker" i said. I started walking down the stairs but i tripped and ripped up my left arm. I stomped my fist into my chest out of frustration. I bleed to death fast.

>>9132245

the worst thing I've read all week thanks. Your narrative voice is shit and neither charming nor interesting. Your metaphors and similies are hamfisted, badly thought out and stick out like splinters on my dick. Also ANCIENT TEMPLE NEWLY BUILT!!!1 HAAHAHA GUYS LOOK IT'S JUXTAPOSITION.

also (I's) are capitalized you fuck

get a new hobby kid

>>9129999
Interesting. Your use of ellipses, punctuation (the Office) and formatting during dialogue threw me for a loop

Don't really see where the piece is going besides maybe the main character being envious of the quiz writer and now it just seems jumbled

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>>9132288

>>9127267
Looking for another opinion on this? I've still been critiquing as I go and I know it's easy for some posts to get left behind.

>>9132288
Thank you my friend. Wrote a new one just for you

The car door is stuck. It makes me feel fucked up. I scream loudly like a wounded animal and i take a big rock from the muddy trampled ground. I throw the rock at the car door (my reflection glares) window with the power of an overpowered piston. It bounces back and hits me right in the eye, it implodes on itself. Collapsing into itself like the towers ,9/11. This makes me mad. A single mother walks by shaking her aged ass. I can't focus on it because of my eye. This makes me madder. I love ass. I lay down with my chest against the ground. I feel my heartbeat beat with nature. The rythmic pumping of my heart makes me think of pounding ass. I cry and my tears make small rivers in the earth. My car door opens. It was never locked.

>>9132738
Eye crie evry tym

Short story I wrote after feeling especialy sad I had just finished reading a book
http://pastebin.com/DmqRx14e

>>9124572
" We stood about thirty feet from the water, which I was facing. It was fitting. In between throws I would be staring out far at the water. Its greenish, dark-blue hue consistently distracted me as its waves rolled inwards towards us. Despite the color, the water was remarkably… clear."
Oh my

>>9131646
This is actually pretty comfy. Good steady descriptions and I feel you could build on this more.

Little piece from something bigger I'm working on:

As I swiped the key-card from the thin slot, a single beep tore lightly from the battery block, and the iron door swooped out and behind me with a boom. The long hall smelled of wet bolts and plastic. The thin tiled floor was scuffed all to shit with coal grey dashes and dirty stickers curling at their dark corners. I turned and at the end of the beer room Chris sat, hunched over the stack of papers. I took one opposite of him, the only sound bouncing being the tender creaks and cracks of the rolling wheel chair. And then nothing. Absolutely nothing but a gulf of silence. And if we were to strike it right, perhaps when our breaths were drawn at the same time, I could hear the pallid drone of ether, as if silence could not exist in this rivet of emptiness. And what I hear - what we hear - is the unnerving hum of human energy.

>>9130398
Your poem has a good rhythm even though it's so irregular. Personally I would move some words to the former lines for more regularity, but I can see why you would choose to place them there.
"So that on that stage" seems a bit awkward with the two that-s and the stage at the end

>>9133550
A gifted writer.

>>9134629
I can't tell if you're serious or not

Why the fuck would you waste thousands of dollars getting a useless degree that isn't Stem or useful like Economics or Pol Sci (if going to Law school)?

Like how can you be so fucking negligent about wasting money - most of the time Federal aid - getting into debt and passing that debt onto the taxpayer all for some stupid joke of a degree that has no practical use in the real world?

Nonstems should kill themselves for being parasitic wastes of life

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I don't feel qualified to give feedback on people's writings, sorry for not contributing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JohsVpqEwZQ
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1HoteCg-XY

I'm going so overboard on the scenery porn but I need some kind of transition. this is becoming a nightmare

She ate as she walked, paying little heed to where she was going or why. Footfalls carried her past crosswalks and cars and down sidewalk slates and cobblestones. At some point she must have entered the park proper as the concrete jungle had given way to one a tad more literal. Gnarled maplewoods shared quarters with weeping birch and ginkgoes and glacier-churned bedrock. Coppery leaves crunched underfoot with every step but Eve barely heard them, her mind having entered a space of intense focus and speculation, nearly blind to background details but still instinctively aware of them.

She had stolen something, though the fact that she had done so was not a matter of concern so much as how she had stolen it. She had taken it in full view of its owner and he had not even acknowledged it. Eve wondered if he would ever notice it was missing, or whether the products of her actions were as unnoticeable as she was. If she had thrown the jar across the room would he have been aware of it, or would obscurity prove transitive? What if she had thrown it at him; would he have noticed that? Certainly he would object if she began painting on his face, or lit fire to his hair, but what were the boundary conditions? Did she have any way of testing them without risking incarceration, and if so, how could she mark objective boundaries of subjective experiences? The torrent of questions surging in her head expanded to fill existing space, and when she could no longer hold any more she made more room by discarding even more of her senses. By the time she had stopped walking, Eve had come to realize she could no longer see the city.

She was in a garden, that much was obvious; but whether or not that garden was in New Amsterdam was somehow very much up for debate. True, there was familiarity In the black iron lamp posts and in the tunnels and low walls of sculpted brown stucco. She swore she had seen the great fountains at some point in her life, and the pigeons though in unparalleled multitude were not quite out of order. What bothered her was the plant life, which at a casual glance, seemed to vary by a few more geographic radians than normal. Red-leafed maples blurred together with purple jacarandas and teal cypress, and copper-wooded acacias crossed branches with towers of rainbow eucalyptus. From every branch, leaf and knot hole hung hollow edison bulbs, their tungsten coils replaced by bumbling fireflies of unusual color

>>9125759
fucking gay as fuck. try again a thousand years from now. also this>>9130462

>>9125759
too much punctuation, makes it clunky as all hell. Also seems like a bunch of random images, feel sorry for riana

>>9135089

-I don't like your use of imagery in the first paragraph at all. Too many syllables that don't evoke any clear images (which should be the point). Try adding in sounds, and make it all brief. I don't think the tree names are a good idea (especially since you're in the perspective of a character in a rush). You could describe stares from pedestrians (she's female) and have that add to her anxiety, and then keep some (read: heavily shaved and revised) of the existing descriptions up to the park.

>She had stolen something. Though the fact that she had stolen was less concerning than how she had done so.

I think that sounds better but can probably use some tweaking. A core rule for short stories in gneral and one you DEFINITELY need to internalize is the shorter the better, unless you have a damn good reason (none of your prosey parts withstanding).

>or would obscurity prove transitive? Just scrap that. Better to end that sentence with "would he have been aware?"

The plot you have seems interesting but gotta be honest and say your writing is shit, mostly because of all the unecessary vocabulary and fluffy sentences. Amateur mistakes, I think you can do better (saying this with the best intentions!) good luck :)

>>9135244
I'm this guy who commented on that other guy's work, just to prove I'm contributing as well as posting.


Spent the change I had on candy and coca cola.
Need money for the night bus now, need to get home to my bed.
I hate begging, but sometimes there’s just no other choice.
Fuck I need to smoke; I can’t stand this itch in my lungs.
I need a cigarette. I don’t plan on quitting in my lifetime. I’ll quit after I’m dead.
That guy I just asked had a whole fucking pack, I saw it in his pocket.
He didn’t give me even one. He walked away from me as fast as he could.
I’m going to stab his eyes out with a screwdriver, piece of shit.
I want to put his big mouth over the sidewalk, take my foot and: BOOM. Fucking right asshole!
I haven’t had dope in four days, I’m very ill. I want it so badly.
It’s cold, I don’t have any fat to keep me warm.
Finally got my cigarette! This man gave me two.
The boy next to me says he smelled like rotting flesh.
I can’t smell anymore, I say, my nose is broken.
Now he’s talking to me like he knows better than I do, stupid shit.
It’s been ten years I’ve been like this.
My IQ is 144. I’m very good with numbers. Even got my economics degree.
I’m a smart guy. I’ve tried everything—doesnt work.
I think differently than people like him. My brain is different.
Can’t fix myself. I’ve tried. Can’t.
I’ll be someone else after I die.

>>9135249
>>9135249
“You were born in my memory,
already yearning for something further,
distant: what I too
wish I could articulate,
but see inside of you.

Like the ray reflects light from the gemstone:
You capture what I could never say alone;
As the ray is to the gemstone:
So my inner world is articulated through your own.

The similes quickly cheapen, the language limp,
these words: movement frozen in time,
a mere fossil of the sacred breath, once whispered in my ear
(so faintly I could barely hear!)

But maybe, you and I, when we’re near
can see inside each other the ineffable
that we can’t find in ourselves.”

*

“I was born in your memory,
already yearning for something further,
distant: a howling wind
hidden within
the tangled leaves
of dancing bullrushes.

Do not mourn for me at night:
the mundane like exposed blood
will come forth in gushes.
Do not hope to find me in sight:
better to kiss a masochist
and to find in this
a witch’s respite.

And night after night?
I may visit you, late,
but visit only: take heed.

I was always more pollen than seed.
In the bowels of our first moments,
my trajectory was clear; my nature a fate.
Eve always knew this, a shame you never could.

Otherwise it wouldn’t have been an initiation.”

>>9134790
pretty good, might want to tone down the cursing. your prose is pretty straightforward, which i like.

also, i dont know what you're talking about, im getting a business degree.

>>9133540
What Book did you read that made you sad?

>>9131646
Pretty Good, The description is nice, are you going to expand more on this?

>>9128671
MemeLord

Chapter one

When Kyna had woken up, the family bed felt rather empty. Arm outstretched, seeking the bodies of her parents, but sensing only the straw that made up the bed. Perhaps both of them must have had gone out and started the day without me. She wondered, as she laid on the straw bed for a moment longer. Autumn is nearing its end, and they needed firewood and food for winter.

She started propping herself up using her hands. The lord's fields needed harvesting, the garden needed tending, the animals needed grazing, and she needed to help her mother in her work when she and her father came back. Lacing on her leather boots along with the wooden patten followed by her green gown with her sleeveless tunic and wimple.

On the hearth a suspended cauldron was simmering from what was left of the porridge her mother made from the night before; on the plank table she expected cheese from the ewe’s milk, instead it was small coarse bread that had gone stale. Good morning, hope it lasts thought the day. She thought. Before sitting down on one of the stools, and started eating her first meal.

As soon as she finished eating the porridge, she let the hens roam free to find their own food, while she needed to guide ewe and her lamb to the common lands for grazing. It was not an easy task; the ewe was stubborn when they gotten her, after given birth to her lamb, she became aggressive. Kyna often found herself stopping often when she started to ram into her.


This is mine I improved on the first three paragraphs. The Fourth Paragraph just doesn't feel write but I don't know what.

crit pls
http://pastebin.com/reSp3pPm

>>9136294
I'm no editor and I'm not very critical, but like what I read it. I like how solitude it is.

>>9134790
To the point

This is the same paragraph I've posted for a year or so. Part of a much larger project I plod along with.

Corey McKinnon, he was an immense figure that was by all accounts truly larger than life. He towered over most of the other employees by at least six inches and had a hundred pounds on the heaviest guy at the shop. The glass pane windows in the garage rattles when he struts his powerful legs. In his head, he was something like Zangief with a ten pound vape on his hip that looked like sawed off shotgun. As remarkable as his figure was, he was an extraordinary unkempt at times.
Chest hair seemed to crawl out of his half button shirt and it distracted me from his question. I've never seen hair that dirty before; greasy . . . matted. Clumps of hair twisted around chunks of food -- the tip of a hotdog was captured in the thick undergrowth. I wanted to vomit.
"Well?" Corey asked.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," I said.
Corey shook his head. I couldn't tell where his chin ended and his neck began. His whole body was shaking with disapproval. We were already fairly close, he stood no more than a footstep away, but he slowly slid closer and closed the gap between myself and him. A crocodile to an antelope, his eyes firmly fixed upon my own. Corey's musk stung at my nostrils and watered my eyes.

>>9136631
dat format. Sheesh.

http://pastebin.com/amcR7zwN

Posting my again because I haven't gotten any crit yet and keep getting buried. Will contribute some more tho

>>9136881
Hey, I like it. A few things, though: I think '500 almost-packed seats' is more grammatically appropriate than 'almost packed 500 seats'; and from here just a few spelling errors, like writing 'to' instead of 'too' and 'now' instead of 'not'. There may have been one more error that I have since forgotten, but otherwise tiptop. Also maybe 500 seats are too many for a cinema?

>>9137422

thanks a lot, sorry bout the spelling mistakes I usually try to iron them out before posting.

>>9124567
This is what I'm editing right now for a revised edition. I used all-CAPS words too often, however in dialogue I allow it. In non-dialogue text, just about all all-CAPS words are changed to italics.

“Woah-ho! Haha, Tiffany!” It squirted out onto the mattress as she writhed and moaned in orgasm, her man stood up at the end of the bed, clearly still quite hard, and he hoped what he said didn’t ruin the mood due to his laughing but he could not hide the smile. Proud to have given such an intense orgasm, more pride was attained when he realized it was likely her first squirt. Indeed when she finally opened her eyes, somewhat plump body going limp, she looked down across her nakedness. Taking in the sight of his nakedness as well before sitting up, a look of terror came to her.
“O-oh no… oh GOD… I… I didn’t!”
“You diiiiiid…” It was playfully accusatory, but also dripped with happiness and jest. She must have likely thought that she had urinated, but he was fairly sure that it wasn’t pee. Still, why not toy with her a little?

>>9136631
I think making a character described as 'this' big and massive is kind of cheesy, but that's due to my own taste rather than your writing ability.

>was an extraordinary unkempt
Can 'unkempt' be used in that way? I think 'unkempt' is a pronoun or whatever it's called. A person can BE unkempt, but to be 'AN' unkempt? I don't think 'unkempt' is a noun or pronoun. Also, vape is cringy, but that's just due to my own opinion rather than your writing.

>I've never seen hair that dirty before; greasy . . . matted.
I've never seen hair that dirty before; greasy... and matted. (or 'greasy and... matted'. I think an 'and' should be in there, but if you want to take some poetic liberty or whatever it's called, go for it.)

>We were already fairly close, he stood no more than a footstep away, but he slowly slid closer and closed the gap between myself and him.
Might I suggest using a semi-colon (;) between 'close' and 'he'?

On a side note, how could the 'tip of a hotdog' get stuck in chest hair? Perhaps instead make it 'hotdog wiener'? Hotdog involves wiener, bun, and typically condiments. Maybe while eating he just missed a little piece of wiener, like half a centimeter (1/5") which somehow managed to be caught in a net of chest hair.

All in all, though Corey is rather offputting, I think that's the point. I'm a bit curious as to where this is going to go.

>>9131646
nice, got a real feeling for the textures of the scene

how do I not be shit at writing? I thought I was good before, but either that was temporary or Im steadily getting worse with each new failure making me a little worse from the loss of confidence

>>9132072
As someone that ran XC, i can really dig into this. But since we're writing sports novels here.


The most visible sign of something troubling me was my performance on the court. I play basketball for North Miami High and I'm not too bad for a white guy believe it or not. I play Shooting Guard but I haven’t been doing a lot of good guarding or shooting lately. Not for lack of trying or anything like that. I worked just as hard as everyone else on the court. I did my drills, I took my shots, I corrected my mistakes, I strove each day to get out of my slump and get better. I think I am pretty impressive when I'm on form. If you ever saw me play during my freshmen and sophomore years you’d be amazed at how good I was when I got the ball in my hand. My buddies always joked comparing me to Ray Allen whom I idolized and that only intensified when he moved to the Heat. I live in Miami, Florida so naturally I'm a heat fan. It just goes with the pride for my city. Those jokes about weren't so frequent anymore though ever since I became a junior and moved on to varsity. People who didn’t know me just assumed the transition from JV to Varsity was getting to me. But my friends knew better. The close friends anyway. I've always had some trust issues in my life so if I tell you something personal you better believe that you mean something to me.

>>9136294
Confederacy of Dunces. I missed the characters too much and regretted speeding through the last chapters to read The Crying of Lot 49. Which I read too quickly because I wanted to read the Ghost Writer, which I was able to completely enjoy because I did not have another book queued up yet. I'm currently coming to terms with the fact that Pnin is going to end in about 25 pages and there is nothing I about it.
Sorry for rambling,
any thoughts on the story?

>>9134751
Can you tell if I'm serious about this?
*unzips*

>>9137858
I appreciate it. You're the duke. I'll post more. I got all fuzzy from this. A proper critique!

>>9139740
Oh yes, I can tell.

>>9137858
http://pastebin.com/ZZZXRLEf

I understand everything vastly out of context and not at all easy to relate to because it's all inside jokes, but this is loosely based off a job I use to work at. Thanks for your previous critique.

imh(but correct)o

>>9139906
>http://pastebin.com/ZZZXRLEf

bad

aside from the poor grammar, your writing is overwrought and confused

the biggest problem is the lack of consistency - in tone, in imagery, in everything

>>9136881
>http://pastebin.com/amcR7zwN

The first paragraph is far too contrived and a terrible first impression

The rest is /ok/ - the general atmosphere of the girl and the cinema is captured quite well and cozy

I would keep reading

>>9136294
you should not begin with your stories with a character waking up

apart from that, the terrible grammar makes it unreadable

>>9136621
there's some potential in a stream-of-consciousness absurdist poem prose with an ominous ending (a la The Birds)

but the execution is lacking

there are occasional bits of beautiful imagery but it's surrounded by cliches and worldbuilding and infodumping

>>9135089
this isn't /bad/ per se but it's also not /good/

the prose is readable enough but it's just too stale and needlessly introspective

(of course, context matters but)

that makes a lot of the writing too obvious and referential

>Red-leafed maples blurred together with purple jacarandas and teal cypress, and copper-wooded acacias crossed branches with towers of rainbow eucalyptus

is a pointless sentence only a writer showing off "research" could think of.

>From every branch, leaf and knot hole hung hollow edison bulbs, their tungsten coils replaced by bumbling fireflies of unusual color

is a good sentence that a good writer showing off imagery and an extended metaphor could think of

The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer. They set forth at daybreak to see a man beheaded, twenty in all, and Bran rode among them, nervous with excitement. This was the first time he had been deemed old enough to go with his lord father and his brothers to see the king's justice done. It was the ninth year of summer, and the seventh of Bran's life.

The man had been taken outside a small holdfast in the hills. Robb thought he was a wildling, his sword sworn to Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall. It made Bran's skin prickle to think of it. He remembered the hearth tales Old Nan told them. The wildlings were cruel men, she said, slavers and slayers and thieves. They consorted with giants and ghouls, stole girl children in the dead of night, and drank blood from polished horns. And their women lay with the Others in the Long Night to sire terrible half-human children.

But the man they found bound hand and foot to the holdfast wall awaiting the king's justice was old and scrawny, not much taller than Robb. He had lost both ears and a finger to frostbite, and he dressed all in black, the same as a brother of the Night's Watch, except that his furs were ragged and greasy.

The breath of man and horse mingled, steaming, in the cold morning air as his lord father had the man cut down from the wall and dragged before them. Robb and Jon sat tall and still on their horses, with Bran between them on his pony, trying to seem older than seven, trying to pretend that he'd seen all this before. A faint wind blew through the holdfast gate. Over their heads flapped the banner of the Starks of Winterfell: a grey direwolf racing across an ice-white field.

Bran's father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest. He had taken off Father's face, Bran thought, and donned the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell.

There were questions asked and answers given there in the chill of morning, but afterward Bran could not recall much of what had been said. Finally his lord father gave a command, and two of his guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the center of the square. They forced his head down onto the hard black wood. Lord Eddard Stark dismounted and his ward Theon Greyjoy brought forth the sword. "Ice," that sword was called. It was as wide across as a man's hand, and taller even than Robb. The blade was Valyrian steel, spell-forged and dark as smoke. Nothing held an edge like Valyrian steel.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1nYHNIqwR9_6IILlSXehGZ_XYJHMZAqdo-qWvkgslkUo/edit?usp=sharing
Comedic fantasy story I wrote a while back.

>>9139803
I'm glad you appreciate it! I love writing, and you should too!
>>9139906
Now in my first book, I've got quite a bit of raunchiness too. It's set in the zombie apocalypse with heavy emphasis on realism. Due to this, and the lack of electricity/hot water, most people don't shower regularly. There's musk, there's scruff, women generally have hairy pits/legs, genitals are generally pretty raunchy whether man or woman, the main character is basically constantly traveling on foot so his clothes (which isn't washed as often as they should be) is quite sweat-stained, etc. There is a REASON for it all though. In you stuff, WHY is Corey so gross? WHY are they so close together than sweat rolls off one person's nose, over to the other's, only to trickle down into their mouth?

It's pretty good writing for the most part, but I guess as you say; context is needed.
>>9137858
I haven't gotten any critique yet; that bit of writing is simply how far I've gotten in my editing thus far. I'll pull out something with a bit more visuals.

Kneeling on a slight hill on the highway, cold brown eyes squinted, peering at a large town not far in the distance. Some houses, a few small stores, a modest police station, post office, one convenience store in sight with a gas station, there was probably a pleasant little grocery store in there somewhere where the previously-living locals would have gone regularly to restock their fridges and cupboards. A deep grunt of a quiet laugh hit the man as he shook his head, reminded of how he had once looked upon such buildings. ‘A smorgasbord! Firearms in the cop station! Food in the stores! Check the houses for loot! Get fuel from the gas station! Try to fortify yourself in one of the buildings and scavenge as the days go by; you’ll be good for weeks! Months even!’

Foolishness; even without the aid of binoculars or a scope, he could see the distant undead shambling about aimlessly. They were like baby spiders that had grown enough to leave the egg sack in which they’d hatched, spreading out, yet at first not straying too far from where their life (or death, in this case) had begun. Some, inevitably, would leave this town and he was certain that many already had, but some would undoubtedly remain. Stragglers; there were far too many to deal with in spite of his armaments, and even if he could take them all out, to claim this town as his own… and that was an impossible if… it would be useless.

How many months had it been since power went out? A book of lined paper in the survivor’s backpack had been used to keep track of the date, at least roughly. The idea came to him early on when the cities were in a panic, the biters cropping up in hospitals as unfortunate individuals died. Some gained infection-like sickness without a bite which was generally considered the primary way of getting infected, though anyone who passed on with their brain intact would inevitably return to join the legion of the endlessly hungry.

>>9140003
thanks, always nice to get shit on. Good for reflection

>>9140457
I've never really thought of it that way. I'm an absolute casual when it comes to writing. I'll keep that in mind. I haven't posted the parts that would imply it, but I guess to a certain level I'm just assuming you know Corey because I did when I wrote this.

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>>9126027

What the fuck did I just read. I enjoyed this. You've got a good grasp of narrative and the twist at the end was both unexpected and riveting. I'd read more about this strange world, it's got Interzone potential. Is that an excerpt or just a vignette?

I second the other anon, 'yesss' isn't stylistically suited. Also, you're missing a quotation mark in the 'only a moment' part of the dialogue.

Here's mine. Sorry it's a picture but the full piece is on a different computer out of my reach. It's a short four page story and I'll post the rest if requested.

>>9127622
I think I remember you posting bits of this before, it is a magic-realism story, kinda bioshock like? I liked the stuff you wrote before, just need more content.

>>9125333
I would cut :
>in her minds eye
> on herself
replace nosed in, with said


Why did she rn out in pajamas, how did she get on the train, why is she here, where is she going?

>>9140514
Some your turns of phrase are engaging and interesting, but often regress into an overtly "literary" and tryhard style. Also, the rhythm feels a bit off.
>>9140457
I'm not sure what time period this is supposed to be set in, but the fact that there's a gas station seems to place it at least the 1950s, while the word choice dates it way older. It's anachronistic, and not in a pleasing way. Nevertheless, it flows well, your style is interesting, and it's overall enjoyable.

Be as harsh as you'd like, this is the first thing I've written since I was 12.

They say of Theodora that her father tamed the bears,
And, bottled there inside your father, rained that royal will.
Rending autumn's monarchs from their thrones to sleep, his trill
Called out their names 'til winter's winds left them their waters bare.
They say of Theodora that men understood despair,
When words left your pools unrippled, without a dip in depth,
When no aural machinery could steal breezes from your breath,
When sons of kings found themselves drowned, dethroned, ensnared.

They say of Theodora when she called the royal name,
Rivers wore down pillars until the palace washed to shore,
And with the palace gates now bowed five feet from your front door,
You split your skin to show Justinian your noble claim.
They say of Theodora when her king was overcame,
By oceans new clad green and blue, storming in the square below,
Shining from a silver column, you told the tide to flow
From writhing crowds to Justinian, setting him aflame.

They said of Theodora that, despite all those who swooned,
Her greatness was too human, her beauty too diseased,
But yours knows not the soft erosions stolen by the sea:
You make ponds of absconding oceans, and puddles of monsoons.
What they say of Theodora, from lovers lips maroon,
Will drain away with every tongue that finds her royal name,
And ousting it from where it perched, your own will there remain
As future lovers try to tame the subtleties of its tune,
As fishermen try to net reflections of the moon.

>>9140998
It was written last year, and is actually set in Autumn 2017. I read a lot of English literature, meaning from England. I've also read stuff like Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde (though he's Irish; not English), and LOTS of Bernard Cornwell. Cornwell is fairly recent though, been writing since the 1980s, but perhaps the reason my writing seems old is because it's heavily influenced by the English? I've also been reading Prester John which was written in the very early 1900s, and I myself am Newfie. Newfoundland has a lot of British heritage, having joined Canada only in 1949, and a lot of our slang is from old English.

As for your poem, it seems very well written, but I don't entirely understand it. I don't know of Theodora, of Justinian, and it would probably take me a few read-overs to understand the overall message. All in all, though confusing, I did understand some parts of it and found it enjoyable even though the rhythm didn't seem particularly smooth.

"Make ponds of absconding oceans, and puddles of monsoons." Sounds like someone who doesn't really take things seriously, or otherwise they're good at calming someone down when they think that some horrible thing has happened. Ultimately, if I knew the context, I could probably enjoy the poem a lot more, but the rhythm does seem to sort of jump around a bit.

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>>9140457
This is a continuation of my previous post, and this all comes about early on in the book, to sort of set the stage as to how difficult it is to survive. Also flies in the face of that old Zombie Survival Guide book that Max Brooks wrote. Might as well do some shilling; it's from my book Living amongst the Dead, written under my pseudonym J. N. Morgan, if anyone is interested. Anyways, here's more of what I wrote:

It must have been something in the air, yet some people seemed to have had an immunity of sorts to it while the rest were dropping like flies. Eventually the hospitals were sent some cops to deal with those who were looking the worst. Lock the patient’s door when the line went flat, and get the Officer of Death to come and deal with it. Mistakes would happen of course; he or she would be sloppy, or didn’t get a well-aimed shot off… got bit, panicked, began to bleed out quickly, people screamed as they watched through the glass from outside the ex-patient’s door as flesh was rendered one bite at a time. Someone brave enough might have a pocket knife and try to be the hero; one casualty became two, two became four, four became eight, and often times the hospitals were the first part of the city to become overrun. More and more people got infected from God knows what; the air, the water, who knows, but they would go there in sickness and quickly find their death.

Since the idea of keeping track of the date had come somewhat late after the cell phones had been drained of battery power for the last time, he wasn’t 100% sure of what date it was. Give or take a week, today should be around September 1st. Roughly half a year all this has been happening. The world’s human population must have taken one Hell of a hit… the dead outnumbered the living, that’s for damn sure. Here Richard knelt, looking at a town owned by the dead, and looking through the naive eyes he had about 6 months ago. A lot can change in half a year, however… a Hell of a lot.

That cop shop would in all likelihood have been picked clean weeks if not months ago; every pig given all the ammo they could carry when control over the situation was being lost. Even if they hadn’t, at some point people will have made their way in, and made their way out with all they could hold. The stores? Any fresh produce is now a stinking, rotting pile of decay spawning an infestation of maggots and flies undoubtedly. Canned food will have been bought or simply looted in the panic before the place was completely overrun. The majority of individual’s plans for surviving a ‘zombie apocalypse’ as it were being called back then was to simply scavenge… most people with that mind set have died by now, whether from hunger or from the obvious risks that came with heading into large towns and cities that were dominated by these walkers.

>>9141103
Ahh, then my critique was just my American bias presenting itself.

What I tried doing was establish a few interrelated ideas and symbols to combine them at the end.
a) there is no natural order except in change, especially in power hierarchies, i.e. man's dominance of animal kingdom, seizing of sovereign power
b) that man's will is a measure of their capacity to effect change
c) used water as symbol for that will, and that man and animal's will is finite and contained (bottled)
d) that nature itself's will is infinite since nature=change
e) used ocean, storms, etc as representation of nature itself
So the line about "absconding oceans" is more about a will that transcends nature. It's kinda cheesy and maybe not all too clear. Idk

>>9141103
Oh also, Justinian was a Byzantine emperor who fell in love with an actress (which was one of the sleaziest jobs one could have back then), married her, and when he wanted to abdicate the throne because of massive protests and a seemingly inevitable revolution, she made him stay in Constantinople and reassert his power.
The rhythm is a thing I can work out in the second draft

>>9141127

Zombie fiction... /lit/, just fucking get out you hack thank god this cancerous trend is over

They drove through the neighbourhood of Suwayto just outside downtown. A product of Blone’s creative destruction process, it happened to be well connected to the highway system, in decades it became a hub for the sale of illegal commodities, its economy and civic functions taken over by networks of cliques. They drove past store fronts with curtains, boards, broken windows. Barnacle tents on empty lots, garbage swirled in gusts of warm air. Glous frequented Suwayto, having purchased two blocks of the neighbourhood long ago on a dare. They pulled up to a three story square brick house far back from the road. There were cars parked haphazardly over the lawn, guarded by loitering shooters, one at the front door had a red scarf covering half his face, automatic pistol tucked in his pants. Glous parked on the edge of the lot and they walked to the door, Assistant carried a gym bag pulled from the trunk. They strode up the steps, the youth looked them over, sent a stare, and let them through without a word.

Glous saw Peppez At in the hallway of the house and walked toward him with a frown. Peppez At frowned back and walked to toward Gluos. Peppez At lifted his arm and chopped down at Gluos as they rushed forward. Before he struck, Peppez At pulled his arm back, Gluos stopped moving and they both laughed.

Peppez At was shouting, “fuckin Gman.”

Gluos shouted, “fucking Peppez At.” Then they started walking down the hall, until Peppez At saw Assistant.

He smiled at her and said, “hey girl, my name’s Peppez At.”

Peppez At was walking backwards down the hall.

Assistant smiled back, “Hello Peppez At.”

They reached the living room. It was dark, smoke hung. The windows were boarded. Sand bags piled up from the floor. A shooter sat at a small crack in window and looked outside as he clutched an assault rifle. At the center of the room was an L shaped couch. A table was covered with empty bottles, overflowing ashtrays and residue. Ravsgot was in a chair at the head of the table. Wrists and neck covered in bracelets. Hair hanging over his face. Styrofoam cup in front on the table. He was leaning with a flavoured cigar in his left hand. Ravsgot nodded at them as they sat around the couch. It took 45 minutes for them all to catch up, then Ravsgot stopped laughing. Assistant was laying on the couch and now tried to sit up. Gluos was rocking back and forth staring at the floor. He collected himself and said, “Ravsgot, do you want to go for a trip?”

“What?” Ravsgot said slowly from smoke.

“A throx trip, I have some planes, we should visit an airfield in the SubCon.”

“This some gov shit?”

background: two generals are leading an army that had rebelled against the king and have arrived in a city, whose defense force commander has been ordered by the king to tell the army to go where the king ordered them to. The defense force is about 300, the army about 50,000.

Baraz moved his horse closer to the man such that the others from Gor wouldn't overhear them. "Between you and me, Kasra may or may not be in a position to give execution orders in a few months, but me and my sword are here right now." Baraz patted his belt. "Tell your men to go home and fuck their wives and forget all about it."

Gor's captain judged the army in the back. "Well, go ahead, go eat our bread and bring death to our doorsteps, then. Harm any of the residents or my men and there will be a panic in the night."

Kardarigan stepped in. "No one is getting hurt. Please bear with us a few months. I assure you that if Kasra mounts any opposition, we'll defend you at our own cost and take responsibility. It is true, though. He has bigger concerns than what we're up to."
His eyes looked tired. They were told where they could camp without interfering with the agriculture and the two generals returned to their men and led them past. Men were sent to hunt and others to go to the gulf and buy nets to fish with. For as much as they could, Kardarigan wanted them to supply their own food and not burden Gor. Their camps flooded all the open area left around the city and scared the residents. After a week they were used to the presence and the tension resolved. Kardarigan wandered as he pleased between the city, the two palaces, and the shore.

Autumn came. This land was heaven. The waters rushed up his bare calves and tickled his leg hair. The sand under his feet was swept with the tide back out into the gulf. Grains upon grains left and he sank down as the ground was corroded from beneath him. Into the waters the surf gathered and rolled white, pouring in, and crashed around him. Sand was deposited, building up around his feet to bury him little by little. There was a brief quiet as the waters calmed into foam and faded back out again.

>>9141103
Eyy, Bernard Cornwell is the dude.

"Humanity is born as women cry and pain in labour; while civilization is destroyed with our own cries resonated by our own hubris and lust for vanity, cries which turn the wheels of history forward like the hinges of a creaky gate. Our ultimate vanity is our own ego. Pleasure for pain; pain for pleasure, Id and Ego are forever locked in an eternal battle. Master and slave, slave and master. One triumphing over the other. Neither one never truly satisfied. "

>>9142541
Nice, though I feel like there isn't enough information for a complete criticism. Only thing I would mention is that this encounter seems like it goes too smoothly. It's suddenly going from "We need to stay here," to "and so we stayed here for a few months." Wouldn't this commander at least put up some more opposition? The time skip makes it sound a bit off too.

Also, here is my bit. Background is that two friends are attempting an extremely dangerous magic which could kill them if done wrong. They need to be in physical contact with each other to pull it off. Any help with naming characters would be appreciated since I suck at it. I also might write something other than a fist-bump for necessary contact, since it seems a tad goofy, but I feel it would be the simplest way to do it quickly without shaking hands or something. This was also written in like 30 minutes, so I haven't been able to touch it up yet. Be as critical as you like.

Name1 and Name2 looked at each other for a moment, sweating as they realized the intensity of the situation. Just as their mentor had described, any mistake could result in permanent damage to the body or soul. Not even nature could be calm as the two felt the wind picking up, the nearby forest shaking in anticipation. Finally, Name1 stepped towards his friend, extending his bruised arm out as an invitation to go through with the idea. Name2 laughed nervously, and after a brief hesitation he did the same, both soldier and sorcerer standing with an arm out toward one another. They curled their hands into fists, and bumped them against each other. For an awkward minute, nothing happened. Name1 noticed Name2 twitching, if but just for an instant, and decided to make the first move.

He closed his eyes, focused and shared some of his Outer Soul with Name2.

Name2 took a quick breath, finally finding the strength to send some of his own, until his body began changing with the assistance of his friend's soul. What he felt was extraordinary. His own wounds, while not vanishing, suddenly hurt no longer. His breathing became deeper, more satisfying as he felt his lungs grow stronger. Name1 also noticed Name2’s body growing in size as he gained muscle, and the sorcerer could feel his body swelling with additional strength. About another half minute later, Name2 felt, believed, knew that he could accomplish physical feats that he could not previously do. He took another long, full breath and looked at Name1, and he cracked a wide grin.

Name1, a bit smaller and weaker than just before, laughed with joy in response and hugged his friend.

>>9142995
>It's suddenly going from "We need to stay here," to "and so we stayed here for a few months."

It's historical, that's actually what happened. The king was without any army to send at him, and had other problems. He's in the process of getting his shit fucked in, so the rebel army can do whatever it wants. It's a pretty fun time period. (around year 626/627 in this passage.) I couldn't detail the whole period to the constraints of a 4chinz post.

Thank you, glad it sounds alright. I've had a lack of beta readers for everything and this one is in WIP right now.

Your prose is clunky, and if they need to be in contact the whole time at risk of death, a fist bump isn't stable. Just have them "clasp arms" or something. You use passive voice a lot. Like instead of saying, "he noticed x grew," just say, "x grew."

I pull names from baby name lists for whatever nation/culture it is, time period sensitive. Just go through until you see one that seems like x character looks.

"name2 felt, believed, knew that he could"... Hear about the 1 + 1 = 1/2 rule? Using two words where one would do (or 3 in this point) cheapens the entire statement and you're better off leaving it at one. Sounds like neat magic, just make sure you're using it strategically.

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I wrote a really rough draft for a stupid story but now I don't feel like finishing it or polishing it up.

Am I supposed to finish it anyways? Just drop it? Immediately start something else as punishment?

>>9142457
Cool setting and ideas to me, but I think you should read your story out loud. It reads kind of clunky. Plus, stuff like this:

>There were cars parked haphazardly over the lawn, guarded by loitering shooters, one at the front door had a red scarf covering half his face, automatic pistol tucked in his pants.

There's a lot of ideas in this one sentence that you've all mashed together; important images like the sudden introduction of a gun--even if the guard ends up being inconsequential to the plot--deserve their own sentences.


You also like to use a lot of sentence fragments, which I get, but there are some times when using them too much can be jarring if it isn't focused. What you're essentially doing is making a list of descriptors, even greentexting, but you should be more careful about it:

>A table was covered with empty bottles, overflowing ashtrays and residue. Ravsgot was in a chair at the head of the table. Wrists and neck covered in bracelets. Hair hanging over his face. Styrofoam cup in front on the table. He was leaning with a flavoured cigar in his left hand. Ravsgot nodded at them as they sat around the couch.

You're driving the reader from the table, to the head of the table, to Ravsgot, to his bracelets and hair, to the cigar, to his nodding.

But as soon as you throw in the styrofoam cup, you're upsetting the careful flow that you've created.

And aside from saying Peppez At way too much, I like where it's going, so keep it up

>>9143115
>It's historical, that's actually what happened.

Ah that makes sense. Definitely explains the situation, however I still (personally) feel that there could be a bit more to that scene.

It's kinda like a creative non-fiction piece. Someone could recall how they went to a friend's house one day and suddenly hear bad news. When they write about it, they wouldn't just say "I went to my friend's house this day. He told me this bad thing happened," they would add some spice to it, true or not, to make it more engaging/interesting.

Example (with my iffy writing): "I remember walking into my friend's house. I saw (friend) tearing up as he revealed the news to me. He choked in between words as he couldn't hold his sobbing in any longer."

Once again, just my opinion. My criticism is usually pretty out there, but with a scene like that I feel like people would really want to see a bit more, even if it's just a pathetic attempt to argue against the rebel army staying.

Thanks for your criticism as well. Even when writing short stories in my fiction class, the common criticism against me was that my prose is awkward. Any tips for making it more natural? I'll try the naming suggestion as well.

That last quoted part to is supposed to be more of a realization of how much stronger he became. It's supposed to sound more like

"He could sense...no...had a feeling...no...KNEW that he could...." But I just don't know how to write it without it sounding odd.

>>9143379

Something like,

He was stronger. He felt it in his blood, in the tendons that linked his bones to his muscles. He could contract them and feel the strength to climb mountains and crush challenges before him, his legs rang with marathons he hadn't run yet. He flexed and relaxed, again and again, intoxicated with the new possibilities.

I think my issue is the story is really long and complex, and I'm fitting it into a single 110 word volume whereas it would probably due with 2 or 3 installations. But I hate series books so fuck it. I'll keep that in mind. The scene is really WIP.

>>9143425
Wow, that's nice. Quite nice. I've got some work to do.

How do you write good dialog and scenery descriptions?

I'm clearly not good at it but I'm not sure what exactly I'm doing wrong

>>9143425
Yeah this is better. I think a lot of us in our generation are going to fall into the trap of our writing for the screen.

So, what I mean is, your thought process of
>"He could sense...no...had a feeling...no...KNEW that he could...." But I just don't know how to write it without it sounding odd.

Sounds strongly like how we would hear it narrated, with all the suspenseful timing that comes from scripted writing/acting.

Your second attempt here is much better to me because it's doing the old show vs tell.

I remember some Anon on here once talking about poetry, saying how we can talk about the concept of time passing, or, we can use an image like the weathering a statue to show the same thing.

I'm totally mixing up you two anon's >>9143425 >>9143379 but wanted to say my piece anyways. Thanks love you bye.

>>9143178
If you don't feel like finishing it don't bother, it'll be too hard to write and won't feel like good work anyways. Just my two cents.
>>9142457
I feel like this is lacking some detail. It feels like you're just walking the reader step by step through it and telling them exactly what happened instead of showing them what happened.

Following is a story I wrote about my senior prom in high school and about the St. Paul Cathedral in St. Paul, MN.

“I’ll admit, I’ve never been much of a city person,” I said, gazing into the pitch night sky towards the warmly lit spire. “But, I’ve always loved that cathedral.”
“Do you want to go?” Her lips perked up at the ends to form a coy smile.
“What about the others?”
“They’ll live.”
Looking back through the glass window of the restaurant at the rest of our group, I wondered whether or not we should leave. She answered my question decisively by her hand grabbing mine, dragging me in the direction of the car.
On the ride up the hill, her unique floral scent sunk into the fabric textiles of the seats, and there was little I could do to resist its intoxicating effects. Sneaking glances at her whenever I was able, I found myself looking more often in her direction than that of the road, and nearly missed the turn. Pulling into the empty lot, the silence brought me deep into a daydream of fantasy, ironically about the woman sitting directly alongside me.
“You coming?” she said, laughing at the image of me staring glassy-eyed through the windshield.

TO BE CONTINUED

>>9143519
“Yeah, yeah… I’m coming.” As I opened the door, a gentle breeze slipped through the seams of my clothes and spun around me, blowing my tie out of place as I walked forwards. She was only out of my sight for a few seconds while on the other side of the car, yet the anticipation to know her presence again was great. A moment before I took my first step out onto the asphalt of the street, I was reeled back by a soft, yet resolute grasp on my arm. She stepped closer to me, and her hand slowly pulled the tie down from over my shoulder, then found its resting place on my chest, fingers curling just a bit at the tips. Her other arm found its way through the crook of mine, and together we strolled across the street, bouncing each step we took.
The cathedral’s carved intricacies overwhelmed me and grew more powerful the closer I came. Taking a seat atop a wide stone banister, I traced the chiseled figures with my eyes from bottom to top. While my fascination was temporarily fixed, she directed my eyes towards the skyline, which only brought my attention back to her. Something beyond her face and figure was far more pleasing than the cathedral of which I’d been transfixed by, something complex and mysterious. She dangled her leg over mine, placed her hand on my arm, and nested her head atop my shoulder while we stared out upon the frozen city. There were no cars, no people, and no distractions. The moment seemed to be created as a gift to us. Leaning deep into my back, her warmth permeated my body, and the sound of her breathing became meditative. I was sent into a trance yet again, but this time it was calmingly devoid of any thought at all.
“God, your heart’s beating fast.”
I suppose it was. There was a drumline in my chest, and nothing I could do to hide it. All night long I’d tried to keep my feelings concealed, but my heart could bear it no longer. And so it beat.
As we sat there, pressed against one another, hearing music in our heads, I wondered if she cared for me the way I did for her.
“We should probably go.”
And then it became clear she didn’t, for anyone who felt the way I did would have never wanted to leave.

>>9143519
>>9143528
The subject matter doesn't excite me personally, but the prose is really nice and smooth, good stuff anon.

On that note, I suggest to anyone feeling a bit unsure of their prose to use the writers diet test (google and it'll be the first result). It will help you cut out a lot of unneeded words and phrases.

>>9143425
>>9143443

So I actually decided to try revising for a bit and rewrote the passage. I enjoyed your wording and attempted to follow suit without just copy-pasting your words. Hopefully this looks better!

Name1 and Name2 watched each other for a moment. They waited for the other to make a move. Just as their mentor had described, any mistake could result in permanent damage to the body or soul. Not even nature could be calm as the two felt the wind picking up. It threatened to blow Name2’s books away. The forest around them shook with anticipation.

Finally, Name1 stepped towards his friend. He extended his bruised arm out as an invitation to go through with the idea. Name2 laughed nervously, and after a brief hesitation he did the same. Both soldier and sorcerer stood with an arm out toward one another. With a synchronized grunt of approval, they shook hands with a firm grip. Name2 winced as their grip tightened unconsciously. Neither noticed, but both were terrified.

For another awkward minute, nothing happened. Name1 noticed Name2 shaking, if but just for an instant, and decided to make the first move.

He closed his eyes, focused, and shared some of his Outer Soul with Name2.

Name2 gasped when he noticed his grip overpowering Name1’s. The pain that he expected from his injured hand did not come. He barely felt pain at all. His frail body grew and veins threatened to burst from his body as it circulated blood more efficiently. This efficiency demanded more oxygen, and Name2 responded with a lengthy, fulfilling breath. His more powerful lungs thanked him. As he continued to breath steadily, he realized how wonderful this was. It was felt in every inch of his body when he flexed. His arms could throw any obstacles aside; his legs were strong enough to run for miles. Finally, Name2 relaxed, which kept his new high in check. He looked up once more at his donator, his friend. He frowned at the sight.

He looked miserable.

Name1 became weak. His body shriveled as his strength poured into his friend. His breathing became more urgent. He gritted his teeth as the weight of his injuries fell upon him; he held his beaten arm and wished it were removed. With a brief sniffle, Name1 could tell that his nose was bleeding. Moving any part of his body became a burden, and he lifted his head to mention it.

He saw Name2 watching him, horrified of what he did to him. But Name1 knew it was not his friend’s fault, for he was the one who volunteered to give his strength away. He wiped the blood from his nose, stood up straight and ignored the pain. After all, seeing Name2 removed from his suffering empowered him.

He forced a wide grin, and hugged his friend, despite the pain. In this moment, Name2 realized just how strong Name1 not only physically, but mentally. He felt ridiculous, but instead decided to follow the actions of his friend this time. He hugged him back, and the both laughed with joy at their accomplishment.

>>9143178
post it so we can read it
who cares if its shitty there's no dignity here

>>9143777
I brainstormed it more and I actually figured out some reasons to finish it. Will post it with the Mexican Pepe again if this thread expires by then.

>>9142401
LOL qq uninstall

I posted some crit earlier, but was too scared to post some writing. What do yall think of some poetry?

When everything we need is under snow,
I walk back into that burning day
Into postcards of places long ago


I drive along our Wakeland Row,
on frozen ground where we once lay
Now everything we need is under snow


At the post office I see what I'll never know
In what you’ve said, but now can’t say
On those postcards of places long ago


I come home in the evening’s glow
And drive until my thoughts decay
And everything we need is under snow


Then I stare at the beach in Mexico
And the castle in France in its meaningless grey
On those postcards of places long ago

And you’ll keep writing, and I’ll still go
wading through your tired cliché
Now everything we need is under snow,
And in postcards of places long ago

>>9141127
If you are still in this thread, I was wondering if you could share how big of a hit you took when Kindle Unlimited happened -- if you took at a hit all that is.

Thanks for the critiques!

Drumsticks matched with matchsticks
drum erupting snares of embers.
Alternating and pulsating
orbs of rhythmic fires
conjure bursting storms of sparks
becoming twisters dancing spirals.

>>9139906
I don't see how your writing was confusing or overwrought, so I don't know what that anon was talking about. Keep it up.

>>9138892
I know this feel. Just keep writing and posting shit on /lit/ or with other writers. Start reading only the books that really speak to you and figure out what it is about them that works. Try to learn from it and just write more.

>>9126618
>sauntered
you mean 'walked'

>local convenient store
you mean 'convenience store'

>rather convenient and often-shopped hour
you mean '5:00'

that's about as far as I could get before the suicidal thoughts began

You chucklefuck cucks can suck on my nuts
'Cause I make the most money and bang the most sluts

>>9142657
Awesome stuff, I love his work.

>>9144189
I wasn't really selling to begin with, so it didn't really affect me. It does seem as though at least one person read one of my novels for free however thanks to Kindle Unlimited. That's fine, I guess. Hopefully they talk about the book to a friend.

October’s trough
It was the third walk through the mid October air that brought Grossman to the pile of leaves just to the left of the path. Passed by a million times before, the pile was at once out of place and in fact the only proper feature of the otherwise unremarkable stretch of trail. Having finished his supper and washed his dishes, Grossman was left with a disconcerting amount of static energy that obliged him to pull the tattered canvas jacket from the peg and believe that a walk could calm him. “In another age I would’ve been content to stay on this farm and marry the first girl that wound me up” “The confusion I live is not by choice but fate” “They expect me to die a thousand deaths in this terrarium” Were some of the thoughts attached to his mind. Perhaps he intended to find their origin.

As he rounded the bend towards the pile the thoughts became louder and more rounded in voice. Not an unusual occurrence, this sometimes happened with the proper digestion of food, a release of carbohydrates or serotonin in the stomach that made any feature more robust and apparent. But this time the thoughts seem to maintain their body but run from his mental grasp as if they were looking for another mind to plague. Upon reaching within two feet of the pile the thoughts jumped out at once with a singular clap and became a concave whisper emanating from the leaves.*(Concave in that they inhabited the lower and higher frequencies but gave way in the middle as though asking to be filled) Simultaneously Grossman became aware of a sensation of being watched by some primal voyeur, saw the dialectic vision of a man and a pile of leaves through the eyes of another something lurking behind the tree to his left. The vision lasted a second, the eyes sunk sideways into the blurry bark of the tree and left Grossman with an only slightly altered version of his usual blackened mind’s eye. The whispering continued from the leaves but the phrases were muddled, anchored by a recurrent hissing s sound and ballooning vowels, it made no sense.

kippers for breakfast again, AUNT HELLGA?

>>9126027
imho started pretentious, went good when it seemed like he would be some fucked up killer, went boring when it turned towards an edgy fairytale

>>9146151
Contribute; critique other people's work.

When Kant says that i have a duty,
Does it man i cant be a nudy?
It gives me a rush
To make people blush;
So would Kant stop me from showing my booty?

>>9144215
I like this as an excerpt, I feel like it would be really good if there was a setting established and this was the middle stanza, so a beginning that sets up the action or comparison and then a final stanza that emphasizes what was learned in your stanza, bringing back into the setting or something.

mine was the above post "october's trough" (part 1)

>>9146151
I'm sorry, but this is very bad. A lot of excess words and phrases and descriptions that bring me no closer to understanding what the hell is going on. It was not gripping and completely uninteresting. You need to work on your voice, but not before your structural writing basics. A voice will come with that. Also having a piece dedicated to this gross-man yet narrated by someone else does not work for this. Even if the narrator is whoever was behind the tree. You threw me some kind of highschool-level complex thought that isn't really anything at all. Whatever message is lying under all these puzzle pieces in front of me, just give me that with no buckshot and we'll see the integrity of your idea. My advice is to read a lot more, read strunk and white, don't get lost in your own little story world otherwise you forget the reality of it, and at your level, most importantly of all, keep writing to be critiqued and jeep getting critiqued. Even if you get slammed like this everytime, eventually you'll find a center ground and realize what you should and shouldn't be doing. By then, you won't worry about people liking your work or getting the message, you'll worry about the clarity and integrity of the piece regardless of vanity.

But thanks for saying you liked my excerpt. It was in fact an excerpt from a much larger piece, but I finally nailed what I felt was a great rhythm and flow so I wanted some input.

>>9144136

No one on lit ever crits my shit

>>9147681
10/10 badass rhyme. Short but sweet. The profanity at the end was the cherry on top.

http://pastebin.com/6H8Tu6VM

just wrote this today. not so serious, and definitely an early draft, but i'd like to know if any of you think i'm on the right track with it at all. i'm trying to find a comfortable way of writing.

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>>9147829
>http://pastebin.com/6H8Tu6VM
First off, no one on /lit/ is gonna like this since you seem to be disregarding the whole craft of literature.

That isn't to say you're wrong. You obviously have some kind of vision or ear for how you want your piece to sound. But I would recommend not sending /lit/ "early drafts" of "experimental" fiction like this. Subconsciously I think you want us to pat you on the back lol.

Read some Faulkner or other high modernist work, expand your literary toolbox, and then send us a more finished product.

>>9124863
I love this post

I wrote some mech fiction for the first time ever I tried to approach giant robots with some maturity.

It's still a really early draft but I wanted to share it with you guys so you can weigh in.

http://pastebin.com/hXB1Qayd

Any feedback is appreciated, I just want to know wether or not I should keep going with this.

>>9148208
I think you're doing the mech parts pretty well, but your prose could definitely use improvement. Just git gudder.

I saw you walk out of the store with a bag in your hand and your finger on your mouth.
you hadn't paid for it.
You took me by the hand and showed me a world I've only ever dreamed of.
It was exciting living on the edge, but the higher you get the more it hurts to fall.

An older person finding an innocent defenseless younger one, this story has been told a million times, so why did I think we were different?
You were a siren, in more than one sense.
The closer I got to you the further I drifted from my parents.

I still have holes from the needles you left in my arm.

My virginity was something I was content with, I was way to young to NOT have it honestly. But the idea of giving it to someone who thought my body was a work of art brought a tear to my eye, and so do the memories. When you got me drunk, and came onto me, how could I say no?

You were a bad person, and I loved you, but I hated who you were. I hope the next person you take advantage of doesn't have the hindsight I do.

>>9148060
Me too. It's good.

In the cavernous eyes of the many
the rabble's rhubarb chimes in staccato
like crisp chirps in an Ableton song
produced by Merzbow's little brother,
Tom. Jerry erupts in outrage on stage
and the rabble rubbles again in unison
divided like the toes in their shoes
that have been fused by the building's flames,
consuming only that which is inhabited,
that which is inhabited by featherless bipeds,
we mistakenly call human—full throttle, Aristotle.
Now pick up the sticks and your change
and listen to the passing sidewalk conversation
that reminds you that you left your heart
in San Francisco, and wallet in Detroit.

We're all midnight cowboys,
we're all walking home at night.

>>9148410

My main complaint is that it's boring– I assume the subject matter is autobiographical, but still it's cliché.

Some of your style could be tightened up as well. Phrases like 'living on the edge' and 'the higher you get the more it hurts to fall' are weak, dead metaphors– your poem would be strenghtened by cutting these and creating your own metaphors to convey the meaning you want.


Parents and sense do not rhyme, the emphasis is wrong. Things don't have to rhyme, but you want to avoid seeming to try to rhyme and fail.

> You were a bad person, and I loved you, but I hated who you were.

Another cliché; if you're going to write about something relatively commonplace, write about it in a unique way.

And one final piece of general advice– your poem is stronger, as in the first two lines, when you're sticking to specific descriptions. The broader, clichéd musings are pretty bad.

Sorry sorrow, we need reschedule
our appointment for tomorrow.
Something came up
and she has a name,
Felicity, like the latin derivative,
like the spring sun to a wilted blossom,
like the ums interspersed in emphatic speech,
like the likelihood that liking one another wants to be.
We're all factually incorrect next to yesterday,
but I can't speak for you, nor you she, he, we,
and I can't tell you how much you mean to me
because that I simply don't know,
nor much else:
that liberating idea that ideas bind themselves in
weightless chains, the epigenetic habits
fueling the frothing mouths of rabid rodents
roiling in groups holding up signs
begging for unanimity in a context
that has lost all fibers tying the nuts and bolts.
So we sing the mischievous oats
and carry them to a river running with sparks
to a lagoon full of invisible monsters
that communicate via fax.

>>9148519

I don't have any real criticism, but that's pretty stylish, and better than most of the stuff posted here.

Space: glittered vantablack,
a race into a hole filled tack.
Babies first love momma's rack
then the irony taste of blood
that bubble from cauldrons of mud.
Shoot from the hip! Said John Wayne.
And yelp went the injun in a thud
of dignified pain.
And here we are, said the general post battle.
How delicious, said the dealer of cattle.
Where do the raindrops drop? said Bane
before he broke Batman's back to addle
the reader's mind, back in the nineties
when in the fine-print resided the hind fees.
So kiss our royal hineys.
Kiss our lips caked in vaseline,
butter our wrists in margarine
so we can walk the sky on Tatooine
walk the cakewalk of life pristine:
but watch the candle's
or meet satan's bramble:
this is the rest of your life's preamble,
a gamble.

>>9148410
That's very interesting. I kind of wish I could have met a pedo woman when I was a young boy. Here's some writing, but don't spaz out at the emoticons. Quotation marks are for speaking, and those little single 'ticks' are for texts. Looks like I've left some typos in though, going to have to make a 2nd draft I guess...

Sunday was going miserably. At least the hang over seemed to be nearly finished its state of retreat. Jacob and Amber texted back and forth every now and then, reminiscing about their night, about the pubs they went to, people they met and spoke with, things they’d seen, as well as bringing up a few particularly flirtatious comments he made to her when feeling the artificial confidence of inebriation hit him.
‘God, I can’t believe I said that, I’m so sorry!... Though I’d be lying if I said it weren’t true. ; )’
‘omg u gross old man :P’
‘You like it…’
‘ ;-* my lips are sealed’
It made him feel slightly dickish, considering most of the flirting was from him last night with her being far too timid in person to say such things in turn, not that they were OVERLY vulgar. At least on texts she was more open about her enjoyment of it. The jab at their age difference didn’t bother him much. It wasn’t over a decade at least, and it’s not like she was underage. He told her how incredible it was that she was still single. Sure she was a bit anti-social and almost as quiet as the dead, but so cute, and so sweet! Her reply confirmed that she was indeed single, and replied the same; finding it hard to believe that he was as well.
‘Nice of you to say, Amber. Yeah, I’ve kind of taken myself off the market lately; too much drama in dating, though I’ve been giving a lot of consideration to getting back in the game.-’ it had not yet been sent, but felt that this might be a bit TOO obvious that he was interested in her. Not that he was being particularly subtle here with. Leave this in, he figured, to let her know that he is interested and also willing to take it seriously if he wants to, or just keep things casual. The typing of the text continued. ‘-Anyways, what did you think of the donair last night? Was it as good as I made it sound?’

>>9140514
Thanks for the praise. Unfortunately a vignette, I had sudden inspiration one morning when I was reading Lovecraft; I liked the idea of hidden societies, but then I thought what if those societies weren't hidden? I think I had read Dagon. The setting is my attempt at modernising such a story.
I noticed that typo after posting as well, but thanks.
>>9146575
A victim of the genre.

>>9148721
dude, "pedo/shota" or not, it's not cool. It wasn't cool, man. The point was, these stories go both ways. Gender doesn't change the point.

a short prose on misunderstanding the nature of classroom socialization in Uni

Walking in a direction of someone you think you're cordial with and expecting to say "hi". Then watching them avoid eye contact and bow their head a little to seem unaware of you. You do not know when it's ok to smile at someone. It's embarrassing to smile and uninterested faces.

How can people be so friendly inside of a classroom and forget who you are on campus? Am I supposed to care about that sort of thing? I may be frustrated out of some sense of self-importance not being validated. I think, I'm not sure. Are they like this with everyone? Should I be expecting to become estranged to the same people who I've made my acquaintance for an hour and a half every other day of the week? I have not made their acquaintance at all. I did not realize we were pretending. I did not know I was.

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This isn't poetry BUT it's related.

I'm writing the description for my album of sappy folk songs. Tell me if this sounds weird:
"...The same light wherein I myself have found..."
Is 'wherein' applicable or should I just use 'where?' I don't mean to sound like a pompous hipster I just want to be grammatically correct. :(

>>9148924
how does he float up like that

>>9148924
>I myself
You're worried about wherein when you got this smarmy shit in there?

>>9148985
Fuck I didn't even notice that. Thanks, anon

>>9148788
Well even when I was as young as about 10 years old, I had sexual fantasies about older women. So forgive me for wishing I could have experienced sex at a younger age. Maybe I'd have hated it, but ultimately I'll never know. Honestly though, I think I'd have greatly enjoyed it as long as she didn't do anything that I didn't want to do.

>>9148410
>>9148597
I saw you walk out of the store with a bag in your hand and your finger on your mouth.
you hadn't paid for it.
You took me by the hand and showed me a world I've only ever dreamed of.
It was exciting living on the edge, but the higher you get the more it hurts to fall.

An older person finding an innocent defenseless younger one, this story has been told a million times, so why did I think we were different?
You were a siren, in more than one way.
The closer I got to you the further I drifted from my parents.

Clubs, fake IDs, Drugs, all things I used to fear, it used to be something alien to me. Someone else's life
but it soon became commonplace. I know the back alleys of this city too well now.

I still have holes from the needles you left in my arm.

My virginity was something I was content with, I was way to young to NOT have it honestly. But the idea of giving it to someone who thought my body was a work of art brought a tear to my eye, and so do the memories. When you got me drunk, and came onto me, how could I say no?

You were so manipulative, you would cross a line and then act like you were the one wronged.
And I felt like it was my fault.
The things I’ve shown you, things that nobody else had seen, until then at least.

I was never just me around you and your crew. I was ‘the kid’ or ‘Your boyfriend’. I was just there for you to play with, and I didn’t even know it.


When you live in a small town, it’s easy to get a bad reputation that sticks with you for life
You made me feel special, and loved, in a world where everyone hated me.
And now they hate me more because I let someone else take over my life.
They think that just because you were a woman that you could never take advantage of a boy.
They say that I wanted all of it, that it was MY bad decisions.

But you can just go on living.

>>9149073
That's the problem, man. When you're that young, you don't know what you want. Do you know how your family sees you when you do something like that? I was 13, she was 27, man. our age difference was more than my age.

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Ok, I've gone and done it. >>9143777

Aside from telling me how my prose sucks, I would also appreciate some tips on the story telling in general. If you find it unreadable/boring at some point, I'd like to know where and why.

http://pastebin.com/pWwNp6Fq

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66KB, 720x1280px

Pls critique this. I'm looking through the thread right now to do the same

>>9144136
It's good, one of the more enjoyable things here. The rhythm is a little off at some points but the content is good. So I would just cut off some syllables here and there and call it done.

>>9146151
I liked this. Would really need more to critique, but the prose was good. Franzen-like.

It was at this juncture of the one–sided exposé that Juan once again became aware of time ––not only its existence, but its subtractive granularity. Each sentence uttered was another diminishment of his finite vitality-cache, his ability to ration what little was left. He had already had what was likely about a week’s worth of life leeched away from him after they’d placed him on involuntary hold. When his brother had found him that night, he was stupid enough to verbally confirm his suicidal intentions. He didn’t know that once those condemning words were uttered, he wouldn’t have any capacity to take back his verbal nonsense, his regretful ramblings that carried the faint aura of Schopenhauer-like suffering. He had no idea they would charge him three-hundred dollars for the five-mile ambulance ride to the county hospital (even with a thousand-dollar reimbursement from the insurance company), and then send him a bill while he was still in La Bermuda for another thousand-dollar ambulance ride there. He realized that, if he were to quantify that money into the subsequent hours of extra work he would have to perform in order to make the whole thing disappear, there would probably be another month-sized armory (whatever the hell that might look like) of his vitality-cache that he should expect to lose. This was a huge casualty –– but he couldn’t blame his brother for it. After all, what else could he be expected to do but call 9-1-1? How was he supposed to know that the lesions across his arms, stretching into crimson tributaries “down the river” rather than “across the road,” were only surface-level wounds? And the very real threat of the diphenhydramine shouldn’t be dismissed either; Juan was delirious and hallucinating copious cigarette-smoking pygmies by the time the paramedics were knocking at their door.

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He snickered and flipped up his collar against the cold wind. He looked at the small boy and laughed, wiggling his finger at him.

"The web stretches forward and backwards, as if the sequences aligned themselves preemptively with
their soon to be partner!"

He gave the boy a lip splitting smile and laughed again deep from his belly.

"The system aligns and converges and intertwines and inverses ,diverges and emerges! Yet, at another
particular moment out of this chaos arises a perfect partner, a soul mate, a direct bijection to another perfect moment in 'time'."

He slid up to the boy and gave him a lip splitting smile.

He took a knee next to the boy and lowered his voice so that he could barely hear.

"Through this bijection the "current" moment connects perfectly with something that has no reason to be there! Through the chaos we have deduced
without a shadow of a doubt, that between two consecutive moments the system diverges completely. All order is
lost. All measure and observation contradict and circumvent one another
Utter chaos in these sea of moments, until suddenly, for no reason, the next frame to "reality" emerges from the chaos and
"time" continues."

The boy slowly backed away as the man continued apparently unaware of the boy's departure.

"If only they realized the immensity and unknowability that hung between every moment.
The infinitude, the long stretching into nothing, like an unbreakable rubber band stretching on and on.
it goes without saying of course that I lack frame of mind. Experiencing, as I have, the near infinite gap between "moments"
I am stretched thin.

Attracting other nearby parksgoers with his yelling, people began gathering around the strange man in the yellow suit.

"I have experienced every moment, as have you, but it is only one my infinite other frames
of reality that I have processed. You set my tick rate too high, is one way I've always thought of it.
I am receiving when nothing is happening. When everyone is setting up the scene. Always being set up.
Don't think that I haven't seen the hidden pattern hidden among the chaos. Its directed nature
is of necessity of course. For the system to exist, this has to happen, there's no way around it."

Small groups of people stared in silence. The man turned to address his newly found audience
He let out one final laugh from deep within his core.

"We're considering necessary truths here, undoubtable completely.
Through my own experience I have seen myself do things somehow in line with
the continued impossible appearance of perfect steps along time. I see myself
say things but between the gaps in those moments I no longer, and in fact am continually removed
from all control of what I do. Not as though I could maintain control of myself. I am so apathetic
of these moments among all my other experienced moments that even maintaining any semblance
of control when these moments pop out of the blue.

So I apologize if I seem distant"

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>>9149472
For all poetry to work, even free verse, the piece needs to show something to reader, to place him somewhere. Your piece does neither. Work in some imagery.

From a book on pseudoscience i'm experimenting with.
On the subject of Psychology,while discussing Freud's theory of dream interpretation.


For instance if you were to ask Sigmund Freud about fighting a dragon in your dreams with a shield and sword you would get a vastly different interpretation than if you asked Carl Jung which granted does happen in the scientific community but one of these theories is usually given more validity than the other,in psychology theories aren’t invalidated so easy as it’s usually up to interpretation and is studied on a case by case basis.With Freud he argued that everything we do or see in our dreams is a meaning of wish fulfillment,so if we were to see a piece of jewelry while driving a motorcycle in my dreams,it was just my subconscious mind representing sex with a woman.
This is the main part where it starts turning into a pseudoscience,because it’s all left to interpretation,which makes sense because we know very little of the human mind as it varies from different people,this however does not excuse it from being faulty thinking.In science you do not simply say because it was hot today and an animal dies that it died from the heat,this is because in the scientific method you have to be able to prove that the animal died from heat exhaustion or any other effect of the heat